Ben Kenobi (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
jedimindtrick) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
thisavrou_log2016-03-09 05:40 pm
jedimindtrick) wrote in thisavrou_log2016-03-09 05:40 pm
+ 9
Who: Anakin Skywalker (forcechoke) & Obi-Wan Kenobi (jedimindtrick)
When: March 9th
Where: Moira's Observation Deck
What: Kenobi and Skywalker reconnect with hilarious results.
Warnings:Nagging and whining, probably. Will update as needed.
A number of days have passed now, none of which have resembled those Obi-Wan Kenobi had experienced in his own galaxy. So many hours living in the moment, he would have expected to find himself settled by now — to move freely through the universe is one of the skills a Jedi must possess — but something's been holding him back and Kenobi's at a loss as to its exact origin. Perhaps it isn't just one thing.
On Ceta and the Plorian moon, in the gathered minds, and buried in archives, there's a disturbing thread of discord that whispers hints of sinister things to Obi-Wan. He doesn't show good reason to be skeptical, and yet he doesn't deny its presence in his mind now. Skeptical of what? He's certain he doesn't know (a further maddening fact he doesn't care to acknowledge).
Within his own mind there's a veritable weave of troubling thoughts all his own. Entirely unrelated thoughts that he worries may be half expectation and half imagination on his part — worries and hopes in one breath, because if it's not either of those things bothering him, then it could well be reality bothering him, and that would mean worse things, particularly for their futures.
In arriving early and in waiting for Anakin, Obi-Wan secures himself a moment to remove himself from these concerns for the time being, to shield it all away to the best of his ability, not so that he hides it from Skywalker, but in order to hone his own focus on what concerns him most. He isn't blind to the fact that Skywalker has had free reign with no Jedi Council to monitor his every move. He's felt the disturbances, too, and after days he's glad to reconnect and have the opportunity to finally ask about it.
Beyond this alarming change in venue, beyond the rights violations and the whispers of what's to come, he has a very real and tangible concern for his friend and that will never change.
forcechoke) & Obi-Wan Kenobi (jedimindtrick)When: March 9th
Where: Moira's Observation Deck
What: Kenobi and Skywalker reconnect with hilarious results.
Warnings:
A number of days have passed now, none of which have resembled those Obi-Wan Kenobi had experienced in his own galaxy. So many hours living in the moment, he would have expected to find himself settled by now — to move freely through the universe is one of the skills a Jedi must possess — but something's been holding him back and Kenobi's at a loss as to its exact origin. Perhaps it isn't just one thing.
On Ceta and the Plorian moon, in the gathered minds, and buried in archives, there's a disturbing thread of discord that whispers hints of sinister things to Obi-Wan. He doesn't show good reason to be skeptical, and yet he doesn't deny its presence in his mind now. Skeptical of what? He's certain he doesn't know (a further maddening fact he doesn't care to acknowledge).
Within his own mind there's a veritable weave of troubling thoughts all his own. Entirely unrelated thoughts that he worries may be half expectation and half imagination on his part — worries and hopes in one breath, because if it's not either of those things bothering him, then it could well be reality bothering him, and that would mean worse things, particularly for their futures.
In arriving early and in waiting for Anakin, Obi-Wan secures himself a moment to remove himself from these concerns for the time being, to shield it all away to the best of his ability, not so that he hides it from Skywalker, but in order to hone his own focus on what concerns him most. He isn't blind to the fact that Skywalker has had free reign with no Jedi Council to monitor his every move. He's felt the disturbances, too, and after days he's glad to reconnect and have the opportunity to finally ask about it.
Beyond this alarming change in venue, beyond the rights violations and the whispers of what's to come, he has a very real and tangible concern for his friend and that will never change.
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It's not a fact he can deny, though perhaps, in hindsight, it is one he might have changed. Despite growth in leaps and bounds over the last few years, heightened responsibilities innumerable, and quite possibly unheard of (once upon a time) for one so young, when the din of war settles, the anxiety of constant threat and attack is removed, and he's shoved back in a relative state of peace, there are times when he shows his age.
