He could burn a salad... (Figrin D'an

[Sejah Haversh]

It had been two weeks since Sejah regained use of his legs. They were still atrophied and weak, not to mention clumsy, but he was at least getting around more like he used to, and was able to participate in more physical activity than he had in months. In celebration of no longer having to use his walking frame, the mongoose had arranged a dinner with his master, which he himself would cook. It was supposed to be an easy time with lots of conversation, but Sejah was quickly becoming agitated, and Figrin was still three hours away from arriving.

It was supposed to be easy. The directions looked simple, and Sejah had all the ingredients, but somehow tuna casserole had turned into some kind of mess that was nowhere near casserole, and Sejah figured that the tuna was probably to blame. Frustrated, he ended up dumping the lot in the waste bin and starting fresh on a new plan. One that was also doomed to failure.

For some reason, Sejah had no trouble cookign for himself, and for Dasquain on the nights that it was his turn to cook dinner, but preparing a meal for his new Master was giving him a world of trouble. If he ruined one more dish, he'd have to order out for something, and that just wasn't personal at all. Finally, Sejah gave up on dishes that were popular on Corusacant for ones he himself had grown up with. Traditional meals that would be a gamble to see if humans liked them. The brown mongoose took a deep breath and set about his new work, and didn't even hear it when the door chime rang.

[Figrin D'an]

Hearing the chime from beyond the other side of the door, Figrin waited patiently outside of Sejah's quarters. He nodded to a small group of Jedi that walked past him, likely heading to their own quarters. They seemed a little surprised to see him in the hallway. Figrin's own quarters were several floors above, and on the opposite end of the housing wing of the Jedi complex. It was not often that the Jedi Master was seen in this particular hallway, and everyone seemed to be keenly aware of this. He shrugged off the odd attention though, to think instead about what would be appropriate dinner conversation.

The invitation by his padawan was unexpected, but it certainly was not unwelcome. He rarely had time to spend with his students outside of training and instruction, and he looked forward to learning what Sejah was like when he wasn't being a student. Besides, as Figrin well knew, Sejah was feeling particularly energetic since riding himself of the mechanical walking aid, and the Jedi Master was keen to do what he could to help the Nehantite get back to his normal self.

Glancing back at the hallway chonometer, he saw that he was early. He hoped Sejah wouldn't mind too much.

[Sejah Haversh]

"Crud crud crud!" Sejah grumbled as he removed a pan from the stove burner, the sauce in it nearly boiling. Adjusting the heat, he set it back on and set about slicing some flatbread in half and then rummaged through the refridgerator for a short while until he heard the door chime ring again.

The mongoose pulled his head back out of the icebox, and shut it quickly before shedding the oven mit on one of his paws and straightening his shirt so he would look presentable. The aparment was neat and clean, mostly, and smelled of his cooking. It was a delicious aroma to Sejah, but he had grown up around it. Now would be the real test; would his master like it?

"Good afternoon, Master D'aan," Sejah greeted Figrin at the door. "Please, come on in, make yourself at home. Dinner isn't quite done yet, so I'm afraid you're going to have to suffer me working in the kitchen for a few more minutes."

Stepping back, his heavy limp was painfully obvious. Though Sejah had regained use of his legs, they were badly deteriorated, and still pained him if he stood on them for long.

[Figrin D'an]

"Thank you, Sejah. Don't worry... take all the time you need. I realize I'm a bit early."

Figrin entered and looked around, noting how clean the quarters were. There wasn't a speck of dust to be found. The Jedi was impressed... Sejah must have spents hours cleaning. Perhaps I could convince him to clean my office for me, he joked to himself.

"I must say, I don't think I've ever been invited to dinner by one of students before," he commented as the Nehantite returned to the kitchen. "I suppose there is a first time for everything."

He laughed a little, hoping to establish a light mood. He didn't want Sejah to feel overly pressured.

[Sejah Haversh]

Sejah smiled as Figrin told him it was alright, and the mongoose returned to his cooking, sprinkilng some unlabled spices over a side of meat in the pan with the saice.

"I'm glad you could make it, I know your schedule is usually pretty busy. And I hope you like Nehantite food," he tried to make small talk. "Go ahead and have a seat if you like, I'm still waiting on the pfilaf to finish, here."

Silently he cursed his injured leg, and hated how it felt so clumsy under him. Imagining he looked like Frankenstein's monster as he lumbered around the kitchen, Sejah just hoped that dinner was okay. A quick taste test revealed that it was only going to be mediocre at best. Another dash of spices and then the large slab of meat was pulled from the pan and set on a large tray, the sauce poured over it and a sprig of parsley added as a garnish. Sejah had no idea why you would want to put such a bad-tating herb on top of perfectly good meat, but he had seen it done in a real restaurant, and figured it was tradition among humans or something.

"Would you like something to drink? We've got just about anything. Think I've still got a bottle of red wine I got as a congratulation prize for winning the Rho'istaan, too," he called from the kitchen as he checked the rice pfilaf.

