thisavrou_log | +28 [closed]*

Entry tags:

mcu: natasha romanoff

+28 [closed]*

Who: Obi-Wan Kenobi (

jedimindtrick) and ???
When: March 28th
Where: Mess Hall Bar
What: Unable to find suitable rest, Obi-Wan takes his thoughts to the bar.
Warnings: Alcohol. Grumpiness, probably. The usual.
Note*: Currently closed to previous plotters, but if you're interested in tagging in, hit me up via PM or at

blakeroo via PP.

The march of time has never bothered Obi-Wan so much as it does here on the Moria. In so few days — arguably a handful — it has been one challenge after another. To say the Jedi Master feels powerless against it would be an extreme underestimation. In fact, he feels downright steamrolled by the force of everything he's learned since leaving his home.

Finding respite from it has become harder and harder, too. Without the support structure, without the Jedi Council, many of Kenobi's decisions have left him questioning himself, left him questioning his ability to handle extreme circumstances without a crutch. No amount of meditation can free him of this concern, even if he believes he's doing the best he can in the face of adversity.

That, among other things, preys on him. Particularly when he's tired. It's the only reason he turns to the bar, to a few drinks in the name of personal sanity. It does little to lift his spirits, but it's more than enough to warm him, and with luck, it will eventually fall away to a more restful sleep.

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Sif isn't sure why she's still coming back to the bar, really. Nothing on offer has so far had the capacity to in any way alter her state of mind, unless you count her annoyance over the fact that she can't seem to get the slightest bit inebriated on board.

All things told, that is probably for the best, but that isn't how Sif sees it.

Still, here she is again, and since staying sober and in a bad mood is a foregone conclusion, and Obi-Wan doesn't look like he is in a stellar mood either, she goes to sit next to him. Might as well be sober and grumpy together.

"May I join you, or do you wish to drink alone?"

Misery certainly loves company. Obi-Wan hasn't had too much to drink — he really does tend to keep his wits about him when he doesn't have someone around to watch his back — but he's had enough to slip into the slightly numb phase that brings with it less melancholy than he's actually feeling.

"No, please join me." He gestures to the seat she was intending to take and then shifts his own position in anticipation of a conversation. Sometimes you can tell. Sometimes people just look like they want to talk, or maybe they just don't want to be alone. Either way, he appreciates the company.

"You've been well?" Pleasantries first. Kenobi doubts much can faze Sif but that doesn't preclude him from asking.

Today was just not a day for getting anything accomplished. So Jane decided to ramble a bit, and take a stroll around the ship. And maybe find a margarita or something close enough.

And as chance would have it, one of the first places she found was the bar. Oh frabjous day, she can get a drink. Jane went up to the bar and made her order, not really paying attention to the man next to her currently meditating on his drink.

Well she would have a drink if she hadn't wobbled it and splashed it on the man next to her.

"Oh my god, I am so sorry." Jane grabbed a bunch of napkins and thrust them at the man. He didn't seem the type to let anyone touch him.

It's unexpected, yes, but only in so much that Obi-Wan has dulled himself past the point where he might anticipate such things. The drink — what had escaped from her cup on to his robes — begins soaking through almost instantly. Wonderful.

Receiving the offered napkins, he daubs at the area but doesn't seen too fussed. At least, not until he looks and then looks again.

"Padmé?" Do his (drunk) eyes deceive him? For a moment he's certain they have but then everything loses focus for a second and when he refocuses again, it's clearly not. Same face, different signature running through the Force. "I— I'm sorry, you reminded me of someone..."

A few weeks in a galaxy in which he alarmingly lacks his intricate knowledge of its inner workings and maneuverings, his intimate familiarity with its assorted underbellies, or any power or real freedom whatsoever has left Lando somewhat... frustrated. Of course, he's largely surrounded by people he doesn't know, so that means he hasn't allowed himself to show it, maintaining a constant demeanor of easy, friendly charm as he works to leave favorable impressions that may establish groundwork for future connections.

With no downtime thanks to having roommates, that can get tiring even for someone as experienced and gifted in such an endeavor as Lando. And so he comes to decompress, to enjoy a more relaxed setting aboard the confining ship. He may not be remotely willing to lower his carefully smoothed bluff, but he can at least indulge in a more casual iteration thereof.

As he closes in on the bar area, he carefully observes his surroundings. His eyes rather swiftly settle on the lone figure that Obi-Wan cuts, the seemingly ill mood hanging over him, and he decides to engage in a loose, casual manner. He stops to his side as he eyes the bar's stock, considering it for a few moments in quiet contemplation.

