What had seemed like a good idea - avoiding Jedi because he was getting tired of being surrounded by the mind-readers and their special powers and endless number - had turned into a failure. Truth was that Darman was rather angry at himself and for what he thought was good reason. The chakaar - backstabber, traitor - Head Doctor had finally shone his face and the clone had missed it. He had missed his chance to see who was responsible, commit his face and mannerisms to memory so he'd have a definite target to slot once he had his kit back.
He knew he couldn't have foreseen it, but it still rankled. He should have seen it.
It was just as irritating at those two missing knives from his room.
Sullenly the young clone followed the female guard into the cafeteria and for once not even the prospect of endless food with actual taste was enough to occupy his full attention. It wouldn't have made a difference if he was eating these delicious "pancakes", tasting for all the world like uj cake, or the ration food cubes, the staple of every clone soldier's diet and making up in engineered nutrients for the utter lack of any taste at all. He needed to concentrate.
The unaccounted for knives were a problem, but the Jedi were a far bigger problem. He needed to get a better count of who they were, how many, and how exactly he planned to go about killing them one by one. That and try to find out what the Head Doctor looked like. Frowning, the clone sat down across from an orange-haired man, poking at his food with a work, his mind seeking to order his thoughts and file them into a way that would be most manageable.
no subject
What had seemed like a good idea - avoiding Jedi because he was getting tired of being surrounded by the mind-readers and their special powers and endless number - had turned into a failure. Truth was that Darman was rather angry at himself and for what he thought was good reason. The chakaar - backstabber, traitor - Head Doctor had finally shone his face and the clone had missed it. He had missed his chance to see who was responsible, commit his face and mannerisms to memory so he'd have a definite target to slot once he had his kit back.
He knew he couldn't have foreseen it, but it still rankled. He should have seen it.
It was just as irritating at those two missing knives from his room.
Sullenly the young clone followed the female guard into the cafeteria and for once not even the prospect of endless food with actual taste was enough to occupy his full attention. It wouldn't have made a difference if he was eating these delicious "pancakes", tasting for all the world like uj cake, or the ration food cubes, the staple of every clone soldier's diet and making up in engineered nutrients for the utter lack of any taste at all. He needed to concentrate.
The unaccounted for knives were a problem, but the Jedi were a far bigger problem. He needed to get a better count of who they were, how many, and how exactly he planned to go about killing them one by one. That and try to find out what the Head Doctor looked like. Frowning, the clone sat down across from an orange-haired man, poking at his food with a work, his mind seeking to order his thoughts and file them into a way that would be most manageable.