Faction Live Long and Prosper(ity) // Open to All Jedi

[Spirit of Patience]

PROSPERITY
"The Jedi have always been Survivors, Otto. It’s why we’ve lasted through Eons of Betrayal, Heartbreak and Despair. We’ve come to understand that History isn’t defined by the Victorious, but those that Survive to tell the tale."
~ Arcanus Sunstrider, Jedi Master, to Otto Shule - CEO and Director of Republic Engineering Corporation.
ABOVE CORUSCANT // GALACTIC ALLIANCE SPACE​

Prosperity’s maiden voyage was marked with celebratory notes. Enthusiastic pockets of conversations strewn throughout the passengers, all boarding with anticipation. The ship’s construction had been detailed and thorough, providing ample sources for furthering Jedi minds of all ages and organizations.

There were many rooms within the ship, converted for modern service by the technicians of The Alliance and Jedi Order.

Jedi were already finding their place within the massive, floating starship.

Some had taken to sparring in the training dojos, contesting against one another and against the temple’s droids and automated jousting partners. The exchange of tips and jests back and forth made the space alive with the competition of self.

Few who had already discovered the training rooms were redirected to the healing chambers, already having to patch up a few wounds.

Others had discovered the tranquil gardens that offered a peaceful reprieve for meditation. The exploration of The Force and one’s place within it all.

Curious minds were roving through the archives, delving into historic scrolls and artifacts of both Bogan and Ashla. Guards remained positioned around the ancient heirlooms, encouraging scholars not to touch without permission. The vault's rules must be followed.

Inside the hangars, cheering throngs of technicians, mechanics, and other inhabitants of the praxeum swamped around each fighter as it touched down and taxied into the temple hangar. Questions about ease of arrival and departure flitted and floated between the pockets of pilots, eagerly sharing information about the best way to manage inbound and outbound flights in the future as this became a bastion for Jedi activity.

An invitation had been extended to all those who practiced their peace with the light side of The Force. All Jedi were welcome to find sanctuary aboard Prosperity.

 

[Asmundr Varobalder]

GUARDIAN OF PROSPERITY
PROSPERITY // CENTRAL SECURITY STATION
INTERACTION // OPEN

“It has been a very long time.” Asmundr agreed to nothing and nobody in particular. The tech that was making sure all systems were operating smoothly had been doing their job silently, tweaking here and there but overall satisfied with the system’s performance report.

The last time he’d been dedicated to a ship had been the Kenobi-Class Praxeum. It was time for something new. He wasn’t unaccustomed to adopting and shifting to stay with the times, there had to be a common denominator through all the adjustments. It was still a ship, moving through space, that provided the Jedi of today the opportunity to train beyond limits. Those were all familiar notes he easily grasped.

Perhaps the most peculiar thing to adjust to was the technology. That would always be the source of his weaknesses, but this was another level. The ship had a mind of its own –– or rather, a mind of another Jedi.

“I do hope we can get along.” He mused to the AI, wondering if it would respond.

“Doesn’t matter if you do or don’t.” The xenotech interrupted. “The ship’s mostly automated, but doesn’t own itself.”

“Why pretend to be human, then? Take on an old personality?”

“Because. Most legal systems don’t give AI’s many rights. And you Jedi belong to a legal system in the end. You can seize and disconnect it anytime. I work with machines every day. Mind, thought, life, the big systems have all that. Sensation, too. It’s not so different from you and I.”

“It’s a ship.” Asmundr argued, not sure what he was looking to defend or argue against. The whole idea of a giant, traveling temple with a mind of its own was definitely something he’d have to sleep on until he got comfortable with it.

“An intelligent ship.” The tech reminded him, wagging a hydrospanner in his direction and stretching. The debate was inconclusive, and the coverall-wearing fellow gave a stretch. A few pops sounded from their spine “I’m heading down to the training dojo. One of the droids are already defunct.”

Asmundr hovered a hand above the dashboard in front of him. It responded to his data, giving a scrawl of updates about the ship’s general well-being and a summary of activity. Hotspots throughout the ship’s blueprint. “Ah yes, I see the report here.” His tone lifted, almost jovially that the script on the dashboard made so much sense.

The tech gave a mock salute and exited the security room “Good man.”

Alone, Asmundr dropped his voice to speak his speculation to the artificial intelligence that sustained the ship: “Are you a ghost?”

 

[Kiskla Grayson-Matteo]

PROSPERITY // ROOM OF A THOUSAND FOUNTAINS // MEDITATION GARDEN
INTERACTION // OPEN
​

A sharp inhale, a slow exhale.

The symphony of a thousand droplets, falling from the infinite leaves and streams of fountains, into the still waters of the pond, while the warm artificial sun rays filtered through the branches, illuminated the scene with an indescribable amount of colours.

With eyes closed, she couldn’t see anything but the shadow behind her eyes.

It had been a long time since she’d spent any time amidst the throngs of the Jedi. The Force extended its pity and judgment, wrapping the former grandmaster in its hold like a cradle.

A slow inhale, a slower exhale.

Age was starting to show around the lines that pulled at her face. It was relaxed now, but there was a tightness around the corners of her mouth and eyes that revealed the warrior’s endurance. She should have been long dead, but she’d been decaying gracefully on a throne; managing the affairs of sister planets rather than the throngs of battle.

