Star Wars Episode N - Schism of the Republic (IC)

[RelentlessImp]

"Yeah. Yeah, I think that'll be perfect, actually. I'm worn out from all of..." Ari makes a vague gesture with her hand, motioning to the area around them and somehow encompassing all the events that have happened. "...this."

She gives a brief smile to Joran, laying one hand on his shoulder. "You just be careful out there. You look like you could use some rest yourself."

[Vox Clamantis]

"I'll be alright. I'm not planning on getting into any bar fights." Smiling and patting her on the shoulder, Joran turns to talk to the other Novitiates, see how things went for them.

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I'm going to assume that a very mundane conversation takes place unless you tell me otherwise. After he's done talking to the Novitiates, Joran will head in to the city, to their favorite bar.

[RelentlessImp]

A few of the new Novitiates speak quietly of their Trials, of how they went badly for them. Indeed, a few of them seem in worse shape than Ari, with cuts and deep bruises covering them. But none of them really has anything more to offer.

The trip to the city is uneventful, with twilight descending upon the planet. The city is moderately busy as the sun begins to fall, the cantinas spots of action throughout the city.

Three cantinas are scattered throughout the city. One is nearest to the docks, which caters to, for the most part, sailors and fishermen making a living on-planet. Another caters to the common man, in the center of the city, farmers and tourists and cross-planet travelers. The one nearest the starport, however, is where smugglers and pilots all alike hang out. It's also the seediest cantina.

Several ships can be seen in the starport; quite a few civilian transports, three heavier military craft, and no less than five that look somewhere between civilian cargo transports and military craft. The pilots are surely in the nearby cantina, which dances with noise and loud arguments.

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Sorry it took so long, was statting out people in the cantinas.

[Vox Clamantis]

More than anything, Joran is looking for experience. Someone worldly, to offset the Novitiates' naivete. With that in mind - and making sure to keep his blade concealed under his over-cloak - Joran heads for the cantina near the spaceport. He may get himself into unwanted trouble, but this is the only place that anyone confident (or crazy) enough to take a job like theirs would be.

[RelentlessImp]

The spaceport cantina is a low, squat building constructed almost entirely of plasteel - presumably to cut down on the damages inflicted by blaster fire when the typical fights break out. The cantina is crowded; standing room only, it seems. A band composed mostly of scantily-dressed twi'lek girls playing instruments, led by an even more scantily-clad human vocalist, livens the cantina with music (more or less) on a stage set up on the far side of the entryway.

The bar is long, extending from the doorway and to the opposing wall, staffed by several gleaming silver protocol droids. Tables are scattered through the cantina, packed close but just far enough away that each one could be in its own world. Trays float through the air with hoverlift technology, taking drinks to their tables. The din of the band is almost enough to override the general noise of the cantina, but it devolves into a confused mess if one tries to pick anything particular out.

The patrons seem a disparate mix of species; humans, of course, are in the majority, but there's also a disturbing number of twi'lek, bith, and other species that Joran has no familiarity with. All in all, a chaotic mess of peoples brought together.

[Vox Clamantis]

Joran enters the building and pauses on the doorway for just a moment, taking stock of the clientele. Jedi aren't a common sight in places such as this, and he hopes his nondescript overcloak will keep him from being immediately recognized for what he is.

Making his way to the bar, Joran sits down a comfortable distance away from the nearest patron and flags the bartender. "Bring me something local. He turns and surveys the populace again, more intently. Looking for anyone who looks like they have free time and a penchant for trouble.

[RelentlessImp]

The protocol droid staffing the bar - a silver-sheathed 'bot with features that are humanoid only by implication - sets a glass of ice blue liquid on the bar at Joran's elbow.

The cantina is packed. Evil-looking sentients congregate around a table in the far back, milling about and drinking, chatting amongst themselves. A table a bit closer has a pink-skinned humanoid with crimson hair, one arm resting on the back of his chair, the other tossing back a few drinks.

The sight of the pink-skinned humanoid seems to warp and twist in Joran's vision, and a moment later, the Zeltron is suffused with a blue light in Joran's view, marking him as carrying the light of purpose, touched by the Force.

[Vox Clamantis]

Never one to argue when the Force so visibly grabs his attention, Joran throws a few credits to the droid and picks up his drink. Throwing back his hood with one hand, Joran steps up to the Zeltron's table and hopes the Force isn't going to get him blasted for his trouble. "Pardon the intrusion, but I'm looking to hire a ship for a dangerous trip I'll be taking. You seem to be well at ease here, and I thought perhaps you might point me in the right direction?"

[RelentlessImp]

The Zeltron's hand dips down in a flash to the slugthrower holstered at his side at the presence and the voice. A moment later, it relaxes as the sanguine eyes take in the novitiate's appearance, noting the bearing and garb.

