Eloise descended the ramp of Jonyna’s ship, leaving the party behind. Despite having been unceremoniously ordered out by a Jedi Councilor, she was more than happy to depart. She breathed a sigh once her feet met flat ground, then placed her wooden pipe between her teeth.
“Hello.” A voice made her turn her head sharply to the left. Sitting on a storage crate in the hangar was the Ukatian boy she had sparred with a few days ago. He was dressed in another fine damask tunic, this one a vibrant blue. “I didn’t mean to startle you. Are you out here for a smoke?”
“No, I was just leaving.” Taking the pipe out of her mouth, she furrowed her brow. “What’s your name again?”
“Albrecht von Duschendorff, Earl of Quitaine.” He grinned proudly. “And you are Eloise, yes? I would give you a proper bow, but my leg is still sore.”
Her gaze flicked to the bandaged knife wound in his thigh, which she had inflicted upon him during the spar. “Sorry,” she said. “I guess I got a little carried away.”
“No need to apologize. If we’re going to fight Mandalorians on the battlefield, our training should take realism into account.” His smile became a grimace. “Now that I know I’d be killed in less than a minute, I’m not as enthusiastic about going to war as I once was.”
Eloise frowned. She was surprised that he was willing to talk to her at all, let alone in such a friendly manner. Perhaps getting stabbed had humbled him. Well, that was a first—usually the people she stabbed just grew to hate her afterwards. “What are you doing here?” she asked.
“I was invited to the party, like everyone else, but I don’t know anyone there. Apart from Corazona, but we’re not friends.” His expression didn’t change, but he blinked rapidly as he uttered the former Princess’ name. “I know a party is supposed to be an opportunity to make friends, but…” He trailed off, then heaved a sigh. “Actually, I don’t like any of these people. Most of them are insufferable.”
Eloise snorted. “You can say that again.”
He seemed a bit surprised that she agreed. The tension in him was released, and he gave her a half-smile. “Maybe there’s just too wide a gap between them and I. I know that’s not much of an excuse—”
“It’s a perfectly valid excuse.” Eloise struck a match and lit her pipe. “You’re under no obligation to befriend people you don’t like.”
“How else will I get anywhere in life?” When Eloise didn’t answer, he pointed to her pipe. “What are you smoking?”
“Some leaves I brought from home.” She sat down next to him, then hesitated. “How old are you?”
“Sixteen.”
She glanced back toward the ship’s loading ramp, half expecting Kahlil to come down and scold her again for corrupting the youth, then held out the pipe. “Want to try it?”
Albrecht took it in his hands, running his fingers over the sculpted designs and ornate paintings before he lifted it to his lips and took a puff. She watched him carefully as he exhaled the fragrant smoke through his mouth and nostrils. “You’ve smoked before,” she remarked, taking the pipe from him.
“We smoke pinches of tobacco in clay pipes back home," he confessed. "I don’t like it very much, but all the other men of high standing do it.”
“I do it because I enjoy it.” She took another puff. “What’s the worst thing that ever happened to you?”
“Er, why do you ask?”
Because how you answer will determine whether or not I can trust you. “Just answer the question.”
Albrecht gave her an odd look. “Uh, well… When I was five years old, I was given to the old king as a hostage to prove my father’s loyalty to the crown,” he said. “But my father broke his word, so the king ordered my execution. When I was being led up to the scaffold by the king’s soldiers, oblivious to what was happening, I passed by an earl holding a javelin. I got so excited, I asked him if I could please have a go with it. The king heard me, and his heart was overcome with compassion. He scooped me up and said that I was reprieved.”
“You remember all that from when you were five?” Eloise asked, raising an eyebrow.
“No, I don’t remember any of it actually. But I’ve heard the story repeated so many times, I remember how other people tell it.”
“Then you didn’t really experience it.” She chewed on the end of her pipe. “That doesn’t count.”
“Well, not a lot of bad things have happened to me.” He shrugged, then grew thoughtful. “Maybe coming here is the worst thing that’s ever happened to me.”
“Why are you here, anyway?”
“For the same reason I was given to the old king. To prove my father’s loyalty.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “I feel very alone here. Most of the other students seem to be avoiding me.”
“What, did you talk to them about beating up women or something?” In the wake of Corazona von Ascania's sudden return to the Order following the death of her husband, it was hard not to notice the vitriolic manner in which Ukatis was spoken of by Jedi sympathetic to the former Princess' plight. Especially Ukatian men, who were viewed as wife-beating monsters. So far Albrecht didn't fit that image. He was privileged, arrogant, and out-of-touch, but hardly a sexist beast.