[Figrin D'an]

"A glass of wine would be just fine, thank you," Figrin answered.

He moved to sit down the living area, finding a chair to his liking and gently leaning back upon it as he sat, crossing his legs comfortably. He looked about the room, observing the furnishings and other possessions that adorned it. In many ways, it bore large similarities to any number of Jedi quarters. It's uniqueness came from the occasional item that Figrin identified as Nehantite in origin. He didn't know nearly enough about Sejah's homeworld, or the culture in which he was brought up, but the Jedi Master was always good with artifacts, and he could at least recognize certain features when he needed to, as well as Nehantite script (though he certainly couldn't read it.)

"I never had the opportunity to congratulate you on your tournament victory," he called toward the kitchen. "You'll have to tell me about it during the meal. I'm very much interested to hear about it, and the tradition behind it."

[Sejah Haversh]

Sejah used a paring knife to cut away the layers of wax that held the bottle's cork in place. Unlike most wine bottles, it was not a bullet-shaped design, but more of a teardrop, and the glass was frosted. It was very expensive wine, but Sejah would hadly be able to tell it from somethign bought at the corner store. He had been saving it for a special occasion, and for someone who might appreciate it.

Fortunatley, Dasquain came complete with wine glasses when he moved in, and Sejah decided to borrow a pair for the evening. Pouring the deep red wine into each, the mongoose carried Figrin's over to him before pouring the pfilaf into a serving bowl and carrying it to the table, followed by the meat and flatbread and a few other items. "Okay, dinner's ready," he said before straightening his master's silverware, another thing he had Dasquain to thank for. Waiting for Figrin to sit first, Sejah sand into his chair on the opposite side of the small dinging table.

"Yeah, about the Rho'istaan Tournament," he commented, "There's a lot to it, and I'll explain over dinner. Would you mind if I prayed first?"

[Figrin D'an]

"Not at all," Figrin said casually. "Please, proceed."

A custom perhaps of his culture, the Jedi noted. He knew of many that payed homage to deities of different sorts when meals were served. Though he never had such a belief himself, Figrin certainly respected that others did, and was always happy to honor the traditions of a host.

He took in the wafting smells of the food before him, as Sejah began his prayer.

[Sejah Haversh]

Under normal circumstances, Sejah would pray in his native tongue, for that felt most natural. But he knew that garfife understood all languages, and it would be best not to speak in a language that his Master and guest would not understand. Folding one paw over the other, he bowed his head and closed his eyes.

"Lord Garfife, thank you for the blessings you have delivered unto me. Thank you for the continued use of my legs, and by ability to heal as I have. Please continue to grant me patience, and bless Master D'an for his company tonight. May I live to serve you, amen."

Looking back up, he knew Figrin had been watching him. It was understandable, few believe in Garfife, the creator of all things, anymore. But he would not be shaken from his faith, as the Force was simply a form of power distributed to a select few from Garfife himself to do with as they pleased, but those who used it to honor him would prosper and be made glorious.

"Please, begin with soem flatbread and hummus. The brown is regular, the red has a tomato base. Also, the black bowl there should have a good, crisp salad," he offered, helping himself lightly as he spoke. Though one did not seat themself before a guest in Nehantite custom, the serving of food was far less formal.

[Figrin D'an]

Doing as Sejah suggested, Figrin took some bread, and a helping of the salad. Everything looked quite appetizing, and although very strong with spice, smelled equally good.

He took his wine glass, swirling it gently and allowing the aroma to tickle his nose before taking a sampling sip. It was very deep and rich, more so than his normal fair for red wine, but enjoyable nonetheless.

"Quite a robust vintage," he said, looking at the dark liquid. "I take it this is native your homeworld?"

He tore off a small piece of bread, sampling it as Sejah responded.

[Sejah Haversh]

To watch a Nehantite eat was to understand why they seldom used a knife. Sejah swept a swath of hummus paste over his flatbread, then lifted it to his mouth where he hooked it on one of his fangs and ripped off a sizeable chunk that easily found its way into his large mouth. Though not the prettiest of sights, Sejah dis still ahve good table manners, his mother had seen to that.

Swallowing, he replied, "Yes, it is from an area near the Tekorr Sea, and one of the few long-life vineyards on Nehantish. I believe it has been in the same family for over nine hundred years, since the reign of Tevit Ramastan. At least, that's what the tag on the bottle said. We do have a more famous vintage, though," he paused to take another bite before continuing. "But you will never be able to sample it. It is called Black Wine, and it is made especially for the Sultan and his high court. Only fifteen gallons are pressed and casked a year, and its value is immesureable. It is also a crime punishable by death to export it from Nehantish for any purpose. Loki and I were fortunate enough to sample a taste while we were there for the tournament. It is like nothing I have ever had before."

