Star Wars: Chorus and Solo, Part 6
Apr. 12th, 2016 09:29 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
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It would be rude to destroy the room Amidala has so generously offered, but Obi-Wan doesn't think the Sith care. At the moment, he's not sure if he cares about it more than in the abstract. He thinks he'd regret it later, though, no matter what apologies or explanations he might give her.
We can save destruction for later. The female Sith rolls her eyes, and takes another look around the room. If you insist. There isn't much furniture in here to destroy, not that's worth saving.
"You mean, that's to your tastes?" Obi-Wan opens his eyes briefly, looking over the furniture long enough to fix it in his mind, then closing his eyes and decorating the mental image with it. He could move some of it from the main room to the bedroom, probably, though it will leave little room to move in there. Perhaps for the best, since he would really rather not have company.
Too late.
"I know." Obi-Wan shakes his head at the female Sith, and opens his eyes again. His cloak is in the hanger, and he doesn't particularly want it back right now. It's one less layer of clothing to shed before moving the furniture he can fit through the door on his own.
He leaves his tunics, sash, and belt on the bed, and begins with moving the furniture in the bedroom as far away from the door as he can manage. It's more tiring than he expects, even with the duel, ferocious and horrible as it had been. There's enough energy running through him, he would think he could manage this much.
If you used it, you might.
"And if I used it right now, would I do myself more harm than good?"
Probably. The female Sith sounds irritated. Are you going to completely exhaust yourself before you let us teach you anything?
Obi-Wan pauses, leaning against the couch he's planning to move into the bedroom, closing his eyes so he can see the Sith. "Is there a way to teach me anything you intend to teach me without risking destruction on some scale?"
She looks away a moment, a small frown crossing her face. There is more than one path to learning. More if you turn outward than if you turn inward. Destruction and death, or the pain of another. Pain of the self. Destruction of the self to incorporate new knowledge - fracturing of your mind and rebuilding the fragments into someone else. I do not recommend the last one. It's more often used on others, anyway.
He'd prefer not to shatter his mind more than he already feels it has been, either, but it had not been what caught his attention. "How does self-harm make it possible to learn how to control this?"
The female Sith watches him for a long moment, before she rolls up her sleeves, revealing twining black tattoos in an eerie echo of those on the Zabrak. Or you could draw blood, and learn the blood magics first, but I did say we were going to attempt to keep you sane.
Obi-Wan takes a step closer, fixing his attention on the tattoos, reaching out to try to touch before he remembers there is nothing solid to touch. Studying instead with eyes and Force, trying to figure out how the ink beneath her skin - the image of her skin - will help.
They're as much spell-work as they are ink, Jedi. The female Sith snorts, a small smile twisting her lips a moment. I'd ask if you had any such things, but I've never seen any Jedi with tattoos, so I expect not.
"Not that I'm aware of. How?"
Get someone to bring you ink and a needle, and I'll show you. I'd do it myself, but there are some things which are beyond even the best of us after we no longer have a body to manipulate things with.
He's not sure if he's glad the Sith cannot do anything he doesn't choose to do himself, or frustrated by knowing he'll have to manage it all himself with mirrors if he runs out of skin he can easily see.
You shouldn't, not before we're off this planet. And by then, you might not need the needle.
Obi-Wan opens his eyes a moment before closing them again to see the Sith. "Why won't I need the needle?" She hadn't said he wouldn't need ink, so he doesn't think it will be that he'll have moved beyond the pain. And to even think that makes him want to reach for the familiar Force, even as the familiar eludes him.
Not all tattoos use needles, and some don't use knives either. She laughs at what she sees on his face, and Obi-Wan turns away, not certain what to feel, or that he wants her to see it. I'll teach you how to drive the ink into the skin without needle or knife later. It's less useful for this purpose, anyway. She pauses, letting out a quiet sigh. Less painful.
And pain is part of Sith training. Obi-Wan opens his eyes, staring almost blindly out the wide window he's facing. He doesn't want this. He doesn't want to dive deeper into the darkness. And yet if he fights it, if he tries to ignore it, the Sith has assured him it will drive him mad - and he can feel her certainty in the Force, can almost feel that end trying to reach out with greedy fingers for him.
Warmth on his shoulder makes him lean a little into Qui-Gon's familiar touch, taking a deep breath and closing his eyes to the outside world again. "Is there anything that can be a brief lesson without the pain? I don't know how long it will take to get ink and needles."
Or a knife, though which would be easier, he isn't certain.
If you're willing to destroy at least something in here, rude to your hostess or no. The Sith lets out a frustrated little sound. Does he always dither like this?
No. Qui-Gon squeezes Obi-Wan's shoulder. I don't think he's dithering now, either.
"I'd prefer not to destroy anything, but I can more readily justify destroying furniture than anything else. And I need at least some small measure of control before I dare ask Her Highness for anything, even something as small as ink suitable for tattoos. Especially if I have to explain any of it to her."
Why... no. Never mind. You're a Jedi still, in thought, if not in fact. The Sith is silent for a long moment, chill radiating from where she stands. What do you plan to tell her?