Not the age to which he paints himself, forgetting how truly quickly progress had occurred since the Chancellor's official declaration of conflict, but the age he truly is. Which, when all other obstacles are set aside, is barely grown, and still very much the teenager who had all but run into the Order's new responsibilities with open arms.
Without the conflict to act as a distraction or a focus, his attention turns to all the things he's pushed aside. The grief he truly hasn't dealt with, a marriage in stasis, training he clearly hasn't mastered well enough. (He is, unfortunately, all too aware sometimes that his promotion had not been handled lightly, nor, as the case may have been, wholly willingly.) His anger bites harder, slights are taken as tangible offenses, and his whirlwind emotions end up projected in small ways he doesn't even notice beside.
He doesn't wait the full hour, the pacing eventually proves too tedious to bear, and his center is alarmingly difficult to find. There are plenty of admissions he needs to make to Obi-Wan, whether now, or in time, but there is one singular that he won't be able to deny.
Of course, he had been the one to initiate the message, and some part of him knew that his Mast--no, friend, would not be satisfied with plain words alone.
And thus, this is the hole he has dug for himself, for better or worse.
Anakin presses himself forward, regardless. There is no use denying this, even if he could have, the bruising evident near his temple, blossoming just to the side of the evident (and iconic) scar, his knuckles, and other places beside that wouldn't take Obi-Wan long to find, regardless of anything. He arrives at the Observation Deck only a few minutes early, and given his propensity for tardiness, that's a few extra points on his side to start, at least.
He finds Obi-Wan meditating, though just barely, and doesn't bother with announcing himself: he can feel Obi-Wan as much (if not, perhaps, just a little less) as he knows Obi-Wan can feel him. It's unnecessary.
Instead, he starts with, "Careful, you might fall asleep like that. Then I really will have to call you old."
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For his part, Obi-Wan has no doubt which option he prefers. In all the years they've spent together he can't deny for a second that there has been a long-stretching (but severely understated) sense of reward created through working with Skywalker. Are they unconventional? Yes. But also extremely effective.
He's almost entirely lost in this type of thought when Anakin's joke lands. He smirks, not turning or looking, just waiting out the moment for a second longer. "If we were living on Zocraesta, we'd both be four." Deadpan snark. "I hardly see how age is rel—" A spare glance is all it takes. A half-second to look at Skywalker, to see him plainly, and keeping down the complicated and swift eruption of upset inside of him takes effort.
"Anakin!" Sharp surprise, exasperation, all very clearly stemming from concern. No need to guess what he's been doing — the scraped knuckles, the bruising, a carefully guarded sense of self — but that doesn't answer the rest of the questions. "Are you all right? What happened?"
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As if it ever is.
He heaves a sigh, his glance almost immediately averting away. "Nothing important," he says, sounding nowhere near as nonchalant as the statement itself calls for. Just his mother's honor, which is of exceeding import to him when no one else is left to defend it, but somehow that explanation seems to fall short when he even thinks of giving it.
"It's about the kind of welcome I'd expect out here in the middle of nowhere," he says, deflecting in quick succession. It won't work, he knows as much, and yet he still gives it every time.
Age, it would seem, is far more relevant than even Anakin properly realizes.
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As Kenobi gives ground and pulls back on his own emotions, he feels Skywalker's apprehension fill into the space he makes. He frowns. "You didn't answer the first question." A gentle reminder, and hopefully one that will help to correct Anakin back toward a steadying path. He's not here to admonish Anakin — he's here as a friend — and in some ways he thinks this suggests he might need to work to be better at that if this is what it takes to get to this point.
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"I--I'm fine." With a second sigh, the repetition of it sounds a little more certain, but not too much as to become a detached mantra.
At the very least, Obi-Wan's hope is right. His rising anxiety sharply drops, and his shoulders slack just so. "We both know I've seen worse," he says, a little drier, with a hint of sarcasm he could have learned from only one person. "Besides, I still have one good hand."
