A Lesson in Responsibility

[Lúka Jibral]

Lúka had to concede, that was a pretty solid comeback. It was certainly deserved, given the air of mystery that Lúka had presented; an air of mystery that was technically more by Force of habit than necessity. After so long with the Inquisitors, being frugal with details had become second nature, each revelation now needing to be carefully and deliberately crafted to seem as if it was done naturally. Even now, self-aware of the unnecessary reluctance, he still had trouble providing clarification: perhaps it was just something about this cell, and this facility, that made Lúka wary of who might be listening in.

In answer to Jensen's question, Lúka did not speak: instead he strode to the doorway, extending out a hand to rest against the duracrete. It was a technique that Lúka had witnessed in his youth, and one that his time at the Black Archives had given him the opportunity to examine close hand. Reaching out with the Force, he followed the pathways between microcracks in the wall, feeling out the conduits that weaved like roots towards the mag locks on the cell door. He felt the pulse within them, electrons drifting through metal like blood cells in a vein; and subtly he began to implore them into a different course, arcing across disengaged switches to trigger the lock with a satisfying thunk. It was not as graceful as when he'd seen others do it, but it got the job done.

"How about now?" he offered casually, turning out into the corridor and offering a polite smile at the startled face of the guard waiting beyond. "I'll be taking the prisoner from here. I'm sure you know where to forward his personal effects."

[Jensen Par'Vizal]

If he managed to live through all this, the first thing Jensen would devote himself to learning was performing that little trick with the door lock. He didn't doubt he couldn't probably make it happen now if he had been properly motivated but it seemed like of those impossibly useful things that he would want to be able to perform without a second thought. He tried to keep his mind from wandering over all the possibilities that various types of locks there were and the possible challenges each would pose, no need to get entirely ahead of himself, after all.

Despite the very real knowledge he may have only escaped the proverbial frying pan to find himself now facing a very unfriendly inferno, the boy couldn't help but offer a satisfied and rather smug smile to the guard as he walked passed the individual in the wake of the one who had freed him from his captivity. He almost considered giving the other guard at the door a mock salute or other needless display, but no, that would just be uncouth at this point. It was pleasant enough to watch the rather annoyed expression they all had that he was no longer in their hold, and wasn't leaving in bracers guarded by several thuggish individuals to be taken some place far less pleasant. Well, at least not that they were aware of and Jensen sincerely hoped not.

"If you don't mind," He spoke with a soft, though not quite hushed tone. Clearly directing it at the man he'd been conversing with and making it clear the words were not for the peons that worked at the prison. "I think I will hold my pledges of gratitude until we arrive at your facility and I find out exactly what I have agreed to."

[Lúka Jibral]

Lúka couldn't resist a smile as he led the way out of the detention center.

"So it's a facility now, not just an ominous hole?"

The Knight was enjoying this perhaps more than he should. The enigma he had constructed had transformed, no longer maintained as matter of secrecy but more as an effort to stretch out the anticipation and perhaps frustration from the newly acquired Cadet candidate. Perhaps it would have been easier to simply state the situation outright. Perhaps explaining that he was an Imperial Knight, and they were headed to the former Jedi Temple would have been just the amount of information that Jensen needed to be satisfied. On the other hand, it could just have easily led to a string of questions that would have dominated the journey from here to there. Lúka preferred the idea of waiting to witness Jensen's spontaneous reaction, and the opportunity to deflect and evade any inquiries that might spring to Par'Vizal's mind.

"Once we get to where we're going," he added eventually, carefully choosing his words to deepen the mystery still further, "Pledges of gratitude will probably be the last thing on your mind."

[Jensen Par'Vizal]

It should have amused him, the fact that despite being born on Coruscant and technically growing up within the confines of Imperial City, Jensen had never found himself within the Federal District. At some level he knew the reasons largely rested with the ever shifting political atmosphere that had been occurring when he was younger, as the Emperor proved the Senate to be an unnecessary and superfluous remnant of the Republic. Still, it had prevented his class in particular from the often spoken of right of passage field trip to the Imperial Executive Building that his sister had spoken so highly of. The highlight, of course, never coming from the former seat of the Senate so much as the passing glimpse that all who attended got of the remnants of the Jedi Temple.

Now, as Jensen viewed the Core of Coruscant from above, he couldn't help but think that it looked much the same as anywhere else on Level 5127. The desire to impress was certainly there, but the boy simply found it... Lacking. This was where history had been made, where epics had been forged, and yet it all seemed so very ordinary. He willed the sentiment to shift as the speeder came to a halt just outside the glorious newly named Imperial Citadel. What once was home to Jedi for ages and the Emperor himself, a place where truly if the walls could speak they would have endless things to say and all them would prove invaluable.

