Changing of the Guard

[Drin Kizael]

Drin Kizael sat in meditation in cargo bay 1 of the Whaledon, legs folded under him to support his weight on his haunches, hands resting on his knees.

It was a position he could not have taken with much confidence before the Alliance brought clothes that fit him properly. Donning the beige shirt, green vest, and looser fitting brown pants made him start to feel a little more like a Jedi again. The black sleeves and cuffs were a nice touch, but the absence of a lightsabre clipped to the matching black belt felt awkward, almost like he should be walking with a limp to compensate.

Weeks before, the Jedi gathered in this room to discuss their future in the wake of an Imperial attack, making it the ideal place to work through the questions that had been clouding his mind ever since.

By this point, though, he was no longer wrestling with doubt. Today he was preparing himself for the long day ahead. Daria Nytherciria and Navaria Tarkin reported in early that morning, and would be landing in a few hours. The time had come to lay the question of the Jedi's leadership to rest.

The trianii pushed off the floor with his hands, clearly enjoying the return of his flexibility as he straightened his legs under him.

Okay, first things first. He closed his eyes, reaching with his senses out through the Force, sifting through the many auras on the ship in search of a more familiar presence.

His eyes gently opened as he found her, and without further ceremony walked casually toward Tionne Thanewulf's quarters.

[Tionne Thanewulf]

Through the most of the past night, Thanewulf remained awake, sipping coffee over a pile of datapads. For somebody who just missed twenty five years of life, there was much to catch up on; history, events, technology, even death certificates to see who of the branched social network was out of the loop. Using the peace and quiet of the night, Tionne read on about the Empire, stock prices, figures and facts of economic growth in Imperial times, trying to divulge what exactly did the Imperial overturn do to the galaxy, beside de facto extermination of the Jedi. A number of sources indicated that prosperity indeed did rise in the first years of Imperial reign - mostly due to post-war reparations - but progress stagnated in the years to come.

Just an hour or so before what could be considered dawn, tired and mentally overloaded, the redhead limped over to the common bathroom at the end of the corridor. Upon unclothing herself, she entered the shower capsule and let cold water pour down her body for a while. Leaning forwards on her elbows, the Knight pressed her forehead against the cold metallic padding, cool fluid streaming down her back. An attempt was made to clear her thoughts, center oneself in the Force and release the sensory tension that built up in her temples, pulsating like a quasar. Slowly, stress dissipated; Tionne turned the tap and set the temperature to lukewarm, cleansing her body and hair with lime-scented shower gel bought off Wroonian merchants on The Valiant.

Just as water was sizzling in the pot, another cup was retrieved from the cupboard and placed beside Tionne's cup; Kizael's signature could have been felt from a parsec away. Two teabags containing the finest Manellan Jasper were tossed into each mug, when a knock against durasteel plating indicated the Trianii Jedi was just where she suspected him to be; right before her cabin.
A button was pressed and the door slid open, its frame narrower than the feline's shoulders. Clad in long, loose fitting white pants and a white tank top, still wet hair dripping down her back, she smiled candidly.
''Come in, Master Kizael.'' the redhead invited, returning to the improvised stove and motioning him to enter - ''Would you like some tea?''

[Drin Kizael]

Kizael opened his mouth to reply, but just blinked and smiled crookedly. Tionne had a penchant for abrupt greetings.

He attributed it to so much time in the field, where sensing the presence at one's door became a reflex after enough time. It was a habit he picked up himself having lived so many years on the run with a little one to protect, though he had learned to practice a bit more restraint when the door actually opened. Restraint was not what he'd call her strongest suit.

"Thank you, Tio," the trianii chuckled. "I would like some at that."

He stepped inside and took a seat across from her bunk. Though it wasn't their first meeting since arriving on board, it almost felt like it. Kizael had been distant in those first weeks. Adjusting to the quiet routine -- such as it was -- after a full decade surrounded by ever present tension was more effort than he expected. And so it was nice to just sit for awhile and chat.

Mostly they talked about how different things were. It was a hard topic to avoid. The tone lightened between the Watchman and the Guardian, ironically when the topic shifted to war stories. Soon, though, Drin steered the conversation to the point of his visit.

"The reason I came to see you," Drin began as he set down his cup, "is because we need to talk about the nominations of the new Council... or whatever they're going to end up calling it."

He straightened his posture, letting the tone of his last words take a beat to register. "As you remember, your name was raised. And in light of your experience and unique education as a scientist, the nomination makes sense. Your skills and insight are quite diverse."

The felinoid cleared his throat. "Your comments at that meeting were a bit... puzzling. Understandable, in light of all you've been through -- what we've all been through. But perhaps not what the Jedi need from their leaders, right now."

