Private Socorro: Stray Julius Strut

[Calix of Thyrsus]

V A K E Y Y A
SOCO-JAREL SPACEPORT | THE OUTER RIM TERRITORIES

After Coruscant, Socorro felt... small.

The spaceport in the capital was as large as the city itself, but beyond the edges of the metropolitan sprawl was a large swath of black sand. It was similar to what he had witnessed on Khomm -- worlds displaying natural beauty. Layers of flora, not forests of duracrete entombing the planet.

As he stepped out into the light of day, the young Thyrsian felt the warmth on his dark skin. His eyes shone like the sun as he peered out into the wastes in the distance and wondered if what he was seeing was not unlike the planet of his ancestors. The Echani world of Thyrsus he had only heard about through stories and second-hand accounts.

The youth winced. A spasm of pain lanced through his left side as he tried to take a deep breath. Underneath the tunic, the bacta patch was still knitting back together the glancing blow from the blaster shot that he'd taken near Praesitlyn. Alana Sunrider had found him and patched him up, but now it seemed he was aimless.

A padawan without a master.

But perhaps there was a Jedi here who was a master without a padawan. Or, so he'd been led to believe. If the trip out here offered him nothing more than a glimpse of black sand, it was a journey well taken.

A broken lightsaber dangled from his belt. Like himself, damaged by the trip from the Core to the Outer Rim.

The Jedi Temple on Coruscant was very clean. Very orderly. In retrospect, perhaps not an accurate reflection of the galaxy that the Jedi served. With that thought in mind, the boy turned his head and peered around the dingy spaceport with its assortment of Corellians, smugglers, and spacers. A few sand dragons could be seen hovering around the people.

It was dirty, but perhaps there was a metaphor in there for the universe.

Julius Sedaire​

 

[Julius Sedaire]

Julius fit right into Socorro these days. Years amongst the sand and winds had weathered his already grizzled features. Middle age had given way to old age, and scars showed heavy new and old, along with laugh line wrinkles and what seemed to be a permanently furrowed brow. With a casual grace, he strode through the spaceport, and those that saw him gave him a respectful distance, if not per see a wide berth. It was not in these people to be so cowed, but even as old as he had become, seventies no less(!), he still walked with a rolling and cat-like gait that spoke of graceful lethality even if there was a small hitch in the left leg and stiffness that hadn't been there a few decades ago. And street smarts said to avoid an old man in a profession where most died young.

He made time to stop at a few ports and stalls, greeting friends and paying informants and greasing the palms of local authorities. Not very Jedi-like to some, and a few others might sniff or turn their nose up at that. But given his attire and attitude, they shouldn't be surprised. Eschewing traditional robes except on formal occasions or missions, the Green Jedi wore blue trousers with a First-Class bloodstripe on them, polished if worn black spacers leather boots with a cap of songsteel (an absurd luxury from his departed wife). A simple open shirt with drop-yoke made of precious cotton from Tattooine, and a broad bantha-hide belt which carried a pair of sabers and a holster holding a modified bryar pistol. A desert-like cloak of green-black gauzy fabric wrapped around him, concealing several other weapons on the backside of the belt, and several general tools and accessories any live one of the deep desert might carry.

Something told him to be here today, and he had learned over the years to trust his senses, and so when he spied Calix of Thyrsus gawking a bit, he leaned against an engine housing from a derelict in dry-dock and cracked a grin, a slow and deep drawl with a bit of a scratchy bite to the back of his words greeting the lad.

"Hello there. First time on Socorro I take it, eh lad?"

He gave no hint of his station or abilities, and indeed since leaving his speeder he had been concealing his presence in the Force out of habit. The boy would likely feel nothing and take him for an aging spacer unless he noted the not-at-all-hidden lightsaber hilts and the Jedi-Credit dangling around the newcomers neck, a pair of soul-diamonds flashing in the dingy light as he moved. The accent was pure Corellian though, old money or no money was the saying when you talked like he did. Only the poor and super-rich spoke thus.

 

[Calix of Thyrsus]

Something flew by his head.

Blinking, the young Thyrsian was startled by the appearance of a sand dragon. The lithe creature fluttering around in mid-air, appearing to peer down at the youth, before it gave a hiss-roar and slipped back into the air.

"Hello there."

Distracted as he had been by the tailring, the afro-headed boy was taken aback by the voice calling out to him. Taking a step back, the boy pivoted to glance in the direction of the voice. As he did, the broken lightsaber swung from the youth's belt, bouncing against his thigh. His arms were down by his sides, but Julius' would have likely recognized the position of the hands as being indicative of the Echani martial art.

