The War on Shrugs

[Sirdi Kōhō]

The War on Shrugs

Here is where people,

One frequently finds,


Lower their voices

And raise their minds.



Dry heat waft over the hard soil and rough green trees. Above watched the blue sky. Rich brown, yellows and oranges were everywhere. Fortified steel tents propped up and about as hard sterile chambers stood tall against the winds. The earth rose like a wave in the backdrop. Hillsides with flowed along the view as water rushed out and was topped by thick kingswood and hard branches hidden in the green leafy clouds of vegetation. Soft stares captured the landscape as it unfurled beyond their stops at chamber door ledges. Those stoops bridged them from the sterile building’s insides to the scorched earth. Winds traveled pass these young bunches, sweeping with it leaves, dirt and unknown debris into a swirl that blew at the bottoms of any Jedi’s tunic and white doctor’s flapping coats.

Behind those fresh faces and into the chambers sat the young. Youth bred noise everywhere but here. The air flowed along the cold trail where the silence was thickest. Down along the chilling steel floored corridor lit dimly the air pushed. Feet pitter-pattered in soft boots, sneakers, and loafers as they neared the soft light which awaited. Men, boys, girls, women and all inbetween trickled into the hall. The hummed bustle of droids was stuffed in the nearest corners as walkers slipped down steps. The hall was round. It’s ceiling high and curved. Most the patrons were stuffed at desk with holo-records to keep their eyes busy. Tall aisles of the records were archived near the back in several rows. Blue lights emit from their placing. A touch would turn the blue black and empty. Then, in a toucher’s hand, the datapad would shine to life alerted with the download. Some prowled the aisles. Their eyes were tug one way as their body shot in another direction. Snoopers were permitted. Standard protocol units parades the rows, hushing, assisting, and shooing folks along.

A young man the color of gingerbread with raven eyes gaze darted from side-to-side. Lips smooth, full and barely restraining a smile as he was on the edge of a cackle. Cropped, kept, short, curls brushed into a wavy tide crowned his head in a caesar cut. No sideburns lay beside high cheek bones or down his high jaw and skin time hadn’t tested or bruised. No facial hair marked his chin to speak of his adulthood. All he was given was a mustache to tell he was twenty-something. His body was thin but his torso was like a triangle. The shoulders were wide. The thighs, the legs, the feet, all pulled to stretch out by nature. Dirt was nowhere on his outfit. The boots were spotless, black and gripped his ankles. Tan slim trousers hugged his child hips as his henley long-sleeve shirt hung past his beltline. His ribbed burgundy jacket didn’t go past his waistline but his arms still bent to stuff his hands in the jacket pockets as his eyes went on a search. The man was Sirdi Koho, and he was on a rare personal mission of discovery.

Word was this section had what he was looking for: “Where are you, where are you,” he murmured. He eyed the codes under the neon azure holo-data. One touch, confirmation, and he’d be on his way. But, there was too much to ignore. Each touchable slit was packed with knowledge out the brimm on a myriad on subjects. However, his focus was on one subject: the Kiffar. His ties were deep and untold. Little was in his databank on the topic beside passing talks in the Outer Rim. Few tangled with tribal marked men. Less had anything to say. Sirdi just knew he bled scarlet.

He kept peeking. His eyes went high, and low. His back straighten, adjusted, and hunched to get low.

“No, no, no.”

[Farran Esrimoure]

She was really only here for one book. Or datapad. Or flimsi. She couldn't even remember if the title that Master Vymes had sent her looking for was contained in one of those three very different mediums. She'd not asked, a stubborn pride keeping her from shuffling to the closest droid to see if it knew the location of what she'd come here for.

It was interesting, seeing the state of the old Jedi Library; what parts had been excavated had been refurbished to usable status, leaving the rest off limits. She remembered seeing crews diligently at work, steadfast and determined to do what they could to save the old structure. And they'd done an admirable job, at that. At least, the parts that they'd been able to get done so far were done well.

Still though, her observations did little to find the object of her search, and with a resigned sigh, the blonde crossed her arms over her chest as she rounded another corner, heading down one of the long rows of shelves with a decidedly sour expression painted on her face. Her bootsteps seemed to echo all around, and the further she went, the more she had to wonder if Master Vymes was sending her on a wild jakrab chase.

Navigating around another body, Farran gave his hunched form a sideways look, not sure if she'd seen him before. She certainly didn't remember his face, though that wasn't saying much she supposed. A small level of curiosity rose, and she slowed her pace as her own gaze went up to a highed shelf, scanning the titles on display.

She blinked in mild frustration.

"You haven't seen any books about... " what was it Master Vymes had called them?

"... Iktochi, I think?"

[Sirdi Kōhō]

The woman’s voice shot through his silence like a popped deflating balloon: sloppily. Sirdi’s mind, eyes, and body were focused on the archive before him. His heritage was at stake. So, like a balloon haphazard descent, her voice bounced everywhere but the target inside his ears. Immediately, as she spoke, his brows furrowed. The left brow crumpled more. The eye beneath tightened to a peer as that side of his lip pushed up and mouth opened slightly. He didn’t mouth the words, but his face said huh. He gave a slow head turn to the voice’s source. His eyes cut to the corners of head.

“Icky, ick--” his pitch rose in query, but was still a raspy mess. When his eyes met the woman though, he stopped. He coughed a laugh. Suddenly, he was aware of his own confusion. He cut himself short. But, he didn’t pause or lose a beat as his face stopped it’s scrunching and he pocketed his hands in his pockets to compose himself, “---what’d cha say now?”

A natural, but ever so slight, smile wrapped around his lips as he formed his words and rested at the stop. Only his lifted as he welcomed an answer. His shoulders tried pointing at her as his feet pointed to the archive’s still. His back leaned and his head was turned to her, but he his mind was still on the daymares that lead him to these quiet grounds. Sirdi wasn’t the studying type - he wouldn’t be caught dead roaming the halls; he liked action.

Learn by doing -- that would be his motto if he ever sat down long enough to have one.

[Farran Esrimoure]

"Iktochi," she repeated. Though it was more a sigh than an actual formed word. Oh, the word was there, it was just that there was... an underlying current of something unspoken lacing it.

She gave a helpless shrug.

"I really don't know. I can't find much on them, and my Master wanted me to find a book or whatever about them. I haven't figured out why yet."

Looking at him, Farran felt her brow knit as she still couldn't place his features.

"I haven't seen you around, before."

So long spent on Helska IV with only Master Davola had done little for her conversational ability. But, Master Vymes had been diligent in drawing out of the the more nuanced patterns of speech and interaction.

"I mean, well, are you new here?"

[Sirdi Kōhō]

The warmth of his pockets kept him at ease. His shoulders fell back letting his chest push out and do the talking. While words drooped out her, he eyed her with a smile that grew more into a barely restrained chuckle. His eyes welled with amusement as he watched her figure the right words out.

Eventually the laugh slithered out as his head went down to gather himself. "Yeah, yeah," he smiled, gulping his laugh with a smack and lick of the lips to silence the silly boiling out from his innards.

"Iktochi. Dem hardy horn head folks? Rih?" Sirdi cocked his head to the left slightly. And, so did his eyebrows. Before she could give an answer, he began moving pass her.

"Ya I heard of em. I ain't new 'round here egsactly but," he stopped, glancing over at the archive code; Sirdi was still on the search for his own goal. "I am new to dis stuffy library stuff."

"You?" He pivoted about to look back at her. Maybe she could be some help. She look like she knew a few things. It was possible she could've crossed a Kiffar.

[Farran Esrimoure]

She held his eyes for probably a moment longer than she should have, but quickly gave a shake of her head. There was no real way to answer his question without seeming like some rube caught in a tundralanche, so she bit her lip in an effort to think of the right words.

"Used to be a contractor for Alliance Intel. Before that, well... long story."