Kizael held eye contact as she continued gently, "I believe your talents may be better focused in field work."

With anyone else, he may not have been so blunt, but the Jedi Master knew Tionne to be one who respected candor.

[Tionne Thanewulf]

Taking in the fine fragrances evaporating from her cup, Thanewulf intently listened to everything the Trianni Master had to say. Experience of direct combat in the Clone Wars was on his side, along with mastery of the Force and formidable swordsmanship. His opinion was invaluable to the redhaired Jedi, his advice the one she would take. After Kizael stated the obvious, Tionne simply smiled, then sipped the tea, glancing into her own reflection in the dark liquid.

''You know me well, Kizael.'' said the Knight, then established eye-contact once again - ''The Council seat is not mine to take. Nor will it ever be. I am a Watchman, wanderlust is in my blood.''
A spark flickered in her slate orbs in a rare moment of utmost sobriety. The Coruscanti rose from the bunk bed and traversed the short distance to where Drin sat; she then placed a hand on his shoulder - a gesture of trust and appreciation.

''But you, on the other hand, are fit to lead. Let me be your eyes and ears - eyes and ears of the Order - just like back in the day.'' the Knight pleaded sincerely, patting the Trianii's shoulder in encouragement.

[Drin Kizael]

"Thank you for saying so. I had one student who turned out alright, I suppose." He chuckled, as he was referring to his only student.

"No surprise you are a step ahead of me on your role in all this. Having a leading body managing Jedi affairs will require someone that we know we can trust to be point on certain missions. And for that, you are ideal."

"I have someone else in mind to be our eyes and ears among the other Jedi. An advocate, so to speak." Kizael leaned back a bit. "Out there, on the other hand," he said, gesturing toward the hull and the galaxy beyond, "I feel you are better suited to the task."

Kizael produced a rectangular, black comlink, which he pushed across the table. "I want you to keep this with you at all times. It is fitted with an encryption module designed by someone outside of the Alliance -- someone I trust implicitly."

He held up a matching link to illustrate. "Each of the senior ranking members of the Order will have one. This way we can communicate or have a holo meeting without risking Rebel security. And without fear of being compromised if the Empire intercepts a transmission with a known Rebel encryption key. I will periodically provide you with a new key which we'll all hard code into our own links."

[Tionne Thanewulf]

Thanewulf picked up the comlink, briefly inspecting it. During her time as Watchman in the Clone Wars, she was given one by the Council to debrief them on the intelligence she gathered.
''Now, where have I seen this before?'' she jested, spinning the transmitter on the table playfully - ''I never thought I would hold one of these again.''

The gadget was stashed away into the inner pocket of her jacket; her eyes drifted back to Drin's, freckled face delineating earnestness. Tionne was to be an agent of the Force, amalgamate herself with galactic conduits, integrate herself into the society. Unlike other Jedi, she had an amazing ability of mimicry, forging a social network spanning from the Core to the Outer Rim. She was to be the first Watchman from many to come, once the Order was restored.

''The Council can fully rely on me. As you can, Drin. I'm ready to serve, once again.'' the redhaired Jedi confirmed with a firm nod, drinking up the last of her tea. The end bit always tasted a bit more bitter.

[Drin Kizael]

"Excellent," Kizael said as he climbed to his feet. "We'll talk again once everything is finalized to set up comlink protocols and such. Thank you for the tea, Tio."

The door slid open and Kizael stepped out with a parting bow. He marched through the ship to his next stop, not needing the Force to guide him this time. As expected, he found the one he sought in one of the larger cargo holds that had been converted into a training hall.

Doubtless he was preparing for the day's classes with the initiates. Ironically, Kizael felt the boy was badly in need of training himself, in relaxation techniques far more than combat exercises.

"Abarai," the felinoid called out with a soft rapping of his claws on the metal door frame. "Tonight at 1900 hours I would like you to join me in the captain's conference room, on the bridge deck. Will you be free then?"

[Abarai Loki]

A screeching buzz came from the cargo hold where Loki was hunched over an upturned mass of twisted metal. He was putting the finishing touches on a rather makeshift weapons rack made from bits of old piping and pieces of scrap. In helping him make the first one, Cirrsseeto had instructed him in the proper usage of a welding torch and had given him a pair of safety gloves and tinted goggles from the Layla. Then there came the rapping of metal, he looked up and tore off his goggles, leaving a couple of large white circles on his sooty face. It was strange to be addressed solely by the name of his House but it was a welcome change. He stood immediately and offered the Trianni a full dignified bow.

"Master Drin Kizael, I will be there as you wish."

