Corellia: Wrong place at the wrong time...

There is an old expression, wrong place at the wrong time. That would seem to sum up Jaron's day. He had a job at the Corellian ship yards, dumb place to be with the rebellion looking for targets to make hits and hurt the empire. The credits were good though, and all he had to do was swipe a key card and deliver it to his contact. Sure it was likely going to one of the various resistance cells scattered all over the area, Jaron didn't care. A job was a job, and he did what he had to in order to survive. Everything was accounted for, except for the little explosion that happened in the building he was in, and that he would get pinned for it.

Jaron was running, trying to lose the guard, but they were fast. At least their aim was stereotypically horrid. The orphaned Corellian was pretty much regretting the job about now. This was too much trouble for a key card and six months worth of credits. Okay maybe it wasn't, but if he got caught for something he didn't do that wouldn't matter. They would find the key card and assume it was evidence he planted the explosive.


Booted feet kept running as light hazel eyes looked for a place to duck into. What he needed was something crowded, and a place to change out of the uniform jumper he was in and into something more agreeable. Jaron had a few such places for emergencies, but which one was the closest? Taking a left at the upcoming alleyway, he made up his mind. Blaster fire hit the wall as he turned the corner, that was lucky miss.


"Stop!"


There were three chasing him now, the rest gave up, but that still meant he had to lose them. The spaceport he was running to was in sight now. Lucky Drifter's Cantina was just inside the main gate, and the security all new Jaron's face. They usually helped him out, and this time was no different as he ran past them and into the crowded bar. He had a pack in the fresher with a change of clothes, and ran right for it. The security detail that had been chasing him wouldn't find him there.


Jaron grabbed the pack from behind the vent gate he kept it hidden behind and locked the stall as he quickly changed. The olive coveralls were quickly replaced with a pair of jeans, a white v-neck t-shirt, and his black leather biker jacket. He tucked the pack back to its hiding place and walked out just in time to see the security detail looking over the patrons. He thought they spotted him, so he quickly sat into the nearest booth.


The booth was in the back, out of sight, but it was occupied. Jaron smirked and looked at the female across from him and raised a forefinger to his lips as the pursed to indicate for her to stay quiet. His eyes watched the guard until they left. Jaron nodded to the gal.


"Thanks for that... wrong place at the wrong time I guess. I owe ya one..."

She was minding her own business. She was good at minding her own business, but not that good. She could ignore the guy like he wasn't there at all, but ignorance was a tool best put away, deep, deep into her toolbox nowadays. Corellia wasn't as safe as it once was, doubly so for one of her ilk. It was almost culture shock, how things had turned into such a stark juxtaposition to everything she knew. Yet, if she was at all scared due to it, such didn't show in her features.

"You could say that," she quipped, her back to the end of the booth where it met the wall, booted ankles crossed, legs laid along the bench, "Mom always said to be wary of strangers, though," arms unfolded, a hand wrapping around the tall, cool glass of ale beside her, lifting it to her lips... but stopping and eyeing the man up, the glass lowered a bit, "so why don't you give me a name so that isn't a problem, hmm?" And decided he didn't look collected enough to be the kind of problem she'd have to get up and leave because of, green eyes pulling away from what was decidedly a very nice face to look at, to ponder and pull from the glass.

This was her first drink outside of the comfort of her parents' home, something she would rather have been doing with friends; given that most of them were off-world, dead, or who knows where, this guy was likely the most company she was going to get. All in all, it could be worse. She put the glass on the table and crossed her arms again, eyes going to the guy expectantly in the hope that she would get the privilege of calling him something other than 'hey, you.'

"Welcome to the Drifta', can I getcha anythin' puddin'?" The high pitched voice came from somewhere near the floor, Stepping up to the edge of the booth was a short, blue-skinned Lannik. Notepad in hand, flipped open, and pen spinning between her fingers she looked at the new guy expectantly. She was dressed fairly typically of the dive bar scene with a shirt that left her blue midriff exposed. Her white hair was a mess that she flipped out of her eyes between smacks on the gum between her teeth.