He wiggles the fingers of the cybernetic prosthetic.
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For a moment he stares in astonishment of his own, his head shaking back and forth. "You're impossible," he accuses, but it's hardly the sort of criticism that's worth more than the exasperation backing it. Sometimes it's easy to forget how much Skywalker's lived and how much he'd had to sacrifice to get here. Certainly more than a hand. It's an especially stark thought when Kenobi remembers how very young his friend actually happens to be.
"I trust you managed to reach some kind of resolution on your own." Obi-Wan doesn't know Anakin to give up. For that matter, he doesn't know Anakin to back down. He briefly wonders what the other person might look like after all of this. "Do try to be more careful, Anakin." The last thing either of them need is to find themselves embroiled in trouble and trapped with the consequences.
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He's more animated as he speaks now, small quirks in expression finding their way back out from the forced suppression, and after a moment, it's almost as if nothing has been bothering him at all.
"I imagine that's not what you wanted to talk about?"
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"Not entirely, no," Kenobi finally says. His arms fold over themselves and he grips his elbows, his gaze turning away and then distant. In so few days the number of acquaintances he's made and the information Obi-Wan has required himself to process feels stuffed inside his head, threatening to burst out at any moment. Honestly, he isn't sure he should have waited this long to consult Anakin, but it isn't as if he can go back in time and appear to the world younger than before.
"Have you met Leia?" he asks, not daring to look over at his friend. If Anakin has then perhaps he can guess why his old master's voice holds a sliver of concern.
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Still, beyond this, Anakin had learned little else from her, beyond that she theoretically knew more about the unfolding of the events of the galaxy than he did, despite his name being strangely absent, however narcissistic that observation is.
Where Obi-Wan cannot connect their gazes, Anakin does. He hums a confirmation, his brow furrowing slightly in concern. "What about her?"
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"She knows of us." That isn't troubling alone, though. "She knows our past and our futures." The implication is, by all rights, harmless, but Obi-Wan's unspoken admission is that he's considered this fact extensively and in some ways — most ways — considers it a very poor sign indeed that none of the comments Organa had made had started with congratulations on winning the war.
To further trouble Kenobi, he asks impulsively, "Do you recall Bail and Breha had been attempting to have children?" While their contact with the Organas tended to be minimal, his connections, particularly to Padmé, meant that it wasn't uncommon for them all to share company. "They had been trying for many years," he added, his voice turning soft. If they'd accomplished their goal then it's only right for Obi-Wan to be pleased for them; however, given the circumstances, Obi-Wan's not sure he can make that exception for the "no coincidences" clause. They'd been trying for so long.
He watches Anakin closely to judge his reaction to all of this, his eyes sharp and focused now. Skywalker will freely give his thoughts — he doesn't doubt that — but that doesn't mean he'll offer over everything Kenobi wants or needs to know.
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"I have a friend from Tatooine. Luke Skywalker." It's all he can hear, or think about, and however insulted he might have been by the idea of Bail Organa's daughter looking like the spitting image of his wife, it's thrown into complete disarray by the idea of another Skywalker hailing from Tattooine in twenty years. That can't be a coincidence, no matter how much he might wish he could pass it off as one.
Of course he still had family there, tentative relationships barely built with a man who'd been able to do for his mother what Anakin never could, a second son with his own feelings on the matter (and truthfully, as Anakin looks back on it, a kindness with little follow-through; he doesn't dislike Owen, but as far as he's concerned on the matter of his step-brother, Owen lacks clear initiative). But a family-by-marriage still explains nothing: it hadn't been his surname on the deed to that farm.
His instincts are screaming, and the easiest assumption in this case has to be the right one, but how does he even explain that, when it hasn't happened?
The conflict is evident in his expression--it's always evident in his expression--and he sighs.
"Pad--Senator Amidala said as much, yes," he says, still trying to cover the fact that he knows is sitting right there between them, unmasked and completely evident. If Obi-Wan is going to dance around it, he's going to do the same. "You're a little out of the way to send a congratulatory note, Obi-Wan."
