Just stretching my legs [Open to GA Members]

[Loske Treicolt]

Sullust ; ​

Beta V landing page​

‘You okay kid?’

Loske ripped the helmet from her head, blonde strands popping up with the surprise release form their compressed journey. She was gasping, staggering as she dropped her helmet. A loud clatter rang out from the impact of plastic on the pavement, ending just in time for the youth to voice her response to the query of her well-being. Stammered, although it was.

“F-fine.”

‘You airsick?’

Frustrated with the unknown source of unease, Loske pawed at the air to silence the interrogation. “No, no of course not. Don’t be ridiculous.”

Looking up, light eyes registered a screen broadcasting the live story — reporters dared each other to get closer to the live action. The shots were pretty ambiguous, lots of explosions and devastation. One could assume the death toll between both The Republic and the Mandalorians were pretty escalated. Loske knew the realities of these things, everybody did in the era they lived in. Everytime she saw these broadcasts though, she felt a little sicker than she was supposed to. High altitudes sometimes made her a little woozy, which was ironic considering she was an excellent pilot — with the papers to back it! Top graduate of the RAF when she’d been part of the Republic, and transferred over to the Galactic Alliance with enough credentials to rank right on up to one of the premiere squadrons. She shook her head defiantly.

“Pssshhhht-- What kind of pilot gets airsick.”

What she didn’t know, was that the papers were forged. Much like her memories of The Republic. They were hazy at best — but she didn’t dwell on it. Loske was an in-the-moment type of girl. Even the future was incomprehensible, save for slight seconds in advance sometimes. Her reactions were perceivable as sometimes reacting as something that yet to happen, before it actually did.

Her ranking officer followed her cerulean gaze toward the screen — shaking his head as well, dark curls quivering with the movement 'Yeah. The Republic’s a mess.’

The girl nodded, wisps of blonde tickling her cheeks as she crouched to pick up her helmet, resting it against her stomach in a somewhat wistful tone as she let her thoughts become audible, swaying side-to-side — eyes locked on the broadcast with a shake of her head.

“Where did all the good guys go? The Jedi — I remember..I remember there being Jedi. Like active, bad bantha Jedi going in there and showing everyone what’s up.”

The pilot shrugged. ‘Who knows. But gives us a hell of an entrance into the battlefield as the number one good-guy gunners.’

 

[Damian Starchaser]

Damian watched as a “special” agent attached to the dock security services walked straight up to some of the pilots and started asking questions. Stupid. Damian wasn't a very good Jedi. That wasn't to say that he didn't accomplish tasks and to things a Jedi might, but rather he went about them in a strange way. For instance, there was problem at the docks. Great. Normal Jedi would go around and ask questions and make a big show. Damian instead just watched. His grandfather raised him as a smuggler and so it was easy enough for him to blend in. Hell he even made a profit… maybe he shouldn’t write about that in his report.

Uhg reports. why was there so much paperwork? Damian let out a little sigh as he continued to watch. Things tended to escalate when he was involved. [member="Kana Truden"] often said that of him, but didn’t complain when they got praise. Sure he was here to stop some simple pickpockets, but now there was more to it. The pickpockets were giving a share to a rather sleazy Zeltros schutta who in turn was giving a cut of profits to another nefarious man. Damian wanted that man behind bars. If you wanted to stop crime you didn’t arrest the petty criminals you followed the money. And on this dock all the money seemed to be flowing in a distinct direction.

Normally he’d have Kana here with him, but she was still in prison. No he needed to do this to a civilian and pay them back later. Make things right. He’d managed to convince a petty criminal that he was like them, true enough in many ways, but they had required an initiation. With luck he’d be able to work up the ranks and get close enough to this boss to get him arrested. That was the goal anyways.

