Hayden BeShawn's page

Eyes wide with the sudden change of atmosphere, the danger sets Hayden's body alive with the jarring instincts of a mammal that isn't ready to die.

"This ain't right! This is nine colors of wrong..." Sotto voiced, he adds while running, "I should have bought him some damn grenades..."

Hayden actuates his quarterstaff and fairly flies to port, menacing the blaster toting thugs with the reach of his weapon. An unbidden grin splits his face with an eerie rictus of glee.

There were weeks in the academy filled with awkward moments after Hayden started his combat training. Averted glances and uncomfortable silence were common. Hayden hadn't known until a meeting was called with Master Hrok a week later that he'd quickly beaten so many other (and even older) padawans because they were unsettled by the faces he made while fighting.

Swift: Draw the staff. Move (2): Double move to set up position in which all three of the port side thugs are in 10' reach of Hayden's staff.

Chapter 2: postscript

Click... bang bang BANG... clickclickclick hissssss... bangbang

"Yaaargle..." Hayden's strangled cry erupts loudly, hardly muffled by the refresher door. Another series of loud knocks, bangs, and general noises commence, followed by a desultory and distinctly final sound of swiftly draining water.

Some moments later, a disheveled and wild eyed Hayden fairly flails out of the tiny room, nearly falling as he slams the door shut behind him.

"There are far better times to accost someone with knowledge!" He wildly points in a general sort of way at his surroundings, lingering an accusatory stare at what must be a particularly guilty chair. Unconcerned of his audience and seemingly unaware of much of the physical realm, he continues to rant, "I realize there are reasons beyond my ken that one should be subjected to such treatment. Ah and yes. I'll grasp such perfect and timely understanding and clarity which will make that experience laughable and fondly remembered, but as of right now I'm highly annoyed and reject higher understanding until such a time as my dignity has been reassembled. I'm sure you understand."

He straightens his clothing with a huffy and outraged display of body language of which his mother would be proud, and stomps off to the bridge to see what he's missed.

"Really..." he mumbles, "One's ablutions are invioable. I shouldn't have to explain that to the universe."

"Of course I'm all right. Only takes you seeing it.

"Aye aye, First Mate Mandalorian, sir. I'll be in my bunk. I have some schmoozing to undertake."

He pauses before wandering off to strap himself in.

"I didn't mean... That isn't the euphemism it sounds like it could be."

In prep for montage mode, Hayden will be composing words for Mom on Onderon and pondering HK wiring schematics.

Seeming to remember the passing comment as an afterthought, Hayden suddenly grins at Rhea and says, "Well there's one right here only a few meters off that can tell you with all confidence there were a few younglings I was set against in a Junction exercise that set about schooling me in the ways of the force. The five year old wound up holding me upside down by one ankle ten meters in the air. A more serious countenance I have not seen. She could have been fourty, for all her eyes betrayed. I would not bet on the brigands, should they meet her."

"Eh. Don't be sorry. That's a state of being, not an act of apology."

Hayden shrugs and screws his face up, thinking on lightsabers, "Well I mean... yeah. You could learn to use one. Anyone can. And I know some of the forms. I've read on all the rest. I would caution you to... well... caution. No one will give you one and many will kill you for one. You must build it. Unique. Needs a few things that are hard to come by. Long term goals I would say.

"Speaking of! I may be able to acquire mine in the futute..." he trails off and fidgets with his comlink again in a halfhearted manner, "I must speak with my mother..."

"Hah! Lesson number one: You touch another person, they must also be touching you. Generally speaking, the things we do to another person are done to us in turn. Change another, you must change yourself to get it done... etcetera and blah blah. Anyway... Yeah. Be sure you want to touch somebody before you haul off and touch 'em. No telling what you might catch..." he gives Kresh a wry smile.

"I mean. How much would you have to change in order to bring yourself to kill another person? The same metric applies."

"Nope. I cant." Hayden shakes his head and frowns, chewing on his lip in contemplation, "That's a... misconception. Most Jedi tend to think that way as well. Controlling the Force is something that cannot be done. You may control yourself, but that is something I cannot teach. That is a lesson in which you are both master and student."

