nightshrike
...and not one inch closer to untangling this case. Thirty-three bodies, heads clean swiped off, the Krath's mark on their foreheads, coins with the Krath's mark in possession of lowtier crime lords of the underbelly, and now this lead to Denon of all places. My mind's a mess already, this isn't really helping it. Why am I even typing this on a case file? I need a breath of fresh air.
[entry deleted]
It's moronic to think there's 'fresh' air on Coruscant, at least not in the underbelly. Dagon had heard stories of the wealthiest did indeed purchase fresh air, he had never assumed clean oxygen as an import good. It was so much in abundance back home on Ruusan, makes one wonder of the things they take for granted.
Makes one wonder even more why the young Jedi descended a couple of lower levels beneath to slum district G17. The district around the Jedi Temple couldn't be a better spot for a walk to clear the head - safe streets and illuminated alleys. Now, G17, wasn't really a gang warzone like the underbelly districts, it was rather mixed - not an all out law-of-the-jungle kind of place, but definitely one of those places you'd inadvertently walk a bit faster at night. One of those places with a duality of classification - you're either born into a blue-collar or you're there to escape.
Dagon affiliated with the latter.
But as much as he ambled alone through the streets, passing cabarets, noodle bars and little markets, he couldn't shake off the truckload of weight burdened in the depths of his mind. Tje loss of his brother; the trip to the dark side to save his companion - only for her to feel betrayed, essentially shattering their bond and trust; spearheading rookie and healer Jedi to the fronts only to nearly have them killed on Generis; Ayana's loss--
That list would go on and on forever.
He brushed the thoughts away by sharply turning to a nearby noodle bar. Hunger wasn't an issue, he just needed his mind on something else. The stereotypical lights of the small outdoor bar, as always bright as the sun, made him squint as he sat on one of the free stools. Fingers raised up, a number two coming right up. His favorite. Noodles with dubious bantha meat and even more suspicious sauce. He planted one arm on the counter and shifted around to keep an eye on the street - natural instinct. Instead of the commuters, it was the crimson-haired girl next to him that took his attention. They never knew each other personally, but he knew her name and her face. The first and last time he'd seen her was...that crazy morning on Jakku.
"...Kyra?" he enquired, slightly unsure if he wasn't seeing things.
It was, after all, a world of a trillion people and more.
Kyra Perl
[entry deleted]
It's moronic to think there's 'fresh' air on Coruscant, at least not in the underbelly. Dagon had heard stories of the wealthiest did indeed purchase fresh air, he had never assumed clean oxygen as an import good. It was so much in abundance back home on Ruusan, makes one wonder of the things they take for granted.
Makes one wonder even more why the young Jedi descended a couple of lower levels beneath to slum district G17. The district around the Jedi Temple couldn't be a better spot for a walk to clear the head - safe streets and illuminated alleys. Now, G17, wasn't really a gang warzone like the underbelly districts, it was rather mixed - not an all out law-of-the-jungle kind of place, but definitely one of those places you'd inadvertently walk a bit faster at night. One of those places with a duality of classification - you're either born into a blue-collar or you're there to escape.
Dagon affiliated with the latter.
But as much as he ambled alone through the streets, passing cabarets, noodle bars and little markets, he couldn't shake off the truckload of weight burdened in the depths of his mind. Tje loss of his brother; the trip to the dark side to save his companion - only for her to feel betrayed, essentially shattering their bond and trust; spearheading rookie and healer Jedi to the fronts only to nearly have them killed on Generis; Ayana's loss--
That list would go on and on forever.
He brushed the thoughts away by sharply turning to a nearby noodle bar. Hunger wasn't an issue, he just needed his mind on something else. The stereotypical lights of the small outdoor bar, as always bright as the sun, made him squint as he sat on one of the free stools. Fingers raised up, a number two coming right up. His favorite. Noodles with dubious bantha meat and even more suspicious sauce. He planted one arm on the counter and shifted around to keep an eye on the street - natural instinct. Instead of the commuters, it was the crimson-haired girl next to him that took his attention. They never knew each other personally, but he knew her name and her face. The first and last time he'd seen her was...that crazy morning on Jakku.
"...Kyra?" he enquired, slightly unsure if he wasn't seeing things.
It was, after all, a world of a trillion people and more.
