If further confirmation had been required, her last statement would have provided it: Amos found himself seated beside a Jedi Knight. Ordinarily, that would have seemed surreal, but somewhere between discovering that his father was secretly a Mandalorian, and having his body briefly borrowed by the spirit of the Jedi uncle he never knew he had, 'normal' had taken on a strange new meaning for him.

Even so, the notion of speaking to one of the almost mythical Jedi filled him with nervous reverance. What were you meant to say? How were you meant to address them? What if she thought speaking to him was beneath her, or something like that? Weren't the Jedi meant to have been the noble protectors of the Galactic Republic, back before the Clone Wars?

He scrutinised her casually with his eyes, trying to glean what information he could from her body language. It wasn't a particularly easy task, namely because said body was somewhat attractive; more than somewhat, in fact. She looked about his age, which probably meant that she was just a kid when the Jedi Order died out: maybe she wouldn't have that same uptight attitude that he'd witnessed in the last couple of Jedi he encountered.

He realised suddenly that, as his mind had wandered, he'd been staring. Collecting himself, he flashed a slight hint of a sheepish smile. "I'm Amos. Amos Iakona." He grabbed at his beer, mind struggling for more to say, straining with feeble muscles against the weight of the conversation to try and get it moving. "So; guess you're a Jedi, huh?"