[center][img]https://i.imgur.com/pw06x3e.png[/img][/center] [hr] [color=60b6bf][h3]Tybren | Mandalore | Keldabe, Administrative District[/h3][/color] [hr] [color=60b6bf][i]"Staabi!"[/i][/color] [color=60b6bf][i][b]"Payt!!"[/b][/i][/color] The forest of upturned lightsaber blades moved in time to his bellowed commands. [color=60b6bf][i][b]"Laa-MYC!"[/b][/i][/color] His young charges brought their sabers up in a high guard and held that position, most grasping the silvery hilts as warily as if they were handling a live, spitting rawl. Tybren of Clan Kelborn slowly circled the group of around twenty young Jedi, making note of who held to the form and who began to waver. He darted in and out between them, here using his boot to widen the planted feet of a Togruta with stubby montrals and there gently but firmly rotating the shoulders of a Rodian that barely came up to the shoulders of the next shortest of her peers. At one point, noticing a more immediate problem, Tybren's arm flashed out, his beskar-clad arm catching a student's glowing blade as it dipped precariously out of guard position towards the elbow of the next one in line. He flashed that one a particularly frosty look. [color=60b6bf]"A properly prepared defense can save your life. A shoddy one can snuff it out."[/color] His Jedi colleagues would call these Padawans, but most barely looked it. They had only been allowed to construct lightsabers a week or so back, and it was a wonder that they hadn't killed themselves with the things a dozen times already. Tybren called them cubs; strip away the pomp and ceremony, the precious Jedi mysticism, and that's what they were. He was damn proud of them. Most had already mastered the basics. Positioning, posture, attention. The little incident with the attempted arm amputation had drawn the looks of the two cubs that were involved, but the rest continued staring forward, eyes boring into the imaginary enemy in front of them. They may have just been Jedi cubs now, but he [i]would[/i] make Mandalorians out of them. He waded his way out from amidst his students and began to circle around to the front of the room, where a wide transparisteel viewport ran from one edge of the wall to the other, providing an excellent view of Keldabe's central Administrative District. Wide lanes of beautifully paved streets carved through thickets of glimmering metal cityscape. Far down below the tower of the city's Jedi Embassy, the ever-growing crowds continued to fill the avenues in anticipation of the Founding Day festivities. As Tybren approached his customary place in front of the viewport, another cub on the edge of the group caught his eye. Seemingly staring forward like the rest, the young human boy was, in actuality, craning his neck to take in the sights of the celebration below. As he passed, Tybren hooked the tip of his boot behind both of the boy's rather regrettably closely-planted feet, and swept forward at a low angle. At the same time, he folded his hand over the smaller one gripping the active lightsaber, thumbed the activation switch, and neatly plucked the wilting blade from the cub's grasp. He turned to face the daydreamer just as he landed with a startled cry, harmlessly coming to rest on his cloth-swaddled backside. Tybren rapped the pommel of the deactivated lightsaber against the back of his gauntlet as he looked deeply into the slightly watery eyes, the sharp ping of the sound ringing across the classroom. The other cubs could no longer resist the temptation to look. He could hear the whisper of their robes as they shifted to gaze at their fellow student on the ground, his ears and neck beginning to turn crimson. [color=60b6bf]"Distraction invites catastrophe."[/color] After holding his gaze towards the cub evenly for a few heartbeats, Tybren bent down, offering a hand to help him back to his feet. He valiantly attempted to ignore the dull ache that spread through his own knees as he did so. A slow smile blossomed on Tybren's face as he saw the firm set to his young charge's jaw, the fire brimming in those eyes that had been barely squeezing away tears just a few seconds ago. This one would not make the same mistake again. He ruffled the young one's hair before resuming his walk up to the front of the room. Some of the wordless tension that filled the space bled away almost immediately, and the cubs resumed their focus as he turned back to face the whole lot of them. He gave the command to drop, and immediately most deactivated their sabers, shaking the strain and soreness out of their muscles. Small whispers of anticipation began to fill the previously silent classroom. Tybren fell into a military parade rest, hands behind his back. [color=60b6bf]"As I'm sure all of you know, the celebrations for Founding Day begin today."[/color] The whispers grew in volume. Some of the cubs at the back began to visibly squirm in excitement. [color=60b6bf]"Beings of all kinds, from all over the Galaxy, have come to see the sights of our city. To get a taste of our way of life. Down there are countless wonders to go out and see and feel and taste. So. Of course..."[/color] He was pretty sure some were holding their breath. [color=60b6bf]"You're all to report immediately to your Masters for additional duties."