The revisit of her kin had started her mind churning. Guilt chewed at her ribcage and tightened her lungs, affecting her day-to-day duties. Perhaps it was time she served The Force again, rather than people. Darkness was still a threat, and Kiffu could be managed better perhaps by another bloodline. Abdication would give her more freedom.
But this was a choice that required meditation, and the Force’s guidance. Where did it want her?

 

[Spencer Varanin]

//: Planes of the Force //:
//: Kiskla Grayson-Matteo //:​

​

The Force flowed around the meditation gardens. Time weaved with the flow of the Force, yet here time meant nothing. The Force was timeless in life as it was in death. No one had heard or seen anything of the former Echani Queen. In essence, she had disappeared from the face of the galaxy along with the Sith Lord Alekto. Her memory only stays alive within her children and the memorial placed on her homeworld. ​

​

Eternity was like a long sleep, and it was a peaceful sleep. Something yet pulled at the woman lost within the Force. A voice called to her, one that stirred old feelings, feelings that she had felt before. Eyes opened, and Spencer could feel pulled from the netherworld and, with the help of the Force materialized. Her soul anchored to the meditation room, Spencer found herself slightly annoyed. Well, I guess I've become one of those ghosts that show up when they're needed. Force, I haven't even been dead that long. Someone is missing me already.​

​

A small smirk appeared on the woman's face as she found the source of the living in need. Kiskla Grayson, a woman regal in her own right and a terror to any, walked the path of darkness. A curious woman, but one of the few Spencer respected. Moving with ethereal robes that flowed and cascaded by the will of the Force, a familiar feeling would pull at the monarch. ​

​

"Seems we're more alike than I thought. It's been a long time, hasn't it." A haunting soft voice. Seated upon one of the statues with a more flatter top appeared a small figure of a woman. The infamous Spencer Varanin looked towards the other blonde. "So what's going on, sweet cheeks?" ​

 

[Auteme]

K N I G H T
Hall of Knighthood | Open​

The platform lowered into the private meditation chamber under the Hall of Knighthood of the Prosperity. It settled into floor and Auteme stepped off. The room felt different; the ambient lighting a little brighter, the flat meditation chairs a little smaller. She felt different. Taller, maybe. More.

She didn't understand why. Nothing had changed, not really. As she'd said on Ilum, the title no longer had the weight of the time of the Old Republic. Back then she would've gotten access to the rest of the Archives, assigned to more faraway missions, or even taken on an apprentice of her own. Then again, back then she would've needed a master, a saber, and more directly completed the Trials.

With the splitting of the Jedi Order into so many disparate fragments it felt like there was no longer a universal weight behind the title, yet there she was, a giddy smile plastered on her face after the ceremony.

She was a Jedi Knight. It might not mean much to everyone else, to history, but today it meant something to her.

The brown and beige robes that'd felt so heavy before now felt light as a feather. Where she'd felt unease and unworthiness she now felt satisfaction. She bounced over to the door. No, nothing had changed, but she was still happy. That was enough. It should always be enough.

The newly-minted knight stepped out the door, doubtless first of many to do so aboard the Prosperity.

 

[Seniya Nehir]

HALL OF KNIGHTHOOD // UNWANTED MEMORY LANE
INTERACTION - OPEN. ISH.
​

Hall of Knighthood. What messed up recess of her own psyche had dragged her in here of all places?

Curiosity, perhaps. A sense of lonely wanderings that had spawned the decades from Seniya’s distant time as youngling to… Whatever she was now. A licensed private investigator, if only because a failed Jedi, errant Kiffu Guardian and frequent spy didn’t quite fit on the business cards or pay the bills. Regardless she couldn’t quite feel anything but out place as she lingered in the back of the hall, back pressed against the side one of the cold, long pillars, letting the familiar shadowed recesses of the room keep her from drawing any attention or second glances. Just a nameless face amongst the sea of well wishers that had convinced to mark this special and monumental day.

A day of celebration.

Heh. Is that what this was supposed to be? Her own knighting had been a different experience for the older woman. Less ceremony, less fanfare, less joyous occasion. But then that had been a different New Jedi Order, a different Galactic Alliance and a whole different lifetime ago. One shaped by war, as evidenced by the placating clap on the shoulder and a shove towards the next battlefield that had marked her own ascent. Still shell shocked from Thyferra, she’d done just that.

Thyferra.

The room felt several degrees colder just thinking of the name of that force-forsaken planet. The shadows longer and darker. The presences around her less friendly and welcoming. Her hand dipped into her jacket’s pocket, fingers wrapping around the small oval stone that dwelled within. Once rough and jagged edges of the basalt stone, laced with whispers of volcanic glass, had grown smooth and curved over the years by such an action. And yet as always, it yielded no real form of comfort. Only a stark reminder of that horrific day so many years ago when fire had rained down from the heavens above, changing everything and everyone forevermore. A day when a kid had been forced to watch her master…

The sheer weight of the memory snapped her back to reality. Body rocking from toe to heel and back again as if struck by an invisible blow, eyes clenched shut as she let out a short shuddering breath. It wouldn’t do to dwell on that. Not anymore. Especially not here. For all the familiar trappings and facades, this was still enemy territory and her visit was more of convenience than a wish to walk down any twisted memory. Least of all those she had tried to bury over a decade ago.

