Private Sweets and Metals

[Jane]

Outfit: Jedi Robes and Armor
Inventory: Jedi Training Lightsaber, pouches with seeds, standard Jedi equipment.
Tag: Aether Verd

Location: Naboo, Keren, Bakery

---

---

She couldn't stand it. After meeting the lovely Gavin on Alderaan and hearing the mournful music of the Jedi's souls, Jane fled. She had no idea where to go, but anywhere was preferable to the drowning sorrow and grief that the Jedi on Alderaan carried. She hardly understood their emotions well, but it was choking to be around. So when she heard about a shuttle going to Naboo, she went for it straight away.

When the tiny girl arrived on Keren, her shaky hands needed a few seconds to settle down. While she didn't feel afraid of flying, her body told a different, instinctive story. Plus, she called it a metal box of doom for a reason.

Jane's black cybernetic eyes searched the crowd as she shook her small hands to stop trembling. All she had to do now was find someone to help. Make a new friend. Or both. However, her experience in Keren was not pleasant; most people considered her as a bothersome small child who should find her parents, or a beggar, or scary with her soulless eyes and doll-like metallic face. And sometimes, it was all three combined.

Half an hour later, before any hunger had set in yet, her gaze rested on a small bakery with the cutest decorations. Jane had heard of the concept of a job before, so worst-case scenario, she could get a job and save some credits before leaving Naboo. She had no idea if they'd hire somebody her age, but then her age was an estimate to begin with.

It wasn't perfect, she wanted to help people in pain instead of working in a store, but it'd do.

With that, the girl waddled into the bakery, her eyes scanning the bakers and pastry chefs behind the counter and in the open kitchen, as well as the customers waiting in line to get something sweet or savory, and those seated at tables. Jane decided it was too busy to ask to work here for the time being, so she went deeper into the bakery to look at some of the sweets behind the glass instead.

 

[Aether Verd]

Assets: Beskar'gam | Basilisk
Darksaber | Resolute Dawn​

BAKERY - NABOO

The bakery was warm, alive with the scent of sugar and yeast, though Aether could not help but notice how the atmosphere shifted with his arrival. Naboo had endured much at the hands of his predecessors, and though he had not marched as a Neo-Crusader, he carried their legacy whether he liked it or not. The subtle tension in the air was not unexpected. Eyes flicked toward him, lingered for a fraction too long, and then darted away again. He understood it for what it was. He would never apologize for Mandalorians being Mandalorians, yet he knew well enough that the sight of a man in beskar was not a welcome one here.

He had not come for the sake of comfort. The day had been full of stiff words and careful politicking, with Naboo’s High Republic delegates eager to measure his tone and test the patience of his people. The meetings had ended, the gestures were made, and the politics had run their course. Now, he was left with a very real need to put something in his stomach, preferably something that promised cavities and regret in equal measure. The kind of indulgence that no campaign could deny him.

The glass cases before him gleamed with countless choices, each confection painstakingly decorated and dusted with more sugar than sense. His helm rested beneath his arm as he considered, jaw tightening faintly with indecision. The shopkeep, clearly ill at ease with his presence, hovered by the counter. Their strained politeness was interrupted when the bell above the door chimed and a new customer stepped inside. The shopkeep’s voice rose immediately, bright and welcoming, a touch too eager for the distraction.

Aether turned his head, curious, and found himself watching the entrance. A small child had wandered in, with steps that carried far more determination than her frame suggested. She looked like she had weathered more than she should have, though there was no pity in his gaze. Instead, he lifted his free hand and offered a wave, a light smile tugging at his mouth. He was not here to terrify bakers or children, after all. Then, with his attention returning to the case, he raised a finger to one of the confections within.

“That one,” he said, pointing at an éclair with a chocolate glaze, “what’s inside it? Please tell me it’s not fruit. That would ruin the whole thing.”​

Jane