The Worst Jedi
"So you're saying the Force is weak in this one?"
"No, Grand Master. I'm saying the Force is completely bloody absent in this one. He has no Force, he is Force-less, he is without Force. He is a Force-free zone. It is truly remarkable just how totally and utterly lacking in even the faintest whiff of a trace of a semblance of a grain of the Force he is."
"So he's a remarkable young man, then?"
"Well - I suppose you could say that. But not in a good way. At least not for somebody who wants to be a Jedi. In all my years, I've never met a Padawan more cut out to be a nerf-herder."
"Does he want to be a Jedi?"
"Does he want to be a Jedi?"
"Of course he does, Grand Master! Who wouldn't want to be a Jedi?"
"Have you asked him?"
"Well - no."
"Perhaps you should. He does not seem to be a typical Padawan. Remind me how he came to be your apprentice."
"I rescued him from a disabled space-cruiser, Grand Master. The vessel was under attack by the Sith, and by the time we Jedi arrived to intervene, he was the last passenger left alive. The Sith almost died to the last fighter trying to capture the boy, so I assumed they would only want somebody that badly if the Force was strong in them. Holy druk, was I wrong. Clearly the Sith were after something or somebody else, or maybe there were just being evil dweebs, like usual. In any case, I can assure you they weren't after my apprentice. Not unless they wanted somebody to help drain their liquor cabinet."
"Release him from your care. It would seem that his destiny does not lie with the Jedi. Release him, so that he may find where it does lie."
"As you wish, Grand Master. I'll inform him straight away."
An hour or so after this conversation, former Jedi Padawan Revin Skytrin wandered disconsolately along the docks of Formos. He was now plain old Revin Skytrin, unemployed and of no fixed address. His possessions consisted of the clothes he was wearing, his trainee light saber (otherwise known, to those not initiated into Jedi ways, as a stick) and seven credits.
Seven credits wouldn't get him drunk, but they'd make a start. He looked around for a bar, and this being a spaceport, spotted about nine of them. The nearest of them didn't look very savoury but it did look like the nearest, so he made his way inside.
An uncertain time later, he woke up. Strange he thought. I don't remember going to sleep. Hard-won experience had taught him that this usually meant the previous evening had involved significant quantities of alcohol. A quick self-assessment provided supporting evidence. Headache - check. Dry mouth - check. Questionable sense of worth and general feeling that life was passing him by - check.
He groaned, sat up and took in his surroundings. He was in a bed, so that was good. The bed was in a plain cubicle with metal walls. There was a bit of a prison vibe, so that wasn't so good. There was a small bathroom attached to the cubicle, so Revin freshened up and then, finding to his relief that the door was unlocked, went exploring.