While he was impressed with the fervor that was instilled in his arms teacher's voice, it caused a pang of guilt in Chachanji as well. He awe-struck gaze fell a bit, returning to that safe, introspective point that his lap so often was and turned over his own armored gauntlet that rested there. While he was not nearly as good a smith as his father, he was rather proud how his armor had turned out, modifications and all. His violet eyes looked beyond the armored shell at the moment, though, visualizing the small hand beneath.
"I... never had a big definin' moment like that," he admitted softly. "Day after day, I jus' saw weapons 'n armor being sold rather than used and it bugged me. I know that they're ultimately gonna be used somewhere beyond me sight, but I wanted ta be th' one usin' em. Ta be out there, protectin' people 'n bein' a hero."
The Lalafell tightened his hand into a fist, as if all that eagerness and energy he felt about his dream was to be gathered there in his armored grip. Yet, just as easily as it would have came, it seemed to drain away again and he uncurled his fingers. Chachan let his hand fall limp in his lap, turning his gaze upward to his teacher with a sad smile.
"My reasons aren't as..." He struggled for the proper word for a moment, chewing on his bottom lip, "real... as meaningful as yers. You saw someone hurt 'n wanted ta save 'em, 'n found purpose in that. I jus' wanted ta halp people wit me skills 'n be a hero, 'n that..." Another pause, another digging for the proper term before finally settling on a simple, subdued: "... just isn't."
He sighed, his shoulders slumping.
"No wonder Ser Crofte wanted me ta do this."
"I... never had a big definin' moment like that," he admitted softly. "Day after day, I jus' saw weapons 'n armor being sold rather than used and it bugged me. I know that they're ultimately gonna be used somewhere beyond me sight, but I wanted ta be th' one usin' em. Ta be out there, protectin' people 'n bein' a hero."
The Lalafell tightened his hand into a fist, as if all that eagerness and energy he felt about his dream was to be gathered there in his armored grip. Yet, just as easily as it would have came, it seemed to drain away again and he uncurled his fingers. Chachan let his hand fall limp in his lap, turning his gaze upward to his teacher with a sad smile.
"My reasons aren't as..." He struggled for the proper word for a moment, chewing on his bottom lip, "real... as meaningful as yers. You saw someone hurt 'n wanted ta save 'em, 'n found purpose in that. I jus' wanted ta halp people wit me skills 'n be a hero, 'n that..." Another pause, another digging for the proper term before finally settling on a simple, subdued: "... just isn't."
He sighed, his shoulders slumping.
"No wonder Ser Crofte wanted me ta do this."
