boommeister
Shiraya's Sanctuary, Naboo
Picking up from earlier...
After the whole debacle on the training terrace, Rik had wiled the hours away, meandering the temple, wandering into town and back. He didn't know Naboo well, outside of what Theed used to be like before the First Cataclysm, and even then he only spent a handful of months there as a fresh knight during his nineteenth year, sorting out his next move. His faith in the Order that had instilled the foundation of the Jedi he was, had been shaken, if not broken, back then.
But the year since his return had begun to force him to revise some of those assessments... not on the act that had driven him away a decade past, as such, but the belief in how far such a disease had spread. The New Jedi Order of the time may have leaned hard into one way of operating, sure, but that may have been a necessity of what they faced under the threat of the Brotherhood; the Order of now had swung too far to the opposite end. There was no balance.
That wasn't what he was on Naboo for, now, though, but it was Jedi business, nonetheless.
Later in the afternoon, on the edge of evening when he figured Briana would at least have a reprieve from or be finished with most of her duties, Rik found his way to her office after asking for where he might find her - the location of her office or that she even had one wasn't included in the tour - and picking up some dinner. He remembered that she liked spicy food from early into getting to know her, when he'd had a particular reason to suggest eating it at the time.
He didn't have the same motives now, but spice did just as much for cognition as anything else that was affected by the increased blood flow. And who didn't like a chile'd Seoulian noodle? But when he reached her office, she just appeared to be leaving. He couldn't begrudge her wanting to put an end to this day, or any day, but...
"Want to stick around a little longer?" He spoke up before she could key in what he guessed was a security code, "Got something I figured you might like," he said, dangling the takeout bag with a fist, "and you owe me a 'later'."
'You owe me a later, not a tomorrow' - a phrase he started using to pin down people he sought to talk to for their own good, back in the PMC he used to operate with after he'd made up his mind, all those years ago. It was either come willingly, or get hauled in and sat down, then. Those were the days.
He put on a smile for good measure.