Because deflection solves everything.
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What is he even saying?
His hand finds his mouth and he shoots Anakin a look, eyebrows up and jaw tight, and then turns to pace a step or two. The concern he feels ballooning inside of him swells well past the point where he can do anything about it, but at this point if Skywalker's disquiet doesn't equal his own, then Obi-Wan might actually consider the possibility that this could all be an elaborate ruse. It wouldn't be the first time.
Too many questions. Too many unasked questions, he can't help but remind himself, but if the questions aren't asked, then the answers aren't positive or negative, they aren't anything.
Denial does not suit Obi-Wan Kenobi. Not denial or deceptive means, not whispers in the shadows. And yet he here stands, trying his very best to figure out what they're to do next. If even some of his fears — fears he shouldn't even have — are being realized, then it's more than fitting the Jedi Master is on edge.
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"That's impossible," is all he can force out when that frustration ebbs, and he's left gazing out the window, instead of directly at Obi-Wan, gaze averted all over again, for a completely different reason. He can see his friend's echo, a reflection in the glass taken to pacing the deck, and he runs his new hand--the one with an equal reflection of feeling--though his hair.
This can't be real.
The more he considers it, he finds he's not particularly upset; family has been, after all, a constant lingering priority, but rarely anything active, just informing. He needs consolation in this, more than he can properly give in a denial that doesn't hold any weight next to the evidence: the girl had a force signature he couldn't deny, fainter than it might have been had it been trained, perhaps, but undeniable all the same.
Is this why they've been led here? Deserted to seeming happenstance and an insurmountable goal to find their way back home?
"That's--" the second willful denial trails off then, 'impossible' being a suddenly difficult word to shape. It's quiet and far too thoughtful for someone who does little else but boast, but it's such a large possibility or process, and he's not sure where to start.
At the very least, he feels about as off-guard as his Master sounds, unfocused and entirely too unsure.
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He finds his thoughts wandering. They don't go far. Predictably, they land on Skywalker — this Skywalker, to be clear, since Obi-Wan now knows the difference needs to be noted. The importance of family has remained a steadfast theme throughout Anakin's life, unchanging in all their years of instruction, and while Kenobi guessed it would be the last hurdle his friend would have to pass over, it hasn't ever occurred to him that Anakin might entirely side-step that hurdle altogether.
This is, to some degree, a lesson he'd learned himself not all that long ago: Something as noble and as good as love can have such arguably unforeseen consequences. This conversation is brought to them by an utter lack of foresight on Obi-Wan's part that. He's certainly not without blame.
Could he be wrong? Even if he's not, what can Obi-Wan realistically do? He doesn't acknowledge the greater implications just yet.
"Anakin..." His voice is softer now. Unmistakably tired, but once again evenly Kenobi. He eyes his best friend and it's so clear the shared pain all of this causes isn't doing either of them any good. Still, he has to ask. "Is it entirely impossible?" With his words comes a silent plea for the truth. He needs to know now, even if it means he could very well be asking too much. At least with that answered he might be able to work out some of his other concerns already lingering on the horizon.
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A heavier sigh this time, gaze still focused on the reflection of his former-Master; it seems easier this way when he doesn't have to see that...disappointment?
"I don't know," is all he manages, barely above a whisper, a hair above breaking, crying. This is all he can offer for the truth of it, and it speaks volumes beside. The answer--the real one, the one that isn't yet his to give--is a heart-stopping, petrifying thing.
...What if he's just ruined everything?
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He allows himself to think for a moment, his heart heavy. There are few thoughts of the war, the relief from that, or of the Jedi Council back home. Few thoughts of the Moira or Ceta or anything else but the two of them. After everything they've been through, this certainly won't be the end of either of them.
As if a ghost, he disappears from the reflection to reappear at Skywalker's side, his hand resting on the other man's shoulder. He doesn't feel as if he has words, let alone the right words, but that doesn't stop him from trying.