'Get it together, Nehir. Don’t embarrass yourself. Not here. Never here.'

A trembling tabac stick worked its way between a set of pursed lips, igniter spark, spark sparking dry before it finally caught and took hold. Even then it took several puffs of wispy pink smoke before the ambrian cheroot and nic-i-tain started to sooth her own rough and jagged edges. Several more before she trusted herself to open her eyes once more, her presence in the force reduced to almost nothing as she brought herself under some semblance of control. Coming in here was a mistake - a distraction she couldn’t afford. That she wouldn’t allow herself to afford. She was here as a Jedi in name only, the title simply to open doors and gain resources her own shoe string budget as a private investigator often denied.

Without a word, the kiffar stepped back and began ducking through the edges of the crowd. Stride growing longer, wider and more urgent with each passing footfall, brushing aside those that stood between her and the exit with barely a second glance or a half-whispered apology. Behind her another Jedi was called to serve and knighted, but she paid it no more heed than she did anything else.

Like any good (former?) shadow, she just had to disappear.

 

[Allyson Locke]

//: Hall of Knighting //:
//: Outcast //:
//: Seniya Nehir //: Openish //:

Celebrations were a cause for excitement and joy. It marked a moment when things were hopefully at peace, and the individuals that celebrated could prosper. On the surface, Allyson was smiling and was happy to be home among those that she called friends. Yet, deep in her heart, she knew this celebration was too soon, and the prosperity was a lie. Standing among the crowd, she watched as the knighting ceremony continued. Being one of the Masters of the New Jedi Order, she was asked to be there. It was her duty; she was reminded, swiftly, and sternly. ​

The Jedi ceremonies were reasonably similar to each other. Allyson had been trained and knighted as a Silver Jedi; her masterhood was granted through trial by fire. Reminded her of how her fellow Jedi was born as well. Allyson commended the New Jedi Order. They tried to keep the rituals of more peaceful times alive. Although, most of the new Jedi, they were knighted during moments on the battlefield. There had been nothing ceremonious about that, just another Jedi to be used by the government. Maybe she thought this all a farce, perhaps that's what the Jedi were when they were tied to governments. The thought worried her, and she began to pull away. ​

Someone noticed and grabbed her arm, "Master Jedi, the ceremony isn't over." His voice stern and demanding, just like the Jedi. Allyson smiled and pulled herself free. "I know, I just need some fresh air." It apparently was a good enough excuse, and Allyson was released. The eyes that followed her, judging and assuming, burned into the back of her head. None of them were ready to accept her; to them, she was the traitor that cut off the Sword of the Jedi's hand protecting a Sith. Little do they know she was doing her job as a Jedi Shadow. Her career was to know and not be known, yet Allyson broke that rule continuously. ​

She felt her body begin to fade into the shadows and from the naked eye. It was comforting to find solace in the hidden world of the Shadows. The Force welcomed her and hid her from the world. More and more, the Shadow's Force Cloak became her comforting world. Unseen and unjudged, Allyson stood outside of the crowd and inhaled deeply. There would be no acceptance in their world; she always danced outside of it. ​

The small panic in her chest loosened, and the Corellian found her footing in the hallway. She had not realized the swelling anxiety that threatened to crush her as she stood in the crowd. The feeling was new, and Allyson had no clue how to process it. Why was she feeling this way? Did it have to do with everything that occurred? A hand pressed against her face while she hid within the shadows of the Force. Her mind raced, trying to piece together a broken net. Shrugging it off, she exhaled and reassured herself it was all in her head. ​

There had been so much fabrication and rebuilding of her mind that it only made the most sense that she was her worst enemy. Calm finally washed over her as she looked up towards the hallway's ceiling leading to the knighting circle. As the Force Cloak fell, something bumped into her. Stepping forward, instinct took over, and she wanted to fight, questioning if an assassin had made their way through. Once again, Allyson focused and fought through her instincts, caught her balance, and looked behind her. ​

A face she felt like she should know, but couldn't quite place. Blaming her spotty mind and recent trauma, she cleared her throat. "Hey, you doing okay? Also, I don't think they allow smoking indoors here." Allyson quipped, noticing the pink smoke and Tabac stick. Tilting her head, she tried to place the face but continued to come up with nothing. "Have we met?"​

 

[Kiskla Grayson-Matteo]

PROSPERITY // ROOM OF A THOUSAND FOUNTAINS // MEDITATION GARDEN
KISKLA SEES GHOSTS // Spencer Varanin

---

---

​

Not what she'd been expecting. Nor who she'd been expecting, for that matter.

Communing with the dead wasn't a foreign concept for the late Jedi Master, but the materialization of Spencer Varanin was a surprising result of her meditation efforts.

She sat there for a long moment, dwelling in the serenity of the room's silence outside of the natural white noise. Spender's silhouette looked well-maintained. For all their similarities in years, she somehow managed to look sprier than Kiskla. She had fewer tell-tale indicators adding gravity to her countenance. Not that it mattered. The Force's impact in the shape of the former Master meant she was dead.

"Seems we're more alike than I thought. It's been a long time, hasn't it."

"A long time." The kiffar queen finally agreed, smoothing the folds of her white robes over her thighs. "I'm surprised to see you. And," she tilted her head indicatively, her blonde brows furrowing in contemplation. "-Like this. A little paler than I remember."

