There is a tooka-cat wandering just beyond the entrance of the Temple, and he can't help but smile at the sight of it. There is something endearing, something quite relatable, about stray animals that draw Roanoke to them in ways that make his heart clench. Perhaps it's their search for a place of acceptance, somewhere to belong to, that makes him sympathetic to the lost and abandoned.
Navigating past the regulars - all the Padawans and the Knights eyeing him with barely concealed suspicion - is quite difficult given his physique and appearance. Broad shoulders and chest, scars on his forearms and the unnerving cicatrix that ran over his right cheekbone from his ear and over to his sharp nose. Buzz cut, mohawk, a few ear piercings here and there, the thin, black coat over a white band tee and baggy pants with the hems tucked in combat boots... he practically looks like a delinquent straight out of the streets of the lower levels of Coruscant. He doesn't hide who he is, not out of some arrogant sense of pride for whence he came from, but out of a sincere honesty that naturally comes to him. And besides, there is simply no hiding that he is- was once a Sith acolyte. It's as if he had asked, had wanted, to be one in the first place, anyway.
He's new to the Jedi Order. An initiate. Of course he would stand out.
But he endures the stares, the whispers, the wariness. Other people's perception of him is something he currently has no control over, so he lets them be.
His target sits there patiently, as if waiting for him to approach, and even if he isn't carrying a morsel of food with him the tooka-cat simply stares. Tail flicking languidly, sharp teeth flashing in the feline equivalent of a smile.
Roanoke takes great care not to block the path of a gaggle of kids - younglings - and presses himself flat against the wall as they pass by. Diffidently he pushes the facemask he is wearing snugly up his nose to cover the ugly scar marring his face when a little Trandoshan points up at it and none too subtly chats with his fellow kids about it.
Please don't point. It's rude...
He swallows the words, not wanting to appear snobbish. He presses on as soon as the children pass by, dark brown eyes alighting upon the tooka-cat once more. Roanoke crouches in front of the feline as soon as he reaches the Temple's entrance, reaching one large hand for the adorable creature to sniff.
"Lookin' for somewhere to belong to, aren't you?" he politely asks the cat, his voice surprisingly soft and gentle that contrasts against his rugged appearance. And as the tooka-cat begins to nuzzle against his rough, calloused palm, he hopes that the Order isn't against looking after strays. Roanoke is new here, and he doesn't want to be causing problems this early on in his jaunt as a Jedi intitate.
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