Sejah continued to serve himself, though now adding the main courses to his plate, including some vegetables that he had found in the freezer and decided to steam. "The Rho'istaan is quite possibly the greatest even to happen on Nehantish. You may not know this, but until thirty-six years ago, we never knew of the existance of those outside our world. Well, we sort of knew, because Garfife told us that we were not his first creation, but we did not have any contact with the outside. For two years, the Empire raipldly opened spaceports on my world, and forcibly converted our language to basic, and forever altered our way of life. The first of us to leave were mechanics deemed worthy of only grunt work on Imperial ships, a practice still common today.

"You see, we are not an advanced people. Yes, we understand technology, but much of it was dropped on us far before we were ready. In war, we still used the sword alongiside slug-firing guns, and had no sheildign technology. The way of the warior was how we lived, and the Sultan's rule was absolute. Now we have a senate of sorts in the Royal Council, but its members may only be chosen from the highest class level. We have five classes, the Nobility, the half-nobles, the middle class, the poor and uneducated--my class--, and the the undesireables. For a beast of my class to be recognized for anything is a great honor, you must understand.

"Anyhow, back to the Rho'istaan. For over three thousand years, there has been a panel of experts on all aspects of personal combat. They record all recognized fighting arts, and log them into set styles so that they may be regulated and supervised. Once every twenty-seven years, a tournament is held, and one hundred and fourteen of the world's best fighters and fencers are invited. They face each other until it boils down to the final two, and the winner is immortalized by becoming a member of the panel, and sharing their art as a Grand Master. He also is given the honor if beheadding the worst combatant of the tournament. In the old days, the blades used were live, and fatalities were not uncommon. To be the champion meant that you were fearless on top of being skilled. Now, blunted blades are the only form permitted, but the the loser is still executed before the crowd. You musn't accept the invitation if you are not sure of yourself, otherwise you will be that beast.

"This time I was invited to participate in the Rho'istaan. I was very suprised, and took Loki along so that I would not be by myself, and the boy had expressed interest in seeing my homeworld. We were put up in a fancy hotel, but I was mostly concerned with the tournament. The challengers were immensely difficult, and the media was cruel to both Loki and myself. I believe you know how it enced, though, so I will not repeat that. Still, I find it shameful that a statue of myself will not be erected, and that I can never speak with the Panel. I was also denied my opportunity to uphold the tradition of execution." Sejah saw the look he got from his master and defended himself, "It is tradition, Master D'an. I have no personal hatred for him, but now he must live his life forever shamed instead of dying a most honorble death. How's the food so far?"

[Figrin D'an]

"Well, I can't say I'm entirely disappointed that man wasn't executed," he commented. "The food is good."

At least the salad and bread were. He hadn't yet gotten to the main dishes. He served himself some vegetables and some rice, and cautiously took a small piece of the large meat roast that Sejah had prepared. The Jedi Master had no idea what it was... it didn't look like any cut of meat he had ever seen before, and it's aroma was rather powerful, although not necessarily unpleasent.

"I would hope your Jedi training would give you pause, even in the face of such tradition," he concluded the thought. Figrin respected cultural tradition, perhaps even more so than other Jedi. Even he had limits to his tolerance, however. The talking of innocent life in the name of honored tradition was one that troubled him. But this was not a forum to debate such things. He mearly wanted to give his padawan something to think about.

"It sounds as though you we're treated rather unfairly for winning such a prestigous event," he continued. "Is that because of the social class to which you were born?"

[Sejah Haversh]

Sejah hesitated before answering, cutting away a thick slice from the meat himself.

"Yes, and also because I came here," he finally replied.

What he had hoped would be a pleasant conversation was quickly heading the opposite direction of where he wanted it to go. "I am here illegally, Master D'an," he began to explain. "Because of security, and our traditions, you must gain permission to leave Nehantish, and you must prove reason for your exit. If it is not deemed worthy, you are denied and you are stuck on the planet. If I had said I was leaving to become a Jedi, I would have been denied forever. The upper classes would never let somebeast like me go on to become something superior to them. So, I snuck out on a cargo transport."

The meat was a little more tender than Sejah usually liked it, but Figrin appeared to like it. In fact, he seemed to be enjoying it so much that Sejah didn't dare tell him its true identity. Washing a mouthful down with a sip of wine, the mongoose studied his Master. Figrin D'an was the epitome of what he wanted to be. Smart, respected, well-mannered and skilled at the Jedi arts. In his presence, Sejah always felt lacking in nearly every aspect. What had he done to warrant getting so desired a Master? And was Figrin pleased with his progress so far, though limited as it was? Another bite of the meat helped him to silence his thoughts, his sharp teeth makign short work of it.

"There were other factors involved in what happened at the Tournament, but I still won, and nothing will change that. I won fair and square, and there is little that the Nobility can do to make all of Nehantish forget. Even the Sherouve recognized me as the champion," Sejah announced, though his words appeared to be aimed more at himself than to anyone else; almost as if he needed to remind himself that he was worth something. "I'm sorry, I went rambling there. I'm sure my world isn't that interesting to you, we have no major accomplisments to speak of outside of our planet."

[Figrin D'an]

"I wouldn't say your world is uninteresting, Sejah," Figrin replied. "Just because it's still finding it's place in the galaxy doesn't mean it should be written off." Sejah seemed to feel the discussion unworthy of conversation with Figrin. The Jedi Master wanted to avoid any such perception.

