((Open to Jedi characters and those who are affiliated with Jedi enough to be on Yavin. Thread takes place shortly after the invasion of Denon))
“You put in extra Glima root, right? Sliced finely so it’s easy to eat? And you kept it hot? They’ve been through a lot and need nutrients. You’re not skimping on the nerf-meat are you? I think one might be vegetarian, but I’m not sure. I suppose I could eat that one if no one bites. Veg-meat is fine. I guess. If you're an ikopi.” Vahn said, peeking under one of the several ceramic domes on the two trays laid on one of the counters of Yavin Temple’s kitchen. They were steaming acceptably.
“Vahn your commitment to the young ones is commendable, but-” An older twi’lek woman on the opposite end of the countertop replied, her hands on plump hips. Aola had worked in the mess of the temple for as long as he had memories of the temple; since his first days as a padawan in fact. Though the news of the past few days had weighed on her, she was much the same as he remembered, strong in spirit, talented in her craft. Maybe, just maybe a reminder of better days would give her a needed morale boost.
“Yea, it is, isn’t it? Please go on,” he said, cutting her off mid-sentence.
“But if you don’t get out of my kitchen right now I’m going to skewer you with a spatula.”
“But not the ladle?” Vahn asked, pointing at a soup covered ladle next to the stewing pot of vegetables.
“Vahn.”
“That’s good though, because the ladle would hurt more.”
“Vahn!”
“Cause, you know, surface area…”
The twi’lek woman reached for a nearby spatula and Vahn backed off, hands held up in surrender.
“Okay, okay! I’m leaving!” he replied, before scooping up the two trays into his arms before turning to leave the kitchen.
“Get the door please, Ralta,” the little droid tittered lowly and rolled to nudge open the two double doors
“And get some sleep, you look like the aft end of a Bantha!” Aola called after him as he exited the kitchens, carefully balancing the two trays on either arm. He paused half-way out of the door.
“I’m glad to be back, Aola. I missed you.” he replied before backing out of the kitchen. He saw a faint smile on the older twi’lek’s lips as he left.
What she said had been true. It took every trick he knew just to get off Denon alive with the handful of survivors he could muster. The days since had been full of work for him, making sure the padawans got the medical care they needed, plotting a secure path to friendly territory, and a host of other security concerns. There was also hyperspace. The hyperspace was the worst. His stomach churned at the simple memory.
Vahn passed one of the yawning hangars of the Temple, which was now far crowded than it had normally been. The dozen or so ships, including his own X-wing, and the small number of newly-ruined refugees crowded the space. A few looked up, exhaustion and anxiety still in their eyes. The fifteen or so Denon guardsmen nodded at him in recognition as he walked by.
After arrival in safe space he had also gathered detailed interviews from each of the surviving soldiers, politicians, officials, pilots, and civilians who had escaped with him. He still had days of follow-up interviews to do to get a picture of how things went down. He had saved some, but the small number still burned him. One in particular; a kid he had made a promise to. His hands tensed on the trays in frustration and he nearly stumbled over a passing old model astromech droid that beeped rudely back at him.
Vahn bit back a retort, and breathed. He had all the time in the world to beat himself up later, but now he still had a job. He’d seen what loss and regret can do to even fully trained Jedi. Master Vetan. Arias. His thoughts wandered back to those last days, and the duel on that windswept bluff on Chandar’s Folly. Back then, he had locked himself away. He had been absent for Arias’ pain and horrible things had happened. Master Vetan’s silver-white kyber crystal felt like a lead weight against his chest as it dangled from a leather thong under his robes.
He wouldn’t let that happen again. He was here. He could change things.
The bunkroom where he had left the padawans wasn’t far, and he quickened his step. While he hadn’t explicitly told any of them they had to remain; and he didn’t even have that authority, he hoped he could talk to them as a group. The four of them; the handful of Jedi survivors from Denon now had a history together. There were specifics of what had gone on that no one else could really understand no matter how well-meaning they were.
“Anyone still here?” Vahn asked, as he shouldered open the door into the room, trays laden with stew, loaves of bread and a heavy ceramic kettle with an array of stonewear cups surrounding it.[/abox]
Last edited: