Q & A (Note: Not actually a Q & A) ((Rugsy))

[Fromikeable]

((Note: This takes place a fair bit of as-of-yet undefined time after Ancient Rights))

It seemed like forever since Vance had heard that familiar sound of hushed whispers, tapping holos, and subtle shifts in people's postures as they got comfortable at one of the tables or chairs scattered throughout the layout. The Archives always had this sense of hush; normally active and engaging organisms consciously adopted their own form of inactivity. Rather than speak, they would be silent. Rather than move, they would remain still. Rather than talk, they would listen. The padawan, looking around quietly with a small smile, had missed that atmosphere; it was quite literally the living embodiment of silence. Imperfect, and yet that much more perfect for being so.

He was also surprised to finally have some free-time. Tal and he had been running left and right for days (it seemed weeks, even), and he had to admit that the break was welcome. After a bit of particularly energetic sparring that ended with his utter defeat (as per usual, though he was improving slowly), they had both decided that for the rest of the day they could relax as they pleased.

And boy, was he. Er, sorry. Was he not.

Lately, the idea of his future had been heavy on Vance's head, even more-so than his hair. Not to sound too brisk, his padawanship would only last so long, and then he would inducted into the Order as a full-blown knight. This was by no means a bad thing; he looked forward to the day he could claim to be so ready to help the world, and yet wished the day would come a little slower so that he might continue learning with Tal that much longer. She was, by far, a good match for him; he was almost convinced that it had been Force-ordained that he'd walked into her training room those weeks and weeks ago.

But alas, the focus on his future had sent him into study as to the branches. After his master's explanations of the roles of each and her own personal viewpoints and understandings, the padawan had dived into the Archives as he was like to do, researching the formation of the three branches with the foundation of the Order, famous Knights from each, and the specific duties that came with every title.

One in particular had leaped out at him; Investigator. Part of the Sentinel branch (an automatic plus, as he had become fairly certain that he didn't want to go into either of the other branches), the job description sounded like what he did everyday anyway; ask questions, be nosy (albeit inadvertently and inconspicuously), and stay cool under pressure. Considering he already asked questions more than he breathed oxygen, he was sure that he could learn how to mask them without sacrificing their potency.

The whole "cool under pressure" thing would take some work though. He made a mental note to ask Tal about it later.

But the Archives, he had learned ages ago, could only teach a fraction of what an actual example could, and so he was there, returning his holopads to their respective places before heading out into the Temple. He had decided to be a little bold; he was setting out to try and find an actual Investigator he could talk to more directly. The Archives had a list of all active (and not under-cover) Investigators, of course, but Vance remembered one name in particular that Tal had mentioned a few times.

Locke Nemsee.

Vance couldn't say that he knew anything about the man. For all he knew, he could be a Hutt Jedi from Mandalore aiming to be Chancellor so that he could surrender the war to the Sith; he had no idea. All he knew was the guy's room number and that he was an Investigator. Beyond that? Well, he would just have to ask.

I wouldn't have anyway? As he strolled down the halls, relaxed, Vance couldn't help but grin for a second.

And finally he arrived outside the door, his stroll having taken a few minutes. Deciding not to be intrusive, Vance didn't extend his presence to see if anyone was in the room or not; considering how little he knew of Locke, he didn't want to start of any sort of interaction by offending him. Lightly knocking on the door, the 6'3" Jedi smoothed out his hair a little, the curls springing up into the afro he'd chosen to embrace rather than fight.

"Hello?"

[Rugs]

Data crawled up the wall. Locke leaned in a chair with the back so far reclined that the poor hovering thing threatened to either tip over and dump him on the floor, or lose its power and… dump him on the floor.

But it wouldn’t. He’d had practice with that old chair. Lots and lots of practice. The real key to appreciating a chair, as he saw it, was to know where that invisible line lay where he could tilt it just far enough without it tipping over.

Locke liked to think his seating habits were an internalization of his life. Living out on the edge. Taking risks every day. Fighting against traditional wisdom.

It was all a damn sight more entertaining to tell strangers than ‘Oh I just really like to recline in my seats.’

The day found the Jedi lightly dressed, in some lounge pants and a faded grey t-shirt. He had his feet propped on a short ottoman in front of him and in his hands he held a clipboard with some flimsiplasts that he scrawled notes on.

