3-29 ADVICE

The pit in your stomach is slowly filled with the pleasure of food and peace of mind. You’re no selfish brat, so you’d agreed to Cho’an’s request, causing her to smile with relief. She’d hugged you, gripping you so very tightly and refusing to let go. You’d had to threaten her with a good stabbing from your tail before she’d released her hold, and then she’d skipped away happily. You suppose this wouldn’t really have been a problem if you’d made up your mind earlier, but it’s too late now. It’s in Master Lasah’s hands now.

A familiar presence sits next to you. Ripples play in your soup as a tray drops on the table.

“Hello, Doran.”

“Evening.”

The both of you eat in silence, listening to the hubbub of your environs. Jedi of all ages chat and mingle. People walk in and out of the cafeteria at will, typically in groups as they discuss various topics.

Obviously, the topic on everybody’s minds is the war.

Some try to avoid it, eating quickly then escaping away. Others embrace it, diving into debates and conversation. Others seem ambivalent on the surface, pretending to be uncaring, but still worrying deep inside.

“Xena.”

You tilt your head at Doran, then swallow a mouthful of soup. “Yeah?”

“I don’t think I’m ready. I’m not ready to be a Padawan.”

You put your spoon down and turn to him, giving him your full attention. “Why not?”

“I don’t think I can fight. I don’t think I can kill. Every time I think about it, I feel… sick.”

“What about droids?” you ask. “Killing those abom— uh, machines, shouldn’t be difficult, right? Especially if you’re protecting somebody.”

He shrinks in his seat, responding in a hushed voice. “I guess… but, I think I’m also… scared.”

“Why? Scared of what?”

“Dying. Who wouldn’t be scared of that?”

“Oh.”

You don’t have a good response for that, so you wait for Doran to continue. You suppose dying or being injured are possible risks. With the war on, it’ll be far more likely for a nascent Padawan to be subjected to either outcome. Geonosis was a very clear wake up call for Initiates and Padawans alike — no one is invincible, not even the Jedi.

“Why are you telling me this?” you quietly ask.

He eyes your face, his gaze drifting down from your horns to your golden eye, down to your lips and then to your soup. You offer your food to him, but he waves it away. After another beat, he speaks.

“You’re the only one of us who’s actually been in a real fight. Who else would I speak to?”

You shrug. “I was hiding behind a box for half the fight. The other half the time, I wasn’t even visible to any of the bad guys. I don’t think that counts as being in the fight.”

“It’s close enough.”

“Why don’t you talk to a Master or a Knight? There’s literally a dozen sitting around us.”

Hesitance. Fear. Doran’s face scrunches up as he looks around. Nerves shrink his will and he shakes his head. He puts his head down and gets back to eating.

“Doran…”

“What?”

“Don’t be shy about it. If you want real advice, just talk to someone.”

“I did!”

“I don’t count.”

“You’re ‘someone.’”

“I meant someone with experience. Real experience. Just talk to Master Binaj or Master Yoda or anyone else!”

He resumes shaking his head and you have to bite back a groan of annoyance. Of all things that could lay a Jedi low, the most shameful would be social anxiety! Not that there’s anything really wrong with being a bit shy, but if he really needs this kind of advice, he should be going to the right people.

“You didn’t use to be like this, Doran.”

“Mm.”

You smack him over the head repeatedly for the shitty reply, causing him to spit out some food.

“Ow! Xena! Why?”

“Use your words! Use them with other people besides your clanmates! You don’t need to be scared of other Jedi, or of fighting. Have you ever met someone here who didn’t want to drown you in advice? Has anyone ever said no? And… fighting, dying, whatever… it’s a possibility. Obviously, it’s a possibility. But, we’re needed, Doran. Would you rather sit here, thinking of what could go wrong, or would you rather be out there doing what’s right?”

Doran continues to cower in his seat, but you can see the words beginning to penetrate into the depths of his mind. Understanding with only a little bit of remnant uncertainty waves back and you nod with satisfaction.

A pair of hands claps softly from behind you and you now notice at least a couple people listening in. One of them shakes his head, a small smile on his face. Another frowns, unhappy at your outburst of puerile violence.

You’re not apologizing for beating such simple concepts into your friend’s head though, so you elect to ignore the Knight’s worthless admonishment.

“Why didn’t you start with that?” Doran suddenly asks.

“With what?”

“...Nothing.”

“What?”

Doran starts piling his silverware onto his dishes, standing up to leave. He gulps down the bolus in his throat and turns to go.

“You’re going to ask someone, right?”

He freezes.

He nods his head quickly. Too quickly.

“Doran…”

He leaves and you sigh in defeat. Stupid boy.

He didn’t use to be like that. He wasn’t shy when he was younger. None of you were. What changed?

≡][≡ ⬦⬦⬦ ≡][≡

Dreamless sleep. Restful sleep.

