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ex_forcechoke292) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
thisavrou_log2016-04-21 07:08 pm
ex_forcechoke292) wrote in thisavrou_log2016-04-21 07:08 pm
[closed;] coming at you like a dark horse
Who: Anakin Skywalker (forcechoke) & Obi-Wan Kenobi (jedimindtrick).
When: Backdated to 4/18.
Where: Outside/MERO #6
What: Mail call calls for aheated discussion.
Warnings: Yelling, overdramatics, #ClassicSkywalker, probably swearing, #ANAKIN, etc.
[When mail first arrives, Anakin doesn't think anything of it. He's preoccupied in a million ways, between the girl with his lightsaber, Luke's declaration regarding his building droids, getting Padmé back out of that prison, and subsequently trying very hard not to think on the latter. His mailbox had been the last thing on his mind.
But when Not-R2 beeps a cheerless reminder, the sad mimicry is enough to prompt him to check it, if only to bar the droid from making that sound again. He's tentative, pulling out the box inside, an immediate reminder back to the unmarked box in Obi-Wan room, that thundering breathing still occasionally echoing in his ears.
The box doesn't feel quite as harrowing, it lacks the same dangerous, inexplicable, dark draw, and for that he's thankful enough. As he turns the bulky thing over in his hands, he notes a sloppy, if not somewhat recognizable scrawl in Aurebesh, awkwardly written into the metal surface: *For Luke*.
He has no question in that moment that this isn't meant for him by any other way than an awfully convenient mix-up. That what he finds inside may not be meant for his eyes at all. But, either having not learned anything from the previous incident (what this may look like on the surface), or because the memory of that mask still haunts and informs quite a lot, he can't help but open this box with its familiar scrawl, if only just to make sure he knows it's safe.
What he finds inside is innocuous enough, but curious. Written works, bound paper and ink, had fallen out of fashion long before even his time, the material cited as frail and non-economical, hardly something with the same ability of preservation as a recording or digital readout, which could be archived with virtually no thought toward in regards to it at all. He turns he book over too, and finds that same familiar hand, though the letters read much sharper on a surface meant to take ink and reflect the nuance and care in its use. *The Journals of Ben Kenobi*.
Kenobi.
He tells himself that can't be it. That in the whole galaxy, this has to be a coincidence. A similar name, a different Luke, familiar script by virtue of the rareness of its use or his slow-growing exhaustion. He tries to continue to tell himself this as he opens it, pages through it carefully, but with every passage, the assurance shrinks.
He doesn't finish with it before the book is placed back in the box and marched straight to Kenobi's door. He needs explanations, and he needs them now. For his own sake, (and maybe Luke's too).]
forcechoke) & Obi-Wan Kenobi (jedimindtrick).When: Backdated to 4/18.
Where: Outside/MERO #6
What: Mail call calls for a
Warnings: Yelling, overdramatics, #ClassicSkywalker, probably swearing, #ANAKIN, etc.
[When mail first arrives, Anakin doesn't think anything of it. He's preoccupied in a million ways, between the girl with his lightsaber, Luke's declaration regarding his building droids, getting Padmé back out of that prison, and subsequently trying very hard not to think on the latter. His mailbox had been the last thing on his mind.
But when Not-R2 beeps a cheerless reminder, the sad mimicry is enough to prompt him to check it, if only to bar the droid from making that sound again. He's tentative, pulling out the box inside, an immediate reminder back to the unmarked box in Obi-Wan room, that thundering breathing still occasionally echoing in his ears.
The box doesn't feel quite as harrowing, it lacks the same dangerous, inexplicable, dark draw, and for that he's thankful enough. As he turns the bulky thing over in his hands, he notes a sloppy, if not somewhat recognizable scrawl in Aurebesh, awkwardly written into the metal surface: *For Luke*.
He has no question in that moment that this isn't meant for him by any other way than an awfully convenient mix-up. That what he finds inside may not be meant for his eyes at all. But, either having not learned anything from the previous incident (what this may look like on the surface), or because the memory of that mask still haunts and informs quite a lot, he can't help but open this box with its familiar scrawl, if only just to make sure he knows it's safe.
What he finds inside is innocuous enough, but curious. Written works, bound paper and ink, had fallen out of fashion long before even his time, the material cited as frail and non-economical, hardly something with the same ability of preservation as a recording or digital readout, which could be archived with virtually no thought toward in regards to it at all. He turns he book over too, and finds that same familiar hand, though the letters read much sharper on a surface meant to take ink and reflect the nuance and care in its use. *The Journals of Ben Kenobi*.
Kenobi.
He tells himself that can't be it. That in the whole galaxy, this has to be a coincidence. A similar name, a different Luke, familiar script by virtue of the rareness of its use or his slow-growing exhaustion. He tries to continue to tell himself this as he opens it, pages through it carefully, but with every passage, the assurance shrinks.
He doesn't finish with it before the book is placed back in the box and marched straight to Kenobi's door. He needs explanations, and he needs them now. For his own sake, (and maybe Luke's too).]