starlogs | [open;] the first rule of fight club is...

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star wars: anakin skywalker

[open;] the first rule of fight club is...

WHO: Anakin Skywalker (

forcechoke) and YOU?
WHERE: Various districts on Bajikan.
WHEN: Various points during the Fleet's stop on Bajikan.
WHAT: ~~Shenanakins.~~ (I had to, I'm not sorry.) Inspecting the various districts and what they have to offer. Sleeping? Alley fights? Bragging rights? The possibilities are endless.
WARNINGS: Potential warning for violence, maybe. Will update this if necessary.

AVARITA
[Initially the idea of wealth and luxury and everything that comes with it had been a turn-off. Utterly boring and useless beside, what use did he have for this? He had even almost surrendered his access token--possession is forbidden--but ultimately curiosity won out above personal offense.

Wandering has done nothing for his distaste. In fact, the longer he does so, the worse that distaste becomes: what had begun as a simple eye roll inducing offer has turned into the occasional (and very audible) scoff. But it is no longer borne of a passionate misunderstanding of how useless everything here is, from the insubstative plant life (honestly, how do people live on these plants?) to the overt opulence that would put the wealthiest parts of the Republic Senate to shame, but instead an innate hypocrisy of need.

In Avarita, Anakin can be found haggling over the counter of a jewelry store. Whatever piece of gaudy horror is being brought out is not good enough: one necklace may not take the light right, a ring with an overwrought setting just isn't the right cut, and on it goes. And on it will go, unless he's stopped.]

ACEDIA
[To the casual onlooker, Anakin may look like he has plenty under control. He takes pains to manage this, to take those emotions he isn't supposed to display--those weaknesses--and shove them under a rug so no one, not even him, has to deal with their existence. Until, of course, those weaknesses cannot be ignored. His issues with sleep are well documented by the small handful of people close enough to know they exist: he is either plagued with dreams until he doesn't sleep at all, or he sleeps too soundly for the lack of it otherwise. The idea of a district that could help with this seems nothing short of a miracle.

It may be too good to be true, but he has to try anyway. The air feels warm--a difference from the cloying heat he all too often associates it with--and even that initial doubt fades the longer he meanders. Here in Acedia, he can be found either trying to barter for Tiny Kropush, or awkwardly stumbling into ~~a den of iniquity~~ an opium den. (Whoops?)]

IRA
[He's getting his ass kicked. It's the most succinct way to put how this "fair" fight in one of Ira's back alleys is going. His lightsaber is still clipped to his belt, this brawl having develoved from a poorly timed "Your Mother!" joke that he'd felt absolutely no need to suffer to fists within barely the span of a blink. All he can feel is the hammer of his heart straining against its confines and the rush of adrenaline urging the fight on.

He loves it.

But for as much relish as he seems to get out of this newly instigated fight club (honestly don't talk about it), all he can see is the wash of red his vision becomes as he realizes he hates this unfortunate idiot who had simply decided class was not decorum to be exercised. So if someone wants to join the fight (or stop it, ~~but who wants to do that?~~), he's as like to swing a punch at whoever is in the vicinity.]

SUPERBIA
[It is the feeling of failure that drives him to Superbia. Whether inspired just by the rest of Bajikan, or (more likely) by a history of internalizing every errant piece of criticism as a personal offense and grievous failure, he isn't admitting to himself. He certainly won't say aloud that he's wrong and looking to find a way to fix it. But the idea of perfection is not even wholly in disagreement with the Code he's meant to live by: a Jedi constantly seeks ways to better themselves.

It starts as naively. A trip to the gym is normal, and calming for a time. Routine movements offer some form of clarification, and he becomes talkative enough (apologies to anyone in the vicinity). Or is that code for insufferable bragging?

If not found at the gym, he can be found rather confidently wandering the district until those judgmental (and even partially amused) glances fall on you.]

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

[With decompression and orientation out of the way, Padmé had still been left with more questions than answers. For a time she had thought it all a rouse, some ploy to distract her, yet as she had moved around the ship, listening and watching, she had come to realize that it isn't that. There is that gap between what she had been doing versus where she now is, and while there is a flash of annoyance, she knows that anger will solve nothing. It never has.

Upon hearing that they are able to attend upon a planet, and somewhat freely, it seems, Padmé decides that it may well do to look down there. Assurances have been given, as becoming stranded in some foreign space is not what she has planned, nor would she seek to worry anyone. Thus still dressed in her Senator robes, but both the Japor snippet and her tags beneath her dress, she had gone planet side.

She isn't certain what she expects, although the tokens are indeed different. There are some that Padmé has no desire to view, even if information is to be gained there. Only as a last resort would she attend upon those, and rather she points herself in to other areas where information may well be found. It is how she comes to find herself within District III.

That her eyes start to linger longer on different possessions offered is something that Padmé does not notice. It is that slow creeping feeling, wherein she doesn't even realize what is happening. Want starts to hum through her veins, although she has never been the sort to place much value in such things. It is a familiar voice that breaks her out of the trance, and Padmé can only stare for a moment, before cutting her way through the crowds.]

