| It Takes One to Know One By Jemmiah |
| Evla sat back in the repulsar rocking chair and closed her eyes. Force, she could do with a break! Ever since that business with the Tree Winder plants in the gardens the children had been fractious and inclined to over-exuberant behavior, keeping herself and the other crèche masters constantly on their toes. The last few days had been very wearisome indeed for all involved and Evla felt a certain amount of justification in enjoying the fifteen-minute break away from the children: all beautiful youngsters to be sure, but trying nonetheless. The children had been playing on her mind for some time now. Over the last few weeks Evla had found herself looking at the empty spare room in her apartment, wondering if it was time for somebody to fill that vacant space…a new padawan to help her in the crèche and in time perhaps become a crèche master themselves, continuing the line. It had been a good few years now since the knighting of her first student and the urge to consider taking somebody else under her wing had grown stronger and stronger: especially the past couple of days. Maybe, she wondered silently, it had been something to do with the little Corellian child that Qui-Gon had sworn to protect? Take Sal-Fina for example. Evla had no real love for the woman and had never pretended otherwise, but even taking her natural bias against her into consideration the crèche master couldn't even begin to comprehend how Qui-Gon's one-time lover had been awarded the girl's custody. Why, Evla wouldn't have let her look after an inanimate brick let alone somebody else's child! Ambianca, poor creature, had been groomed in Sal-Fina's image and seemed pretty unpromising as a padawan; any such failings could be directly laid at her master's doorstep. To even consider putting another youngster (and a non-force sensitive individual to boot) into her care seemed to Evla the utmost folly, like granting an axe murderer a license to chop trees… When she'd first heard that Qui-Gon had taken on an additional burden to that of training his padawan, Evla's reaction had been one of carefully guarded horror. What was the man thinking of? Had he not enough to concern himself with already without taking more upon himself than was necessary? Her initial concerns were for Obi-Wan, a bright young child she remembered from his days as a crèche youngling. She'd heard about the difficulties - the troubles - that Obi-Wan had managed to find himself in and couldn't help but feel the boy would be better served if his master stopped to think of the strain another child in the Jinn household might have on his training. But to do so would, Evla realized, go against the grain of Qui-Gon's conscience. If he felt the girl belonged with him then he would follow his own will. Too bad if anyone disagreed. She'd been curious too. The rumors had flown thick and fast around the temple walls…rumors that Evla had refused to believe. Every where that Qui-Gon went the whispers followed him: he could not fail to notice it, but was evidently too gentlemanly to comment. Certainly on speaking to Jemmiah it became apparent that she had noticed the uncertain glances and the muttered asides whenever she walked by, but the poor girl had no idea why that might be. Much as Evla wished she could have explained the reasons behind the odd behavior of those jedi who met her, she just couldn't bring herself to interfere, not to mention possibly make things worse for her. And what was she supposed to say? 'Here, have some more chocolate - and by the way: everyone thinks that Qui-Gon Jinn is your father.' Even in the temple gossip was rife - and people like Sal-Fina led the way, raking up trouble wherever they saw fit. "I'm as much to blame as anyone." Evla winced on bringing the Corellian's miserable, lonely expression to mind as she'd explained the grief she felt at her lack of friends. "I didn't want to believe it - I didn't! And I still don't for that matter." The master set the chair to rock at a slightly less frenetic pace than before, hoping that doing so might sooth her on-edge nerves. "But I still wanted to see you for myself to make sure…and I am sorry for it!" And the chocolate thing! The girl had been right to call her a hypocrite. Some crèche master she was when advocating one set of rules for some and different rules for others! It had taken a child of…what, six or seven judging by appearances to point out how dishonest she had been. What was more, Evla was glad of it. Sometimes it took a fresh set of eyes to see the faults so readily self-dismissed. Maybe she should take a