"I've studied many cultures over the years, and in each, I found uniqueness," he said informatively. "Nehantish has it's own uniqueness as well. That always makes it interesting."

He paused for a moment, taking a sip from his wine glass.

"You said you are here illegally by your world's law," he confirmed, an inquisitive look on his face. "Did that fact pose a danger to you going back home for the tournament? The unfair treatment aside, I'm sure there must have been some that couldn't have been happy that you won under such circumstances."

[Sejah Haversh]

A slow, steady nod preceeded Sejah's response. "Yes, it did cause problems, but I left for a very good reason. I had recieved a death threat from a rival sword school, and they have been known to carry out their threats in the past. I didn't have anywhere else to go on Nehantish, and so I came here. I'm sorry to say that my desire to become a Jedi was not my main reason for joining in the first place. The promise of a safe place to live, three meals a day and clothign if I needed it was too good to pass up. I know it was selfish of me, but, I didn't know what else to do. Guess that might be why I've not made a terribly good Jedi so far, I'm afraid I might not really be cut out for it."

He wanted to change the subject badly. Sejah didn't like talking about himself. Other than the Rho'istaan, his entire life was a failure, and he often wished he could crawl into a hole and disappear. But he tried to keep up a good face, and pretend like it didn't bother him. After all, if he showed fear, he would be asked what he was afraid of.

[Figrin D'an]

Figrin noded.

"Sometimes we do what we must to live for another day," he offered softly. "I don't think anyone would fault you for that. But you shouldn't doubt your ability to succeed as a Jedi. Even you have to admit that you've changed since you joined the Order. Have faith in your ability to continue to learn and progess."

Figrin didn't want to lecture, or seem like he was doling out token advice, but Sejah was far to hard on himself at times. A friendly reminder to believe in himself was needed now and then.

There was a sense of discomfort coming over the room, so he let the issue go. Perhaps it was time to change the topic of discussion.

"Well... I know you feel slighted, not being formally acknowledged as the champion, but it's still quite an accomplishment. Your skills with a blade are very impressive, and you have a raw talent for swordplay like few others I have ever known."

He knew that would raise Sejah's spirits.

"You know," he said, in rather sudden realization," in the time I've been your master, we have yet to actually spar. Once you get your legs back completely, we should arrange a session. I'd love to see what you can do first-hand."

[Sejah Haversh]

Sejah grinned, his fangs taking center stage as his teeth were exposed. Suprisingly, for being of a lower class, his teeth were nearly perfect. When you couldn't afford a dentist, you had to take good care of them on your own.

"I'd like that, but the doctors say it might be a few months before I'll be back to normal. As it is, I'm still slumping around quite a bit, and stairs are a huge pain," he joked, a sign that his spirits were improving.

"It's the only thing I've ever done you know," he said before taking a bite of vegetables. "Fencing." He followed it up with another forkful of meat. "Funny the things you lean out of necessity. It got me in a lot of trouble, but it was aslo able to keep a roof over my head, and food in my stomach, not to mention it gave me the ability to pss down the old ways and traditions that are too quickly dying on Nehantish. Di I tell you I was a fencing instructor? First Apprentice, actually, would have been master of my school by now if I hadn't had to run away like I did, too."

[Figrin D'an]

"An instructor?," he asked retorically, a bit surprised. "Well, that would certainly give you ample opportunity to hone your skills. Your master must surely have been a powerful teacher himself."

Figrin continued to eat, preferring the vegetables and rice. The meat was... different. He couldn't say he really liked it, but it wasn't so bad that it wasn't edible to him. Sejah seemed to enjoy it though, so he mearly passed it off as yet another cultural difference. Or perhaps one of species. After all, Nehantite tastebuds were likely much different from human ones. The Jedi stomached the portion he had taken for himself, but chose not to take anymore.

Figrin considered his next question carefully, swirling his wine glass as he thought. He didn't want to say to upset his padawan.

"Do you have any family on Nehantish with whom you still maintain contact?"

[Sejah Haversh]

"No," Sejah shook his head, "I lost my father and brother both while I was only three. My father was a mechanic, and the ship he was on malfunctioned. The hypedrive went critical, and they only ever identified the ship from the powdered debris that it left behind after the explosion. My brother was hit by a car while crossing the street, it barely missed me. And, my mother passed away three days before I returned home for the competiton. Cancer. She didn't tell anybeast, she didn't want me to worry, I guess."

He idly stirred the vegetables and rice on his plate with his fork while remembering. "About the only family I have left is Master Rej, my fencing master. He took me in when I was thirteen, and sort of helped to raise me. But, he won't talk to me anymore. It was because of me that he lost his school. It was burned to the ground. So, no, there's really very little left on Nehantish for me anymore. I don't think I'll ever return there."