Anakin?

[There is surprise and relief in her voice, although her expression turns slightly confused. Her husband is here? For the moment it clears her head enough for her not to realize that he is currently haggling over something that he likely would never wear.]

[There is a moment, a fleeting one, where it seems that simply wanting something calls it into being. He almost passes the question off as a trick. Some kind of fancy where it only sounds familiar because everything does when he muses on how much he misses her.

(He is not obsessed, and it is not a problem, thank you very much the Council that permanently resides in his mind, giving him running commentary on every "terrible" decision he makes.)

And yet, he turns out of reflex anyway, and the gaudy jewelery--that was never intended for him--is momentarily forgotten. He gapes at her in a reverent sort of shock, an awkward and wide-eyed look of hope he seems to give only her, and he only seems to find words again when tapped on the shoulder from behind by the salesperson he's so suddenly ignored after harassing so intently. He glances back, annoyed, and ignoring further protest (a moment, honestly, can they not even give him that?), he turns back again, the reverence easing to something more tolerable.]

Padmé? [The most intelligent of answers.] When did you--how long have you been-- [and a pause...] Hi.

[It is as if the sun has returned after a long voyage away. She can feel her chest swell as she takes in a breath before shakily letting it out. Her eyes search his own, but whatever this place is, where ever this place is, it seems that he is here and that he is real.

Her heart thumps again and she swallows. She would run to his arms, if she dared, but she is still uncertain, hesitant, everything still so new. That there may be those unfamiliar with traveling to different planets doesn't yet register. It is her own world view that is in place, of journeys between the stars.

Yet she does take a step closer, and another, until her arm brushes lightly against his sleeve, as if confirming something, and there is a bubbled laugh from her. As eloquent as ever, this man she married.]

Hello.

[Soft, so soft, but a whisper that single word, and yet there is so much emotion packed in to it. Yet she shakes her head, uncertain.]

Several hours.

[It's light contact. The subtle sort they flirt with at home when worried about prying eyes. Back home, such tentative, precarious contact would already be cause for frustration. But there, where not even the presentation of luxury seems like enough, Anakin has had it with being careful.

He's not wholly convinced he still needs to be. Once she hears about her son...but no. Here, that isn't the point. The point as he recalls, taking that same arm and slipping it around Padmé's back without a second thought as to how it appears, is that salesperson finally finding the right kriffing piece of jewelry that he knows they're holding out on.

More important now, especially, when the intent is no longer a "possibility" but radiates very real warmth at his side. He turns his attention back to the counter.]

Several hours, and if you leave me to suffer this alone, huh? [As annoyed as he had been only moments earlier, the agitation seems to have dissipated somewhat, though he does keep glancing at presented pieces and shaking his head. He knows what he's looking for. Or will, when he sees it.] This would go quicker if you'd pick it out for me.

[Details. Who needs them?]

[In the end, it is as simple as that. All is seemingly right in the world (even if it is not) when she has found her other half. Padmé knows that there are many things that she should be questioning. What he is doing, for starters, and how long he has been here, whether on this planet or on the ship- as clearly he has come with the ship, has he not?]

I hardly knew that you were here, General.

[Turning to that default between them. Coruscant, Naboo, even Tatooine have been met with blank stares to any that she has asked, and somehow she does not believe that he is here on a mission for the Republic. His touch is intimate in it's own way for being in public, enough to have a momentary pause in her actions, and yet her attention is drawn away a moment later.]

Oh. That one is hideous.

[It is stated quite matter of factly. There is no diplomacy there as Padmé regards one of the items that Anakin is looking at, but she does have the sense of mind to at least question it a little.]

What exactly are you looking for?

Something suitable for a friend.

[He gives her side a soft squeeze. Between them, it's hardly subtle, but he's already passed the threshold of this becoming a very awkward conversation if they are stumbled upon by the wrong people.

To his knowledge, however, that isn't a threat. Even if the anomalies pulling his wife here to him now--a blessing of sorts, even if he still has more questions than her presence can answer or even console away--are acting up again, he's seen no reason to keep it so discreet that he can't take something from her nearby presence.]

You know the sort. And everything has been hideous, I think--if I have to admit it--I'm at a loss.

Ah, then we need to decide what type of a message that you are trying to send to this friend.

[That private smile, as her attention is now on the items that the vendor has before them. They have only been allowed to be wed in the privacy of her apartments. Sometimes, perhaps, a stolen moment here or there, when they believe no one to be looking, but their relationship has never been truly open.

Her brown eyes skim across them They are bright and expensive, but none of them are right. No, the one needs to be perfect.]

Maybe he can't help us. Maybe we need to find someone who can.

[A seemingly casual glance given to the vendor again.]

The sort of thing you can't properly say aloud. Surely you know what I mean?