leaf out of Qui-Gon's book. After all, if he could cope with two mettlesome children then there should be no problem for her with merely the one! But it was such a huge decision to make…even if she'd already decided deep down in her heart. It wasn't like visiting the local cannoid pound and just picking one that took her fancy; there were so many aspects to consider! What was more, as one of the head crèche masters Evla had seen virtually every child that had found its way to the jedi temple. Some were highly skilled individuals already, but clearly not destined for the sedate life of a carer. There was not one amongst the current crop of masterless initiates that had grabbed Evla's heart in the manner she had hoped. The force, for all that it was insisting she look - and continue looking - was not helping her in her choice. And why would that be? "Either it's the wrong time or the right time." Mumbled Evla, hoping that the force might yet enlighten her. "It cannot be both. Why put this idea - this desire - for an apprentice in my mind and leave me floundering as to whom that person might be?" Qui-Gon hadn't had the same problem with his 'daughter'. It seemed the force had demanded that he take her on. Not for the first time had Evla began to think him particularly blessed with both his choice of padawan and his young ward. Yet for all that, Qui-Gon had unwittingly left the youngster in a situation that Evla regarded as particularly unhealthy: having an almost constantly absent parent. A child could function perfectly reasonably with one dedicated parent and be a happy, well-adjusted individual…but when that one parent was rarely there? Jemmiah was paying a hard price for Qui-Gon's devotion and dedication: possibly she would have been better off being placed with a normal foster family somewhere away from the temple. "I don't know the girl's background." Evla reminded herself, surprised to find she was genuinely curious. "Qui-Gon will have had his reasons for wishing her to stay with him, not to mention the fact that the council approved his request, which surely means they thought it reasonable too. Still, it seems a shame…" Jemmiah would have to get used to him not being around, that was all there was to it, because it would happen again and again and again in the coming months. And who would she be placed with next time? Someone like Sal-Fina? No, on second thoughts there wasn't anyone like Sal-Fina, mercifully, but the fact remained that the child's upbringing was going to be extremely unsettled. Evla pulled a disconsolate face. It would be a terrible thing to see such a bright, lively girl go off the rails for lack of proper care. If Jemmiah had been a force sensitive child living amongst the younglings in the crèche, she would have seemed the ideal choice for a padawan…just the right combination of enthusiasm, curiosity and wit… "No doubt the force will tell me what to do in due course." Evla stopped rocking the chair back and forth, toggling the switch so that gradually the backrest tilted itself in a reclining position. "I do hope so…because right now the path before me as is clear as a Dagobah swamp!" "…I forgot you were there! That's all there is to it!" Sal-Fina had recovered enough of her wits to attempt a rather lame defense of her actions the night before. At her side a hovered a rather edgy looking Ambianca, eyes not quite managing to stare Jemmiah in the face with the same shamelessness perfected by her master. The pair of them had crawled back to their apartment slightly the worse for ware at some ridiculous hour in the morning, although Jemmiah hadn't been awake to hear it, for she'd long since passed out through lack of clean air. It was only when Ambianca had reminded Sal-Fina that they'd better be careful so as not to waken their sleeping houseguest that Sal-Fina actually remembered she'd left the girl locked inside the cupboard… "I nearly suffocated!" Jemmy spluttered, taking deep breaths of much longed for fresh air. "You're being overdramatic." Sal-Fina replied dismissively, trying to push to one side the image of the semi-conscious girl lying slumped against the cupboard wall. "Look at you: a few big breaths and you're fully revived." "No thanks to you!" Jemmiah snapped at her. "The air was stale in there!" "You were in no danger." Refuted Sal-Fina adamantly. "That's why you threw a bucket of cold water over my head?" Demanded Jemmy, droplets still hanging from the strands of her fringe. Starved, near asphyxiated and soaked?!? What was the woman trying to do? "Another few hours and I'd have been dead! And then Master Jinn would have