>>5542348>>5542351>>5542356Fuck writer's block and typos.“Don’t ask, don’t tell” appears to be the watchword of the native Rionish. What little information you have available on Nomiana is further complicated by the locals’ unwillingness to talk. The money must flow, and gossip of guests and their travel itineraries aren’t the easiest for them to surrender.
Thankfully, not all of the locals adhere to it. A significant portion of residents come from off-world, and they’re more than eager to talk…at least, in relative comparison. Many still regard your questions and inquiries with wariness that takes more than a few credit chips to smooth over before they spill. Alas, without the Jedi temple, bribes can’t be written off as business expenses anymore.
After an hour of discrete inquiries, you and Ceyla reconvene at a local watering hole, and sequester yourselves as far away from prying eyes as you can. Drinks and food are ordered, but the tension in your guts leave little in the way of space. It’s all that your padawan can do to nibble on a plate of fries.
But she’s the first to break the silence after a particularly long <span class="mu-i">slurp</span> of an overpriced blue milk slushie. “…so I guess third time’s the charm, huh?”
At first, you don’t know what she’s talking about. Then, you snort as you realize that Ceyla’s not wrong. This would be the third time asking after Nomiana, right after Ingmar and the repeated cultural gaffs with the former slaves of Amagi.
“…looks like it,” you grouse, but offset your tone with a wry grin. Reaching into your bag, you set the blaster you purchased on the table. “And this is yours now. Sorry that this came a little late.”
Ceyla picks it up gingerly, pinching the holster between two fingers like a pair of dirty socks. “Is this supposed to be a fashion accessory?”
“Column A and B. You won’t look like a defenseless kid, and it’ll be your go-to if you don’t have…well, you know.”
“…it feels weird to be on the other end of this,” she eventually says, struggling to clip it to her belt. “Staring down the sights of one instead of the barrel.”
“Nothing training won’t fix,” you assure her. “We can set up a little shotting gallery in the usual room.”
“Right.” She pauses, then tilts her head pensively. “…we aren’t about to become Teepo Paladins, are we?”
Hardly. Last the Jedi Shadows checked in on them, they were in the middle of a fierce debate about whether or not their founder, the twi’lek Nars Teepo, explicitly forbade the use of lightsabers. Certainly an odd thing to have a near-schism over, even if it goes against the archetype of a swashbuckling Jedi – lightsaber in one hand, blaster in the other. And for one thing, their sensory-depriving helmets draw far too much attention.
While a lightsaber does not a Jedi make, over twenty thousand years of orthodoxy aren’t so easily shaken off.
(cont.)
