The Dining Area

He had a feeling that this woman was very guarded, clever, and good at public relations. It wasn't anything he could put his finger on, but Taralorn had been around people a lot, and considering how old he really was, he figured he knew a thing or two about characteristics and behaviour. But he definitely liked her; she was someone he could work with, and well. Smiling easily, he said in his husky voice, “Happy to help.”

Leaning his elbows on the table, he listened to her explain how she was at a crossroads, after a botched assignment to Coruscant. He gave a sympathetic shrug and shook his head, “Just don't beat yourself up to much, all right?”

He leaned back and gestured with his hands, “I'm not presuming I know the details or anything, but take it from me: Poodoo happens to the best of us, at one point or another. Now we can either let our failures consume us, or we get up an move on. It may sound callous, but what good are we to anybody, least of all ourselves, if we fall apart, hmm?”

Wiping his face with one hand, he studied Iella for a moment, then grinned, “Not gonna ask you too many questions, but if you ever need someone to talk to...”

He left it at that, and slid his chair back to get up, “I think a lot of people are here for a fresh start, and it's ideal. There are things happening out there, forces at work within the shadows, and as peacekeepers, I believe we will soon have our work cut out for us. So enjoy the respite, even if you feel keeping still is chafing; we may not have times like these much longer.”

Smiling down at her, he put his hand out, “It's been a distinct pleasure making your acquaintance, Iella, I hope we'll work together sometime soon. May the Force be with you.”

The teen walks into the hall. A few days of regular food and a safe place to sleep had done wonders. Her strength was as strong as ever, and her mind still as sharp. She had even been working out, not to pull a job or stay lose. She did it because she wanted to see what she could do. Her balance had improved, she was near her peak. She went into the Dinning Hall. Up till now the wookie she was told would meet her hadn't been working when Kent had been there. She grabbed a plate of salad with a grilled poultry, one of the local game birds. She went to a back wall, where she could hear almost everything. This was a Jedi base, students were being taught by masters. Kent may not have one her self, but she could pick up on things.

Near by there was a knight talking to a youngling. She was telling the kid how to focus and make things move on command. Kent had made things move, but only in some circumstances. In those times she had been in danger, here she was safe. Deep down she knew it. She had tried to use the Force , to recreate and remember the feelings from before. Up to this point she had been unable to manage even a wiggle.
She decided to try again, she focused on her fork, stabbing a bite of salad and bird. The Knight was saying to focus but not force it. "Have it move, not make it move. Clear your mind of distractions..." That was easy for some. For a mind like hers, that was almost impossible. She continued to fail. The frustration building in the back of her mind, and she struggled to reign in her thoughts and racing mind. She paused and spoke to her self, whispering.
Listen girl. That mind of ours is a tool, we use it to win. But it works for us, we are its master. Act like it girl!
She cleared her mind of doubt, and distractions. Her mind was on the task. The fork wiggled a bit, then slowly began to rise in front of her. She opened her eyes and kept it steady. She took it in her hand and finished the bight. With a sense of pride and accomplishment, she looks up toward the knight and the youngling. The knight gave her a small wink and nod. She sat back and listened to more, taking in everything.

*The look from Zemear at the mention of lightsabers had not gone unnoticed and was met by a defensive shrug from Tom. Far as the man was aware, Zemear had preferred to use his swords, though if he'd desired proper lightsaber training as well as a blade of his own, Tom would gladly give it to him. Versatility was a powerful, useful tool, and the more skills one mastered, the more they would find themselves prepared against the many curves life may throw at them.

Zemear then gave his answer in written form, something Tom nearly felt nostalgic for, while at the same time feeling like nothing had changed. Ah, perhaps a routine checkup was in order, as well as rest? Or a shower, or change of gear and clothing. Or all of those things. Nodding, Tom returned the datapad to him, giving him a kind smile.*
Be well, I will catch up with you shortly.
*After he had departed, Tom slid out of the booth behind him, taking up his long-emptied plate and nodding to Raine.*
Well then, if you're ready, follow me.
*After taking his utensils back to the repository, he waited for Raine before departing the dining hall and making for the training area with her.*

The kitchen was empty when Na'an sidled through the open door, led by a little girl. Once they had left the Temple, the young woman relaxed considerably, keeping up the conversation and melting through pockets of people with a practiced grace. There was only a momentary lull in her apparent ease as they passed the door to the medical center, but neither of them spoke of it.

"So, what're you in the mood for," she said, angling towards the nearest bar. The pile of bread at the near end looked--and smelled--wonderfully fresh. "Cause I'm not much of a cook, but I can whip up a mean sandwich, let me tell you."

"Haha, if you say so." Na'an let go of Morgan's hand, reaching for a roll. "They make good survival food, at any rate."

There was a decent variety of meats piled up next to the rolls. Na'an picked up the largest slice she could find with a fork and sniffed it appreciatively before stuffing it into the roll, not even bothering with a plate. Two more slices followed the first, then a large spoonful of something thick and creamy and green from a nearby bowl. It wasn't any kind of art--Na'an had never been any good at making things pretty--but the smell of the combination alone elicited a rumble from her gut. She balanced it in one hand, only pausing to grab an unfamiliar-looking fruit in the other before heading to the table.

"So," she said as she sat, taking a bite. "At this point I doubt you're following me around because I asked you for directions. What're you thinking, kiddo? "

"Oh?" Na'an paused between bites, her good eye widening with mild surprise. "That's...not the response I get from kids nowadays. Mostly they see the scars and the giant death robot friend and scatter."

She picked up the fruit and inspected it thoughtfully. The round, mottled skin was unbruised, but gave no indicator as to the flavor, or even how to eat it. Na'an picked at the rind until it broke on one side, then watched a bead of dark red juice well out onto her finger. "Although to be fair, Leigh's more popular than you'd think back home. Maybe it's just me," she said ruefully, holding the droplet up to catch the light.

Na'an only looked more bemused than ever, putting the juice-stained finger to her lips. "Pretty people can be evil, huh? Not a bad idea, but hardly complete on its own." She sucked on the digit for a brief moment, as if testing the flavor, before nodding with approval and proceeding to peel the fruit entire.
"See, it's not about good or evil at that point," she continued, with the practiced air of a long-since-learned lesson. "If someone...pretty...is evil, being pretty becomes something they can use against you. If you're good-looking, it's easy to come off as soft and harmless, since to the average person 'no scars' means 'no fights' means 'no threat.' "

The rind of the fruit came away easily, falling to the table in thick curls to expose the red-marbled flesh underneath. Na'an popped a segment into her mouth, chewing thoughtfully for a moment before finishing. "But if you look like me, it doesn't matter if you're good or not. A smart kid sees scars and it sets off that alarm in their head that says that person is dangerous. And for that I don't blame them--it's a good instinct. It's imperfect, but it's honest, and if it means I'm a Scary Lady, then what the hell, at least it's out in the open. Want a a piece? It's a bit tangy."

Well, that was unexpected. Na'an dropped the fruit hastily, watching the little girl breathe with thick, labored breaths. At first she looked as if she were about to stand up, or at least reach out for Morgan's hand, but seemed to think better of it, instead holding both of her hands out and empty on the table. Her mouth set into a firm line, and she waited for Morgan to speak before continuing.
"Well, me and my mouth," she murmured, "I could feel that from here, kiddo. Remind me...what gave you yours again?"