You Came in That? You're Braver Than I Thought...

[Sor-Jan Xantha]

The Chiss and Whistle was a dive on the wrong side of the star port.

Located deep inside of Mandalorian space, Yavin 4 got quite an assortment of character passing through it. Spacers. Smugglers. Drifters. People voyaging between destinations, and some who were just wandering in search of one. While most associated the moon with the landmark Jedi Academy, famously founded by Luke Skywalker at the end of the Galactic Civil War that had started way back in Sor-Jan's day with the Yinchorri Uprising and Separatist Rebellion. The Clone Wars, as history texts now spoke of it. But, Yavin 4, just like every other planet, moon, asteroid, space station, tree house, dog house, or outhouse in this galaxy had discovered what that there was one universal truth about the cosmos that they lived in.

If you could land on it, spacers would come.

The Chiss was the kind of place that served ginger ale warm, in a dirty glass. You could get food there, but no came for the fine dining. As such, the grilled cheese was as untouched as the flat ginger ale it nestled up against. Flecks of mold, which the kitchen staff hadn't even the decency to scrape off, were made more dark and pronounced by being fried in grease that was probably as old as the youngling was.

And not just how old he looked either.

A pair of kid's sized saddle brown boots were kicked up on the table, as the unmistakable small form of a Jedi Youngling lounged inside the public house of dubious reputation. A deck of sabaac cards was shuffled between his palms, as pale blue eyes peered out from over the cards to survey the gathered assortment of fringers, wanderers, n'er-do-wells, and neanderthals that had managed to find themselves turned out into the cold of space. And somehow wound up here.

A star port cantina that might have just as easily been found on Tatooine, Ord Mantell, or Nar Shadda.

Outside might be totally different, but in here the whole of the law was the wits inside a person's head and having the skill draw your blaster faster than the other guy. Or the willingness to shoot first. Being Corellian, the tow-headed boy was guilty of the latter.

As more than a couple of the shadier denizens had sized up the pint-sized dealer at the table, it was the blaster jutting out from the side of the boy's thigh that kept a clear radius away from where he shuffled the deck quietly.

A Jedi with a blaster, and a deck of cards. It seemed an oxymoron. Jedi didn't come to these sorts of places. They were in the libraries, or the hospitals, or the thick of battle.

But for twenty-five years, Sor-Jan had dwelt in places like these. Discovering the simple truths and mysteries of the Outer Rim as he voyaged in the shadow of a particular kind of Jedi. Not a Guardian, not a Consular. A Jedi Sentinel.

It proved to be an education in the real world that had stuck with the small Anzat, decades after he'd put aside his amber saber and taken up a green one in it's place.

It was the world in which padawans like [member="Kal'n Drasco"] would have to learn to live if they were going to take up the amber blade left silent in the passage of his former master, or keep the memory of such Jedi Sentinel's alive.

Out back, a Corellian light freighter was rusting under the humid sun of the jungle moon. A junked out classroom for the sort of classes Jedi didn't teach inside a temple and couldn't learn inside a library.

@Jedi Academy folks | @The Covenant folks​

 

[Kal'n Drasco]

Reflective study deep within a temple, combat training with a Knight or fellow Padawan, acting as a bodyguard for some all important politician. These things were what many Younglings and Padawans thought of when asked what a Jedi did. Heroes, standing tall with a lightsaber in their hand and the Force as their ally. It was a clear cut picture during a would-be-jedi's youth.

Now at twenty years of age, still a Padawan, but with some combat experience under his belt Kal'n had a glimpse of what his Knight years would be like. And he had learned that there were things that you simply couldn't learn no matter how much you read or studied, no amount of training in a courtyard would make up for real world experience. But, more important than all of that training Kal'n saw a path that was the unconventional. But would it be his path? He had to find out.

The first Knight to train Kal'n had been killed in action. But his training had laid down a foundation that Kal'n built all of his other skills off of. Was what you learned useful? Could it be applied in the 'real-world'? Kal'n wanted to learn more than Lightsaber and Force techniques, he wanted to real world knowledge.

When he had learned that he was too met Jedi Knight [member="Sor-Jan Xantha"] at the Chiss and Whistle, Kal'n decided to discard the traditional Jedi garb despite the fact that some of the more traditional Jedi would not approve. He went with simple navy blue breeches tucked into black polished combat boots. He wore a simple white cloth shirt with a black vest. Inside his vest, on either side of him he hung his lightsabers. It wasn't a perfect fit, but the get-up would pass a simple glance.

