Hair-raising Encounter [lion]

[Mara]

[...from The Truth Is Out There]

For a Bothan, playing sabacc could be a steep challenge. More specifically, playing it well. Most  humans and near-humans only had to worry about keeping their faces neutral to hide any tells or inclinations. Sitting relaxed with a blank stare. Trevil, however, had to not only take care to do that, but also control his ears and his expressive fur. Because sometimes his brown hair would just move on its own in reaction to how he was feeling. It had taken practice, and a lot of self-control, but he had finally gotten to the point of not revealing any emotions to his opponents in this manner. And that in turn led to the beginning of his winning ways.

However, when that failed, he knew he could always cheat. A skilled slicer, his go-to method was generally to hack into the shifter, the device in charge of randomly changing the cards into different values throughout the game. Trevil used a datapad in his lap, wirelessly tapped in, and he would give himself an edge, making sure the shift always occurred in his favor, causing him to eventually win the pot and the others to bomb out. But he was careful, never cheating on every hand or in an overwhelming manner. Keeping the risk of suspicion low. And bowing out of a game whenever he thought his 'luck' had been too good and getting the heck out of there.

He had been planet-hopping for the past few weeks, from Zeltros, through the Corporate Sector, and now eventually finding himself on Devaron. Trevil--or Borlov, his latest adopted alias--was back on track with his original quest. After having detoured awhile with a freighter crew, he was looking for his ex-partners for his share of the score from their bank job on Bothawui. It had been quite the adventure, dangerous at times, and he had lived with some beings he hoped to call friend. But it was mere diversion, distracted him from his master plan. Revenge would be his. If he could only locate one of the humans, the Rodian, or the Zeltron he had worked with.

Which is why he found himself ensconced in a game of sabacc. It was one of the tried and true ways for him to earn passage on a ship to continue his search of the galaxy. At times, he had also taken up odd jobs here and there as well, mainly in areas where he had worn out his welcome at the game tables. Or in a backwater town that didn't even offer the prospect of gambling for his income. Trevil generally only stayed in a location long enough to fill up his coin purse with credits, never long enough to bother with getting to know someone. This Bothan was a nomad.

Trevil's violet eyes slyly watched the other players over his hand as the betting round continued. He currently held the Commander of Staves, the Mistress of Coins, and Endurance, giving him a current score of 17. Not bad but it could have been better; he was complaining, though, as he had gotten it honestly. As long as he could make it to the shifting phase without anyone else calling, and got a good shift, he had a chance to rake in the big credits. One of the fellows, a stocky Duros, was pouring money into the pots like water.

Play passed to the shift without incident. And the Bothan couldn't believe his damn luck. His first two cards stayed the same but Endurance switched to the Queen of Air and Darkness, giving him a total of 23, pure sabacc! But his furry face stayed a mask of indifference, just as everyone else's at the table. Trevil refrained from betting when it was his turn, though the others plunked a few more credits into each pot, as if his hand had gone sour, and he was just waiting to discard. Instead, at his first chanced, he called, and displayed his cards. "Read 'em and weep, guys!"

Glares bored into him as he leaned over to scoop up his new winnings, emptying out both the hand pot and sabacc pot. Once the last one was pocketed, and he had hidden away his purse once again, he made as to look at his wrist chrono and stood up from the table. "Well, it was a pleasure playing with you all... but I really must be on my way." He wasn't sure if they were angry because he had bested them, after playing somewhat poorly until then. Or if they actually suspected foul play. In either case, it was best for him to be making his exit.

Turning around, he left behind the gaming table in the cantina's back room, zig-zagged his way around the diners, and pushed his way out into the sunlight. He was on the outskirts of Devaron's capital, Montellian Serat, and near one of the smaller spaceports that catered more to its lower-class citizens and visitors. Individuals who preferred inexpensive costs and flying under the radar. And it had been where he had landed a few days before to continue his search for his ex-friends. It was time to get back to that, now that he was sure he had earned enough credits for passage off Devaron, having exhausted all leads.

After he had gone a few blocks, made a few turns, put enough distance between himself and the cantina, he allowed himself a sigh of relief and a grin. And ruffled his fur in pleasure. He even, after looking around to see that he was relatively alone on the street, jumped up in the air to celebrate. Those silly fools at the sabacc table, especially that Duros, he chuckled to himself. Trevil felt good and hoped that his quest to get back his score of the bank robbery would soon be at an end. Then it would have really been a successful trip, and he could get back to life as normal. Maybe even settle down somewhere, open a legitimate business with all his money.

The Bothan was so caught up in these good thoughts that he hadn't realized he had wandered into a shopping district. Lots of little boutiques and other venues vying for attention from all the tourists and female Devaronians on break from their political maneuvers. Just as the crowded situation became clear to him, he had to act quickly to avoid a collision with a fallen child. However, this caused him to collide with another being coming from the opposite direction, unaware. "My pardon. I am..."