She pushed onward though, not really wanting to get into the details, or even the old times. Least, not yet. She was still trying to process all of the things that Master Vymes was trying to get her to unlearn. It was taking a fair bit of time, but thankfully he seemed a patient man. For more patient than Master Davola had been.

"I came here on an assignment, but... " another shrug as she felt a slight blush rising in her cheeks. Why was she blushing?! Lifting a hand up then, Farran scratched at an imaginary itch on her forehead.

"... well, guess I got the long stick." Was that the right way to say it?

"Now I'm here permanent. I think."

[Sirdi Kōhō]

The young Jedi turned and tread on down the aisle. His saber banged from side to side at each step. And, so did his eyes. They swapped from data file to data file, guiding down the trail & rows for the correct coding. There was no sign of his target. Those Kiffar, even as an archive data file, were a slippery bunch. Sirdi would know. Apparently, he was one of them. Or so, that was how the story was told to him. After a little more investigation, the hope was he would find out definitively. Yet, the same keen eye for uncovering the truth was also needed to be used for the gal behind him. "Alliance, eh?" The question was thrown over his shoulder like a shower towel after a rinse down.

The would-be-Kiffar turned his head over his shoulder, his eyes easing back to get a gander of her. "I woulda guess so, ye know? We can smell are own kind," he smirked a snicker from coming out. Then, suddenly, he stopped, and thumbed the outline of a code on an archive. From the paper he withdrew from the databank, this was close to the right one. As he ran his finger down his possible prize with his eyes keyed in on each number, he spoke up.

"Long stick didja in?" He smiled. "Neva' heard that one befo'---Aha!" He clicked the code. Confirmed. The pad lit in his pant pocket with delight. Finally, it was called to download. In a flash the pad buzzed in pants as he turned about at her with a grin. "Look what I found," his hand dug into his pants and pulled out his reward. Without even a glance, he clicked at the screen and what popped up on the datapad was an image of a marked tanned face with long hair in braids staring back at him. In a swivel of his wrist and push out, he placed the image in the newly acquainted lady's face.

"A Kiffar..rih?"

[Farran Esrimoure]

'Smell our own kind'?

It was a strange thing to say, and for a moment Farran seemed frozen.

"Well, I wasn't really Alliance Alliance. I just did contract work for them... "

A puzzled face then, as his last word sank in. "Kiffar?"

She peered at the picture on the 'pad, blinked, and stared at the digital face that was looking right back. He'd said Kiffar, so probably not an Iktochi, but that was ok. She'd passively given up trying to find anything about them for a while at this point.

"I've never heard of a Kiffar," she finally answered.

[Sirdi Kōhō]

He slowly pulled the pad from her face to reveal his own quizzical look smeared across his face. His head tilted. She spoke of contract work but never had come across a Kiffar? Sure, they weren't a popular spacer species or political type, but most had heard of them. Or, so Sirdi thought.

Along the years some popular icons were adorn with the signature Kiffar markings. Word had it the Tonnika sisters of Tattooine were Kiffar and they lived in infamy. Still, the thought raised more questions as he pocketed his data pad and smirked away his puzzled gaze.

"So wait," he leaned against a divide in the shelf. "What sorta contract work were you up to?"

[Farran Esrimoure]

"Mostly just did small intel jobs." She made a worried face at the expression he was giving to her, not exactly sure how to interpret it.

"I mean, it was always a bunch of watching and nothing more. I gathered information, and sent it their way."

Biting her lip, Farran looked away only briefly, then returned her eyes to him. "Before that I was kinda... isolated. Didn't really get out much."

Which was an understatement. Having spent most of her life on Helska IV, she'd only heard about some of the galaxy's denizens through Master Davola. Some of the Venture's still-functioning databanks provided more information, and even sometimes pictures. She'd often spent hours perusing a myriad of files on as many species as she could find, and some nights had stayed up till the morning time.

"So... " she tried to fill the quiet between them, hoping that she'd not in some way offended him with her lack of knowledge. "... I guess... you're a Kiffar, then?"

A sudden wince then, as she knew her words sounded bizarre and, well, rather stupid.

[Sirdi Kōhō]

His shoulder leaned against the shelf as he watched her rummage through her thoughts for words and let them float out. An ease came to his smile, arms crossed, awaiting her next thoughts. When she finally stumbled onto a conclusion, his eyes closed for a second and both brows lifted as an amused frown sent the corners of his lips down but pushed his shoulders up in a shrug. "Who knows?"

Sirdi pushed with his shoulder off the shelf, pocketed his hands once more in his jacket and strolled around her. "Thats wha' we here to find out, rih...or no?" His words slipped by her ear as he drifted by her side. "Wanna help?"

[Farran Esrimoure]

The thought of having to search for whatever it was Master Vymes had sent her for (she was beginning to wonder if it was on purpose, this chasing of a species that was so hard to find) was not an enticing one. At least, not nearly as enticing as finding out what a Kiffar was. His response was taken with a measure of quiet, as she stamped down her own misgivings.

"I... "

He seemed on a slow burn of enthusiasm, and Farran latched onto it. Fed off of it, almost.

"... that sounds good."

Another wince, as she was sure she'd not used the right words. He moved past her, and she pivoted on a heel.

"I mean, I'd like to help. Yeah."

She might not've come here for this, but she was committing herself in the moment. His expression drew her in and made her want to see the end of this jakrab hole.

Farran was quick to catch up.

"So if you don't know if you're Kiffar... how do you find out?"

[Sirdi Kōhō]

"Well," Sirdi glided alongside her. The blue lit articles, touchpads and dim fixtures surrounding the shelves surrounded them as they neared the end of aisle. Faces swept along the main walkway, carrying their datapads in hand in search of their needs or to checkout. Many of the magical settlers took to this learning center with open arms. Most contemplation led to discussion in the closed quarters within the library's fixture near the back end. There students studied and delved endlessly into the tutelage of the past, planted in the archives recovered from ruins or other unknown sources. Sirdi wasn't one to sit down, but he did know how to investigate those articles like most of the students around. Developing, realizing, and observing connections was one of his strong suits; his mind worked like an officer's case board with strings and lines pointed every which way. Yet, when he had to articulate it, he at times had to pause and lift his eyes to up in wonder.

And, so, he did. In a breath, he blinked and eyes glanced up, looking into his thoughts to pry out the correct visuals to capture and cut the fat: "I hear they may be cursed like me." He finally said, eyes swinging back to fix on Farran. A sly smile smudge his soft features as he eyed her. "Ya' know, you forgot to introduce ya self?"

At the aisle's corner end, into the walkway, he turned about. Pivoted on his heel, he staggered playfully back, hands in his pocket and sent a stiff wave her way as he held tight to his sly smile. "I'm Sir-dee" Out from his back pocket the datapad floated, strung up by invisible strings that most in these parts knew to be the Force. Recently, the masterless Padawan had taken a liking to dangling things with a call of his unseeable friend the Force. It was practice. Most of the younglings and Padawan walking the path of the Jedi Code were privy to the capabilities of their majestic talents at earlier ages. Quiet finessing was done in their youths, deep in the shadows under the Empire's reign, and their basic understandings were played out in games until a seriousness or humility curbed their use of their powers with age. Sirdi was never awarded that lifestyle. The comprehension he had with the calling of the unknown magic was all animal related.

For as long as he could remember, he just thought he had a strange special talent with dogs. Little did he know, there was more untapped potential than a mental connection with a fuzzy creature he'd just met. Thus, the datapad - stuffed full of teachings from Master Wei, the Jedi Code, ways of the Force and most recently the profile on the Kiffar species - fell into his open palm as casual as a finger snap while awaited Farran's introduction. The pad laid in his hand, activated with a thought to reopen the Kiffar's profile. The holoimage floated above the pad, projecting the image on the screen of a braided young man's face. It swiveled about in its blue hued smallness as the pad awaited instructions from it's owners.

Soon, they'd start connecting the dots and maybe Sirdi would get some answers.