Hayden sits back with a sigh and a half-hearted and directionless grumble, "Its possible I could show you that of which you're already capable. As I just did. That is about as much as anyone can claim to teach anyone. Perhaps I can also help you see that which is possible, as well, though that's less to do with either my teaching, which will likely be lackluster, or your student-ing, which will likely be frustrating for both of us.

"Rhea wasn't wrong about the age restrictions. They only took me so late in life because the number of capable and willing Jedi were countable on a child's abacus. It caused them grief. Me too, and I'm firmly convinced that I'm more important in this regard. See? I'm incorrigible. And a terrible student. He adopts the dry and distant voice of a much older and much jaded man, "'Though he's young, he seems already set in ways of arrogance and bound to lead a life of shapeless ignorance and ignobility.'"

He shakes his head and throws his hands up, pausing for a moment before continuing in his normal voice, "I'd be more than happy to teach you to be you, but I'll be damned if I'm going to teach anyone to be a Jedi or to control anything for any reason. The galaxy needs more individuals, not more idealism."

"The one with spikes on is the greater threat, but it likely won't come to that."

Louder, he says, "I'm pretty sure if she'd known she was doing something other than using 'wiles' you would be in a much more disadvantageous position. How's about we leave the ignorance of the untrained as it's own tempering force and forgive her that same ignorance. She could very well have gotten into some explosive trouble by now, and I think that she's survived this long is reason enough to treat her with respect.

"I have an idea!"

He turns to Vadi with a serious frown that looks out of place on his young features, "You are using the Force in a malicious, harmful, and direct manner. It often provokes violence.

"There!," he smiles, "Informed. Now you are liable to reap the blasterfire of whatever mental seeds you sow. Do it again, and I'll likely side with the victim. Provided I like them well enough. I really try to stay out of that kind of thing though. The force takes care of itself, and I don't wanna reap blasterfire meant for you. That would be your lesson to learn." he waves a blithe hand as a manner of removing himself from the conversation.

"He's a shifty punk, but that was a bit gauche. Of course, I suck exhaust at the mind games so maybe it's perfectly normal. Never took Suggestion: Grace and Tact 101 in Jedi school."

Speaking of...

He cocks his head at Vadi and politely smiles, "So where did you learn your tricks?"

Maybe a bluff check would suffice for hiding what you're doing, then?

"Our navigator is also skilled in the force, though I feel he wouldn't care to admit it. With the right training, It's fairly easy to sense another with a gift for it." he pauses to look significantly at Vadi, though he is unsure if in her current endeavor his look would be noticed. He also glances briefly at Rhea before continuing, aiming for eye contact.

"Truthfully, there shouldn't be a cause to hide it so long as one has no harmful intentions. I'm a healer, though, and it's a bit counterproductive for a patient to startle and lose their marbles once their flesh starts knitting back together on its own. Better you know beforehand what I'm about."

Hayden collapses his weapon with a frown and a twisty look of confusion upon his face, fairly shouting at the man's back as his adrenaline sours, "That didn't explain a damn thing! Walk away from me after trying to get the drop on me and you can't even explain yourself. Indeed!"

He crosses the room and plops back into his chair with a vague grunt and a muttered, "Punk."

He doesn't spare a glance or move from his readied position, but he smiles slightly and can't really stop his mouth from replying, "Not dark. More of a beige color. Off-Light."

Hayden turns to give the droid a flat glare and opens his mouth, the pent up venom of a full month of denial, frustration, and shame tipping his tongue...

Perception: 1d20 + 4 ⇒ (12) + 4 = 16

Eyes going wide, he instead rolls forward from his chair, spinning to face the Iridonian and palming his quarterstaff in one smooth, practiced motion. It extends with a muted crack.

Soooo not as cool as my saberstaff...

"I'm a great deal more amenable to a direct approach, Iridonian. You have a short moment to explain yourself. Do it well."

"Eh. Not so much. I got dumped for reasons that I won't go into. Saddled with a 'do this deadly and suicidal nonsense' job and shipped to the rectal center of the galaxy. Exile is the term, really, not jedi." Hayden smiles at Vadi.

"Oh, and I got strapped with nanny bot here," he gestures to HK whose sussuruss of whirring and buzzing circuitry has recently taken on a tone Hayden recognizes as wariness, indignance, or possibly verbal constipation, "Im pretty sure he's meant to shoot me if I get out of line.

