Broken Crown

[Wyl Staedtler]

As the young boy rounded the corner, mindful to place one foot directly in front of the other like the trackers from the Deshyyn forests so that his sturdy boots made as little noise as possible on the ship's grated flooring, he allowed himself to indulge a little in the bolstering sense of self-indulgent victory blooming in his chest. It wasn't smug - that implied a level of prattish arrogance that didn't belong to his character - though it admittedly came close. Still, the feeling could be forgiven. It was no small feat to make an escape like he had and one had to revel in the small victories when they came; the galaxy was an unpredictable place that didn't offer up hope in bulk.

Newly relieved of the burden of scholarly pursuits (which was to say: cunningly avoiding a lesson on saber techniques which he was meant to be attending), Wyl Staedtler wasn't about to waste a single moment of his liberty. As soon as he was clear of the general vicinity of the group class and moderately sure that no one would appear to catch him out, the boy abandoned his strict efforts at stealth and eased into the loping trot that he preferred when navigating the passages of the Whaladon, a good clip that didn't make him want to shoot himself in the head with a blaster just to be rid of the excruciating pain of having to temper his pace for stupid reasons like decorum or safety.

And while it was a remarkably efficient way to travel, the speed made it rather difficult to adjust one's trajectory at the last minute. Particularly when one was so busy trying to decide if it was safer to go down to the loading bay and rustle up a project or to take refuge in the ship's ventilation system that one forgot everything they'd ever been told about being aware of their surroundings and listening to the Living Force and not allowing one's future purposes to overshadow the present moment.

Sucking in a startled breath as he hurtled around another corner and discovered that there was not empty space to welcome him but an inconvenient (and frankly inconsiderate) figure there instead, Wyl attempted to spin out of the way at the last second. He nearly managed it, might have done if only he'd twisted at a sharper angle or with a little more force, but his bony shoulder struck against the other being and sent him skittering toward the wall like an ill-struck billiard ball.

"Augh!" Wyl yelped, lifting a hand to catch himself before he could tumble gracelessly to the floor and make a fool of himself. Flicking a quick glance to the side at his unfortunate obstacle, the boy sighed and offered up an oft-delivered phrase. "M'sorry, that was an accident. Good thing we're not freighters, otherwise there'd be irreparable structural damage," this thought seemed to resonate with him and Wyl frowned, tipping his head to the side as he regarded the stranger. "I didn't hit any vital organs, did I?"

[Salem Ave]

“No,” the stranger confirmed, as he met Wyl's lop-sided stare with solid white eyes and a faint smile. “All systems intact.”

It had been hours since he had left Drongar (http://sw-fans.net/forum/showthread.php?t=22484), but the rainforest had left its mark on Salem Ave. His dark hair was dry, though pushed back from his brow in a wavy disarray. The forearms, shins and feet of his black body-glove were caked in dried mud, an odd sight aboard a space-faring vessel. Even more peculiar was the tear in the body-glove, a tear that ran diagonally across his chest and had nicked his shoulder too, as though the fabric and fibers had been scorched away. No longer a necessity, his breath mask was tied loosely around his neck, whilst a cylindrical pouch - about the length of a glow-rod, or perhaps longer - was fastened to his belt.

“Though,” the stranger went on. “I do need to.. refuel. Do you know where I could find the nearest kitchen?””

[Wyl Staedtler]

"Yup," Wyl confirmed succinctly as he gave the man a thorough once-over, not bothering to hide his curiousity in the slightest. The fact that this oddly dressed figure was a stranger at all was remarkably interesting - not impossible, of course, though it was certainly unusual; Wyl was a self-appointed ambassador of hospitality and he had made it his personal goal to at least have a passing knowledge of everyone who was of any interest within the convoy. This man here had the potential to be categorically interesting and yet Wyl didn't even know his name, let alone his life story.

A situation that would be rectified in short order.

Glance skittering across the shorn ends of the man's clothing, Wyl frowned. That looked like a souvenir from a battle or maybe a hunt, possibly even both. "Are you a mercenary?" Wyl asked, stepping forward to prod unceremoniously at the ruined cloth, his small fingers brushing across the rough fray of loosed fibers before he drew them back and gave them an experimental sniff. "You look like one. Or maybe a space knight, except that's stupid because everyone knows those are just made up stories by people who wanted to trick trade pirates into thinking there was someone to oppose 'em. As if a pirate would believe that."

Wyl scoffed and rolled his eyes. He was fairly certain - being knowledged in such things - that this guy was neither a looter nor a mythical protector of hapless import-export tradesmen, so there was no risk of offending him with such talk.

