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Lady_Moonbeam Registered: Aug '02	Date Posted: 11/9/03 3:06pm Subject: "And Into the Black." (Obi-Wan, Anakin, post-TPM) UPDATED 1/14/04 (Thanks, LE!) - Date Edited: 1/15/04 6:21pm (7 edits total) Edited By: Lady_Moonbeam
	Title: And Into the Black Timeline: post-TPM, without following the JQ Characters: Obi-Wan, Anakin, Qui-Gon, OC Summary: Obi-Wan and matters of importance. The first story in a series called Kinesis, ultimately AU, though this stands in with canon. Out of the blue and into the black. You pay for this, but they give you that And once you’re gone, you can’t come back When you’re out of the blue and into the black. -Neil Young Chapter One: Within a Dream (part one) “All that we see or seem Is but a dream within a dream.” -Edgar Allan Poe It was just past 2300, and Obi-Wan was sitting in the armchair in front of a holovid’s running credits with his mind on Anakin. His apprentice was making a habit of coming home late, and sooner or later, they were going to have to sit down and talk about it. Obi-Wan was not looking forward to that confrontation. He and Anakin had rubbed against each other ever since Qui-Gon's death--but after a period of calm had set in, they had grown closer--but now, Anakin was getting touchier. Growing changes, Obi-Wan supposed, and it couldn't be helped, but that didn't make things easier for either of them. Obi-Wan glanced at the illuminated chrono panel on the wall and sighed. He had to stay up until Anakin got home. That was the responsible thing to do, undoubtedly--though why he was being responsible in his quarters instead of being responsible by tracking Anakin down and giving him a ten minute lecture was beyond him. Hazards of the Force, though. He could feel that nothing was wrong but an apparent sugar-induced headache, and that made for irritation rather than worry. “I will stay awake,” he said out loud, even though he could already feel his eyelids start to close. It felt like sand had been poured in his wide-eyed expression through the long, vapid drama, and sleep's tide was washing in. “Have to stay awake,” but by now, even his voice was tired, it was broken in two by a moaning yawn. Jedi willpower did not, apparently, cover the bounds of staying up for twenty-four hours, without the added power of adrenaline or even caffeine. The thought of caffeine reminded him that there were powers even greater than the Force when it came to staying up late. “Liquid energy,” Obi-Wan mumbled, the syllables sounding mushy. He rose shakily, tossing the spare blanket off onto the floor. Just one more thing to pick up in the morning, or, if all else failed, to make Anakin pick up in the morning along with everything else as some kind of punishment for being late... again. He padded across the floor, avoiding the spare objects scattered about more by memory than the Force. The chilled caf was in a metal pitcher inside the cold-keep, and Obi-Wan lifted it out with fumbling fingers, his hand looping carefully around the back to find the blunt, misshapen handle. As always, it gave him a pleasant, nostalgic tingling. He had shaped the pitcher himself in a brief, impulsive metalworking class, and it bulged in all the wrong places, but it was his, absolutely, one of the few things he could lay claim to. He had brought it home to Qui-Gon with a smile and Qui-Gon had looked at it with the loving eyes of a Master and not mentioned the nearly endless list of flaws. With a sigh that was equal halves grief and memory, he closed the cold-keep and made his way to the counter, his socked feet making muffled shuffling sounds on the kitchen floor. He poured half-a-glassful and stared numbly at the swirling brown drink for a moment, almost forgetting why he had poured it. When he remembered, he gulped it down sheepishly and stood there, waiting for the almost-instant effects of the caffeine-charged liquid to kick in. There was no kicking. Obi-Wan slumped forward, his elbows on the counter and his head in his hands, nearly knocking over the pitcher in the gesture. He needed sleep, this was a fact that he couldn’t really deny. But Anakin was late, and he had to do it, even if he knew he was safe, he had to stay up and see Anakin into his bed when his errant apprentice finally returned home. Because if Anakin had been raised in the Temple, he would have understood (though, if he’d been raised in the Temple, his habit of keeping late hours might not exist) that his Master didn’t really need to wait up all night because their bond permitted understanding, but Anakin hadn’t been, and he would unlikely see Obi-Wan’s sleeping form as some sort of slight. As a dismissal, like Obi-Wan hadn’t worried about him at all. As if he didn’t care. He was acutely aware that he was still tired. “This caf must have expired a month ago,” he muttered to himself, rubbing the stubble that he was cultivating. The light rasp reassured him that he was still awake. “Shopping list note, need… more…” But it was wink and then he was gone, his subconscious dimly coming aware of one last thought before he