Too Stubborn To Die
Weapons:
Tag: Open to a Jedi, or anyone who might reasonably be onboard The Vonnuvi
Though Gatz was very familiar with The Vonnuvi, it was rare of him to explore beyond the walls of the Jedi Enclave. He stayed within it's confines for a handful of reasons: his studies took priority and therefore exploring the station was a distraction, he was often too tired by the end of the day to spend his free time doing anything other than napping, and he felt out of place on the herdship. That last one, in truth, was the main reason he'd stuck to the Enclave.
It wasn't because he wasn't Ithorian—about a third of the people who called The Vonnuvi home weren't. It was because the herdship was a passive, peaceful place. And Gatz was not a passive, or peaceful man. It wasn't as if he was rejected by this place or it's people, on the contrary, he'd found the Ithorian custodians to be nothing but welcoming. But something inside of him called to action and chaos, and it made him feel as though he didn't belong.
Feeling like he didn't belong was a common occurrence in his life, funny enough.
It was why Gatz found himself on the lower observation deck of the station, not alone per se, but at a distance from the other groups and couples that had come to take a look at the depth of space itself. He was here, alone as he often was, pondering on the turns his life had taken. Here he was, a Jedi Padawan barely keeping his head afloat. Broke, with a bank account in the negative. Flirting and courting with Lossa Aureus —actual Nubian nobility—who was his something-yet-to-be-defined, and pregnant with a child that wasn't his. And then there were the visions, reoccurring, and of a future him who had fallen far.
So, he had a lot to ponder.
Gatz missed the simplicity of delivering drugs. But those days were gone, and he had no intention of returning to them. The only way forward was, well, forward. He just didn't know what that looked like. Gatz supposed that was what he was trying to figure out.