There are few stories that are told among the Jedi Order long enough to become myth. Legend. It takes importance to stand the test of time that way. A lesson has to be learned.
Anakin and Circe's story is told for generations long after they are go...
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In the next few weeks Circe pours herself into the job of finding the bounty hunter. She spends long nights scouring the streets of Coruscant, visiting the partners the Jedi keep in the lower levels, giving passwords to be let into nightclubs that operate undercover for them. She keeps an eye out for Anakin, hoping to run into him or catch a glimpse of where he runs off to every day, but she never does. It is just her, and the slick, wet streets of the city.
Padme has been kind enough to give her some tips. Her latest is an address in the far west corner of the under level—a restaurant, tucked away in a small neighborhood of vendors and service providers. Its front windows are nearly opaque with grime and steam-residue. She can see the vague outline of people moving around inside, but she doesn't have the luxury of being able to watch before entering. She has to go in to see if the person she's looking for is there.
A bell jingles as she pushes the door in, her hood drawn up over her face. The customers sitting at the bar look up, watching suspiciously as the woman with the well-kempt robes makes her way through the restaurant. They don't trust clean clothes, though the robe kept tight around her body makes them feel better. They would prefer she were keeping a weapon—it would make her one of them.
"Who's that?" An old voice croaks from behind the counter.
"A friend," Circe answers as she scans the room. There are a number of faces here she would be making to arrest if she weren't here on more important matters.
A stout, wrinkled creature steps out into the main dining area. Her skin is faded and wrinkled, and she wears an apron tied tightly around her round belly. , so much that she looks rather like an insect, but her gaze is warm. She peers up at Circe with a young, stubborn sense of suspicion.
"Ah, the Jedi girl. I've heard there was a Jedi going around asking questions." She says, drying her hands on a stained towel, "What do you want?"
"I'm not here to disturb your customers," Circe says, eyeing a group in the back that's keeping their faces turned down. "I'm looking for someone."
"You people are always 'looking for someone.' What makes you think I can be of any help?"
"Oh, we're past that now, Maz. I'm looking for a bounty hunter. She was broken out of the Republic detention center a few weeks ago, and I know she had help getting off the planet."
Maz sniffs pointedly, giving her a scrutinous gaze before nodding towards the counter. Circe takes a seat on one of the plush, red barstools, trying to avoid the slick spots left by the previous customer. Somewhere behind her one of Maz's few employees closes the blinds. The restaurant falls dark, all but the neon signs hanging above the bar, and the glow from the kitchen spilling through the door dims around them.
"We see a lot of bounty hunters pass through here," Maz says, stepping up onto a stool behind the counter, "I'll need more information than that to distinguish any of them,"
