Generation NeXt

Anne is bored. And as such, is looking for company, of some sort. Pretty company is good, but frankly, even conversation would do at this juncture. Anyone who isn't her brother would probably qualify as more interesting than being alone.

So meanwhile, she's randomly opening doors to see where they go. This may or may not end well.

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.

"Well." Anne does a full turn, looking about at the lobby. "This is new. Hello?"

George, who bears her enough resemblance that one can guess they're siblings, says "Hush! Do you want someone to come down and yell at us for making a din?"

She sighs. "George, no one's here. And if they are, it's they're own fault for being so far away we have to resort to shouting."

He shakes his head. "Look, I'm going to go see if I can find someone. You stay here and continue shouting, if you like."

Though she's far too old, she sticks out her tongue at his back as he turns away.

Anne and George Seagrim, about 19 and 17 respectively, are the offspring of Molly Seagrim and... someone or other. Practically, they were mainly raised by Molly, Sir Sagramore, and Courfeyrac over in AU DF land. You can respond to both, or pick one after they split up.