Jensen, however, merely found his head canting to the side as he regarded the building, it's shape, and all the wealth of antiquity and it represented.

"To be perfectly honest," he mused. "I thought it would be..."

A hand circled in front of him, hinging at the wrist as if the circular motion could bring about the right word.

"Larger." He cast a sidelong glance towards the man who had brought him here. "More awe-inspiring at the very least. But this? This just seems... Mediocre."

[Lúka Jibral]

Lúka threw the younger man a sidelong glance, trying to gauge the motivation behind his words. Were they genuine, the opinion of someone so jaded with life on Coruscant that the ground where, poetically speaking, the Republic had been slaughtered held no meaning? Was it an act, a deliberate effort to maintain some sort of mystique or aura by presenting himself as too cool for sites of historical importance? Was it an attempt to antagonise, to test just how much he could get away with in the Imperial Knight's presence?

Whatever the motives, Lúka did not give him the satisfaction of a reaction. Instead, privately and concealed behind a stoic mask and mental walls, he allowed himself to appreciate the significance for the both of them. Knightfall. That was the term that was used to describe the systematic extermination of the Jedi here at the Temple. Not Knights and Masters, of course. Those, for the most part, had been elsewhere in the galaxy, as Commanders and Generals waging war on behalf of the Republic, cut down instead by the troops they trusted and protected with all the ceremony of flipping a switch. No, save for a few tutors and stray others, those who had died here on the last night of the Republic were Padawans, and Younglings. The Jedi Temple was a mass grave upon which the Emperor had planted his throne, and now the Imperial Knights trained Younglings of their own atop the ashes and bones.

Lúka was not naive. There was power in symbols, and his belief in the Force softened the significance of graves and remains. Those Jedi dead were not here, they were everywhere. He had also had his eyes opened by the Empire, enough to understand that the downfall of the Jedi Order was a fate that they had brought upon themselves. But the Padawans, and the Younglings, gave him pause. He had been one of them, surviving through fluke and good fortune as much as anything else. He had known so many of the dead. Good people. Innocent people. Dead, purely because they were part of something that Sheev Palpatine decreed must end. There was no way to know what fate would have befallen the galaxy had he not acted. Had the Jedi Council succeeded in deposing the Supreme Chancellor, what then? How would the galaxy have evolved under the guidance of a Jedi Order who controlled both government and military without oversight or question? The Jedi in him wanted to believe that the light side might have led them all to a purer and better tomorrow, but the realist in him had seen the darkness and corruption in the hearts of the Jedi, and knew better than to be fooled by such naive hopes.

"Do you know what that means?"

His words came as a challenge, calmly, and out of nowhere. He turned a little towards Jensen, curious as much as confrontational.

"Mediocre. Do you actually know the definition of the word, or do you just think it makes you seem educated?"

[Jensen Par'Vizal]

"Medicore, adjective, meaning of ordinary or plain quality, neither good nor bad - merely adequate." Jensen shot back, his voice strangely level but far from merely reciting. "Or did you mistake my meaning towards the moderately alternate definition that further can be used to assess something as inferior or poor?"

He nodded towards the Citadel, a fully under prepared explanation forming that he let loose.

"I'm not an imbecile. I know the history of this place, of the honors and some-speculative horrors that have taken place within it's walls throughout the ages that it has stood. But as someone who has never seen but only heard of it's glories, you'd expect it to be far more demanding of your attention, to be verging on ostentatious - And yes. I know what that word means as well."

Despite the measured tone he had spoken with, the boy could feel that he had been guilty of a small tirade, a tantrum if you would. His expectations had been let down, fantasies that stories and culture had defined within him been shattered. Surely he was allowed a moment to mourn them in his own way? But ah, there it was, the reminder that perhaps to this man this was his home, of a sorts; a point of pride that Jensen didn't deem fit of the imposing nature it demanded upon all those whom looked upon it.

"It's just a building." The final assessment passed from him and Jensen knew it didn't exactly alleviate the case the more thoughtful portion of mind sought to scold him with. "Though I suppose it's hardly to blame for the expected impressiveness that others have demanded upon it. I'm guessing my opinion will change if I'm still allowed to see what lies within?"

