[Raven.]

“No, we didn’t,” she replied, inclining her head in greeting before meeting him with a quizzical look. “But what teaching assignment could possibly require us to travel to Borleias? And, please tell me it’s nothing to do with the hyperspace communications frequencies conference….” That particular conference was biannual so it was highly possible it had come around again. Of course, she would do as ordered but Force, despite the beautiful location that mission had truly tested her patience. Not only was it renowned for being mind-numbingly boring, even Eeth had alluded as much, but last time they moderated that conference a group of Neimoidian delegates from the trade federation had infected the entire delegation with a virus in the hopes of neutralising Jedi presence, and so they might seize control over the proceedings. They engineered a variant to befall Zabrak in particular resulting in a close call for Eeth. He had almost died and would have certainly if it wasn’t for Mace Windu’s “aggressive negotiations.” She closed her eyes briefly, tucked long, blond hair behind her ears and straightened as the memory of that close call came rushing back.
Borleias really was a spectacular planet, though, there was no denying that. The fourth planet in the Pyria system was full of exotic wildlife, jungles, beaches, clear skies and tranquil weather. Raven could think of far, far worse places to go, still, she was baffled as to what they were to teach there, and to whom? Her expression said as much as she started pulling items from their cart and putting them back; no point stocking up on perishable foods if they were leaving, after all.

Meanwhile….

Ten-year-old Jas Gaan was once again glaring angrily into a corner of her crèche dining hall, her now trembling arms held high above her head. She was nine minutes into a ten minute sentence for starting a fight with a girl over seating arrangements, well, the cry baby had deserved everything she got if you asked her, not that this had gone over well when she had stated as much. She wouldn’t give in, though, no way would she simper and beg for a reprieve. That would be acknowledging that the punishment was working, that she had been at fault, and worst of all, that she deserved it. Well, she did not! and she wasn’t about to give her crèche master the satisfaction, Jas would sooner pass out. It was this tenacity - or stubbornness depending on the circumstances - that the master’s had both praised and condemned.

“Times up, Jas, come here, please,” her crèche master called over the chatter from their groups table, his tone nowhere near as stern as it had been upon ordering her there.

The Zabrak girl pretended not to hear him, and in spite of her aching arms, she forced him to give the order a second time before acknowledging it. She turned, dropped her arms and casually walked to stand before him where he proceeded to lead her through the usual post punishment ritual. ‘Tell me what you did. Tell me why what you did was wrong. Apologise!’ Yada yada yada! The man needn’t have heard her flat tone to know that she wasn’t taking this seriously, but, as was typical he didn’t have the time needed to properly address this; four initiates had their hands raised and were waiting patiently for his attention. Sighing the man patted her shoulder. “Take your seat and finish your dinner,” he ordered. He had spoken to the council about Jas, she needed more help that he could provide and hoped they’d be able to come up with a solution.