A Day Late and a Credit Short

[Befallen]

Another day, another dollar. That’s how the saying is supposed to go. At least, that’s what Branden had been taught. Words, however, did little to assuage his howling stomach. He hadn’t eaten in days. It wasn’t because he lacked the funds to do so. He had enough capital to feed himself, yet he was not generating income. This meant that whatever money he had left was, out of necessity, precious to him. This was also a fact he loathed within himself. He was a Jedi in many ways, yet he also inhabited a galaxy that did not welcome his kind. In days gone by, he could have counted on the generosity of others. His mother and father often told him as much. Of the better days. Better times. In abject annoyance, he glanced out his viewport in hopes of distracting himself from his hunger. Below him the clouds over Naboo came into view. Clouds held little allure for the youth, though. He was not artistically inclined as his friends were. Where they saw shapes and imagery, he saw only clouds. This time was no different. Clouds of every sort lazily floated about the transport craft he’d taken passage on. Try as he might, he could not find solace in those clouds. Instead, he found himself consumed only further by his hunger. For a time, as he stared hard into the clouds, he thought he glimpsed images of his favorite meals. Fried meats and burgers filtered before his eyes, his mouth began to water, slather filling his maw. His stomach grumbled horribly. He blinked and the mirage dissipated. The inexperienced Padawan sighed. He swept his gaze from from the viewport to stare ahead. An elderly and portly human who smelt ripe was seated before him. His balding head was pockmarked with brown splotches. Curiously, Bran watched as that head slumped forward and heavy snoring followed soon after. Beside himself, he began to chuckle, but could not discern why. Overhead, a steward relayed their arrival upon Naboo. Spurned by this new information, Bran lazily cast his eyes towards the viewport once more. Azure glimpsed low clouds that blocked the sun. They glimpsed a flock of birds soar through the sky towards some unknown destination. They viewed the structure below the transport craft. The dozens of large, commercial transports that docked and unloaded their cargo. The closer his craft grew, the larger the beings became. They appeared less like worker ants and more like sentient lifeforms of every shape and size. Idly, the youth slicked a free hand through his dirty-blond hair, mussing it casually. Moments later, that hand fell to return upon the armrest as restlessness began to overtake him. His belongs were stored back on the secret compound, hidden on Zonju V. All he took was all he ever took. He wore his father’s armor, tailored to fit his growing frame. It was heavy and cumbersome, despite his tinkering, but that was not a detractor. He wore it everywhere, some days he slept in it. It brought him comfort, it provided constant passive training. It glimmered dully in the light reflected from the viewport. Alabaster tones, contrasted by dull, dark grey steel, black and orange. His mother’s lightsaber was hidden, tucked inside a hidden compartment in his backplate - a necessary evil unless some upstart end his life by claiming his head. He did not enjoy the idea of being someone’s meal ticket. His restlessness overtook him. His right leg began to twitch, the shake and shudder. The transport seemed to reflect his own eagerness. It shuddered as it neared the duracrete beneath its struts. Repulsor generators activated to compensate for the pull of Naboo’s natural gravity and the deceleration of the large, oblique craft. Minutes later and the transport touched down, docked on its pre-designated landing pad. The captain’s voice became heard over the stirring of the hundreds of passengers. He wished them a good day and welcomed them to Naboo. He thanked them for their patronage and then cut the line. The other weary travelers, rose - even the elderly and blubberous man. They rose to collect their meager baggage from overhead bins. Branden alone remained seated. He did not have anything stored overhead, nor below in the cargo hold. There was no point in shoving his way to the front. No matter how hungry he was, he was not about to be rude to strangers out of his own mortal impatience. Nevertheless, impatient he was. The tremors of his leg could not be contained. His neighbor, noticing this, offered to allow the padawan passage and despite his intentions, Branden rose to join the line of the mob trickling towards the exit ramp. After what felt like an excruciating hour, he appeared beneath the natural light of a natural star. He felt the heat of it upon his back, beneath his black hoodie and stifling armor. He squinted against the rogue rays that burst between the clouds. Reflexively, his hand rose to shield his eyes. Behind him, he felt the press of the crowd and was jostled and shoved forward. Absently, he began to move with them. He lacked a purpose for being here. The prospects of proper tutelage had seemingly dried up recently. So, instead of moping around in a lawless desert or some humid, tropical world, he decided, instead to tour the galaxy. Perhaps he would see new things and experience life? Perhaps, he would make it with a dame? He could not help but roguishly smirk at the thought or the reflection that he had labeled womankind as ‘dames.’ It was a small thing. Something, that would normally be forgotten, overlooked, but Branden was bored and in foreign land. His hunger led him deeper into the starport, past many a stall, shoppe and eatery where he could have bought food. He lingered in many such places, hungrily eyeing the menu and contemplating theft. His will overrode and reluctantly he moved on. Eventually, he found himself moving towards the city center of whatever city this was. His Force signature was muted, but not gracefully nor expertly. Yet, he didn’t trouble himself with the fact that almost anyone with a degree of training would still be able to spot him. He prided himself on the fact, that he was growing better at concealing his presence the more he practiced. Instinctively, his hands rose to the headphones that perpetually clung to his neck. They placed those headphones upon his head as a hand fished into his pocket for his father’s datapad. Skimming through his father’s music library, he found a worthy song to satisfy his mood and began to play it. Moments later, he was happily and aimlessly strutting down the street toward providence unknown.

