Tatin was in his own world, lightsaber combat was his world. From the first time he'd grasped the small metal cylinder in the unfortunate fool's hand and thrust it through his body, he knew this was the weapon he'd craved all his life. He twisted and pulled the cylinder in his gauntlet encased hands, transferring the blade from one hand to the other in an elaborate motion, behind his back as he spun, the opponent expecting the blade to appear to one side and then it was on the other. Oh how he relished the first time he'd used that the first time in the Korriban dueling circle. He stopped, loving the dark twinge that flowed through him whenever he held his lightsaber. He knew, just knew, that if he ignited his blade, that flow would become a torrent of palpable dark side energy. But he stopped, knowing that he'd done enough for today. He turned, his dark blue eyes sweeping the cargo bay.<br/><br/>He saw the "Nobleman" as so many students scathingly referred to Kawan standing over Taishari, his words floating to the larger man in the back of the cargo bay, his blue eyes squinting as he sneered at the smile on Kawan's features. "Not much control needed when you just sit back and pull a trigger." He said scathingly.<br/><br/>Tatin wasn't a patient man. This space travel had led him to be cooped up with far too little to do, and far too little combat, physical or otherwise.