Disclaimer: I do not own the characters, planets, concepts, or any other part of Star Wars. Only the fictional characters in this story can I claim as my own.
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The first sun began to rise viciously on the desert planet of Tatooine, as it's brother prepared to join it, and resume their endless toasting of the sandy surface. All across the southern perimeter of town, moisture farms began to push back the cooling comfort sleep brought them, and join those fully conscious. One particular farm, however, holds a special interest to the intense adventure about to begin. Not only for the one inside, but the entire galaxy as well. In this afore mentioned moisture farm, live four tenants. The first one to awake, being the head of the household. He has a sturdily built body, not necessarily muscular, so much as it's just large. He has an odd balance of muscle and fat that results in a large upper and lower body, which has the appearance of being able to withstand a large amount of damage. The various minor scars, and lines of aging, seem to indicate that he has dealt with his share of pain already. He leans back, sticking his chest out, yawning widely in silence. This peaceful silence is broken by several cracking sounds, and he stands up, rubbing his back indicating the source of bone popping. This small disturbance seems to be enough to pull his weathered wife from the edge of sleep, and she too yawns and rolls over. Noticing her arm hits only the bed sheets, rather than her lifetime partner, she opens an eye, noticing him shuffling out of the room, getting stronger per step, towards the single bathroom in the house. The woman's loud, high-pitched, yawn seems to vibrate the air like a vocal alarm box. She swings her legs off of the bed energetically and walks, rather than shuffles, towards the bathroom. Her bright, brown eyes, write "morning person" all over her face, as she joins her husband in the morning rituals. At the glance of, even a rookie judge of beauty, anyone can tell that this woman was once stunningly gorgeous. Her full figured body, showing only a slight submission to gravity, is evenly tanned. She doesn't show the physical wear of time, as her husband does, but her eyes, even if bright and energetic, tell the story of tough times she's gone through. Across the hall from the master bedroom, is a slightly smaller, just as homely, room. Inside of which lies two beds, with about 3 feet between them. In the one on the left, a small girl is sitting completely upright. Her black hair falls around her eyes, which are wide open, as she's staring straight ahead at the wall in front of her. Her breath is sharp, and rapid, her body trembling in apparent fear. The young, light skinned, black haired, black eyed, boy next to her wakes up groggily, in response to his mother's yawn and his sister's nightmare. He rubs his eyes, ignoring her fear, and does an elementary school roll off of his bed, landing deftly on his feet and standing up. He looks at the young girl and leans up to her face, from the foot of the bed, head cocked to the side in interest. She continues looking straight ahead, as if she could see her dream still unfolding in front of her. The boy takes a breath, as if about to speak, then lets it out in a sigh of surrender.
"I had it again," the girl speaks, a high-pitched frightened voice that explains her shy, timid personality in simple octaves.
"I know Aya," her 9-year-old brother sighs, pulling on a shirt over his bare chest.
The newly christened Aya breathed out a heavy breath of tiredness, "I didn't get any sleep either."
"How can you have a nightmare if you're awake?" the boy questioned pulling on light tan shorts. He stops after struggling like a fat woman, then realizes he forgot to shed his pajama pants. "Turn around."
Aya turns away, "I don't know Tarahmes. I just don't feel rested, that's all."
"I'm done," he announces. "There's a difference between rest and sleep."
"Go outside," she instructs as her dressing process is a lot longer.
Tarahmes walks out of the room, and stands outside the door looking out at the hall. His parents emerge from the bathroom, fully dressed, his stepfather now appearing angered at having to rise before the second sun was up.
As the extra bright rays of the second, more powerful, and higher rising sun began to show signs on the top of Tatooine's horizon, the family sits down at the table to breakfast. There isn't much to talk about, as there are no events as yet to discuss. Taking the silence as an opportunity to plan the morning, the stepfather begins to speak.
"Tarahmes, before we can even start work today, take the speeder into town." his deep voice begins to ring out between bites.
"I know, get the droids from the rental shop," the young boy answers, in an attempt to salvage the silence he loves so much.
A heavy sigh from the large man indicated his annoyance at his son but he let it go silently. Then he turned to Aya, "I want you to help your mother in the kitchen today; you're becoming a young woman now."
Ignoring the snort of incredulism from Tarahmes, the mother speaks up, "you also have to help me clean the house while your step-father and brother work outside."
Tarahmes stands up, his empty plate showing his intention to leave the conversation, "I'm finished. I'll be back from the shop soon."
"Hurry up," the stepfather calls after Tarahmes.