[Lúka Jibral]

Lúka weathered the precocious storm calmly, waiting for Jensen to complete his bluster before he spoke.

"Actually, mediocre is closer to 'middling'. Average, as opposed to ordinary. It carries other connotations, certainly, but it's a word that is often misapplied by people who have more interest in seeming like they know what they are talking about, than actually communicating anything of any value."

There was perhaps a slight sting in the tail of those words, but Lúka did not give Jensen's hackles the opportunity to raise in response.

"But no, let's address the word as you have chosen to use it. Look around, and what do you see? Just a building, yes, but clearly not an ordinary one. Structurally, it is entirely different from any other building within view. It is larger, a far simpler geometric shape, and a configuration that skews towards internal volume rather than vertical height. The styling is clearly old, not just in terms of literal age, but in terms of architectural implementation, and materials. In fact, if you know your history, as you boast, you'll realise that a temple has stood on this site for thousands of years."

The Knight took a step back, gesturing to their surroundings.

"But let's forget the history. You call it unimpressive, not as large as you expected; but look with your eyes, not your opinions. Look at how much space is here, how much of the structure is dedicated to external plazas, and gardens. This is Coruscant. Imperial Center. Imperial City. The most densely populated concentration of civilization in the known galaxy. Five thousand levels of citizens stacked on top of each other, stretching down so deep that sunlight doesn't even come close to reaching the bottom. Normally society waits until a civilization has faded before it builds atop the ruins, but Coruscant has neither the time nor the place: again and again, level after level, up and up. Where else on Coruscant can you find a building with this much open - wasted - space? There are Imperial officials who boast about having an empty room; this Citadel has entire empty plazas, not to mention the vast exclusion zone that surrounds it."

Lúka's arms clasped behind his back, intently focused on Jensen, peering past the shell of arrogance in the hopes of finding some viable spark of intelligence and reason beneath.

"The word you were actually looking for, Mister Par'Vizal, is 'underwhelming'. If that is your reaction to a building of this significance, then that is your problem, and frankly? No one gives a flying skrag. Your sense of entitlement and arrogance may make it feel like your opinion is important and valuable, but I assure you it is not; and if you are truly as smart as your attitude seems to believe you are? You'll learn quickly to look past your worthless opinions, and start noticing the useful reality that lays beyond."

[Jensen Par'Vizal]

There was genuinely a part of him that took the explanation as challenging, as a point of contention and enough to make him feel a necessary amount of defensiveness. It quieted though, rationale mixing in to fully take stock of what he had been told, of the history and importance this place represented to many others. It may not have meant such things to him, but so seldom did anything.

It was a weakness Jensen had, one he had been working towards - not correcting - but disguising at the very least. And this? What the man who had brought him to this place had just said? That was knowledge, that was a resource and one he would be remiss to allow to be ignored in favor of pride.

He didn't entirely back down, his shoulders didn't slump in defeat nor did his expression become downcast. Instead, Jensen merely regarded his new mentor.

"Well," he conceded. "It does appear I have much to learn."

Jensen let his eyes wander back towards the building in front of them, attempting to place the new information at his disposal, to give it new consideration. He was only mildly successful. Another thing to practice at, then. Room to improve, as it were.

"I'd thank you for the opportunity for growth, but something tells me you wouldn't exactly appreciate the gesture."

[Lúka Jibral]

"Hmm."

He kept the response enigmatic, leaving Jensen to interpret it however he pleased. It could have been improving, impressed, satisfied at his willingness to back down, to accept new information, and to at least act as if he was grateful for it. Going further, it could have been surprise, pleasantly so, at the maturity that Jensen sought to display. It could just as easily have been disappointment, however, at a potential debate prematurely ended; or irritation at that last little twist of a phrase, just to nudge and remind that his concession didn't compromise how self-assured the boy felt in his own intelligence. Whether it would feed into Jensen's ego, or apathy, or ire, was up to him. Lúka had learned that with students, there was only so far that you could take them, before you had to step back and let them attempt to continue the rest of the way on their own.

With any luck, Lúka had at least instilled in the boy some concept of thinking before he opened his mouth: if not, then the lessons he would receive from Lúka's peers among the Knights would not be quite so painless.

Yet, there was something, a little spark in the back of Lúka's mind, that offered the very faintest hint of a smile on the corner of his mouth, and begged him not to leave those last words unaddressed. His arms folded across his chest, the weight seeming to force out a slow sigh. He allowed his smile to flourish, just the slightest bit more.

"Perhaps there's hope for you after all, Cadet."