Public An Unexpected Party

[Yondir Fenn]

Music OOC

Spoiler

​

That ship.
In the sky.
Has a guy.
He's gallant.
A Jedi Knight.
O of the light!
Scout ship.
Is Gallant.

It takes Jedi from the stars.
Toward a world of open arms.
Before approaching, gazing
Into the computer's database.

However, little is written of Moraga.
Yondir Fenn had then discovered
That the world of Moraga, it has
Air to breathe and trees aplenty.

Moraga—is a jungle planet.
Only, instead of being green,
Purple on at least the majority
Is the color of its luscious trees.

A Jedi Knight is a Jedi guardian.
Breaking the welkin, clouds part.
He takes Gallant, wings and heart,
Toward the first town where it parks.

The town is beneath a canopy of trees.
The day is bright; sun shines between
Two moons on either side of the sky.
Exiting his ship, out steps the Jedi.

Gallant is nestled on a platform outside.
Unlike Kashyyyk, Endor, no living in trees.
At least, not in this town—and it's not a city.
Most folk live on the forest floor day and night.

Buildings at his left and right as he walks a street.
Jedi spots shops and market stalls here and there.

He turns his eyes to a blacksmith's hammer. -CLANG!-
The other way now upon a corral with horses within. -CLING!-
That sound turns him around, curious, after hearing that bell ring.
Children appear from around a corner, giggling, to a school, and sing.

Jedi, he wants to smile, but can only blink.
A corner of his lips tugs as if he is smiling.
Breathing, not sighing, he just then turns.
Grey trousers—grey cloak—grey armor.

A woman smiles at him in passing.
Stoic Jedi, greets in turn, nodding.
Through the town called Gonbree
The lone Jedi wanderer's walking.

His cloak of a darker grey hides his lightsaber.
To the townsfolk, they don't know him as Jedi.
Stranger is a stranger. An inn is on his right.
Tavern over there. Library. Town hall. Turns.

Yondir Fenn, a Sephi, is not from a planet.
Like two moons, he's instead from a moon.
It reminds him of this planet called Moraga.
Jungles. Mountains. How he lives is dogma.

He left one world for worlds more.
Right now, he considers the doors.
Whether to head into the inn—or—
The tavern. Blacksmith? His course?

Whatever building he will choose.
A man has come here for the night.
He will wake in morning before noon.
His purpose—is ever of a Jedi Knight.

 

[John Q]

A man (John) opened the door of the tavern, held it open, scanned the area. He took a step in, sniffed the air gently, once, twice, then spotting his quarry, stepped fully inside. Dressed sharply in a black suit– leather shoes, khaki pants, white starch shirt with the collar up, loose tie around his neck. He was breathing heavily and his cheeks were flushed red. This man, assuming he was a man and not a hellhound escaped from the underworld, locked his gaze on Yondir and strided on over. Sitting next to the guy, he stared straight ahead at the bartender.

“Milk, with ice,” he said. The bartender squinted at him and a moment later rolled a glass of milk across the stone countertop towards him. The man took a toothpick and swiveled the ice around in a slow circle.

The man swiveled in his barstool at Yondir. One of his eyes was brown, the other was blue. He sipped his milk and crunched on an icecube as he sized up the one before him. "You smell different. Like you don't belong here. Like you don't belong anywhere. Who are you?"

 

[Yondir Fenn]

Music IC

Spoiler

​

Tavern it is.
Yondir decides.
Under forest light.
Jedi Knight steps in.

It was a straightforward structure.
Erected in metal with earthen hues.
Dark brown around trees in bloom.
Above entrance, a sign: ‘The Churn’

Yondir opened the door, entered and began listening.
Ears of this Sephi need little regarding concentration.
Immediately his ears are greeted to a tavern speaking.
All about the lively abode is a chorus of conversation.

The man’s sharp ears stand in contrast to most folk within.
In this village, Moragans resembled turtles in appearance.
At least in heads and necks, that is, apparently with no ears.
However, there were aliens about as well; Yondir, not just him.

In the corner, Jedi spotted a Bothan taking a sip from a tall glass.
Might have been beer but Jedi’s eyes no longer linger at the man.
Moves along, greeting gazes with no more than a passing glance.
Scent—meat—sights—pastries—plates of -clink!- forks of -clank!-

Yondir walks beneath the lighting on the tavern’s broad ceiling.
Hanging beneath are antlers and banners amid wall paintings.
At the back, above a rack of bottles, gold-framed painted deer.
Yondir walks up to the bar, sets down his bow. “I’ll have a beer.”

