John Locke
V U L K A N
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CORUSCANT
Wearing: Would you believe, a suit?Tagging:
Brandyn Sal-Soren
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Jedi seemed to pop up in the wildest of places, places where you never thought you'd find them. They always seemed to have an eye for trouble, for popping up in the worst situations, or the best depending on where you stood. If something was going off the tracks, if there was a spectre of wrongdoing, you could be sure a Jedi would find their way there eventually. And where one Jedi appeared the rest were never far behind. The proverbial bad cred-coins of the galaxy, always there.
That said, the one place you never thought you'd run into a Jedi was a jail, or at least if they ended up in jail you'd assume that it would be for trespassing or some form of property destruction because their morals demanded it. You never thought that they'd be accused of murder.
This Jedi in particular, and John had known many in his time, had never seemed like the type.
When the message first popped up in his queue he'd thought someone must have gotten something wrong, mistyped a name or got the facts in a case which would quickly be handled. Hardly worth worrying about, though he'd asked an employee on Coruscant to look into it. Jedi dealt with issues that took them all across the galaxy, would disrupt the activities of all sorts of powerful people. Small wonder that one might end up in jail till the order sorted it out.
The order never sorted it out.
It was that realisation, that the Jedi Order weren't going to ride in on a white horse to fix this that brought John to Coruscant. It wasn't hard to find the right people to talk to, the right levers to apply pressure to so he could move things along. Maybe not to get Brandon out of the system but to at least get him out of his cell, out of that building. Not that any of the guards told the Jedi anything when the bustled him out of his cell and into the armoured speeder. Not that the shackles around his wrists were removed until he was pushed into the secured suite, a hotel for one build in an old industrial complex.
"You know, the room-service here isn't great, but you can't beat the view."
The dark-haired man didn't turn around, staring out of the window at the view of the city, lights cutting through the darkness like some kind of hive, a dance as speeders curved around buildings, rising and falling into different lanes. John's hands were slid into his pockets, his back to the door as the guard's freed Brandon and retreated to take up their posts outside of the door.
It wasn't till the doors slid shut that John turned around, hands still resting in his pockets as he nodded at a chair. Dark eyes settled on Brandon for a moment, not speaking just observing the boy as the cityscape lit up the window behind him, throwing a shadow over his face that cast him in silhouette.
"You know, I couldn't quite believe it when they told me you'd ended up in jail, I was sure it had been some kind of mistake. Only… is wasn't….what happened?"
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