Sir Chiyo?
He was eleven. Or was it twelve now? Growing up homeless in the shanty towns of Coruscant's sewers, no one had really kept up with the Pantoran's birth certificate. Assuming he had one.
"Boo," the boy suggested, with a nod in deference to the padawan's polite demeanor.
"Just... Boo."
He would have liked to have agreed with the sentiments which she expressed toward the Dark Side of the Force; however, one thing which Boo had accepted was the need to do what must be done. During the fight to liberate Theo Heavenshield and the other Silver Younglings, he'd murdered a Gamorrean -- a create three times his size -- with his bare hands. And he'd been able to do it, because he accepted the reality that he was already damned.
But, on to the topic at hand.
As the pair emerged into the station proper, the boy began speaking of the matter for which she'd traveled all this way as they walked.
"Mind Trick isn't an ability you can learn in a temple," the youth prefaced, as the pair ventured through the shops and promenade of the station's bustling market sector.
"It doesn't work on Jedi, for one." That pretty much removed the possibility of practicing it around one of the Jedi Temples.
"And it's kind of a practice-makes-perfect sort of thing," the boy added, almost as an after thought.
Actually, he never really thought of how or why or what he used the ability for.
"But, it's great for avoiding confrontation," he mused, as he steered the Diathim into what appeared to be a Holovid theater. As the pair stood in line, he continued the conversation, saying,
"Sith assassins use it for a variety of things." Getting information from a contact. Supplying mis-information for a target. Memory wiping a target. Controlling a target. Where was he going with this? He had a point.
"...like, infiltration!"
With that said, the queue had progressed to where the Pantoran now stood in front of a rather heavy-set Ortolan behind the ticket counter. Slapping a credit cube down on the counter, the boy slid the credits toward the man as he declared,
"One chit for Murder Slasher 9, please!" Over head, the holographic advert for
Murder Slasher 9: The Backstabbing was clearly marked as
Restricted - Adults 18+ Only.
A stubby, dark blue digit flicked the credit cube back toward the boy.
"Beat it, kid," the Ortolan snapped, motioning toward the robed Diathim as he mistook her for the next in line.
Catching the projectile credits, the Pantoran kept his hand raised as he palmed the small cube, extended out his index and middle finger, and moved his hand from left to right as he said,
"I'm not a kid."
The manipulation of the Force, the plucking of the heartstrings that invisibly connected the youngling to the Force, and the Ortolan to the Force, and through the Force the Pantoran to the Ortolan, would be the same for both Sith and Jedi. The only difference was in the invocation of the Force itself. The aura around the blue skinned boy was
cold. Lahi might have imagined the smell of blood, or felt a sliver of the fear, pain, anguish, or anger that had become nestled within a small boy left to perish beside a flowing river of human waste.
The Ortolan paused for a moment, looking down at the boy. Then repeated,
"You're not a kid."
"I'm clearly eighteen with a glandular problem," the boy stated, with another arc of his hand.
Again, the Ortolan echoed back what the boy had said.
"You're clearly eighteen with a glandular problem."
Slapping down the credit cube, the boy slid the device toward the Ortolan.
"Enjoy the film."
Taking the credit cube, the Ortolan processed the transaction. A moment later, the cube and a ticket to the adult holovid were passed back to the Pantoran.
"Enjoy the film!"
Smiling up to the salesman, the boy took back his credit cube and the offered ticket. Turning back toward the Diathim, the boy gave a nod of his head to indicate their departure from the theater. As they strolled out, the boy casually flicked the movie ticket over for her to catch.
"The hand thing's just... well... sleight of hand," he explained.
Why did they do the hand thing anyway?
"Some people say it's a way of making sure the mark's attention is on you," falling back on his earlier training as a thief and pickpocket. Mark, not target.
"Some say it distracts their mind, making them easier to, you know... receive suggestion."
As they again strolled through the shops, the boy looked over to the woman to see what questions she may have as to what she'd observed.
[member="Lahi Te'ala"]