[Farran Esrimoure]

She stared at the hovering image, translucent blue showing her the face of a Kiffar. Well, she supposed it was a Kiffar. His actions and words up until this point all seemed to indicate that what she was seeing now was the face of a species she'd never heard of. But, her mind also brought her back to the prodding nudge of an introduction that she'd not made earlier on. She blinked.

"Oh, um, Farran."

Eyes still glued to the holographic face, the blonde continued in a somewhat halting tone.

"Farran Esrimoure."

One hand reached up then, to run fingers through her hair in an idle motion; a motion that she tried to use to fill the unused, quiet space that now existed between them. It only worked for a few seconds, at best. There was something he'd said though, that arrested her attentions enough to get her back on track: curse.

"You're cursed?"

[Sirdi Kōhō]

Few prodded into his business. There were enough busy bodies in the colony to keep teachers and nosey people alike confounded & dumbfounded by others. Thus, he hadn't explained much of his troubles to many. Everyone was too intrigued by the complexities of sword swings and floating objects to meddle with a guy who froze up every once and a while.

"I touch thangs and feel stuff." The vagueness was apt. Sirdi hadn't fully grasped the concept himself. All he knew was what he was told by one of the Jedi elders; a couple of the settlers had lived long careers dating back to the Old Republic and called what he described to his teachers as psychometry. However, Sirdi had different terminology for his abilities.

"It's spooky fingas, ya know" he twiddle his outstretched hand toward her and ooed at her, following up with a short chuckle.

"Jus' some weirdo sithspit, ya know?" Rhetorical questions were another one of his special abilities. Perfect for segues. He turned about into a pivot and headed to the library's checkout.

"C'mon," Sirdi cocked his head back. "I'm gon find out what dis mess is bout"

[Farran Esrimoure]

"'Spooky fingers'," she repeated in a quiet voice, trying to parse the meaning of it. A small smile then, as the understanding came. Spooky fingers. Magic. The Force. Licking her bottom lip, Farran hurried to follow, almost gleefully forgetting what she'd originally come here for. The notion of finding out about a Kiffar was far more enticing than the Iktochi that she'd been here originally for; perhaps because there was an extra layer of mystery attached? Sirdi spoke of being Kiffar, but wanting to know about them. It made her curious, and fired those old desires to further her knowledge.

She almost felt like she was back home, aboard the Venture. In her room, huddled beneath her thick comforter with datapad in hand, hoping that Master Davola had no notions to 'check in' on her.

Farran couldn't help the beginnings of a smile.

"So how long have you been on Ossus," she asked as they stepped out into the waning sunlight.

[Sirdi Kōhō]

Pass the checkout, out the doors, Sirdi moved like he had no one to be and nothing to do. The datapad floated strung on invisible cords above his hands. He looked ahead. Orange was everywhere. Green blotted the picture. Buildings trailed the trail in rows. Tents pitched across the way. Traders scrambled through their goods at post. Swept in the smells was roasted meals steaming from a marketplace nearby. The faint, but delectable aroma twirled with the air into his nose. A lust took over his mouth. He quietly smacked his lips. A lick ran over them as he calmed the salivation.

Hunger wanted to make his belly growl, but his shoulders shifted back and chest rose more as soon as his stomach wanted to stink in. Rolling his neck about, he returned his gaze to the world around him. The datapad finally was cut from its strings, falling to his open palm. As if worried it'd be lost, he stuffed it back into his back pocket and returned his hands to the warmth of his jacket pockets. Shifty eyes shot back along Farran's way, where his face eased up.

A smile all his own, sly like a fox preying on a furry meal, matched Farran's own. "I been 'ere..." For a moment his smile faded.

Those wandering eyes drifted up. There he searched the heavens for an accurate answer. Recall wasn't his strong suite. Silence crept in, but he beat it with absent minded suck of his teeth. And, then, it clicked. A pull brought his eyes back down, and with it returned his smirk. His torso turned to her, as his hands talked but were restrained to his jacket pockets. Elbows bent, his jacket parting wide, smirking wide, eyeing her with wide welcoming eyes, he glanced at her waist with an ever slight head point. "Maybe aslong as ya had dat dere saber?"

[Farran Esrimoure]

She followed his eyes, looking down to the hilted saber clipped to her belt.

"I've had this for a few years now," she started slowly, finally letting her gaze track back up to meet his own.

"Well, more'n a few, I guess. 'Bout... five years?"

A sly smile, then. Certianly not nasty, but more good-natured than anything else.

"This place ain't been home to the Jedi for that long."

[Sirdi Kōhō]

A snicker skipped out his simper. His hand rose to cover. Only a single finger was needed to restrain himself. Head cocked a bit down, he regained himself. A switch of guard and cast his look on Farran. Sirdi gazed. Weight slipped from one foot to another. He leaned in a tad. No curve tugged at the ends of his mouth; it was simply a line. Not a wrinkle curled above his cheeks in the bottoms of his eyes for a smile. All was quiet as he let his mouth part, and a gruffness peeled out his throat. "Is dat whatcha think?" Lips upturned as did his brows. Both pulled up as his forehead wrinkled. His head lowered so he could look up at her through his raised expression.

Word traveled through the settlement from the ruins and librarians that Ossus had history dating thousands of standard years. Children of the Force were taught on this scorched land in a day it was lush. Vegetation sprawled the lands and so did the Order's code. Teachings marked the torn temple walls, tattered floors and tapestries carved into ceilings. Whispers of the astonishment flooded talks of the novice learners. Yet, Sirdi wasn't one to gather around for gossip. At least, not without a joke or two. It was never serious. If he wasn't there, he wouldn't know forsure. Except in the case that he was brought to a time by the hands of his magic.

He'd touch a few too many artifacts to doubt any misguided doubter to Ossus' old kooky religion origins. Sirdi had seen it himself. He knew things.

[Farran Esrimoure]

She stood defiant, unwilling to budge.

"Well, this new Order ain't been here that long, I know that much."

But, perhaps he was trying to test her? He certainly had the air of someone who enjoyed speaking in riddles. Moreso than Master Vymes, even. And that was a feat that she thought once impossible. The blonde let her features fall into a studious glare, trying to pick apart each facet of the face before her. It reminded her of Master Davola, and his intensity whenever he spoke of the Order he'd been separated from. It had made her yearn to know that Order, and to see those grand halls and fantastic edifices of the Temple.

"My old Master used to tell me about the old Order, before the Purge," she began cautiously, "... though he didn't really focus on much beyond how he missed the Temple."

[Sirdi Kōhō]

"New Order, Old Order, we all a'buncha kooks." He chuckled. A flippant turn, sent him about toward the trail toward the dorms. She talked much of her Masters. He didn't have one. No assignment was given to learn under one specific educator; it didn't bother him. What made him curious was the terminology. Of course mastery was implied, but calling one their master unnerved his senses. Such thoughts circled in his mind as he continued to walk ahead, pondering where he fit in all this. Despite his tutelage and avid take to the works of the lightsaber & combat, the philosophies were strange. While he knew historical events through touch, he couldn't wholeheartedly embrace the peculiarities of the code.

Yet, he conducted himself with the same amount of calm. He strolled off, not turning to back to say, "I can tell ye thing o' two both dis temple dat once stood tall on da planet. Frell, its why I e'en messin' wit all dis Kiffar trash." Absently, he toed an empty can away. "Seen de old kooks wit' my own senses."

[Farran Esrimoure]

Doggedly she kept pace, a strange, stolid expression on her face. The more Sirdi talked, the more she was confounded. The first beginnings of frustrations were beginning to show, but it was frustration laced with a healthy amount of confusion. He spoke in vagueries that sent her mind reeling in attempts to decipher the meanings. But, habit and determination pressed her on. From being told that her understanding of the Jedi was misguided, to this cyclical explanation of the Jedi, it was enough to make her features betray her feelings.

"You're not making sense," she finally blurted out, "... can't you speak plainly?"