"But, yes. The short answer. I was a Jedi."

He looks around, various expressions lighting on his face in rapid succession as different thoughts fight for dominance. Never having been one for subterfuge, he quickly decides to lay it all out.

"I'm a Mechanic. Both for things and people. I can patch either up pretty well. And when that fails, I'm also quite adept at fighting. I've been trained in a few schools.

"I studied history among other things at the academy. ...and in my time with the jedi. So I know a little about a lot of things. And a lot about a few things," he finishes quickly, making a show of poking buttons on the comlink that suddenly appears in his hands while pointedly not looking at the droid.

"I'm in for a cut, I suppose. I am keen to see what Caandra wants in her pocket better than credits. And I'm probably free for the next month."

Hayden, fidgety, eyes darting but never resting on anything, pokes a few buttons on his comlink, starting a line or two. He quickly erases it and puffs out a hard breath before beginning again.

After the third try, he scoffs and shoves the thing back in his pocket.

"It is also a rough draft, so to speak. A trial of effort and blueprint in the making for future efforts. The Jedi see it as a measure of cooperative effort- the potential for galactic positive reinforcement, to their minds, far outweighs the credits spent. A galaxy that can still work together can, and here's the trick they want to pull off: work. Telos marks an effort to get the galaxy back working again after it had stopped for so long. Pet project indeed. At least, that's the long view of the thing. Jedi don't much go in for specifics and details. So I hear."

Hayden rubs his nose and makes a mental note to find a book on how one might not go about speaking his mind. As with many things, he decides to shift the blame to his mother, her message having evoked a confusing lot of feeling in quite a short span of time.

Dantooine...

"So are we still doing the job, or has it suddenly become more lucrative to be a pirate? It seems the popular things. Our shipment might be worth more to someone like Vogga," He points absently at the starboard terminal, "considering he's so keen to widen his overlarge grip.

If we suddenly need eyepatches, I would suggest a detour. I must pick up some of my effects, and there may be a good deal of money involved. I've never tried to butter up my mother for money, but by the force if there ever was a time..." he trails off, composing words for his mother in his head steadily becoming his focus.

"Anytime," Hayden replies with a sleepy smile. Then, turning to Vadi as he trudges onto the bridge, "No bet."

He sits in the turret chair, swiveled around to conversate better. He sits quietly, still groggy headed, and fumbles in his belt pouches for some spare food squirrelled away from earlier. After finding the pieces of bread and cheese, he absently tosses them back onto the floor behind him.

Perception: 1d20 + 4 ⇒ (3) + 4 = 7
Sense Motive: 1d20 ⇒ 8

Hayden snaps from the trance with a start, the information heavy on his sleep deprived mind. He half stumbles into bed with a groan, still connecting things furiously in his head even as his body deflates.

Eschewing the bed for the time being, Hayden positions himself on the floor with his back against the wall, a pillow tucked behind for comfort.

Okay. Time to work... people are being sketchy. There are odd things in what they say. More odd things in what they don't.

He stretches his senses, gathering a feel for the level beneath the physical, where all things are driven, moved, and defined by intention and emotion. As he dissipates himself, he's assaulted as per usual by the myriad feelings dancing about in any place habited by sentients.

Quite a lot of fear... no wonder tongues are so unmoved. Fear is a paralytic...

Shielding himself, he focuses on each individual in turn, gathering the informations he can to better prepare himself and those around him.

Divinations in the order I sent you. Then bed time.

"My members will be fine, I can assure you. Inorganic things are mostly just made up of translatable knowledge. Slot A, Tab B, insert, twist, repeat: Bam, you have artificial intelligence, if I can use the term loosely..." he begins to ramble as he thinks about the job, his brain wandering from his mouth, "Odd that that sounds so much like the way in which sentient intelligence is conceived. Aside from the twisting... although I've seen some alien concept manuals come out of Ryloth. Tell me, do droids consider their blueprint as an ersatz document of conception? Possibly with a view to their manufacture as a sort-of birth?"

Hayden gets his bearings, gathering parts and tools as he surveys the job. He looks to HK, "Will you plug in and help me wire this thing right?"

"Take 20" Mechanics = 27; No chances taken. Seeking to integrate the workbench and optimize power supply. If I could get a complimentary Computers check to prioritize power distribution and find the most efficient way to keep it running and not drag on the ship's power, I would appreciate it.

