and also techbuilt bc reasons : shield
Send “Shield” for my muse’s reaction to yours placing themselves between my muse and danger. || Accepting
Send “sword” for my muse to put themselves between your muse and danger. || Accepting
He hated politics. Always had; he supposed he got that from his master. But, this was important. Vitally so, in fact.
A Jedi’s duty was to defend those who needed them, regardless of personal comfort. And, besides, this was better than battlefields. At least the only volleys thrown here were verbal. … Mostly. He sighed, wiped a hand down his face. This was exhausting. He closed his eyes for one step, two, then opened them again and straightened his posture. This was a mission, same as any other. A Jedi’s duty was to protect. And so, protect he would. He adjusted the bundle of datapads in his arms. When he got home, if he had a chance, he’d like to stop by the archives - Perhaps Madame Jocasta could help him locate some more Sentient Rights cases he could reference. If anyone could find them - or someone who knew about them - it’d be her. He glanced over his shoulder, and returned Senator Gestahl’s friendly smile and nod before setting off. It was nice, having people in his corner. In all of them, in fact. He wove his way through the traffic in the halls. It was strange - this building was large, but it still felt so cramped in comparison to the temple.
He was still walking, looking out a window to the city beyond, when a voice stopped him.
“Ah,” the word was drawn out. Each syllable creaked and groaned like an ancient ship. The presence left a taste of salt in his mouth, cold and faintly tinged with green, metallic and oppressive and damp. It would have been suffocating, had it been especially strong. Torn at the edges. Old. “Just who I was hoping to see.”
“Good morning,” Braig said, turning to face the speaker. An elderly Kaminoan, stooped slightly and dressed in a finery that he hadn’t seen among their people before. “I don’t believe we’ve met.”
“I am Halle Burtoni,” the Kaminoan gave a small facsimile of a bow. It was about as sincere as a gundark’s grin. “The Senator of Kamino.”
Ah.
Braig returned the bow, making sure to keep his hold on his books.
“Padawan Braig of the Jedi Order.” He said, straightening. “Though it sounds like you knew that already.”
“Everyone knows who you are.” She said, waving a hand through the air. The way she said it sounded like a threat.
“I’m flattered.” Braig said. “You said you wanted to see me?”
“I was just wondering,” she began, shuffling closer, “Why you want to run my people out of business.” Braig frowned. He had a feeling this would happen. He’d just hoped it would have happened before he’d spent all day working.
“That’s not why I’m doing this.” Braig straightened his shoulders a bit more, drawing them back. “But, if you must know: The sale of sentient life is a crime. It’s slavery. A Jedi’s duty is to stand against injustice, and that is what I am doing. Your people are brilliant geneticists, medical experts, and scientists all around; I’m sure you’ll make do.” He hated that this was happening in the middle of a hallway. Clearly, that had been intentional; Why? Chances are, she either wanted him to back down or slip up in view of the general assembly. He knew he’d been gaining some traction - and he had to give credit where credit was due, Uncle Aruk’s bribery probably had a hand in that. There was no way some of the people claiming loyalty to the movement gave a preacher’s cuss about the men.
“My people have made leaps and bounds in our research thanks to the clone initiative. Would you have us throw all of our progress away?” She was closer still. Braig decided to hold his ground.
“Of course not,” he tightened his grip on his datapads. “But I’m sure you can find much more ethical ways to advance your studies, to the benefit of all. You are, as I said, quite intelligent.” He wished he could get away with an insult. He was very quickly deciding he did not like Senator Burtoni. This could cause issues. “The men are people. Not lab rats.” His knuckles whitened around the corners of his datapads. Without making it too obvious, he drew a steadying breath through his nose. … It was hard to disguise it though, with how close she was leaning to him. He probably could have spit in her face without moving, given the lack of distance.
(He had to fight against the urge to do so. Proper form and logical debate would win, here; acting out and disgracing the name of the Jedi would accomplish nothing.)
(She still sickened him, though. He thought he might borrow Obi-Wan’s mouthwash when he got home, before visiting the archives.)
“You are awfully young to engage in politics.” Senator Burtoni said, narrowing her eyes. “Aren’t you afraid you speak of things you know nothing about?” Braig snorted softly.
“When you scare me, Senator, I assure you, you’ll be the first to know.”
The Senator’s signature flared. Dark and roiling, a sea ready to pull ships under and drown the crew entire. She leaned in closer still and opened her mouth to speak when a voice cut in.
“Hey, Braig!”
He looked over his shoulder and felt relief melt into his shoulders. He hadn’t been so happy to see a person in quite some time. Burtoni had looked up as well. Her face twisted into a sneer.
“Ah, good afternoon, Senator.” Hora said, placing her hand on Braig’s shoulder as she moved between the two (Forcing Burtoni to straighten, both to make room and look her in the eye). “Hope I’m not interrupting anything.”
“Senator Bex.” The contempt in Burtoni’s voice was mirrored by a sluggish, rotten wave through the Force. Braig grimaced. “Of course not. I was simply- Ensuring our young friend here–”
“I can take over on that front.” Hora said, turning around and nodding for Braig to follow.
“I don’t like her.” Braig said as soon as they had rounded the corner.
“Join the club, we’ve got monogrammed hand towels.” Hora rolled her eyes. “She wasn’t giving you trouble, was she?”
“No.” Braig shook his head, then smiled up at his friend. “Nothing that the two of us can’t handle.”