But first he needed a target. Getting off a ship and clanking a helmet to the ground he saw a woman with blond hair and a tan…. she was pretty…. damnit no. That was a Marek thought. [member="Marek Starchaser"] was a jackass. Shaking his head he approached her, the target. Movinging swiftly he bumped into her using sleight of hand to place some credit chits into her pocket. It was only fair she be reimbursed in full with pain and suffering for what was about to happen.“Hey pretty,” he said in a sleazy way. “You gotta pay the docketing fee to land at this here dock.” This here dock? Force that sounded awful. Damian much prefered a cover that let him go to resorts. Arms dealer. Next time he was going to be an arms dealer. "I need a hundred credits."


[member="Loske Matson"]

 

[Sarge Potteiger]

When bored, Sarge often meandered around the base, stopping to hold brief small talk with faces he recognized and individuals he'd worked with in the past. Rarely staying too long, he nonetheless felt the desire to speak to others on a regular basis, even if it was just to check up on their well being. He certainly seemed to have a good reputation among base personnel because of it.

But the plus side was that it kept him up on all the gossip - which amused him - and he could sometimes watch freighter crashes as they were in progress.

Having just been speaking to a member of the refueling crew that had helped him extinguish the fire on a crashed dropship some weeks back, he caught ear of the awkward come-on before it had even fully left the lips of [member="Damian Starchaser"]. Adjusting the way his helmet sat hooked beneath his left arm, he cast his void black gaze towards [member="Loske Matson"] and her apparent suitor.

Without a word, a smile creased his weathered features and he began to chuckle with no small amount of mirth. Though it was a rarity, his face lit up; he'd been in that position once upon a time, and he knew how it ended.

Hopefully Damian wouldn't have a decade of chasing to do if he continued down this line of inquiry.

 

[Loske Treicolt]

Loske’s stomach churned, watching the continued broadcast of the Roche disaster. There was a tremor within her, and it was lasting longer than her usual air sickness post flight.

“Hm.” The girl mused aloud, hem-hawing the considerations of the ranking officer who had inquired if she was alright or not. She was about to reply, though it was nothing particularly intelligent, when some other voice caught her attention. It was of course, not immediately assumed that he was referring to her, but proximity would suggest otherwise. Also the bump - she almost dropped — a sense alerted her, flaring almost that something wasn’t quite as it seemed. Like this guy was giving off some sort of energy.

A hundred credits? Galaxies! She was just pulling in for a quick fix-er-upper and a snack! A check-in. She actually couldn’t remember. She coattailed off his last words.

“Yeah,” a sniff as she shifted the helmet to be cradled beneath just one arm, cocking her hip. “Me too.”

That’s right. She was here for a new assignment check-in. Who did she report to?

A click echoed from her mouth, the sound of saliva bubbles against a vague opening apparently. Charming! Sort of a shrug and tsch sort of thing.

“Wasn’t mentioned when I requested landing. Here- — I got passage with the..” she shifted the weight of the helmet again, reaching into her spacer jacket and one of its many pockets for her credentials. “I got pass —“ fingers plucked out a datachip, sprawled with her information. She forgot the squadron she was with.

LOSKE MATSON.

A queasy smile accompanied the presentation of information.

She heard chuckling.

Did she look ridiculous? That guy in the armour looked serious. Senior kind of serious. Maybe that's who she needed to talk to. Oooo boy.


[member="Sarge Potteiger"] | [member="Damian Starchaser"]

 

[Damian Starchaser]

Uhg. Damian cursed the fact that he wasn’t intimidating. He bet [member="Darth Vornskr"] didn’t have embarrassing moments like this. Then again he blew that man up so really how intimidating could he be? The woman was easy enough on the eyes, which was enough to put Damian on the defensive nowadays. His mind went to the last two pretty women he’d encountered. Both tried to kill him, then again both were sith and acted a bit more charming than this girl. Or Sultry. Really though it seemed in this galaxy the difference between the two was diminishing. Damian’s thoughts didn’t linger long on them. With luck one was still in prison and the other wouldn’t be haunting his steps again.

All of this of course wasn’t to say the way she fumbled with words and items didn’t have a certain charm that some might find appealing. Psychology was a hell of a thing and he’d witnessed plenty of young guys fall for the witless clumsy girl.