"Whatever we face here, we'll face it together. As we always do."
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It is, after all, only once that gap between them has been physically bridged that he dares move his gaze from the echo to the man, and there's far less disappointment there than he's told himself their should be.
And thus, what he says instead is a simple, "Thanks, Obi-Wan."
The reassurance is more than he knows he deserves, but over several years now, he has at least learned to take those small concessions when they arise (which is less often than he thinks they should, and alarmingly more often than their peers would approve of).
It still leaves only a million other unanswered questions, like how this all revolves around Leia when her friend is the one with the damning name. Or why, if Obi-Wan's assumption is the correct one, she carries a name that isn't hers.
Patience may be a core tenet of the order, and a virtue to boot, but he feels no inkling of it here at all.
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He hardly knows where to begin. Or begin again even. Any past comments made tentatively on the subject of Anakin and Padmé had been made with the guarded assumption that Skywalker understood the wisdom behind them and would inevitably make the same decision as Kenobi. Now that he's nearly certain that's not the case — only nearly because of that half-truth — it makes everything that much more complicated.
He sees the problem plainly in front of them. It's their ghostly figures reflecting back over a sea of starlight. Apt. This is the past, the present, the future. The men looking back are familiar to this moment, but they could easily be younger or older. Side-by-side. Kenobi and Skywalker. Best friends. Family.
Kenobi could be considered negligent. Rightfully, he should be if his actions — or inactions in this case — are to be judged against the code he's worked his whole life to uphold. Attachments are forbidden, but in asking Anakin to give up his attachments, Obi-Wan must admit that he needs to give up his own: his attachment to Anakin. He's never admitted as much to anyone else, but he's always known this would be his final hurdle. It's never occurred to him that he could just... side-step it altogether.
He smiles. "Leia is... miraculous."
Not a word he uses lightly (particularly considering his present company), but its gravitas is not undue. Obi-Wan can see her in the Force, her bright signature trailing light through the ship, opening up the universe around her. All the evidence he needs is written there in that perfect combination; a Skywalker if he's ever seen one.
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This admission, as guarded and barely there as it is, does act as a minor relief. Keeping a secret like this when his life is not even supposed to be his own--has never truly ever been--has been a hurtful, regressive thing. It has made love out to feel like a punishment, when he knows it should be anything but, and the secret, more than the thing it hides, has been the real threat of damage to everything he holds dear.
To the trust he had once convinced himself would be the only shred of it he ever got. (And Padme notwithstanding, that very fact still seems to be true).
It may be a concession on Obi-Wan's part, a willful denial that represses and files this away for another time, later, much like Anakin and his own worry. But right now, all it does is speak to that trust, all the more resolute for it. 'We'll face it together. As we always do.'
In that moment, he's unsure of why he'd ever thought this would turn out differently. As if any amount of reactionary disappointment could shake something so implicit. They're the team, and if the last few years of hiding say anything, they should have told him that even something so defiant as his relationship(s) hasn't changed that. Not once.
"She certainly is something," he says, something that would so usually come with a sarcastic aside, something to quantify and dull the point, but it's given a rare breath of reverence. It's not a point he could deny, even if he wanted to. (And he doesn't).
He allows the moment to sit, uncharacteristically silent for a moment longer than he usually leaves anything, if only to ponder at the other strange half of this whole affair. He's unsure what precisely Leia has told him, but her "friend" carrying the surname she, by all seeming rights, should, poses a question he knows Obi-Wan likely has no answer for, and she seemingly unaware of the circumstances herself.
"There is..." he starts, breaking his own imposed silence, "something strange about this, though." He pauses then, unsure of how to really form that. "And I'm not sure she even knows."
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Concentrating instead on the another piece of the puzzle, he considers the other. "She mentioned her friend, Luke Skywalker, from Tatooine. An accomplished pilot. A Jedi" If it hadn't been for Organa's very essence singing the virtue of truth, Kenobi would have outright corrected her. No, that's Anakin Skywalker you're thinking of.