"Sit down," he says after a moment of studying the novitiate, gesturing to the chair next to him. "I've got a ship, but I'll be needing to hear a little more about this 'dangerous journey' business of yours, Jedi - as well as what my pay will be." A toothy grin flashes across the handsome face. "Speak well enough and the Daedalus will be at your command."

[Vox Clamantis]

Joran sits as he's bid, placing his drink carefully on the table and then sliding into the seat. "Dangerous because we will be seeking danger. Forgive me for not answering your questions directly, but first I have to know: have you any experience with the Force? Do you know anything about it beyond what you must have read in the serials?" Realizing how odd that sounds, Joran rushes on without pausing. "My mission is dangerous because we will be seeking those who misuse the Force. I'm simply afraid that if you do not believe that the danger is real, you won't take it seriously."

[RelentlessImp]

"Well now. A real adventure, huh? I still haven't heard anything about my pay." The Zeltron's eyes have come alight at Joran's words, and a faint smile tugs at the corners of his lips. "You Jedi and your ashla and bogan cuddle it to your breast like children with a toy, and seem to lose sight of the simpler things in life. I'll put it to you simply, Master Jedi. This whole stinking planet bores me, and this adventure you speak of intrigues me. I'll lend you my ship and my not-inconsiderate piloting skills for fully fifty percent of whatever riches we discover on your journey. Do we have a deal?"

[Vox Clamantis]

Joran hesitates on the edge of offering him everything they find, but a core of common sense that formed even in the isolation of the temple gives him pause. They might find something of interest to the Masters. "You do bring the ship, that's true. How about half of any riches, NOT including artifacts of the Dark Side. Since those would be dangerous for you to keep anyway, they shouldn't be considered valuables." Joran smiles wryly. "And you have my word as a Jedi not to claim that credit chips emanate Dark energies. Is that acceptable?"

[RelentlessImp]

"Sounds like a deal, Master Jedi. When are you wanting to leave?" The Zeltron picks up his drink, draining the last bit of electric blue liquid from it, leaning back in his chair and studying Joran's face. His lips twitching into a smile at the novitiate's comments about credits.

[Vox Clamantis]

Joran considers for a moment. One nights rest should be enough for the two Novitiates to heal themselves. "Tomorrow, bright an early. Which hangar is the Daedalus parked in?"

[RelentlessImp]

"She's just out there on landing pad six. Now, if you don't mind, Master Jedi, I've got some drinking to get done. I'll see you and whoever else you're bringing along at noon. Come by earlier and I may just shoot you without realizing who my paying customers are." The Zeltron flashes a quick grin, signaling for another of the drinks. "Don't worry. I'm the best pilot in this system and the Daedalus is the best ship around. We'll get you there, no matter what happens."

[Vox Clamantis]

"You have my every confidence." Bringing his hands together for a short Jedi bow, Joran takes a long draw from his glass so as not to appear dissatisfied with the beverage and then stands and makes his way out of the cantina.

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If nothing happens to interrupt, Joran will head back to the Temple and sleep away his fatigue.

[RelentlessImp]

The night passes uneventfully. Dusk slowly gives way to night, which surrenders to dawn. As soon as the sun forces its way into Joran's room, a delicate fist knocks rapidly at the door, beating a quick stacatto on the panel before it slides aside.

Ari stands on the other side, having discarded her robes in favor of more common clothing. The skin-tight outfit shows a great deal of her ice-blue skin, marred only by the katana resting at her hip.

"Hey, Joran. It's daybreak. Time for us to get going. Did you manage to find a pilot for us?"

[Vox Clamantis]

Having slept fitfully, Joran isn't as well rested as he's accustomed to being, but he's nevertheless up before the dawn. Master Zyon's quick dismissal of Joran's words of caution only made him worry the more. Breaking his meditation, Joran rolls to his feet. "Pilot and ship, yes. It was very peculiar, how I found him. It was as though the Force itself chose him." Like Ari, Joran changed into plain civilian clothes: a spacer's long pants and vest, although there's no way to hide the presence of his sword. He nods at Ari's weapon. "I wish we had some way to make these less conspicuous. Jedi aren't the only ones who carry edged weapons in this day and age, but it doesn't make it any easier for us to blend in."

[RelentlessImp]

"Be that as it may, I'm not going into the kind of situation we find ourselves facing unarmed," Ari says, resting one hand on the hilt of her blade. "We'll be fine, though. Slugthrowers are more common than a blade, but there's still quite a few planets where slugthrowers are black items and swords are the only means of personal defense."

Ari steps back out of the doorway to permit Joran to exit, crossing her arms over her chest, the tight outfit creaking against her body. "Do you think we can trust this pilot of yours?"

[Vox Clamantis]

"Trust? No, not entirely. But anyone who'd knowingly place themselves in the sort of danger I told him to expect is going to have their own reasons. Do I think he'll betray us, no. I have a good feeling about him." Grabbing the bag with his effects, Joran moves through the doorway and turns to tease her as they walk. "I like the outfit, by the way. Nothing like civilian clothes to bring out the color of a Jedi's eyes..."