"Pardon me," He eventually speaks up, glancing toward the man with a slight smile, "I don't intend any intrusion, but... you wouldn't happen to have a good recommendation, would you?"

If it's any kind of deep contemplation that keeps Obi-Wan occupied, it's not strong enough to keep him elsewhere. The question takes a moment to settle in his mind — a recommendation for what? — but when he looks down at his own drink, the intention is much more obvious.

The Jedi Master lifts his glass to inspect the contents just to buy himself a little time. "I haven't had anything I didn't like, but this ale is strong, dark, and smooth. A good choice, I think."

For Obi-Wan, it hardly matters. He'd just as soon drink whatever was put in front of him because it's so rarely about experiencing the drink and so much more often about experiencing its effect. Not to excess, but certainly more than any other member of the council.

"Would you care to join me?" he asks, polite to a fault even when he isn't feeling all that interested in company. It's nothing against Lando, of course. He just happens to be the third person to come along on what was meant to be a quiet night of reflection.

There's a moment of quiet consideration on his part, perhaps a bit more serious than was earned, as he takes in that description of the drink, until he nods agreeably, "That's certainly a solid enough endorsement."

Truthfully, he would probably enjoy quite a range of the offerings as well, but having a starting point is never a bad idea - nor is it a bad excuse to strike up conversation, which is an instinct he can't keep himself from acting on. Which is why, once he's secured his own drink, he smiles to accept the invitation.

Before taking a seat, though, he pauses for a moment, "As long as you're certain you don't mind the company."

Obi-Wan smiles, a little too pleasant to be entirely sober, and turns to wave over the tender. While he waits, he talks back over his shoulder at the other man. "I don't make it a habit of offering when I don't mean it." For some reason, the words sounded a bit more elegant and put together when they were still in Obi-Wan's head.

"Truthfully, I wasn't expecting company, but I won't dissuade myself from having a bit of it." How benevolent of you.

"My name's Obi-Wan Kenobi. I teach," he adds, a bit too eagerly. "Language. And the way of the Jedi." It might be something about Lando in general, but the Jedi Master's tongue feels considerably looser in Calrissian's company all of a sudden.

His own smile, in turn, is winning and bright, but that's par for the course in his case - sober or not. With a gracious nod accompanied by a soft chuckle in the back of his throat, he settles easily and smoothly into a free seat. "And I could hardly dissuade myself from taking up such an offer."

Of course, his attention is immediately grabbed as Obi-Wan introduces himself and describes his work; his brows arch slightly in surprise, and he shifts back in his chair. Certainly there's a time difference here, but he's encountered that already.

"The way of the Jedi? Sounds like we're from the same neighborhood, galactically speaking." He's not as comfortable with the different galaxy situation as the jest in his tone suggests, but what is he good for if not a solid bluff? This one just happens to be for his benefit as much as anyone else's. "Lando Calrissian. A pleasure."

"Lando Calrissian, you said? You're a transport technician, then," Kenobi notes, certain of himself even after such a short amount of time on board and in this man's presence. "We share a companion or two, I believe," he adds, lifting his glass. "Han, yes?" Another safe bet.

Call it politic of him in this moment, but he's not usually one to hold out names like they're carrots leading back to the truth he wants to hear. "We've met. Here at this bar, most recently. You're from his time, aren't you?" It's an establishing point, and already the sauced Jedi is feeling more amiable by this common company — more common to him than most, at least.

"Very much correct on all counts. Han is an old friend of mine." As far as Lando's concerned, he still is a friend. Any dispute on the matter is up to Han, but thus far they seem to have reached a tense peace.

"We're off by a matter of months. Hardly worth mentioning here, though they were eventful. I take it your difference is more considerable?"

An easy assumption both because of the way he speaks of Han's time, and the fact that he's evidently a Jedi who isn't Luke.

"That's the leading theory, yes," Obi-Wan admits. He doesn't find himself often engrossed in temporal theory and now he's somewhat regretting that. The philosophical works he'd most concentrated on are providing some assistance with this new challenge, but certainly no direct routes home.

He shakes his head and pushes his glass away, lingering somewhere between deciding the benefits stopping now versus throwing caution to the wind and continuing to enjoy this moment of rare release that can only be fueled with the occasional drink or five.

"So, what do you do back home, Lando?" Small talk serves as an adequate decision-making buffer, it seems.

