Private Many hands make light work...

[Serina Calis]

Equipment: Traditional Jedi Robes with hood. (Beige and Brown), Lightsaber (Aqua),
Location: Coruscant, undisclosed bar.
Tag: Cait Tulyenal

In the dimly lit depths of a lower-level Coruscant bar, Serina Calis sat alone at a small, secluded table. Her hood was pulled low, shadowing her face, a deliberate choice to blend into the murky surroundings. Around her, the hum of low conversations mixed with the clatter of glasses and the occasional raucous laugh from a group of patrons at the bar. The air was thick with the scent of cheap alcohol and the oily residue of machinery—smells foreign yet oddly comforting in their anonymity.

Serina sipped slowly from a glass of water, her eyes scanning the room with practiced caution. Despite the rough clientele that frequented this place, she found a sense of security in the obscurity it offered. Here, she was just another shadow among the many, not the ambitious Padawan who chafed at the constraints of the Jedi Order. Here, she could pursue her own ends without the prying eyes of the Temple.

The purpose of tonight's meeting was clear in her mind: to hire a mercenary for an archaeological expedition to the Outer Rim. The details of this journey were locked away in her thoughts, shared with no one, labeled under 'need to know'—and few needed to know. She intended to keep it that way, even from the mercenary she planned to employ. The artifacts she sought were more than relics; they were keys to understanding the deeper, rawer currents of the Force. Such knowledge was power—power that could not be entrusted to anyone without caution.

Serina's contact had promised the arrival of a mercenary named Cait Tulyenal, reputed to be skilled, discreet, and effective. Yet, as she waited, Serina felt the flicker of curiosity mingle with her usual resolve. She knew nothing of Cait's background or even her species—a deliberate omission on her part to prevent any unconscious bias from coloring her judgment before the meeting.

Her fingers traced the rim of her glass, her mind weaving through scenarios of the conversation ahead. How much would she reveal? How much did Cait need to know to be effective without becoming a threat? These were the balances she had learned to strike, the delicate dance of information and secrecy that her unconventional path demanded.

As the minutes ticked by, Serina's gaze occasionally drifted to the entrance. Each new figure that stepped into the bar's grim embrace was measured, analyzed, and dismissed. None carried the bearing of a mercenary—or at least, none that matched what she expected of Cait Tulyenal. Patience, she reminded herself, was as much a weapon as the Force. It was a lesson hard-learned and easily forgotten in her quest for greater power.

The bar itself seemed to pulse with the beat of the lower levels: a symphony of the lost, the hiding, and those seeking oblivion or opportunity. Serina felt a kinship with these shadows, even as she sat apart. Like her, they were bound by their secrets, driven by needs and desires obscured by the darkness around them.