[Sirdi Kōhō]

He stopped. He sighed. He hadn't to explain this phenomena before. So, it'd be best to figure the plain words to explain it. His head cocked back. For a moment, his mind worked to find the words behind shut eyes. With his head back down and a small smack of his lips, he began. "I touch thangs. I see where it's been. Old memories. Got it?" His eyes shifted to her at his side, but body faced forward. His shoulders dropped and so did his voice. Any angst that may have rattled his beginning, was withheld as he continued.

"Listen, I been gettin' flashes e'er since I got 'ere. Flashes of the old-old past. Long ago, back when dis place was green as hell." It had been months of daymares and nightmares as his had brushed against things. Sirdi hadn't even learned how to control it in the slightest. Although he didn't resent other Jedi Padawan with master, he wish he could confide in someone that could actually help. Explanations seem futile if there was no chance in assistance. It was a practice in whining. So, he stopped there and walked toward the dorm.

The kicked can was now in front of them, and he toed it again.

[Farran Esrimoure]

It was a side of the Force that she'd never considered, and Farran stared at him in a strange sort of fascination. To see glimpses of what had been, simply by touch? It was a strange aspect of the Force to be sure, and she bit her lip as her thoughts ran over this new notion, like a child turning over a glittering corusca gem, fascinated by the different facets it contained. She stuffed her hands in her pockets then, finally giving a look to Sirdi's back.

Was he frustrated? Her own grasp of picking apart the emotions around her was decent enough, but there were still cues that she at times missed. She stared at his back, then started forward once more.

"I've never heard of anyone having that sort of connection with the Force before," she offered.

"It's... well, it's amazing."

There was a new sort of respect for him, as to her, his talents were so singular.

[Sirdi Kōhō]

Amazing wasn't how it felt. Terrors and ghost haunted this world. Ossus had regain a lot of it's green, but the scorched earth beneath still baked with the burnt souls whom died there. Artifacts nestled along the plains, and trees where bodies rot only needed a misguided hand to brush against it to flash Sirdi with the horrors. Yet, he had seen beauty too. Without focus, he never knew what'd he would see at a moments notice. Anytime the Force called upon him, he could not ignore it. Once it was a nuisance. Now, on this planet, it was agonizing; surrounded by all these well-trained Jedi made him feel insolent as he faced the power.

"Sure, whateva'..." He shrugged, still strolling.

He stopped at the door. It sled open. He kept on to the lift. There he held the door and waited for Farran to enter. He wondered how awkward the ride up would be now that she knew his day-mares. Vulnerability wasn't where he was most comfortable, but nothing beside his room was comfortable since he'd came to the Jedi Order.

[Farran Esrimoure]

His reaction wasn't exactly what she was expecting, and Farran stepped into the lift. She made a face, conveying her rather surprised feelings over how he seemed so... reticent about it all.

"It is," she pressed on, as the doors closed to shut them alone.

"I don't know of anyone that can do stuff like that. I mean, think about it; you have a window into how things were, and why they happened. Well, that last bit to some degree, at least."

She gave a hurff.

"I mean, look. You've got an insight. Everyone here tells me that my old Master was mad in the head, and that everything her taught me was wrong. But you... you've got a way to see the truth of things and how they used to really be."

[Sirdi Kōhō]

His hands hid in his pockets. He leaned back. The wall held him up. One foot kept him balanced. The other held the wall. When she spoke, her words hummed under the zoom of the lift's gears. It's hushed drone eased the soul. No parts of him tapped, but he was impatient by nature. Always, he fought the need to interrupt. Even as Farran made her points. Instead, he lowered his head slightly. The words weren't mouth. Only his retorts were collected. A shy smile snuck on his mug. One floor beeped as the elevator moved up closer to his own.

"Maybe I should find out how you use ta be," the sneakily small lift at the corner of his lips held. The glint of glee sparkled as his eyes Farran's own. "Like 'bout dat ol' Master of ya." The way she brought him up intrigued Sirdi's senses. Whoever the old Master was, he had a clear impact. Without any questioning, she brought up her old tutelage with a tad of defensiveness.

Another beep and the doors opened. They'd arrive. Ahead was a stretched out polished corridor. He exited first. Gentleman protocol called for a different order, but he was the only one whom knew where they were going. Farran could. Yet, if she did, she'd be a stalker. Weird as she may have seemed, Sirdi didn't think her also creepy.

[Farran Esrimoure]

"He wasn't like anyone here," she started as they left the lift.

His notion to find out about her life growing up on Helska IV was met with a strange sort of interest, and the thought of someone seeing the same things that she had seen was strangely not turned away by. It was a chance to not be the only one to know exactly what her life had been like; a chance to not be the only one who had known the tutelage of Master Davola. And even if it was not the same as him actually being there, it was closer than anything else. She couldn't help but feel lonely at times, here on Ossus. To feel as though she had been cheated out of... something. There was loss there as well, but it was a different tinge of emotional vibration that seemed to sound as a tinny counterbeat to everything else.

As they walked, she stole a glance his way.

"So then, even touching people makes you see what came before?"

The thought that his gift was not limited to the inanimate was fascinating, spurring her desire to know more.

[Sirdi Kōhō]

The glimmer he'd seen in gambits at casino tables shot his way. Farran was intrigued. Sirdi walked the wall, giving her room to gather beside him. The shy smile slid off his face, replaced by wonder. "Frell," he started. "Idunno, ya know?" A flippant shrug lifted his shoulders as his hands stayed tucked away. He poked his lips out, lifted his eyes, and returned to thought for a moment.

"But..." One hand went out. A card showed itself in his palm. The other hand came out, and pointed at Farran's waist. Her lightsaber beam in the overhead lights, dangling there for defense at a moment's notice. "If you say that's been 'round fa while...Maybe that'd work?"

Sirdi was spitballing. He didn't know how to control this power in the slightest. He barely knew how to open his own door. At a stop, he fumbled, trying to figure how to slide the card-key into the slot the right way. He flipped it up and down, then around to no avail. The chip must've been in the wrong way.

[Farran Esrimoure]

Her eyes went to her saber, and she couldn't help the involuntary shrug.

"Well, maybe? I mean, I made it outta old blaster parts, from where I used to live. The blasters belonged to clonetroopers."

She didn't unclip it from her belt just yet, instead letting her attentions go to the key-card that seemed unwilling to be read.

"I think I heard some of the technicians saying they'd updated the door lock system software," she tried, not exactly sure if her words were helpful in any way. "... or something. I wasn't listening all that much."

[Sirdi Kōhō]

Soft hands rarely got dirty and his hands were rough. No scars. No dirt. They were simply rough. Pronounced veins ran under the knuckles. They trailed dow the backhand and reappeared in the muscles on his forearm. Big knuckles bulged bolstered by bunched punches, bruises and fist wrapped exercises. Boxing bouts kept his mittens scuffed. Grav-ball kept his hands stretched. Blade swings reformed his saber skills. Simply put, he was good with his hands. Crafty with his fingers, he twisted a twirl of his identification card about like a gambit. His fingers spun it about until the golden colored chip on the blank white card design pointed at his quarters.

A blip-boop beeped reply hummed as the Jedi Initiate stuffed the card back in the slot. Green lights outlined his door. Unhinged in a stir, the door sled left and open. Bright white overhead lights flared up in a blaring surprise welcome home.

"Got it."

Jedi dorms were cramped spaces. Durasteel walls greeted them. A mat with scribed with a Goodbye lay within the room's first step. A big, long, wide bed overwhelmed the tiny chambers. Fuzzy black covers leaked off the mattress draping only inches from the carpet floor. Soft pillows rested at the bed's head. A wooden frame held it up. A treasure chest almost closed sat at the bed's foot. Inside standard paramilitary folded & rolled pants, shirts, socks and towels stacked atop one another. Alongside the chest waited boots, shoes and sneakers for a chance to be filled and dragged outside in the sunshine. Next to the door a engine fuel stained long-sleeve shirt reached out from the top of a nearly empty laundry hamper basket. Art depicting a space dogfight from a forgotten wall plastered on a long poster sprawled above the bed on the wall.