"So what's going on, sweet cheeks?" ​

That gnawing sensation at her ribcage tightened its grip on her lungs. At first, she made a noncommittal sound at the back of her throat. Pride moved her to abstain from vulnerability for another long pause, before she resolved all counter ruminating with a drawling sigh. If she was a servant of The Force, she couldn’t be so judicious over who and how it elected to give her direction.

Flexing her hands to release the tension gathered in her knuckles and palms, her expression remained impassively neutral.

“I suppose it’s that time in life to evaluate purpose again. Where I should be, what The Force wants of me. You ever have that?”

 

[Leon Gallo]

Interaction: open



Leon wasn't much of a Jedi. At least, he didn't feel like one. Yes, he carried a lightsaber and used the light side of the force, but ever since he had left his master he didn't really feel like one. He'd forgotten what it meant to be a Jedi. What set the members of such an illustrious and legendary order apart from people with laser swords and special powers? The young man hoped to find his answers here, aboard the Prosperity.

It was the new temple of the Jedi, and it had archives that might lead him to his answer. Leon was never much of a reader, preferring to do rather than sit and read. He could probably find what he was looking for in there, even if it took him a long time. He'd turn to others for help. but he had never really gotten close with any of his fellows. Yes, he trusted them as Jedi, but he felt...detached, never truly a part of the order, never fitting in.

Before he could start reading however, Leon needed to find the archives. The Prosperity was massive and Leon was very lost. Every hallway looked alike to the man. This place could really use some signs. He thought as he wandered. A map would be nice too. He'd been walking for a couple hours before he realized he didn't even know where the dorms were yet. That didn't matter, he could fall asleep reading if he needed to, assuming he could find what the archives.

 

[Mishel Kryze]

Once upon a time, Mishel Kryze was afraid of getting older. She was also afraid of her failures, it took death and time with the Force to realize. Getting older wasn't all that bad, and that failures made you stronger - better. Prosperity. The woman got a glance at the Temple Ark and smiled, an ambitious design a show of power, wealth, and everything else that is required to build something such as this. Something that most Jedi of the past didn't have the luxury of obtaining. As for Mishel? She carried nothing with her, just the burlap sack of a robe that covered her Corellian blood-stripe pants, blaster vest-covered-tunic. ​

​

She supposed most people would gather in the Hall of Knighthood, gather to talk, to speak, to do what Jedi she supposed should. Mishel walked by them all, she paid them little mind and took the time to explore the Temple Ark. She took in a deep breath and exhaled, she wished to all that was good that the people who had gone on before her were here to see it. Jorus. Ember. Shia. Shia... Mishel closed her eyes and placed a hand over her heart and once more took a breath, this time it was to keep the emotional floodgates, closed.​

​

"Excuse me, padawan, do you happen to know where the artificer's room is?"​

​

"Oh yeah, here," the young padawan walked Mishel over to the built-in map on the wall. "Right here Master, if you need any more help just ask one of us!"​

​

"Thank you," she replied with a warm smile and watched the padawan go back to their master. "Well, this is certainly quite the build."​

​

Now she missed the company of Romi Jade and Coren Starchaser. ​

​

Mishel gathered the location of an artificer's room and resumed her exploration of the Jedi Temple Ark. Don't you have to be a Jedi first? She could almost hear Runi from here as if the girl was still speaking to her. Well. Jedi didn't seem to be a requirement. The Tygaran mentally quipped in return as she strode down the corridor. ​

​

Auteme | Seniya Nehir | Allyson Locke | Leon Gallo | Kiskla Grayson-Matteo ​

[OPEN]​

 

[Seniya Nehir]

OUTSIDE THE HALL OF KNIGHTHOOD // SHOULDERCHECKVILLE, PROSPERITY
INTERACTION - Allyson Locke - OPEN. ISH.
​

Seniya had almost made it to the doorway before an errant shoulder bump shoved her the rest of the way. A flash of fight suddenly coming into conflict with her need to flight before she tempered the urge, forcing herself to unclench her jaw and fist before it got out of hand. Getting herself into a brawl wouldn’t do anyone any favors, no matter how therapeutic it might have been in the thirty seconds it would take for them to pull her off the intruder. Speaking of which...

A dark haired woman in her mid, maybe late twenties. Athletic build. An inch or so taller than Seniya herself. Corellian by the accent, although spacer raised by the tell-tale bounce you got in your step from a life of artificial gravity. Skilled in the force if that little stunt with the Cloak was anything to judge on. As rare for someone to slip through her guard, it was even rarer for them to look more out of place more than she did around here.

While she certainly seemed to struggled to place a name to the face, Seniya had no such trouble based on those simple observations. Only one person to her knowledge currently fit that description. Allyson Karking Locke. Ironically given their profession, spies had a tendency to gossip like school girls when it came to their own, and the subject of the infamous double (triple?) agent was a fairly hot topic that even an outsider like herself had caught wind of it. The current poster child for censure and kark ups. Something something Sith, something something assassination plot gone wrong, something something waste of taxpayers money. The real highlight being when she halved the vaunted Sword of the Jedi’s, ahem, lovelife in the midst of it all by some accounts, her then boyfriend by several others, all in the name of keeping her cover.

A touch of begrudging respect there, but not enough to curb her tongue.

