Johte's fingers curled around Procion's lightsaber even as his grip relaxed on his own, intoning, "I'll show you mine if you show me yours," with a chuckle that echoed Procion's earlier laughter.  The Jedi's lightsaber was more workmanlike than elegant, staid and solid with just a bit of polish, rather like the man itself.  The well-worn hilt was wrapped in strips of synthleather for grip, scratches and scuffs indicative of the many years of use.  It was obviously not a weapon that had been made for show, and there was something oddly intimate about holding the lightsaber of a Jedi who had likely crafted it himself, one whose Force abilities tended to rely on it as Procion had witnessed earlier, one who was still alive and present to witness his handling of it.<br/><br/>Johte wasn't immune to the sense of intimacy as well, it seemed, from the gentle way he cradled Procion's lightsaber in his palm, his fingers tracing along the inscription.<br/><br/>"Did you make this?  I didn't think Sith made their own."<div class="messageTextEndMarker"> </div>