“They all ask me about that,” he muttered. “As if that were all there was to being Ukatian. I try to explain that the stories they’ve heard were about bad men who abused their right to discipline, but then they just get angry and call us all barbarians.”
Eloise didn’t agree with men having a right to “discipline” women, at least not unless women could also discipline men in return. But she could empathize with feeling like an outsider. “They say I’m too violent,” she said. “Or that I’m cruel and bloodthirsty and don’t deserve to be a Jedi. They give me dirty looks and avoid me. Even if I don’t say or do anything to them, they treat me like chit all because someone else told them I was bad.”
“To be fair, you did sort of create your own bad image,” Albrecht said. "What with stabbing people during sparring, smoking a pipe, and generally acting like a teenage delinquent. I didn’t even have a chance to forge my reputation. It was already ruined before I even got here, by people who see only a distorted portrait of who I really am.”
She turned and found him staring at her from beneath furrowed brows. They weren’t the same, but there were shared threads of common pain between them, a bloody and bitter link. The sting of rejection. The loneliness. The longing to find someone, anyone, whom they could call a friend.
“It’s fine,” she said with a huff of resignation. “If these idiots want to listen to gossip and make assumptions, they’re not worth my valuable time. I’ll go my own way.”
“That makes two of us,” he murmured.
If only there were more. She thought of Resh, the Sith Pureblood boy who had bitten her leg. He was probably seen as a freak too. Were there still more outcasts existing on the margins, unnoticed and unconsidered? “There has to be more,” she mused aloud. “Other people like us, who don’t belong. We can make them belong.”
He raised his head. “Uh, who’s ‘we’?”
“Oh, come on. We may be two different people, but we have a common enemy. We should work together to overcome it.”
He eyed her warily. “This is only the second time we’ve met, and the first time we’ve actually spoken to each other. I suppose I’m flattered that you want to form some sort of confederation of misfits with me, but I just don’t know you well enough.”
“All right, fine.” She threw her hands in the air. “We have plenty of time to get to know each other. If we see other people like us, we can get to know them, too. Agreed?"
He shrugged. "I suppose I have nothing to lose..."
“Hello.” A voice made her turn her head sharply to the left. Sitting on a storage crate in the hangar was the Ukatian boy she had sparred with a few days ago. He was dressed in another fine damask tunic, this one a vibrant blue. “I didn’t mean to startle you. Are you out here for a smoke?”
“No, I was just leaving.” Taking the pipe out of her mouth, she furrowed her brow. “What’s your name again?”
“Albrecht von Duschendorff, Earl of Quitaine.” He grinned proudly. “And you are Eloise, yes? I would give you a proper bow, but my leg is still sore.”
Her gaze flicked to the bandaged knife wound in his thigh, which she had inflicted upon him during the spar. “Sorry,” she said. “I guess I got a little carried away.”
“No need to apologize. If we’re going to fight Mandalorians on the battlefield, our training should take realism into account.” His smile became a grimace. “Now that I know I’d be killed in less than a minute, I’m not as enthusiastic about going to war as I once was.”
Eloise frowned. She was surprised that he was willing to talk to her at all, let alone in such a friendly manner. Perhaps getting stabbed had humbled him. Well, that was a first—usually the people she stabbed just grew to hate her afterwards. “What are you doing here?” she asked.
“I was invited to the party, like everyone else, but I don’t know anyone there. Apart from Corazona, but we’re not friends.” His expression didn’t change, but he blinked rapidly as he uttered the former Princess’ name. “I know a party is supposed to be an opportunity to make friends, but…” He trailed off, then heaved a sigh. “Actually, I don’t like any of these people. Most of them are insufferable.”
Eloise snorted. “You can say that again.”
He seemed a bit surprised that she agreed. The tension in him was released, and he gave her a half-smile. “Maybe there’s just too wide a gap between them and I. I know that’s not much of an excuse—”
“It’s a perfectly valid excuse.” Eloise struck a match and lit her pipe. “You’re under no obligation to befriend people you don’t like.”
“How else will I get anywhere in life?” When Eloise didn’t answer, he pointed to her pipe. “What are you smoking?”
“Some leaves I brought from home.” She sat down next to him, then hesitated. “How old are you?”