You don’t even yawn as you walk into the Halls of Healing. The atmosphere here is meant to be… healing. The colors, the scents, the temperature, the air pressure, and, of course, the Force; all are carefully curated to produce a healing and restful environment. The downside, however, is that it is also rather effective on you most of the time. Thus, you’re often yawning and struggling not to nod off as you change into your standard medical garb. Today, however, you’re able to stay wide awake!

By now, pseudo-doctor Vazin has acquired better equipment for you. You no longer have to wrap yourself in ridiculously oversized clothing, nor stick a Emperor-forsaken sponge on your tail. Instead, your raiments fit properly! Vazin has finally dug the right stuff out of storage. And, for your stinger, you have it nicely covered with a stretchy rubber thing with a couple cotton balls shoved inside. For some reason, your tail ornamentation has received some odd looks, but it’s far better than the blatant chuckling the sponge prompted in the past. Thus, you stride confidently down the hall, looking for Master Corr so she can assign you your work for the day!

You say hello to the MedCorps personnel you see. They return your greetings with aplomb, each one of them grinning as you march past. Stray thoughts drift past your head, but you swat at them and drive them away lest they distract you. That’s apparently a mistake, though. You slap at your ear as your resident hisses from within, angry at missing out on free meals. You roll your eye, telling it if it were to stop being such a sleepyhead and get up earlier, it could have broken its fast at the cafeteria twenty minutes ago!

Unauthorized duplication: this narrative has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

Silly thing.

You let a couple thoughts in out of pity, ignoring the pithy insults of the blunts around you. You’re not cute, you’re a terrifyingly powerful Navigator-Jedi-thing!

Why do your cheeks feel hot?

Master Corr tends to the clone you’d mistaken for Tension. You wait outside, unwilling to face the half-familiar man. You tap your feet. You snap your fingers. Your tail waves to and fro.

You’re irritated.

Dammit, Tension. Where did you go? Where were you taken?

Master Corr frowns, her head turning toward where you stand on the other side of the curtain. She beckons, fishy fingers slapping against her palm and calling you inside.

You comply.

“Good morning.”

“Good morning, Xena. Would you like to help me? We can talk afterwards.”

You nod, like you have a choice. You step forward, laying your hands where Master Corr directs you to. Light shines in your special vision and blood flows. Another light and the flow stops. A piece of metal is thrown into a biohazard bin and a droid is called in to clean up.

The man will be gone in a couple days, you reckon. Not dead, but back to the war. Like Tension, he’s still needed.

Master Corr leads you outside the room, but instead of turning towards the next patient, she moves in the opposite direction. You follow, stepping quickly behind her like a duckling following its mother.

Chief Healer Vokara Che stops Corr for a moment, whispering a few words to her. Master Corr nods, murmuring something back. You wiggle your tail, feeling the strange new friction as you drag the tip against the floor.

A cotton ball rolls across the floor as you bring your tail back up. Guiltily, you pull the ball into your hand and shove it into your pocket. You don’t know where the other one flew off to.

That’s a lie. You do know. You just don’t want to go reclaim it.

Master Corr keeps moving and you follow suit. She checks behind her occasionally, seemingly wary of losing you. Each time, you smile, though you know she can’t see it behind the cloth mask you wear, nor in the eyes you don’t have. Only the lift of your brow or your cheeks could give a hint, but even that is soon denied as you stop by the changing rooms and recover your mask.

Once again in your Initiate’s robes, Master Corr resumes the lead. You don’t have far to go, however, as she merely leads you into her office two corridors away. As she enters the room, ferocious creatures latch onto her clothes, growling and yipping like mad. She sits down. She lies down. She drowns.

“Master? Are you alright?”

Muffled words fail to permeate the creature on her face. It coughs, then rolls off, its feet scrabbling at the air. One of its siblings nuzzles and licks Master Corr’s now exposed face, drawing a spot of laughter.

“I’m fine, my girl. Could be better, of course.”

“Why’d you bring me here?”

“To relax.”

“Not to bribe me?”

“Bribe you?”

You nod at the puppies and she laughs again.

“No, Xena. You’re still not getting one. I’m returning them soon.”

“Isn’t this unhygienic? Is anybody taking care of them while you work?”

“You’re not gonna try blackmailing me, are you?” Master Corr attempts a frown, but the fore of her true self gives her actual thoughts away.

“No.”

“Good! And, yes. Juukart…Juuk… Vazin checks in on them occasionally. His office is just across the hall. We both do a proper decontamination before working with patients, of course.”

“Okay. I see.”

You sit in an available chair, the other three covered in dog toys or medical equipment. Master Corr seems comfortable on the floor, the puppies suddenly all deciding it’s time for a nap and using her as a bed.

Envy.

“Not fair.”

“Heh. Life isn’t fair. Get used to it, Xena.”

“Bleh.” You stick your tongue out at her. A puppy wakes up, whining as its bed starts shaking with ill-contained laughter.

“How are you always so cheerful, Master?”

“I always look on the bright side of life, young Xena. And death, I suppose. There’s a whole song about it. You should give it a listen when you can.”