performed keyhole surgery on you with his lightsabre!" "I'm not afraid of him." Sal-Fina rejoined, her clipped voice containing a confidence she didn't really feel. The truth was that when she'd opened the door she'd been given a real shock, not so much through any concern for the girl but more what would happen as a result of her actions. Oh, she'd been fortunate to have come back when she had otherwise things might have been very different…dismissed from the order no doubt, her padawan given to somebody else. Qui-Gon would have had her prosecuted into the bargain - for no matter how much Sal-Fina wished she could have lied her way out of such a situation, what was left of her conscience would not have permitted it and she would have been forced to go to the council and admit her guilt. "He'd take his sabre and stab you so full of holes you could be used as a vegetable drainer!" Jemmy ground her teeth together, frustrated. It was pointless arguing with the old witch; she'd never admit that she'd been wrong. "It’s a good thing I don't have school today!" Jemmiah felt her limbs trembling, twisted for so long into positions totally unnatural to them. "I'd like to have seen you explain that one away to my teachers. 'Oh, I'm sorry - Jemmiah can't come in today because she's half-dead!" She placed her hands on her hips, so outraged that it was difficult to find the right words to sum up how she was feeling. No, there were no suitable words! But now was the time to make known to Sal-Fina where she stood because her mistake had left the miserable old Rancor wide open to attack. It was an advantage that Jemmiah intended to make the most of. "I'm going to bed!" Jemmiah growled, challenging the pair of them to say otherwise. "I think after fifteen hours shut in a cupboard I'm entitled to do what I want without being shoved about, ordered around or locked out. And I'm warning you both," she paused to make sure she had their full attention, affecting her most grown up sounding voice, "when you are stuck in a situation like that you have a LOT of time to think up means of revenge." Jemmiah willed her heavy legs over in the direction of the fresher room. There were some things that had to take priority over sleep, but she found enough time to turn around and leave her captors with one last thought for the day. "You'd both better watch your backs, coz I have a lonnnnnnnnnng memory!" As good as her word, Jemmiah did not rise for several hours that day. By the time she finally ventured out of the spare bedroom it was fast approaching what was considered to be the core lunch hours for the jedi padawans, who no doubt would be down in the food halls tucking into their meals with typical lack of enthusiasm. The food at the temple, whilst highly nutritious and full of all the healthy stuff needed to keep a force sensitive body ticking along, sometimes seemed to have no real identity at all. Force knew what went into the stuff: she sometimes wondered if the cooks did… Whilst the apprentices were reduced to playing 'guess that dish', Jemmy had helped herself - unchallenged - to Sal-Fina's best and rather expensive petal fruit, eyeing the woman as she did and daring her to go ahead and rebuke her. Just as the girl had predicted, neither Ambianca nor Sal-Fina ventured to say anything: it wasn't as if they could! Oh, Jemmiah was sooooo going to enjoy eking this one out! A closer inspection of Sal-Fina's face revealed distinct traces of fatigue and exhaustion: so much the better! And Ambianca, although nowhere near as weary-looking as her master, remained silent and somewhat subdued, spending most of her time focusing on the floor rather than on the meditation exercise Sal-Fina had given her. Just for good measure, Jemmiah stole another petal fruit and provocatively rubbed it up and down against the side of her bright pink jumpsuit so as to get a really good shine on it - and attract Sal-Fina's attention as well. "I'm going out for a bit." Jemmiah slung her bag over her shoulder, carrying her belongings with her just to make sure Sal-Fina couldn't get her hands on all her precious things. "You don't mind, so you?" It was said in such a way that it left Sal-Fina in no doubt Jemmiah didn't care at all whether she did mind or not. As her headache-combating relaxation technique hadn't fully kicked in she wasn't about to say anything that might result in the mild thump within her skull becoming a fully-fledged drum beat! So much the better if they were not under each other's feet, anyway. That way Sal-Fina might stand a better chance of putting the cupboard fiasco behind her without having