Vennic hand't ever been much of a cook, but baking forty some-odd chocolate chip and raisin cookies couldn't have been that difficult for anyone, and he had to assume that desserts and snacks were welcome among main courses and appetizers that seemed to be more popular on the picnic tables designated for the food. So, when he spotted a pair of tasty looking apple pies that he figured he'd revisit later on, he reached out and placed the big plate of cookies next to them before he moved on down the line, taking nothing for himself just yet. He knew he was hungry, but he preferred to fall back on his gentlemanly qualities that his mother had instilled in him when he was just a boy, and not even because he cared much for the opinion of the others, but because it was innate. He knew that most of the others hadn't even arrived yet, and those who were there were only just then fixing their plates and carrying on with their chatter, and so he had decided that he wouldn't eat much just yet. It wasn't his time, and he knew plenty about patience having been a practiced and avid reader.
He did, however, reach out and pinched a couple of slices of freshly baked bread between his thumb and index finger as he headed past the final table, walking off towards the edge of the gardens where there was a breathtaking fountain spewing a multitude of streams up into the air. The tendrils of cool, transparent liquid would jump up high above the rippling waters before they would come clattering back down into the pools that collected into a deep, stone bowl that fed the fountain spouts from beneath, and on and on it's mechanism continued, like clockwork never interrupted. It was a perfect setting form him, a simple man, who desired a constant ambiance provided by the noise of the clapping waters and the motion that his peripherals were able to pick up on as he did his reading and studying. So, without much deliberation needed on where he might perch himself, he turned and sat down on the fountain's edge, though today he didn't pull the datapad out of his coat pocket. In fact, he preferred books to his datapad, now that he'd discovered so much about their origins and original intents from all of the research that he had most recently done. So he figured he would do a little reading from a book he'd brought with him.
Before he could do that, though, he chose to get comfortable first, raising his right leg and planting the base of his boot next to him on the fountain's edge before he dipped his free hand down into his left thigh pocket, within which a book had been stuffed. It's pages were tattered and torn along the edges, and it's cover and back were of a soft binding rather than hard coverings, making it easy to tote around tucked in his pockets whereas a hardback would have been troublesome and uncomfortable. An old and worn out thing that he greatly admired, for certain, for it's consistent yet simplistic nature, seemingly so foreign and so ancient when considering the fact that there were so many alternatives to them that day and age. Alternatives considered more effective and more efficient, though Vennic had many reasons with which he would disagree. In fact, he had recently become a fan of collecting books, going as far as to start himself his own personal library after building his own bookshelf that he'd set up along one of the walls in his personal quarters. Odd though it may have been, knowledge was a passion of his, and after having read so much about books, as ancient a concept as they were, he found them fascinating and effective all the same. He knew that they were both obsolete and simple in nature, yet precious still for the part they'd played in getting the galaxy as far as it now was. They were the original stores of information, after all, and from books there had been a galaxy of endless knowledge that had been born for him to consume, and so he figured that he owed books quite a lot in the grand scheme of things.
They simply amazed him, and although he'd only been a part of the Order of Silver Jedi for about two months by then, he'd already sped through almost a hundred books, each of which had their own places on the shelves of his bookcase which he knew would be filled to the brim before long. And so he continued that trend, cracking open the rather small book of about five-hundred pages that he'd brought with him with one hand while he balanced the two pieces of bread atop his right knee with the other. "Destroy, Rebuild, and Try to Live Again...", Vennic whispered as he read the first line, his amber orbs beginning to dance back and forth across the first page, wondering what that book could possibly be about. In fact, he found himself excited by the possibilities, wondering with each word that he absorbed if it might be a fantasy fiction, historical fiction, or even better yet, a historical non-fiction.
And so he read and he read, happy with the gathering of like minded, kind and peaceful individuals, all of them sharing a mutual exchange of carefully considered information that they chose to share by word of mouth, adding to that delightfully constant ambiance he craved so much when he did his reading. All of it happening while the galaxy churned on all around them, his mind swelling with the literature that he practically breathed in. All while he enjoyed the pleasing smell of a carefully sliced bit of homemade bread, which he had almost forgotten about entirely by the time he'd been consumed by the words he read. So, as his eyes flickered back and forth across the faded ink of the cracked and decaying pages of his book, he reached over towards his knee where the bread was resting. Then, as he swept up one of the pieces that had been placed atop the sharp perch, he raised it to his mouth so that he could take a bite of it, humming a soft, deep tone of contentment before he began to chew.
"Mmmmm...", he sighed.