[He's hardly paying attention to the clerk at all anymore, and anyone who stumbled on them now would surely get the correct (read: wrong, if according only to their ineffective excuses) impression of the situation. He's turned with that ridiculous sort of reverence he usually reserves for all too rare private occasions on Naboo--her apartment is enough of course, but never quite the same. She is right, of course. None of what they've seen, and nothing he's seen to this point before she happened to walk in like the angelic miracle she is, is suitable.

She deserves the world. A world. At the very least. A galaxy if he could manage as much. How does one convey that with jewelry?]

It should definitely be something...celestial. [Closer, if no longer remotely subtle. He turns back to the tired vendor with a dopey sort of smirk.] Do you have something like that?

I do believe that I just might.

[It is her own private smile that adorns her lips, one that speaks of more than simply a Senator and a General meeting to discuss politics. Then again, Anakin's face likely would have been completely different if they had been talking about that. While it is something that Padmé enjoys, her own expression would have mirrored his had he started talking about engines or droids, given that it would only be a polite interest.

Her head cocks slightly, eyes catching his own, and oh how she is glad to see him. That feeling swells within her, grows, blooms. Her own laugh comes, an echo of days before the war started, but it is still one of happiness regardless.]

Angelic?

[Yet she shakes her head time and time again, before giving a sigh, which is not Padmé at all.]

There's nothing, Ani.

[She gives him that look, and for a whole solid minute--or what might as well pass for one--he's certain his heart all but stops. What can she possibly be if not angelic? A single question could have him doing near anything without question, his awe inspired to the point of desperate recklessness. Even the Force energy that converges where she stands makes no sense for someone unable to wield it: on that whole separate plane, she exists so brightly, it's blinding.

And he's never been so happy to be so disadvantaged. He would give anything for this. For her. Fate, he's positive, has dictated they be--why else would the Force have drawn them together so closely and intertwined their lives so inextricably, if this was all damnable and wrong?]

Always that.

[He gives her a soft laugh. Damn right, she's celestial. And she's right: nothing here even comes close to describing that complication. With a frown, turns to echo that exasperation as the clerk finally comes up empty handed; they've been through everything.]

Not here. [Ugh.] Should we try somewhere less hopeless?

[The brightness does grow with that as she thinks back on how times have changed. She had thought him a strange and funny boy, with his talk of angels and asking if she had been one. There had been so many little steps that had been required for her to end up on Tatooine, yet her life would be far diminished had she not. That her heart could beat so surely for one person, over and over, and never stop, for that yearning or that desire.]

You may yet make a politician, General.

[That sly hint to her voice, knowing how he would likely rather prance around in her robes and play in sand than to be one. Yet a pout does come as she gives one last glance. Want, want, want. It thrums through her veins, and what she wants, he clearly doesn't have.]

It's not fair.

[A whine in her voice as she lets a breath out.]

The next place better be better.

[He mockingly screws up his face in distaste at her first insinuation that he could have anything to do with the political sphere. To be fair, he has enough meetings with politicians that his distaste will never rival that of Obi-Wan's, not in any serious way, at least, but the idea that he might sometimes have to comprise on what's right? (Or here, compromise at all?)]

I would much rather leave those machinations to the experts, Senator.

[It sounds far too much like a pet name to be proper address, but he doesn't seem to notice. Instead, he simply leads them both toward the door, well aware of how it nags at him that he should just buy everything before they moved on, even if he's also aware of how much he's despised all of it. He inhales heavily before opening the door.

No. No, none of it was good enough. She's right. The next one will be better.]

How about you choose this time? You have a better eye for these things.

[Which is not exactly a lie: he associates finery in all its forms with Padmé, at least when it's beautiful and not horrifyingly garish like all of this had been. That association he reserves for her colleagues who take less of an interest in their people and more in how to use their jobs for benefit. It's a fine line. He knows what he likes to look at, but she knows much better how to put it all together.]

[Like sand, Padmé knows that Anakin would never willingly enter in to anything to do with politics. At times, it had amused her that he had fallen in love with a woman who was so involved. Even from a young age, Padmé had had her hand in it, although she did know that he had thought her to be a handmaiden in the beginning, and not a queen.]

I'm certain that those experts are thankful, General.

[Her own lilt over that particular word, still looking as she passes out the door, and while there are fleeting moments of want and desire, it just isn't enough. No, something bigger, grander, fancier. The best of the best, and only that will do.]

Let's try this way.

[Moving to tug at his sleeve, slightly impatiently, as she spots a bigger store that screams expensive. There has to be something there, doesn't there? Her own steps do quicken, focus solely on the items displayed in the window, and she's looking and looking, letting those brown eyes scan over what is shown there.]

It might be promising.

[ Sif is Asgardian, and so has a pretty low threshold for when something warrants a punch to the face. She is also extremely used to the feeling of slow burning anger that settles low in her gut the second she enters Ira, because it has been her constant companion for centuries at this point.

In fact, she finds herself smiling as she walks through the streets because this, this is her kind of place. Everything is geared toward combat. Toward sweat and blood, steel and fire. It is what she herself is made of, it what she knows better than anything.

So many things in life are complicated, but fighting is not. At times perhaps the events leading up to it are an incomprehensible mess, but once you get into the heart of battle things become remarkably simple once more.

So when she sees the fight going on in the alley, one fighter clearly going berserk and well on his way to possibly slaying his opponent on the spot, she doesn't need to know more than that to step in and catch Anakin's wrist to stop his next blow. Perhaps the fellow is more than deserving of what he's getting, but she cannot know that and so she will intervene. If nothing else because she rather feels like fighting too, and this is as good an excuse as any. ]

If you do not cease, you will kill this man.

[If anything could make him more irate, it's being halted in his tracks as he's trying to fit in another swing. He has as many bruises as he's delivered, and Sif's grip is no soft thing. It's jarring and painful in more ways than the literal, and he sneers as he tries to pull his arm away.]

And it will be your dead he mocks next!

[It reveals more than he wants and still very little all at once, but he has no patience to worry about and choose his own words. He's so angry that this would be a visceral reminder of that fatal breakdown on Tatooine, had he the reason enough to take a breath and think about it.

The joke is an offense. Vulgar, perhaps, and obviously uncalled for, but it's nothing worth killing a man over. His anger doesn't see that. Cannot see that. Maybe it doesn't want to either.]

Let. Go.

[ Sif turns her head to look at the man Anakin had been pummeling, frowning. Mocking the dead is no small thing, and certainly deserving of the sound beating that the man has clearly received. However, Sif is not so far gone down the rabbit-hole of anger that is this district that she can agree with Anakin's current assessment that death would be a suitable punishment. ]

To beat him was just. To slay him would be less so.

[ Which is why she isn't letting go. ]

[He tries to wrench himself free, but the attempt only continues to worsen to bruise on his still-flesh wrist. He should count himself lucky that her strength isn't being concentrated on the delicate mechanics of his prosthetic arm, but he has no time to ponder as much.]

I'm not going to, and this is none of your business!

[Except he has no proof that he had any intention of restraint, and even less business telling anyone else what their own is. Meanwhile, the once-assailant turned victim is attempting to pull himself to something resembling standing. Anakin doesn't pay any heed to the clear proof that he's already gone too far.]

I have seen men fight for centuries, I know when one has lost judgment regarding how much force he is using.

[ It doesn't actually matter what Anakin was intending at this point, she could see quite clearly enough where his actions would have lead regardless of what his original plan had been. ]

[There is a thin silver lining his prolonged contact with Sif: the fight is now all but forgotten as something immediate and necessary when he's confronted with a statement like that. Strength notwithstanding, she looks perfectly human. He can't help but say what he's thinking right as it occurs:]

Centuries? [The disbeliving scoff is not subtle.]

[ He feels as if he's tracking a ghost, on Superbia, on Acedia, in some of the lighter districts where darkness does not quite so heavily encroach.

It's a fleeting familiarity, like an animal that's caught a scent, but it keeps Kenobi moving nonetheless, charged enough by the idea that if he could recognize something (or someone) as familiar, then something (or someone) could recognize him. And considering the circumstances — Will he ever not be on the run? — it doesn't particularly benefit him to challenge this.

It's at Ira where things change. The ghost he's following now shows signs of being something more, something else. And it, too, is familiar enough that Ben is both drawn toward and away from it at the same time.

The scuffle in the alley draws his eyes, draws his attention, and he observes from afar, his body entirely cloaked (for all the good that will do). And what he sees before his eyes? It must be an illusion — a trick of his guilty mind that suggests the man with the height and gate and aggression that mimics Kenobi's former apprentice can't possibly be anything but a ghost, and that he's clearly lost his mind.

Ben waits on the periphery, undecided about his actions, halted by his own concerns from an urge to intervene, to know for sure who or what he's actually seeing.

Does he stay or does he go? He knows which he'd prefer, but even as he tries to move away, his knees shake and lock and his hands turn cold and clammy at his sides in anticipation of something that, presently, the Force is only hinting at by way of possibilities. ]

["Ben" won't get a chance to get away, though this is through no forethought or real intent on Anakin's part. A hit from his assailant lands square against his jaw with a dull, sickening thud, and it sends Anakin stumbling backward, until he falls back against something solid that doesn't feel like the alley wall.

It's distinctly softer, in the awkward shape of a human form. It's unexpected, as the shove sends him stumbling into another person, and he feels agitation now that the man he's fighting with has decided to bring unnecessary backup to a fair fight. He thinks to tell his "friend" where to shove themselves, or in the case that this is a bystander, that they need to get lost, but as he looks up...

He all but forgets the fight itself. The words get caught for a moment as he tries, desperately, to form some kind of excuse for this, and he looks every bit as surprised as he is. He doesn't have one.]

Are you going to do something or just stand there and watch?

[So, instead, he decides to bypass it entirely. He can explain later.]

[ The question, particularly when accompanied by Skywalker's voice, is more than enough to cause Ben to gasp, the small intake of air betraying more in a moment than he's shown in— well, in a while.

He gapes a moment, at a loss for words, and then the person causing all the trouble — or, at least, the only one currently attacking — raises a hand like he's going to take advantage of this moment of indecision, and Kenobi has no choice but to do something. In a move that doesn't quite match the speed he was presenting mere moments ago, he opts for a right-handed fist to the face. It lands as square as the last hit, and the shock of that near-involuntary motion is more than enough to register in Ben's brain.

I shouldn't have done that, he thinks, almost immediately, but it's every bit a reflex when the objective perspective on reality says what he's seeing must be wrong.

Fist balled, held close and tight to his chest, he shakes his head and turns away with purpose, back now to the altercation, eyes wide and chest heaving. What have I done? What have I done? Given in to dreams, he thinks, or nightmares, perhaps. Nothing good for a man trying so very hard to remain hidden by shadows. ]

[By this point in his life, having spent over half of it at Kenobi's side, he has reasonable expectations of this situation. None of which are ideal. At the very least, he's used to banter, even if it does come at his expense, and along the same lines, he's half prepared for some scathing criticism to follow a refusal. Moreso, the Kenobi he knows would try to drag him away from some senseless, unbecoming disagreement, or at the very least point out how his losing is maybe rather to the point.

Whatever he does expect, Obi-Wan silently slugging the back alley assailant for him is not it. Every inch of that shock is written into his face, gaping, astonished, and impressed, and his ire all but fades for a moment in the face of it. Did that--? Had he--?]

Have you been fighting in bars this whole time and I never knew?

[He asks as he watches the man he'd been fighting fall to his ass and then hurry to pick himself up and leave. He doesn't even initially notice Kenobi turning away in his own state of immediate questioning.

But when he doesn't get an initial answer, that short-lived elation quickly deflates. Something doesn't feel right, and for the first time since getting caught up in Ira's "underbelly" (which is more an obvious state of being than something anyone intends to hide), he's not sure it's the agitation he knows on some level that he shouldn't have given into.]

Master--

[His approach is more cautious this time, but not quite soft. The adrenaline won't allow for that kind of calm. He reaches out for Kenobi's shoulder.]

You all right in there?

[ The hand on his shoulder might as well be a planet's worth of weight the way it pins him in place. Stiff under the heft of it, a sense of electricity tingling just there, Ben expects something else. He winces and there is no hiding that reaction. If not for that contact he'd be wrenching away. Instead, he shrugs out from under it with the roll of his shoulder. ]

No, I am not all right!

[ The assertion is rough, worn as he is, and all he can do to save himself from further complication is to raise his hand in a halting manner and try to place some distance between himself and Skywalker.

Master.

He stumbles away, a hand catching on the wall where he leans and breathes over his feet. The echoes of their last encounter still play in his ears and even Anakin's concern plays back in his head in that mocking tone. Kenobi squeezes his eyes shut and wills away the haunting memories, grasps for center without the aid of the Force, as impossible as that seems.

He breathes and asks even if he feels like he's giving in to this obvious breakdown. ]

Why are you here?

[The forced push away is more offensive than anything combined thus far. It's moved immediately past confusing into irritating (if not bordering on downright enraging), and he has to clench both his fists to keep from lashing out. The mechanical one locks into place from the stress, but he doesn't have the attention span to give it the care it deserves. It's reflective enough of his state of being, and can be replaced if necessary.

Apparently like all of him can be, it seems. He sees that now. Kenobi had never wanted his apprentice to begin with, why should it be so surprising that Kenobi has grown out of this now? He'd been the one to want a new apprentice when the war started, right as Anakin had begun to transition into adulthood--and Anakin hasn't forgotten the sting of it, even if Ahsoka had worked out better for him than she would ever have for Kenobi. And he'd tried his hand at sabotaging Anakin's own relationship without seeking to understand it--Padmé had been very clear about Obi-Wan's no uncertain terms from both himself and the Council regarding their relationship, that isn't so easy to forget either.

This feels every bit the betrayal. That shrug is as scalding as if he'd been smacked instead. It hurts in ways he doesn't think it should. In ways he wishes it didn't. The indifference, hell, that abject rejection, settles in his stomach until it feels as if the whole of him has been set to boil under the concentrated effort of both of Tatooine's suns.

Force, how he wants to retaliate. He wants to see that hurt as much as he feels it.]

How dare you? [How dare he push him away? Refuse to acknowledge him after so long? He isn't even sure if it's the betrayal that hurts more or the years of obvious pretense.] You know very well I wasn't given a choice. Or I imagine you think you were, don't you? The Force must have willed it for you, but no, somehow it's my fault, like everything always is?

[It wasn't supposed to be like this. No reunion should have been. They're the team.

...Or is that "were"?

Anakin scoffs, keeping his fists thankfully contained, but pushes out of the alley and past Kenobi.]

Forget it.

Edited 2017-03-15 03:48 (UTC)

[ There is a solid moment where escape is just within Ben's reach. He wills himself to terminate this awful dream, this replaying of old arguments torturing at scars unseen. If he just waits until this passes — until he passes — then perhaps there's still some hope for him.

