Tatooine (Mos Eisley) - The Pirate's Life Ain't the Life for Me

The smog of the Cantina shuffled into his lungs and obstructed his vision, but with expert aim he found a stool at the bar. Davik held his forehead in his hands and felt a bead of sweat form a shallow river down the side of his face. The bartender muttered something to him, but Davik was still trying to catch up with what had occurred and was unable to hear the man. Suddenly it felt like a rope tightened around his throat and he shot up out of the stool, doubled-over and vomited.

“Whoa buddy, are you okay?” asked the bartender with genuine worry. He was used to people vomiting in his bar, but that was after they had purchased a few drinks. Davik wiped the traces of vomit off of his pale blue lips with the black of a gloved hand and sat back down on the stool. “Water,” he growled and the man shot off to get it for him. The former pirate rubbed his eyes and coughed, the still fresh taste of bile making him want to throw up again. The bartender returned with his water and Davik ripped it out of his hands and chugged it down. The cool liquid did little to wash away the taste, but it felt good as it rolled down his throat. He slammed the glass down on the bar and gasped “Another”, but the bartender stood still.

“Credits?” The bartender asked with a raised brow. Davik’s reply was to whip out his S-5 blaster pistol and center it on the man’s throat. Some of the Cantina’s occupants turned around to look with a raised brow or their alien equivalent, but no one stood up to stop him. “Uh… I mean… Right away, sir.” The bartender squeaked and then hurried off. Davik lowered the blaster pistol but didn’t put it back into its holster, to tired to fumble with the damned thing.

“Don’t see many Chiss on Tatooine,” growled a near human that sat a few seats down from him. Davik turned his head slightly to look at him, his glowing red eyes blinking once before resting lazily half-open on the man. “With service like this,” Davik began slowly, “I bet not.” The near human cracked a smile and stood up. A quick up-and-down glance revealed that the man wasn’t anything relevant to any major alliance or military that Davik was aware of. “So, consider yourself a joker eh?” the near human grinned, his beady little eyes looking at the odd assortment of piercings on the Chiss. “I try to take my ugly with humor,” Davik replied dryly. Apparently, this was enough to turn the near human into a Gammorean, for the man squealed like a pig and then reached for a stun baton on his waist. However, before he could even reach it two blaster bolts found their way into his chest and his body fell to the ground dead.

The bartender returned, eyeing the dead body as he placed the drink on the bar. “Sir, I’m going to have to request that you-“ but before he could finish his sentence Davik stood up and cut him off with a wave of the hand. “Hold your breath, human. I’m leaving.” He slipped his blaster back into its holster, grabbed the glass of water, quickly emptied it and then tossed it back at the bartender. As Davik strode out of the cantina, the bartender decided it was wiser to not request the three credits for the two glasses of water.

It was starting to get cooler, the sun having set, and Davik felt his mind was much more organized now. As he strode down the Mos Eisley streets he reflected on the events of the last week. The mutiny on the Broken Butterfly, which he had a hand in, and the quick silencing of said mutiny by those loyal to the captain. Afterwards, those that were left alive were abandoned in the middle of the Dune Sea. With no supplies, they all agreed it was unlikely that they would survive if they did not work together. By some stroke of luck, they stumbled upon a small farm just miles from where they had been dropped off. While the others searched the farm for food and water, Davik found a lone speeder and promptly stole it, leaving the rest of the mutineers to die. Lucky enough to find the directions to Mos Eisley in the speeder, Davik managed to find the city some days later, though he had nothing to eat or drink during this time and he baked during the day and froze at night. When he finally reached the city, his first intention was to leave the damned planet. After little thought, he decided it would be wiser to scope the local Cantina scene for any information.

Davik wandered into another Cantina, this time with his head clearer and his objective known. He easily fit into the crowd with his clothing and appearance; he stood just over six feet tall and had an athletic build. His left ear was pierced in three places and his right eyebrow was as well, along with his tongue. He had a tribal tattoo on his neck that cut into the left side of his jaw and down his back. He wore no shirt and only a leather jacket, his black pants held to his waist by a leather belt and his feet covered with (dirty and scoffed) leather combat boots. He took a stool at the bar, noticing the atmosphere wasn’t much different than the last cantina, and tapped twice in the counter. The bartender came, took his order, and was off to get a glass of water. Turning around in his stool, Davik searched the area for any familiar faces.

Dawn walked in and cautiously glanced around. She had parked her ship outside and carefully locked and sealed it. She was taking a short break from training to become a Jedi so she could explore her memories, which had led her back to this planet. Flashbacks had told her this was her home world. Now she could attempt to put together the pieces that lay here in the sand.

Scaning the cantina in a quick 360 degree swoop, Dawn sat down at a secluded table and reached out cautiously with the force, tuning out any small presences. She felt a stronger one, and looked up.