He doesn't really relish dwelling on time differences, himself; he's heard theories from those who have been here longer that they are, in fact, in a totally different reality, which does help to explain it. But Lando is hardly one to dwell on the scientific implications or possibilities, rather adjusting to the situation in whatever practical terms he can.

The question, small talk though it may seem on the surface, is in fact a bit loaded at present. He arches a brow, considering how to answer it. Undercover mission for the Rebel Alliance is hardly where you start in your first meeting with someone, and his most recent position has ended rather involuntarily... still, it is important to him. "I suppose I'm something of a businessman. Until recently, I had been overseeing Cloud City on Bespin."

He nods, a thin smile accompanying an appreciative glance. He hasn't had much contact with businessmen, self-proclaimed or otherwise. "Overseeing production? Or commerce in general?" For the life of him, Kenobi can't quite understand why he gets the feeling that there's a distinctly political aspect hidden behind Lando's simplification.

"'Something of a businessman' is a strange way to phrase things, you know," Kenobi says bluntly, listing his glass in salute for no apparent reason. "I'm bound to ask."

"Shorthand to convey that there is a great deal of variety in my experience," He shrugs it off loosely, smile never wavering.

His recent past is not a secret by any means, so he does rather swiftly move to clarify, "Both. Production was an ongiong challenge, but when I took the position, the city frankly needed a bit of an economic boost - additional sources of income, more comforts and security for the populace... so we built it up into a good deal more than a simple mining operation. I held the position of Baron-Administrator, which carries authority over the city as a whole alongside its industrial operations."

So, certainly, that confirms the rather heavy political aspect. Even if that's not where he had quite intended on winding up.

Obi-Wan can't quite help the look of pity he takes on, although he hardly means to disparage Lando's work. Politics in general — intentional or otherwise — tend to sour the Jedi Master's mood fairly quickly. It's nothing against the process, he'd just rather not.

"And that's what you'd prefer to do?" Maybe the tougher question, but it doesn't appear a question like that will do all that much to throw off Lando. He's nothing if not practiced in the art of conversation, casual or otherwise, clearly.

Another drink arrives — he doesn't remember ordering it, but Obi-Wan finds himself thankful nonetheless. He pulls it closer but doesn't drink it just yet. "Is that too personal?" There might be a slight slurring of his words but he doesn't seem to notice. Or maybe he just doesn't acknowledge it.

"Not at all." He smiles as he waves it off loosely. Since leaving Cloud City, he hasn't spoken a great deal about what he did there. From being on Tatooine to here, what chance was there? It's surprising how easy it comes, now that he lets himself. Certainly the relaxed atmosphere, and the ready drinks, are a help in that respect.

"It held its appeal, though I'm certainly more inclined toward a business approach than anything strictly political." Still, it was startlingly nice to be working in interests other than his own. To have the confidence of others... at least until the attention of the Empire was brought his way, and he found himself navigating by far the least favorable aspects of politics imaginable. They could easily rival and outdo the criminal circles that Lando had once traveled in terms of sheer barbarity, rapidly escalating into something he could never be party to.

"Regardless," And regrettably, as his tone softens ever so slightly, "I no longer hold the position."

Natasha isn't one to drown her sorrows, but she can often be found nursing a single drink for hours on end at the bar. Drinks loosen lips, after all.

Mostly, she looks for new people, even important-looking ones, but when she spots Obi-Wan this time, she opts to slide into the seat next to his instead. She likes Obi-Wan. He's calm in a way she rarely sees, like he has a strong sense of self. It's so unlike her own fluidity that she can't help but find him fascinating.

"What's a guy like you doing in a place like this?" She leans forward on her elbows and smiles at him slyly.

He's been here a while. All night, it seems, drinking with those that happen to wander by and ask or offer. It's not the most dignified way of conducting himself he realizes, but the last several weeks have been trying in a way that Obi-Wan has yet to acclimate to. It's one hard conversation after another. It's one crisis after another. It's a million implications breeding a million questions and there's hardly an answer to be seen.

But now he's pleasantly drunk. Not all that far gone. There's plenty of recognition in his eyes when he lifts his chin from his hand and glances over at her.

"Waiting for a girl like you, of course," he responds, reflecting back that same sly smile in return. It might be the most genuine and heartfelt smile of the night despite the jest.

"Oh, of course." She chuckles gently at the easy flirtation. Sometimes it's nice to know that no one means it and she really doesn't see an ounce of promise in his words. It's good, because there's no promise behind hers, either. There would be, if she thought it would get her anywhere, but she doubts that that's the right approach for him. It's never worked on her, either. It's hard to trick someone with sex when they already use it as a tool.