"I'd intended to ask more about him, but I'll admit I was a bit overwhelmed by the thought of it." Two decades into their future and it's not hard for Kenobi to make the very short leaps that have finally brought them to this moment. In some ways he knows that he can't hope to be right or wrong about his feelings on something that has yet to come.
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Or Padmé has neglected to mention it for...what reason?"She said as much...but I'd never--"
Leave anyone there. His thoughts cycle back immediately to frustration regarding whatever in this is clouding the questionable set-up of this scenario to start. If Leia is precisely as they now collectively suspect, that would mean this "friend" is presumably her brother. But why the separation? Why the change in surname? Why, in all of this, had his name been the one met with such confusion (not surprise)?
As far as Anakin is concerned, he's played no small part in this war; it's a question worth asking.
"None of this makes any sense. Something's...off," he says, as if not at all an understatement.
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"Perhaps it's not meant to make sense." Such nebulous thoughts are infrequent for him but as he considers this more, Obi-Wan isn't convinced they should be writing everything in stone. "If nothing else, there are other explanations," he says, somewhat willing to justify the idea that they should take this in stride if it means some sense of relief in the interim. It's not present Obi-Wan looking out for future Obi-Wan, but it's better than nothing.
His fingers press to his temples as he finally takes a seat, fighting against a headache that he's certain wasn't there an hour ago, and yet feels like it hasn't left since he arrived. It's a curious combination, like a low-level background noise, just barely there. Enough to notice, not enough to mention.
"Regardless of the true intentions behind all of this, I believe it's in everyone's best interest if we keep this between us for the time being." It's certainly not a command, and it's hardly a decision he should be making alone; Obi-Wan's deferring to Anakin at the same time as he's asking permission.
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"You don't think that's...lying?" he asks, and for once, the question isn't posed like an accusation, and it does come laden with the aggressive overtones of Anakin saying one thing and doing it his own way in another.
There is no precedent for this. Maybe not in the history of the galaxy, as far as he knows. How is he supposed to handle holding onto information so precious and not tell the one person who deserves to know?
It's a rare, deferential moment that speaks volumes to how truly lost he is in all of this, and where his trust, in those moments of doubt, really lies.
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Despite all of this, the addition of information about the future changes nothing about their need to focus on the present.
"Lying?" A thoughtful frown tugs at his face making him look that much older. "No. It's an omission at best." Skywalker will balk, he figures, but it does leave him to wonder if Anakin considers the information being held back about them as lying. Furthermore, information is only as useful as it is accurate in cases like these. Without a better understanding of what happened leading up to the appearance of Leia (and likely Luke, too), it's as likely to be damaging as it is to be helpful for any of them. "Until we know enough, and then..."
Obi-Wan feels his hesitance harden, feels it spread out in his chest and become reluctance. He has a bad feeling about this — a concern that borders on fearful — although he does what he can to shield that within himself. It's origins are dubious, but that concern doesn't appear to be going anywhere.
He sighs. "And then we go from there." He doesn't know what other option they have at this point, but he'll certainly be pondering it in his spare time.
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He has an alarming...talent for precognition, but the problem is that it's rarely ever clear, and a single choice can turn any certain vision into a pathetic paranoia. Always uncertain, the future is. It's rarely an idiom he enjoys internalizing, especially when it comes to the question of his "destiny," but whatever they've been pulled into here may have just shifted everything Leia could even hope to impart.
(Even if that doesn't come close to slaking the curiosity that still lingers in the face of reason.)
Anakin's heavy sigh is vocal cast-off equivalent of throwing up his hands. He doesn't like it: if this girl is family, and her force signature suggests she's something, she has every right to know it. But sadly, the point still stands that he has no idea how to go about addressing it.
(It, or anything else he's heard along the same lines, outrageous or no.)
"That's the plan? 'Go from there'?" he asks, the scoff in it likely heard for light years behind them. "...I hope you know what you're doing."