>>5535205Neither you nor Ceyla go too far in your sequences, limiting yourselves to four, no more than five single moves in any given combo. You keep to the basics of Shien, recalling the old muscle memories drilled into you as a youngling, and the knowledge of the holocrons. There will be plenty of time to master the more advanced techniques and maneuvers, and in a wider space than the cramped cargo hold. You swear that you’ll give both yourself and your padawan plenty of space to cut loose.
By the time you finish, an hour has passed. Ceyla is just as equally drenched in sweat, if not more so than you are. Her face is red, and her breath comes in and out in hard gulps. But there’s a self-satisfied aura about her gait. She looks up to you for approval, and you give it with a nod.
“Well done,” you say truthfully, and her smile is as bright as the sun.
Then the rest of the universe comes back into focus.
“Solid foundation with room for improvement,” observes Farr with a nod of approval. He is the first of the conclave to stand up and approach. “You both have a firm grasp of the basics of Shien and Djem So. I’d recommend perfecting what you already know before moving onto more advanced katas.”
It makes more than enough sense that the former Jedi Brute is an expert of Form V.
Darté frowns, but it’s more pensive than annoyed. “Odd that a padawan would choose a form their master isn’t already familiar with.”
Ceyla flushes, but you move to cover her. “It isn’t like she won’t be learning what I currently know.”
“I meant no offense,” Darté says, genuinely contrite. “It’s odd and uncommon, but not unheard of.”
Arana’s no less intense than he had been of his dismissal of Potkin. “She isn’t nearly tall enough to take advantage of Djem So. Skinny, too. Your padawan's gonna be outweighed by almost all of her opponents.”
“That will come in time,” adds Sia-Lan with a smile, “She’ll grow into it. All she needs to do is eat well, get plenty of sleep, and put her trust in the Force.”
Ma’kis agrees. “But perhaps it might be best to compensate her height with some Ataru?”
As the other masters begin to debate Ceyla’s future development, your padawan subconsciously inches closer to you. By the time they’ve already begun outlining a tentative schedule, you gesture towards the door. “Take ten. Don’t drink too much water since you’ll be dodging training remotes when you get back.”
“Yes, Master Farren.” She bows to the other Jedi, then politely excuses herself from the room.
And then there were six.
Once you hear the lift going back up to the second floor, you turn to your guests with a critical eye.
“I’m only going to say this once,” you warn them, “Do not try to poach my padawan. Otherwise, you’ll be spending the trip sleeping in the vehicle bay.”
“The thought never occurred!” protests Farr.
(cont.)