Quoted By:
It isn’t just the Jedi Triumvirate that’s attempting to cling onto as much of the code as possible. The new arrivals, disparate in their beliefs as they are, are doing the same. There’s comfort in the familiar, especially in such tumultuous times as these. Masters Kosa and Larid might be turning a blind eye, but that doesn’t guarantee that Aure and the recent arrivals would nearly be as understanding. Or permissive.
Arotta scowls. “It isn’t just the code. They’ll think we’re distracted. Vulnerable. More prone to falling. They wouldn’t trust us any further than they could throw a boulder.”
You shrug. “Maybe. But I think a part of it is also protecting our little ones. Not just Ceyla or Nujem.”
Ceyla already knows that you’re <span class="mu-i">friendly</span> with Arotta. Nujem shouldn’t know about his master’s proclivities. The Younglings are on shaky enough ground as it is with all that’s happening, even if they’ve managed to find some of their footing. But seeing the two of you in the public would make them question everything they’ve been taught. Perhaps, that day would come in time, just not this soon in their development as Jedi.
She sighs. “I know that. Dammit, it just feels…wrong. If we were just screwing each other, they wouldn’t look at us twice.”
You rub her arm gently, feeling the same strain gnawing at the back of your mind. “That’s a cruel irony. But we need to give them time – the younglings, the conclave, the Triumvirate, all of them. To figure out what being a Jedi means to them in this new galaxy. It won’t be forever.”
Arotta is quiet for a long moment, then murmurs: “And what about us?”
This time, you don’t hesitate. “We’ll figure that out, too. Together.”
>>You have deepened your relationship with Arotta Bashur.
>>Line Break
The trial of Shadday Potkin has a foregone conclusion. Even if the Triumvirate was ready to pass their judgement, Tsui Choi was clever enough to insist on letting the madwoman speak her piece. The question isn’t even one of whether or not she’ll receive clemency. Her answer would only either lessen or increase the severity of the Triumvirate’s judgement.
It is a closed session. Beyond the Jedi Conclave, you are the only individual the Triumvirate extended an invitation to. You take your seat, nodding politely to the audience, shaking hands with some of your friendlier acquaintances. Sia-Lann Wezz catches your questioning gaze, then quietly snorts at the unspoken query.
“No, the Peko-Peko Albatrosses haven’t been shipped yet,” she grouses quietly.
But before you could ask about the specifics, it begins. The Triumvirate enters the room, taking their seats with a gravitas you’ve only seen once before. Much like the founding of the organization itself, the Masters are their best robes and formalwear. Their faces could have been carved from granite – such is the depths of their antipathy for the subject of the trial.
(cont.)