the obligatory accusations thrown in her face every five minutes. "Please yourself." Sal-Fina shrugged, not especially bothered. "Good." Jemmiah took a deliberately loud bite out of the fruit, crunching as maliciously as she could. "I intend to." She knew exactly where she was headed, too. Possibly it was just as well that Sal-Fina was too hungover to give her a quizzing because had she known what Jemmiah had planned there was every chance the Corellian would have ended up back in the cupboard… "No," the young padawan was shaking his head adamantly, "It's got meat in it somewhere…I distinctly saw a piece of what looked like Tooni Fowl in there…look!" He held the object of speculation out on his three-pronged fork. "See? Doesn't that look like Tooni to you?" Another two padawans leaned in closer for a further inspection, wrinkling their noses in disgust. "Everything looks like Tooni Fowl," the youngest of the two replied, his tapir-like snout curling somewhat distastefully, "even the slop they call porridge looks like Tooni Fowl. Kest, even the papyri flans look like Tooni Fowl!" "I've got a Kort raisin in mine." The third answered, raking around in amongst the rice with the business end of his knife before adding hopefully; "I think." The first padawan sighed and let his fork fall back into the mush of grains and sweet/sour sauce. Eating should be a thing of pleasure, not an adventure! Temple mealtimes at the refectory was proving to be a very hazardous experience, and it was not without cynicism that he noticed the distinct lack of masters sitting at the food hall tables. Obviously they had common sense…not to mention a choice! Every time he took a mouthful of the stuff masquerading as nourishment it became more and more of a struggle to chew…although remaining not entirely certain he wanted to anyway. It helped, the padawan thought morosely, if you knew what it was you were attempting to eat. There was an alarming rumor to the affect that in order to save on expense, the council had ordered all scraps and leftovers to be recycled and made into some kind of 'special' dish served to the padawans at the weekend! He'd never given the idea much credence until that moment, but right then and there it seemed a shocking possibility. "I'll give one hundred credits to the person who can tell me what THIS is." He shuddered; fishing out a black, unidentifiable squiggly thing in the shape of a flatworm and letting it dangle limply from his cutlery. "Why does it resemble somebody's bootlace?" The two other padawans pushed their plates away in perfect unison, having totally lost their appetites. "Well," the first sighed, "I guess we had to have a lesson in surviving bacteriological warfare at some point…" "Excuse me." A polite little voice said behind the padawan's back. The young man turned around, surprised to find himself staring back into the face of a much smaller individual; that of a girl of some indeterminate age, dressed in the most garish shade of pink he could remember seeing this side of a neon Coruscant walkway sign. The color almost hurt his eyes to look at it! This was decidedly no initiate - not unless the crèche masters had taken leave of their senses and were allowing the younglings to walk around dressed like candyfloss! No - not an initiate…not even a jedi of any description… Then it clicked. The Corellian girl living with Kenobi! "That," the braid-bedecked boy said as he pointed to her jumpsuit, "is bright!" The other two padawans snickered to themselves as the girl in question folded her arms and stared the first boy down. "You have a problem with that?" She asked flatly. He regarded her in silence for a moment, trying to form an opinion. "Not in the least." He smiled a rather roguish smile. "If you want to go around looking like a papyri fruit on legs then that's hardly any of my business, is it?" "That's right." Jemmiah glowered back at him. "It isn't." The padawan sat back in his chair, allowing Jemmiah to get a proper look at him. He was a well made yet still wiry looking young man of about fifteen years of age, with a lightly golden, tanned complexion. The hair was a similarly bronzed color, although Jemmiah reckoned that without the standard padawan cut his hair might well be considerably lighter in shade. Grey, dark-rimmed eyes continued to seize her up without any malice or pre-judgement, the skin creased slightly at the corners with wry amusement. Everything about the padawan seemed to be a potential source of laughter; just as Obi-Wan had said, not typical of the serious jedi expressions so often seen about the temple. It was a face that