A Chiss. Hmm... never seen one before, but heard of them. Wonder what's up?

Dawn flicked the edge of the mind then drew back, a simple: Want to talk?

The bartender came and left with his water and Davik was in half-swallow when he felt a slight itch at the base of his skull. It wasn’t powerful, but it was enough to make him gasp and choke on the water. He placed the glass down as quick as he could and brought a hand up to cover his mouth; he had managed to force the situation off as a mere coughing fit. The bartender came up, a Rodian with green skin and giant fly-eyes, and asked him if he was okay in his unusual native tongue. Davik waved the alien off and returned back to his drink.

Want to talk?

He had not had the grace of having another voice in his head in some years. Luckily, the glass was already emptied when he dropped it on the bar and it shattered. His eyes were ripped wide open and he was frozen in place. “A… Jedi?” he whispered under his breath, not entirely believing what had just transpired. He had believed all the Jedi were long dead, that his own small sect had been the last of them. Were they really still in existence? It was unlikely, but not impossible.

Davik lifted up his left hand, a sliver of glass having embedded itself in the glove that was wrapped around his hand. He closed his eyes and reached out for the force. He groped around in the darkness, seeking the ancient knowledge that he had once possessed. He hadn’t felt the warmth of the force in so, so long; he hadn’t wielded the force in even longer. But he felt a spike! A twinge! A bitter-sweet grasp on the valueless magic of old, bitter because it reminded him of memories that had long been suppressed and sweet because it filled him with the power and security of before! He grasped the glass shard and with all of his might pulled!

… But it was all an illusion. When he opened his eyes, the sliver of glass was still embedded in his palm, the only difference being that now a drop of blood was forming on the tip of it. He had tried to lie to himself and initially he succeeded. But the worst thing about illusions is that they are only illusions, and behind the illusion is the hidden truth. The truth held all the bitterness of the illusion, but none of the sweet. Defeated and drained, he grabbed the glass between his thumb and forefinger and plucked it out with little effort.

He stood up from the bar and turned towards Rose, the only person in the Cantina who looked even remotely clean, and therefore Jedi-like. His face was like stone, frozen momentarily in a grimace. This was far from what he was expecting, and he wasn’t entirely sure if he even wanted to talk to the Jedi. But something told him to just swallow the shit and do it and that something was the same thing that kept him alive. He strode over to Rose, stared down at her for a moment and then took a place at the table opposite of her. He peered into her eyes, still not sure she wasn’t one of those bitter illusions.

“Are you a…?” he breathed, the last word caught in his throat.

Forgetting she could talk through her mouth, Dawn sent: Jedi?

Laughing aloud, Dawn was startled. She hadn't talked all the way from Coruscant to Tatooine. Her voice was a note deeper, a tone of a song in her voice, but not completely.

"No way, not yet!" she said aloud, shaking her head in denial. "You seem surprised. You know..."

Dawn gestured at his bleeding hand, which she aimed a bit of Force Ice at. Not enough to make a crystal, but to send a cold wave of air over the cut.

"Can't heal," she mouthed, glancing around again. Sith, she was paranoid...

Sith... why was she opening up to this guy? What an idiot!!

But-- she wasn't picking up bad vibes.

Leaning back, Dawn glanced at herself. Dang, she was clean! Oh well. Tatooine would fix that.

He was taken back by the casualness of the woman; the Jedi he had known never smiled, much less laughed. But still, her frankness helped ease the mood and Davik loosened up. He wasn’t sure whether meeting a Jedi was good or bad, but he suddenly didn’t feel so alone. Not even when he lay awake at night in the crew quarters back on the Broken Butterfly, when two dozen forced friends chatted about how they would spend their blood-money, and he, having fit in well with the crowd, would talk about the spoils he had earned with such delight, did he feel as at peace as he did now.

“So you’re a… Padawan?” he asked more quizzically than affirmatively. The word hadn’t met his lips in many years, not since the long lost days when he had been Jedi Padawan Davik Amazigh. He had never shared his past with anyone, never really had anyone to share it with, and so it was his burden to carry alone. He suddenly felt the urge to tell her everything, the story of his past, what sins he had committed, how he would dream of the ancient tales of light and darkness, of the massacre at Naboo that still haunted his mind, of the betrayal by the other padawans that brought on the eventual destruction of his Master and all the others! He felt stupid, cross, sorrowed and blissful. Butterflies danced in his stomach.

When she motioned at his hand, he looked down at it and frowned. The cut was deeper than he had assumed and a thin line of red blood crawled down his wrist. He held it with the palm pointed towards the ceiling and felt the cool wind blow across it. It wasn’t the kind to send chills down your spine but it was oddly assuring, like the touch of a mother’s hand or the warmth of fire on a cool winter’s day. He enjoyed the feeling as it lasted, closing his eyes and hiding the memory away for when times were harsh.