Hayden turns away from Zargro, ignoring him completely as he replies to Theta-Zero, "It would be quite helpful if you could shift the droid brain around as you've suggested and dedicate it's function to sensors once we've dropped out of hyperspace. Provided there's enough time and it's within your capability. Thank you. And yeah. I suppose we ought to help. I'm likely to be the only one using it."

He heads to the cargo bay with everyone and sets to.

Strength (aid another if not the primary pusher): 1d20 + 1 ⇒ (9) + 1 = 10

"After we're done here, I could use some help converting one of the bunk rooms into a medbay;" he gives HK a flat look, " helpful in the event of inevitable castration."

"Ah. By the living force..." Hayden rubs his face, "I can see why this matters so much to you. And you haven't really got any better options than to deal with thugs, slugs, and pirates. See... this kind of mess is why..." he bites his tongue, saving everyone present a sermon on the politics of the republic and thereafter sentient behavior in general.

He shakes his head and slides the bottle across to Zev, "Want the rest?"

Hayden jerks awake with a snort at the ejaculation from Zev, having nodded off right before the exchange. It had been a rough few days, and while he wasn't sure for how many of them he'd been contiguously awake, he was damn sure it'd been a few.

"So..." he looks at Zev, "We actually have a job to do? I thought we were just pinching a ship and running. Also, What in space did you do to get that far in debt?"

Hayden smiles, "That's an excellent arrangement that bypasses the awkwardness of the other. You wouldn't like my company anyways. I'd just lay there and sweat on you."

Hayden walks loosely back to the galley, the liquor beginning to sink into his muscles and relax away the tension of the day. He plops the bottle onto the table and his bottom onto a seat, postponing his want of food until the others have served themselves. He takes the opportunity to study the Iridonian as he moves about, looking for cues of origin or of allegiance. He doesn't bother with surreptition or subtlety and prepares himself for questions with frankness.

Perception: 1d20 + 4 ⇒ (13) + 4 = 17

If Apliccable:
Knowledge (Force Traditions): 1d20 + 7 ⇒ (2) + 7 = 9
Ugh... Too drink to thunk.

"Fine idea. Food. Maybe we will all be a little more talkative afterward," he cocks an eyebrow in the direction of Zargro, "We never discussed payment; neither was it hinted at. If you want help along the way, it's forthcoming, so long as I'm possessed of clear understanding."

Hayden hops up from his seated position on the deck and turns to make way toward the dining area, "How did you acquire this vessel? It seemed our pursuit did not want you to keep it overmuch."

"Ah. Employment troubles. I can relate," he nods, taking the bottle back as the interest seems solely his. He sips before continuing.

"It seems a rampant problem these days, anyway," he pauses, obviously hesitant to continue, "My story is long and sad from a perspective, so I think I'll just paraphrase for simplicity. Only child, single, but famous Mother, lonely, if privileged childhood, crazy cult recruited me, got kinda sent away due to a lamentable misunderstanding of their code of ethics... aaaand now I'm attempting to get back in their good graces by tramping across the galaxy with my..." he looks pointedly at the HK unit, "Rather large and uncouth babysitter. He snores loudly and never lets me be the big spoon, but he's mostly alright company."

He glances around, "Yep. That's basically it. Who's next for show and tell? We got some time. It'd be nice to know where the knives are coming from as well as the flowers."

"Corellia. Coruscant. The first in spirit, the other in body. As beautiful as it is, I feel much the same about Coruscant," he says, keeping an eye on her facial expressions as he speaks. He turns and nods at HK and takes a long drink, "Let me know what you need from me to get that started after everyone has some time to relax. If you could transfer a diagnostic of the ship's hardware systems to my 'pad, I will go about finding a place to start... pre-emptive repair work. Speaking of, how are you feeling?"

Turning back to Vadi, he continues, "What did you do on Nar Shaddaa? It seems it must have been quite awful to leap aboard a ship with our like just to escape."

He eyes the bottle and takes another long swig before proffering it to the bridge at large, expecting someone to grab it should they desire.

"Funds or no funds, there are things we can do with a few tools and spare parts here on the ship that can raise efficiency for many of our systems."