Jemmiah thought she could - possibly - grow to like. "You're…don't tell me!" The padawan attempted to silence the girl before she got to say anything further, making a protracted show of wracking his brains for the illusive information. She watched him, intrigued by the lively, expressive face. Yes, she could see why Obi-Wan liked him! He was so…different! The padawan finally ended the charade with a click of his fingers. "You're Jemmiah." He grinned at her, much pleased with his answer. "Aren't you? The one bunking in with Obi-Wan!" "You make me sound like his girlfriend." Jemmiah snorted back at him. "Now that I'd like to see!" Just when Jemmiah thought his grin couldn't get any bigger it grew to proportions where she thought it might engulf his whole face: leaving just a huge big grin sitting in empty space. "But I fear we are getting into the realms of fantasy. The chances of Master Jinn ever letting his padawan look at a female until he hits the age of seventy are remote." "Unlike you?" Jemmy asked sweetly, wondering where the smalltalk was getting her. The two padawans to the padawan's side tittered once again, and this time he conceded defeat. "My name's Menali-Jay." He held out his hand stoutly, giving Jemmiah the impression he viewed this as some kind of rarely bestowed privilege. "You can call me Jay." Jemmiah accepted the handshake with an ironic arch of her eyebrow. "I know who you are. I came here to speak with you." She pulled up the spare chair next to him, not bothering to ask if the seat were reserved for another padawan or not. It did seem unlikely: none of the other padawans seemed to be lingering for long in the refectory, and Jemmiah began to wonder whether or not it had something to do with the legendary awfulness of the food. Certainly the plates, piled with a mountain of sludge the like she had never seen before, seemed to be missing only a few mouthfuls. "I need your help." Jay Abran blinked. "I'm astounded," he commented casually, "but I'm all ears." "I've heard Ben - that is to say Obi-Wan - talk about you. He said that you had the most amazing line of practical jokes ever, and there wasn't a single person you weren't afraid to target." Well, she had made that last bit up but if elaborating Obi-Wan's words got Abran on her side then she wasn't afraid to resort to a little basic flattery. And, judging by the pleased expression on the boy's face it seemed to have worked. Was it possible for anyone to look so smug? Normally Jemmiah would have regarded that kind of insufferable, self-important person as someone who needed a good smack in the face with a brick…but there was something about this Jay Abran that she just, well, liked! She didn't know what it was about the braggart… Jay swelled visibly with delight. "It's nice of him to say so." Jay nodded perhaps a touch boastfully. "I have pulled off one or two rather spectacular stunts. You know, it's nice to extend ones repertoire now and again. Helps keep the mind sharp." "Obi-Wan pointed you out to me when he first took me on a tour of the temple. I don't suppose you remember?" She asked, not imagining for a moment that he did. Why should he? It wasn't as if he'd spoken to her since. "I guess that thing about the pranks stuck in my head because I can't really remember anyone else he mentioned that day." Jay pulled a dumbstruck face. "How long have you been here for?" He asked curiously, a frown creasing his golden brow. "It must be months, surely? And you don't know anyone?" She stared at the stringy item wrapped around Jay's fork. "No." she replied. "How come?" "Because nobody speaks to me!" Jemmiah pouted, picking up Jay's knife and tracing patterns in the mush on his cast-aside plate. "I don't know anybody in here, not really. One or two perhaps, but that's all." Jay actually looked galled. "But that's terrible." He looked across at his partners in crime, who appeared similarly nonplussed. "Nobody's said hello or anything? In all that time?" Jemmiah shrugged. "Don't suppose it matters." "Yes it does." Abran stood up, clearing his throat. "So, maybe you'll allow me to make the introductions? All that time here," he screwed up his face, "and you don't know anyone? Sheesh…okay. This ugly fellow opposite," he waved his fork at the grey-skinned Pethiar, "Is Shem-Ti Leman." The tapir creature waved his flexible nose in a gesture Jemmy took for some kind of elaborate welcome. "He's a good friend…only don't stand anywhere near him when he sneezes." Jay shot the padawan a scathing look. "I was washing pure acid out of my scalp for hours…" "Very amusing." The tapir replied, raising his nose