“Sixteen.”
She glanced back toward the ship’s loading ramp, half expecting Kahlil to come down and scold her again for corrupting the youth, then held out the pipe. “Want to try it?”
Albrecht took it in his hands, running his fingers over the sculpted designs and ornate paintings before he lifted it to his lips and took a puff. She watched him carefully as he exhaled the fragrant smoke through his mouth and nostrils. “You’ve smoked before,” she remarked, taking the pipe from him.
“We smoke pinches of tobacco in clay pipes back home," he confessed. "I don’t like it very much, but all the other men of high standing do it.”
“I do it because I enjoy it.” She took another puff. “What’s the worst thing that ever happened to you?”
“Er, why do you ask?”
Because how you answer will determine whether or not I can trust you. “Just answer the question.”
Albrecht gave her an odd look. “Uh, well… When I was five years old, I was given to the old king as a hostage to prove my father’s loyalty to the crown,” he said. “But my father broke his word, so the king ordered my execution. When I was being led up to the scaffold by the king’s soldiers, oblivious to what was happening, I passed by an earl holding a javelin. I got so excited, I asked him if I could please have a go with it. The king heard me, and his heart was overcome with compassion. He scooped me up and said that I was reprieved.”
“You remember all that from when you were five?” Eloise asked, raising an eyebrow.
“No, I don’t remember any of it actually. But I’ve heard the story repeated so many times, I remember how other people tell it.”
“Then you didn’t really experience it.” She chewed on the end of her pipe. “That doesn’t count.”
“Well, not a lot of bad things have happened to me.” He shrugged, then grew thoughtful. “Maybe coming here is the worst thing that’s ever happened to me.”
“Why are you here, anyway?”
“For the same reason I was given to the old king. To prove my father’s loyalty.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “I feel very alone here. Most of the other students seem to be avoiding me.”
“What, did you talk to them about beating up women or something?” In the wake of Corazona von Ascania's sudden return to the Order following the death of her husband, it was hard not to notice the vitriolic manner in which Ukatis was spoken of by Jedi sympathetic to the former Princess' plight. Especially Ukatian men, who were viewed as wife-beating monsters. So far Albrecht didn't fit that image. He was privileged, arrogant, and out-of-touch, but hardly a sexist beast.
“They all ask me about that,” he muttered. “As if that were all there was to being Ukatian. I try to explain that the stories they’ve heard were about bad men who abused their right to discipline, but then they just get angry and call us all barbarians.”
Eloise didn’t agree with men having a right to “discipline” women, at least not unless women could also discipline men in return. But she could empathize with feeling like an outsider. “They say I’m too violent,” she said. “Or that I’m cruel and bloodthirsty and don’t deserve to be a Jedi. They give me dirty looks and avoid me. Even if I don’t say or do anything to them, they treat me like chit all because someone else told them I was bad.”
“To be fair, you did sort of create your own bad image,” Albrecht said. "What with stabbing people during sparring, smoking a pipe, and generally acting like a teenage delinquent. I didn’t even have a chance to forge my reputation. It was already ruined before I even got here, by people who see only a distorted portrait of who I really am.”
She turned and found him staring at her from beneath furrowed brows. They weren’t the same, but there were shared threads of common pain between them, a bloody and bitter link. The sting of rejection. The loneliness. The longing to find someone, anyone, whom they could call a friend.
“It’s fine,” she said with a huff of resignation. “If these idiots want to listen to gossip and make assumptions, they’re not worth my valuable time. I’ll go my own way.”
“That makes two of us,” he murmured.
If only there were more. She thought of Resh, the Sith Pureblood boy who had bitten her leg. He was probably seen as a freak too. Were there still more outcasts existing on the margins, unnoticed and unconsidered? “There has to be more,” she mused aloud. “Other people like us, who don’t belong. We can make them belong.”
He raised his head. “Uh, who’s ‘we’?”
“Oh, come on. We may be two different people, but we have a common enemy. We should work together to overcome it.”
He eyed her warily. “This is only the second time we’ve met, and the first time we’ve actually spoken to each other. I suppose I’m flattered that you want to form some sort of confederation of misfits with me, but I just don’t know you well enough.”
“All right, fine.” She threw her hands in the air. “We have plenty of time to get to know each other. If we see other people like us, we can get to know them, too. Agreed?"
He shrugged. "I suppose I have nothing to lose..."