began to sleep: Blast. ** Qui-Gon would like this place, Obi-Wan thought, his hand skimming over the wall of the new fountain. The water touched his fingers, teasing between the calluses and going to his palms, tickling just a little, and Obi-Wan shivered. It was like touching something holy, and it filled him with a new, brilliant energy. He looked at his hand and saw a perfect, long white scar, running all along his palm from the beginning of his middle finger to the start of his wrist. The scar shimmered with light blue fire, and at first he was alarmed, even thrust his hand deeper into the wellspring to drench the flames, but they wouldn’t go away. Don’t worry, a calm voice said to his left, and Obi-Wan turned halfway. Oh, it’s you, Master. He smiled in relief. I was afraid that it might be— Afraid that it might be what, Padawan? Or who? Qui-Gon’s gentle smile bridged the momentary gap between them, and Obi-Wan was suddenly standing right next to him, half-breathing Qui-Gon’s air. Someone dead, Obi-Wan replied, but that wasn’t right at all, and he tried again, searching for the words that he meant, or at least the closes he could find. No—not someone dead, someone higher. Qui-Gon nodded. Do you want that? I don’t think so. And this time his Master was shaking his head, slowly and sadly, with that almost-but-not-quite rebuking look in his eyes. I’m sorry, Obi-Wan, but it is already here. Things are starting—new things. And older ones, from the beginning of time itself. From before the dawn of time, Obi-Wan said merrily, not knowing where this inexplicable glee came from. He was startled to see Qui-Gon’s face darken and draw into in a thundercloud, and the rebuke there in earnest. No, Padawan. This came with time, because of time. You can’t confuse the details; they’re important. It’s just an old quote, Master, he said sheepishly. It doesn’t have to mean anything. Quickly, to change the subject, he held up his hand, but the azure, flickering fire was gone, and only the white scar remained. What is this? Qui-Gon ignored his question and raised his hand and placed it over Obi-Wan’s. It swallowed him up as they touched palms, and the light fire flared up again and Qui-Gon’s eyes closed in terrible joy. Their hands shook as light and sweat poured from their skin. Obi-Wan felt his entire body being wracked with uneven, powerful spasms. I have it now, too, Qui-Gon said, and released his apprentice. A white line traced down his palm, to the base of his wrist. I have it now, and whatever happens, my Padawan, we will be together. We all will be together. All of us? Obi-Wan wondered. Out loud, he asked, The two of us and Anakin, you mean? No, not Anakin. Not for this. He is needed for something else. But this is our purpose, and we will find each other. Now? Obi-Wan traced the scarring and watched it gleam with blue light. Qui-Gon smiled as his hand lit up, too, only with brilliant, almost neon, green. Not now, but soon. Do not be impatient, my young apprentice. I haven’t been young since Naboo. The smile faltered, and Obi-Wan thought suddenly that he might have destroyed something, broken the fragile fabric of the moment that he didn’t understand but recognized so desperately as something special, as something that was held. He could almost seen a tangible impossibility in the even, strange conversation he had just had, but he couldn’t think of why. What happened on Naboo? Qui-Gon asked, almost conversationally. Obi-Wan knew that it was wrong though, knew that it was too wrong because Qui-Gon never asked questions, Qui-Gon had all of the answers and kept most of them behind eyes of softened stone. If Qui-Gon wanted to know, it had to be important, had to be desperately important and he must have the answer, he had to know it be, because if not— I don’t remember, Obi-Wan said, and he lost the fight as he fell ** And awoke. The side of his face was pressed against the synthetic counter, and his hand was pushed up underneath his head. He had knelt in his sleep to the floor, and his knees and shins were sore from staying in that position. Swearing, Obi-Wan lifted himself up and listened for the gentle sounds of Anakin’s light, uneven sleep-breathing, and heard it coming from two rooms down. His apprentice was home, and he had undoubtedly returned to find Obi-Wan on the floor, exhausted. Obi-Wan felt a fist clench inside of him. He had lost all the fights tonight, it seemed, both to stay awake and to stay dreaming. And Anakin must have thought after all that he didn’t care. For a moment this was foremost in his mind, until another, slightly more urgent, thought began to dominate. The dream. It was like it was punishment of some kind, to remember that somehow, he had been standing with Qui-Gon and not known that his Master was gone beyond his reach. Punishment for not being fast enough on Naboo and not being diligent enough this night. Punishment and maybe a little bit of prophecy (he could hope), because in the dream there was resolution, and something more than ending. An epilogue to what had happened to him then, being able to talk once more