His face was unshaven, his hair unkempt as he watched the names and figures roll along the holoprojector’s display on his wall. Then again, he wasn’t meeting with Jazen ‘til later the evening, so that wasn’t a concern.

Besides who would care if he looked a little messy while he recorded criminal movements, or studied reports from his wide-reaching contact networks, or parsed through rumors and rumblings of happenings in the underworld.

He certainly didn’t. Anyone who did could take their assumptions and shove them up-

Knock! Knock! Knock!

“Well that’s unexpected,” he muttered, pausing his notes. He rose with a sigh as someone outside the door called his name. They sounded young. Maybe 17 or 18. Male. Not Jazen. “Yeah, I’m comin’” he called as he slipped into a pair of sandals on the way to the door and flicked the lights back on.

The door cracked open and his head emerged, squinting slightly against the light. “You are…” the word stretched as he realized he was looking at someone’s chest and lifted his head to find their face “…very tall. And also most certainly a student that is absolutely most certainly not mine.” He widened the door slightly, leaning against the wall. “How can I help ya, kid?”

[Fromikeable]

The door opened and as per usual, Vance had to look down a bit to see... wow. Had he just woken the poor guy up? He was dashing as far as the padawan could tell, but between the hair and the relaxed attitude, he couldn't help but feel like he was intruding a bit. Vance'd been up bright and early that morning, robes and all, hair even and puffy. He'd even shaved what irregular and skimpy facial hair he had that morning. Maybe it was Locke's day off? Scratching the back of his neck, Vance took a small step back from the door so that the angle of his vision was so severe.

"Morning. My name's Vance." He offered up a smile, not sure of how to ask for what he had come for. It had been an easy process in his head, but in real time, it was a tad more complex than he'd given it credit for.

"I was wondering if you had any free time to talk about being an Investigator." The padawan scratched the back of his neck a bit, not sure how to go into specifics. He wasn't entirely sure of what exactly he was there to ask about. The job description? Duties? Assignments? Lifestyle? Motivation for choosing that specialization? Opinions? Old stories? He hadn't a clue. Honestly, he supposed that was what he was there to ask about.

"See, I'm starting to think about what branch of the the Order I'm going to go into, and Investigators sound interesting to me, and..." A small part of him made him clamp his mouth. He was rambling, and the guy hadn't even given the padawan his answer. Suppressing a small sigh, he offered a slightly more apologetic smile.

"You wouldn't happen to have any free time, would you? If not, I understand."

[Rugs]

Vance. Locke’s immediate thought was Do I know a Vance?

No.

Who the hell is Vance?

"I was wondering if you had any free time to talk about being an Investigator."

Locke’s brow furrowed, which, paired with his generally unkemptness and unshaved beard, didn’t present the warmest appearance. How’s he know that? Do I need to go clean myself outta the records again? His weight shifted to lean against the doorframe and his eyes rolled thoughtfully up. How long has it been? Can’t remember. That’s a yes.

Right, the Padawan. Should pay attention to him. Couldn’t be too rude. Yet.

"See, I'm starting to think about what branch of the the Order I'm going to go into, and Investigators sound interesting to me, and..."

The boy paused. Locke slightly arced a brow, slate grey eyes questioning.

"You wouldn't happen to have any free time, would you? If not, I understand."

“Mmmmmm…” Locke looked at Vance for a long, uncomfortably long few moments. He made it plain that he was measuring the boy like a nerf to market. He titled his head left, then right, scratched as his beard a bit and yawned quite loudly. “You’ll do,” he finally said, then let the door open fully. “Come in. Don’t step on anything you can’t replace.”

Locke turned the light back up to something that went as normal and turned off his projections of shipments and numbers. He pulled a chair out for the padawan and motioned for him to sit. Then he leaned against a small table that folded out from the wall and looked at the boy with a more measuring gaze.

He was young. Still unproven. Locke didn’t know how much experience out of the Temple the kid had, and of that, he didn’t know how much was in the sort of places he’d need to be able to pass as an Investigator.

“Why?” he asked abruptly, lifting his brown brows.

