the Kid for the Win
Coruscant
Monument Plaza, Umate
Sol Dara
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Another day, another protest.
Hundreds had gathered in Monument Plaza by the time the midday sun blazed high over the Manarai Range. Their voices called in unison for the Senate's return in the face of the people's abandonment. With the forces of evil hovering so close to the heart of the Alliance, many feared what would become of the lives they'd carved for themselves. After years of Sith and Imperial occupation, the Alliance provided enough stability for so many to pursue their dreams.
But that peace frayed with each passing day.
Attempted kidnappings, terrorist attacks, and wholesale slaughter had become commonplace since Kyric arrived on his father's homeworld. The Kid hoped to see whatever beauty his father saw in this crummy old ball of duracrap, but all he found was trouble with a capital T.
Another tip-off from Chancellor Auteme placed him at the epicenter of the protests. His mother's gift for mist weaving granted her an almost prophetic precision when it came to Kyric's deployment. So he stood there, surrounded on all sides by people too wound up to properly engage in any real discourse–the perfect place for the forces of evil to strike.
Or so Kyric assumed.
"Back up, sleemo!"
The shout shook Kyric from his revere. He followed it to its source, a twi'lek held aloft by a snarling trandoshan. The smaller alien kicked the bulky lizard in the knee, causing the brute to release him. Unfortunately, the twi couldn't avoid the trandoshan's meaty fist. It collided with the man's stomach, doubling him over in an instant. Others began to shove at one another. Perhaps friends of the loser who took particular issue with the outcome.
Kyric couldn't be sure, so he began the arduous process of pushing his way through the crowd to the growing altercation.
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