Kita paused outside the door of the Jawa's room and tossed a skin-pouch at him, "Spend it wisely; it's your pay for keeping the Younglings safe, and for sticking around." She didn't stay and wait for Tog to react; she glanced at her bare hand, the palm covered in notes to what she'd have to do before they left. Whenever that would be. It's going to kill me when I do this.
"Hey," she called to what must have been a Padawan. He turned, his green eyes large. "I'm not gonna hurt you. I just need to find out where. . ." she paused and glanced back at her palm. "Master Darius is. I'll pay you." The Padawan shook his head and made a no gesture with his hands. Kita growled in annoyance as she watched him run off.
"Mandalore's helm, we're not that violent."
"I'd lose the helmet," intoned a man's voice from above her. She looked up into the gnarled trees to see a light-robed Jedi sitting in the crook of a branch. "Good to see you're alive, Kita."
"Can't say the same, Master Darius." she stood looking up at him as if her hands were in her pockets and he were a piece of artwork. "Look, Ursula's--" The crazy Master hung upside down on the branch, and began to whistle. "I don't have time for this, Master."
"You haven't called me that in a long time, Kita," the Master took a look of ponderance on his dark face. "Ursula has fallen, and you need someone to raise the Younglings because you believe you cannot, am I right?"
Kita inhaled deeply and began to count to ten, she ran her hand over the top of her helmet. "You know you are, Master Darius. I haven't the time to play your games."
The Master Jedi looked hurt, "You used to love playing games--" Kita's fuse was running short. "I mean it's not everyday that a former student comes back to visit their teacher."
"Master, I'm sorry, but we're running short on time. I need to know that the Younglings will be safe while I'm-- we're at war." Master Darius jumped down from the tree, all planes of his face were serious now, his childish antics forgoten.
"I see that at some of my teachings found their way into your thick, Mandalorian skull." The wire-thin man reached up and rapted harshly on her helmet, making her wince from the vibrations that rattled her teeth. He took his cane from the base of the tree and motioned Kita to follow him. The last time they'd taken a walk, she'd been wearing the robes of a Padawan-learner; the Council was never one to let a resource go to waste.
"TenRe and Rilk walk down a path as Master and Learner, do they not? And that child, Garrison, he's become a son, correct? Yes, yes, yes, you are still so very easy to read." He paused beneath the open sky, ears pricked to the sound of yapping Kath-hounds, "That Jawa is a funny one, how the children love him. I do not think it wise to seperate them from their raiser. . . and I know how we and they distrust the Council, what to do, what to do?"
"You're not making any sense, Master Darius." Kita stood beside him, although she saw the same sky, she saw it through different eyes. She saw a battle raging above its surface, destroying those she'd become attatched to. She blinked and turned to her Master, who had hobbled farther down the path.
"It makes no sense that they kept you around, Kita, but I am glad they did. However there is this problem of the Younglings, who to raise them? You believe you cannot, and you believe a lie. You travel with three Jedi-- one an ex-Sith, shame only we sane will ever trust him again-- and that Jawa, who is just as normal as a Rancor in a Twi'lek's dancer-suit. You and Tog can teach the children how to fight with their bodies, and the Jedi with their minds." He tapped the cane twice on the ground, "I have come to my conclusion," he annonced to the world.
"And they are, Master?" Kita sighed, slightly embarassed.
"You shall keep the children, raise them with those who travel with you-- and I shall join this little trapize-group too, sounds like fun. I will talk to the Council, they wouldn't dare argue with me!" he left her, whistling that stupid tune again, heading off towards the Council.
"No person would be crazy enough to, Master Darius."
They say that dreamers are an extinct breed. I say they're wrong.