3 - The Walking Dead
Good news! After deaths in two families, job troubles, phone troubles, housemate troubles, moving troubles, health troubles, and assorted other troubles, we FINALLY managed to game again!
This was a very Davik-heavy session. I didn't mind, as it was interesting, and he's been due a bit of spotlight. I think it also puts on display how good SP is with different NPC "voices".
I've added a few "footnotes" with asterisks.
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Renting a cubicle at a commercial interstellar messaging office, Davik placed a call to the Ministry of Justice on Coruscant. (Since Coruscant was relatively nearby, there was little in the way of time-lag.) Unfortunately, he got a recording...
The horned Zabrak holo told him gravely, "Jedi Tecza is not available at this time, being away for the next several days on a contemplative retreat. He is not to be disturbed save in the case of emergency. If this is the case, say 'Forward'." "It's certainly an emergency for me," Davik muttered. "'Forward'."
After several minutes of his call being bounced around, he managed to get the real Tecza on the line. "Ah, Padawan Davik. To what do I owe the honor?" Davik fought down a rush of tears and managed to say, "Our Master is dead." "Ah." Tecza lowered his eyes and keened softly. "This explains much. I sensed a disturbance in the Force that I could not understand, and went on retreat to explore it. I thank you."
"There is more." "Yes?" "I, and two people I was travelling with, are accused of his murder." "Ah. That is awkward. ... I will not insult you." * Davik sighed impatiently. "Actually, I was calling to ask for help."
Tecza digested that for a moment, then said, "Very well. What do you wish of me?" "I could use some help conducting the investigation, and you are a Justiciar..." "Yes. I will do what I can; it will likely take me a few days to arrange the necessary leave and make my way to Corellia." "Thank you, Master Tecza." ** "Until next, Davik."
Davik then placed a call to Master Ayala, bracing himself as he did so. She was well-known for being prescient; so much so that she often seemed to mix up past, present, and future.
Sure enough, the first words out of her mouth were, "Ah, Davik. I've been expecting you." "Master Insharr is..." "Dead. Yes. I felt him go - or rather, I felt his absence." She sighed sadly, and continued, "He has not returned in any pattern I recognize. ... Though, he may have returned twenty years ago."
Davik absorbed that, nonplussed, then said, "Uh, there is another problem." "Oh?" "I am accused of his murder." She nodded encouragingly. "I see. Well, you are of course innocent, so there should be no trouble." When Davik just stared at her, she finally said, "Oh. You're having trouble convincing them you're innocent?" "Yes!" Ayala sighed at the obtuseness of the universe. "I will see what I can do, dear. You had better tell me a little more about the situation."
Davik outlined what he knew, and she nodded. "Circumstantial evidence only, then. Good. I'm glad you're able to investigate... Have you found out yet that the murderer isn't human?" Davik asked weakly, "He isn't? What is he, then?" "Well, how should I know, dear? You're the one who finds out!" ***
After a few pleasantries, Davik hung up, his head spinning. Master Ayala tended to have that effect on people. Pulling himself together, he resolved to check out a few of his Master's favorite haunts.
The first was an herbary which Insharr had favored for fresh produce, especially the makings of an exotic alien tea. (A distinctly acquired taste that Davik had never managed to acquire.) The owner of the shop recognized him, and it wasn't hard for Davik to maneuver the talkative man into reminiscence.
"Ah, terrible thing that happened to poor Master Insharr! Such a friendly sort. I don't know who will buy the gorshyl tea now. Most people can't abide the stuff, you know. He knew his tea, did Insharr. Maybe that other fellow who came by will want the rest of my stock..."
"Other fellow?" Davik prompted. "Yes, strange sort of man. I was fixing up the gorshyl for Master Insharr, and he came in and commented that it was a odd-looking plant. We got to talking, and he seemed very interested. So I fixed him a cup, just on the off-chance, you know, and he asked if it was popular. So we got to talking about Master Insharr. Friendly enough, but... He was odd, you know? Very blank expression; his face didn't seem to match what he was saying, even when he was excited. Didn't help that he wore these big black sunglasses, either."
Davik pumped the man gently for more information, but his quarry hadn't made much more of an impression than that. Since it was getting late, he headed back to the spaceport hotel.
There he found Jonas and Vanni packing. Vanni enthused, "I found us rooms for a great price! Unfortunately it's only for a few days; the hotel's got all its rooms booked for a big convention." Davik teased deadpan, "I'm surprised you didn't spend the whole day gambling." Vanni snorted and replied with mock-hauteur, "Room and board come first, Davik. Gambling comes
tomorrow. You may accuse me then."
Jonas cut in with approving tones, "The new place is still much better than this overpriced norkla-hole. For my part, I've gotten us a lawyer. Late-model, even!" Davik nodded somberly and said, "That is good," while Vanni beamed at the praise. The Jedi then passed on his own information.
"I'm glad you're making progress, Padawan," Jonas told him. "Once Vanni and me get a few more things squared away, I'm more than willing to help you out." "That is appreciated, Jonas." Davik got his things together quietly and the three walked over to their new, if temporary, abode in silence.
The next day Davik looked up another acquaintance of Insharr's, a Blaat painter whose work displayed an odd view of the universe. Insharr had bought a couple of its * impressionistic, pointillist paintings - another taste Davik had never managed to acquire.