Then she presented her identification and pass. Damian smiled as he took it from her hand. It was a sweet and disarming smile that he often used for things like this. “Let me see that?” he asked softly taking the identchit from her hand and examining. Oh thank goodness this woman wasn’t a civilian. That made paying her back and working things out much easier. “If you give me the credits I will go back back and run this through the system and return if you qualify for a free pass.” He made eye contact. Eye contact was important when dealing with social situations, you could a lot from people's eyes… and she had such pretty eyes. No. Wrong. That was a Marek thought. Damian almost flinched visibly at the thought of his “father”.



[member="Sarge Potteiger"] [member="Loske Matson"]

 

[Loske Treicolt]

“Oh, okay — but.” This seemed odd — she’d never been so pressed on other space ports. True, this was the Alliance’s capital and some precautions may be necessary, but this whole database thing? As if like a sixth sense, some awareness kicked into her and she recognized this an atypical reception. Her eyes narrowed, brows furrowing quizzically while [member="Damian Starchaser"] ensured he had her focus.

“I, I’ll just take it to the office - there’s a ton of other stuff I gotta take care of so if I could just..” at this point, she extended her arm more - phalanges stretching toward her property to liberate it from that person’s grip.

He’d taken it from her with such ease, and she managed to with a similar finesse. “Ah yep — thanks for that.

Also, the 100 credits your asking for kinda--eeuuuhh” she re-pocketed the information, wary of the nature from this particular fellow — she winced comically, as if empathetic “nullifies the whole free pass thing, eh? Unless it’s a deposit, in which case you could just stand here. With my ship. Which is worth way more than 100 credits and I will

bee

are

bee."


[member="Sarge Potteiger"]

 

[Sarge Potteiger]

Pools of midnight water shifted again to [member="Damian Starchaser"]. Shaking his head at the boy, he gave a slow nod as the tech he'd been talking to moved off. Arms hefting to fold across the barreled armor of his chest, he look behind him to a stacked pile of crates and settled his bulk onto the edge of one. Laying his arms across his knees, folding his hands together as he leaned forward, he made sure his helmet was set squarely between his parted feet before watching [member="Loske Matson"] make her attempt at an escape.

But she wasn't going to get far.

"Over here." His voice was authoritative, highly amused, and featured the drawl of that most common of accents - Corellian.

"Why don't ye fill me in on what's going on, Miss."

Sarge was aware that he didn't hold much of an official position in the Galactic Alliance, but unsurprisingly his reputation carried a lot of weight in most matters - and he was fairly certain he was in charge of the prison they kept the Sith at. Not that the position paid.

What a joke.

Like that attempt at flirtation he'd just watched. Har-har.

 

[Loske Treicolt]

Before [member="Damian Starchaser"] could respond to Loske's attempted negotiations, her physical backward steps came to a halt when a gravely voice penetrated the lull. It's not to say there wasn't a sufficient amount of noise going on around the hangar anyways, but when someone pointedly speaks to you it seems louder than the other interfering audio.

Over...there.

"Oh." Shavit.

A visible wince spread across her features and she pivoted direction toward the armoured individual who had called her over. Loske's memory bank was composed of legends and stories heavily concentrated on the time of The Republic and The One Sith's struggle-- certain details somewhat exaggerated. There would have been an individual, Preacher, that seemed in likeness to the person before her. The mandala roams and The Republic were at it again. Seemed a little ironically déjà vu which cued a pleased little simper on her pouted lips as she stepped in the direction of [member="Sarge Potteiger"].

Loske was on the business of sharing details today.

"Just checking in, to be assigned to a GA Squadron for some new wing mates. Just not sure where to head.

Also, I didn't know there was a docking fee. I don't want trouble, but nothing was mentioned before."

 

[Fen]

Every man broke eventually. Even mountains crumble beneath time's weight. And Ryan Korr could no longer bear the Republic's shame. In place of a democracy which once stood for justice now lounged a gathering of besotted fools, too paralyzed by fear and corruption to stop the parade of tyrants. First Lasedri, then Hadrix. Criminals who refused to acknowledge their atrocities. Worst of all, Korr had no power to stop them.