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The streets of Tatooine where already busy. Merchants mostly swarmed the roads, setting up, and calling out their, hopefully, unique and useful items. The main body of the shoppers was the children of merchant farmers, much like Tarahmes, on their way to gather needed items for their days of labor ahead. Among these working boys walked an anomaly, one that was a great source of amusement for the other boys. Tarahmes, being new to this routine, had no idea what the large group of laughing adolescents were in front of was about. When he reached them, the already loud jeers simply became clearer, and he got more clues to the poor soul being taunted so heavily.
"Haha, are you sure you're supposed to be in town?" one boy laughed.
"Yes, very sure," a feminin voice responded with dignity.
"Can you even carry the equipment back to your town," another one prodded.
It seemed even the merchants stopped calling out their amazing prices for rare eccentricities to listen to the bullying.
"Can you?" she asked him back.
Tarahmes, curious about what was so funny about a girl in town, pushed his way to the edge of the circle and was immediately stunned. The girl, who stood with her head held sternly upright, was a well-tanned, long red and black haired vision of beauty. She wore sandy brown colored vest without sleeves that was fastened by a zipper in the middle of her chest. The matching shorts were short, and also looked as if she ripped the legs off of them herself. Her hazel, almond-shaped eyes captivated his heart, and he immediately felt an urge to step in on her behalf. But what could he do against such a large group?
"They don't have any cleaning solutions here," the first boy taunted. "What exactly are you looking for?"
"You seem well versed in the location of cleaning solution," Tarahmes speaks up, taking a gingerly step into the circle, towards the girl. "Have you found much use for it in the past?"
A deep "ooohhh" rose from the crowd, silencing everything around him, and Tarahmes gulped fearful that he had provoked the wrath of the older boy too far. He stepped forward, and Tarahmes could finally see who the catalyst was. The boy was scruffy looking, to say the least. His disheveled hair, clothes wrinkled with missing patches of cloth in a few select places, only served to augment his bulky looking arms. In short the burn marks, and constant flexing and cracking of a knuckle or two served to instill a feeling of fear in the back of Tarahmes' mind. His thoughts began to question the wisdom of his move. The boy looked about 12 years old, at the least, and most of the onlookers backed up, while the merchants seem to inch steadily closer.
"What did you say?" the boy moved towards Tarahmes until he encroached on his personal space.
"I s-said, you knew a lot about cleaning solution, and probably got a lot of use out of it," Tarahmes' hesitation almost went unnoticeable. But the smirk of the bully showed it wasn't that quiet. Then Tarahmes took a cunning step backwards, "but from the way you smell, I have to take that back."
The laughs from the crowd now spilled unfiltered and unrestrained, as the boy looked at Tarahmes in disbelief. But taking the challenge in good fun, he smiled and began to get back on the roll he'd had before.
"You think you should be talking when you're that frail? You look like you've taken a couple heavy shots from a few Jawa's," He insulted the relatively small stature of his newfound opponent. The crowed roared with laughter; a few people even went as far to wrap two fingers around his forearm to prove his point.
"That's just cause you're huge," Tarahmes' arms tried to stretch beyond his wingspan. "You look like you've eaten a couple heavy Jawa's."
The resounding laughter showed just how much fun the boys were having; however, the girl sort of stared at Tarahmes in disbelief.
"I bet your old man sent you out here to get some droids to carry your equipment back didn't he?" he started, looking around with a sly smirk. "Protocol droids!"
Protocol droids known for their weak design only had a strong linguistic area. In fact, the average protocol droid couldn't handle much more than 50 pounds on it's back. Tarahmes' confident smile faded at the howls and jeers at his size.
"I heard protocol droids wouldn't even speak to you. Probably because you look like something even a Sarlacc would spit out," Tarahmes said, his weight shifting to his back foot slightly.
Knowing that this insult might have crossed the line, he was preparing for a physical confrontation. To his surprise, he joined the crowd in the loudest laughter that morning, and actually gave him a friendly hit in the shoulder. Tarahmes smiled in a friendly way, and returned fire, albeit, a lot weaker.
"And what's your name new kid?" the larger boy asked, extending a hand.
"Tarahmes," he answered. "Yours?"
"You don't know him?" some boy from the side asked incredulously.
"Not that I can remember," Tarahmes' voice sounded as if he was trying to recall the boy's face.
"Feliks," he told Tarahmes modestly.
"As in the only undefeated Podracer pilot on the planet?!" Tarahmes' eyes lit up in excitement at having exchanged words with someone of his stature.
"Yeah," he smiled.