[Fromikeable]

The look of utter skepticism and thought Vance received was enough to set him to scratching the back of his neck nervously, not daring to look at Locke but equally unwilling to look away, settling him into an odd pattern of glancing at the door frame and the man's unkempt facial hair. He'd botched this up pretty quickly, hadn't he? What had it been, four sentences? Five? That had to be a new record. He was almost prepared to abandon ship and excuse himself off when the Jedi simply yawned, claimed that he met some standard, and invited him in.

You'll do? He'd do for what? Was it a cursory appraisal of his ability to become an Investigator? A crack at how pathetically he'd introduced himself? Maybe it was simply a random comment thrown out on a whim to throw him off as a test, or worse yet, a riddling phrase carrying some double meaning that he had to decipher.

... Forcedamnit. He couldn't tell if he was over-thinking this or under-thinking it. Either way, it set his mind abuzz with activity as he entered the room. The comment about where he stepped proved to be pretty accurate, as the room wasn't exactly organized (honestly, it looked worse than his own). Sitting in the chair offered to him, the padawan clasped his hands slightly defensively; he had hoped for a normal conversation about careers and lifestyle. The odd statement, the odder reaction, and the following question threw him for a total loop.

"Why?"

... uh...

"... why not?" Dear Force, that was stupid. He managed to keep from palming his own forehead as a bit of blood rushed to his face. Managing to maintain his composure, he set his mind to work, quickly assuming that the question had been meant in the context of "Why become an Investigator?"

"I mean I ask questions about everything." He dared a small grin. "And I mean everything." Blinking, he quickly tacked on, "But I also know how to shut up. Or, uh, stop asking questions. When to... stop being so obvious." He decided not to mention that he was still learning that last part. Asking questions was easy; he just looked at something and pointed at different aspects until he knew as much as he could. Doing that discreetly was proving to be far more difficult; he had to do it without the pointing.

[Rugs]

“Mmmmm, questions,” Locke said, nodding irregularly, as if suddenly battling a strong case of drowsiness. Or drunkenness. “Powerful things, questions.” He threw his arms over his head and suddenly stretched, body taught as he made some extended groan-yawn.

He looked at Vance, quiet satisfaction plain on his scruffy face, and tilted his head first to the left, then right. His neck popped once, twice. Loudly.

“Some of the most powerful people in the Galaxy will take extraordinary steps to avoid questions you know,” Locke continued, as if nothing at all had happened. “Sometimes the only line between a mission passed and mission failed is a simple ‘Why?’ or ‘How?’ And,” he lifted a finger, face brightening, “sometimes, if you’re lucky, you might even get a ‘What?’ in. But I wouldn’t bet a clean set of britches on it. Not most days.”

Locke harrumphed briefly and folded his arms across his chest. His manner was strange. Disjointed, flitting constantly from almost confrontatitional to judging to dumbly aloof. But the eyes told a different story, if the Padawan had a mind to see it. His eyes, grey as mountain crags, were sharp and fiercely focused on Vance, watching every breath and hair of motion on the boy’s face. Judging. Weighing. Recording for later.

“Let me ask you a question then, my dear, questioning Vance,” he said, voice rolling slightly with the edge of a storyteller’s lilt. “”My father was once a merchant, you see, until a competitor forced him from business. Skip a few steps in the story and he wound up indebted to some petty crime boss and spent most of his time drugged up to the point that he couldn’t catch his own s*** with his hands if they were sewn to his own ass.”

Locke raised his brows slightly, lips spread to an apologetic line. “Was a pity, really.

“Mom did what she could to get money to care for me and my drug-crippled father, but, well she had to go whoring herself off to do that,” he went on. “And it didn’t work out for very long. Gang bosses tend to like money y’see, and well, mom and pop weren’t producing, so…” Locke drew a line across his neck and clacked his tongue. He figured it got the point across.

“Those, dear Vance, are the type of people you will have to interact, no fraternize with, if you want to do this. Sure, you may bring them down in the end,” Locke said, eyes locked on the student. “But can watch an individual suffer if you know a successful mission will save thousands? Can you let your morals go for months at a time if it serves the greater good, in the end?” Locke smiled a clever, secretive smile. “That’s what this job is, you know. Asking questions come, but you’d best know your own answers first.”

