Requiem

[Amz]

Republic Space | Commenor
Time | 1300


Walking through the market district, Driana thought she felt a presence, distracting her. It touched her mind briefly then flickered out, almost as soon as it had come on. Driana rolled her shoulders and pushed onward through the crowd, dismissing the brush as the Force playing tricks on her. She believed in the doctrine that taught of the Force having a will of its own, and faintly smiled to herself. Driana knew that the traditional Jedi didn't have it all wrong. In fact, most of what they taught was accurate. But with the changing Galaxy, there was a growing and overlooked need to adapt passed zealous doctrines.

Since leaving the Temple after its fall, Driana's path seemed clear. The first order of business was to survive and to find other Jedi who had also survived, and bring them together in a place of safety. This had been a headlong decision, and she hadn't allowed herself to think of anything else that might distract her from her goal. Mostly because Driana was hardly dealing with the loss, and whenever she did have those quiet moments to herself, to think, to feel, the blonde young woman felt like she was walking in a daze. And mostly, well, numb. She wasn't filled with a stoic sense of self-importance, but was reacting as anyone who had witnessed friends and children die in front of them, would. It was simply easier to wall-off those crippling emotions and put them out completely; to stay focused on what she wanted to accomplish.

The young blonde continued to weave through a congestion of overworked citizens and some confused vagrants, few regarded her. And why should they? Driana looked about as average as anyone else. Even if she was far from being so.

For a long time, she had abandoned the traditional clothing of the Jedi, favoring instead a more practical ensemble: a light brown, worn, treated-leather number and simple travel boots. Her lightsaber was hidden in a carefully crafted container and stuffed into the fraying pack slung over her shoulder. She favored instead a standard DL-44 strapped to her right thigh. During her tenure as a Padawan to Zen-Dae, Driana had hardly cultivated the reputation of someone who followed proper procedure. She hadn't changed much in that regard, but, had developed a kind of steel behind her eyes, an indication of what difficulties Driana went through, but also that she came out relatively unscathed. Then again, no one ever came out unaffected, did they?

After a few more minutes of avoiding air-trams and the common pickpockets, Driana finally made it to a clearing where she found the Cantina she'd been looking for. The door slid open with a light 'hiss' and she felt a sigh of relief fall off her lips as she walked in.

[member="Ilias Nytrau"]

 

[Ilias Nytrau]

Commenor: a world on the edge, more caught between the borders of the Republic and the One Sith than it was within the borders of either, and having a strange serenity to it with consideration of those facts. The cantina in which he sat was not far off from the Chasin City Hospital, where many wounded in the local galactic area had been sent to be dealt with during the recent galactic crisis. Local space had seen much crisis for several years, many worlds being war-torn on top of the incursions by the nether.

He was glad the effect it had on the Force did not last any longer than it did. In truth, it was the first time he had felt a significant twinge of fear since he was a child, centuries before. Fear, not for himself, but for those around him because of himself. His body, his psyche depended on the Force in a way that nature demanded, a way that had nothing to do with addiction. If there was one thing that might be true addiction, it was his relationship with tea, the nature of which was not so much in the quantity drank, but how much time he invested in the habit. Most did not grow their own plants. So he sat in the cantina, enjoying a nice afternoon pot of tea - much to the grumbling of the bartender at having to have accommodated tea - and ruminating on the longstanding fissures amongst Jedi the galaxy over... when a presence walked in.

Slowly the mug of tea was lowered, slowly pale eyes rose as senses pinpointed the source: a light-haired young woman coming in at a titch over a full foot shorter than his own stature. His eyes narrowed in the slightest, peering closer at her aura, but not for so long as to be caught staring.

"Hmm."

The mug lifted, another sip taken. Another entry started in the rolodex.

[member="Driana"]

 

[Amz]

When her eye adjusted to the light inside she noticed the diversity of patrons scattered 'round; most of them were not as thug-like as she thought, but ordinary people - which slightly disappointed, and ruined, the stereotype image she had held for so long. Some of them were watching the holovid screen in intense, reverent silence, mesmerized by the bolo-ball match, more interested in the final score than a new stranger among them.

It was just as well, Driana thought, and nearly jumped when she felt something furry zip past her foot. One patron, a stocky man with white hair and a vine tattoo curling up his neck, glanced at her and guffawed. Driana scrunched her nose and frowned, shouldering her way toward the bar where she sloughed off her pack, kicking it beneath the counter. The place smelled of spice, yeast, and fried food, and most of the patrons were drinking a black ale, or some clear liquid that was almost certainly not water.

"You want somethin' from me, small-fry? Spit it out."

Driana shifted on the stool beneath her to keep from looking uncomfortable under the intense stare from the barkeep. "I do." she replied, sounding more confident than she felt. "Raava, if you have it." The barkeep turned to get a glass, then lined up her ale and mumbled something incoherent beneath his breath. She didn't need the Force to see he was edgy and a little hostile. Bad day?

The cup was raised to her lips, and Driana sipped and sighed. Her senses had been on overdrive since entering, and she could feel that same presence that had touched her mind earlier, more pronounced and finite. It didn't flicker. Jedi? Possibly, or someone like her. And they had likely sensed her already. Driana didn't look around, instead stared at the holovid. She tried to blend into the crowd and hoped that maybe they were as bad as picking out a Force signature as she was.

It was nothing against whoever they were, Driana just didn't want any trouble.

[member="Ilias Nytrau"]

 

[Ilias Nytrau]

Ahh, so she did not want to be seen; it pulled the smallest of lip-curves onto his face, and caused him to do nothing more than pay extra attention. He recognized the signs of difficulty and wanting to hide whatever she was, but it had been some time since he had last encountered a user with eyes on their back, so to speak. The discomfort as much as she tried to hide it was something he could feel, and he mapped what he could of her without being intrusive while enjoying his tea. The tea was a little more than passable, and it made him wish for one of his own blends. Such thoughts provoked a tangent into the land of what if, but were quickly squashed by what being a Jedi dictated for his life. This was not a disappointment. This was the life he knew. He surreptitiously watched her for a few more minutes before deciding to see what he could do without causing her to flee.

You know what I am, or have some educated guesses.

The words would slip across her mind, calm and unassuming, though he was indeed making an assumption himself. He had felt her senses brush against him, in a scarce way.

I know what you are.

It was plain in the knit of her aura - she was or had been little more than a padawan, but whose? And what was she doing so close to the edge of red space?

This does not have to be complicated.

And he continued to sip at his tea, leaving the 'ball' in her 'court', as it were, as his gaze drifted to the window to watch people pass by. He did not need to see her to know what actions she might take, if any.

[member="Driana"]