[Figrin D'an]

The mood was suddenly somber, silence falling over them for a time. Figrin thought he might get that kind of response. So much about Sejah's past seemed sad and unfortunate that family would only seem to fit the pattern of what Figrin already knew. It made him pause to consider how fortunate he was to have had a fairly normal youth, even though he chose to end that youth and journey out on his own.

"I'm sorry about your family," was all that Figrin could offer. "That must have made things that much more difficult for you. It's a shame about your old master as well. If they all could see what you've achieved as a Jedi student, I'm sure they'd be proud of you."


"In a way, I know how you feel," Figrin said candidly. "I left my homeworld when I was young, and I've only been back a few times in the years since. Sometimes circumstances don't really allow us to truely go home, to be who we once were. Unfortunate, I suppose, but a blessing at the same time."

He took a long drink, emptying his glass of wine.

[Sejah Haversh]

"It's snakemeat," Sejah announced after an awkward silence passed. "Cobra, actually. I could never dream of affording it before, and got it as another gift. Companies keep sending me stuff hoping I'll endorse their product or something."

Another silence passed, and Sejah decided to change the subject. "My reading is getting better. Since coming here, I've tought myself how to read, and now I can actually read through a whole book. I know that might not seem to amazing to you, with your vast library, but, it's pretty big to me. Do you have a favorite book, Master D'an?"

[Figrin D'an]

"A favorite book? That's kind of a tough question to answer," he responded quickly, happily latching on to the new subject. "I've always enjoyed history, so I have a large collection, many books about the history of the Core Worlds, the Old Republic and the Empire. I have some older works of fiction, particularly tales of legends and fantasy. I'm not fond of much of the modern fiction of recent years. Just personal taste."

"Maybe someday, I'll actually finish my own book," he remarked, somewhat sarcastically. "It's so difficult to find time to work on it, though."

[Sejah Haversh]

"I didn't know you were writing a book," Sejah said, his fuzzy eyebrows lifting. "I'll have to read it when you finish. And, I like history too, but I guess it's more the legends I like than the real thing. I have a favorite book, though."

Getting up from the table, Sejah maneuvered his way to his meager bookshelf, and pulled out a well-worn hardback book. He had bought it at a flea market along with several others for a credit, but the stories in it captivated him like nothing before. "Here," he said, holding it out to Figrin as he took his seat once more. "I don't know how many times I've read it now. I really like it."

It was a green leatherbound volume with remnants of gold foil in a bamboo design on the cover, and faded gold-edged pages. The satin bookmarker was frayed and worn, and the binding was becoming weak. Odds were that it was older than Sejah himself, but he didn't care. The title read The Jungle Books.

[Figrin D'an]

The Jedi Master looked over the book as he turned it about in his hands. It fell open as he lay the binding in his left palm, and he gently turned the pages. A few seemed close to seperate from the binding entirely. It was heavy used, and certainly many decades old.

Figrin wasn't familiar with the story himself, so he sampled a few pages of the text. It was fairly simplistic in nature, likely geared towards younger readers. He had no doubt that it had presented a fair challenge to Sejah, whom he knew was still really learning to read Basic.

"Interesting," he said, almost reflexively. "It must be a fascinating story, given how used the book is. How many times have you read it?"

[Sejah Haversh]

Sejah was embarassed, but pleased that his master approved of the book. "Well, at least three times," he replied. "I don't have many books, and it's a pain to read datapads all the time, so I re-read what I have in book format."

Taking the book back, Sejah set it aside and continued, "I need to get to the flea market again and pick up some more. I didn't think that I'd ever like to read, but now that I can, I do enjoy it. Especially science books. Would you like some more wine?" he asked, uncorking the bottle and refilling his own glass, then tilting it toward Figrin's.

[Figrin D'an]

Figrin held up his glass, letting the Nehantite pour a health amount of the dark wine into it.

"Really?," he asked. "What kind of science do you like to read about? Many years ago, I had an affinity for chemistry. Before I became a Jedi, I thought that might be what I would study at a university."

[Sejah Haversh]

Finally, they had a topic he could talk about!

"Physics and atomic theory are my favorites," Sejah replied almost instantly, but his confidence faded as he continued, "But I have to look up words a lot, so I don't go very fast. I've been studying chemistry, too. Did you know that if you try really really hard, you can remove the electrons from an atom without making it blow up or fall apart by using the Force? It's really cool."

[Figrin D'an]

Figrin had begun to take another drink from his glass, but stopped short at Sejah's last comment. He peered over his wine glass at the padawan for a moment, then slowly brought it down to the table.

"This is something that you have done?," he asked, a new seriousness evident in his facial expression. If Sejah had indeed been able to alter the subatomic configuration of an atom... the discussion would certainly take a new turn.

[Sejah Haversh]

Sejah's eyebrows went up and he shrugged. "Yeah, can't you?" he asked as if he was asking if Figrin could jump rope.

[Figrin D'an]

Concerned and disturbed was the best way to describe Figrin's mental state at this new revelation. This was serious... Sejah could possess an incredible power, but not realize just what kind of ability he was wielding. He hesitated to on just how to respond to his nonchalant attitude. Telling him too much of the truth might not be wise right now, Figrin considered silently. But to not tell him enough could be equally dangerous. The Council would have to be told about this.