[Fromikeable]

This guy was definitely a bit of an oddball. In a strange sense, Vance was beginning to like that about him. In another sense, however, it proved to be a question in and of itself; why was he acting like this? Was he simply a peculiar individual? Was he putting on a ruse with some goal? Was he playing his cards close to his chest, or did he just have a weird hand? The padawan subconsciously meditated on the idea as he listened to the Investigator go on about a rather disheartening story; a poor family who had their luck run out at just the right moments to set them in the sights of some gangsters.

But the idea of fraternizing with those gangsters... was one that Vance had admittedly glossed over in his daydreams. He'd imagined snooping around crime scenes, piecing together daunting stories and alibis, detecting what matched up and what didn't. He'd never loaned much attention to the more real parts of the job; the covers he might have to uphold, the alibis he might have to make up and maintain, the compromises on his very beliefs he might have to make just in the interest of eventually taking someone to justice.

He'd never considered the game. Only the prize.

For a minute he was quiet, thinking on the slightly sour taste the idea put in his mouth. That story had probably been tame, at least by Coruscant and other city-world standards. It required a teller to be steeled, and the point of view, whomever it belonged to, to be quiet in the face of dastardliness in favor of patient vengeance. He'd never done either, or rather, he'd never faced the need for either.

... But he wanted to help people. And he still knew enough to know that he didn't just want to go around swinging swords or sit around reading books and talking. In his calculated opinion, at least, he wanted something inbetween.

"I'll be honest with you," He finally piped up after a minute, shaking his head and clasping his hands, resting them on his knees. "No. I don't think I have the stomach for that. I don't think I could do it, even if it killed me, today." He sighed, then glanced up at Locke, his eyes communicating a silent intensity as he dared to grin, just a little (it hid the slightly uneasy rumbling in his stomach).

"But I don't need to do it today. And I've got a bit of time to learn how before I do."

[Rugs]

Locke watched Vance, the tall boy, after he finished his questioning. It’d be a sudden change from the gruff, aloof persona he’d put on a few moments earlier. He’d been aggressive, nearly forceful in the way he addressed the Padawan, but it was something he took very seriously.

He had every right to.

As Vance considered his quandary, Locke stayed as he was, leaned slightly back with arms folded over his chest. His posture, his face, everything about him said he was still that aloof, groggy, sloppy-looking man that’d answered the door for Vance. But his eyes, locked on the boys’ whether he wanted them there or not, told a different story.

Well, kid, what’ve you got workin’ in that skull of yours? Hm?

"I'll be honest with you." Either the boy’d had a change of heart, or Locke had forced him to think of something he hadn’t considered prior. Even if he was being tough on the kid, Locke sincerely hoped it was the latter—if Vance was serious about going down the path.

"No. I don't think I have the stomach for that. I don't think I could do it, even if it killed me, today."

Locke looked at the boy, who was in turn looking at him with a little smile on his face. The older Jedi didn’t say anything, feeling there was more still left unsaid to Vance’s answer. He just nodded, patiently waiting.

"But I don't need to do it today. And I've got a bit of time to learn how before I do."

Locke smiled a little half-smile, and this one touched his stone-grey eyes.

“Give any little sh-t a lightsaber and the Force and they’ll think they outta rule the gods-damned Galaxy,” he said. “But it’s the ones that know their limits---they’re the ones that make the Galaxy a better place. And we must, in all things, strive to be the not-sh-ts, rather than the sh-ts.”

Locke chuckled for a moment, then shrugged. “Wisdom from my master,” he said casually. “Anyway, you’re right. Today is to learn what you can’t and can do. Tomorrow’s for putting that into practice.”

He stood up, demeaner suddenly affable and relaxed, like normal. He extended a calloused hand to Vance, warm smile on his face. “Now how can I help you, Vance?”

[Fromikeable]

The little semi-smile Locke adopted made Vance's own grow a bit, a wave of relief washing over him. He hadn't, at least, sounded like an idiot. That was something in and of itself, considering the volume of odd and stupid questions that usually came barreling past his lips being chased by a soon-lamenting conscience.

"Your master sounds like a smart guy." His grin gave way to a very genuine, warm smile as the stress finally melted from his shoulders and he took a deep breath; a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding. He extended one of his own hands, tan and unmarred, to shake the calloused one offered by his elder in what was finally a true greeting.

