Bankor

Sabine was busy eating the delicious gloop in front of herself. Her armor was already visible, and her blaster was on the table. She might be republic military, but some customs didn't change. Not for her at least. She was scooping up something or other (she decided not to even think about the name, and just enjoy it rather) and she was lost deep in thought for now, her purple hair in a disarray.

A young man in the brownish robes of the Jedi Order walks through the breakfast mess, turning his head to survey the crowd. Eager curiosity and disciplined serenity fight a brief covert war on his face, partially obscured by a pair of wraparound, mirror-reflective sunshades. His head is shaved close, but a small string of beads hangs from the right temple of his eyewear.

He earns some curious glances himself. Neither the robes nor the sunshades are unique -- many Jedi have joined the mission, and such eyewear is popular among some of the Republic special forces types -- but the combination is unusual. He also conspicuously lacks the fabled weapon of the Jedi.

He makes irregular progress through the tables, although he weaves easily through the narrow and densely-populated spaces between the tables. A meditative pause; a seemingly-random change of course. He stops neatly behind an empty spot of bench, and turns to face the only nearby diner.

"Ma'am," he says politely, his voice sounding more boyish than seasoned. "May I join you?" He carries no tray, only a steaming mug, held in both hands.

Sabine observed the man arriving. "Master Jedi." She offered in way of greeting. "Sergeant Sabine Kryze. Please, feel free." She moved her weapon away, freeing up more space. "Take a seat." She observed the man, not quite ogling, but with certain interest. She has not actually met many Jedi in her career so far.

Aran showed the hint of a smile, and sat, placing his mug precisely in front of him. "Thank you, Sergeant. But I am no Master, only a Padawan." With a small movement, he reached up one hand from his mug and touched the beads hanging near his ear. The hand lowered.

"I am honored to meet you, Sabine Kryze" he said, evenly and without irony. "A Sergeant is an officer, yes? Have you been with the military long?"

"Ah." She stated simply. "Four years. Combat experience since I could walk, to be honest, but not military per se." She eyed the mug. "No food before combat?"

Aran inclined his head at Sabine's answer, respectful of what was said and what was abridged. To the question, he tilted his head slightly to the left, "Yes," then to the right, "and no. A fast before a great... an important moment. It focuses the spirit, to better hear the will of the Force." A slight smile again, and a nod at an enthusiastically eating brown-robed figure a few tables over. "For some." His face became serious again. "Although I suppose that as Bankor is my first battle, it means I will have fasted before every one."

"Consistency is important." She said with a serious face, though there was humor in her tone. "..what is a padawan?" She asked finally.

Aran paused -- if he had eyes, he might have blinked -- and then gave an embarrassed shrug. "My apologies. A padawan is, ah, like a recruit -- no, a cadet." He nodded. "A learner. Not yet a Knight, let alone a Master. But their feet are on the path." He took another sip. Hot water, not even caf or some other infusion. "I'm not actually sure what a 'sergeant' is," he offered. "An officer?"

"Ah, thank you. I don't have a lot of experience with Jedi." Minus dad's ramblings. "Ah... an officer, a non-commissioned one." She stated simply. Yes, that was sure to explain everything."

Aran nodded sagely as if it did, in fact, explain everything. "And I do not have a lot of experience with soldiers. As a learner, I should ask for your wisdom. If you are willing. And, ah..." he gestured at her tray. "If it does not interfere with your meal."

"Of course. The goop can wait." Apparently 'goop' was an official word... or one Sabine used a lot. "I am happy to help." She smiled, though she wasn't sure if he would see it through the shades. "Mutual education is agreeable? I wish to learn more of your Order."

Aran returned the smile, and replied to the offer with a small nod. "I will teach you all that this humble Padawan has learned," he said, more amiable than humble, but continued on in his usual meditative tone. "I admit that I am not sure where to start asking questions. Jedi are trained to fight. I have fought, a little; seen conflict, violence. I listened to reports of the Sith, saw refugees. But nothing like war, up close."

Sabine nodded. "This will be then an educational experience for you... padawan." She said the last part with a bit of uncertainty. "Just make sure not to wander into a crossfire." She said that last part with a bit of humor. "You wield a lightsaber then?"

"I do," he said, his hands still wrapped around his mug. After a beat, he turned his head clearly (exaggeratedly?) to Sabine's blaster, aside on the table. "Do, ah, you wish to see it? Is this a custom among soldiers?" The question seemed mostly earnest; if there was any humor, it was directed gently at himself, the ignorant outsider.

Sabine hesitated. "Not at the moment, I don't think so. Others might not appreciate it." She seemed self-conscious. "I have never seen one up close... guess I should consider it a good sign."

Aran did the back-and-forth head-tilt gesture again. "Yes and no. It is well that you have never had one drawn against you!" A smile rippled across his face, before returning to still-pond contemplativeness. "However, perhaps it could be wished that the Jedi were common enough that you would have seen one at your side, who has been fighting so long."

Sabine looked at the man (boy) for a long time. "Are Jedi always like this?"

He seemed taken aback. "Uh, like what?" Color rose in his face. "I'm very sorry, Sergeant, if I have given offense, ah, in some way..." The babbling seemed much more in line with his age than his usual monastic serenity.

"Ah, no offense taken or made." She blushed a bit. "You just are... very wise. And perhaps a little high minded, for the likes of me. I am just a grunt."

Their mutual awkwardness seemed to relieve Aran from both his present wrong-footedness and also some of his solemnity.

"A less humble Padawan might wish that your opinion of my wisdom was more widespread. Rather, as I have been taught..." and here he assumed the look of one reciting from ancient texts: back straight, face serious, one hand raised as if lecturing. The words, though, were street Huttese. "Ma lordas stutka je bota-loca peedunkee. Settah je binggona shapa-keesay." Then he looked around self-consciously, as of expecting a Jedi Master to have caught him at irreverence.

(Roughly, "my bosses see me as an engine-crazy kid/punk. Say I am a straining shape-shifter.")

Sabine listened intently. "Sorry, I didn't understand that." She was apologetic obviously. "I speak Basic and some Mando'a, despite my travels." She felt a bit self-conscious about that apparently.

Aran waved his hand. "Do not aplogize! I am making jokes to myself, very rude. But I suppose," he held up one finger didactically again, "that can be your first lesson about the Jedi." He leaned forward conspiratorially. "We have developed the bad habit of speaking in riddles." One corner of his solemn mouth twitched upwards.

Sabine's own smile twitched. "Well, I learnt something new today for sure." She let loose her smile. "If that is not a riddle in and of itself, of course."

"No, nesting riddles is far too advanced for a mere Padawan." He leaned back, serious again. "So, Sergeant Kryze, besides avoiding cross-fires, any advice for when..." he made a small gesture to the universe outside the ship, less vague than all-encompassing.

"Maybe nested riddles will be part of your knighting ceremony?" She asked for a smile, before turning more solemn. "Don't worry, don't get nervous. Easy to say, I know, but if your nerves act up, you'll forget the basics, make a mistake and die. Stick with a group, don't wonder off. Check your corners."