Spice on Board

[Zonia Kalranoos]

The world is a book; those who do not travel read but a page. ​

​

An subtle itch, on the soles of Tionne's feet, ever so gently waking her up at night. She'd then wiggle in bed like a worm, rubbing her feet against the sheets, but there was only one remedy to this peculiar ailment. This was a definite sign it was time for a different bed, on another planet, preferrably on the other side of the galaxy. Only then did the symptoms perish and Thanewulf could enjoy a few nights of uninterrupted slumber. Years of detachment from all things material, emotional and even spiritual sculpted a drifter-like personality, with faltering allegiances towards worldly authority. Social constructs were too rigid for Tionne's inherent relativism, the heedless myopia of Jedi a worldview she could not identify herself with. Besides, to do good, one needed not to side with the Jedi, or against the Sith, for that matter. Thanewulf's foremost obligation was always to that vast majority of souls residing in this galaxy who had no power over the potent current of the Force. Very few Jedi understood this need to live outside of grand walls of Temples, away from tell-tale fame.

Much like Republic worlds, Voss was no place for the Coruscanti Jedi. Having spent several weeks lurking about and exerting much effort not to be noticed, the entire ordeal was not much different to what she witnessed on Ossuss. Different names, but in essence the same. She was slowly running out of places to go, as a Jedi at least. A life of seclusion was always an option.

Philosophical musings aside, getting off the planet was now a priority. The method was somewhat less glorious, but having travelled across the galaxy mostly as a stowaway, this she could rely on. Deminutive Hapan physiology was helpful in crawlspaces of all kinds and ducts into which she could slither like a snake.
The life-support ducts of a YT-2000 were especially narrow, with Tionne having to remove everything but her dark gray pants, white tank top and flight boots. She drew her face closer to the ventilation lattice, which gave her quite a good view of the cockpit. As she waited for the pilot of this vessel to return, Thanewulf felt her entire body go numb from the position she found herself in. The sensation was irritating, yet she was left with enough focus to completely conceal her presence in the Force.

Thankfully, breaking into a ship was not necessary this time, which would be considered a felony by most social standards. Bless the maintainance crew and their forgetfullness to lock the ship overnight. In the end, nobody ever complained about some spice on board, no?

[member="Coren Starchaser"]

 

[Coren Starchaser]

If there was one thing Starchaser was never worried about, it was a sense of sides. He was who he was, he was what he did. He was a pilot. He was a user of the Force, and he was always working on his next big project. Saving Spark Finn, finding a way to unite the galaxy against the Sith, and learning from groups the galaxy had forgotten about. An explorer, a vagabond, Coren Starchaser was not one to be defined in a box, or even a few boxes. Once he got defined, he’d redefine, he’d find something else to cure in the galaxy.

Currently? Religious zealots.

Wherever the currents took him, whatever push the tide threw him into, that was how he defined himself. That was how he responded to the galaxy at large. Certain things were his waypoints, his constants, his ports in the storm. His ships, his crews, his teams. They were the ones he worked to make sure he was true to.

The rest? If he could inspire? He’d take his team and go where he was needed.

He’d touch base on certain worlds, Voss, Laekia, Csilla, Ord Mantell, and find himself, but then he’d be off again. Always on the move. He was making sure that Voss was in his rearview, he was supplied, and had tasks. Things to do for the Sanctum, to protect his people, to protect the Levantines, the Dawn Treader and any from the former Fringe lands who followed him to the Levantine Space.

Stepping onto his ship, the Tachyon Rising was always his home. He looked to his astromech, an older R6 unit with all the spunk of something in one of them. “Lets get moving.” He said to the droid as he looked at the ship’s main cabin. Stepping up to the controls, he turned on music, because feth flying in silence.

He ran a hand through his hair and stepped up to the cockpit, his implant responding with the ship, it starting to warm up without him even touching the ship.

[member="Tionne Thanewulf"]

 

[Zonia Kalranoos]

His choice of music was obnoxious. The tunes were synthetic like the latex body suit of a Twi'lek dancer, cheap melodies an attack on Tionne's intricate senses. She squirmed inside the air duct, nervously twitching to block out the song now clinging in her ears. The speakers were a mere inches away from her ears and the man looked like he was enjoying himself. Thanewulf closed her eyes for a moment as she felt the ship begin to levitate, a sure sign a takeoff was underway.

Cheap tune was drilling right into her brain for another few minutes, virtually raping her sense of good taste. She managed to control herself for another quarter of an hour, just enough for the ship to transgress the upper layers of Voss' thick atmosphere. When the pull of artificial gravity finally began to kick in, Thanewulf assessed her options. Suddenly, the prospect of spending a god-knows-how-long of a journey in the confine of the airduct seemed far less appealing. Every atom in her body now wanted to press the pause button on the ship's surround system, rip the sound matrix containing this hiddeous music out of the motherboard and throw it out of the airlock. In truth, the music wasn't bad at all, but Tionne's attuned senses were extremely irritable due to an abundance of potent Jedi Guardian signatures on Voss. They chaffed against her senses, like a wire brush against the inside of a thigh.

"Khark it!" the Coruscanti mumbled to herself and kicked the grid out of the bearing, then used the Force to swiftly push herself out of the duct. In a split of a second she rolled across the floor and towards the pilot chair, her hand instinctually grabbing the shoulder of man who sat in the armchair.
"For the love of the Force, turn it off." she half-begged, half-commanded.

[member="Coren Starchaser"]

 

[Coren Starchaser]

There was always a variety of music playing for Coren, he enjoyed change. That was why he worked for the Frontiers Corps, that was why he was here, in the Silver Sanctum. With the Free-Sanctum of the Levantines being dismantled he had nowhere else to go, so this was as good a place to call port as any. Perhaps one of the worst masters in the Force, Coren was blissfully unaware of any stowaway as he and his astromech carried on and the ship’s systems started up. A ship was home for him, but what they really were, beyond engines and bridge and a hull, was freedom, and that was probably the underlying theme for this character.

With Coren, it was always a trick as to where the ship was going to go. Sometimes he knew, sometimes he just kind of made it up as he went along and hoped for the best. Once they got to hyperspace he was fine, and then he’d probably figure out where he really wanted to go. But coordinates were coordinates, and while he could slick out nearly anyone’s navs in the galaxy, save maybe Merrill, maybe, he knew what happened, you got on a path and then you really wanted to be somewhere else. Would be nice to learn to teleport. As for the music? He barely noticed what was playing sometimes, especially once he was in hyperspace.

And there were a lot of things he was prepared for in the galaxy, and a lot more he wasn’t. Someone on his ship? That was a new one. Should this have been ShortFin, Lexi would have alerted him, but the Rising was his old boat. A bit of a jump, and a hand instinctively on his pistol, he looked at the ginger who fell from the vent. “And just who are you?” He tossed a quick glance to his astromech and nodded to shut the music off.

[member="Tionne Thanewulf"]