As the boy's large, pale blue eyes took in the green-glad figure, the brow furrowed slightly.

"First time on Socorro I take it, eh lad?"

The tone suggested relaxed. Nonchalance. But as an Echani, the Thyrsian was more adept at reading body language. The gait. The shoulders. The posture.

What he saw didn't suggest that the old man was relaxed so much as he was... confident.

Was this one of those smugglers that he'd been warned about? Swindlers who could pickpocket your credit cube while distracting you with sleight of hand?

"Of course not," the boy lied haughtily, turning his gaze away from the stranger, pretending instead to be searching the crowd in the space port around them.

His head turned, the eyes downcast. In a typical Echani fashion, the youth sized Julius up from toe to head -- rather than the other way around. The stranger equipped himself with arms. The lightsaber catching the boy's eye, while the second almost seemed to cause the Thyrsian to do a double take.

"I was just surprised," the boy said, the lie leaving his lips as his eyes arrived at Julius' face.

The boy's stance seemed to relax, but Julius likely knew better. The shoulder rolled back. The arms raised just slightly, hands in a neutral position at the waist, as though casually framing the belt buckle of the utility belt. The stance just slightly open, what seemed a slouch masking how the boy dropped his center of gravity the slightest bit.

The boy was on guard. But was he preparing to defend himself or attack?

Julius Sedaire​

 

[Julius Sedaire]

"You know, you can relax. I won't harm you. Not unless that blade were to be red. And even then, I'd try and talk sense into you at your age."

Echani. So the boy was likely Thyrsian. His stance and posture screamed of their twinned training. Julius had dated an Echani in his youth. And one of his first instructors was of that race. Though he was by no means 'fluent' in their conversational language of movement and combat, he could speak a few words, as the saying went.

Regardless, the lie was easy to see, and the attempt at relaxing even more so. The aged battlemaster shook his head and laughed.

"At ease lad. If I wanted you dead, there's maybe a handful of people in the Galaxy who could stop it. And a young Thyrsian, no matter how promising his mannerisms make his future in war, is not one of them. I can tell you're new. The tailring still attracts your eye. Now, what brings you here? I can maybe help you. Too many will swindle you. I offer just sage advice, and maybe help fixing that lightsaber if you want. It's an area of expertise of mine..."

Taking the saber, the relaxed stance seemed to vanish, corded muscle stiffening as Julius' saber made with Echani compression tech went from a shoot to a pike and back, from on his belt to off, spun and put back without ever activating. The movement was so fluid, so practiced, part of a hundred basic forms he had mastered decades ago, that the war hardened gaze never left the younger of the two as he moved, nor did his face change direction. If Calix knew much about lightsaber forms, he'd recognize a particularly talented mastery of the seventh form in how Julius moved as he did his demonstration.

"And besides, I know where some excellent fried pork and noodles is. A rodian named Deindre makes them so spicy they'll melt your snot in your nose!"

Calix of Thyrsus

 

[Calix of Thyrsus]

"I won't harm you. Not unless that blade were to be red. And even then, I'd try and talk sense into you at your age."

The old man liked to talk. The Echani's eyes flicked around. Never staying too long on Julius' face. Instead, he looked at the man's stance. The muscles in the neck. The positioning of the arm.

He was looking for an opening. A vulnerability. A moment in which to spring into action in the Thyrsian manner of greeting.

"...and maybe help fixing that lightsaber if you want."

If Julius was looking for a means to disarm the boy or take him off-balance, then he seemed to have found it.

Taking a step backward, the boy's hands moved as though to shield the lightsaber hanging at his side. Why? Shouldn't he want it repaired? But the thought of handing it over...

The fleeting melancholy was gone, distracted by the motion that the man made. Calix was familiar with the styles of lightsaber combat used by the New Jedi Order, but this was a form unknown to him. Julius movements distinct and foreign. Like a foreign language. He registered the movements, yet this was a language he was not fluent in.

Could this man be the Jedi he'd been sent to find?

"I'm searching for a great Jedi warrior," the Thyrsian noted, his posture relaxing as the boy abandoned his initial strategy of fighting this stranger.

"His name is Master Julius Sedaire," the boy remarked, ignoring the offer of noodles. Though his stomach did rumble at the mention of food.

Then, hesitating, anxiously asked,

"...do you know him?"

Julius Sedaire​

 

[Julius Sedaire]

"...do you know him?"

"Well of course I know him"

He struck a grandiose pose with a flash of Corellian grin and a wink as he tapped the beskar pauldron under his desert cloak.