Of course, Kal'n didn't carry a blaster pistol or any other weapon. He had never been given one. Despite the fact that he was trying, somewhat, to blend in he stretched his feelings outward as he entered the establishment. He didn't want to be caught off guard by someone deciding to stick a knife into his ribs. Paranoid? Perhaps. But this was a first step into something new and different.

His dark blue eyes scanned faces until he saw who he was looking for, Jedi Knight Sor-Jan. He knew little of the pint-size Jedi, only that he was to no judge a book by its cover. And so he made his way to where the Knight was seated.

“Greetings, I am Kal'n Drasco. I'm here for...” He looked around for a moment, seeming to really take in the sights and smells of Chiss and Whistles. “...for training, I think.” His speech was somewhere between formal trying to sound relaxed...but still sounding formal. Clearly the young Padawan was not entirely comfortable in this strange environment.

 

[Sor-Jan Xantha]

Spoiler

OOC Note:
A slight re-write. I looked back over the post and thought it come off as too 'preach-y'.

Being four feet tall and looking ten years old - also, acting ten years old abut half the time - the small Anzat knew that he was going stand out anyway and so had long ago stopped trying to blend in.

Ironically, it was precisely because he was so relaxed and comfortable with himself and his surroundings that the tow-headed boy, dressed in the traditional monastic garb and the sage green robes of the Corellian Jedi, looked as though he fit with the filth and rabble filling up the cantina. At least, more so than the stiff and obviously uncomfortable young man who, in spite of appearances, was coming across like a very prim and proper Jedi Knight. Shuffling his feet around, so that his right heel was on top of his left boot, the youngling wordlessly gestured toward the empty seat across from him.

Whatever fake animal hide or cheap commercial textile that the seat cushion had been made out of had faded and cracked probably before [member="Kal'n Drasco"] had been born. The stains and dark spots hinted to a number of spills, bodily fluids, and other mementos of all the previous patrons to have graced a seat which had probably never been cleaned. A small amount of something that might have been a porridge at one time was growing a science experiment in the colorful bacteria that had taken up residence.

Shuffling the deck of seventy-eight card-chips, the boy looked over the padawan before him. "Some things you just have to experience," the boy remarked cryptically in answer to the man's address. Holding his hands apart as he casually shuffled the deck in an artfully executed waterfall. Cutting the deck in his hand, the boy flipped four card-chips face down. Two in front of Kal'n, and two in front of himself.

Maybe it was the Corellian in him, but Sor-Jan had found the game of sabaac to be a good metaphor for life, Jedi or otherwise. Especially life out on the Outer Rim. You had to know when to hold 'em, know when to fold 'em. Know when to walk away, and know when to run. You hedged some of your bets, lost some, won some, and more often than not were bluffing with pair of twos.

They could head out to the Outer Rim. Maybe Munto Cordu. Or Arda. That would give the man some experience in hyperspace, then take it out to Tash-Taral and experience what navigating a heliopause packed with a dense debris disk was like.

Then he'd be ready for where ever the Force might take him.

 

[Kal'n Drasco]

[member="Sor-Jan Xantha"]

Kal'n was book smart, of that there was little doubt. He had a good education and despite being a Padawan his ability with the Force was well balanced and developing nicely. What Kal'n lacked was obvious, practical experience. This place was certainly outside what he knew. It wasn't exactly uncomfortable, just different, unknown. He looked over at Sor-Jan for a moment, not judging him by his appearance, but rather what he felt through the Force. He clicked his tongue against his teeth.

"Into the Sarlac Pit it is then." He replied in kind, sliding into the seat across from Sor-Jan.

"I warn you. I am notorious for having beginners luck." He said in warning, looking down at the cards in front of him. Kal'n reminded himself that this was not some training room in the temple, this was the lions den. He had to adapt and overcome. "You can probably guess that this isn't one of the things that is taught to Jedi. What are the rules?"

 

[Sor-Jan Xantha]

What are the rules?

A dangerous question. In life, as in gambling.

"Sabaac is life," the boy answered cryptically, an enigmatic smile ghosting across his face as he looked up from where his cards still lay face down on the table. "You don't know what's about to happen, and when you think you've got it figured out... everything changes."

Reaching over, the boy patted the top of the deck of card-chips that was on the table between them. "There are seventy-six cards; divided between four suits of numbered cards - positive and negative numbers - and two copies of eight special cards," the young Jedi explained, picking two cards from out of the deck and holding them up to reveal a Three of Coins and a Negative-Eleven of Flasks. "Sabaac is having the hand closest in value to positive or negative twenty-one."