“Mm, that so? I hear they’re not so hot on dismemberment, either.” Seniya retorted sharply, although had the decency to look slightly apologetic for the misplaced barb the moment it was unleashed. At least, for a half second anyway. Her features automatically schooling themselves to a placid neutrality by the time she took another drag from the tabac stick, the soft orange glow casting her features in a faint light as she used it as an excuse to both collect her thoughts and regard. the other woman a little more closely. Puff, puff. Another long stream of pinkish hued smoke. The earlier venom leeched from her voice by the calming effects of the root, “Judging from the fact most of your acquaintances are giving you the cold shoulder, I’m pretty sure we can safely assume we haven’t had that pleasure.”

The venom, perhaps. No amount of tabac sticks could blunt aspects of Sen’s normal personality, however. She plucked the thin cigarra from quirked lips, pinching the stick between her finger and thumb while cupping her hand to use her own palm as a makeshift ashtray. “Seniya Nehir.” She offered curtly, “Don’t worry if you don’t remember it. I actually take that as a compliment in my line of work.”

 

[Kir Dantos]

PROSPERITY// TRAINING ROOM // INTERACTION // OPEN

​

"Start Simulation."

Various platforms of a myriad of different shapes and sizes rose up out of the chequered ground. All of them seemed impossibly high, almost all casting shadows over his head. But his career as a Jedi had taught him that it wasn't just the Force he would need to complete challenges, but wit and skill and smarts. Then the platforms started moving, fluctuating from being tall to short to reaching the ceiling.

He'd originally wanted to attempt this challenge to practice his precognitive skills which he had only really discovered a while a go, and had been honing ever since. Lighting the space around him with a warm orange glow, he unsheathed and ignited his lightsaber, a weapon that he was quite proud of, considering the circumstances that he had to go through to get it.

Go time. Pulling in from his centre of gravity, he took a mighty leap into the air, landing with bent knees on the first platform, wobbling a bit from the unsteady group which was already beginning to plummet. Kir headed to the next platform, flipping haphazardly out of the way of a blaster bolt, which seemed to be coming out of the walls now. That wasn't in the plan, yet, the plan was to have no plan. Deciding that he would be better off taking it in his stride, he deflected another two red darts which shot towards him out of the walls.

Watching the platforms closely, he plotted a virtual path, just as another round flew just past his abdomen. He cavorted from his platform to another, which descended just after he'd leapt to a taller one, the rounds of blasterfire dissipating into his orange blade before the last platform was in sight. As it ascended, he made a leap, but the force of gravity didn't seem to be on his side, as he was starting to cut it a little too close, then the heel of his boot touched the platform, and he rejoiced that he hadn't become a bloody flatcake on the floor.

Kir stepped onto the end platform, ending the simulation, before he made his way down the steps, adjacent to the stage. What benefit had any of this really had, perhaps it might make him a better fighter, but no, he'd been fighting nonstop. He wanted to explore... Get out there, the thought hung in his mind as he stared up at the Jedi insignia which adorned the top of the room.

 

[Kyra Perl]

Disoriented
Thirdas Heavenshield / open

I've already checked Silver Rest's archives. If there's information on Kavado, it's not there.​

Kyra had a seeping suspicion on why that was. Just a year back she had personally found a sith spy knee deep in their achieves, sporting nothing but a thumb drive and an angry scowl. Kyra had broken her hand that night. The encounter had felt world ending, the simple break had seemed insurmountable. She glanced down, pursing her lips as she tried to flex the now metal limb. The cybernetic responded after a moment, her neuron pathways still reforming from the limb's very recent installment.

If only things were that simple now.


Kyra cleared her throat and looked up to her companion. "Jedi like their achieves," she explained, a concept she assumed the solider would be unfamiliar with. She didn't wait for him as she carried forward, her neck extended as she looked for any markings that could point them in the right direction. The two made an odd pair, one short and small and rather young, while the other... everything but. Still, it was the teen that guided the adult, the warmth aura of the ship leaving the empath feeling distinctly at home.

"Since the Silver's database is separate from the core, whatever intel Bryn Celli Ddu managed to corrupt might still be out here. Information on AMCO might be out here." The name was venom on her tongue but she let it slide off, determined to never forget it. "Let's just get this and peel out."



Kyra didn't want to waste time. Her weeks of recovery had marked countless opportunities they could have used to get closer to Nida. Every moment, every breath, every blink could be The Moment she'd feel her sister be pulled from the force. And she was sure she'd feel it. The dread of it all pumped adrenaline constantly through her, urging her forward.

There had been no rest. There had been no distractions. Thirdas had been worried about the youngest Perl being able to keep up, but it was the hardened ranger that was pushed to keep going past reason or rest. Kyra wasn't slowing down. She was speeding up.

She slid past him, both of their bodies rich with the rustic smells of spacer life and baby wipes. "Maybe they will-- Excuse me," she called out, catching a random blonde by the arm. The metal gripped too tight, a fact she caught after a spare moment. She pulled back, grimacing.

"Where's the archives?"

