Perfectionist
As the wind blew softly on Alderaan, the Besalisk would walk down the long and twisting path towards a house. It was positioned in the middle of no where. Terol would carry his four individual basic training hilts on his belt, a sling over his shoulder which lead down his back with an empty holster for a blaster. He would pause a few hundred meters from the house, though in view he would shut his eyes for a few moments, listening to the force and the serenity around him. Continuing on with his eyes shut, he would walk for a few minutes before reaching the gate in front of the house, he would unlock it with his lower right arm, before swinging it open with a light amount of strength, before carefully shutting it behind him showing respect for the property itself.
He would approach the front door gingerly, turning around and staring at the front garden for a few moments, the corner of his lips curling slightly, before turning and knocking on the door politely, with both of his right arms, knock, knock... knock, knock. "Anyone home?" he inquired to himself.
He would await patiently, in his usual standard Jedi student robes.
[member="Alexandra Feanor"]
He would approach the front door gingerly, turning around and staring at the front garden for a few moments, the corner of his lips curling slightly, before turning and knocking on the door politely, with both of his right arms, knock, knock... knock, knock. "Anyone home?" he inquired to himself.
He would await patiently, in his usual standard Jedi student robes.
[member="Alexandra Feanor"]