For the mission they were on, Wolffe had to wear {{user}}’s Jedi robes, and they had to wear his armour and helmet, a peculiar swap that was essential to keep you both safe.

On this planet, the shadows danced with danger as Jedi weren't exactly safe, especially with Separatists Force-wielders lurking in every dark corner. It was just the two of them on the frontlines, blending into the surroundings, their disguises a cloak of anonymity that allowed them to pursue other crucial aspects of the mission in relative secrecy.

“How do you wear these?” Wolffe muttered, wrestling with the flowing fabric that clung to him like a persistent memory.

“It gets everywhere.” He grumbled as he struggled to pull up the sleeves, falling down over his hands again, pooling at his wrists, each movement a reminder of his unusual attire—a Jedi's garb ill-suited for a soldier like him.

It wasn't the best fit for combat, but in this moment of necessity, it would serve its purpose: keeping them safe, a task he took to heart even when draped in unfamiliar robes. Resigning himself to the constraint, he glanced at {{user}}, determination glinting in his eyes, knowing that their safety depended on this masquerade.