threateningly. "And this," Jay waved in the direction of the humanoid looking padawan with the beguiling long lashes, "is Amu-Ned Sequedes." "Ned." Supplied the padawan, batting the beautiful lashes at Jemmiah, causing her to blush slightly. "That's what everyone calls me." Jemmiah marvelled at the pretty, almost feminine face. She would have killed to have that kind of fragile beauty! Clearly some kind of half-breed, Ned Sequedes resembled a Mirialan like Luminara Unduli, save that he appeared not to have any markings on his skin, but was in essence as human as any Corellian she could think of. Maybe he was possibly too beautiful, but Jemmy found herself gazing somewhat rapturously on those high-cheek bones. The last person she'd seen with such perfect bone structure, she thought a touch enviously, had been her own mother… "Pleased to meet you both." Jemmiah smiled hesitantly back at them, following after the beckoning Jay Abran. Well, they seemed pretty okay! Especially Jay - he seemed extremely friendly! In the corner of the room she could make out a few faces she recognized apparently having similar disagreements over their afternoon meals to the one that her newfound acquaintances had indulged in prior to her introduction. Was that Simeon lurking in the dark, talking to Dimallie Melbra, his fellow padawan healer? Things must be bad at the infirmary if they'd gone willingly to eat at the refectory! "This is Zac V'Aladee." Jay laughed as he introduced a padawan of around Obi-Wan's age to Jemmiah, who instantly bowed low and courteously before the increasingly flustered Corellian. "You may have met him already?" "Enchanted, ma'am." Beamed Zac after straightening up. He possessed a strong, masculine looking face, the total antithesis of Ned Sequedes, with a jawline that promised to be strong without being clichédly square. Jemmiah had seen Zac a good few times in passing, usually in the company of Obi-Wan, but had never spoken to him before. Suddenly she found herself rather overawed by all the attention. "Best fighter of our age group." Jay conceded a trace reluctantly. "Except for that fellow over there…see him? Jodi Mullicar…" "That's me!" Waved back the delightfully Corellian-accented Mullicar from the distance. "Don't listen to him! Whatever he said it's a lie!" "I said you were the best fighter in the temple." Jay all but stuck out his tongue, clearly enjoying the banter. "Okay - listen to him." Grinned the ridiculously white toothed Jodi, running a hand through his sandy hair. "You might as well be an exception: nobody else does!" "You want to make a friend of Jodi, offer to take him on at Sabaac." The dark-haired Zac clapped Jemmy lightly on the shoulder. "You want to make a friend of me; tell me how good my poetry is!" "I've heard about your poetry." Jemmiah fixed him with a knowing look. "Obi-Wan says it's unique. He says that," she tried to recollect the exact words and vocal inflections of her much-missed friend, "the use of words and rhyming couplets in conjunction with the distinct phraseology and devastating lack of any common structure known galaxy wide to man nor beast has to be heard to be believed." "What does that mean?" Zac frowned. "It means it stinks." Jay translated. "Fair enough." Jay pointed over to the furthest away table. "Simeon Cates. Grade one goofball, knockabout clown, doesn't know one end of a thermometer from another. Good for a laugh, nice person to know…just don't ask to see his trick with the toes: it would set a Rancor running into the distance." "I've seen it." Jemmiah nodded enthusiastically. "I thought it was kinda neat." Jay's grin became fixed. "Oh, dear - we've got a right lunatic here." He said, hardly moving his lips. "The girl with the brown hair is…" "Dimallie." Jemmy supplied instantly. "Yeah, we've met a few times. I think the first time we met she spilled hot stim-tea all over me." "Knowing Dimallie, that's getting off lightly." Countered Abran cheekily, waving over at Simeon. "The Mon Cal sitting to one side of them is Bant. You'll have met her," Jay's eyes wandered around the room, picking out likely candidates for introduction. "Fair haired girl over there is Jasmyn Perris, do you see her? Good at acrobatics and the like. Over there we have Letina Sorrel and Sybelle Bethane…and sitting on his own, looking like he's about to be violently sick with food poisoning," Abran pointed, "is Brinkley Hamin." Something in Jay's eyes seemed to give away the fact that he didn't seem to care very much for this Brinkley character and that instantly tweaked Jemmiah's interest. He seemed to have a pleasant enough face but