"You know just how a girl likes 'em, too: drunk and in desperate need of a shaving."

Kenobi practically recoils at that, his hand massaging his beard into a bit of a messy state. It's a little longer than he'd like but he doesn't exactly have ready access to anything but the communal bath, and he's not fond of grooming himself in front of his bunkmates.

"Desperate need? I think that's being a little unfair, Natalie," he scolds, and still there are unaddressed quotation marks around the name he uses for her. Even drunk he's convinced that's not right. He's back to smoothing his beard, practically primping it. "It's dignified. And I look like a child without it." Not quite, but try convincing Obi-Wan of that.

"Maybe a little unfair." Her smile only grows at his reaction. It's funny, but she can't quite tell if he's exactly like her or the exact opposite. "It does suit you."

And then she flicks his glass with her long nails and it makes a soft ping, playful as ever. Some people are easier with seriousness and others with playfulness, but she suspects that what he prefers most is honesty in whichever form it takes. She can't give him that, but she can give some false approximation of someone else's honesty. "What are you drinking?"

As long as she's not aiming to deceive him with much more than a name, Obi-Wan doesn't appear to mind the dodging he senses from her. Especially not when he's had a few drinks.

"It's some type of ale," he says with a shrug. After a point he'd just taken what was given to him. Something stronger was intermingled in there as well, but he'd begun to slow down a little in anticipation of heading back to his bunk.

Kenobi hitches a thumb behind him. "I could order you one." And another for himself as he considers changing his mind and staying a while longer.

"Ale's not really my thing. Vodka or whiskey would be great." But he's still welcome to order for her if he likes and she gives him a cheeky smile just to make sure that he knows that.

Normally, she'll go for the drink they're having. People subconsciously find themselves drawn towards others who mirror their behavior, but again that doesn't seem like him. He's the sort of person that she knows she's going to slip up in front of eventually, in fact, because she knows that he's just a little different, even if she's not entirely sure why yet.

He is a little different, yes, but he won't be admitting that any time soon. In fact, he's better off appearing as typical as possible, particularly to those who aren't sensitive to the Force. It gives him an advantage, or so he likes to think (and at times like this, he needs all the advantages he can get).

"Vodka or whiskey. Sounds fine." Honestly, more and more things are starting to feel fine as he continues to drink, so he turns to the tender and negotiates his way to a couple more beverages. What he returns with — a shot glass in each hand, one clear the other amber — is probably a close approximation. "Take your pick; I'll have what's left."

She takes the whiskey with a smirk and waits for him to settle before holding it up for a toast. "To figuring out the mysteries of this place."

It's the most neutral thing she can think of, though she's pretty sure that they'd all like to go home, too, but this seems safer.

Left with the vodka, he takes a moment to smell the drink — very attractive — but it doesn't inspire any sort of expression, so he must find it to be all right. The glass is lifted in salute and he smiles in response. "And to making friends in unlikely places," he adds, guessing that she won't take exception to the assumption. As far as Obi-Wan's concerned, they're friends until they're not. Which is to say, when they're not, they'll both know it.

Dipping back the shot of alcohol, he reflects back on all of the terrible drinks he'd had in his life, and admits to himself this might be the worst. But if its burn is any indication, it's certain to do the trick.

"Good choice." He doesn't mean that. It may be obvious by the slight curl of his lip. Awful taste.

Natasha doesn't really have friends most of the time. There are a few, but her real friendship is hard-won and they haven't saved each other's lives or saved the world together lately. She likes him enough, but there are plenty of people she likes until she has to screw them over. It's just life, really.

"To making friends."

She toasts anyway, because Natasha's a liar at heart and a good one, and when she notices his reaction to the drink, she puts the whisky down in front of him with a wry grin and goes to pry the vodka from his hand.

The appearance of the whiskey boggles him a little bit, but Obi-Wan merely looks down at it with a detached wonder. Okay, yes.

He lifts the whiskey and thinks that perhaps he's already had too much, but if Obi-Wan can't occasionally throw caution to the wind, he might as well call himself Master Windu.

"And the—" He hiccups and then covers his mouth briefly in surprise before mouthing a sorry. "And the universal constant of the local dive bar."

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argh PLEASE ACCEPT MY MOST SINCERE APOLOGY along with this ok <3

No apologies necessary!

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