[/color] Immediate gasps and noises of despair. [color=60b6bf]"If your Masters decide it's okay to turn you loose on the city after that, then be my guest. But that's not my responsibility. Dismissed." [/color] He couldn't hold in the amused chuckle any longer as the murmuring students filed out of the three doors at the back of the classroom, soon to be off running in a hundred different directions to track down their Masters for chores, or meditation, or some other Jedi nonsense. In another week they'd be back here again to try their hand at real sparring for the first time. He would be wearing more armor than just gauntlets for that one. As their footfalls slowly faded away, so did his mirth. He turned to look down at the city again with a heavy sigh. In a handful of hours, he would no doubt be called up to stand with his Jedi fellows as diplomats from the other Galactic powers blathered at each other at length for the better part of the day. He turned away from the viewport, rolling stiff shoulders as he set out towards his quarters. Might as well make something of his freedom while he had it. [hr] Now clad head to toe in his beskar, Tybren carefully picked his way through familiar streets teeming with strangers. A trio of Quarren busily marched past, taking up most of the lane and bowling over a few other passersby as they headed back towards the spaceport for some unknown purpose. He noted with some amusement that their reckless pace suddenly became quite accommodating whenever they stopped to give a wide berth to any other armored Mandalorians that happened to be making their way through the crowds. Clones in their customary white armor stood back near the walls, keeping the peace and directing the noticeably confused offworlders around. As he made his way further away from the heart of the city towards the more mercantile outer steads, Tybren scanned the glowing signs to see if anything pricked the interest of his rumbling stomach. A sudden realization and a spark of familiarity brought him closer to one of the signs. Yes, he could see it now - a pulsing yellow and pink amalgamation with half of the letters missing. A walk-up ordering station was cut into the side of the building facing the street, with a massive gray-furred Gotal hanging halfway over the counter, shouting descriptions of food and accompanying prices in the direction of the passersby. [color=60b6bf]"Happy Founding Day, Jesca. Scare away any good customers today?"[/color] The Gotal paused mid-shout, doing a double take at the armed Mandalorian that had somehow snuck up on him in the middle of a line of customers. "What - I - well, if it ain't the Politician himself!! Tybren, my friend! What brings ya all the way down here to see us little folk? Good ta see ya, of course." Jesca wiped his grease-stained forearms on his apron and placed a massive, taloned hand on Tybren's shoulder for a moment. It had been months... maybe even years since he'd been at this counter, but the shaggy restaurateur somehow never managed to forget a face, or a good turn. [color=60b6bf]"Needed some fresh air. Figured I'd come see if you'd gotten run out of town yet."[/color] Tybren popped the seal on his helmet and swept it off, putting it under his arm as he reached the front of the counter. "Despite my best efforts, no!" Jesca leaned in conspiratorially, which made little different as his voice stayed the same volume. "My prices haven't gone up in ten years! I keep cookin', they keep buyin'." He popped back up and clapped his hands together. "So! What can I get ya?" [color=60b6bf]"Whatever you have on special for the day."[/color] Tybren waved a hand dismissively, suddenly too tired for that particular problem. [color=60b6bf]"I'm not picky."[/color] "Yeah? Well, be wary what you ask for, heh." The Gotal whirled around at that, thick arms scooping up a bowl, shaking, and then whisking in a lightning quick, well-practiced motion. After only a minute or two, a greasy bowl filled with cyan-colored noodles swimming in a much murkier blue broth thudded into the counter in front of the Mandalorian. "There we go! Got plenty of your precious Mando spices in that one. That'll be five credits." Tybren nodded and dropped the requested amount on the counter, where it was quickly scooped up by the massive furred hand. An awkward moment lingered. The Gotal seemed about to say something more, his wide smile faltering somewhat as memories of darker times, an unhappy meeting of two souls escaping different burning worlds, might have flickered between them. Tybren turned to glance at the waiting customers behind him, and when he looked back, the moment had passed, the Gotal's amiable face the same as it had ever been. [color=60b6bf]"...well, I'll see you around, Jes. Take care. Watch out for the health inspector!"[/color] Tybren scooped up his food and helmet and cut through the crowd away from the counter, as if dodging Jesca's answering taunts. Miraculously, he found a bench with an open spot. He squeezed his way there and sat down, the strangers on the other end making way a bit for the armed and armored Mandalorian that was suddenly encroaching on their space. Lifting a heaping spoonful of noodles to his mouth as he looked around, Tybren took an exploratory bite. And immediately fought the urge to choke. Spicy. Even for him. He looked down, carefully inspecting the murky broth. A close look confirmed the presence of massive amounts of spice, dark grains swirling amidst the noodles in enough quantity to make a Gamorrean's eyes water. His head snapped up to the restaurant counter, where he caught the Gotal studying him over the passing heads of the crowd. The furred face suddenly tipped back in raucous laughter. Grunting in toothless frustration, Tybren threw out the rudest gesture he could think of at the moment in that direction, then resigned himself to eating the stuff, bite by bite.