But when he saw who he had bumped into, the words died on his thick lips, and his fur rustled in agitation. There was another Bothan standing there. Trevil took a few steps back, stumbling over his booted feet in his surprise and fear at encountering another of his species in person. He hadn't seen another one this close in years. And it took his mind all a-swirl. Did one of his crew mates give him up? Had the authorities on Bothawui found him? Were his carefree days all over now?  Or maybe he was just being needlessly paranoid?

[lion]

Montellian Serat had been beyond expectation, Fenn had found, ever since the soles of his boots had hit its history-bathed grounds right up to the current moment, as the Bothan male strolled through the crowd of Devaronian locals. Every corner of every district, from governance to commerce and residence, seemed to have entire verses of history that, if one could spare the time and arguably courage to ask the locals, could have garnered all manner of interesting tales of lore. From as simple as areas of note, where worthy figures might have visited or exchanged debate, right to the aged establishments boasting lineage and tradition that could have rivaled the Republic itself, it was all here.

And to the eyes and ears of a young man such as Fenn Soran, it was practically enthralling just to be around. Everything had a story, every grain of dirt in the aeons-old buildings seemed to have wisdom buried within it. Just simply strolling through the streets, it was easy to imagine what it might have been like ten thousand years ago, maybe fifty, and what the City might have seemed like back then.

Maybe though, just maybe, it was the fact that the stories were all a distraction; the need for a diversion creating more out of the possibly embellished tales than actual interest in history itself. After all, it was a pivotal time in Fenn's life and he knew it, fraught with dangers and perils that, history stated, many others had failed to gut out and navigate through to safety. The transition of the Jedi, from padawan to full-fledged Knighthood; a passing of the torch to symbolize the change from the student to the educator.

The Jedi Trials.

A shudder ran through the young Bothan as he strolled, his golden tan fur ruffling uncomfortably for a second beneath the humble, green-hued shirt covering his chest in a display of disconcerted stress as phantom pain brought the boy's breath to a hiss. A month prior had been the fateful day on Nar Shaddaa that had both given Fenn his first step along the final stretch to Jedi Knighthood, and had almost killed him. It was fascinating how the mind could remember, in such vivid detail, the sensation of the coolant-slicked blade piercing the muscles of his midback; worse still, how the mind could so accurately re-view those sickening sensations as if a holovid player on rewind.

Perhaps, then, there was no better place to be than the heavily historic Montellian Serat to distract the mind. 

His master, Fenn knew, was going to be some time in meetings; such had been the old human's warnings on the flight from Coruscant, leading to a granting of free time for the twenty year old Fenn to, perhaps, let his fur down before the final leg of the journey. The Trials were a stressful time, Master Torell had said, and any downtime to clear the mind would have certainly been of more help than hindrance; the comment had proven difficult to find flaw with. Even just spending a few hours outside of the Jedi robes had been akin to taking the weight of a world from his shoulders; blending into the crowds of Devaronian and offworlder civilians rather than stand out as a guardian of the Order.

Perhaps a little too enamored with the sense of liberation, however, Fenn soon found himself distracted; whether it was the lights, the constant sound or maybe something else all together, the Bothan simply stopped paying attention to what was ahead of him until too late. Before the Bothan could even think, Fenn felt the air rush from his chest as something firm pressed into his front; not a hard bump but clearly enough to startle the incognito Jedi into letting out an 'oof!'.

Fur rippling in embarrassment and surprise, Fenn stumbled slightly, stopping himself from falling flat onto his backside, and looked down not to find a likewise distracted Devaronian willing to hurl abuse or make a comment, but instead something far more familiar; another Bothan. His tapered ears perked and fur clearly shimmering in surprise, Fenn immediately reached down with a right hand, grinning nervously as he looked down at his brethren traveler, a look of sheepishness blatantly evident even with the nonhuman face.

"Oh gosh, I'm so sorry; I thought I heard someone call my name..A-are you okay? Here, let me help you up." The incognito Jedi offered, bashful as ever, finding himself feeling all the more uncomfortable by the second. The Force nagged at him, more than the gut feeling the other Bothan wasn't too pleased; the way the man's fur seemed to rush seemed frustrated, but without knowing for sure, Fenn found it hard to tell. "I didn't see you there, I'm so sorry."

[Mara]

Standing there, in the middle of the walkway, various would-be patrons glared at the duo as they had to skirt around them as they went on their ways. Some beings even hurled insults or creative oaths. But Trevil heard none of those as he stared at the Bothan right in front of him. What was taking up the majority of his brain power right now was finding some course of escape. Heart thudding, his violet eyes darted around, looking for an exit, not wanting to discover whether his gut was correct or not about this 'accidental' meeting.