In the corner a small desk stood. A swivel chair was tucked under it. On the chair dangled a black rebel x-wing fighter pilot jumpsuit. A crushed fizzy-pop soda can tipped over in the left parts of the desk. Mini hand-made starship models circled a small holopad. Projected was Aurebesh. The word was his surname: Koho. The word spun about. Underneath lay a ripped wanted poster. The picture was torn out. A plate with bread crumbs longed to be washed nearby. Spare bolts and parts riddled the desk. Up above the desk flashed blips. Festive celebration little light swirled to make a word. The decoration seemed half-finished though, only reading "May the Force". Posters littered the wall. Curled corners of nude models spreads held to the durasteel next to printout of lightsaber hilt designs collected from an unknown manual. A dartboard rested on the door's back, two darts splitting at the center.

Sirdi toppled into the room, scrambling into a heaping leap onto his bed. The covers billowed at his fall. Each end sprung to life, flinging up before slumping back down. His oustretched arms flushed into a full sprawl out as he yawned. Stiff legs and arms perked up as he eased into his bed, almost forgetting he had company. As quick as they stiffen though, they eased into the comfortable warmth he came to know nightly. His bed was home. Every morning it was a challenge leaving it behind. Especially for something as dull as class. One of the stretched arms folded back, laying palm down on his chest. Legs wide, he pulled himself up a bit. Back against the pillow, he snuggled into a comfy spot. Half prone, his gaze slumped over to Farran at the door. The stretched arm spun at the wrist. His chair swiveled about from the desk to point at his bed.

"Step into my office," he teased.

[Farran Esrimoure]

His room was far more filled than her own. The posters on the wall, the lights, all of the odds and ends atop his desk. Everything seemed so... lived in. It made her a little jealous at first, and envious. He had history that he was able to bring with him; or at the very least, he had things that spoke to him. Of him and for him. It was an incredibly personal look into Sirdi that she'd not expected, and Farran stood for a moment in a slight amount of shock, her eyes traveling through the interior of his room.

At his beckon, she took a single halted step inside, her gaze going to the chair that he'd pulled out. Another step, then another, and the door hissed shut behind her.

"... "

For a moment there was nothing the blonde could think of to say, but clearing her throat allowed her a split-second to begin the process of re-ordering her thoughts.

"You've... a lot of stuff," she finally managed. Not the most graceful, but it was a start.

"More than what I have, heh."

Carefully she lowered herself to sit in the chair.

[Sirdi Kōhō]

The arm stayed stretched out, and opened. The other fell behind his head. He was comfortable. "Well, ya got dat ding?" He nodded at her saber hilt. "Gimme dat and lets test dat theory, eh?" Sirdi wasn't at all certain about the results. He'd never done the spooky fingers on purpose. But, it was worth a try. Who knew what'd he'd find out about his guest. Maybe, something juicy.

[Farran Esrimoure]

For a moment she didn't move, but ever so slowly, Farran unclipped her saber hilt. It had a weight, given more substantive heft owing to the cross-bar that she'd fashioned from those old blasters once belonged to Clonetroopers. She'd always been curious of those old soldiers, and had asked Master Davola about them. He'd smiled whenever beginning his stories, speaking of the Clones as though they were his long-gone children, holding them with a certain reverence. He spoke of them being the war, and the war being them. That their destiny was not of their own choosing, but of those who held position above them.

Pulling the hilt from its' clip, she let her eyes travel over its' surface, then tracked her gaze up to meet his eyes.

Slowly, she held it out for him to take, the pommel angled in his direction.

[Sirdi Kōhō]

He took the hilt and felt the weight. Heavy. Clone troop parts were built for chiseled men, not elegance. Blasters were forbidden, apparently, from the Old Republic's Jedi Order. Scholars and former Jedi in the education department at the school stressed these points as old time beliefs. Over the decades following the fall of the Jedi, blasters were the only line of defense for some whom wanted to stay in hiding at all cost. Thus, while it was stressed, it wasn't a strict rule. Newcomers to the Order had grabbed arms in the name of the very Alliance who the Jedi were jointed with. It'd be contradictory to exclaim the fallacies of a blaster powerpack or muzzle flare without delving into the historical context. That said, Sirdi was fully aware of the implications of such parts making up a Jedi lightsaber.

Farran wasn't born under the privelege of a Master who could shroud her in ignorance of the legendary Clone Wars or from the rundown of the Great Jedi Purge. Sirdi wasn't privy on the latter, other than from what was grumbled about by the remnants of the Old Republic who roamed the galaxy and outpost. Details were hard to figure out. Most didn't want to delve deep. Archives skipped pass the era, into more training modules of the past. All he had was what the Galactic Empire told. Sirdi had to believe some of it; for it was all that was said.

What he learned of the past, that wasn't told, was often through his hands. But, with this pommel in his grip, he felt nothing. Flashes and images of the past evaded him. Even as he closed his eyes to feel the weight, he settled in expectation of a disturbance of disruption. Nothing. He clenched his eyes tighter. Certain something with blast from the ether into his vision - more nothing.

"Uhh, dis doesn't usually happen," he joked, one eye peeking open. He wasn't even sure if Farran had any context for his behavior. But, it was better not to completely explain. No sense in coming off as more of a failure.

"Gimme a sec..."

[Farran Esrimoure]

Not exactly sure what to expect, Farran tilted her head to the side, both eyes locking onto Sirdi. He was so unlike anyone here on Ossus that she had ever met, and the level of curiosity was - to be quite honest - rather high. She blinked slowly; owlishly almost. Her mouth opened, then snapped shut once more as nothing productive came to mind. There was no real words of encouragement that she could think of to say, and so while her gut reaction was to say something, the lack of words won the day. Instead, she found herself only able to offer a shrug of helplessness. If his talent was unable to divine anything from her saber hilt, she didn't exactly fault him for it. It was refreshing in and of itself to simply be able to interact with someone other than Master Vymes or the Padfoot, Ndonsa. There was always a side-eye, with that one.

Another moment of silence between the two, and she bit her lip in a bit of self-induced awkwardness.

"Well, um... "

It was a long shot, and she wasn't really sure it would work anyway, but Farran slowly raised her arm, hand outstretched and willing to take his if he wished.

"... could always try the flesh and blood option?"

[Sirdi Kōhō]

There was a glance that captured her apprehension. His brows bolted up. A flash of thought returned his thought as he reconsidered her hand as it stretched out. Before he could doubt the decree, he placed his hand out. "Worth a try, eh?" A frown folded his lips. He met her hand with his own. The touch was soft. But, he didn't feel more than her warmth. There was not a flash. As had happened many times before, there should've been a blur of images. His focus was suppose to attune. Yet, there was only her.

The prickle and smooth of her palm in his grasp.

"Nope." He eased his hand away, back to the blaster built saber pommel. "Maybe --"

It was sudden. Blaster bolts stormed alive and roared in her ears. Echos of clamor and clunks clogged her senses. Although his eyes were woke to the world, his mind was elsewhere in a blur of colored rays shooting across fields of fallen figures. Sprawled about were broken droid parts. Battle droids designed in vanilla paint skinny frames toppled along one another. A crap pile stacked a mountain for trooper boots to beat up to the tip-top. Stomps sent quiet tremors through the broken, severed and fried foes until the trooper's black visor reflected another line of them when reaching the top.

Sirdi blinked back to the world about him. His eyes cut to Farran. His finger loosened. The grasp fell, and the hilt bobbled to the bed. "--I got somethin.." It was just the beginning.

[Farran Esrimoure]

Her eyes grew wide then, as she watched him. She stared without shame. Never in her life had she seen someone both here yet... not here.

Farran couldn't help the slight lean forward of her upper body, hands wringing together, fingers clutching together and holding back from simply reaching forward to scoop up her sabre from the bed. Rather, the blonde kept her gaze on Sirdi, her curiosity sharp.