Every few seconds she'd look sideways at the door, and then back at the table.

"Check it out, Corporal." TX-4892 nodded to his squad subordinate, who nodded in affirmation, who began to canvas the dimly-lit interior of the Cantina.

"Let's see your Ident chits." the troopers interrupted a game of sabacc, causing a general grumbling as each gambler reluctantly complied with the command. Meanwhile, TX-4892 stood near the entryway, opening a comm back to base.

"We're responding to the JV58 at grid 481. Suspect sighted in vicinity. Human, male. He may have attempted to hide in one of the local drinking houses. We're canvassing."

A few kilometers away, the voice on the other line came through clearly.

"Good, monitor the situation closely." Captain Reikkel Orgern stood at the 79th Legionary garrison post's motorpool. A standing force had been assigned to deal with the unrest, roughly a quarter of the legion's strength. "I'm sending four squads to your grid to lock the area down."

With that, the Captain climbed into an Imperial RTT repulsor vehicle, along with six waiting stormtroopers. Another three RTT's waited for the lead to advance, and the convoy moved onto grid 481 without delay.

Jaron was about to answer, not blind to the fact he was being looked over. In his current predicament he was well aware of the eyes that were fixed on him, though he had to be sure to not look so edgy. A calm demeanor was going to get him out of this, especially when he was certain they didn't know what he looked like other than his dark hair. He leaned in to answer the pretty brunette, but they were interuppted by a short blue waitress. Well, a drink would help him fit in.

"I'll take an ale and a glass of water. Maybe some of those stuffed spicy poppers too..."

Jaron turned his attention back to the brunette, chuckling to himself at the fact she was taking up the entire bench on her side. He was not. Boots were touching the floor with his legs spread apart which was the natural position for most men to take when sitting. He leaned across slighty with his elbows and forearms on the table, as his eyes returned the wandering look over the woman, another natural response.

"Jaron," he said feeling as though he could trust her with his real name. He didn't quite trust her with a last name, but if she was actually wanting him to pay her back, well then... "Stargazer, but don't go blabbing that. In certain crowds that name is more trouble than it's worth sweetheart."

When the ale came, Jaron took a healthy sip, and giant gulp of the water. He had been running for a good stretch, and the indicators were there for anyone attentive enough to the details. A few beads of sweat still dotted his brow at the hair line, and his breathing was a little labored, but not overly so.

"What about you then, what's your name, or are good with sweetheart?"

"Tes," she gave in response, thinking about sitting up for a moment when he laughed at her posture, but only a moment scant at best, "Tes Dralyn. You keep your mouth shut about that, too, unless," and she waved a fist at him, "you'd like a sandwich."

She wondered if it was enough for his silence, which it might not be if he was at all a sports fan. The threat was unsurprising, given the brashness of her reputation in the league. Every team had a fighter, but she trended towards outright aggression more than the average, and it was something that she had gotten chiding about from not only her parents and her coach, but her mentor whom she wouldn't dare breathe a word about. She gulped from the pint, again.

"So, certain crowds?" Her face betrayed nothing, as she made her queries, "I suppose you're the kind of boy my parents, hypothetically, would have warned me about?"

Only then did her lips curl.

"Sure thing, handsome. I'll get those started." With that said she tucked her pen behind her ear and tore out the order page. She turned and headed back for a bar, but not before tossing the attractive human a wink. Back at the bar she put the order in and began filling a mug with ale; a process that required her to stand on top of a stool to reach the tap. The Drifter didn't sell any of that fancy imported beer. It had ale with body and texture. The kind an old spacer would say puts hair on your chest. Whatever that means. Shawkyrr sure didn't know. Her species grew very little body hair.

Grabbing the cold mug she walked it back to the table and set it down in front of the gentleman with the solid jawline. "Those poppers should be along shortly, love."