The Order he once loved was gone, whittled down and hollowed to nothing by defeat, loss and betrayal. The last straw was the disappearance of the Grand Master. Now? Now the Jedi Order was dead. Whatever remained was nothing but children playing in ancient ruins.

His body was littered with scars. Wounds he had taken in defense of the Republic, of the Jedi. He had bled for them, nearly died for them. But he could no longer serve a mockery.

He felt humiliated by his own lack of fortitude. Perhaps he should have born with them a little longer. Perhaps he might have rallied them. Led them, or else seen Hadrix and her ilk brought to justice. He'd tried to warn them...

No. I'll not continue to throw pearls before swine.

The Jedi Master and erstwhile High Councillor emerged from the hangar check-in station, paper work filed. He stood, back straight, features pale and chiseled as if from stone, but it was as though the pride - to be part of something bigger than himself - had been leeched away. Absently tracing an old scar under his right eye while checking his papers, the man looked up at the sound of voices. A melancholic gaze swept over the little gathering. Two looked familiar. He frowned.

"Did I forget to pay a fee?"

[member="Damian Starchaser"] | [member="Loske Matson"] | [member="Sarge Potteiger"]

 

[Damian Starchaser]

Damian really needed to cut his losses. Authorities other than himself were getting involved and he wasn’t sure who knew what about his operation anymore. Maybe he should have just asked questions around the dock. That’s when he saw [member="Ryan Korr"]. Crap! He’d trained briefly under Korr and his master had been friendly with him when he was on the Jedi Council. What was he doing here? News from Roche was already spreading but does that mean?

Maaan. Damian had to salvage this operation. Thankfully he had placed 100 credits in [member="Loske Matson"]s pockets earlier. There was an easy for him to recover from this situation and still save face with this band of miscreant criminals. He had to get in good with them, had to convince them that he was some sort of thief to be reckoned with,

Ryan Korr and the armored man, [member="Sarge Potteiger"], made things more difficult. Damian approached the girl and did a simple bump and grab, lifting the credits he had planted on her back from her pocket. “Excuse me,” he said and continued onward. Did they see it? He wasn’t sure, but in order to make sure the local gangs saw it he had to be pretty blatant.

He tried to stay calm as he walked away, not speeding up too much. It was better to not look suspicious.

 

[Marcello Matteo]

A modified, dark blue N-1T Advanced Interceptor streaked low over the horizon on a somewhat rapid final approach vector to a pre-appointed landing pad. The nimble starfighter nestled gently onto the deck as several maintenance personnel kept a safe enough distance to avoid an unfortunate interaction with any debris kicked up by the vessel's repulsor engines. Inside the cockpit, Marcello's fingers casually moved over the controls as he executed the initial steps of the engine shutdown and post-flight checklists.

As the astromech and pilot tended to their specific tasks within the vessel, the ground crew quickly went about connecting a variety of services for fueling and power. The pilot, assigned the tactical radio designation Shock 6, had requested the particular services during his initial contact with the base upon clearing Port Authority control. A middle-aged man with salt and pepper hair was the Crew Chief for the vessel, having worked with the particular pilot for decades now - since they both left the Naboo Royal Security Forces.

Approximately five minutes after landing, Marcello opened the canopy to the vessel and removed his flight helmet. Setting it on the top of the console, the large Rogue Jedi jumped down to the ground with a brown leather jacket in his left hand. Pulling on the jacket, he made his way over to his Crew Chief, Jor'lan. "Quick turn around...I hope."

Jor'lan nodded to his long-time friend with a slightly uncharacteristically serious expression. "How'd it go?"

Marcello inhaled deeply as he adjusted his jacket over his casual clothing. "It went. I may yet have to return to Naboo...one more time. Seems the Queen does believe our debt from so long ago has been more than paid."

Jor'lan managed a slight chuckle. "Oh yeah? That happened almost five years before she was even born."

