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“Hi,” A reply to his question comes from your dry mouth. Your tongue wets your lips as you try to conjure up the words that have escaped you. “Yes, it is me, Chris.”
The eyes of the projected holographic face stop the studious scanning of what they can see of your face and rest with the kindness of an old man staring at a young grandchild still in its infancy. “Hello, Chris, how are you?”
“I’m fine,” You lie with a wrote reaction that you hide behind, never letting others see what is hidden beneath. With a quick shake of your head, you find your voice is now strong and filled with unbreakable steel. “No, sorry, I am not fine. It has almost been a year since I’ve left Coruscant as a Padawan, and I’ve yet to meet my teacher.”
The Whiphid’s face scrunches in what you assume to be confusion at your statement, you struggle at reading non-humanoid expressions, and his voice becomes soft and gentle as if talking to a fragile being. “Sorry, I am not sure what you mean Chris. Can you explain?”
“Since I’ve been shackled to Master Porro, I have not had a lesson from him. I am not exaggerating. During this last year, I have had to rely on teaching myself either through practice, meditation, experimentation, reading Jedi works or sitting in others’ lessons. He is not my master; he avoids me like I carry the plague.” Your deep voice raises in volume as pent-up frustration and anger you have buried bubbles to the surface in its first true release. With a harsh yank of your hand, the bandana cladding your head, which obscures it from the world, falls from your face, exposing the numerous lengthy scars. “This is a fucking joke. I understand not being Alyla’s Padawan, it is shit not being around her, not even being able to message her at the very least, but I do understand. What I don’t understand is why I’m shackled to an addict which resents my very being. Is it some kind of punishment or trial? I know it isn’t, it can’t be, we don’t work like that, but why him out of all the Masters I could have possibly had?”