with Qui-Gon. Qui-Gon, fire, and emissaries from time, he remembered, and any hopes of the dream being prophetic faded from him, because only the first one could be proven real. Because fire was never going to flow from a scar on his hand that didn’t exist, and time was never going to matter outside of a chronometer. Useless stuff. His subconscious sending him messages that were possibly symbolic but more likely inane. Simple electrons firing in strange patterns inside his head. Obi-Wan started to place the pitcher back in the cold-keep but then realized that the ingredients had likely gone sour during his sleep, and he found the energy to carry it over to the sink and pour the remainder down the drain. He washed the glass he’d used with a thin, quiet stream of water and a small handful of cleanser, and tried not to think about anything in the dream. He removed a small, rough sponge from the rack beside the sink and scrubbed the glass’s bottom, where the caf had dried. Finally, he placed it back in its place and washed his hands slowly, loosening up his muscles, wanting to retire but not letting himself, wanting to think but not letting that happen, either. There was safety in routine. Obi-Wan turned off the water and toweled his hands. He thought about spending the rest of the night in the kitchen, maybe going over old files on his datapad, and fixing an early, special breakfast for Anakin as some kind of apology. If he just lit one of the smaller lamps, there wasn’t a great chance of Anakin waking up at seeing light. But his body ached all over from his ride to the floor and then his enforced tidying, and all he could picture was the softness of bed and pillow. He checked in on Anakin and saw clothes scattered around the floor and Anakin’s mussed brown-blonde hair buried halfway underneath the wrinkled covers. Obi-Wan had to marvel a little at the boy’s dedication—even though his tunic and boots were lying haphazardly on the floor, his lightsaber was in its perfect place on the small table, without a knick or a scratch, polished to a perfect shine. Obi-Wan smiled and brushed his hand over his apprentice’s hair. “Sleep well, Padawan,” he said, and his smile faltered. “Have no dreams.” And with that said, Obi-Wan made his way to his own room, falling into bed with hardly a thought, his eyes bloodshot. He felt a momentary satisfaction that he hadn’t had to turn on a light once, and then a deeper, more smug self-congratulation—that he had not been so gullible as to check the palms of his hands for new, strange scars. Then two minutes later, he panicked, turned on the light by his bed, yanked his hands from underneath the covers, and saw that the scars were there. ----------------------- In the next post--two more dreams, and some surfacing worries about Anakin. Replies will be greeted with chocolate chip cookies and cardboard cut-outs of SW characters, if so requested. I hope you enjoy! -----signature----- And Into the Black http://boards.theforce.net/message.asp?topic=13881821 Mooné, Handmaiden of the Crest
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dianethx Registered: Mar '02	Date Posted: 11/9/03 3:25pm Subject: RE: "And Into the Black." (Obi-Wan, Anakin, post-TPM)
	This one was very odd, almost as if Obi-Wan's sense of what is real is completely off-kilter. I liked it very much, especially the scars at the end and the unsettling dream sequence. Looking forward to more.... -----signature----- Betrayal - http://boards.theforce.net/s/b1/10935143 updated 11/2/09 jedidas3's Master Merlin - Diplomatic Immunity - http://boards.theforce.net/nswff/b10808/30459852
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diamond_pony2002 Registered: Nov '02	Date Posted: 11/9/03 3:27pm Subject: RE: "And Into the Black." (Obi-Wan, Anakin, post-TPM)
	HOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO-RAAAAAAYYYYYYY!!!!!!!!!!!!! ANOTHER ANI/OBI STORY!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! I LUV U!!!!!!!! UR THE BEST!!!!!! AND THAT WAS A GREAT START! Scars? From what? Eeeeeeeeeeek!!!! And why does this story sound like an Ani/Obi angsty one? I LOVE THOSE!!!! -----signature----- Learning to do, doing to learn, earning to live, living to serve.- FFA Motto
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PadawanKitara Registered: Dec '01	Date Posted: 11/9/03 10:25pm Subject: RE: "And Into the Black." (Obi-Wan, Anakin, post-TPM) - Date Edited: 11/12/03 8:46pm (1 edits total) Edited By: PadawanKitara
	very eerie -----signature----- Courtier of the Royal Order of Shambling Dufi We are Dufi...Resistance is Futile! UCLA BRUINS
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DarthIshtar Title: Former CR Registered: Mar '01	Date Posted: 11/10/03 1:32am Subject: RE: "And Into the Black." (Obi-Wan, Anakin, post-TPM)
	Okay, I agree with Dianethx that it was slightly creepy (as all the stuff I've read by you in the last week has been), but this rocked! -----signature----- "I feel like a more down-to-earth Pink 5 when I'm writing Leah. Same attitude, less lip gloss." ~Me on how to get in the right mindset for Twilight fanfic.
