Padawan Menace
((OOC note: Just an introductory, free-for-all thread picking up from the hookin my character's biography))
Darkness there, and nothing more.
The darkness was ever reaching, like a shadow that was dreaming or a candle that was fleeting with it's light pale and dying -- something somewhere fading between the candle and the flame, a fickle whim that was scheming in a dream. Not coherent as a thought, not easily was this shadow fought, but with tenuous terror was this fantasy wrought. It trickled in like the first rays of dawning, the trespassing touches which slipped past the awning, so soon forgotten in the yawning.
And the darkness, so soon forgotten, still was reaching, somewhere scheming in fickle, fleeting fantasies of yore. For the dreams of younglings contain wonders which the minds of adults no longer envision, complete with terrors more real than any shadow on the wall.
The small Nautolan resisted the beckoning consciousness. Swirling darkness, like a storm within a shadow, moved in the large, obsidian orbs of the youngling's eyes as the boy's eyelids opened only briefly. The subconscious mind took hold, prompting the Jedi child to seek out the familiar comfort of others. No longer asleep, but not yet awake, the green-skinned youngling shuffled along the floor until he had pushed himself up against two others of his clan. A Zabrak and Iktotchi who were each curled up against other younglings as well.
Slowly, a low murmur began to hum through the air, as more and more of the younglings stirred from their dreaming, squirming, slithering, shuffling, and sliding against and atop of one another for the sense of communal comfort that had been their orphan family within the Jedi construct of the youngling clan. Planting his head down on the shoulder of the Zabrak boy, the young Nautolan was vaguely aware of Rodian girl that was now re-purposing his leg for a pillow, and a gentle pressure in the small of his back from the Iktotchi -- who was now lying across him.
The amphibian boy's nose twitched as he drew in a breath, and then signed contently as he drifted back to sleep.
"...you won't attract anyone to your cause now. Not after you've abducted younglings. Not even the Hutts will protect you now, the bounties on your head will be far too high."
The sound of someone speaking tickled at the back of the Nautolan's mind. It was familiar, but he didn't recognize it. Yet, some nagging part of his own consciousness left him with the idea that he ought to know who it was. The Nautolan's dark eyes fluttered open again, then shut just as quickly.
Master Dirandu. It was Master Dirandu's voice. Why was Master Dirandu speaking when he was trying to sleep?
Wait... He hadn't just fallen asleep in Force Meditation Class again, had he?
With a sharp intake of air, which froze in his throat as anxiety gripped hold and shook him violently from out of the relaxed escape of rest, the head tendrils of the small boy bounced as the child's head came up in a sudden bolt of uncertainty. A deep pit of dread which only crystallized into fear as the boy's dark eyes blinked through the haze and fog of slumber and found himself staring out from behind metal bars.
On the other side of the large, cage-like box in which the younglings were housed, the Twi'lek Jedi Counsular appeared as a blue scan hologram, posed opposite another hologram of an alien that appeared to be a Near-Duro species.
"...but if you Jedi will merely part with but a pittance of the kaiburr crystals in your possession, I'm certain we can come to a... mutually beneficial arrangement."
"You better not have harmed them, Kero."
"Please, Master Jedi. I am Neimoidian. I would never dream of damaging the merchandise."
Clamping a hand down on the Iktotchi behind him, and using his other to liberally shake the Zabrak, the young Nautolan tried to spread the alarm silently throughout the cluster of younglings. A low murmur resonated through the makeshift prison, as the awakening younglings in turn awakened the others around them -- using finger-to-lip motions and whispered shhh commands to hush the rising army of the anklebiters. A dozen pairs of eyes moved over and around the interior of the cage, looking for a way out.
The Iktotchi tugged on the sleeve of a Rodian girl -- the best feather-push competitor in their clan -- and motioned outward, as several other eyes followed the line of his finger toward the crate where a humanoid droid stood over the holographic negotiations.
The distinctive silvery metallic cylinder of a Jedi training shoto rested on the top of the crate.
The child-sized lightsaber went flying backward, spontaneously yanked through the air as though by some invisible hand. At the same time, a sudden force slammed into the back of the droid infiltrator, sending it slamming down atop the crate, tumbling over the wooden box as it turned over and spilled the holograph disks onto the floor.
"What is the meaning of this? What is happening?" the Neimoidian demanded loudly.
"Have you ever cared for younglings before?" the Jedi child-minder inquired, with a certain smugness in his voice. Flipping one of his head-tails over his shoulder, the Twi'lek innocently remarked, "One thing they're good at... They void warranties."