 

[Allyson Locke]

//: Hall of Knighting //:
//: Outcast //:
//: Seniya Nehir //: Openish //:

Even if Allyson didn't know the girl, she knew Allyson. The comment about dismemberment was enough to tell her that. The wound was still fresh, and Allyson had just done her best to prove her loyalty to the Alliance. That wasn't enough for some people, and they were quick to judge. Frustration furrowed her brow as she looked at the slightly shorter woman, another Kiffar from the observed features. What was with Allyson and running into Kiffar? First, it was Loske, then Ryv, and now Seniya. Did the Alliance just attract them? Annoyance burned at her core as she stepped away, trying to avoid the puffs of smoke that the woman decided to finish off before putting the stick out. Allyson understood vices; she indulged in hers as much as she could. ​

So much for trying to set up a cute pick-up line. ​

"It's obvious you already know who I am, Ms. Nehir." Polite with a hint of annoyance as she dusted herself off from the nudge. Not only the Jedi snubbed her, but it seemed their hired hands did as well. "Now that you've said your name, I can place your face well enough. You're one of the retained investigators the SIA keeps." Yes, Allyson knew the woman. She had seen the name passing on some reports, but never really worked with her beyond seeing the face and the paperwork. They paid her decently, and Allyson remembered a time she had planned on trying to recruit the Kiffar. ​

That was out of the question now. "Honestly, reading your reports at one point, I'd say you were quite skilled and good at what you do." Allyson snorted and shook her head. "Also assumed out of everyone in this floating chit hole, you'd understand how things worked. Apparently not." Groaning, she didn't need to unload on this girl. If anything, they were basically in the same boat. Somewhat outcasts of the Order and of the SIA - but the desire to get to know Seniya was relatively low on her list. ​

"You don't have to worry, as much as I'd like to remember your cute face - I'll make sure to forget it. You know, since in our line of work, that's probably the best." Ending the comment with a little smile, Allyson took a few steps back and paused. "Also, might want to reconsider how you talk to the person who's in charge of you getting any jobs with the Alliance and could blackball you with the others in our lovely network." Turning her back toward the woman, she pulled up her device and decided to drive home the last bit of her warning. Seniya was good at what she did, and Allyson would never be this petty, but the dismemberment's comment was a bit of a low blow.​

A wave of her hand, Seniya would get a notification that her contract with the Alliance and any known allies was terminated. "Have fun." The Corellian looked over her shoulder with the sweetest smile she could muster and wave to the Kiffar.​

 

[Seniya Nehir]

OUTSIDE THE HALL OF KNIGHTHOOD // ENROUTE TO TECH LABS
INTERACTION - Allyson Locke - OPEN. ISH.
​

Well, what do you know, seemed like she had gone ahead and struck something of a nerve.

If it wasn’t for the sheer irony of having her professional credentials and capability called into question by someone set on ending her career over a personal sleight, the Kiffar might have been offended. As it was she was more quietly bemused than anything. A ghost of a smirk creasing her features as she was subjected to the verbal equivalent of both barrels. Clearly Locke was every inch the firebrand that rumours had painted her to be. Just as emotionally stable, too.

She didn’t envy Jan (and there was always a Jan) in H.R.’s conversation over this come Primeday morning.

“You done?” Seniya asked finally, glancing away from the woman to confirm and clear the message alert that not only did SIA no longer required her services, but a whole bevy of alphabet soup of governmental organizations and departments had followed suit in naming her persona non grata. Kind of hurtful, but it wasn’t the first time someone had slammed a door in her face, proverbial or otherwise. If anything, it was something of an occupational hazard in her line of work. Everyone had questions, but no one really wanted to hear the answers, etc etc. Still usually they engaged her services before attempting to kick her to the curb. Thirty seconds was definitely an all new personal record.

Even Dagon would be impressed.

Well, right until he started pulling out his hair trying to figure a way to recoup the financial loss. SIA weren’t steady employers, but they paid better than most and generally on time. Not many of Lone Star’s clients could say the same. With the agency’s already rocky status in the wake of the Outer Planet Alliance practically folding up overnight, they were definitely going to feel the loss of those contracts.

“Cool.” Seniya breathed, dragging the word out as she tucked the tabac stick back into the corner of her mouth. Expression perfectly bland and neutral, belying the irritation that was starting to simmer beneath the surface. She should’ve listened to that initial fight instinct - at least then this all might have been justified. Still she wasn’t about to let the other woman score a point that easily. “You know, I think I have a membership with the Coruscanti Planetary Library if you want to go ahead and cancel that while you’re at it. Who knows, might finally stop them sending me overdue reminders for The Secret to Joy in the Galaxy.”

The Kiffar took a step forward and raised her hands, palms up to show they were empty in an unarmed mocking gesture. Indicating the corridor with a nod of her head as she continued to advance, purposefully keeping her pace slow and steady. “Failing that, at the risk of undercutting this dramatic storming off moment you’ve got going on here, because Force knows the last thing I’d want to do is make this awkward for you after all that, ” the detective smiled yet didn’t. “but I’m actually headed in this direction, too.”

Actual coincidence given the proximity of the SIA’s presence on the vessel to the technical labs, and an unwanted one at that, but if Locke thought she could be petty, Seniya was fine returning the favor. Each and every agonizingly awkward meter.

Still one matter deserved to be set straight.

“For the record, Agent Locke, I honestly didn’t give two osiks what happened between you and the Sword. You do what you have to do to get results. Sometimes that means you dirty hands.”

A less than subtle, petty emphasis was placed on the last word.