As the padawan laid back, Davik struggled with what to say next. What was he to say? He was completely lost. He crossed his arms and felt the cool brush of metal against his chest. He knew what it was, having forgotten he had placed the weapon inside of his jacket. He reached in and grasped it, not having felt the cool metal of the lightsaber hilt in his hand in some time. He had carried it on him for years, but never unleashed the blue blade held in the cylindrical prison since the day he joined pirates. He removed it from his jacket and placed it on its side on the table. It was plain and undecorated, but well polished and kept. He looked at her with those pupiless eyes of his and licked his lips before speaking. “I am Davik Amazigh. I was once a member of your order.” The words had just left his mouth when he regretted them. He bowed his head in shame, not feeling worthy to have considered himself a member of the order. He didn’t even know the woman’s name, and he had already shared his most well-kept secret with her. The butterflies became more active as he looked back up and awaited a lashing.

So it was true, the Jedi still did exist! Maybe they weren’t as organized as they were in his forgone youth, but they were still here! Still alive! Still thriving! Davik wanted to scream and shout and burst out into applause. The butterflies were gone and in their stead stood straight and tall the ambitious dreams of youth. For the first time in what felt like his entire life he knew what he was going to do. This woman, this Padawan, would be the one to take him to the Jedi Masters on Coruscant where he could finally let the restless spirits of the fallen Jedi sleep, their souls having long been a heavy burden on Davik’s being.

“Yes,” he said with an eager nod of the head, barely able to contain his words, “I was once a Padawan! I was born and raised in the grand temple on Naboo! I was padawan to Jedi Knight Amazigh, and the man was like a father to me. I was but fourteen when he was taken from me… When he was killed….” Davik’s words dropped off at the end and suddenly the hot embrace of anger filled his meaning. He balled his hands into fists and slammed them down on the table. His head followed, steams of tears roaring down his face. It was the first time he had cried since he had held the bloodied corpse of his master in his arms.

“I couldn’t save them… I tr-tr-tried so hard! But they were killed, butchered and slaughtered! The heathens of Amudar,” and then his voice took on a colder tone, “the padawans that betrayed us. Betrayed me! Brothers I had known since the first time the force flowed through my veins! By Vader’s spit, they killed them all! I fought, in the name of the force, I fought! I killed my own brothers! Killed my own...” Davik tried to continue to talk, but his words turned into sobs and cries. He felt embarrassed and childish, but he could not control the repressed memories of youth. Some characters around the Cantina turned to look at him, some laughed and some just minded their own drink; every man had their own sorrowed past, and if liquor lets him deal with it, let him drink and cry.

Dawn bent down so she was squatting on the seat and looked across to him. Closing her eyes, Dawn sent waves of light over him, for comfort and to ease anger.

"Please don't be angry. Anger is bad," Dawn whispered, targeting him with brilliant blue eyes as she opened them. "Anger is bad," she repeated, then opened the mind touch. Letting light of the Force into the man's mind, Dawn shifted aside the anger in his heart.

"Would you like to meet my Master?" she asked.

He cried and cried and cried for what felt like half an hour. The Padawan’s words fell on deaf ears as the memories bashed and tore at his sanity. In his mind he lived it all again; the smell of seared flesh as sabers tore at pupil and master, the screams of timeless voices that once spoke such immortal wisdom, the cries of the young Padawans, who in their destruction discovered that their ways were dark. And Davik stood in the center of it, light blade in hand, pure terror upon his face. With a cry, he shot into the fray and helped his masters fight off the twisted mess that was their sons and daughters! His brothers and sisters! The ending climax found Davik alone, battered and bloody, amidst the ruins of his family…

Then a light parted the image. The Padawan’s intervention helped him snap back into reality, back in his awareness of the situation. Davik had butchered men and enslaved woman and child. He had plundered and stolen and turned happy lives into hellish nightmares for dozens of people. And here he was, making a fool of himself in front of the scum of the world and being comforted by a Jedi Padawan. His sobs slowly repressed into gasps, and once tears no longer flowed he wiped away the warm streams and tried to recollect himself. “Yes,” was all that he uttered, and even that was in a tone barely noticeable. Even if his punishment for the cruel deeds he had committed was death, he was ready to accept it.

Dawn smiled. "Nobody's angry at you," she murmured. "Nobody, nobody."

Getting up, Dawn turned and exited the Cantina, motioning for the man to follow her. Heading towards her ship-- still there, thankfully--, Dawn punched in the coordinates for Coruscant and reached out for her Master. Docking Bay. As soon as Davik was in she would take off for the City Planet.

(( Leaving Post ))

In silence, Davik followed the Padawan to her ship. In the very least, it was a way off planet. He tried to meditate on the ship like he had back in his childhood, but the force did not recognize him.

(Leaving Post. Post Closed)