But he's never left well enough alone, not even for his own sake. Especially not for his own sake.

He raises his darkened gaze at the fleeting figure and what was once soft utterance is a dark growl. ]

I wish I could!

[ Ben couldn't play at balance to save his life right now. The Force shudders around him and his defenses flicker like he's an unpracticed Padawan. But he isn't the only one that's angry, and Anakin isn't the only one he's angry with.

He swipes the back of his sleeve across his face, feet uncertain beneath him. ]

Don't you think I've tried? And now I— I can't...

[ He can't maintain the words, not nearly enough, not any bit like before. ]

[I wish I could. Why that stuck up, half-witted, scruffy, disloyal son of a-- With his fears all but confirmed in as little as four desperate words, Anakin can't even see straight. By all rights, he should have better control than this. But the Force doesn't just spring to action by the heat of his own anger, he can feel it rolling off his "friend" in waves.

He doesn't know what's wrong. He doesn't care. (Or perhaps it's that, as always, he cares too damned much.) But whether this is Obi-Wan, some trick, or the behest of an unfeeling Jedi Council, he isn't about to sit still for it.

No one deserves this. A slave, a failure of the highest order, nor even a hardened criminal. And all he can see is how Obi-Wan sees him: Not. Worth. Anything.

He lashes out before he can even think twice about it. With a sneer (and tears he doesn't notice or rightfully acknowledge) he wheels back around and throws his dominant fist--the unforgiving one--into Obi-Wan's face.]

Why even bother with this? [He's shouting now, and he doesn't even care.] Years of faking it, for what, Obi-Wan?

[ Stunned, stinging in more ways than one, and with no warning from the Force, Kenobi is on the ground a second later. He gets a hand under himself and the other probes his jaw out of reflex, but ultimately he's too close to numb from this sudden turn of events to register all that much physical pain. As for the emotional pain... well, there's no avoiding that, try as he might.

He had seen Anakin through so much, through so many years, and he'd marked every stage of him, from enthusiastic child to conflicted teenager to capable adult. Never once had he felt like it had all been for nothing, not even when it looked like Anakin would leave the Jedi Order for good.

But what about since the end? He'd said so much, felt so much, and it's possible he'd screamed out into the Force that he'd like to take it all back. ]

I told him... [ Ben chokes on a sob, face turned away. This is no ghost — no echo of his dead best friend — but Anakin Skywalker in the flesh. What power the Dark Side must have to return him so whole, so like the man Kenobi has been missing and mourning. ] I told him I couldn't do it...

[ He means Yoda, but he can't deny he hadn't said the same to Qui-Gon before. Every step of the way, he'd questioned his own approach with Anakin, and that's really not far off from faking it, is it? ]

[He has always worried this day would come. Instilled the day Qui-Gon left him to defend himself to a Council so unconcerned with the struggles of his life, to the day Qui-Gon left him alone to a teacher that clearly wanted nothing to do with him, to those first few years in the Temple where hardly a day passed without him breaking some rule that he worried would get him expelled after the fact.

The happiness in the transition, when he worried less that the Council would deem him severely unfit and he started to settle into his role alongside Obi-Wan, existed. He knows this too. But with attachment involved, the transition into Knighthood is a complicated thing, and instead of the Council removing him, he began to worry that he could easily be discarded. Replaced.

He feels so stupid for not seeing this coming sooner. Angry, despite knowing how wrong the tenets say such an emotion is, for not understanding why. His mechanical hand only carries a facsimile of feeling, of the tactile touch his flesh limb had been capable of, but the vibrations from such a strong hit still reverberate subtlely in the prosthetic's components, and the arm feels as close to numb as something so unnatural ever could.

His arm is the only part of him that does. In contrast, his heart drums so loudly in his ears that the sound nearly drowns out Obi-Wan's baffling defenses, and Anakin feels like he's choking on flame. He wants to hug, and shake, and beat the man senseless all at once. He's not a stranger to despair, not with that heat broiling in his insides (Tatooine's twin suns finding a home above the foundries of Mustafar, if he had so much context, this heat long ago already burning away with flimsy confines of reasoned and restrained judgment), and he can see it written plainly in his friend's features. It is spoken with such obvious, unrestrained pain that in any other circumstance, he'd have been more than worried: he might have also been impressed that Kenobi could admit to much feeling at all.

But his arm remains locked in that position of a blunt weapon, and his heart only begins to blacken at the edges when this betrayal continues to remain so unexplained.]

Who? [The question is all but roared. A demand, more than an inquiry.] Who put you up to this?

[But in his mind, not so far back, he thinks he knows. The answer settles too far back on his tongue to be said, that accusation too weighty. He both wants proof, the truth, and would give anything for it to not exist. The Council, it seems, must have finally given up, Force only knows why, and they've sent their picture-perfect example of a Jedi to cut him off. That has to be it, doesn't it? Ahsoka had set the precedent for their needing no proof before expulsion anymore, of course it only makes sense...]

You've been waiting a decade for this, you might as well make it good.