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CYNICAL21 Registered: Jul '01	Date Posted: 11/10/03 8:00am Subject: RE: "And Into the Black." (Obi-Wan, Anakin, post-TPM)
	The stuff of prophecy ALWAYS feels weird to me - and I assume that's what our hero was being subjected to - prophecy in all its symbolic strangeness. Very intriguing, Lady - could become addictive quickly, I think. You know, of course, that I have absolutely NO time to get hooked on a new series. I'm already a hopeless addict - and you're feeding my addiction like a coke dealer. Shame on you! And don't you dare stop! Oh, and BTW - I don't say this to many people - being the possessive, compulsive, psychotic that I am - but I think you got Obi's character exactly right - which is always a pleasure to read. CYN
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LuvEwan Registered: Mar '02	Date Posted: 11/10/03 2:46pm Subject: RE: "And Into the Black." (Obi-Wan, Anakin, post-TPM)
	Wow. I'm very glad I found this. Great job so far, L_M. Wonderful look into Obi-Wan and the strange occurences he's dealing with within his mind...and then his body. [face_shocked] Can't wait for more. -----signature----- What Light Breaks-AU Obi-Wan, Qui-Gon Anakin angst (collaboration with Spiritweaver) http://boards.theforce.net/the_saga/b10476/29979222/p1/?0 You want an Obi-Wan epic? We've got it right here.
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clark1016 Registered: Mar '01	Date Posted: 11/10/03 4:34pm Subject: RE: "And Into the Black." (Obi-Wan, Anakin, post-TPM)
	Can I pick which cardboard cut-out I get for replying? Can't wait for the next part.
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CrystalKenobi Registered: Jul '03	Date Posted: 11/11/03 5:31am Subject: RE: "And Into the Black." (Obi-Wan, Anakin, post-TPM)
	This is a great story. I look forward to more. -----signature----- Dark Lady Min Kenobi (wife to Obi-Wan Kenobi) In God I Trust Obi-wan/Ewan Fan club Member See Profile for Fics. All things can be done thru Christ.
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Lady_Moonbeam Registered: Aug '02	Date Posted: 11/12/03 1:26pm Subject: RE: "And Into the Black." (Obi-Wan, Anakin, post-TPM)
	dianethx--Yes, Obi-Wan's sense of reality is going to get increasingly off-kilter for a while--look for growing signs of paranoia. Don't worry, though, I haven't made Our Hero insane... technically. diamond_pony2002--Thanks! Yes, there will be angst between Anakin and Obi-Wan, since they have such different viewpoints about everything--and part of this story is about how they start to build a connection, but it isn't the main plot. PadawanKitara--Thanks. I enjoy being eerie. DarthIshtar--Oh, so you've read my creepier stories! Yes--this isn't going to be as depressing, but it is going to have... weirdness. Of several different types. CYNICAL21--Yes, Obi-Wan's dreams are prophetic, and sometimes otherworldly--I'm afraid I'm going to get over my head on the symbolic part, but I'm definitely trying to give them layers. I think it's perverse that I love being compared to a coke dealer, but I do, so I hope you continue having that opinion! And wow--to hear that I got Obi-Wan's character right is always a relief... but to hear it from you is an honor. LuvEwan--I'm glad you found it too! Most of Obi-Wan's strange occurences will be in his own mind for now, but later they'll become more external--and infinitely more dangerous. clark1016--Sure! Whatever cut-out you want. CrystalKenobi--Thank you. More's right here! Thank you all for your feedback--I always get nervous when I'm starting a new story, and it's reassuring to hear that I have readers. You all deserve thanks. And, with that, onto Obi-Wan: ---------------------------- Chapter One: Dream Within a Dream (continued) He could feel the strange feeling of many hands touching him, picking him up off the ground. The hands were gentle and almost soothing, just being touched felt better than lying there alone. He wondered when he’d switched to that mentality. Before, it had been better to be alone. Better to be alone because the pain of losing Qui-Gon was more intense that way, and he could throw all of his emotions against the wall and surrender to inky black meditation where his thoughts no longer mattered. Among others, things mattered. People talked, as the old saying went, but more importantly, people asked. They wanted to know how he was doing, how he was coping, and hands and voices would press against him, trying to get him out of his skin. Yes, far safer to be alone. Preferably in the dark. But these hands were different. They were safe and they didn’t hit or press, they just carried him, and he floated on that easy support. Love? Yes, there was certainly love, but nothing inappropriate. It was as platonic as touching his shoulder or a bear-hug. But whoever these people were, they loved him, so Obi-Wan relaxed and let himself be