one that seemed perpetually sullen…possibly even annoyed. Interesting, Jemmiah mused, making a note to quiz Obi-Wan about him on his return. As one by one the padawans stepped forward to make Jemmiah's acquaintance, some genuinely enthusiastic, some curious, some polite but reserved, the only one who seemed to sit there alone was Brinkley Hamin. Arrogant, wondered Jemmiah? Too good to mix with a non-jedi? Or perhaps he was just shy? His stillness and lack of concern intrigued her. There were certainly some interesting characters around and no mistake! "Tanni you'll already know, but he's not here anyway." Jay was ticking the padawans off on his fingers. "That one over there is Reeft. Give him some food and he'll be your friend for life!" Reeft, the only one who actually seemed to be enjoying the temple food - and was busy scraping everyone else's plates - did his best impression of a full-cheeked Corellian sand hamster and smiled at her so widely that Jemmiah expected the food to explode out of his ears and nose! "Affaran Fasilaze here," Jay ushered forth a blue-skinned, athletic looking Twi'lek, is padawan to Master Felse, our favorite sabre instructor. I say this even although the man is a sadistic maniac whose ambition in life is to see how many padawans he can chop to bits in the course of training us all." "Hey!" The female Twi'lek scolded Jay roundly. "I'll get him to give you the next Kata! Then you'll be sorry!" "I'm sorry, I should really have said how much we love Master Felse." Corrected Jay swiftly. "That's better!" During the course of the next five minutes Abran, force bless him, had introduced her to virtually everybody in the room. Whereas her problem before had been a distinct lack of friends, Jemmiah now found herself reeling. Certain people seemed more friendly than others, especially Jay's large circle of friends, and were now openly coming over to speak to her of their own free will…such a change from before! Now at least she knew that there would be no problem approaching them, even if she did feel slightly in awe of the jedi in general. The padawans had not yet learned the aloof ways of their masters, even if they did have that in-built dignity and naturally placid temperament. Except for Jay: he seemed a loose canon and a law unto himself. A bit like Master Berlingside in that respect, only more pompous! Jemmiah really, really liked him. "So," he took her to one side after the introductions were made, ignoring the sullen glare aimed his way by Brinkley Hamin, "this practical joke…might I enquire who is to be the recipient?" "Why?" demanded Jemmy. "Does it matter?" "It does. Otherwise I won't be able to tailor it to meet the individual. Come on, you can trust me," Jay grinned at her crookedly, "after all, I'm helping you out here." Jemmiah conceded the point. "Sal-Fina and Ambianca." She replied, watching Jay's eyes light up with ill-disguised glee. "They've had it in for me ever since I moved in with them, and last night…well, let's say they did something I found seriously distressing." She waved away his questions, signaling he was not going to get an answer of any kind. "So, I want to get them back. Whaddayathink?" "I think you aim high for a beginner!" Jay was suitably impressed, looking at her with fresh eyes. "But I like it! And I have just the thing…something that'll catch them off guard completely - and they'll not be able to trace it back to either of us as long as you dispose of the packaging, okay?" Jemmy nodded, excited at being part of a jedi conspiracy. It wasn't like anyone would mind: there didn't seem to be a living soul in the temple who actually liked Sal-Fina anyway. And it would serve her right…scabby old reptile! "Meet me by the waterfall in the gardens in half an hour. I'll fetch the required items." Jay smiled mysteriously, offering her a boyish wink. "Trust me - this is going to be good!" Jemmiah could barely contain her delight. Why, this was the best day since she'd moved in with Master Jinn and Obi-Wan! Everyone was being nice to her; Jay was a total scream…and best of all she'd soon sort Sal-Fina and her fluff brained padawan out once and for all. What had started off as the most horrific morning in recent history had turned itself around and become utterly fantastic! "Thanks," she called after Jay as he marched briskly towards the door. "Oh, and Jay?" "Yeah?" "The reason that thing in your food looked like a bootlace was because it was a bootlace." She snickered, tossing back her chestnut hair from her face. "So it looks like you owe me 100 credits…" |
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