Edited 2017-03-18 21:56 (UTC)

[ He has no answer, immediate or otherwise, but the weight bearing down on him is driven by the force of a roaring Skywalker, those words impacting and reverberating through Kenobi not unlike the hit moments ago.

He knows there are others to blame, he knows it. He's already had to tell himself that. He wasn't implicit in Anakin's fall. The Council did so much damage with their unrealistic expectations and shifting loyalties, not to mention their unrelenting grasp on past practices. And the Emperor had poised himself in a position of power just as early on, subtly manipulating and corrupting from the inside out.

But Kenobi could have done more. He should have done more, should have realized sooner, should have seen what Skywalker needed and delivered as his Master had asked him to do.

Instead, he had failed Qui-Gon, Anakin, the Jedi Order, the Republic, and the entirety of the galaxy in one fell swoop. He had undone Anakin on Mustafar without mercy, with anger and hurt and frustration in his heart, and to what end? Failure.

He feels desperate for answers, and in the end, he thinks there's only one, as crazy as it sounds. It was the will of the Force. ]

I left you to it! [ Blackened and scarred and alone, he'd never imagined Skywalker could survive that. He should have known better. ] I left you to it...

[ He wails, cries at the ground where he slumps, emotions unlike that of Obi-Wan Kenobi. But Ben— Ben is something else, another part of him that feels too much and too deeply, who has been putting off this breakdown ever since he'd cut down Anakin, since he'd lost everyone.

He hasn't had time to cope, not one moment to consider putting any of it back into perspective, and Anakin's anger isn't helping. ]

I'm sorry— [ He couldn't have possibly missed his mark any more than he already has. He had tried so hard for so long, and in the end, even an earnest apology made sounds too hollow. It's just not enough. ] I'm so sorry—

[In truth, the apology grates. It settles just so at the base of his spine and scrapes upward, all painful, cringeworthy annoyance that does little to address anything. But he should have expected this too: his Master had never been the sort to give him answers, not when they weren't inextricably intertwined with some endless lecture pointing out whatever flaw of an apparently innumerable amount that had set Kenobi off on any given day.

But however annoyed, however irate he is, and whatever tendency he has to cringe away from this horrified, plantive apology, he cannot hate Obi-Wan. He thinks he wants to. That he should, by all rights. There is something so glaringly wrong here that the confession may fall of deaf ears for forgiveness, but his sense of irritability only makes him want more.

Obi-Wan's answers are insufficient. And if he's going to shoulder and weather a betrayal, by the Force, he's going to understand it first. With a great, annoyed sigh, he finally turns back, unashamed of those red-rimmed, burning eyes that glance back down at his "friend" in pity.]

I'm not doing this here.

[It's gruff, but closer to approaching reason than the legitimate (or so he thinks) frustration that's only making his throat raw and getting neither of them any closer to the damned point. Begrudgingly, in a slow movement that he wonders if he'll regret later, he offers the man a hand.]

But you don't get out of this without answers, old man.

[ How cruel it feels, how cruel and backwards. But this is how he imagined the end, how he expected that final confrontation to wrap up, with Anakin's immense power lording over him. The moment Yoda cast him in the role, he expected to fight to the death, and that his death would most certainly be by Anakin Skywalker's sword.

He wasn't entirely wrong, though. Obi-Wan Kenobi ceased to be in that moment, when he'd given up on compassion and understanding, when he had believed his best friend to be gone for good, when he done what felt so wrong to him. He'd had no choice, not if they were to save the galaxy from a Sith-driven empire.

And still he failed.

Uncertain, but not interested in making a further scene, and superbly interested in ending this conversation, he takes Anakin's hand and stands. Weary and wary, the contact doesn't last, but he nods (perhaps in thanks, perhaps in acknowledgement) before pulling his hood up over his head and taking a step back. There's no preserving himself at this point, and even drawing on his inner strength doesn't stop the shudder, doesn't stop the tears.

If this goes on any longer, he might not survive it. He might not want to now that his purpose in living on is now so far far away. ]

I need— time...

[ More than he could ever rightfully hope for. ]

[ Chirrut has been visiting the districts with a single goal in mind. Each space has had its own effect, but this one is, perhaps, one of the more challenging. It is worthwhile to test oneself. ]

May the Force of others be with you. [ The blessing is offered over and over again, given freely to all the proud beings that he passes. Few here were of a mind to discuss his faith, but that did not discourage him. His words carry, confident and well-practiced. There is a reason that he is here, and he's certain it won't be long before he learns what he is needed to do.

He hears the kyber crystal before he's close to crossing paths with Anakin on the streets. It isn't the only thing that he recognizes, either, and his attention sharpens as he slows. ]

And with you, young Jedi Knight. May the Force of others be with you.

[It takes him a moment--albeit a short one--to place what he's hearing. Having not yet met Chirrut in person, he's not entirely if this is what he expected--or what he expected at all--but it has to be the same man. The voice is not so dissimilar in organic space, and of all the people he's met since arrival, too few know of the Force for this to be a coincidence.