 

[Fat Possum]

Today was a good day for Asher Lichaj. Though, really, almost every day was a good day for the bulky young Jedi. A galaxy-spanning war, genocide, the methodical and slow eradication of the Jedi; these were things that weighed heavy on a mind and soul, drove people to cynicism and bitterness. Not Ash. Mostly because he didn’t think on, let alone comprehend, these realities. Instead, the youth simply existed completely and utterly in each moment. It was his greatest strength and his most obvious weakness if you could hold a conversation with him for more than a picosecond.

Physicality was his other asset, and he was making a display of it. Attired outright in his modular armor underlay, a mainstay of the Jedi, he made no outward efforts to hide who he was. He had no sense to mask himself in the Force, either, completely at ease and unconcerned with presenting himself as he was. His former Master Pol’dun had at least convinced the boy to hide his lightsaber within the armor, but that had far less to do with being clandestine than Asher’s total innocence and desire to threaten no one. It wasn’t like he wasn’t carrying the thing if some dastardly Sith popped out from behind a corner to strike or anything.

The armor, while impressive in its way, was made somewhat comical in appearance on account of a number of simple decals and smiley-face stickers the boy had decorated the plating with over the years. Many were scorched or ripped, but for the most part remained identifiably intact. He just looked like a kid who had found some armor which, in a sense, was exactly the case.

Having been on Naboo for some time, without real purpose or direction, Asher was currently seeing the world upside down. Literally. Doing a handstand, the loose cloth of his armor hanging just above his eyes and keeping his inverted vision clear, Asher bobbed from one hand to the other, a massive grin spread across his face. He wasn’t doing this alone. A group of Gungan street performers were equally positioned, their lanky frames rocking and moving in a pattern the Human was trying, and largely failing, to mirror. He didn’t even know their names. The boy had simply come across the group, thought of what fun it looked, and decided to join.

So far, the Gungans made no move to remove the Human from their performance art. Whether it was because he was a hulking sort that one usually doesn’t tell “no” to or because he was largely staying out of their way didn’t matter. Not to Asher, anyway. The more the merrier, right?

Laughing, Asher watched as small denomination credit chips flew “up” towards his head and it took him a few moments to realize that people were donating money to the group. Although he didn’t have a credit to his name, it had never bothered him, and he’d always been able to find work, most commonly vehicle repair or volunteering his services as a noble Jedi protector. But people were willing to pay you just to dance?! What a life, he thought, exultant, as he pushed himself onto a single hand and spun as the group of Gungans had done seconds before.

 

[Befallen]

Not ten minutes later, it seemed, the youth found himself happily lost in this foreign city. Were he another person - another Jedi, he might have waxed philosophical then. He imagined himself older and wiser. He would bring a hand to his scruffy stubble and contemplate the mysterious Will of the Force. ‘‘Twould seem the Force has guided me to this place,’ he imagined himself saying in an aloof and haughty voice. Effortlessly, he felt he would then nod sagely at no one in particular before he took off once more, aimlessly wandering the streets in search of inspiration. As the illusion came to its natural end, Bran began to chortle even as Clint Eastwood began playing in his ear. An unrestrained laugh exited his maw as he continued to wander. Before long, he had come to a halt before a fountain. He had no conscious knowledge of how he’d gotten there. He’d been walking in a daze, with the GORILLAZ playing on repeat. His head bobbed in time with the offbeat, upbeat tunes. His hands twitched at his sides. The lad’s shoulders began to rock to and fro. It was happening again. The music was taking him. He was a slave to its whims. Sliding gracefully forward, he artfully weaved through the gathered crowd, pushing his way rhythmically to the forefront. As he burst to the fore, he did a little spin, loudly vocalizing the verses of the great Deltron 3030. As he rapped, his entire body seemed to move in unison, fulfilling a single purpose. That purpose was funk and he was filled with it. Without understanding why, he was drawn towards the large, burly Human that was doing handstands with a troupe of Gungans. Without thought, he moonwalked up to the Human and gave him the coolest, nonchalant nod he could muster as he began to breakdance around him. He did so without invitation and without warning. There was no conscious thought for this action. He was just taken by the music, by the need to groove. As he jerked, spun, dropped, flipped, popped and locked his way around the young man, he gave him a mischievous look. No mind was paid toward the Gungan troupe and how they would feel about his appearance. Let alone, their reaction, when he took his headphones off with the Force and keyed the volume all the way up. Certain situations, like this one, allowed him to greater access to as well as better manipulate the Force externally much easier than others. DARE was the next jam to play and if the gathering crowd thought they’d seen the best Brendan de Luna II had to offer, they were sorely mistaken. After a spectacular burst of finesse and athleticism, he paused. Animatronically, began to articulate every muscle and limb individually. As he harshly jerked his body lower, closer towards the upside down head of the large, and burly young man doing handstands, he extended his arm and hand with equal measure. Moments later after simulating the dancing movements of a 3PO-series protocol droid, he beamed brightly, displaying his pearly white teeth in a Cheshire smile as he waited for the other Human to take his hand. It was his way of formally encouraging the slightly older man to display his dancing moves. The friendly challenge had been issued. Would a reply be brought?

