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Three things happen in quick succession.
One, Quinlan’s hand wraps around a familiar object, and he pulls it free with a quiet sound of triumph, rising from where he is crouched knee-deep in trash bags. Two, the Force pings in warning, with a distinct undertone of having waited for the appropriate comedic timing. Three, his new position brings him within full view of the Guard patrol currently passing right by the dumpster he is standing in, their attention zeroing in on the lightsaber he is holding aloft.
A brief moment of frozen tableau, then the two Guards move, blasters raising in warning although not yet threat.
“Freeze. You are currently in possession of a Class 17 restricted item. Hand it over now, or face penalties.”
Quinlan takes a moment to study them. He has seen the Guards out in the city these past few months, the red and white figures patrolling the Senate district, shadowing important figures, increasingly sticking their noses into any dealings even plausibly linked to Separatist activity. Heard plenty about them too, both on the streets and in the Temple. Overall, he’s not impressed. But this is his first chance meeting any face to face, so perhaps he can test them a little.
“What, this?” Quinlan brandishes the lightsaber, noting their slight flinch as they track the weapon. So, they clearly recognise what it is, although going by the fact that they are citing Class 17 – religious and cultural items – rather than Class 9 – powered weapons – they seem to be hoping he doesn’t. “Sorry, gentlemen, no can do. Finders, keepers, and all that.”
“Sir. Final warning, we really must insist - “
“Nope.” He ignites the saber, holding it in a simple vertical guard, the green glow lighting his face. Is it petty? Yes. Is it unnecessary? Probably. Is it dramatic? Hell yes. Sue him, the last weeks have been very stressful and he can’t resist the temptation to let loose a bit. “I am a Jedi, and this is my lightsaber, and you have no authority to remove it from my person.”
“You’re a Jedi?”
The disbelieving mutter probably wasn’t meant to be heard, but he has to admit that he kinda walked into that one. Blatantly-(re)acquired lightsaber aside, he really doesn’t look like a Jedi right now. Sure his latest undercover mission has concluded, but he’s still in civvies – and one of his shabbier get-ups at that – while he tidies up lose ends. Most critically, retrieving the lightsaber he shoved down the garbage chute when at imminent risk of it being discovered on his person. He hates having to use that trick, however well it works in the moment. There’s always the gamble that he is too slow coming back for it, and has to trace it through the Force all the way to the district’s main trashpit; and then dig it out of whatever pile it has ended up in.
But anyway, back to the increasingly-suspicious Guards staring him down. Time to give them a show.
Letting go of the lightsaber, he leaves it hovering in mid-air as he spreads his hands wide, posture shifting to draw an aura of mystery and power around himself.
“I am a Jedi. Master Quinlan Vos at your service.”
“S-Sir! Apologies, General, sir! I- We- That is-”
And Quinlan… doesn’t like that. Doesn’t like the waves of apprehension – fear – rolling off them as they snap to attention. Not when he was just having a bit of fun. ...He probably shouldn’t have done that. Extinguishing his saber, he tucks it into his belt so he can clamber out of the dumpster. The Guard on the left twitches as though to offer assistance, before jerking back into place.
“Don’t- It’s fine. Just a misunderstanding. At ease, or whatever.” The pair shift position, but look no more relaxed. “Look, I’m only technically a General, and the fact that I’m running around down here is actually kinda classified, so how about this: I didn’t see you, you didn’t see me, we both go our own way and this whole awkwardness is swept under the rug. Deal?”
For a long moment the Guards just stare at him, and the motionless helmets would be disconcerting if he couldn’t feel the thoughts churning behind the darkened visors.
“Sir,” - oh, not this again - “if you take the exit behind us, then the first left and second right, you will be back in Chintrel Market. From there, the lifts to the upper levels are clearly marked.”
“Uh, thanks?” Good to know, not that he was asking. But the acknowledgement seems to be what the Guard was waiting for.
“If that is all, have a pleasant day Mr Vos.” As one, the two Guards incline their head – thankfully not repeating their salute – then about face and continue their marching down the street.
A smile creeps across Quinlan’s face as he watches them go, processing the use of his civilian title, and the accompanying hint of mischief in their Force presence. Maybe he can like the Guard after all; he’ll have to see if he can run into more of them to find out.