[Drin Kizael]

Well that was easier than he expected. Kizael considering a response for a moment, feeling as if there was more to say. But no, there was no sense in getting into details now that would be covered at the meeting later that night.

"Ah, excellent. We'll see you then."

And with that, the big trianii headed off to the ship's kitchen.

[Drin Kizael]

At first the need for a galley seemed too mundane to care about in the big picture. The entire population had led very self sufficient lives prior to joining the Wheel. But the bigger the population grew, the smaller the ship's lone kitchen seemed. And so it was that food was prepared by a handful of droids, and the odd initiate who thought they were being punished.

The appearance of the Jedi drew more than a few quizzical looks. As if he did not notice, Kizael greeted everyone as he walked in with casual grace and donned an apron. He quietly went about gathering foodstuffs, utensils, and a wok, then dropped a special package that he'd obtained in the Knightfall's last supply run on a cutting board.

After finally finding a wide enough space to get to work, he frowned at the servant droid standing in front of it looking at him stupidly. "Go do that somewhere else," he said with a shooing motion.

"Do you require assistance, Master Drin?" the droid asked with an odd hesitancy in his tone. Kizael made a clicking sound with his tongue and waved him away.

It went on like that for the next hour. The Jedi went about the act of preparing the meal with all the ritual of his morning kata -- cubed mastiff, actual fresh meat that he diced and seasoned himself, and vegetables in Jedi-diet-approved konif oil mixed with cooked rice. Each new smell reminded Drin of the few happy moments of his life after Palpatine and Vader turned the galaxy upside down.

At intervals, he would entrust a droid to stir the rice while he stepped away. That lasted until he came back to the sight of it reaching for a jar of gipanis spice, which prompted the big felinoid to recount in graphic detail how well versed he was in the destruction of cybernetic lifeforms.

From the flight plan he glimpsed, it was easy to predict that the two returning Jedi would be hungry after that long a stretch in hyperspace with only an MRE in the supply cabin. He also guessed Daria would welcome something normal given how space travel put her on edge.

He just hoped that Navaria still liked this dish as much as she used to. But he knew she wouldn't if this idiot machine ruined it with too much gipanis.

Tomorrow he would face some new danger, some new crisis in the war for the fate of the galaxy. Right now he needed one last reminder of something good from his past, so he could focus on the future.

Upon a signal from the Valiant that Navaria's ship was on approach, Kizael stepped in front of a wall unit comlink and keyed in a ship to ship call. The tiny hologram of the Jedi Master seated in the cockpit flickered to life in front of him.

"Welcome home," Kizael said with a smile. "Glad to see you both returned safely."

After a brief exchange, he added, "After you've had time to get changed and debriefed, I'd like you both to join me for dinner in the Captain's conference room on the bridge deck of the Whaledon."

He didn't even know if Navaria or Daria had ever even been up there. Few had, which was the point of choosing it for their meeting. But he was confident in the one-time navigator's ability to find her way around a transport ship.

[Daria Nytherciria]

“Dinner?”

It wasn't a strange request, in and of itself, but within the context of the here and now, Daria couldn't help but arch an eyebrow. For most of the Wheel, dinner was a hurried affair, whose sole purpose was to provide the participants with the necessary daily nutrients. Sitting down to eat, and in the company of others, was a rarity.

“I didn't know the Captain had a conference room,” she said, as the crossed the bridge deck to their meeting with Drin Kizael. Given the time to shed her travelling cloak and tunic, the Jedi Knight looked almost normal, at least by the standards of the Wheel. She wore a black tank-top, cargo pants and Alliance military issue boots. It was surplus, generously donated to compensate for the fact that she had spent over a decade on the run, with quite literally nothing but the robes on her back to wear.

The door to the Captain's conference room hissed open as the pair approached.

[Navaria Tarkin]

"I was not aware of it either," Navaria admitted as they approached their intended destination, but it was not a complete surprise. The Whaladon was massive and the Jedi master had yet to explore the entire vessel personally. Much faith was left to the Rebellion operatives that maintained the ship.

What was more pressing was Drin's invitation. The years had separated them but Navaria knew when he was up to something. This was one of those times but the nature of the gathering would be revealed shortly.

She was dressed comfortably in khaki pants, brown calf length boots, with a tunic and vest to match - the clothing were surplus from the army during their last forest campaign, minus the camouflaged poncho. As the pair entered the conference room, she noticed they were the first to arrive. It sparked a smile and she turned towards her companion. "It appears we're a bit early."