The question made him pause, though. What had he been doing here again? After this little test, he'd almost forgotten. He certainly hadn't been expecting to face a dire philosophical quandary today. If anything, the hardest challenge he'd predicted this morning was an extra bit of exercise with Tal, and even that hadn't quite fallen through in full. Yet here he was, shaking his own understanding of the world just a smidge at the questioning of a grizzled Investigator.

Prophesying is a faulty profession, it seems. Even for a Jedi.

"Uh..." The padawan scratched his cheek with his free hand before finally remembering. "Oh, right. I was kind of wondering if... well, if you had a free afternoon sometime soon." His smile widened a bit as he tried to rework the words in his mind. He'd originally sought a basic conversation, perhaps over coffee or while walking about the Temple or some such relaxed setting, as to the nature of being an Investigator. While he'd certainly just gotten a dose of that, he had meant to ask about the specifics; what the job entailed, why Locke had chosen it, what it was like, and all the rest. Now though, a mere walk-about of idle chit-chat seemed a bit counter-productive. He hadn't expected the answer to any question he'd ask today to be quite so heavy. Least of all "Why?" In retrospect, however, he should have seen that coming from a mile away.

After all, the simplest questions were always the hardest.

"I just wanted to pick your brain a little. Ask how you became an Investigator, how you adjusted..." He scratched his cheek. "Though, after all that for one question, I think I might've undershot how much time we'd need to go through everything I had in mind..." He smiled a bit more, shaking his head slightly at his prior, non-intensive expectations.

[Rugs]

Locke offered quick, subtle smile and friendly wink at Vance’s summation of Tiino’s wisdom. “He was,” he said with an amused twist to his voice. “Most of the time. Unconventional fellow.”

The padawan visibly relaxed as Locke let go of his gruff, unwelcoming charade in favor of his usual laid-back ways. Locke chuckled. Wasn’t long ago that you were in the same place, Nemsee, he thought. Where’d all the time go? Away, away…

He arched a brown eyebrow at Vance’s somewhat-fumbled words and the corner his mouth turned up in the ghost of a smile as the Padawan found his way through explaining the curiosity that set his feet to finding Locke.

“Ah, a hopeful” Locke said, pride welling in his voice as he turned to clear junk from atop his small, cluttered table. “As it so happens, dear Vance, I have a bit of time this afternoon and evening that you can use to ‘pick my brain,’ as you said.”

Locke abruptly paused and over his shoulder. His face was set as if cast in a mold and his eyes sharp enough to cut stone. “Joining, our ranks, however, is a tricky proposition, young Jedi.” Only the radition that he allowed to leak from his presence like gas from a punctured balloon belied the charaded transition from aloof to deathly serious. “First you must procure your own robes. Handcrafted with a specific dye from a rare plant that only grows on the third moon of Alderaan.

“Then,” he went on, standing bolt upright, “you must memorize the tenants of the Investigator and the names of our Patriarchs, in order, from Maximillian Vaught, the very first of our kind and Father to us in spirit.” He made some quick sign that he supposed looked cultish enough, a succinct crossing of his fingers from left shoulder to right, followed by a short bow.

“Only then,” Locke drew close to Vance and dropped his voice to a conspiratorial whispier, “only then, can you venture to the Howling Mynock, our secrete meeting place down in the darkest depths of the Undercity. With robe in tow, face hidden from the Overseers, you will say the oaths, recite the names, and join our ranks.”

Locke paused. The air grew thick with silence.

“Oh, and you also have to get a really stupid tattoo,” he said, once again himself as if none of that had ever happened. “I’d advise getting it somewhere out of sight so no normal person has to see it. Unless you like running around naked—then I guess it doesn’t matter, now does it?”

He allowed a few more moments to pass then laughed, clapping Vance on the back and ushering him toward the door. “Obviously I’m kidding. But feel free to ask me whatever ya want kid. I’ll do what I can to answer you.

“Though,” he reached up to grab his coat from a rack and swirled it around his shoulders in a much-practiced motion, “can’t guarantee every answer won’t come with at least a 1-part play.”