"No, Sejah," he said very honestly, "I can't. To my knowledge, there is no Jedi currently in the Order that can."

"How long have you been able to do this?," the Jedi asked calmly, trying to keep the Nehantite from becoming uncomfortable.

[Sejah Haversh]

He had said something wrong, and he knew it. His carefree look was gone, but Sejah did try and remain honest and hope he wasn't in trouble.

"A little over a year, I think," he replied. "I started trying to figure out why everything exploded when I tried to use telekenesis. I thought everybody could do it, so that's why I didn't say anything. You mean when you move something with the Force, you don't see all the cells and their atomic strucure? See, that's what messes me up; there's too much to see, and I get lost, and it all goes boom."

[Figrin D'an]

"Most Jedi just focus upon what they want to move and see it as a solid object," Figrin stated. "Some who have years of telekinetic training can see things with enough detail to break an object apart. But, to actually see something atom by atom, and manipulate it at that level... that's a very rare gift."

He sat back in his chair, letting out a concerned sigh.

"I'd have to look in the archives to determine when last the Order had someone with this kind of ability. Needless to say, it'll require some rather specialized training to develop it. But, that's not my immediate concern."

[Sejah Haversh]

Taking a drink of wine as a way to take his mind off of his immedate question until he could re-prase it to not sound accusatoiry, he thougt, then asked, "Master D'an, what is your immediate concern? Am I doing something I'm not supposed to?"

[Figrin D'an]

"Well," he said, folding his hands together and leaning his elbows on the table, "I'm concern about the level of control you have over this power. You've indicated that things blow up and shatter when you use it. I'm concerned that, if not controlled in the proper surroundings, you could do some serious damage, and not just from flying shrapnel. Alter the structure of an atom can have devistating effects if one is not careful."

[Sejah Haversh]

It was beginning to dawn on him, and Sejah felt crestfallen. "You mean like an atomic blast, don't you? You want me to stop practicing, then."

[Figrin D'an]

"For now... yes, I'd like you not use this," the Jedi counseled. "You won't have to abandon it. I just feel there needs to be certain precautions taken before we can properly train you. We will need to bring this to the Council's attention as well. Perhaps Master Hicchoru will have some suggestions. His telekinetic abilities are far-and-away the strongest among the Jedi."

[Sejah Haversh]

A slow, steady nod was Sejah's reply. His one skill, other than swordplay, was now a no-no until he got approval. And the thought of going before the Council was not an appealing one. They asked questions, and there were those that he would rather not answer.

Still, Figrin was his master, and he had to do as he said. "Yes, Master D'an," he said at last. "Up for some dessert? I think we have some ice cream in the freezer."

[Figrin D'an]

"Yes, that sounds rather good right now," he answered. The mood seemed to change for the better with the subject change. Sejah was clearly disappointed, but hopefully he understood the Jedi Master's reasoning. With any luck, the Nehantite would be able to continue learning about his powers within a few short weeks. Figrin was confident the Council would agree it would be important to nurture the skill, rather than forbid it.

[Sejah Haversh]

Getting up from his seat, Sejah limped over to the freezer and pulled out the tub of chocolate ice cream. He preferred orange sherbert, but Dasquain hated the stuff, so they compromised on chocolate. In a short while, Sejah returned to the table bearing a bowl for himself, and one for his master.

"Here you go, Master D'an," he said before taking his seat once more. "And, as far as training goes, what do you think we can work on next? I think I've got that shield thing down pretty good now."

[Figrin D'an]

"Much of that is up to you," Figrin replied, taking a small lump of ice cream upon his spoon. "Many Jedi like to specialize in particular areas, picking a few subjects to master as best they can."

The ice cream was smooth and creamy, and quite rich. It was a nice cap to the meal, and seem to ease some of the tension that had built up.

"What are some of your long term goals?," he asked, probing for some information on what Sejah would want in his training regimen. "How do you see your life in... say... 10 years?"

[Sejah Haversh]

"Dead, probably," he replied nonchalantly before taking a spoonful himself. His eyes looked up at the expression on Figrin's face and he swallowed before continuing. "I'm sure to rack up a death warrant from the Royal Council if I keep this Jedi thing up, so it's an option I haven't ruled out. "

Setting his spoon down, he sighed and then went on, "But, if that doesn't happen, well, let's see... Married. Yeah, I'd be married, probably have two kids, and hopefully be a knight by then. I don't want to be something spectacular, Master D'an. I don't want to be a superstar or a figurehead. I just want to be happy, and have a good life. But finding a female of my species willing to out with me is going to be the biggest challenge to that wish."

[Figrin D'an]

The Jedi Master shook his head.

"Your dreams are very admirable," Figrin said," and I hope they come true for you, but part of seeing your best possible future become reality is to believe that it will happen."