All he could do for the moment, however, was duck into a nearby alleyway and hope for an opening where he could lose himself in a crowd and get back to the spaceport. The other Bothan followed him, blubbering out an apology that finally caught Trevil's ears. He turned to the other fellow, who appeared to have a look of genuine concern on his face, and not a lie a law enforcement officer would use to put him at ease right before he was arrested. But this one had been on the run long enough to know that some of these cops were great actors and weavers of ruses.

But as the other Bothan kept gazing back at him, all innocently, Trevil knew he had to chance tactics. If his furtive glancing around for a way out could even be classified that high. He was realizing that his current state of agitation wasn't really helping his cause. Only serving to make him look guilty, which he was, but this other didn't have to know that. So he took in a few deep breaths and forced himself to calm down. Hopefully the stranger would just think his reaction a result of the collision.

The Bothan smiled, friendly enough but a little nervously, but it was all he could manage. "No, no, no... it's no bother. My fault..." Waving a hand nonchalantly and sputtering his own apology as warranted by societal norms. And after all, it kind of was his fault. Or if one was passing blame, the child who had fallen in the first place. "I should have looked where I was going."

As he made to step away, obviously thinking the encounter over, now that words had been exchanged, he let himself study this being from his home planet. He came across so few mirrors, he supposed it was like seeing a reflection of himself, but with some differences here and there. And, Trevil, noticed, this Bothan was younger than he had first thought. If a cop, he was likely still in training or school or something like that. Perhaps the fugitive was just being paranoid, after all, and this had been just a random encounter. Even so, he just wanted to put it all behind him. Better safe than sorry.




(((I apologize for the wait!)))

[lion]

It didn't take a Master's insight into the Force to see that the other Bothan was rattled, as Fenn's eyes took in the display of shock and not-so-subtle displays of panic akin to a patient back in the Temple, leaving the incognito Jedi a little on the back foot as to what was going on. Empathy surged; it was hardly a Jedi-like activity to cause such fear in people, after all, but for the sake of both himself and his panicked company, Fenn kept a straight face as he followed the older Bothan out of the street.

"Let's just agree to say we both might need to pay more attention in future; sound fair?"[/b] Fenn offered in reply, the young man offering a bashful little chuckle as if slightly amused by the notion, gesturing with his right hand in a sweeping motion as if to brush Trevil's apology aside. "It's a busy place, after all."

With the matter seemingly resolved, Fenn was just about to sidestep back into the busy foot-traffic when something stopped him; a sudden wave of nervous energy coasting along his mind and down his back like a charge of electricity. Knowing the feeling well, a warning surge within the Force, Fenn stopped short; the young bothan ruffling his fur considerably under his loose-fiiting spacer's clothes, regarding Trevil with a look of uncertainty as he reached out with the Force to try to grasp the warning.

The older Bothan stood out, and about twenty meters away in the bustle of the street, so did about three others. Whilst he was hardly the strongest telepath in the Order, the young apprentice's sensitivity to threats was well enough to have an inkling of what was going on; a group was on its way and the furred man before him was the target. For whatever reason, it was hard to know, but rather than simply allow it to happen, Fenn knew his responsibilities as a Jedi meant he had to intervene.

"I'd suggest you don't go back on the road; friend. Come on, we can take this back-alley and slip to another street."[/b] Fenn started, inwardly wincing at the choice of words he'd opted for almost as soon as they left his goateed mouth; that didn't sound at all suspect in the slightest, did it? 

[Mara]

Trevil looked back to the other, his muzzle turned up with the hint of a smile. He nodded. "So it is," he agreed. Especially after he had wandered into a more touristy area, full of shops and visitors. The streets had become quite crowded, making passage more difficult but also less detectable among the hordes of beings all around. And the Bothan thought he might stay awhile with the masses until he forked off towards the spaceport; a little jumpiness yet remained from running into this fellow.

"I will be much more careful. Thank you." He then took leave of the other Bothan, feeling not too much the worse for wear. At the entrance to the alley, he waited for a decent opening to merge into the traffic, thinking that perhaps he had just gotten a overexcited. Trevil had been on the run for years now, and the likelihood that someone would have caught up to him now after all this time was very small. He was just tired from his planet-hopping and seeing false mirages, obviously.

Ruffling his fur in relief, ready to return to his schedule, he stepped forward. But then a comment from the young Bothan behind him, for whatever reason, stopped him, leg mid-air. Perhaps he had heard something different in the other's tone. Or maybe he was just annoyed at the interruption and wanted to give this guy a piece of hid mind. After all, what was there left to say to each other? Trevil was not in the mood for a chitchat and playing six degrees of Bothan with this curious fellow.