That statement begged further explanation, so the boy elaborated by saying, "In a game where two players both come up with twenty-one, one positive and one negative, the positive hand wins." Still holding up the two random cards that he'd drawn from the deck, the Three of Coins suddenly changed to the Commander of Swords and the NEgative-Eleven of Flasks shifted into the The Star. "Now, complicating matters is the fact that your cards will randomly change suit throughout the game. So you might have Pure Sabaac in your hand one minute, and then Bomb Out in the next," the youngling explained, before returning both cards to the deck.

And that was just the card deck. As for how the game was played...

"You'll find sabaac's a different game where ever you go," Sor-Jan noted wistfully. Even one sabaac parlor down the street from the next might operate different house rules. Part of the difficulty in mastering sabaac was that no two people really played the game the same way. "I learned what's known as Corellian Gambit. Two card draw, no more than four in a hand," the small knight supplied, explaining the two card draw. "Empress Teta rules use a five card draw. The pirates out in the Chiloon Rift developed a set of house rules known as Riftwalker, and the Hutts on Nar Shadda prefer Random Sabaac, where the rules of the game change as often as the card faces."

A game where the rules change and your hand spontaneously changes suit on you. There was a good metaphor for life if ever there was one.

"There are four phases, which overlap throughout the play," the boy stated, turning his eyes up to gaze over at the padawan across from him. "Betting is the first phase. I dealt the cards, so the first Betting Phase goes to you."

[member="Kal'n Drasco"]​

 

[Kal'n Drasco]

[member="Sor-Jan Xantha"]

He didn't get it. A game that's rule consistently changed? Not only that, but it was played differently depending on where you went? It was overly complicated. Still, he would not let the opportunity to learn the game pass him by, he was simply resolved to learn this game. As it sounded, it was purely a matter of luck and took no real skill. How could it when your hand was constantly changing?

"Very well." Kal'n picked up both cards in his hand and looked them over. A seven of sabers and a nine of coins. He didn't have much money but he pulled out a handful of credits and sifted through them and then placed five credits between them. Truthfully, Kal'n didn't know if his hand was any good. But he could spare to lose a few credits.

"Let's hope a little bit of luck is with me. Though I'd hate to rob you blind." He said, doing his best to lose his normal upright posture and lean back into the chair, relaxed.

 

[Sor-Jan Xantha]

The youngling's eyes followed the path of the man's hand as it moved across the table to deposit the credits down.

Flicking up from the table, the child's blue eyes betrayed a smile as the boy commented, "You didn't try to read my cards before you made your bet." There was almost a note of disappointment in that assessment. Naturally attuned to the emotional beings around him, not for any positive traits but rather the cold reality of how his species hunted and sustained itself in their pubescent and mature life cycles, Sor-Jan hadn't felt any subtle manipulations of the Force which might have accompanied the use of precognition.

For himself, the boy hadn't looked at his cards. They were going to change on him as it was. So what was there wasn't really the basis for how he played. At least, not when he played it straight. Which wasn't often. "When you play with a Corellian, if you're not cheating, you're not trying," the boy supplied in explanation.

In a game with four players on Coronet, two were using cheaters, one was shuffling a skifter into the deck, and the winner was the one who'd given the dealer the largest bribe. "I wouldn't repeat that to any Corellians though," the boy added, even if he didn't recant the truthfulness of what he'd said. Pragmatism was pragmatism. Of course, sometimes a bar fight could be a useful ruse. "Unless you were looking to start a fight."

That sort of trick had gotten him and his master out of a bad situation on Onderon back before the Hyperspace War.

Reaching into the pocket of his sage green robe, the boy tossed a five credit cube onto the table. "The betting phase goes back to you. It's also the start of the calling phase. You can call to see which of us has the better hand now, or you can make another bet. If you bet, then I can call or bet," the youngling said, as the game continued in the usual back-and-forth.

At the same time, the cards themselves would now change suit again.

But, sabaac wasn't actually what Sor-Jan had been asked to teach this padawan. Even if it was something everyone ought to know. "So, have you piloted before?" the boy inquired, glancing up at his opponent. "And what do you know about the Outer Rim?"

[member="Kal'n Drasco"]​

 

[Kal'n Drasco]

[member="Sor-Jan Xantha"]

“What's the point?” Kal'n asked without looking up from his cards. “There both going to change soon. This game is based on luck.” While he was certain he could understand the rules to the game, given enough time. He didn't see the point, did people actually find such random outcomes fun? He sighed inwardly.

“Cheating? Why would...” He stopped before he finished asking the question. The answer was Credits, of course. People cheated for credits. Kal'n had never been rich but he hadn't been poor either. The Jedi had always supplied what he needed, so while he had always had enough he hadn't given a thought to how much credits influenced others.