“As you said, I understand how these things work same as you.” The Kiffar cast her a sidelong glance as she fell in step, dropping her arms. “Difference is, I can look at myself in the mirror in the morning afterwards. Can you make the same claim?”

 

[Mishel Kryze]

Lost // Enroute to Tech Labs​

​

Mishel probably stood just a bit too long in front of the next set of corridors. Her mind had completely blanked on the directions she swore she memorized, "artificer stuff sounds technical right?" Even if the art was a bit of both technical and mysticism all wrapped into one. She took off the burlap sack of a robe and looked around, "don't suppose there's a laundry room on this big bucket..." Her voice trailed off as she draped the robe like a coat over her arm. There were others that walked by her but all seemed to be in their own worlds, or engrossed in conversation.​

​

The feeling of awkwardness and being alone was one Mishel was all too familiar with. It's the Knights of Ren, all over again - sans the abusive father and the edgy-pseudo siblings. She took her time heading down this particular path the lighting was fine and well enough she could take in the sheer enormity of the temple itself. Mishel just felt strange - walking the halls of a Jedi Temple like she even sort of belonged there. Force. She thought inwardly to herself. The Tygaran was sure that somewhere one of her parents if not all of them were rolling their eyes. So YoU'rE a JeDaI nOw. Kriff, she wanted to roll her own eyes and run to the nearest exit.​

​

She didn't though, she could do this and after all, she wasn't a Jedi. Just someone who floated closer to the light than the dark. Aside from that what did Mishel have to run from? An empty threat that didn't exist? An empty threat of abandonment, that didn't exist - not in the slightest. It was all a reminder of why she hated being alone with her thoughts. ​

​

As Mishel pressed onward she came across a couple of people and the tensions, the vibes were not great. Now all Mishel had to do was hope that neither one of them recognized her. ​

​

Seniya Nehir | Allyson Locke ​

[Open]​

 

[Aeris]

PROSPERITY // TRAINING ROOM // OPEN

“It can really do all that?!” a young voice exclaims with great enthusiasm.

The brown-robed cerean standing next to the small boy chuckles and nods.

“Yes, yes. It is all quite impressive. Each section in the grid: on the floor there, and along the walls, –” he points a finger to each as they’re mentioned, drawing the boy’s attention to the separated panels, “–are modular. Each one is equipped with a repulsorlift – you know what those are, right?” he glances down to the child, who looks up and nods in response.

The cerean smiles, “Good. Well, those repulsors are controlled from the tower up there,” he gestures again, this time to a control room overlooking the training area. The silhouette of another Jedi can be seen through the transparisteel, watching the two.

The master lowers his hand and folds his arms around his chest, “The room can be configured from there to simulate all sorts of scenarios. You’ll spend much time here, Aeris. For better or worse, I can assure you of that.”

The comment is met with more excitement than concern. A beaming smile stretches across the padawan’s face as his eyes scan the barren room, imagining all the ways it might shift and change.

“Did you bring your lightsaber?”

The padawan’s hand quickly reaches to his side. He breathes a hushed sigh of relief as he feels the cold metal hilt against his fingers.

“Yes, Master Sen-ro.”

“Good. Then step into the room and we’ll begin.”

Straightening his posture and drawing a deep breath, the young boy unclips his saber and moves toward the center of the room. He looks around cautiously, before finally lifting his gaze to stare up at the figure overseeing them. He squints, unable to make out the identity of silhouette behind the glass.

“Whenever you’re ready, just say ’Start Simulation’.”

The boy’s breath becomes shallow and quick, and his heart begins to race. Standing at the center of the room, eyes locked on the shadow of the unknown man above, he can feel beads of cold sweat beginning to form on his forehead.

“Trust in the Force, Aeris. You can do this.”

At his master’s words of encouragement his hand tightens around the leather wrapping of his saber and he draws a deep breath, closing his eyes. After a short pause he lets out a sharp exhale.

“Start simulation.”

The voice of Kir Dantos pulls Aeris from his vision.

His eyes shoot open as his thumb toggles his sabers’ activator, ejecting its vibrant cyan blade with a classic snap-hiss. The blade twirls as he passes it behind him from his right hand to his left before raising it over his head to deflect an incoming projectile. The green bolt of plasma ricochets off his broadened blade, deflecting into the floor.

The saber emits a low rumble as he whirls the blade into a blue blur and passes it back to his right hand. When the glowing blade comes to a stop at his side a rush of force-imbued energy moves towards his legs and the young Knight bursts forward, joining the padawan in a grand leap.

The grey-robed Serenno-born human flips once before landing on a platform outstretched from the left wall. Aeris holds his blade out wide and arches his body backward, narrowly dodging another bolt. His eyes shift to the padawan for a split second, watching him move across the training room.

His moment of observation is cut short as another bolt is hurled his way. With lightning reflexes, Aeris jumps from the platform and kicks off the wall, throwing himself into a rapid spiral. He retracts his blade as he lands on another floating block, rolling over his shoulder to break his momentum before coming back to his feet.

Sensing several more shot incoming Aeris springs straight upward toward a platform passing overheard. He clings to its edge only briefly, using it to throw himself forward across the room toward Kir. He jumps between two more spires, watching the padawan climb higher and higher. Reaching the base of the rising stairway, the knight skids to a stop and activates his blade once more, bringing it close to his body to just barely manage to deflect two more plasma bolts with quick and subtle movements.

