Even dressed for a ball he was not
technically invited to, Julius still managed to somehow at once look both a scoundrel and a soldier in one stately package. For a change, his beard had been closely cropped, trimmed and even oiled, as was his hair. Though more salt than pepper now, peculiarities in his study meant that time flowed differently for the former Grandmaster of the Corellian Jedi. The Aing-Tii had some notable divergences from traditional Jedi teachings, and if a student of anything he was theirs.
Simple clothes covered him, an emerald green outer mantle that was clasped with a simple durasteel button devoid of device. A plain shirt in a grey-white rested under it, sleeves ending at the elbow in a loose roll, his false arm crafted for him by his masters from the Monks glittering in white with it's silver-blue whorl designs mimicking their own. For once, not a single weapon was visible on his personage, though to think the venerable Battlemaster was unarmed or not dangerous without his lightsaber was the first and likely last mistake an opponent would make.
Bright blue-grey eyes scanned the crowd, noting faces he knew and others he had heard of or made note of in his voyage here from the Outback and parts unknown therein. Though he would be notably younger than when
Valery Noble
and
Kahlil Noble
would have seen him last, the Bloodstripe trousers, trimmed in metallic thread of actual Corellian bloodsteel, and the jed-cred dangling as always from his neck, as well as his Kathol signet ring, would mark him out for those few who knew him or of Corellia like
Gil Horn
. And his name and identity would be easily known should anyone see the beskar pendant around his neck in the shape of a kyr'bes with the Clan Verd sigil etched into the forehead of it.
From the edge of the room he took a step into the crowd, enjoying the by and large anonymity. As ever, he moved with the liquidity and grace of a long life practicing the more graceful forms like Ataru and Makashi, though even here to socialize his training in more scarce arts like Vapaad would keep his movements non-patterned to anyone with an eye like
Thirdas Heavenshield
, though he was trying his best to present as a non threat.
With a clearing of his throat, he approached the bar, ordering a single of the house Corellian whiskey, and turned to lean against the bar and nurse his drink, plotting who he should get acquainted with first. For not the first time in a situation like this, he wished
Coren Starchaser
were there to break the ice, or Jorus to grump to. He was fine once he got talking, but he was horrible at introductions.
