For all that Rex has seen the galaxy, he doesn't understand much of how people live. Sure, he's seen it. He's guarded the rich, gorging on twelve-course meals on their ships, fully decked out in luxuries save for the guards' quarters, and he's gone through war-torn cities where people lived day by day, and he's even seen the underbelly of Coruscant, which mustn't be unlike what Anderson is talking about now. But he doesn't know the realities of living in it, or what it does to a person, how it shapes them into who they are. It's just as much of an abstraction as Senator Amidala's life was.
It isn't that the admission means nothing -- just that Rex doesn't have the context to sort out where to put this large, confounding, Anderson-sized piece of the puzzle in with everything else he's learned about her thus far. Regardless, he can understand the sentiment. It's just one he's used to hearing be said out loud, but mean less than nothing. Everyone wants to say they look out for the little guy. Putting it into practice seems like a much more difficult task.
The corner of Rex's lip tugs upward. "I tried the farming life for a couple of weeks. Didn't like it much." It's as good a rationale as he could possibly ask for. And, frankly, he doesn't feel like dissuading Anderson. Even if she changes her mind at some point, he could do with the help -- and, though he's loath to admit it, he could do with some company that isn't a tinny voice burbling out of a vocoder. The droid is all well and good, but he was born and raised surrounded by people. At a certain point, you start to miss organic company.
"It's good to have you aboard, Anderson. But like you said -- doing good doesn't pay the bills. I hope you're ready to take on some other jobs to keep us going until we can get to one of the vode."
He fishes in one of the compartments, takes out a ration bar, and tosses it Anderson's way. He's got some real food too (for a given value of real), but that'll take some rustling together, and it's been a long day for them both.
"Come on. I'll show you around the ship. If you want a change of clothes to sleep in, you can use mine. They'll be too big, but at least they're clean."
no subject
It isn't that the admission means nothing -- just that Rex doesn't have the context to sort out where to put this large, confounding, Anderson-sized piece of the puzzle in with everything else he's learned about her thus far. Regardless, he can understand the sentiment. It's just one he's used to hearing be said out loud, but mean less than nothing. Everyone wants to say they look out for the little guy. Putting it into practice seems like a much more difficult task.
The corner of Rex's lip tugs upward. "I tried the farming life for a couple of weeks. Didn't like it much." It's as good a rationale as he could possibly ask for. And, frankly, he doesn't feel like dissuading Anderson. Even if she changes her mind at some point, he could do with the help -- and, though he's loath to admit it, he could do with some company that isn't a tinny voice burbling out of a vocoder. The droid is all well and good, but he was born and raised surrounded by people. At a certain point, you start to miss organic company.
"It's good to have you aboard, Anderson. But like you said -- doing good doesn't pay the bills. I hope you're ready to take on some other jobs to keep us going until we can get to one of the vode."
He fishes in one of the compartments, takes out a ration bar, and tosses it Anderson's way. He's got some real food too (for a given value of real), but that'll take some rustling together, and it's been a long day for them both.
"Come on. I'll show you around the ship. If you want a change of clothes to sleep in, you can use mine. They'll be too big, but at least they're clean."