Even after taking this form for years -the humanoid form, that is-, something about it never seemed right to Aperion. It was if gravity itself, all the forces in the universe were conspiring for one of your only two feet to mistep. Falling seems like destiny rather than possibility, and all humanoids fought against it with such determination... They make it look easy. And it was indeed automatic for Aperion now, but it didn't make it less strange, wrong, alien. The ideal lifeform would always be liquid, after all. But alas, the Force seemed to disagree, seeing the amount of humanoid species thriving in the galaxy compared to, what, the Polydroxol and a handful of others?
Aperion had a hard time to recognise people in the beginning, all humanoid seemed similar. Didn't matter much, did it? All had two arms, two legs, a head. Some had some more arms, some more legs, even some more heads... Well, it takes time to differentiate them. At least now, after years of study, he knows the server in front of him is a female Twi'lek, maybe 25-ish years old, a scar on her left cheek. The Jedi greeted her with a little nod, and made his way to a corner booth, where his contact would be waiting. Her presence could be determined out of all the people in the bar, such was her attunement to the Force. It was soothing, like the heat of a bright prairie fire in a cold, cold night.
There she was, right in front of him, stirring a drink Aperion couldn't quite name. He wasn't a fan of alcohol, even though he loved to frequent bars -full of life, those places.
"Greetings! Chow-neeh-na, is it?", his 'alien' accent still couldn't quite get some names right, but the Polydroxol was doing all he can to mimic the Republican accent. His voice was calm, lively, his bright silver face reflecting the woman in front of him, his white robes fluorescent in the dark. He remained still, rigid, waiting for a response.