Barkeep nods and moves to prepare his patron’s brew.
Yondir uses this moment to ponder morning and noon.
On the morrow, what would the trees reveal to a Jedi?
A glass comes to hand, amber liquid, man at his right.

Yondir notices him immediately upon his heavy breathing.
He isn’t defensive, he does not tense, but Jedi is searching.
Jedi’s eyes are like stones, motionless as they gaze into his.
A brown eye, a blue eye, tall, strong and looks in fit condition.

The man mentions that the other man smells different.
Like he doesn’t belong here. Doesn’t belong anywhere.
Stoic countenance, lips are motionless while he listens.
One man asks the other who he is. “I belong nowhere.”

The Stranger looks away, sipping his beer, swallowing.
It is bitter, as beer should be, neither heavy nor sweet.
“I go anywhere and everywhere.” His tone is impassive.
It isn’t aggressive. “That is the very purpose of a ranger.”

A ranger, of course, could mean anything to anyone.
It could mean a Sector Ranger, an order’s guardian.
Yondir Fenn is a guardian of the home behind him.
A Ranger, but this man won’t know the definition.

“My name is Yondir Fenn.”
Jedi looks again to his right.
Grey into blue-brown eyes.
“Your face is flushed red.”

John Q

 

[John Q]

He swished the ice in his milk some more with his toothpick. It was sitting still on the glass countertop, calm as the moon. And as the man spoke to him he looked still at the surface of the milk, for it slightly rippled with each spoken word. When the man stopped speaking, the surface calmed again. Yet there remained an imperfection. John hovered over the milky waters of his glass, scrutinizing it, unblinkingly so, until he saw it-- a steady beat-beat-beat breaking the drink's surface down to micrometer detail. John looked to the man, back to the glass, and put his hand over his own heart. Only then did he realize the truth.

"Yondir Fenn. We were fated to meet here tonight. You would make a fine assassin. Say yes."

Yondir Fenn

 

[Yondir Fenn]

Yondir could not put his finger on why but he kept his gaze on the other man. He wasn’t watching him so much as watching his movements, or rather the way he observed his own drink. Milk. Ice. It mattered little and less but stuck out to the Jedi anyway.

Then, out of nowhere, the other man spoke. He placed his hand on his heart, whether to feel a rapid beat or swear to himself was any man’s guess. Yondir Fenn. The name came back to the Jedi. Then came ‘assassin’.

At first, the Jedi could only stare, blue and brown eyes, but then he looked away for another sip of his drink, as steady as his counterpart's gaze had been.

The curious individual's question was unusual enough in a place like this. Were this Nar Shaddaa then maybe those kinds of questions were commonplace. Is he truly trying to hire me? Or is this a riddle?

“No. I have no interest in that life.” He knew he could be a deadly assassin if he wanted to be, as most Jedi could, but especially the warriors among them. They were yet guardians against the dark side. The Jedi turned back to the other. "Why do you?"

John Q

 

[John Q]

"I merely believe that there are bad, bad people out there, Mr. Yondir, and we would be better off if they were gone. The Jedi agree with me. You think they lack assassins? Perhaps theirs are cloaked in white with minted breath, but killers are still killers."

He grasped his glass and drained it in several gulps till only a few icecubes remained. John signaled the bartender and whispered in his ear. The bartender gave a toothless smile and rushed out of sight. John snickered, then looked at Yondir's shoes. You can usually tell where a man has been by looking at his shoes. His own were dressy black shoes, no scuffs or scratches, you could almost see your face in the polish. Not exactly the shoes of a normal assassin unless he was of an elite class, one who took few steps knowing less was more. John looked at Yondir again to see if he noticed the shoe-checking, then turned back to his empty glass of milk.

Yondir Fenn

 

[Yondir Fenn]

Music IC

Spoiler

​

Yondir watches the other man, that stranger, observing his eyes without looking away, pupils and irises, whether they flinch. Yondir won’t give in, won’t break his grip, like eyes in a fist, Jedi’s are grey seas.

It is the stare of the Ranger, lasting for as long as the other speaks on, about the bad people of the galaxy being gone so that the galaxy will be better off.
The man finishes speaking, grasping his glass, iced milk, surely refreshing for someone who looks like they might be sunburned.

It would maybe explain the panting, the cold drink, the red skin.
Is he even an assassin or affiliated with any of them? Or a madman from the forest?
Yondir looks away to consider this, but from peripheral vision he catches eyes upon him again and discovers the man’s gaze moving to his boots.