Marcello clasped the man on the shoulder with a thin smile. "Yeah. We're getting old, my friend. I'll be back soon." Turning, Marcello began to walk away from the landing pad. Nobody approached him about a docking fee. If they did, he would probably just laugh at them. The Naboo native had made it no more than perhaps twenty feet before a very familiar presence washed over him with an intense sensation. The type one could only receive from an apprentice and former friend.

Glacier-blue eyes immediately began scanning the horizon...as if he would immediately be presented with the physical manifestation of the presence. He wasn't but...[member="Ryan Korr"] was definitely here somewhere.

 

[Sarge Potteiger]

[member="Loske Matson"] [member="Damian Starchaser"] [member="Ryan Korr"]

Sarge blinked at her, then smiled, pushing himself up to stand - a hundred kilograms of armor, moving like second skin. Giving a faint sigh as he hefts his helmet up to tuck under one arm, fingers curled to take a grip on the inside, he cast a glance to Starchaser as he began approaching. "If you're looking for the GA, you're looking for their base. Should be someone waiting outside the hangar for you. I'm just a mercenary." His thin lips curled upward into a tight smile at that.

It had been... almost ten years since he could actually say he was a mercenary. Maybe nine. It was hard to keep track now that he wasn't being frozen and unfrozen every few decades.

Tired eyes swept towards Korr, and he shook his head. "Kark if I know, mate." Broad shoulders hefted into a dismissive shrug. "Mighta, might not. Not my problem." Blinking at Starchaser as she bumped into him, Sarge gave a sigh.

He'd worked all over in his time, and he'd seen this a few times. "Apologize to the lady." His tone is dry and unamused, and most certainly fits the weathered features of his bearded face. "And give back what you took." It was a shot in the dark. Guy might have not stolen anything, but that was the trick with seeing the same scenario play out over the years; you were right far more often than not.

And if he was wrong? Wouldn't bother him any, especially knowing he'd likely never see the boy again.

 

[The Spark]

An armored figure emerged from out of nowhere.

Greyson stretched lightly as he approached behind [member="Loske Matson"] with thunderous steps. The modified MK II/S armor had seen better days. The red markings were dull and chipped while the black paint had flaked off at various points – exposing the plastoid-ceramic beneath. For now, it did what it was meant to do, keep his ass out of a sling. He stared down at Loske and then to Sarge before speaking up.

“Everything alright, kid?” It wasn't a question that truly required an answer. He knew everything was, otherwise she would have mentioned it before. He looked over at @Damien Starchaser who bumped into Loske and then to Sarge. He would side-step behind the kid, just as an added insurance measure to ensure he didn’t take off in light of the situation. Of course he kept his eyes fixated on Sarge – he knew the man. He was there with him on Naboo when it was invaded several years back. He said nothing, it was unlikely that the man before him would recognize the suit of armor or who it belonged to. Maybe he would. Who knew. So much had transpired in the Galaxy – a lot of things passed onto other people, second hand exchanges, black market deals. Nasty business as it were, but hey – it is what it is.

[member="Sarge Potteiger"]

 

[Loske Treicolt]

There was a lot going on simultaneously. In the order of events, Loske reacted to the newcomer first — agreeing with the question with a similar measure of confusion. “Right?” she gestured, still gripping her helmet with her free hand. “That’s what I’m keen to know.” It took a moment for her memory to cue in based on imagery and other recollective cues — but the newcomer was [member="Ryan Korr"]. A stoic knight during the epic struggles at the peak of the war between the One Sith and The Republic.

Then, her body was once again bumped. Was this fellow somewhat blind? This was the second body contact she’d suffered from the blonde’s bod. “Excuse you indeed!” Loske muttered, rubbing her lower back with an irritated twitch of her features. With all these bodies around, the swelling in her stomach seemed to pulse again. It was strange.

Took something? Loske’s hands slapped to her pockets, fretting slightly at the fact that something may have disappeared from her clutches. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary though, she hadn’t lost anything she’d had before.