"This table checks out, move on to the next one."

The troopers peeled away from the game of sabacc, again with heads on the swivel.

"You there!"

A man hanging by the bar had begun to slowly peel off towards the exit, trying to look nonchalant about it. At being called out, he moved to desperate options. Before he could turn to run, TX-4892 plugged him center of mass with a stun bolt. The man's body fell like a marionette without strings, sprawling on the floor as he knocked over a few glasses on the bar. If the patrons weren't paying attention to the security detail before, they were now.

"Search him!" The corporal quickly began to rifle through the unconscious man's effects, scanning his ident chip and looking for any contraband such as drugs, blasters, or the like.

"He's got prior infractions, but it doesn't appear to be the man we're looking for."

The Commander nodded, gesturing to his men to continue their work.

"I'll process him. Get to the others."

However, before he could answer what was possibly a flirtatious query, a frisson travelled like a bullet up the back of her neck, leaving goosebumps in its wake; promptly her smile faded. She knew to heed the warning as Palara had taught her to do, and immediately the miniscule amount of effort needed to retain her calm and composure was put into play as she fished the required payment for her drink from a jacket pocket and gently placed it on the table. 'Nice meeting you,' she said to Jaron with a now eerie calm in her words, 'hope your luck improves,' and she tossed a smile to the blue-skinned waitress, saying something about how her parents were expecting her home for dinner, which was always the truth, and thanking her for her service.

On her way to the door, she dialled up her parents' home on her personal comm while slipping her arms into the sleeves of her jacket, and feeling her breath catch in her throat for only a second when the first few rings passed with no answer, and let the breath loose when someone picked up, so she could let them know that she would more than likely be home for dinner as she exited the bar, but not to wait up for her if she wasn't. They knew well enough that she could take care of herself, but it didn't stop them from worrying, especially not with the spike in threatening activity on the world since the new borders were drawn. Worry was practically a parent's territory, but she couldn't concern herself with their worries when she could now see that the local grid was subject to some focus from the imperial forces from the Empire this planet now belonged to. There was nothing to worry about, and she believed that as hard as she could.

Oh, she was reasonably certain they weren't out looking for her, and if none of them were endowed with the Force that might enable them to pick up her errant thoughts to that end, she would be fine. Usually, 'endowed with the Force' in the context of the Empire would mean the Knights, or previously, the Inquisitoriate. She'd really rather not have to deal with that.

A nosy student, a good friend, a disrespectful student, a man's best chance at freedom. Jaxton had become perhaps all of these things when he decided to sneak into his master's room and go through his log and figure out where exactly he had gone. Rifling through it he found that Master Yorek had left to try and bring a friend in the "Green Jedi" out of the Corellian blockade. So rather than do the smart thing and inform other Jedi he decided to go find him alone. Why risk anyone else? Besides, who else had a cover like his? A professional Grav-Ball player who had left the game to go into rehab that was looking to get picked up by the Corellia Rogues. It was perfect, save for the lack of carrying any restricted cargo. Like blasters, armor, and most certainly a lightsaber. There was a strange feeling of nakedness in not being able to take the weapon he'd only built six weeks ago, but a Jedi's mind and tongue were far more important tools.

A Jedi hmm? Jaxton thought to himself. I suppose now is the best time to figure out if I'm really one of them.

After a thorough sweep of his ship Jaxton's nerves were finally eased as the shipyard security officer said his ship was clear and headed back to his post. With a large exhale Jaxton left his ship and headed out into the spaceport, noting the Lucky Drifter's Cantina as he headed out. Stopping for a moment he looked around and took a deep breath, soaking in the ecumenopolis air. So different than Ossus. It was full of life, yet he could feel the sensation of pain around him. The blockade had stifled more than the so called 'terrorists'. Terrorists that were, by Yorek's notes, allied with the Green Jedi. He needed only to find them.