Nonetheless, he found himself facing the other Bothan once again. No longer suspicious of a trap but merely a little annoyed, however willing to hear him out. Swallowing an exasperated sigh, he asked, "And why is that? I don't have any credits, if that's what you want." Trevil's mind grabbed on the sudden idea and ran with it, wanting to portray the ruse that he thought he was being mugged. Letting his hair move in agitation of following a stranger deeper into the passage, he added, backing up, "I don't want any trouble..."

[lion]

Yep, there was no mistaking that sudden rush of fur motion and the look of mistrust and uneasiness crossing the other Bothan's face; Fenn's poorly chosen words had made the exact impact he'd hoped to avoid. Tension began to grab at the young Jedi, making him feel a slight sense of panic; he knew what was going to happen if those sparks of danger in the milling crowd found their man, but for the life of him, Fenn could only find himself fumbling over his words to stop it.

"I'm not trying to mug you. Hell, I'll give you my credits; I just need you to listen to me for a second." Fenn started, his right hand rising up to his head to brush down his fur, feeling 'tingles' through his face as the follicles shifted, denoting exasperation. It wasn't the Jedi way to lie, but maybe if it was to help someone, perhaps it might have been acceptable? Just to say he bumped into some people who were looking for a Bothan? Clearly that was why Trevil was in such a hurry?

No, that wouldn't work, but what would? Telling the clearly-unsettled Bothan 'hey, I'm a Jedi, come with me' would only make things worse; Trevil was clearly on the run from somebody with such an attitude like that, announcing he was packing a lightsaber would only make him even more edgy. Mind-tricking the Bothan wouldn't work; not only was Trevil too strong-willed and alert to be pliant, but Fenn had his reservations about that sort of method of coercion to begin with, making the boy hesitant.

No, Trevil would have to make the choice to believe Fenn, himself.

"You have to believe me, I'm not trying to rob you here, I'm trying to he-." The young Bothan started, only to stop, his gaze immediately turning from Trevil to a figure standing not two feet away; the young Jedi's expression turning from slight urgency to outright unease as his fur rippled. One of the sparks, a Duros male, standing equidistant from the two chattering Bothans, with a look on his smooth-skinned face that sat between amused and menacing.

"Ah, there you are! Thought I'd have to scour the town for you; you swindling cheat. We've got some unfinished business, don't we?" The Duros started, practically swaggering toward the two smaller alien men, oozing a threatening confidence that one hardly needed the Force to feel. It was tempting to turn to 'Borlov' and point out that this had been precisely what Fenn had hoped to keep him from, but the young Jedi kept his mouth shut for the time being.

Explanation, if the pair made it out alive, could come later.

[Mara]

It was easy to see that the other Bothan was experiencing some agitation, the source of which was a mystery to him. And it seemed contrary to his statement that he was not there to rob him of his valuables, unless he was a complete novice at it. But since it was something Trevil had made up, unsure why this being wanted to delay him any further, that was unlikely. However, despite feeling the encounter was long past over and wanting to be on his way, he was just a tiny bit curious and willing to hear the guy out. Not to mention he would probably bother him until he did pay attention; better to get it over with now instead of later.

So he dipped his head to consent and let his fur settle down, regaining his calm self. "All right. What is it?" Sighing and letting just a slight edge of irritation creep into his voice. Then he crossed his arms over his chest--something he had seen humans do from time to time--to show a little impatience, hoping it would get the young Bothan to speed things up. Especially when all he did was reiterate that he was not there to shake him down. "Yes, yes, you said that..."

Trevil trailed off just as he realized the other had stopped talking altogether and was staring off past his head. Someone else might consider that rude, but this Bothan started having those creepy feelings again. Like something bad was about to happen. Not the Force, just his street sense and intuition from being on the run so long. He found himself dropping his arms and glancing over his shoulder to see what held the young furball's attention.

There stood a Duros, the same one who had just been at the sabacc game he had left earlier. He groaned inwardly. Had this guy followed him all the way across the city just to air his grievances? It wasn't his fault if he was a better card player than the green-hued alien, resulting in the Duros losing most of his life savings (a guess based on how many he had been throwing into the pots). Or that it was just luck that the shifter had given him the winning hand right when it counted. Because Trevil himself had been a little on the skids until that moment, the reason he had considered using a cheat in the first place.

Lifting his arms out in a gesture of peace and goodwill, Trevil backed a couple paces back out of the street and into the mouth of the alley. "Hey. I don't believe we do, my good man. I won fair and square. You know that. All on the up and up. Not my problem if you don't know the value of The Star." He glanced behind him at the other Bothan, mind whirling. "Now, if you'll excuse me and be on your way, please, I have some business to conduct here."