In other space, perhaps not so taken up in his own self-satisfaction (a rarer and rarer feeling these days), he might have asked how Chirrut had known it was him, if he wasn't a Jedi, and Anakin hadn't even spoken yet. As it stands, however, the smug part of him does expect this at least, and thus the question remains unanswered. He pauses upon recognition, and asks the question that does occur.]

Of others? What does that even mean?

[In a similar vein of thinking, Dave comes to Superbia after feeling superbly shit in other districts. He's up for a little pampering, oddly, even though he's not usually particularly interested in being touched.

He's lounging in an open front spa alongside the gym. His hair pushed back with a hairband, a bright green mask on his face with some weird, alien vegetables sliced and placed over his eyes. The look is topped off by a fluffy bathrobe and bare feet. He's melting in his banana lounge after a long massage and almost doesn't care how he looks.

Except that whenever he hears footsteps, he's lifting his vegetable shades and letting a red eye peer out from under it. Generally, he's self conscious about his weird eyes, but Superbia has made him far too smug to give a shit. He's raising a brow at Anakin, as if daring him to judge.]

Problem?

[The eyes are definitely jarring. But he's had so few run-ins with Sith face-to-face, not that he'd admit as much aloud, that it doesn't register as a definite. (The scant details he has only make them yellow upon occasion as it is--Maul had them by Obi-Wan's recounts, and Greivous too, but were those species markers or corruption? It's difficult to say.) As far as he's presently aware, the color is simply not typical. Not good, not bad. Simply strange.

He offers a shrug in return. (As one categorically Cool Guy™ to another.) He looks like he's just come from running a marathon, breathing heavier, hair mussed.] No, no problem. [For once.] I feel great.

[If they both ignore the motivation behind all of this: perfection. And if it's a motivator, clearly it hasn't been achieved yet.]

Why, you have one?

[Dare met and matched.]

[How any fights have you been in, Droid Demolisher? He remembers seeing this man with his hands in a droid in the hanger bay once on a stream. Interesting that he'd find him here trying to take apart a being as well.]

[Kay-tu was in this part only to explore and gather data. Though he ended up in an arena for a moment and came out with some damage. He came out with money as well, but he didn't really care about that. Still, at the back door of the arena he paused, seeing a small street fight going.]

[He moved closer, head tilting a bit. Yes, that was the Anakin of the fleet. He looked as if he could kill this man. Kay did not move to help though. Not at first. it was as someone else moved past him, about to leap into the fight as well that Kay moved.]

[He hand reached out, grabbing the being by the back of the vest and shirt, yanking him back.] I think not. It may not be a fair fight, but it is a fight between two. You are not needed.

[the being turned on him and started throwing punches at the metal casing of his chest. If Kay-tu could frown, he would be.] That is uncalled for.

[the punching didn't stop, and the man was yelling at him. If Anakin took notice of anything at all, it might be the body of the alien man flying past in the alley and hitting a wall not far from him. The droid? 'Dusting' off his hands a moment, before two other smaller men tackled him.]

[Welp, now he was part of the fight. Or... another fight. Oh well.]

[Under other circumstances, he would like Kay-tu to now that he was fixing them, not demolishing anything, but that doesn't matter much right now. Nor does it hold a great deal of weight when the only fixing he even considers currently is his pride, or the still-grieving part of him that's close enough to it.

He doesn't consider it actively with every hit thrown and taken in turn. The pain has become a focus all of its own. Or it would be one, perhaps, if that all-too-obvious distraction of a flying body in his direct periphery hadn't demolished any hope of it. He dodges a punch and rolls backward to catch a glimpse of--is that a droid?--Kay-tu brushing his hands off before apparently throwing himself into a fight of his own.

(They win the war, and the Empire still creates droids like that? NOT THE TIME.) Of course, he considers that a moment too late when the next hit actually glances his jaw. He snaps back with a sneer, and grabs for the assailant's arm, using the momentum to swing the man into the same nearby wall.

Jaw still smarting, he gives a glance back to Kay-tu.]

Routine security day for you?

[Okay, okay so maybe he was repairing them. They weren't that good in the first place, which had been the mans point. Still, the image was one to remember. At least he recalls the man seeming okay to talk to.]

[For now, he wasn't sure if the man was in this fight because he needed to get a few hits in on something, or wanted to be punched to get some emotional stimuli or something. It was all a bit strange, really.]

[Kay had just reached back to one small lavender looking human male and hefted him up, over his shoulder, and throwing him down on his back. His legs trying to keep balance as someone else was trying to rip his head off.]

[His head turned to look towards Anakin.]

Hardly routine. I have no authority to secure anything here in this district. [He said before tabling one very hard step backwards and ramming the man on his back into the wall. And repeating it once more.] Please do not pull my head off. I would rather not deal with that. [Another thwack, and to Anakin again he stated]

Did you upset them somehow?

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[open;] the first rule of fight club is...

Avaritia

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Ira

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Ira

wow you are rude

u know it~

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Superbia

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Superbia

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