The glittery welcome banner had been hauled out from storage, by now looking decidedly worse for wear, which made it a good match for now fairly battered Jedi robes Theron was wearing as he sat under it, trying to meditate.

Master Till'in hadn't quite kicked him out of the enclave with nothing but the (donated) clothes on his back, but the whole detachment and lack of worldly possessions gig meant they hadn't had much to spare either. Especially for random strays without connections to the Order like they were still selling Theron as, and among the practical skills Master Zho had taught him was enough financial sense not to waste his limited creds on replacing perfectly serviceable clothing just because he wasn't actually entitled to it.

At least no one where he was headed was going to recognise them for what they were.