First Reply "Rotgut and Run"

[Milenna Rieekan]

FLASHBACK SCENE —
Location: Industrial district, back alley behind a cantina called The Rasping Mynock
Age: 14


The stink hit first—rancid grease, spilled ale, and half-rotten nerf steak scraps swimming in a pool of gutter run-off. Melenna wrinkled her nose but didn't hesitate. Her stomach had been gnawing at itself for two days now, and she knew the cantina dumped leftovers at this hour like clockwork.


She crouched behind a stack of rusted containers, waiting. Voices inside drifted through the alley wall—rowdy spacers, probably drunk on corellian rum. The back door creaked open, and a sweaty Devaronian line cook dragged out a bin nearly half his size. He cursed under his breath as it snagged on a crate.


She counted silently.
One... two... three...

The door slammed shut.

Melenna bolted forward, sliding the lid off the bin and wincing as a cloud of warm rot steamed into her face. Inside was a mess of bones, burnt crusts, and something that might've been stew once. She worked fast, fingers moving on instinct, snatching up the least-offensive pieces and stashing them in the satchel tied to her hip.


Then—a shout.

​

"Hey! You! Step away from the bin!"​

She spun. Two CorSec patrol officers rounded the corner, one with a stun baton already raised. They must've been sweeping the alleys again—bad timing.

Melenna didn't freeze. She never froze.

Her foot hit the side wall. She vaulted onto a trash crate and scrambled up a hanging power line conduit, climbing fast. The younger officer slipped in the slime below as he reached for her.

​

"Get down, kid! You're trespassing!"​

She reached the roof ledge, hands burning, and launched herself over it without looking back. Her satchel banged against her side, but the food inside was safe. She hit the rooftop and rolled, then sprang to her feet and darted behind a vent stack. Her breathing was ragged, but she couldn't help it—she was laughing.


Not because it was funny.
Because she'd won.

Another day fed. Another patrol outsmarted. Another night where she didn't go to sleep hungry.


And in the sky above, the Corellian moons glowed behind wisps of factory smoke—distant and silent, like the stars didn't care what happened down here.

But she did.
And tomorrow, she'd do it all again.​

 

[Jesse Organa]

Milenna Rieekan

The last time Corellia had been in view of the woman.. she had been kidnapped by pirate and held hostage... not an ideal situation but there was a very rare chance of it ever happening again. Right... she thought it as the ship was touching down. Her dark hair pulled back into a tight ponytail and skin like dark honey. Her outfit being simple enough as the long skirt trailed to her ankles and the top was adorned with crystals and gemstones. An anti-force choker from the sasori senate collection there for her to wear. To protect her from attacks before she was moving from the port while her eyes roamed around. It was a lot easier this time around when she was walking and there was the crowds of people she could walk among checking out more areas of the port and its stations.

 

[Milenna Rieekan]

NOW


The cantina hadn't changed much.

Same flickering sign with the mynock silhouette missing half a wing. Same stench of stale booze and fried mystery meat. The only real difference was the new security droid at the entrance—and the Jedi-issue cloak draped over Melenna Rieekan's shoulders.

She stepped inside, the dim lights painting amber shadows across her face. Heads turned, as they always did when someone wearing Jedi robes walked into a place that rarely saw peacekeepers. But her presence was calm, nonthreatening. She wasn't here for trouble.

Not this time.

She made her way to the bar, where the old Devaronian cook—now owner, apparently—was berating a server droid with a busted leg.

"I told you, blue milk, not that Bantha-brewed synth slop—"

He glanced up mid-rant, eyes locking onto hers. A flicker of recognition passed over his face, then vanished beneath a gruff frown.

"You want something, Jedi?"

Melenna slid into the nearest stool.

"Yeah. Meal of the day. And a glass of tap water."

She reached into her belt pouch and laid down a few clean credits. No hesitation. No sneaking. No running.

The Devaronian looked down at the money, then up at her again.

"You new around here?"

"Not exactly." She smiled faintly. "Used to come through the back. Long time ago."

He stared at her for a long moment. Then, something softened in his posture—just a hair.

"You one of those street rats that used to knock over my bins?"

She didn't deny it.

"I was hungry. You tossed out a lot of good stuff!"

He snorted.

"Still do. But at least you're paying now."

Melenna nodded. Her hands folded around the warm ceramic plate when it arrived—nerf shank, bread ration, and a steamed veg puck. Hot. Fresh. Real.

As she took her first bite, a strange silence settled over her. Not awkward. Not unwelcome. Just… quiet. The kind of quiet she never had back then. The kind that came with a full stomach, a warm room, and no one chasing her.

She finished the meal slowly, savoring every flavor. She wasn't just feeding herself—she was honoring the girl who once dug through this alley's trash, half-starved and scared and stubborn enough to survive.