Then, before he actually manifested, Loske seemed to sense the familiar presence of someone she’d been travelling with for the past seven months or so. “Yeah, yeah, just..” She exhaled heavily, overwhelmed by the amount of persons that had clustered about the ponytailed pilot. “Hi G-Son.” A floppy smile drooped across her lips, and she gave a half-hearted sag of relief. “Just gotta get pointed in a direction and start signing up so that” a skinny, gloved finger would now point toward the screen with the broadcast of The Republic versus the Mandalorians “Gets stomped!”

"A merc?" Sounded dangerous. Light eyes darted back to [member="Sarge Potteiger"] "--Someone to meet me. Maybe I landed in the wrong bay. Or maybe this is part of a test. I'll find it. I'll get registered."

A step indicated the start of her breaking away, or at least distancing herself from the loitering cluster. "And no docking fees. We'll leave it at that."

[member="Marcello Matteo"] | [member="Damian Starchaser"] | [member="Ryan Korr"] | [member="Greyson"]

 

[Marcello Matteo]

Purposeful steps carried the Rogue Master away from the fabricated landing pad his vessel was presently occupying. He could sense the presence of [member="Ryan Korr"] just beyond his present position, near the non-routine arrival section of the civilian spaceport. Generally, Marcello preferred to utilize the civilian spaceport on Sullust as opposed to executing arrivals at the Alliance Base. It would seem, however, that the spaceport was much more abuzz with activity today than was typical.

Regardless, Marcello's glacier-blue gaze redirected to a moderate sized structure that sat near the base of the civilian spaceport. Officially it was a part of Sullust Port Authority which was merely a non-deployable section of the Galactic Alliance Military that drew a great deal of support from civilian personnel as well. They were responsible for the various enforcement actions in and around the spaceport. In addition to that, it was generally the receiving area for those with inquiries or circumstances that required an actual representative of the military.

Several fluid strides carried him to the facility's entrance. He displayed credentials briefly to the sentries at the entrance, stating he'd made an appointment to meet with the Port Authority Supervisor. Marcello intended for the verbal discourse to be...brief.

[member="Loske Matson"] | [member="Damian Starchaser"] | [member="Sarge Potteiger"]

 

[Fen]

Korr snorted at the ensuing tomfoolery. Well, looked like no docking fee, but maybe there should be. It was getting rather crowded around the young girl. The other kid, the one requesting docking fees, looked as though he'd just gotten himself dunked in the hot water. Ryan's lips twitched into a ghost of a smile, not knowing whether to be entirely amused when threats of theft were being flung about.

An old, familiar presence washed across Ryan. One he hadn't felt since.. he frowned. Six years. Has it truly been so long? But he would not begrudge Marcello his blissful seclusion. These days fighting the Sith seemed to be one step forward, three steps back. And then pushed into the mud by our own people. In truth, the cataclysmic struggle between Sith and Jedi had been raging since time began. Ryan often wondered if both sides were simply engaged in a race rolling boulders up to the top of a hill, neither never quite reaching the top before the boulders fell back down and they had to start all over again. Still, someone had to bear the weight and push the stone uphill.

And if anyone had taught Ryan how to bear a burden, it had been [member="Marcello Matteo"].
The ghostly smile broadened ever so slightly at memories of a younger, more confused Ryan Korr trudging through the mud, tent digging into his shoulder.

Simpler times, looking back. But that was always the benefit of hindsight.

He shuffled his papers, sensing his master would be here in due time.

[member="Loske Matson"]

 

[Sarge Potteiger]

Sounded dangerous?

Weren't many more dangerous than him. But he couldn't read thoughts, so what did it matter. Black eyes flickered to [member="Greyson"], though he didn't do much more than nod. Maybe he remembered him, maybe he didn't. He wasn't going to commit either way. Just a nod. His arms shifted, settling atop his thighs before he pushed himself up to a standing position. Even though he was only a hair over six feet in height, the armor added another few inches that made him a visually imposing presence.

Scooping his helmet up off the ground, he tucked it under his arm before looking down to [member="Loske Matson"]. "No such thing as the wrong place, Miss. I'll guide you where you need to go. Was headed that way, regardless."