Form III had never been his strength.

Before he can look back to the padawan’s progress a loud beep confirms that the simulation had been ended. A breath of relief escapes him. Pushing his bangs from his face, Aeris’ cyan blade retreats back into its T-shaped hilt and he turns his head to watch Kir descend from the stairs.

“Well done,” he says with a cordial tone, giving the padawan a stiff bow of his head.

 

[Thirdas Heavenshield]

"I've noticed," he glanced down at Kyra as they strode through the vast archives of the Prosperity. It had seemed somewhat counter-productive, to return from Sith space empty-handed. However having spent a full month there with even less to show for it, Thirdas was willing to go about it Kyra's way for the time being. Frankly, it was nice not having to be on constant alert for once.

"Lead the way."

He probably looked a fair bit out of place; one of the few non-Jedi present within these Jedi Archives, for what could someone like he be doing there? It was a known fact that holocrons required someone trained in the use of the Force to even use, which ruled out a vast portion of knowledge available to the general public. It also didn't help that he'd never been one for studying, much less reading.

He noticed Kyra's step increasing, as if she was running out of time. He watched as she reached out and grabbed some random blonde by the arm, verging on aggressively. The woman pulled back her arm, rubbing her sore skin where Kyra had grabbed her a bit too hard using her prosthetic hand.

"Kyra," he reached out and placed his own metal hand upon her shoulder. "Take it easy, will you? You're still adjusting to your cybernetics. It will take time for your body to adjust."

Thirdas had undergone extensive physiotherapy following his own operation, to allow his body to recognise and ease into the new limbs. Kyra hadn't, but had instead rushed off to find him.

"Sorry, my friend's a bit overeager. First time visiting," he turned to the blonde woman who regarded the two strangers with wide eyes.

"Kyra, why don't you ask nicely about the reason we're here," he nudged the littlest Perl, as she still had not shared with him what they were looking for.

Kyra Perl ​

 

[Kyra Perl]

On route to Achieves
Thirdas Heavenshield | Open​

Kyra stumbled at the nudge. "I said excuse me," she protested, a slight whine hitting her voice. She wasn't a child! And he wasn't her parent! In fact he was more like a really shitty almost brother in law, or would be, IF THEY COULD FOCUS ON WHAT ACTUALLY MATTERED HERE-- NIDA. NOT HER MANNERS!

The dour look she leveled at him said it all.

So, the two weren't particularly close. ...Or friendly. But that all seemed to roll off Kyra's shoulders as she looked to the accosted blonde and tried again. "Please show me where the archives are," she repeated, withholding the further details. Thirdas had been trying to get them from her, and rightfully so. She was an add on to his mission and she was taking him in the opposite direction that logic said they should go, but she knew what she was doing here!

She wasn't going to give him the chance to not need her and leave her behind. Again.

"I'm perfectly capable of finding the information on my own," she insisted, shooting Thirdas a look before he could nudge her again. The blonde, caught up inside this sudden storm, stalled as she tried to decipher the chaos before her. Kyra mistook this as mistrust, Jedi were protective of their achieves, and compensation by whipping out her saber. The blue hue warmed the air. "See! Jedi!"

Thirdas hated it when she did that.

She shimmied away before he could try to snatch it up, predicting their dance before it could occur.

"Okay- okay-" the woman laughed, either to break up the awkwardness or out of amusement for Kyra's childish display. She gave Kyra a pacifying gesture. "There's no need-- It's that way. Down the hall, level three. Past the meditation room, on the right. You can't miss it."

Kyra perked, zipping the saber closed. "Thanks!" She chirped, her mood turning on a dime as she scattered forward without another word. Thirdas was left to keep up, a slight hop entering Kyra's step as she slid into the lift's door. "I told you they'd let us in."

She jammed repeatedly on the button.

 

[Kir Dantos]

PROSPERITY// TRAINING ROOM // INTERACTION // A Aeris // OPEN

​

During his endless contorting and skipping around the training room, the padawan had mostly been focused on not falling down to meet injuries that he would never hear the end of from his teacher. Though, he had managed to catch some glimpses of another who'd joined in the course. Occasionally he would see the other Jedi making moves that he'd been trying for years to master, as he jumped in a spiral from the wall, he almost fell over in awe.

Kir stood at the top of the main tower, which had signified the end of the simulation. Despite this, he observed Aeris' tight and precise movements with an intense vigour, noting how he executed them. As he'd finished he approached the assumed Knight and offered his hand in greeting to the newcomer, nodding in approval at his performance.

"Thanks, well done to you too, that flip, I've been trying to master it for a long time, you made it look like lightwork. Great job, honestly man."

He analysed the face of the man in front of him, attempting to decipher whether he'd seen him somewhere, whether that be around Prosperity or in the main Jedi Temple on the ground. As hard as he tried, he couldn't recognise him from anywhere which was strange as he knew most of the Jedi or had at least seen them going about their daily duties.

"I'm Kir Dantos, Padawan to Maynard Treicolt, pleased to meet you...." He paused for a second, trying once more to recognise him but gave up, realising that the endeavour was quite futile.

"Sorry I don't seem to recognise you from anywhere." He told him, awaiting an answer as to who this skilled acrobat truly was.

​