Tag: Jesse Organa

 

[Jesse Organa]

Milenna Rieekan

She continued to move, blending in and around the crowd even though she normally stuck out. The force being used to make her slippery to the perceptions of others.. they could see her but they wouldn't focus on her like something out the side of your vision. Her eyes roaming over the crowd as she felt something for a moment.. and then it was gone but she had a general idea of a direction. Her feet gliding as she felt the force being able to guide her.. the force letting her avoid the people. She slipped into a building and looked around for a moment as it seemed to be a place for food and she walked. Her lips and mouth tugging as a light smile as she rather liked the look of it and brought a hand to her belt slipping out credit chits when she set them down and spoke across from someone else. "Hmmm whatever is popular to eat and to drink if you would be so kind. I am feeling adventurous."

 

[Milenna Rieekan]

The Rasping Mynock hadn't heard a voice like that in a while.


The Devaronian cook looked up from the back counter, where he'd been butchering a rack of smoked caf ribs with half his horns scorched from an old oil fire. His red eyes scanned the girl in the robe, his knife halting mid-slice.

"Hmph. Jedi."
He sniffed, lips pulling into something between a smirk and a grimace.
"Weird taste for adventure, coming to my place for food."

Still, he wiped his hands on a grease-stained towel and stomped toward the open griddle. There was a flicker of recognition in his eyes again—more than just from earlier that day. This Jedi wasn't like the others. Something was different.

He grunted and turned toward the cooking unit.

"You'll get the special. Barvy-skewers with red grain mash and firefruit spritz. Don't die—some offworlders think it's too spicy."

He poured the fizzy drink with one hand and slid the tall glass across the counter with the other, eyes narrowing slightly, not just at her… but at the faint tension that rippled in the air.


Outside, through the warped transparent steel window, three figures passed the cantina: tall, cloaked in weather-worn garb, their steps unnaturally synchronized. One glanced toward the cantina, the edge of his face showing a pale scar that crossed his jaw.


The cook's nose twitched. He growled low, too quiet for most—but Melenna would hear it.

"Those ones out there…" he said under his breath, flipping a skewer without looking.
"I've seen 'em before. Smelled 'em. Don't drink, don't talk. Come through asking weird questions. One of 'em—scars on his face—kept asking if any Jedi had passed through lately."

He leaned closer as the flames licked up from the grill, casting red across his face.

"If you're feeling adventurous, …"
He slid the plate to her carefully, eyes sharp now, serious.
"…you might want to keep one hand near your saber."

 

[Milenna Rieekan]

Location: Outside The Rasping Mynock, Coronet City

Melenna rose from the bar stool the second she felt their attention snap toward her.

No words. No hesitation.

She turned, cloak billowing around her boots as she stepped outside, the glass door hissing shut behind her. Her Force presence—once muted, slippery—now sharpened. Deliberate. Undeniable.

The three figures stood at the edge of the walkway like wraiths. The one in the center, the scar-faced man, smirked as she approached.

"You've got some gall," Melenna said, voice firm and even. "You're either lost… or looking for trouble."

She didn't draw her saber. Not yet. Not until she knew what they were.

The one to the left—a woman, eyes sunken and strange—tilted her head.

"It speaks," she rasped. "Another little brat playing Jedi."

"No…" the scarred one murmured, stepping forward. "You're the one we were told to find."

Before Melenna could react, it hit her.

The Force screamed—too late.

A jolt of pain exploded through her back as the third figure had somehow looped behind her. His fist slammed into her spine like durasteel. She dropped to a knee with a grunt, wheezing for breath. She reached for her saber—too slow.

The scarred man's boot caught her jaw with a sickening crack.

She hit the duracrete hard, blood already streaming from her nose.

"You think robes make you strong?" he snarled, kicking her in the ribs. "You think you're better than us?"

She lashed out with the Force, trying to push them back—but it slid off them, like water on duraplast. Something was wrong. Her connection wavered—flickered.

They moved too fast. Their attacks landed too heavy. She fought back with grit and desperation, hands slick with blood, lips split open from another strike.

"You're just another street rat," the woman hissed, stomping her hand flat as she tried to rise. "No real Jedi. Just a stray."

Melenna screamed through clenched teeth, grabbing a chunk of debris and hurling it telekinetically. It struck the third man in the side—he barely flinched.

The scarred leader crouched down beside her, his breath cold against her cheek.

"You don't even know what you are, do you?"

He pressed something—a black, humming crystal shard—to her temple. Her skin sizzled with a burning sensation, like her mind recoiled from the touch.

"You're not ready for what's coming, little Knight of Tomorrow."

Then, as quickly as it had begun, they disappeared into the alley, their footsteps echoing away.

She lay there, coughing blood into the cracks of the sidewalk, her cheek pressed against the filth of her past—again. Her body shook, not from fear… but from humiliation. Pain.

How did they block her connection to the Force?
Why couldn't she sense them properly?
Who told them about her?

Inside the cantina, the Devaronian's eyes lingered on her slumped form before he reached below the counter, pulling out an old medkit.

"Damn girl… what the hell did you just walk into…"