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dragonlady7via http://ift.tt/2oj5y8R:
@walburgablack more on the concept of food, in WIPs, though– I found this chunk I wrote very very early on as I was creating the Kes Dameron character, and I had already come up with him turning to the Rebellion after having been mistaken for an operative by the Empire and having been interrogated by them and getting rescued and deciding to join the Rebellion for real– and this is Kes, freshly rescued, shaky and at loose ends, landing on Yavin IV for the first time and instantly feeling a profound connection to the place.
Kes was staring at the wild jumble of plants growing decoratively up the wall. One of the plants was very clearly a patapa vine. “Look at this,” he said shakily, as the pieces fell into place. “Look.” He reached out with one of his unsteady hands and caught the distinctive lobed leaf between his fingers, turning it, then traced his hand up the vine to where the blossoms were starting to set their little poisonous fruits. It was the root that was edible, when properly cured. It was a staple food, on Xicul, or had been, and it grew so poorly where they were now that they only really planted it to keep the line alive, carefully nursing it through too-cold winters with laborious intensity. He’d only tasted it on rare occasions, and only in small amounts, but he had been carefully taught how to prepare it so it wasn’t poisonous or bitter, the knowledge carefully kept for someday when they could find a place it grew.
Like here.
@walburgablack more on the concept of food, in WIPs, though– I found this chunk I wrote very very early on as I was creating the Kes Dameron character, and I had already come up with him turning to the Rebellion after having been mistaken for an operative by the Empire and having been interrogated by them and getting rescued and deciding to join the Rebellion for real– and this is Kes, freshly rescued, shaky and at loose ends, landing on Yavin IV for the first time and instantly feeling a profound connection to the place.
Kes was staring at the wild jumble of plants growing decoratively up the wall. One of the plants was very clearly a patapa vine. “Look at this,” he said shakily, as the pieces fell into place. “Look.” He reached out with one of his unsteady hands and caught the distinctive lobed leaf between his fingers, turning it, then traced his hand up the vine to where the blossoms were starting to set their little poisonous fruits. It was the root that was edible, when properly cured. It was a staple food, on Xicul, or had been, and it grew so poorly where they were now that they only really planted it to keep the line alive, carefully nursing it through too-cold winters with laborious intensity. He’d only tasted it on rare occasions, and only in small amounts, but he had been carefully taught how to prepare it so it wasn’t poisonous or bitter, the knowledge carefully kept for someday when they could find a place it grew.
Like here.