"What... ? What'd you see?"

[Sirdi Kōhō]

"War," he muttered, absently.

A blink sent his eyes back at the hilt. His gaze forged into a peer. "What'd ya make dis thing outta 'gian?" If it was something related to those troopers he saw fall, maybe his mind's eye was onto something.

[Farran Esrimoure]

She bit her lip for a fraction of a moment, wondering just how far back she should go in terms of shedding light on her past. Everything that she'd been told by Master Vymes shed a horrid light on her upbringing, and yet... it was still so precious to her. Master Davola had - despite his iron-fisted tutelage - been kind in his own way. And indeed, the old Jedi Master had been the only family that she knew. He'd told her stories when she was young, made sure that the wild colds of Helska's frozen tundras did not invade the warmth of her small room aboard the Venture. Everything that he had done for her... he was her father as much as he was her teacher.

"I... " she started haltingly, leaning back in her seat and instinctively drawing her legs up, arms going around her knees to hold them tight to her chest.

"I grew up in an old ship; it was a Venator, and it'd crashlanded on a planet during the Clone Wars."

She pursed her lips, looking away then, eyes going to stare at the floor.

"My old Master, he was there, and he used to lead the Clones on that ship into battle. He said that they all died before my real mom and dad crashlanded."

Farran knit her brow in thought.

"I thought that the greatest honor for the Clones that died in the crash, would be to make my lightsabre out of their blasters, especially since both them and I lost so much on Helska IV."

It was an admission that she'd never made to anyone else, the once-unspoken tie to those long-dead Clones that had driven her to connect with them beyond their passing.

[Sirdi Kōhō]

A side eye watched her as she explained. His peers softened as she delved deeper. Sirdi’s face grew more curious. "I saw dem," the flash of the shattered droids painted across his mind like a decor.

"Lot goin' on in dis thing." He grabbed the saber up again and tossed it up like a flipping coin. "Uh lot more probaby, too, huh?"

[Farran Esrimoure]

"Maybe."

She wasn't entirely sure what to make of his power, other than to be more than a bit impressed at the ability to see the past. To see what came before.

"I used to watch the old data holos of how things were on the old ship before it crashed."

Her eyes slowly blinked, and Farran gave a small shrug.

"Was a long time ago, though."

[Sirdi Kōhō]

Like many before him, he was born into the Galactic Empire's propaganda machine, and far too dimwitted on the matters of the Galactic Republic or the Clone War. Only the aforementioned visions he had showed him an pure concoction of the past. He did not cherish them. They were without context. Yet, they were records for recall. Images to cross-examine words spat back at him in discussions about the war. Ever so often he'd cross paths with an elder who cared to gather their senile senses to blubber wise tales of a forgotten time before the Empire cast a shadow on the truth. Such distortions, and misaligned stories with the Imperial's histories left him to conclude it wasn't important, and little was true that he was told.

A grunt escaped him: "Well, lets see."

When the saber hilt hit his hand he gripped, shut his eyes, deaden his thoughts, and breathed. Episodes of nightmarish touches began much differently, however the commonality he'd traced was the absence of the prominent internal monologue or commentary. Incessant dissection sculpted his every waking steps. He was attune to the voice: it reasoned him out of criminality, advised him to turn left at an alley, then horde of nitwits stampeded by, but was too loud for hearing the pasts. Without the voice's advisory, he'd captured visuals of Ossus' lush, ancient, greenlands, when he fingered a Ysanna's crochet throw.

The same was so with the hilt.

Behind the clenched lids littered a track of memories. Visual thoughts trained and zoomed to a blade swing. A voiced dried by age croaked instructions under the hiss of a seething saber. Each word was cut by the blaring hiss, Sirdi would need more focus to hear, his ears pricked to the minute drips of sweats trickling onto the hilt. She'd drenched the handle in her wet inexperienced palms. Beyond the ignited blade stood the instructor, rippled with wrinkles, tall, wide shouldered and mannish. Feral widen his gaze, weighed darkness in his eyes skin folds marked him crazy. Robes draped his body. Jedi attire. The man's saber rested at waist-side. Master or Knight, he was worn out but hunched with intrigue.

Sirdi's eyes twitched.

His grip on the blade tighten. "Who is that," his eyes remained shut.

[Farran Esrimoure]

Her eyes narrowed at the question; not out of suspicion, but from confusion. Who was who? Sirdi was seeing someone that she could not, and it threw her thoughts down a frantic path to try and divine the answer, to see a face that only he was seeing.

"I don't... "

A pause, as she began to wonder if he was seeing... surely not? But then, he had said that he could see the things from an object's past, and it would make sense for Master Davola to be present in such a vision.

"An old man? Short beard, long grey hair?"

And one other thing.

"Is there a scar across the bridge of his nose?"

[Sirdi Kōhō]

She had the look down pact. "Yea," he murmured. "That"

Sirdi remained meditative. His grip ever so tighter. He was honing in on something like a swooping hawk to his prey; he wouldn't let go now - not when he was closer to uncovering something intriguing as this strangely old man.

[Farran Esrimoure]

"That's him," she managed to breath out, leaning forward, eyes intently on Sirdi.

"That's Master Davola."

Her gaze shifted to the lightsaber, and the tight grip that Sirdi had on it.

"What is he doing... ?"

[Sirdi Kōhō]

The grip was as tight as ever. He looked blank. All but the twitch of his eyelids was still.

Then, his mouth moved. "Watching," he began. "Watchin' you--I think--swing the blade. Barkin' ordahs or sum'n."

The vision was from the peculiar point of view of the blade. A sweaty grip touched it. The saber swung haphazardly, like in the hands of a trainee. Yet, off in the distance stood the man in question. He looked determined, hands behind his backs, stance wide. Although each word was drowned in the blade's hum, he could see the militant commands mouthed.

"Like a train'n session."

[Farran Esrimoure]

Farran gave a nod, her eyes still locked on Sirdi as he continued to divine... whatever he was by a simple touch. It was fascinating to watch, and the realization that someone else was seeing even a tiny bit of her life on that frozen world, living in the shell of an abandoned star cruiser, was as though a cool air brushed over her. She had so many memories; some pleasant, some terrible, of her years with Master Davola. That Sirdi was seeing a small part of it was nothing short of amazing.

"I had lots of those sessions," she confirmed.

"Hours and hours and hours. Sometimes he'd make me practice all day long with only half an hour to eat food."

[Sirdi Kōhō]

Visions were sparse. They were flashes. He couldn't hold them too long. So, as she talked, the memory vanished from his mind's eye. His actual eyes opened; he slow blinked his gaze open and onto Farran.

"Ya sho'd teach me, den, eh?" Sirdi grinned.

[Farran Esrimoure]

"Well," brought back to the present, she blinked a few times as Sirdi looked at her. It wasn't a question she was expecting.

"I'm not a teacher, to be honest."

A dark cloud passed over her eyes before flitting away just as quickly.

"Master Davola made me a Knight right before I left, but I'm starting to figure out that his word might not mean much to the Jedi here."

Still though, she wouldn't outright refuse. In fact, the thought of passing along Master Davola's training excercises might be a fun distraction. Not teaching, necessarily, but more of a mutual 'this is how I was shown to do things'.

She couldn't help the slightest of upticks at the corners of her mouth.

"But I can show you some stuff that Master Davola showed me."

[Sirdi Kōhō]

He nodded, assured. "Sounds good to me," he twirled her saber.

"So dat was Mas'Davola, eh?" He looked down at the saber, held it in his hand as if to weigh it. "He aint look all that pleasant, ya know?"

[Farran Esrimoure]

"He was pleasant in his own way," she couldn't help but laugh.

"Some nights he'd tell me stories of the old Order, and of the Knights and Masters there. He usually made the food, and always made sure I had something to eat before he did."

Farran smiled then, a whisper of a thing that gave her eyes a far-off look.

"He was understanding where it counted, I guess you could say."