“How often do the cards change?” He asked, setting his hand face down and crossing his arms over his chest. It was now that he opened himself up to the Force and really took in his surroundings, including the young looking boy in front of him.

“Not as much as I'd like to know.” He answered simply. “But, I know that much of the Outer Rim is largely unexplored, there aren't many hyperspace lanes out that far and the ones that are often get ambushed by …. your less savory sort of people. I also know that the only law that seems to matter is the law that the strongest can enforce.”

“I've some experience piloting. No combat experience, but I've ran simulations with Red Squadron of the Galactic Republic.”

“I'll call by the way.”

 

[Sor-Jan Xantha]

What was the point?

The youngling smiled as the padawan seemed to work out the answer for himself.

Credits. A Jedi had no need for credits, and was taught to shun materialism, so in their pursuit of enlightenment the Jedi faced what was arguably their greatest weakness. They were too detached from the people that they served and didn't understand the world that these people lived in. The acquisition of wealth was the driving force behind many lives. From the oldest Hutt Cartel to the punk spice dealer on the corner. "The cards change at random intervals, in order to defeat card counters who'd otherwise try to build a strategy around timing their calls."

With that in mind, it was probably easy to guess what the target or goal of cheating would be. "The most common means of cheating is the use of a device called a cheater, which can be programmed to force the cards to shuffle or prevent a shuffle from occurring," the boy explained, even as he flipped his card-chips over. The Commander of Flasks and the Two of Coins. A total of 14 points. "On the other hand, some people will sneak in a false card-chip, a skifter, that has a pre-programmed value," the boy explained, looking up from the cards.

"If you're ever in a real game, you'll want to pay less attention to your cards and more attention to your opponents in order to prevent being taken advantage of."

First rule of sabaac playing was 'may the best cheater win.'

Of course, no sabaac player was going to admit that. Especially if they were Corellian, and even if you caught him with a cheater in hand and a skifter up their sleeve.

"My ship's out back," the boy remarked, looking up from the untouched food and drink on the table. "We can head out to the Overic Griplink to familiarize you with some of the lesser known hyperlanes out on the Rim."

Traveling the Rim in an old hunk of junk and a Jedi Sentinel at his side.

Suddenly, it felt like he twenty-five all over again.

[member="Kal'n Drasco"]​

 

[Kal'n Drasco]

[member="Sor-Jan Xantha"]

It was a moment of realization for Kal'n. Sor-Jan wasn't talking specifically about sabaac. It was a analogy for life, too Kal'n it wrung true specifically for what it meant to be a Sentinel. He'd always heard that those that walked the path of a Sentinel were of a different breed, possessed a mind-set that often alienated them from the Order. He thought now that perhaps he had a small glimpse of why.

He wanted more.

Standing from the worn, dirtied and stained seat the young Padawan gave the establishment and its patrons one final look over. He figured he'd be coming to these establishments often if he followed the path the Force had shown him, he might as well get comfortable.

“That sounds like a good idea. Anywhere specific in mind, or just some free flying through the lanes?” He asked, following Sor-Jan to where his ship was waiting for them both.

 

[Sor-Jan Xantha]

Swinging his legs up, the boy's boots came up from the table top, then swung down toward the floor.

The momentum lifted the small youngling up from out of the bench-seat, popping him up on his feet in a lively burst of motion. Picking up the credits on the table, the Anzat tossed Kal'n back the five credits that he'd bet, then tossed his own cred cube over to the Umbaraan behind the bar. "Overic Grip," the former Jedi Sentinel answered, turning to glance back at the human padawan. "Ever heard of it?"

As the pair emerged outside, there was a distinctively Corellian transport sitting under the Yavin sun.

"She may not look like much, but she's got it where it counts," the small Jedi boasted proudly, tucking his thumbs into his belt as he rocked back on his heels. The light breeze whipped back the sage green robe that adorned the child's slight frame, flitting in the wind that followed the long shadow cast by the Corellian Jedi.

"...most of the time."

Let's be honest. There was nothing trustworthy about Corellians. They'd sell their mother for fifty credits, then try to win her back in a card came. Their approach to starship engineering was no different. The ship was a chop-job. It had been jerryrigged more than a hundred times in the century in which it had been operating. Centuries rather. The ship was very likely older than he was. "Well, sometimes," the boy amended. This ship had gotten him stuck on Ithor, broke down on Tash-Taral, and had to get towed off Arda back to Yavin.

"How good are you at auto-hobby repair?" the boy asked, turning to look up at the man.

One thing about flying a Corellian ship, if you didn't know about ship repair before you started... you were going to learn.

And break down.

A lot.

[member="Kal'n Drasco"]​