"He is me"

Relaxing, he beckoned the lad closer. He didn't bother overly much with trying to appear too lax or loose. The lad was clearly well and thoroughly trained by both tradition and Order. He would see through such attempts easy enough. The ever-present dart to the eye that most would miss was plain, and any coming within a dozen feet got a quick evaluating glance as if a droid scanning a package. Smiling, he gestured out to his left, where a food court had sprung up around various berths.

"I was just about to get some food, if you want I even know a vendor who does a curry he swears comes from Thyrsus here. We'll grab some food and discuss why you were sent to find an old relic like myself."

Calix of Thyrsus

 

[Calix of Thyrsus]

The boy waited anxiously, holding his breath until...

"He is me."

The young Thyrsian let out a slow sigh of relief. After everything he'd been through, he wasn't inclined to trust so easily, except this man had demonstrated everything that Calix had come to expect about how Jedi masters carried themselves. The man wasn't boasting, he was the genuine article.

Giving a slight bow, the boy introduced himself. "I am Calix, son of Xiphos, of the Third House of Soranus," the boy supplied formally. Then hesitating, the boy withdrew the broken lightsaber from his belt and extended it out for Julius to take.

"I... was apprenticed to Jaa Harand of Alderaan," the boy offered softly, his eyes dropping as he passed the lightsaber to the Jedi. Julius would no doubt catch the use of the past tense in the boy's statement.

At the offer of food, the boy's eyes came back up to Julius' face. "It's a long story..." the boy began, as his stomach rumbled again.

"...but maybe we could get samosas to go with that curry?"

Long stories definitely needed samosas. And naan. And lassi.

Julius Sedaire​

 

[Julius Sedaire]

Turning the saber over, he noted the damage. Relaxed and easy demeanor was replaced with a keen interest and sharp eye. He had guided dozens of students in making their sabers. And made a few of his own, he reflected with a grunt. The crystal was solid, not cracked out corrupted. With a suddenness that surprised a nearby jawa and sent it scurrying after dropping the junk it was hustling, the man tossed the lightsaber up in the air and it stopped at eye level, held in the Force by him. Pieces rotated and moved, clicking faintly as it came apart as much as a soldier might when cleaning but not field stripping a blaster or slug-thrower. Just as quick the pieces went back in together one by one and he caught the weapon as it dropped.

"A solid blade. Nothing fancy but not crude or cobbled. There is some damage for sure. We may need replacement parts, but the Enclave has all we should need. I did not know your master well, but I take it he passed, and you seek me to finish your training, yes?"

The question was asked quietly, with a touch of kindness to the voice as he offered it back with an almost fatherly smile at the poor lad.

"Curry and samosas will be provided regardless of answer. On my honor as a Corellian,.."

Calix of Thyrsus

 

[Calix of Thyrsus]

"A solid blade. Nothing fancy but not crude or cobbled. There is some damage for sure. We may need replacement parts, but the Enclave has all we should need."

That news sent a wave of relief through the boy. His shoulders relaxed, as he almost seemed to deflate. As though a great weight had suddenly been lifted from him. The burden of guilt he wasn't even entirely conscious of.

"I did not know your master well, but I take it he passed..."

The Echani's pale eyes darted to the ground, his head bowed.

So perhaps there was guilt he was conscience of, as well. Misplaced or otherwise.

"...and you seek me to finish your training, yes?"

The boy's mouth fell open, even as he continued to look at the ground. "I..." he began, the sentence drying up on his tongue.

"Curry and samosas will be provided regardless of answer. On my honor as a Corellian,.."

The boy looked up, a thousand questions clear in his eyes. Fear and doubt radiated as he candidly replied, "I don't know."

Once upon a time, the boy had never had doubt. He was a Jedi hopeful, raised in the heart of the New Jedi Order. The heroes of the Alliance, the storied knights and the venerable masters, they had the answers.

Or so he had believed.

"At the Temple on Coruscant, a visiting Master had a vision that I would bring disaster upon the Jedi," the boy confused, softly, as his eyes again moved off toward the ground. "Master Harand said we each choose our own fate. But then, he died and I wonder... was it me?"

Was that the answer? Should he stop training as a Jedi?

How did one stop being a Jedi? Could one stop being a Jedi? Or what if trying to stop being a Jedi was what would cause the foretold doom?

"What if that old Jedi was right?"