She starts whistling a tune, doing her best to snap her unwieldy fingers and waggle her feet with the beat.

“Is that it?”

“Yep.”

“Oh.”

“I feel like we had this conversation before.”

“We talked about something… related. Something about staying detached.”

“Hmm.”

You lean down and gather a sleeping puppy in your arms. You lift it up and place it in your lap, then stroke a hand across its spine.

Stroke.

Stroke.

“Relaxing yet?”

You nod. “Can I bring my friends next time?”

“Ooh. Sharing, huh? Very good!”

“You don’t need to be patro… patronizing. Yeah.”

“Would you like a sticker?”

You stick your tongue out again and another mutt is uncouthly awoken. You lean back, all eyes closed. You pull your senses in, letting go of awareness.

Minds still chatter, but they’re far away. They’re far, far away…

You’ve gotten better at this — clearing your mind. Cleansing it, at times, when you need to. It really helps.

You’ve not had a chance to speak with Master Nu in a long while, not even when you were in the Archives yesterday. Even so, you’ve been training with Force Cleanse on your own, though it is very slow going. It’s good you don’t have something you need to purge.

Something clamps onto your tail.

You look down. Perhaps you do have one thing you need to purge.

A mutt worries at your tail, uncaring of the deadly point next to its face. Its mouth opens as it attempts to readjust its grip and you quickly pull your tail out of reach. It bounces upward, chasing its new toy. However, you continuously keep your tail out of reach and soon it yawns, flopping over to return to its nap.

You smile.

“There you go.”

“Huh?”

“All relaxed. That’s better.”

“I’m not stressed, Master. Not like you or the other Masters and Knights.”

“Mm. True, but you’ve been worrying again.”

“Really?”

“Yes.”

“... Master, I still don’t know who to pick. And now, Master Yoda’s told me he has someone else he could assign me to. Someone who’s going to be lacking a Padawan soon. So, now I have a third choice.”

“Double dilemma!”

“Uh, yeah.”

“Xena, I still can’t tell you who to pick, though I certainly would snap you up myself if I weren’t so magnanimously generous. Generously magnanimous. One or the other. Both? Anyway, it’s still your choice, though I think you should make it soon.”

“Soon?”

“We’re running out of time, Xena.” Master Corr huffs out a sigh as she stretches her arms out. “I know I told you to take your time. I know I’ve just been trying to get you to relax, but this is truth. You’ll soon have to make your decision, or someone will make it for you.”

“Cho’an, my clanmate, asked me if she could ask Master Lasah to be her Master.”

“Thus, depriving you of choice. That’s one way. The other problem is that the Council may start assigning Initiates to Knights. The Order needs more Knights, and the fastest way is to pull Younglings upwards faster than before. I suppose, if you’re really indecisive, you could just let them pick for you. Obviously, I don’t prefer that method. I’d rather see you choose who your Master is. It’s… well, it’s up to you.”

≡][≡ ⬦⬦⬦ ≡][≡

A note awaits you when you return to your room. Master Yoda wants to meet with you in two days’ time.

You fold up the flimsiplast and toss it into your drawer on top of your robes, then settle onto your bed, back against the wall.

“Tera?”

A body stirs. Two sets of lekku drape over the edge of the bed above you. A head then peeks across the threshold. You observe her wholly, but you appreciate that she’d like to see you too.

“Yeah?”

“...Nothing.”

“Liar.”

Minutes drag past as you sit, still with your awareness drawn in. It’s quieter this way. You’d almost forgotten how empty the world used to be when you weren’t constantly hearing the full capacity of minds, nor seeing the Galaxy in a myriad ways. It’s almost peaceful, like you could forget the terrors in this dimension and the next.

A small form swings down onto your bed, bouncing you upward such that you bash your skull against the metal slat above.

“Argh!”

“Oop! Sorry!”

Tera crawls over and places her hands on the growing bruise on your scalp. She fusses over the area, preventing you from properly healing it. It feels nice though, to have someone care.

Other-you never had that luxury.

Finally, you push Tera off and douse the area with a light touch of Force. The pain recedes, as does the yellow and purple.

“I’m fine.”

“I need to learn that.”

“You could volunteer at the Halls,” you suggest. “They’d probably take you and teach you.”

“No time. I’m still training in combat.”

The two of you lean against each other, Tera’s slightly smaller form somehow feeling heavier against your side than you’d expect. You look down, then poke her arm none-too-gently.

Hard.

“Ouch.”

“How’d you get so… so muscly?”

“Training!”

That makes sense, so you nod. Well, you suppose you could have been joining her in that sort of training instead of helping in the Halls, but that probably wouldn’t have felt nearly as… right. And, you’d never have met the clones. Tension.

“You’re only ever training with Cho’an! You should train with me more,” Tera complains with a pout.

“Maybe I’ll join you next time. Maybe.”

“Only ‘maybe?’”

“For now, yeah.”

“Hmph.”

Maybe.