Her head dipped, as she realized a strange truth.

"I miss him sometimes."

[Sirdi Kōhō]

He offered the hilt back to her.

Sirdi wasn't a stranger to missing a person. "Sounds like he was uh dad o' some'n?" Family was important, but vacant role in the Jedi initate's life. The wound was not fresh, though.

[Farran Esrimoure]

Takaing back her saber hilt, Farran offered him a nod.

"I suppose. I never really thought about it like that, to be honest. After my mother died, Master Davola was the only person around."

She shrugged, though it was easy to see that her thoughts still lingered on the notion.

"Did your parents ever make you do that sort of stuff?" She hesitated, then clarified.

"Like training and meditation."

[Sirdi Kōhō]

Sirdi was like most in this new Jedi Order. He wasn't raised on the Jedi Code. Still, he answered, "Ya, we did do a lil train'n." He was being honest. The mixing of cultures in his background was filled with Force magick, as some would call it.

Even the visions were a trait of his people - but untrained. It was his other side of the family that taught him the ways of the beast. "But nothin' like dat," he motioned to her hilt.

[Farran Esrimoure]

"Oh."

She looked down to the saber she now held, fingers tracing lines along the cross guard. Farran was more than aware that the design of her hilt was different than most others, and for that reason - among a litany of others - it held deep meaning for her. A pendant that her mother used to wear had been tied firmly in place at the intersection point with a strip of canvas from a jacket that's belonged to her father, and both of their names had been etched into the metal.

"What sort of training did you do?"

[Sirdi Kōhō]

Sirdi mocked a look around. "Well," he stopped to look back at Farran. "We'd needa dog o' lil pest to show ya" There was a lot of handling in his background, that was for sure. It was the family business.

At least, it was before the Empire came in and busted up the place. For a few years after, those skills learned were the only thing keeping him and his sister alive. "But best way I can get at it is --" Sirdi tapped at the side of his head. "My mind, it links up wit dem."

[Farran Esrimoure]

It was a strange thing to consider, the notion that a person could form a link with an animal. Not many people... well, no one she knew, could do that. But apparently Sirdi could. It sent her thoughts into a bit of a spin, trying to suss out the how's and why's.

"So can you hear their thoughts?"

[Sirdi Kōhō]

"Sorta," he shot back. His eyes went up.

He looked to figure the words out like a math problem. Then, as abrupt as he spat out the words, he shot his eyes back at Farran. His hands went up, and wiggled in her face. "Spooky, huh?" He smiled. Somewhere, behind the grin, there was the thought of teaching such a link. And, further, beyond such ponders was a wonder if he could have such a link with a thinking, sentient being.

Or worst, a mechanical creature.

His imagination ran wild. So much, he was ready to rattle off a few of his curiosities. Sirdi wasn't that comfortable yet - or, at least, he knew he shouldn't be. Even though Farran was inside his living space. And, he'd invited her over, without a blink. Both, there, unfolding the absurdities of the Force. Both, students of the arts in such different ways.

It was at this moment, he'd realized something. But, as often was the case, the feeling evaded words and he did not speak up. Instead, he simply smiled away a multitude of questions as he goaded her with his spooky fingers, and silly comment.

[Farran Esrimoure]

A smile that was foreign on her features appeared, small though it was.

"I don't think it's spooky," she gave a shrug. "I've heard of lots of different talents people have through the Force."

And it was true. Master Davola and Master Vymes both seemed very adamant on the Force and its' particular callings, and what it chose to show those who could touch it.

"Seems to me that you got a talent for a certain aspect of the Force."

It was a talent that she was woefully inadequate in. The notion of connecting with animals was about on par as connecting with a durasteel beam. Not that it was impossible, just that she couldn't connect the dots on how to do it herself.

But all of that was in the aether, so to speak. Her stomach rumbled, giving her a stark reminder that she'd not had anything to eat sine the simple vita-bar earlier in the morning hours. Sirdi had her attentions though, and Farran found herself suddenly keen to know more about him. Never before had she concerned herself with such things, and now was so much of a departure for her that she embraced the differences of everything. She wanted to prolong it.

"You hungry?"

[Sirdi Kōhō]

"I could eat," Sirdi found his hand on his belly.

Food was always a near thought. He was a man of low needs: food, fun and gears. Even when the gears were shifting in his head, he could go for a steak. But, he also was taught manners. And, traveled many planets, so everyone's taste bugs were different. So, he asked, "What wo'd ya like?"

Sirdi slipped off the bed, already prepping himself to go. "I know dis new cantinuh, down 'round da corner? Ya, they got some good grub."

[Farran Esrimoure]

Grub? What sort of word was that?

But, she let it pass, figuring that it was some sort of strange Kiffar word that meant food. Or some variation of something edible.

Either way, Farran gave a nod.

"Sounds good to me. I'm about full-up on the regular cafeteria food."

Even though the cafeteria fare was fresh, it was beginning to grow same, and Farran longed for something more to tantalize her taste buds. She rose from her seat, instinctively clipping her saber to her belt.

"What sorta stuff do they have?"

[Sirdi Kōhō]

Sirdi didn't hesitate. "Steaks."

He liked any food that bled. He was conditioned this way. From his youth, he walked and talked with beast. Those primal taste were quenched with a fork, stab, and soft-tender bite from some grilled goodness. In a turn to the door, he tossed a gesture for her to follow suite. He opened the place up, guided her out, and locked the his place behind him. Sirdi mouth was already prepping for his order. Although he was not a regular at the bar & grill, those who were familiar with him knew his routine at restaurants.

Sirdi was one of those men who would get the same thing everywhere; there was only slight variation.

"You're gunna luh dis place." Sirdi already did. They had both of his favorites: nerfburgers with fries or bantha steak. Sirdi, like his comrades in youth, was a true carnivore. He rubbed his hands as he clicked the doors back to the elevator lift. "See, idunno how long ya been here, but ya gotta get outta dat caf-life. Its gettin' big 'round 'ere"

It was true. The settlement was expanding. New building were being fortified weekly. New travelers landed. New Jedi joined the enclave. Fields were mowed and tents rose as construction sites for the months upcoming were given signage. Everywhere around them, it was becoming evident this place was becoming more than simply a place for the Jedi to train away from the eyes of the Empire and under the cloak of the Alliance, but an actual thriving community which would soon earn township or become a city. Speeders and bikes began running the streets more frequently.

Sirdi could hear the murmurs of day life outside the building as he entered the lift.

[Farran Esrimoure]

She followed him out, curiosity beginning to gnaw at her as well as hunger. His descriptions of the food offered were enough to entice her thoroughly, and the blonde felt her stomach give an expectant rumble as she stepped onto the lift. Moments later they were on their way down, and as each second passed she couldn't help but imagine the food that would soon enough be set before her.

"Usually we just had soup or tundra vegetables, when I was living on Helska."

Certainly not the most enjoyable of diets, but it sustained both her and Master Davola.

"Every now and then we'd trap some snow-burrowers and roast them."

A shrug as the lift slowed to a gradual stop, and when the doors opened, she made her exit. Ever-mindful though, her arm reached out to hold the doors from closing so that Sirdi too could step out.

[Sirdi Kōhō]

Sirdi was all legs and feet. He was speed-walking. He shot out the lift, by Farran, and down the hall out the building. "No mo' of dat kinda eatin," He threw his words back at Farran as she trailed.

"We're Jedi now." He said we as if he had gained a Master. Although he'd join the ranks, he was lowly. Some barely could label him a Padawan. Still, the life at the Enclave offered some treats.

With a bend at the corner, he trailed down the path to the bar & grill. It stood wide, but not tall. Before he entered, he waited for Farran. He didn't show impatience, but he was. There in front of the establishment, hands tucked in his pockets, he looked at the Aurbesh signage sat a front the door.

It read: No Droids, Pets, or Idiots allowed. A drawing of each followed the listing. The idiot was illustrated as a Stormtrooper bucket helmet. "Ready?"