Julius Sedaire​

 

[Julius Sedaire]

"The Force, not men, guides our Fates. All too often the more sure we are of knowing it's voice, the further from it's truth we are. You may be disposed to carry a great darkness. Or, in learning to shine brightly despite that... You may become one of our greatest lights. That decision, that journey of truth and discovery, is entirely in your hands and is wholly your decision. Let no old Jedi, sage or warrior either one, stand by and move you so that at the end of your time your answer for your deeds is 'But I was told by others to do/be thus'... That is, simply, not good enough. And you are better than that, or so I hope."

As he spoke, he guided the young man through the crowds, and reaching the grungy looking noodle stall he spoke of earlier, he held up two fingers wordlessly. The keeper nodded just as silently and began cooking with quite a flair, throwing ingredients and chopping with a finesse that still impressed Julius.

Chancing a glance to Calix of Thyrsus he smiled softly. The words the lad spoke echoed his own doubts and fears in younger years, and despite a few decades of unrepentant cynicism, he found himself softening to the youngling. Shaking his head, he ran a knobbled hand through thinning white hair.

"Come though, let's eat."

 

[Calix of Thyrsus]

The boy looked up, his expression softening as the old man spoke.

He sounded like Master Harand. Nothing predetermined. Each and every day a choice. It painted a picture of hope. The ability to fight the future. Or fight for the future? He wasn't really certain, but he'd settle for the notion that there was still a chance to turn the tide.

Guided toward a noodle stand, the boy took a seat as the old man ordered for them both. "Come though, let's eat," Julius remarked, as the boy watched and waited as the bowls were prepared.

The smells set his senses on fire even before the bowls arrived. Digging into the meal, the boy was quiet as he ate. Though, he paused after a moment to look up and ask, "You're a Corellian Jedi?"

What did that mean, exactly? He was Corellian and he was Jedi. But Calix was Thyrsian and he was a Jedi, but no one said anything about Thyrsian Jedi or Aqualish Jedi. What made Green Jedi... green?

"What does that... mean?"

Julius Sedaire​

 

[Julius Sedaire]

A wistful smile played across features full of laugh lines and genuine wrinkles. Memories flashed across his eyes, dozens if not hundreds of battles and skirmishes for his homeworld. Decades spent trying to find the answer to the very question the young lad asked. As noodles were set in front of them, a brown broth with rice noodles and red and green peppers, bits of tofu and other sundry, he took a moment to take a bite and wash the whole thing down with a bit of water, a samosa sat in front of his companion.

"It sort of varies, though these days there is a temple and a 'right' way. Obviously, these days, it springs from heritage or calling Corellia and it's way of life home, but not being born there, per see. Corellian Jedi chafe at rules, and focus more on doing what's right than doing it right, if that makes sense. We're often a thorn to whatever Order is calling the shots, but we're also usually the first to answer the call to mutual defense or aid. It's helping the little guy first, even if the bigger guy gets a bloody nose from doing so. Fighting for their right to make their own choice, good or ill. Something easier seen and done than told."

Chewing another bite of noodles thoughtfully, he tugged at his beard.

"Mostly, it's trying to do right by those who have been wronged. The details can be fuzzy."

Calix of Thyrsus

 

[Calix of Thyrsus]

The boy gave a mirthful sound that seemed a mixture of a chirp and laughter as the samosa arrived.

The hot pastry vanished almost as quickly, its passage marked only by the grease and crumb clinging to the youngling's hands and face. First, the heat of the food hit his tongue, followed by the power of the spices. A thin sheen of sweat moistened the dark brow beneath the afro, even as a series of happy murmurings could be made out.

"Obviously, these days, it springs from heritage or calling Corellia and it's way of life home, but not being born there, per se..."the old man was remarking, as the boy ate. Without taking his eyes -- which seemed now as large as the bowl in front of him -- off the brown broth and steaming noodles, the Thyrsian youth give a nod of his head in silent acknowledgment of Julius' answer.

Snatching up a pair of chopsticks, the dark-skinned padawan was ready to dive into the noodles when he heard, "...focus more on doing what's right than doing it right, if that makes sense."

The afro came up, the boy's pale blue eyes glancing over at the old man.

Doing what's right instead of doing it right. He liked that.

"Mostly, it's trying to do right by those who have been wronged. The details can be fuzzy," Julius continued, as the boy started slurping up some of the noodles. Following by a bite of what he thought might be a type of egg. And a bit of meat. And then more noodle slurping.

"That sounds amazing," the boy remarked, finally looking up from his food. Twirling the chopsticks in the air as he spoke, he noted, "My people believe actions speak louder than words. I think they might agree with your outlook."

With that, the boy dived head-down into the noodle bowl again.

Julius Sedaire