Generation NeXt

"Yes, grandpa, you know I'm going to be careful, god, you'd think I'd never done a stakeout before," Jacelyn (better known to friends as J.C.) says as she walks towards a bus stop, rolling her eyes for her own benefit, "Okay. I know. I won't mess up. Bye."

She hangs up, readjusts her massive backpack stuffed with her homework and her carefully packed costume underneath it, and turns the corner of the block to find a sprawling garden. J.C. blinks and turns right around, not quite processing this right away, and finds yet more grass where the street.

The word she says next is omitted in the name of good taste, but it expresses deep distaste and a good measure of frustration. 21st century girl in the house, everyone.

In human culture in that galaxy far far away, there's very little that constitutes tradition. Humans have no home planet, no overarching patterns, nothing to hold them together. Little space-gangs and planetary niches rise up; pirates and armies and dynasties and cults to make people feel at home.

For the Skywalkers, their traditions are that of the Rebellion. Loyalty, peace, truth - and fierce, brutal action if needed. It's why everyone split up when it became apparent Nova hadn't just skipped off to the nexus for a lark and gotten held up by looking at something shiny. Ben wasn't alone, actually. He was with three elven body-guards under his command (they didn't want to be, but his quiet authority made them shape up and simmer down) going through the gardens of the multiverse.

He hopped over a ledge.

And then he fell.

He lands with a crashthudbang on the roof of ... something.

"...Ugh."

For anyone around: Ben is in ur roofs Jedi-ing ur rpg. He sits up, boot heels digging against the shingles. He squints; it looks... like pictures he's seen of Earth. He gets out his PINpoint and starts to try and locate his coordinates, but it doesn't seem to be working. He grimaces, thinking he must have busted it when he landed. Great.