Hayden hops up, having given himself a moment of reflection and collection. He eyes the non-stick turret controls with distaste as he pulls out his newly acquired bottle of liquor.

"I have three things... First, Theta-Zero, do you have any idea if some of your more deadly protocols and subroutines can be copied and integrated with the ship's targeting matrix and other weapons systems?"

A loud pop is heard as he uncorks the bottle, "Second, are you any good with a hydrospanner, Rhea?"

Hayden offers the bottle to Vadi without having sipped, "And third, congratulations on your first trip off world. May you never see that moon made of slime and moving parts again."

"Me? Worry? No. Not really," Hayden lines up his firing pattern and lets loose while talking over the laserfire, "But I definitely wait 'til the music begins to start dancing, you twit!"

Port Turret Assist Roll: 1d20 + 5 ⇒ (18) + 5 = 23
Starboard Turret Assist Roll: 1d20 ⇒ 8

Any way I can direct fire to disrupt their flight patterns and slow them down a bit? Or at least throw off their targeting? Like an aid another action for the shields against two targets (cuz two guns). Seems marginally more helpful than trying to hit a target on a roll of 18 or better.

Confirmation Roll: 1d20 + 4 ⇒ (9) + 4 = 13
Crit Damage: 4d10 ⇒ (9, 5, 8, 5) = 27

Oh well.

Hayden closes his eyes for a moment, willing away the stress of his surroundings and calling to the Force to guide his hand before resuming fire at the same already damaged ship with both turrets.

Move: (-1 FP) Use force (active) bonus to attack rolls. Standard: Fire at Rancor leader.

Use Force: 1d20 + 7 ⇒ (6) + 7 = 13

Dang. Good enough.

Port Turret: 1d20 + 5 ⇒ (4) + 5 = 9
Damage: 4d10 ⇒ (10, 3, 9, 8) = 30x2
Starboard Turret: 1d20 ⇒ 11
Damage: 4d10 ⇒ (3, 1, 4, 4) = 12x2

"I hope you've got some feisty pilot skills up there in that chair. These turrets seem to be constructed from salvage. I swear this control stick is made from repurposed cookware. Isn't KratorShine a brand of nonstick frying pans? There's a decal on the back here..."

"You can say that again. I was likely to get shot at if I stayed, but still. It would've been my fault," Hayden responds, unasked, amid laser fire, "Not that I'm laying blame."

Hayden straps down in his seat before firing both turrets again.

Move: Buckle up. Standard: Fire! (Not trying to get ahead of others actions, but this will be what Hayden does next)

Port Turret: 1d20 + 4 ⇒ (20) + 4 = 24
Laser Noises: 4d10 ⇒ (10, 4, 6, 3) = 23
Starboard Turret: 1d20 ⇒ 7
Pew Pew: 4d10 ⇒ (3, 3, 5, 2) = 13

Hayden punches the controls to set the starboard side turret for auto-fire (programming it to target whatever his port side turret shoots at). He then draws a bead, feeling the closer of the two targets, and lets loose with the turret as it comes into range.

Move: Set controls. Standard: Fire as targets move in range.

Port Turret Blaster: 1d20 + 4 ⇒ (10) + 4 = 14

Damage: 4d10 ⇒ (10, 8, 9, 3) = 30

Starbooard Turret Blaster: 1d20 + 0 ⇒ (14) + 0 = 14

Damage: 4d10 ⇒ (2, 5, 8, 8) = 23

"I was more concerned with the stupidity of kicking a sleeping bear (packed with explosive fuel) while on the run from a tiger. Morality is really an afterthought."

Hayden tags the button on the intercom,

"Horny, red-skinned humanoid, I believe you're telling me to fire on the ship that isn't trying to hunt us down and bring us to your employer that suddenly doubts your capabilities and loyalties strongly enough to reign you back in less than an hour after giving you a ship. I will not be firing upon an innocent and uninvolved ship full of folk I don't know. I'll be happy to ward off our pursuit, however," he pauses a second, finger still on the button, "uhh... over."

His hands go back to the turret controls and his eyes narrow as he swings the gun aft.

Hayden eyes the turret controls with only a slight twitch of the cheek, suddenly gaining a far greater understanding of the frustration with which HK deals every day.