 

[Loske Treicolt]

“O-okay,” Loske glanced backward at [member="Greyson"], her compadré, before nodding gleefully at [member="Sarge Potteiger"]. She wasn’t about to refute assistance with navigating around the base — especially considering how difficult it had been to get here.

“Appreciate it, thanks!” Her own pilot’s helmet was still cradled in the crook of her arm, and she ruffled around in her jacket “Here, just a sec..” once more, she produced her documentation to present to the armoured former-Preacher who said he’d help her out. “In case this helps, this is my information — I mean, I’m a transferring pilot from the Republic’s X-Wing squadron, looking to check-in and get added to the roster here.” She held out the documents while she spoke, in case he wanted to take them. They were walking now, and she followed dutifully - absently entranced by his armour. “I mean, they’ll take care of that, but maybe it’ll help where I should be heading?

There seems to be a lack of direction on exactness. which I guess helps root the boys from the men but jeeze.”

She did summarize one bit of information from her documents for Sarge, though "I'm Loske, by the by."

[member="Marcello Matteo"] | [member="Ryan Korr"] | [member="Damian Starchaser"]

 

[Marcello Matteo]

It appeared that brevity was on the mind of the Port Authority Supervisor as well. Marcello certainly could not blame the man, he had many greater concerns than allowing a simple Jedi to bend his ear on an almost personal matter.

Exiting the structure, Marcello turned to his right and proceeded up the large steps to the civilian spaceport. It had been years since he'd last seen [member="Ryan Korr"], and the Naboo native was eager to see what his former apprentice had been up to in the interim. That said, word had most certainly reached Marcello's ears of the boys ascension to the Jedi High Council some time ago. More recently than that, he'd heard whispers of the young Jedi being elevated to the position of the Grandmaster in the wake of Corvus' resignation.

So continued the long tradition of almost tragically young Grandmasters among the Jedi Order. No matter. Once he'd entered the spaceport, Marcello angled in the direction of Ryan Korr. However, as the large Naboo native proceeded at a casual pace, he was hit with a strong feeling of familiarity. It wasn't Ryan, Marcello could easily differentiate between the two.

Yet...the one he was sensing seemed...intimately familiar, but it was different at the same time. What did it feel like to feel a part of yourself in another? It was almost as if every step the source of the sensation took resonated in Marcello's ears. The other part of the individual reminded him completely of Kiskla...without really being completely her. The hairs on the back of Marcello's neck prickled slightly as he heard latent, uncontrolled thoughts.

Quick recap - Marcello was no Consular, and he was not a master of mental manipulations. He'd simply never much wasted his time outside of the usual mind trick. Unknown to himself, [member="Loske Matson"]'s hyperactive, confusing surface thoughts were scratching at the walls of his brain. It was as if a part of him had separated from his body and was begging to return.

He didn't like it.

[member="Sarge Potteiger"]

 

[Sarge Potteiger]

[member="Marcello Matteo"] [member="Loske Matson"]

A rumbling 'mm' shook the soldier's throat, and he hefted his helmet into position over his head. Face now obscured by the orange polarization of his visor, he cast his gaze back down to Loske when she spoke again. He seemed to pause, and then an armored hand extended a palm covered in black padding to shake. "As I said, I'm Sarge." That was all the introduction he felt he needed; his nickname, the one everyone knew him by. He'd come to anticipate people knowing of him, but if she didn't, he wouldn't be bothered.

The galaxy was an impressively large place, and he hadn't been in the spotlight since the Protectorate had gone back to it's mercenary roots.

"And it's not to weed out the men from the boys. It's to keep people from finding the base."

But as he gave her hand a firm shake and then dropped the hand back to his head, he lifted the hexagon patterned visor to study the blonde man with admittedly rugged facial features. Sarge knew that look intimately, not because he knew Marcello, but because he'd worn it himself time and again.

"I believe the individual over there would like a word with you." A finger lifted, then pointed. "That or he finds you arrestingly attractive. In which case, he most definitely wants a word with you."

Nothing escaped his notice.