"Yes yes yes!" the little amphibian exclaimed when it recognized him, waving its webbed hands about. "So sad, so sad, learned Master Insharr! Perhaps he has gone to the Great Pool." It paused, then asked, troubled, "Do you humans believe in the Great Pool? I forget." "We... have beliefs not dissimilar, I think," Davik responded, thinking of the Force. "Has anyone else been by recently asking about Master Insharr?"
"Ah! Yes yes! I have seen the human-who-is-not-a-human. A dead man, he is, walking about as dead men should not! Walking!" "I beg your pardon?" "He looks human, but his eyes behind his sunglasses - they are those of a dead man!" "If he wore sunglasses, how could you see his eyes?" "Ah, you forget! You humans are much too tall, not proper Blaat-size. I looked up at him, and I saw. Yes!"
"What did he look like?" The Blaat described the man carefully, with an artist's eye for detail. Unfortunately, it was a
pointillist artist's eye for detail... "His hair - fascinating stuff you humans have! - it was mostly of the brown, with a little of the black, yes, and a little of the yellow. He did not have chin-hair - very odd! He did not even have places for chin-hair." Davik abruptly recalled that the Blaat's portraits tended to give humans patches of hair in odd places where the subjects simply did not have any. With heavy irony, he replied, "Well, he was a dead man, you say. That tends to interfere with the growth of hair, I understand." It bobbed its head. "Yes! That is true."
The man had been fairly nondescript, other than his emphatic "deadness" and stiff walk. He had been dressed in typical Corellian street-clothes. He had been curious about the Blaat's paintings, claiming he had seen one in Master Insharr's house. But he didn't get much information, because he had dismissed one he was shown with distaste. "He said it was 'just dots on a canvas'!" the Blaat complained, outraged. Drawing itself up to its full one-meter height, it exclaimed, "DOTS! Why, you may as well say that the stars are 'just dots on the sky!'"
Davik restrained himself from agreeing with the man's taste. "Did he give any indication of where he was going?" "He was walking toward a hotel, yes! I saw!" Davik thanked the little alien and walked there himself - a rather posh, upscale place.
The receptionist there snootily refused to answer his questions or even give him the time of day, until Davik flashed a wad of credits. After that, his opinion of Davik's culture and breeding seemed to go up markedly... With palm suitably greased, he admitted knowing the man Davik was seeking: Jatin Virlai. (A Corellian name, probably fake.) He had occupied room 208 for several weeks, but had left the day after Insharr's death. "The maids might be able to tell you more."
Shortly after, a little Twi'lek maid was happily counting her new cash and spilling all she knew in heavily-accented Basic - probably she was a recent immigrant. Her head-tails swished in disapproval as she said, "He not a good tipper. Neat, though," she conceded, "Easy to clean up after." "Did he meet with anyone while he was here?" "No, sir." "Did you have any indication of his business?" "I not an eavesdropper, sir! But..." She hesitated, then confided when more cash was handed over, "I once heard him on the comm, saying to someone, 'I've found a way to reduce the risk.'"
On that deeply troubling note, Davik walked off, thinking hard.
Meanwhile, Jonas and Vanni met up at their rooms after a hard day of job-searching. Jonas had come up empty-handed, but Vanni announced, "Found something! It's just for a few days, but the pay isn't bad. Cash, too." Jonas' brows abruptly furrowed. "Cash?! Vanni..." "Yeah, I know, it's probably not entirely legal. I didn't ask, and they didn't say."
"What's the job?" "Moving boxes. I don't know what's in them. Don't want to, either." "Vanni, this just isn't smart! We're suspected of murder! If the cops..." The young man's face was clouding over and getting stubborn. "The cops'll what, Jonas? I'm not doing anything illegal. I'm doing a job and getting paid for it. Making money, like we need to."
Jonas sighed raggedly - at times Vanni's utter disregard for legal niceties was nerve-wracking. "All right," he finally said quietly. "But if things start getting any more questionable..." "...I'll pull out. I know, Jonas." He quirked a smile. "'Better safe than sorry', right?" He held out a fist.
Jonas nodded and repeated the proverb, one he'd always favored: "Better safe than sorry." He bumped his fist against Vanni's, the gesture communicating many things they rarely said out loud. Everything from, "Be careful," to "Sorry I get on your nerves sometimes," to "Hope you're okay," even to "Glad you're here."
For Jonas it held another meaning, one he knew would petrify Vanni if said openly: "I love you."
You are a seed, he thought at Vanni's sly grin and proudly erect posture. One day your shell will crack and you will reach for the sun. And I will rejoice to see it.
Jonas chuckled to himself and said under his breath, "I'm not a gardener for nothing!"
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* According to SP, Zabrak culture in this era regards it as highly insulting to offer unsolicited help or advice - the implication being that you can't take care of yourself.
** Davik was laying it on a bit thick by calling Tecza 'Master'. In this era, being acknowledged as a Jedi Master is considerably more informal. Basically, as a Jedi becomes notable and trains Padawans, people start calling him 'Master'. When other Jedi Masters start doing so, he's basically arrived. Tecza hasn't really been around the block enough times to warrant the title.
*** It makes a certain sick kind of sense, don't you think?
I was really impressed with this reply.
* Blaat are virtually sexless when not in heat, and prefer to be referred to as "it".