"Irritated Query: Why, exactly, do we have guns if we aren't allowed to blast hostile targets from the sky? Violent Exclamation: Meatbags!" he says quite loudly. His impressions always lacked a bit of flair, not being much of a performer, but he had become quite proud of this one.

"Oooo... the plot thickens!"

Hayden steels himself for battle, taking a firm hold of the controls and eyeing the sensors with focus.

"Did you not gain command of this vessel before we left? It seems abrupt to want counsel with a subordinate so recently sent away. Are you in league with the mandalorians? It's not that I care who you work for, but it might help make sense of the situation."

He throws his voice at Zargro with mixed intent and a jovial air, not threatening, but at once seeking answers both hidden and obvious.

Hayden keeps his eyes on the sensors as he thinks fondly of a time shortly in the future when he will have the chance to pull out his newly acquired bottle of fine liquor and celebrate a victory.

He wasn't much of one to drink, but ever since he'd listend to Master Kelran teach a class on perception of the living force while well into his cups, he'd had a fondness for a quiet evening with a bottle. It was one of the most informative and useful lectures he'd ever attended.

"There is no changing things. Only acceptance. Really," he brandished a bottle, "this doesn't muck with your connections. Only amplifies 'em. Only only only thing it really does is tell that part of your brain that don't quit worrying about things ya can't change to sit down and have a listen at all the beauty. All the rightness. All the sunlight and the flow of things. How it makes a singing like a chorus of kids at play. That's why I drink, anyway. Anyone without a hangover when we reconvene will be disciplined firmly by those that have one. Dismissed!"

.... background skill = Craft (Lightsaber).

I'll show those pompous, sexless, pedantic rectal rhetoricians.

So... for me. Move action:

'Force Devotion': 1d20 + 4 ⇒ (17) + 4 = 21

21 is between 16 and 25.

+2 to next attack roll, skill, save, ability check, or other d20 roll until the beginning of my next turn. (Also, AC is technically a d20 roll that you take a constant 10 on.)

There are worse things to spend a force point on, but you won't catch me doing it unless I'm in dire straights and something *has* to work *now.*

...now if it became a bonus for 1rd/level... that could be on par with most sphere abilities.

Hayden's generally amiable disposition dampens into a full-body frown as he settles back into his seat, upright now instead of laid out. He shakes his head and decides that the small creature can keep until relative safety has been reached.

"...although the company I keep seems the detriment of that goal," he raises his voice, projecting it back through the ship, "Don't take it too personally, HK. We can't fly the ship alone!"

He peers out his viewport alertly, the frown having simmered from the rest of his body to rest solely in his eyes.

Hayden nods forward with a jerk, blinking away perspectives. With a curious look, he swivels in his chair and lowers his head to the floor, bending more than sideways in his seat.

"What are you then, little stowaway?"

Perception: 1d20 ⇒ 17

Finding himself at a moment between moments, Hayden considers an idea as he learns the controls of the gunner's station. Figuring he has a few moments to spare, he quickly focuses his mind and attenuates his perception to the temporal flow of the force permeating the ship. He feels the past of the ship, flowing back as a spawning fish upstream.

-1sp Divine Time as a standard action, Localized to only the ship as a location.

"My name is Hayden and it would benefit you to learn it and use it, my friend. You may at some point call for it in earnest. It would be a shame to have it escape you."

Hayden heads to the appointed gunner's seat with with a frown, but quickly relaxes, opening his senses. Altercations required patience and calm rather than annoyance.

There is no emotion; only peace.

"I'm an excellent pilot!" Hayden hollers from somewhere in the back of the ship. He jogs up with a grin.

"I was under the misapprehension that I was a passenger, but if we need a pilot, I can certainly get us places. It will definitely alter how I view the circumstances of my being here."

"Ideally, a rope that could argue in redundance, causing enough distraction that the droid would be occupied with anything but freedom. Hard to find a rope with AI, though. I'd just tell him it could and that it doesn't like him. He would likely keep talking at it all day."

Hayden bounds aboard the ship happily. Not really at home in a restful state, he is immensely happy to be going anywhere or doing anything. Though still aware of his mission, he knows that all paths lead to the center.

He takes this opportunity to do a quick circuit of the ship, jumping upon the opportunity before someone tells him not to do so or that time doesn't provide for it.