"Death and pain are things that are part of life. They may be unpleasent, and as Jedi, perhaps they both are closer than we would really like them to be. But that doesn't mean that we should dwell upon them, or wait for them in some kind of morbid vigil. There's too much else in life that deserves our attention. Wait for death, and it will likely find you sooner than you would want it to."

[Sejah Haversh]

"I know, I know," Sejah said, nodding his head as he stirred his spoon around in his ice cream bowl. It was evident that he had been thinking about his future a goodly amount, and he had considered many possibilities.

When he looked back up, his pink eyes held a sadness he had been hiding. "Master D'an," he said, then had to pause as he formed the rest of his words. "How do you change who you are? I can't be who I am anymore, it's not working. The whole Jedi thing isn't working. For a year and a half I've basically been a burden on the GJO, and only taken resources without giving back. I've never even seen a Sith, let alone faced one, and all my friends have been knighted long ago, except Loki.

"I feel like I'm second-string here. Everybody else gets it, they all breeze through training, and go out and do heroic things while I stumble and fail, and break things. Marcus and Helenias all-but ignored me, and I can't even teach my one real skill because I'm not a knight. Why am I still here? I haven't contributed anything, so why do you guys keep me around? It's not for my charming good looks, that's for sure," he ended with a forced laugh at his own expense.

[Figrin D'an]

"You don't really believe any of that, do you?," Figrin questioned, now more alarmed than at any other point in the evening.

It had to be his recent depression that was talking such nonsense. The emotional recovering from Sejah's severe injury was going to be difficult, filling his thoughts with doubt and uncertainty. But now, even with his legs slowly returning to full strength, it was clear the Nehantite was allowing all of those negative thoughts to consume him, and question his very future as a Jedi. This was serious... and Figrin refused to lose the padawan to his own sorrow.

"Sejah... why do you want to change who you are?," he asked, signs of concern in his voice and about his face. "You judge yourself unfairly, by measures that don't include what others have observed, including me. I've seen a man that has fought through hardship and bad circumstances to make a life for himself. I've seen you become a friend to many, and be helpful in more ways than can be counted. I've watched you commit yourself to learning the Jedi arts, and do everything within your power to improve yourself. You've accomplished so much, you just don't see it. To give in to your fears and doubts now would destroy all that you've worked so hard to achieve."

"You shouldn't have to changed who you are, Sejah," he said, frustration showing through now. Figrin wasn't going this to happen. He wasn't going to lose another padawan, and he certainly wasn't going to lose one that had worked as hard as Sejah.

"You should be Sejah Haversh," he said after an awkward pause. "And the Sejah Haversh that I know is a good man, one who has been and will continue to be one of the most respected students of the Jedi Order. And he's also one with whom I would want by my side in battle, because I know he would fight to the last and put everything he had into it."


"That's who you are," he concluded, exasperated. "I believe you still are that person, and that you can be more. But what I believe means nothing if you don't believe it yourself. If I have taught you anything in the short time you've been my student, I would hope it would be that you must believe in yourself and your ability to succeed."

"The choice is yours."

[Sejah Haversh]

He didn't mean to be mad. He didn't mean to yell, and he had the utmost respect for his master.

It just came out that way.

"Gar, you can say that so easily when you're the poster boy for how a Jedi should be!" he snapped. "You know everything! You're good at everything, and you always have been! I'm twenty-seven years old, Master D'an, and the only things I have are my swords and my car. I can't hardly walk, I'll never get a date, and I can't even do telekenesis because my species is so underdeveloped!"

He knew he was wrong, and that he hould just shut up, but pent up frustration just kept coming out. "Who cares if I'm a good man, or if I've overcome ostacles? Nobody in the real world, that's who! I haven't told anybody this, but I've been lookign for a job. But nobody will hire me because I'm too dumb, or underqualified!"

Why had he said it? He didn't mean it, he really didn't mean it. What was going on? He was comitting master/padawan relationship suicide.

[Figrin D'an]

To say that the Jedi Master was caught offguard by the Nehantite's outburst would be a gross understatement. Figrin was shocked, so much so that he stared at Sejah for what seemed like an eternity, saying nothing. His face somehow remained placid, except for his eyes, which were wide and piercing in their gaze. To most, it might seem like an outburst of his own was about to come forth, filled with the same fire that Sejah had expelled.

But... it never came to pass. The wide gaze simply melted away into a sad shake of the Jedi Master's head, followed by simple words of equal sadness.

"Your anger will destroy you," he said.

Figrin stood, smoothed his cloak and tunic, and turned to the door. He walked slowly, not looking to see his padawan's reaction. He had nearly reached the door when he stopped and turned back to the Nehantite. Sejah knew he had done something terribly wrong, and it was beginning to show on his face. Figrin spoke with a calm clarity that was, seemingly, his trademark.

"You're going to have to make a choice," he began. "Once you look past your frustrations and your doubt... you'll be left with one simple question. "What do I believe? It's that which requires an answer. How you answer it will determine your path, not just here, as part of the Jedi Order, but the path your life will take."

