Youngling: The adventure continues!

In this harrowing episode, the intrepid adventuring adventurer had bravely dared the Ventilation Shafts of Mortes, the narrow bridges of Maintenance Walk, and recovered the Sacred Relic of Gortorgophlez from out of the Caverns of Portune. Note that the [i]Sacred Relic of Gortorgophlez[/i] may have closely resembled a broken laser sight lens from off of a DC-15S and the [i]Caverns of Portune[/i] may have more closely resembled the private quarters on board the clone commando drop ship. 

Having transitioned from out of the lightsaber workout to exploring the ship again, the young Nautolan now found himself in the ship's galley. Small hands plied at the controls to the autochef as the youngling looked over a menu that, while small, still presented him with more freedom and choice than he had ever known in the Jedi Temple.

How did people decide what they wanted without being told?

There were, of course, perfectly nutritionally functional ration packs lying around... but the autochef represented a kind of [b]rebellion[/b] from logic or functionality. He could order something that [i]wasn't[/i] a ration pack. It was an invitation to be different for a youngling who had spent his entire childhood training to be just like all the Jedi kids around him. To meditate on command, on demand, and in harmony. To practice his Soresu on command, on demand, and in harmony. To use the Force on command, on demand, and in harmony.

Unity and harmony were really nice words. And they really, really [b]sucked[/b] when one wasn't as good, or better, as everyone else. Zak always felt like he was behind all of the others in the meditation classes, or that he was having to wait for everyone to catch up to him in the Soresu lessons.

But to be able to order from an autochef? Not to have to wait for everyone to get their food, and make certain everything was fairly distributed or shared or no one ate before any other youngling... To be able to pick what [i]he[/i] wanted to eat. And when he wanted to eat.

It was the most un-Jedi thing he'd come across since they'd left the Temple.

He had a meat-filled pastry stuck in his mouth, a handful of algae fritters in his hand, and was wiping a greasy palm on the front of his tunic as he emerged back into the communal hangar bay. The sight of the myriad of Jedi dressed as... well, regular people... took him for surprise in how very different the same people could look outside of their Jedi robes. Hoping back on top of a crate, the moss green youth started munching away at the meaty pastry. His short legs absently swung back and forth, as dark eyes surveyed the assembly that was preparing to depart.

Nar Shadda didn't sound like all that scary of a place to him. He'd just walked out of a whole planet of clones that had been shooting at him. If some sleemo blaster-brain thought he was going to come after the Jedi, Zak would be ready to take him down!

Well, not really.

Zak only knew Soresu. So he really couldn't take people down. But he could deflect blaster bolts until they were so tired of shooting at him that they'd fall over in exhaustion. Or something.

Okay, not that cool at all. Still, Nar Shadda didn't seem like all that scary of a place to him.