Becoming New

[TweedPawn]

A signal had gone out. It was ambivalent, yet contained a puzzle for those who knew. A rabbit haloed by a silver sun. with a set of coordinates to a space station in the neutral zone. Dates would follow. Its creator loved puzzles. Especially with his chains now broken.

He could be a trickster again, but he was going to be smart about it. He was bring peace to the minds of his friends. He was going to topple thrones, and cut the hair of giants. He would judge quickly those who arrived at the location. Friend or Foe, he would find a use for them all. Or maybe, a happy reunion. That would be nice, but the Trickster doubted that it would happen.

The Trading Station hovered in its slow rotation. Inside, it teemed with life. traders, merchants filled the artificial air with spices and incense. And the trickster found himself the most at home in so much chaos.

He waited out of sight. Right at the rendezvous. His dark eyes searched.

 

[Rom]

The hustle and bustle of the mercantile class hocking their wares and venturing through the bazaar moved in chaotic uniformity despite the number of buyers and sellers darting in and out of the train of people, everyone moving in the same direction as everyone else. Save one. The soft sound of boots meeting metal floor blended in with the ambient sound of the space station, the smell of cigarra smoke and a hint of Corellian brandy swept away by exotic spices and barely functioning air purifiers. The grimy hem of a long coat swept across the ground with every careful step through the river of people pushing past him, and more than one person turned askance at the sound of blissful humming.

Stopping at a designated corner, the old man who had parted the tumbling rapids of drifters and spacers leaned against the wall with a relax sigh and reached for the deep inner pockets of his coat, fishing around for a fresh cigarra as he flicked the spent butt into a trash receptacle on the other side of the causeway. Bright eyes peered out at the station around him behind a pair of wire-rimmed spectacles, and with an exhalation of smoke and mock frustration Uriel pointed directly at the air duct above his head without ever looking up and spoke, his voice rich and rumbling with suppressed laughter.

"Lad, if ya drop out of tha' duct and land on me, ah swear by the stars themselves I'll make ya regret it."

 

[TweedPawn]

It seemed that the crowds were clearing out just for him. A velvet chuckle came from the Trickster. He was elated to see an old friend, however he was cautious. The Jedi would be reasonably paranoid about who they found. In Gaunerei's experience, Jedi either lectured you, or attempted to drag you off.

But This was an old friend. One that Gaunerei had warm memories of, even if the accent was a bit on the illegible side at times.

"Drop on you? Look at you old timer. You're a spring chicken compared to me." The Trickster was so happy. He stepped into view, wearing a leather jacket, and dark colored pants. His ink-colored hair was tied back.

"And look at you. Smoking away. That stuff rots your teeth." His dark eyes contained no malice. Indeed, he had changed greatly since they last met. Uriel would sense peace.

"Uriel. You're really alive."

 

[Rom]

Uriel smiled around the cigarra held delicately between his lips, twin gouts of smoke billowing from his nostrils and giving the old man the appearance of a dragon from old myths. He felt younger than he looked, he knew; the unruly mop of grey hair on his head turning white as fallen snow in places, the wrinkles around his eyes and mouth growing with every smile. The Eldest Knight was on the cusp of becoming the Elderly Knight, a truth he could feel more and more with each passing morning. Still, the shield slung across his back was a familiar weight, the pistol and saber on his belt the only support he required, and the Living Force moved through the old Corellian with a freeness that even Masters would envy.

"Aye lad, it'll take more than a Imperial invasion and a new galactic war to take me down. Not for lack of tryin' on their part, though..." A grimace crossed his face briefly, the Living Force still reeling from the death and destruction happening across distant star systems, before it passed and was replaced with another soft smile. "Ah can sense that you've changed since the last time we met at a crossroads... Ah'm glad that you chose the right path."

 

[TweedPawn]

Gaunerei couldn't help himself. He embraced his friend and picked him up with a tight squeeze before setting him down.

"I finally found it, Uriel. I found Paradise." He replied, beaming a bright smile at the greying man.

"I didn't think it would happen in this lifetime. I thought I was through with that sort of thing. Come one, let me buy you something hot to loosen up those joints." Gaunerei patted his friend on the back. He guided Uriel to a quiet coffee shop. The kind where the bustle was of young scholars looking to finish late projects and papers. Gaunerei felt out with the Force. He reached to see if any of these young minds would betray him.

After ordering a hot spiced chocolate, He leaned in close to Uriel.

"After you and I split up, I was captured and dropped on Geist Weiss's doorstep by Ebberla Daw. Ring a bell? Geist Weiss turned me into his lackey, and for the longest time I couldn't return to the Jedi because I had a tracker on me."

He allowed the steam on his cup to warm his face.

"I ran across some jedi, and a few traps you blokes laid out for nosey creatures. But I shooed them off. I missed you nerds. Jeez, never thought I'd be saying that. The Sith are kriffin psychotic. Intelligent, but mad. But I got the tracker off."

He stirred the liquid with the Force.

"And the Old Silver Fox isn't aware that his prey has the slip on him." He chuckled darkly. "and I'm planning on making sure it's put to good use."