What does the stranger see? A Ranger’s boots are well kept, have to be for the trek ahead, and you can tell when they have been walked in. Sturdy, thick, a firm but comfortable fit, creased in lines of time, by rock’s bite and season’s sweeping flight.

Yondir, however, was not as interested in the other man’s footwear as that man was in Yondir’s.

“I do not speak for all Jedi, I speak only for me, and I can only strive to be what a Jedi should be.”

Unsure of what direction this conversation was further heading in, Jedi maintains his seated position, calm and composed, always knowing that the moment could go from better to worse with the flick of a wrist.
Jedi has a lightsaber hidden at his hip, a belt gripping it, and Jedi can use it well if it comes to it.

“As for these…killers…justice doesn’t quit. Judgment must be swift but it must be just. If we give into becoming assassins, Jedi or Sith, whatever one is, then I believe we are no better than the killers we are killing."

Whether that was an element of the Jedi Code, it didn't have to be for this Jedi Knight, for Yondir was a Ranger with his own code ever before becoming a Jedi guardian.

"When it comes to murdering others in cold blood," Yondir finishes as he sets down his own cold drink. "You become what you hunt."

John Q

 

[John Q]

John smiled and nodded at this most noble of Jedi.

"You pass the test."

He held his chin between forefinger and thumb and looked at Yondir like a carpenter considering a fine piece of woodwork.

"I'm afraid I have not been entirely truthful with you. I actually work for the Order. My job is to find wayward Jedi and assess whether they have fallen."

John drummed his fingers on the bar and studied Yondir carefully, like he was estimating the spirit of this man by the length of his shadow and all it could hold.

"Yet I sense no darkness in you, Yondir Fenn."

Die Shize

 

[Yondir Fenn]

Music IC

Spoiler

​

I pass the test. Words in his head, phrased more as a question, though a question as unmarked as a soul sitting beside an assassin. Whatever that man beside him, that thirsty soul by a Jedi, here was one man who would not so easily be the mark on an assassin's card.

The test. Words in his head, again and again, for there was ever a test when it came to a Jedi. Yondir Fenn, a Jedi Knight, he had voiced aloud those thoughts how it was so easy to give into temptation, to break the code that Jedi know and to kill at will.

Yet, here was a man who had been put to the test long before he had come to ever hear of ‘Jedi’, the word, to in turn learn the Jedi Code and engrave it into his very bone. Here was a man who gave his own code, long ago, and let his light glow prior to the light side’s flow.

Drink in hand, cold and crisp, beer too amber to be clear, but it does not dull his senses. He does not live to drink, drink to live, this Jedi Knight named Yondir Fenn. He gives into balance, a ranger on the front line, the Stranger who gave his life time and time again.

I pass the test. Words in his head, yet words are wind, even in a tavern where the air is filled with the scent of ale and wine, of tale and time, and the stench of death at the behest of life. Words are wind.

Jedi takes a sip while the other man holds his chin between forefinger and thumb, like a ponderer and then some. Yet, the only woodwork in this pond of a tavern’s setting, this pool of mystery heavy with the air of uncertainty, was the wooden countenance of Yondir Fenn; of the Force unmoved amid the tune of drum and flute.

When the other man spoke, Yondir swallowed, cleared his throat, eyes into eyes. The man revealed himself to be a Jedi, or close by; a worker for the Order, though by whose order was any fool’s best guess.

He studies him carefully, one man gazing upon the other man, deducing, while the Force is calling, challenging a man’s claim of searching for those who may be falling.

“Darkness,” Jedi begins, licking his lips, tasting beer’s bitter bliss. He looks away, glimpses the painting of deer on the wall behind the bar in a forest so very far.

“If you sense no darkness in me then your senses have failed you, sir.”
Yondir, the Stranger, didn’t know how else to address this other stranger.
In the forest, in the eyes of that deer, he sees himself; far yet still so close.
“There is a darkness in all of us, large, small. Even in light there is shadow.”

Downing what was left of his drink, Yondir slid the cup across the counter to the bartender and returned his gaze to the other man.

“You lost me at not being entirely truthful. Truth is what makes the light stand instead of lying. If you truly are an agent of the light, you are right in finding no wayward or fallen Jedi here.” He stared in place of shrugging as though emoting was off the table. “No lies, no fables, and you’ll have no problem or quarrel with me.”

With that, Knight Fenn paid the tab and rose from his stool to leave this pool, unless this would be investigator had more to say to Yondir, whatever he knows.

John Q