Obi-Wan shrugs. "The truth."
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It would be rude to destroy the room Amidala has so generously offered, but Obi-Wan doesn't think the Sith care. At the moment, he's not sure if he cares about it more than in the abstract. He thinks he'd regret it later, though, no matter what apologies or explanations he might give her.
We can save destruction for later. The female Sith rolls her eyes, and takes another look around the room. If you insist. There isn't much furniture in here to destroy, not that's worth saving.
"You mean, that's to your tastes?" Obi-Wan opens his eyes briefly, looking over the furniture long enough to fix it in his mind, then closing his eyes and decorating the mental image with it. He could move some of it from the main room to the bedroom, probably, though it will leave little room to move in there. Perhaps for the best, since he would really rather not have company.
Too late.
"I know." Obi-Wan shakes his head at the female Sith, and opens his eyes again. His cloak is in the hanger, and he doesn't particularly want it back right now. It's one less layer of clothing to shed before moving the furniture he can fit through the door on his own.
He leaves his tunics, sash, and belt on the bed, and begins with moving the furniture in the bedroom as far away from the door as he can manage. It's more tiring than he expects, even with the duel, ferocious and horrible as it had been. There's enough energy running through him, he would think he could manage this much.
If you used it, you might.
"And if I used it right now, would I do myself more harm than good?"
Probably. The female Sith sounds irritated. Are you going to completely exhaust yourself before you let us teach you anything?
Obi-Wan pauses, leaning against the couch he's planning to move into the bedroom, closing his eyes so he can see the Sith. "Is there a way to teach me anything you intend to teach me without risking destruction on some scale?"
She looks away a moment, a small frown crossing her face. There is more than one path to learning. More if you turn outward than if you turn inward. Destruction and death, or the pain of another. Pain of the self. Destruction of the self to incorporate new knowledge - fracturing of your mind and rebuilding the fragments into someone else. I do not recommend the last one. It's more often used on others, anyway.
He'd prefer not to shatter his mind more than he already feels it has been, either, but it had not been what caught his attention. "How does self-harm make it possible to learn how to control this?"
The female Sith watches him for a long moment, before she rolls up her sleeves, revealing twining black tattoos in an eerie echo of those on the Zabrak. Or you could draw blood, and learn the blood magics first, but I did say we were going to attempt to keep you sane.
Obi-Wan takes a step closer, fixing his attention on the tattoos, reaching out to try to touch before he remembers there is nothing solid to touch. Studying instead with eyes and Force, trying to figure out how the ink beneath her skin - the image of her skin - will help.
They're as much spell-work as they are ink, Jedi. The female Sith snorts, a small smile twisting her lips a moment. I'd ask if you had any such things, but I've never seen any Jedi with tattoos, so I expect not.
"Not that I'm aware of. How?"
Get someone to bring you ink and a needle, and I'll show you. I'd do it myself, but there are some things which are beyond even the best of us after we no longer have a body to manipulate things with.
He's not sure if he's glad the Sith cannot do anything he doesn't choose to do himself, or frustrated by knowing he'll have to manage it all himself with mirrors if he runs out of skin he can easily see.
You shouldn't, not before we're off this planet. And by then, you might not need the needle.
Obi-Wan opens his eyes a moment before closing them again to see the Sith. "Why won't I need the needle?" She hadn't said he wouldn't need ink, so he doesn't think it will be that he'll have moved beyond the pain. And to even think that makes him want to reach for the familiar Force, even as the familiar eludes him.
Not all tattoos use needles, and some don't use knives either. She laughs at what she sees on his face, and Obi-Wan turns away, not certain what to feel, or that he wants her to see it. I'll teach you how to drive the ink into the skin without needle or knife later. It's less useful for this purpose, anyway. She pauses, letting out a quiet sigh. Less painful.
And pain is part of Sith training. Obi-Wan opens his eyes, staring almost blindly out the wide window he's facing. He doesn't want this. He doesn't want to dive deeper into the darkness. And yet if he fights it, if he tries to ignore it, the Sith has assured him it will drive him mad - and he can feel her certainty in the Force, can almost feel that end trying to reach out with greedy fingers for him.
Warmth on his shoulder makes him lean a little into Qui-Gon's familiar touch, taking a deep breath and closing his eyes to the outside world again. "Is there anything that can be a brief lesson without the pain? I don't know how long it will take to get ink and needles."
Or a knife, though which would be easier, he isn't certain.
If you're willing to destroy at least something in here, rude to your hostess or no. The Sith lets out a frustrated little sound. Does he always dither like this?
No. Qui-Gon squeezes Obi-Wan's shoulder. I don't think he's dithering now, either.
"I'd prefer not to destroy anything, but I can more readily justify destroying furniture than anything else. And I need at least some small measure of control before I dare ask Her Highness for anything, even something as small as ink suitable for tattoos. Especially if I have to explain any of it to her."
Why... no. Never mind. You're a Jedi still, in thought, if not in fact. The Sith is silent for a long moment, chill radiating from where she stands. What do you plan to tell her?
Obi-Wan shrugs. "The truth."