[Farran Esrimoure]

She'd not ventured into this part of Sanctuary before, as it was still mostly under some form of construction. Most days she didn't really have time to explore. She found her lessons with Master Vymes took up much of any free instances she might've had, and when she was not asleep she was concentrating on trying to parse whatever message her new master had chosen to impart upon her. It was a strange existence, far removed from her years with Master Davola, and also her years alone, working her way to where she was now.

Staring at the sign, Farran squared her shoulders even as a small smile split her normally straight-lipped expression. The signage was enough to cause her a small bit of amusement.

"Let's get some food," she answered while gesturing for him to lead the way inside.

[Sirdi Kōhō]

The doors opened. Alien faces turned. Tendrils twitched. The bartender glanced. He was furry. A bar-back swept by. It was a short girl; she was Nautolan. Her name-tag read: Pree. With a rag in her hand, she looked over, "Someone'll be right with you." The register was vacant. Chatter rumbled the room. Friends chuckled. One chortled loud enough to hear. Clusters of workers bunched at the bar. Drinks lined them up as they hunkered. Many of them wore jumpsuits. A few had tool belts at their stools. Murmured chatter arose from their section.

Sirdi watched it all.

His recent experience at the port gave him a renewed view of their place at the settlement. Those gals and guys were crucial. Shipments of resources and goods were vital. They made those happened. And, it was a lot of disorder. They were the feet on the grounds keeping it moving.

Sirdi looked back at Farran and shrugged. There was no telling how long the wait would be. Waiters were flying around the room. Some were droids. Others were helping hands trying to make a buck on this wild world. Credits weren't sparse, though. Those tips kept waiters afloat, and could be bountiful. Politicans visited every once in a while, looking for updates on this "project". Businessmen also gravitated to the potential Ossus offered. People were racking in on the fertile lands. And, there wasn't much competition yet.

This place was bustling.

"Grab a menu, ey?" He plucked two from the stand, and offered her one. "See whatcha wan'" Sirdi smiled at Farran. He grabbed his for show. It was quite clear since the recommendation, he knew exactly what'd he would be sticking his fork into today.

[Farran Esrimoure]

Farran took the menu with a small bit of absent-minded motion, her eyes wandering all around. There was life here, and it was beautiful. It was the sort of wild life that sprang up in the face of something new and unexplored. It was like watching a new frontier being explored; except, it wasn't wholly new. It was rediscovered.

Letting her eyes skim over the different meal choices, she found herself becoming lost in what the menu had to offer. It was easy to tell that their food was locally sourced, and she had to wonder if - in a week's time - the menu would look vastly different save for a few of the main staples. Nerf steak, Shaak rashers with nuna eggs and shredded tuber patties, and ground dewback chuck burgers seemed as though they would be a constant. But there were a few other things listed that she was surprised to see. In the end, she found that her eyes constantly gravitated to one thing in particular.

"These jakrab haunches in Outer Rim gravy look really good," she couldn't help but mutter out.

[Sirdi Kōhō]

The hostess returned. She spun smoothly around the counter. Her apron flapped in the wind. So did her head-tendrils. She was a pink Mikkian. Her welcomed the two with a grin and a, "Welcome to our Bar & Grill. I see you've checked out the menus already. Lets find you two cuties a chair, huh?" There was a foreign hospitality to her. Without a headdress, her head-tendrils flowed like wild hair in a beautiful dance as she swayed back beyond the counter. "Let me take that," she nabbed the menus from the two in what seemed to be one motion. Then, sashayed through the weave of tables and booths rounding the room.

She led the duo to a booth near the corner. On the way, Pree slunk pass with a wet rag.

"The booth was just cleaned." The Mikkian hostess laid the two menus down for them to seat. "Your waitress will be--"

Before she could even end her statement a droid rolled up, data-pad in hand. "I am Cee-Cee," the droid automated in a strange dialect from the Outer Rim. Sirdi thought it a mock of a backwater drawl. He played along with an amused raise of his brow and smirk as he sat down. "And, as ya'll waitress, I shall getcha whaterver you please. Do you have an idea what you have in mind?" The droid spoke a mile a minute. Sirdi wondered if it's processor was malfunctioning.

The Mikkian rolled her eyes, waved at the Padawans, and slipped away in a blur of beautiful tendrils, leaving them to deal with "Cee-Cee" the waitress alone.

[Farran Esrimoure]

A little bit taken aback at the chirpiness of the serving droid, Farran blinked a few times before hurriedly looking back to her menu.

"I... umm... "

Yes, the jakrab had looked very tasty, but there was something else that'd caught her eye just a moment ago; Dewback skewers. Swallowing, she looked to Sirdi.

"I could go for the local ale," she finally managed, a single eyebrow lifted.

[Sirdi Kōhō]

Cee-Cee continued, disregarding the brows. "Surely," it started. "There ain't nothing else you'd like to have to go along with that, you two?"

Sirdi looked on and blinked quickly. For a moment, he was puzzled at the sight. The rapidness the droid spouted was astounding. Then, he shook his head, came to his senses and blurted out, "Ya, lemme get dat o' jawa juice." He flashed a smile. Cee-Cee diverted it's attention to the mixed-Kiffar in a bolt screeching head turn. Then, it nodded. A click of it's digits on the datapad, and the order was confirmed.

"Well, great, I'll leave these here menus with chawl, and get on back en a matta of seconds. Find what you need, and I'll be there in a light-speed-saber-cutting-speed. Thank you kindly," and Cee-Cee darted off to it's next table.

Sirdi exchanged a look with Farran. He stared at her in disbelief and mouthed a "wow".

[Farran Esrimoure]

The force of Cee-Cee's verbal gale was impressive, and resulted in a wide-eyed stare that followed the serving droid for only a moment before turning back to Sirdi. Her own expression mirrored his, and the blonde leaned forward slightly, both hands resting on the edge of the table.

"I think I missed most of that," she got out with a growing smirk that began to shift into a light chuckle.

"Wanna put credits down on how many seconds pass before we get our drinks?"

[Sirdi Kōhō]

"Missed? I don't e'en kno' wa dat hunk o' junk said." Sirdi had a thick accent. Life as a spacer and wayfarer could do that. He didn't assimilate seamless. He liked that about himself. But, he had a keen ear. The mix of Cee-Cee's drawl, speed, and verbosity left him to only surmise, "Hey, all I saw was sparks."

Sirdi just shook his head, leaned back and glanced around. Droids, barracks, and that angelic hostess were all spiraling about the place at a rampant speed. Maybe it was the happy hour. From what he gathered, many workers were stuffed around the room, and their waiters seem chummy with the bunches. Everyone seem to have a little dirt under their fingers; laborers were staffed to dig, work the gears, and bolster buildings in only a matter of days before being commissioned for another job around the Enclave.

It was inspiring.

Everything was growing.

Sirdi switched his eyes from the room and back to Farran. "Our drinks? Ya, I'll go wi--" Before another word shot out his mouth, out from the left of the table swooshed the circuit sparking wheel-bottom Cee-Cee. She spun about, in it's hands came the jaws juice and and Auril sector very own Sanctuary Two Ale. A brewery had formed beyond the outskirts of town. Business set up shop. Carts were flown off the land. But, they were making a small fortune dealing with the locals. A lot of jobs were formed out of that family brewery company. They'd grabbed up some hands to ship, handle and work the brewery as they expanded onto Ossus. Some of the people in the bar & girl actually worked there.

Cee-Cee started up again. "So, here we go." No time was offered for neither to show appreciation. "Now, now, whatchall wanna put en dem belly-dens of yours? What sorta traps from hunters or gardener hand grabs, aye? Can't imagine both y'awl green grubbers, but whatever ya got yawls taste buds fix in' for, we'll oblige!" The droid nodded. "So, whatcha want, huh?"

Cee-Cee swirled the data pad in hand, ready to thumb whichever thing they pleased from the menu.