 

[Fat Possum]

Asher blinked, his expression flickering confused momentarily before it registered that this other man, who looked about his age, strode up and immediately broke into dance. The baffled look melted away quickly, replaced by the broad, toothy grin that was much more his standard. He laughed, though it came out more like an innocent giggle of a child, loudly as the newcomer began dancing, just as unceremoniously and without real reason as he had earlier.

“Oh ho, a challenger appears!” He joked as the new entrant jerked and hitched as if he were a poorly oiled droid. He wasn’t serious, there was no challenge. He understood full well that some people liked to assess themselves and rank and compete against others. But he had never been one for that sort of measuring. Especially not when it came to something like dancing. Asher was athletic, and big, but he was no dancer. But, like a lot of things, that was absolutely no obstacle to the simple Jedi. And he wanted to dance.

Lowering himself down, Ash waited until he felt the strands of his freely hanging blonde hair brush against the ground before he bent his knees and tucked his legs closer to his torso and shoving his arms out with all his considerable strength. Allowing the Force to assist his maneuver some, though any augmentation was reflex and certainly not something he focused on, he performed an impressively athletic if somewhat awkwardly stiff flip to land on the balls of his feet.

Remaining in his crouch, he extended a hand and took the other boy’s fingers into his own. “It is a pleasure to meet you, kind sir!” He said with an exaggerated bow of his head.

 

[Minuteman75]

Naboo was a beautiful world in Vilkas' point of view. The scenery was something not really common to his frigid home on Nalvaan. So naturally the canine-like humanoid was most curious about this planet and the various others that filled the galaxy. Of course in his line of work as a bounty hunter, displaying curiosity can be exploited by either rivals or even the bounties that he goes after. As such was the case with his current assignment, a Rodian thief named Iona had stolen some noble's valuables.

He tracked the query to Theed, apparently her new home, after escaping the authorities on Eriadu weeks ago.

The Nelvaanian hunter had spent two days already here in Naboo's capital and so far his search had yielded little fruit. Walking through the streets, draped with his tribal cloak and blaster rifle strapped to his back, fearful and suspicious looks from the locals followed Vilkas. Such fear proved advantageous when on the hunt though it also worked against him.

The thought, made Vilkas narrowed his dark eyes for a moment in silent resentment, even when he understood why he was feared and sometimes looked down upon. Still the nerve of these "civilized people" here and most of the galaxy see him as only as a two-legged beast had proven most infuriating.

Especially how their modern societies can treat their own kind when in need with great indifference and vicious cruelty. Yes he had seen much of the worst nature of this galactic civilization that it sicken him. Yet Vilkas had also witness nobler traits shine by others that he secretly admired during his travels. His pondering on the issue and that of the hunt was interrupted when noticing two humans dancing like madmen near a fountain. The display was so very astounding and comical that he edged closer to get better look.

By the time he was a few feet away, the two dancers both wearing some kind of armor had just finished and even one bowed to the other. Is this a warrior's ritual or something entirely? Vilkas thought as he arched an eyebrow in study at the situation. Honestly, aliens were so confusing to him.

All the same, Vilkas decided to compliment them by clapping his hands. Then he gave a respectful bow to them despite not knowing what they were actually doing. The primary reason why is because their antics remind him of home. His kin tended to dance very wildly during feasts and celebrations. With that in mind he silently prayed to his deity.

Thank you Great Mother for this reminder of home