[Fromikeable]

Vance smiled. He hadn't expected Locke to have any time soon free to chat, let alone today. Beyond that, he had assumed that even if the Jedi had free time, he would have wanted to use it for something of a higher priority than chatting it up with a padawan that he didn't even know. Maybe Locke liked him. Maybe he was overestimating the schedule of an Investigator not out on assignment. Either way, it was a pleasant surprise.

But then came the "requirements". Perking up as Locke started, the padawan's brow gradually raised higher and higher as things went from making custom Investigator robes to learning tenants and patriarchs. Did branches of the Order even have patriarchs? Everything he knew said no, but... who the heck was Maximillian Vaught? Relaxed listening quickly evolved into a confused mental scramble to understand what the Knight was saying, and by the time Locke was standing close and whispering about something about the Undercity, the confusion had clearly etched itself on the padawan's face.

"... Uhhhhhhhhhhh..." The silence was lost on him as he tried to fit square pieces into round holes, or rather, tried to print secret tattoos onto steel plates.

And then the laugh, which made him sigh and shake his head, blushing just a hint. The oldest trick in the book, and he'd fallen for it hook, line, and sinker.

Good job, Investigator Asano. It was probably a good thing he had time to learn, because if he fell for that in the safety of the Temple and about the organization he'd literally been raised in, he'd be dead in a week elsewhere.

Getting up and waiting by the door, he tried to sort past the small degree of embarrassment and remember all of the questions that had been surging through his mind a mere couple of minutes ago. As Locke donned his jacket, he smiled at the fact that, as he'd figured, none of the answers he hunted for today were assured to be short.

"As long as they're all honest." He opened the door, stepping just outside it and waiting for his elder. "Though admittedly... Wait." He blinked mid-thought, realizing something kind of important.

"Where are we going?"

[Rugs]

Locke smirked a little as Vance’s expression grew increasingly dumbfounded at the ridiculous list of ‘requirements’ needed to join the ranks of the Investigators. The kid eventually caught on, but Lock couldn’t deny he was more than a little pleased with himself. Not for misleading a naïve, bright-eyed kid who was wet enough behind the ears to bathe himself—though that was amusing, in its own way.

He was an actor, in some ways; his effectiveness in the field depended, in many ways, on his ability to make people believe he was who he made himself out to be. Even small instances to sharpen his craft… Well, I dunno that this counts, he mulled as he shuffled out into the hall, passing by the suddenly-thoughtful student. Doesn’t mean I can’t enjoy it anyway.

“Ah there’s the start I was looking for,” Locke said, motioning grandly as he continued along without so much as missing a beat. Vance would either keep up, or get left behind — the Investigator was rather certain it’d be the former. “Questions. Useful things, as I’ve told you.” He glanced back over his shoulder, steel-grey eyes shining with quiet amusement as he smiled softly. “Even if they don’t always have to be so heavy, no?

“Tell me, Vance, if you really go down this path to being an Investigator, where do you think your work will take you, hm?” He led the boy along a corridor with broad, arching windows that looked out onto the city beyond, a glittering array of lights that stretched to the horizon. Light, a mix of red and orange, spilled into the Temple’s clean, white halls as they passed through.

“Within these walls,” he made a wide motion, taking in the hall around them, “or out there, where the people are?” He allowed a pause, then chuckled a little. He stuffed his hands in his pockets and slowed his pace to walk directly alongside the padawan, with voice low and conspiratorial. “Unless you intend to join the ranks of the archivists, but I’m sure even the diplomats find them boring. That’s sayin’ something, if ya know what I mean.”

Locke cleared his throat and straightened the slight hunch he’d taken, again acting as if none of the previous conversation happened. “In short, we’re going out there, Vance.” A slight nod to of his head to the window, a subtle upturn at the corner of his lips — these things said there was more to Locke’s words than he was letting on for now.

“Even if you decide being an Investigator isn’t for you, you oughta know how the real people live out there.” His tone was easy and conversational, but something gave the words a breath of seriousness he’d lacked earlier. The straight, serious posture, perhaps, or maybe the lingering look he gave the world beyond. “After all, the Republic, the Order, has trusted you, me and all the rest of us with their protection. As best you can, you need to know them.”

