Godzilla B2, Friday Late Afternoon

As a Jedi, Tahiri had gotten used to traveling light, with absolute minimal packing. Before that, her human side had been part of a nomadic desert tribe and her Yuuzhan Vong side had grown up on a worldship where anything they needed could simply be grown by the shapers.

She didn't have a clue what one would do with this much luggage.

It was a good thing that, recent growth spurt notwithstanding, Tahiri was still pretty tiny, or she was pretty sure she'd have met the fate that Master Luke, Han, and Leia had escaped in the trash compactor on the first Death Star. (Yes, she'd heard that story a million times growing up, and as far as anything with tentacles went she hadn't ruled out the possibility of something lurking beneath her alcove bed.)

The basic upshot of all this was that Tahiri had spent all day trapped in her alcove behind a wall of neatly labeled suitcases: Still Regrets Withholding That Last Kiss was glaring her in the face from a Pullman bag, along with Lack of Closure on a matching bag. Doesn't Know How To Deal When Life Isn't a Constant Barrage of Horrible Things stood out accusatorially on a garment bag dangling from her alcove wall, and there was an entire stack of trunks and suitcases each labeled Slightly Unhealthy Attachment to the Solo Family making up the base of the wall. (It was a sturdy stack. Her toes still smarted from finding that out.)

Crowding her back onto the very head of her cot was a giant trunk that said Tortured and Assimilated by Extragalactic Race, and she didn't want to address the hard-sided suitcase emblazoned Extreme Form of Stockholm Syndrome (that was hardly fair when she'd literally had one of her captors replace half her brain cells with ones that had her other captor's memories programmed into them).

As for the matching set of bags labeled Boyfriend Technically a Toddler, Worried About Turning Evil Someday, May Torture Him While Evil, and Potential Future Sithbanger . . .

She was pretending those didn't exist.

Sure, she could blame Fandom for this, but the immediate problem at hand was that Tahiri was still trapped. In her alcove.

"Okay, really," she told the stack of luggage, "I thought we were done with this being grounded business by now."

[OOC: Establishy, but what the hell, open. Many of you are to blame for that last label, but mostly trickster_twin.]

Godzilla B2, Friday Late Afternoon

As a Jedi, Tahiri had gotten used to traveling light, with absolute minimal packing. Before that, her human side had been part of a nomadic desert tribe and her Yuuzhan Vong side had grown up on a worldship where anything they needed could simply be grown by the shapers.

She didn't have a clue what one would do with this much luggage.

It was a good thing that, recent growth spurt notwithstanding, Tahiri was still pretty tiny, or she was pretty sure she'd have met the fate that Master Luke, Han, and Leia had escaped in the trash compactor on the first Death Star. (Yes, she'd heard that story a million times growing up, and as far as anything with tentacles went she hadn't ruled out the possibility of something lurking beneath her alcove bed.)

The basic upshot of all this was that Tahiri had spent all day trapped in her alcove behind a wall of neatly labeled suitcases: Still Regrets Withholding That Last Kiss was glaring her in the face from a Pullman bag, along with Lack of Closure on a matching bag. Doesn't Know How To Deal When Life Isn't a Constant Barrage of Horrible Things stood out accusatorially on a garment bag dangling from her alcove wall, and there was an entire stack of trunks and suitcases each labeled Slightly Unhealthy Attachment to the Solo Family making up the base of the wall. (It was a sturdy stack. Her toes still smarted from finding that out.)

Crowding her back onto the very head of her cot was a giant trunk that said Tortured and Assimilated by Extragalactic Race, and she didn't want to address the hard-sided suitcase emblazoned Extreme Form of Stockholm Syndrome (that was hardly fair when she'd literally had one of her captors replace half her brain cells with ones that had her other captor's memories programmed into them).

As for the matching set of bags labeled Boyfriend Technically a Toddler, Worried About Turning Evil Someday, May Torture Him While Evil, and Potential Future Sithbanger . . .

She was pretending those didn't exist.

Sure, she could blame Fandom for this, but the immediate problem at hand was that Tahiri was still trapped. In her alcove.

"Okay, really," she told the stack of luggage, "I thought we were done with this being grounded business by now."

[OOC: Establishy, but what the hell, open. Many of you are to blame for that last label, but mostly trickster_twin.]