A/N: I've decided to repost some old fanfic that I wrote years ago for the SWTOR official forums, so if you've been around in the fandom for a long time, some of this might be a bit familiar. I will, however, be editing and improving most of said fics, ranging from some prose updates to major overhauls.
She was younger than he expected a Jedi Council member would be, perhaps twenty-five standard years. She was a Mirialan, and that surprised him too, although perhaps it shouldn't have - there was no reason a Jedi couldn't come from there. Though she wasn't a large woman, there was something extremely soft about her appearance: smooth curves and a rounded chin and full lips. Her ash brown hair hung just past her chin, with bangs almost covering the tattoos on her forehead. Those were a darker shade of the olive color of her skin and laid out in neat geometric patterns across her forehead, cheeks, and chin, with a thin line down her nose.
As he watched, she leaned forward on her elbows and folded her hands, a concerned expression in her purple eyes. The diplomat finished making his case and she rose to say her own part. Now that she was standing, she could see that she wore a floor-length skirt the color of dust and a loose-sleeved, light green blouse, both of plain fabric, under a long reddish-brown leather vest and a snow-white scarf. She spoke with her hands folded in front of her and her chin slightly bowed, but shoulders squared and voice steady. Finished, she returned to her seat and sat down, bringing her legs up to sit cross-legged on the chair.