"No one else can give you the answer... not me, the Council, or any of your friends. You need to find it yourself, because you must see it here," he pointed to his head, "and feel it here," bringing a fist toward his heart, lightly tapping his chest. "Your answer is your choice. Choose wisely, my friend."

A short "Thank you for dinner," was the Jedi Master's final words to his padawan as he stepped out into the hallway. The door closed behind him, and with heavy, resigned sigh, he started down the hallway towards the repulsor lift.

[Sejah Haversh]

The pounding of Sejah's heart was akin to jungle drums. His blood raced thrpugh his veins, and it was hot. As the door closed, it was all he could do to keep from leaping up and throwing the table over as he had once done with Oriadin.

It wasn't the first time his anger had caused him problems. All his life, he would quetly take whatever was dished out, until something, even somethign small would finally be just enough to set him off, and he would explode like a powder keg. That keg had just gone off all over the one man he was trying to gain trust from.

Using the table as a brace, Sejah rose to his feet and paced to one of the large bay windows that the room posessed. Outside were hundreds of ships, and on the street level thousands of beings roamed, all of which knew just where they belonged in society. Why was he so different. His arm leaned heavily on the glass, and he rested his forehead against it as he thought. The tastes of dinner had turned to ash in his mouth, and his stomach felt as if it were in a vice.

"Hrrr-AAGH!" the mongoose bellowed, pounding on the transparisteel surface of the wondow before storming back off to the kitchen. Dasquain had been saving a bottle of vodka in the frige for the next time they had a party, and Sejah wasted little time in cracking it open and downing nearly a sixth of the bottle. The table was left still burdened with food from dinner as he passed back through the room and flopped down onto his bed where within ten minutes, half the bottle disappeared. Thoughts swimming through his head, Sejah continued to drink himself into a stupor in an attempt to get them to go away.

Finally, with much of the bottle now in his bloodstream, he let it slip from his grasp and rolled over to grope for his kris dagger. The wavy blade fit well in his palm, and he stared at it through bleary eyes. How easy it would be to just cut his wrists and end it all, but being so innebriated, he couldn't find the motor skills, and simply passed out, dropping the blade to the floor next to the bottle. Dasquain was sure to be furious when he got back home.

[Dasquian Belargic]

Dasquian came pacing down the corridor towards his room thoroughly worn out. With Valanya in his arms, her head flopped against his shoulder as she dozed, he looked as though he had spent the whole day on his feet. In actual fact, he had. He had been training, dealing with new recruits, and keeping the little girl in his arms happy. It was much more difficult than he ever remembered it being to keep everything up in the air. He didn't think things could get anymore tiring. That is, until he opened the door to his and Sejah's room and turned on the light.

There lay his roommate, sprawled out unconsious. There was a bottle and a knife on the ground, and from the looks of the state of the kitchen, Sejah had been entertaining guests tonight. Quickly slipping over to his bed to lay Valanya to sleep in her cot, the Hallaeran Knight returned to Sejah and first removed the knife and bottle from out of his reach - he didn't want him to wake up, drunk, and do something stupid.

This done, he propped his friend back up straight in the chair and sighed. He had a feeling he knew why Sejah was in such a state. There was a problem playing on his mind that no one could give him the answers too and it frustrated him. Dasquian knew this from previous conversations with him. There would be no point in talking to him now. He could sense that aside from being drunk there was nothing wrong with him, so it would be best to just allow him to sleep it off. With this in mind, Dasquian grabbed Sejah's blanket and tossed it over him in the chair before pacing into the kitchen to begin clearing up.

[Sejah Haversh]

Hundreds if furry midgets were inside his head. They had sledgehammers, and they were angry.

Sejah groaned as his mind came back to life, and then groaned again as his head swam and pounded at the same time. A disoriented paw lifted to hold his aching skull, and he leaned forward unsure how he got inot the chair in the first place.

Around him, the clank of dishes was like the pounding of a gong, and he mumbled, " 'Ey, cudditout, will ya? Oohhh, Gar, where am I?"

[Dasquian Belargic]

"In your room," Dasquian called out, setting down a large dome-dish so that he could go check on Sejah - he could almost feel the disorientation through the Force. The Knight sat himself down in the chair opposite to the Padawans and squinted as he studed Haversh.

"... Want some painkillers?"

[Sejah Haversh]

Sejah vented a sigh and rubbed his temples. "How 'bout my gun instead?" he joked darkly, then took a few painkiller pills from Dasquain and swallowed them down with a half glass of water that his roomate provided.

"I screwed up real bad, Das," he mumbled, trying to get up, then stoppign as he felt the room swim. "I yelled at my master, pretty bad, too. Gar, what the frell am I doing? I finally gets me a master and blam, I screws it all up. Why do I even try..."

[Dasquian Belargic]

Sitting on the arm of the rooms couch, Dasquian shook his head slightly.

“I don’t think you’ve screwed it up. I don’t know exactly what happened but I’m sure that one outburst won’t convince your Master that you shouldn’t be trained. We’re meant to correct mistakes or flaws, not ignore them like they aren’t there.”