[Fromikeable]

Vance's already bustling mind was set to a more focused line of pondering at Locke's first question. He had never supposed that Investigators were the characters one could see on holonet crime dramas. Real Investigators didn't sit behind desks every day, have evidence dropped onto their laps, interpret the evidence in a few minutes of screen time, and solve the case and save a victim before the last few commercials rolled and they got their paychecks. If Locke was any indication of what was to be expected, that was about as far from the truth as Vance was from becoming Mandalore.

But even still... where would he wind up? At the Knight's motion at the Temple around them, he at least felt certainty in saying "out there" was far more likely. The Temple was certainly a treasure trove of things to learn in its own right, but being an Investigator wasn't about research and learning extrapolation; it was about digging and finding facts. So the archivist comment made him chuckle lightly, simultaneously making a mental note to not mention the fact that in his curiosity, he'd gone to visit the less-exciting book-keepers a few times.

They certainly hadn't been lively, but then again, he sort of got the impression that some of them didn't get out much.

But Locke made a final, good point. For all his desire to help people... he knew startlingly little about people themselves. A small part of him couldn't help but wonder if that was a flaw in the way Jedi were raised, though a larger part of him placed the blame more in himself as an individual for not having sought out such understanding. Even if people were far more difficult to learn from than a book or a lesson, they deserved equal attention.

... okay... so how do you understand people? He supposed that was the bridge they would begin burning today.

"Makes sense." Vance nodded, still very clearly rather thoughtful, absorbing his teacher-for-the-day's words piece by piece. One might've argued that he focused on them all a bit too much, but he would be upset if he missed something.

"But where does one go to understand people when there's so many different kinds of people?" That was the most pressing issue that surfaced for him. In a galaxy of trillions and trillions of people of at least the same number (or perhaps even more) of kinds, how could one even begin to scratch the surface? Did you pick a kind at a time? Did you start categorizing and generalizing, as most people seemed to? Perhaps you went after the kinds you yourself most resembled...

The tall padawan imitated the Investigator, pointing a finger out one of the windows they passed as the main entrance of the Temple came into view. "I mean, out there is a pretty huge place."

[Rugs]

Locke grinned as the wheels began to turn in the padawan’s tender mind. “That is the question, isn’t it?” he wonder aloud, gaze sweeping toward the windows as they passed by. “Where to go? Who to meet?” The Investigator paused, head titling curiously to the side in the way a hound’s does when something snatches its attention. “Who’s worth the effort to meet?”

A wry smile and chuckle, an quick turn on his heel and tug on Vance’s shoulder had them going right now, into the mouth of a new corridor that intersected their prior path. “That last one was rhetorical, mind you,” Locke added with a half-glance over his shoulder. “Anyone is worth your time… At first. But that’s a tricky line to draw, see; we help all, just as we serve all. Might be sage and wise-soundin’ to say we can only help those who want the help, but well…” He stuffed his hands in his coat pockets, offering a rueful chuckle as the led the boy along. “Even that’s limiting. Meet a Dark Sider one day and you might understand.”

Locke looked at Vance again, that wry look still lingering in his eye. “But hopefully it’ll be awhile before you have to worry ‘bout that, eh? Should be more concerned about getting your path set right and all that.”

Locke turned to another corridor, now one that angled ever down in a wide, gentle circle. “Anyway, that was rambling. Slap me if I do that again.” The look he shot the Padawan said, quite plainly, ‘Don’t think about slapping me.’ Then he grinned again and turned to the path in front of him, leaving Vance to wonder.

“Out there is big, yes,” he conceded. “And the people… Better luck trying to count all the hairs on a pissed-off Nexu’s back. But for you, and for today, we’ll start simple. Your common man; the everyday, working, just trying to live their lives type of person. Though who knows what kind of characters we much run into in the process?”

The winding ramp straightened out into a windowless hallway that was still well lit with the clean, sterile white light that a person got used to in the Jedi Temple. A quick turn to the right, then left, and a door slid open to admit the two Jedi into one of the Temple’s speeder bays. Technicians ran from vehicle to vehicle, undoubtedly wrapping up some of the day’s checks as a gentle, whispering breeze blew in through the currently open hanger doors.

“But where do you go to find them?” Locke asked the padawan, hands still in his pockets as his coat tail flapped lazily behind him. “I’ll give you a guess. Go on.”