[Daria Nytherciria]

Daria took a moment to examine the room and familiarise herself with the layout, as it was visible to her through the Force. There was a long rectangular dining table, and for those who sat with their back to the doorway, there was a panoramic view of the stars. Daria perched on the edge of the table, her back to the window and her hands on the tabletop, taking some small comfort from the feeling of the wood-grain beneath her fingertips. She exhaled slowly, a barely audible contented sigh, and smiled.

“It would appear we are.”

[Navaria Tarkin]

Daria said nothing right away and moved towards the table as Navaria was curiously sensing for Drin. Nothing was overtly brewing in the Force, just the usual ebbs and flows of uncertainty that plagued the Wheel constantly were troubling. But there was nothing out of the ordinary.

She clasped her hands behind her back but then head moved towards a sound that brought back the smile that had disappeared in concentration. She alone was privy to that tone and boots were already closing the few meters between them. They had been away from the Wheel for two weeks in an attempt to appeal the Dathomir Witches for aide and possible numbers. It was a minor achievement but their combined perseverance made it difficult for several Elders to not concede and give blessings for their clanswomen to join the Jedi if they so choose.

There had been downtime as well, and in those scant moments, the two of them continued to grow closer - something the Jedi Master was surprised to notice, as she was surprised now by Daria's flirtatious behavior.

Not that she was complaining. No. There was a time and place for such matters and it was not for the public to gawk at.

She had yet to say anything, there was no need for everything was shared between them, as Navaria allowed herself to relax and bring a palm against Daria's face to caress when the Miraluka was within reach ...

[Drin Kizael]

The doors of the conference room slid open to the sight of a surprised looking gray servant droid pushing a hovercart. TC-8K90 swiveled between the table and the two Jedi, unable to decide the proper response for what it considered an intrusion.

"What's wrong," Drin's voice asked from out of sight. He walked forward, which finally prompted the droid to continue on inside. "Oh. That was quick. Please, sit, sit."

The felinoid walked around the table, setting down mats, plates, and flatware in front of the three chairs at the end of the long conference table, adding plastine cups from the hovercart with his tail. TC put a large serving tray in the middle, flinching at the steam that rolled out as it lifted the lid.

"Thank you, you can go now," Kizael said to the droid with a dismissive wave. He took a seat and smiled broadly.

[Daria Nytherciria]

The droid's arrival startled Daria and her hand darted up to close over Navaria's. With a stealth of movement that should not have been possible for a being of his size, Drin Kizael appeared and began to dress the table for dinner. He moved with cheerful efficiency and it was difficult for the Miraluka to say how many people he had laid out seating arrangements for. Affecting a coy smile, Daria lowered Navaria's hand to her side and laced their fingers together, out of sight, with a squeeze.

“Master Drin,” she acknowledged the Trianii Jedi with a nod. “Everything smells.. wonderful. I can't imagine how you were able to acquire all of the ingredients necessary to create such a.. feast.”

[Drin Kizael]

Kizael chuckled. "Well I had to make some hopefully not too unfortunate substitutions. But I have my ways. Oh, Roker Rhyed says hi."

He finished the last of the three place settings and gestured to each to them to sit.

[Daria Nytherciria]

The gesture went unnoticed by Daria, but at Navaria's encouragement the two of them took their seats. If she had been one to care about appearance, at that moment the Miraluka would have felt somewhat under-dressed for a sit-down meal. She laid her hands on the table in front of her, feeling the weave of the place mats and the polished curves of the cutlery. Then, she folded her hands together and looked between the two elder Jedi in expectant silence.

[Navaria Tarkin]

They were used to having little time for a moments peace for professional faces to unmask to be open around each other. It was a delicate balance of patience which either Jedi had become well versed in.

Navaria returned the squeeze before Drin appeared and hands fell back to their respected owners sides. "How is the crazy Bimm? Staying out of trouble I hope?"

The food smelled amazing and her stomach growled in anticipation. Neither of the two Jedi standing across from the Trianii had a decent meal in weeks. This was an unexpected treat. "It does," she inhaled deeply and took a seat alongside Daria with a whimsical look. "Is that ... mastiff I smell? And gipanis?"

Memories of Dinati V came to the forefront and her smile turned sad. "You didn't have to go through so much trouble ..."

[Drin Kizael]

"Trouble," Kizael said through a derisive smirk. He chuckled and set out two metal canters from the galley with tea and kava on the table. "The only trouble is that I can't do this more often. I haven't been able to cook a real meal in somewhere around a decade."

The Jedi picked up Daria's plate first and filled it with a heaping serving of meat cubes and vegetables mixed in rice. He pointed out the chopsticks next to the flatware for the miraluka, noting that there were entirely optional.

At last he sat down and served himself. "So, it appears that we have much to discuss."