"You're new, huh? I know pretty much everybody but I don't know you, so that means you just hauled in. Do you have your own ship? You're not a very good mercenary if you don't got your own ride," pointedly arching his brows, Wyl stared up expectantly.

[Salem Ave]

I'm something far worse than a mercenary: a politician. Salem almost smiled a little at that thought, though he kept it to himself as the boy went on, trying to deduce who or what he was. Salem indulged in no such speculation. It was no surprise to find a child aboard the Whaladon. After all, he knew (http://sw-fans.net/forum/showthread.php?t=21231) a great deal more about the Jedi convoy than his hosts realised.

“I am no mercenary and I have no ship to speak of.”

It was clear from the way the boy studied him that such a mundane answer would not suffice.

“I was brought here by Jedi. They intend to take me before the Jedi Council, such as it is,” he continued, pausing a moment. “To explain how I survived the Jedi Purge.”

[Wyl Staedtler]

Well, that was certainly a pity. No ethically complicated profession or ship to speak of? The stranger's novel presence was slightly diminished in terms of rabid curiosity and Wyl frowned faintly, an almost beleaguered dismay spilling across his unweathered features, as if the man had disappointed him on a deeply personal level in spite of the fact of having only just met. Would it have been so very much to ask for those seeking shelter aboard the Whaladon to at least have some small measure of startling pandemonium striped across their life history?

Still, it wasn't yet a total loss. There was something... distinctive about him, a bright stitching sewn into the hem of his presence. It buzzed against the edges of Wyl's mind, flickering away before the boy could dig his grip in and get a real sense of it. There was something maddening about that. Maddening and damnably enticing.

And, really, Wyl couldn't help but feel a bit of kindred softness toward someone who'd already been called before the Council.

"Are you in trouble? Because sometimes when they want an explanation, it just means they think you did something dumb. Or dangerous." Wyl spoke with the exclusive authority of someone who had firsthand knowledge of such encounters. "Maybe you should tell me, first. You know, for practice. That way you won't get nervous and crash and burn when it counts," the boy glanced over his shoulder and lowered his voice.

"My master's on the Council," Wyl confided. "And she knows what's what."

[Salem Ave]

There was no doubt in Salem's mind that the Jedi Council thought he had done something dumb and or dangerous. The fact that they had allowed him the freedom to move about the Whaladon relatively unchecked was an oddity that he could accredit only to the uncertain and unexpected nature of his arrival. The Nautolan Jedi Master (http://sw-fans.net/forum/showpost.php?p=385408&postcount=15) – the one who had set off the distress beacon that had summoned Salem, Inyos, Illias and the others to Drongar in the first place – held higher priority in their minds for now, he suspected. Only the most skilled Jedi healers would be able to bring him back from the precipice of darkness that Salem had found him trembling on.

It was odd, to think that he was grateful he had left the old wretch alive, but it was fortunate that he had stayed his hand. Whilst the Jedi struggled to re-kindle the dying life inside of the ailing Nautolan, Salem had the time to learn a little more about them.

“That's not a bad idea,” he conceded to Wyl's suggestion that he practice his explanation, nodding. Then, as an afterthought, he added, “It would be good to get my thoughts in order. It has been a... hectic week.”

Salem drew in a deep breath then exhaled, glancing down the length of the corridor and hoping that the boy would pick up on the unspoken cue.

“Where should we begin?”

[Wyl Staedtler]

Preparing for any sort of debriefing was a crucial matter, not something to be taken lightly or shot from the hip. Though he generally approved of winging it as a lifestyle philosophy, not even Wyl was willing to take a Council summons lightly. He was glad to note that the newcomer was of the same mind. It indicated that he had at least a glancing familiarity with the hierarchy of authority, which indicated that he'd probably been forced to navigate it before, which indicated that he very possibly had been in trouble once or twice; trouble meant he had stories.

"The beginning's always a good place to start," Wyl supplied helpfully as he began to trot down the corridor. He twisted awkwardly as he walked, beckoning Salem forward with an encouraging wave of his hand. "Unless it's more dramatic to start at the end and work your way back. My favourite holovid does it like that. Captain Corellia's standing on the edge of a cliff, right, which wouldn't be so bad except hang on! There's a raging rancor there about to rip his head off! And normally, pfffft, he'd just... shoot it or something, right? But when he reaches for his blaster, there's just an empty holster and the rancor's about to lunge and it looks like curtains for our hero, holy stars - and then the screen goes black and you're three days in the past."

Wyl pivoted to face Salem with an intoxicated grin on his face. The sudden stop was unannounced but he doubted it would catch the man offguard. The boy shook his head and sighed happily.

"It's an extremely dramatic narrative tool," Wyl shrugged. "You should try it. Maybe you could even come up with a catchphrase!"