carried by the crowd, who, for better or worse, had chosen to trust him. It was so soft and good that he almost drew himself out of the almost trance-like silence to thank them for this, for carrying him. Shh, a voice said. Just sleep. So he did. ** Obi-Wan carefully added the teabags to the steaming pot, and turned around to see if Anakin was being sullen or not. Often, after his little escapades, he was frustrated and edgy—sometimes with himself for staying out, sometimes with Obi-Wan for not stopping him, sometimes just at not knowing what to say the mornings afterwards. Fortunately, this morning, his apprentice didn’t seem too inclined to pout. Relieved, Obi-Wan placed a dish of jelly in front of him. Anakin, his hair a little mussed, smiled. “Toast?” he asked, his mouth already full of porridge. A moist ring of blue milk clung to his upper lip and made Obi-Wan’s fingers twitch, wanting to wipe it off. “Already in the works,” he answered. Assured by Anakin’s quick return to slurping down his porridge, Obi-Wan turned his hands over and saw that the small white lines were still there. The analytical part of his mind tried to kick in and tell him that he must have scratched himself terribly in his sleep, that was the only logical explanation for those new scars. But it was a feeble attempt. Cuts didn’t turn to scars in a night, and what were the odds of him so carefully, methodically scratching himself in the exact middle of his palms? Desperate for anything to distract him from the hallucinatory dreams, he said, “Where were you last night?” Instantly, all of Anakin’s relaxed easiness vanished. His skin turned on rollers, becoming taut and tense. His spoon stuck out from his hand like a primitive weapon and his reddened face turned downwards. “Nowhere,” he said into his porridge. “Anakin.” It was more of a prompting then a warning, but Obi-Wan saw that Anakin hadn’t taken it that way. The boy’s fingers tightened on the spoon, and Obi-Wan could seen tiny rivulets of sweat running down to settle in the shallow metal valley. “I went down to the Sharp District,” he said softly. “To see the mechanic stores. I didn’t mean to stay so long.” “Do you know why I didn’t come after you?” “Because you didn’t know where I was,” Anakin said with a bizarre pride in his voice. “I could have been anywhere.” Obi-Wan didn’t understand the pride at first. Maybe it was because before, when he was a slave, someone always knew where he was. Property didn’t run away. And if it did, on Tatooine at least, there would be consequences. And maybe being able to get away, to separate the daylife and the nightlife so clearly, was Anakin’s way of spelling out freedom. “I could have found you if I wanted to,” Obi-Wan replied cautiously. “But I didn’t. And do you know why?” “No,” Anakin said, his voice clipped. “Did you just not care?” “I cared. I do care. But I knew that you were safe. If you were in danger, I would have come after you. But you weren’t.” “You wouldn’t have to come after me.” “If you were in danger? Masters don’t let their apprentices run off, and I would never let you—” “Be alone?” “Get hurt!” Obi-Wan finished loudly. He could feel his ears getting warm as blood rushed up into them and knew that they were turning crimson. As always, it made him feel ridiculous, but he was too angry to care. “Even if you never listen to me about anything else, learn that I’ll never let you get hurt.” “I’m not going to get hurt!” Anakin exclaimed. “I can do things alone. I did them alone on Tatooine. Mom always let me.” “On Tatooine, you knew Mos Espa. Coruscant isn’t just a city, it’s a planet, and a great deal more corrupted than Tatooine could ever hope to be, no matter what you say about it. Slavery doesn’t just hide on the edges of the galaxy, it’s here, too. Just in other ways. Ways that you’re blind to and that might get you killed.” “I guess you chose the wrong life for me, Master,” Anakin said, “if you hate the idea of me dying so much.” There wasn’t as much anger in his voice now, it was tightly restrained beyond locked defenses. Now all that was there was a half taunting, half curious lilt. Obi-Wan shrugged, the motion feeling entirely too easy for the moment, but if Anakin was going to pretend that everything was all right, then he could follow. “The Council tells me to train you to save others, but I also train you to save yourself. When you’re older…” “I’m not older now.” “That’s part of the point now, isn’t it?” “You should trust me!” Anakin dropped his spoon, where it stood up stiffly in the porridge. A fat oat-colored drop landed on the table and stood in stark contrast against the bright red tablecloth Obi-Wan had gotten to brighten up the room. “I can do things by myself, I’m old enough, and I can take my lightsaber.” “Anakin, your lightsaber isn’t to enforce justice at your will. It’s to save others or yourself when you are in great danger. It isn’t to bail you out of foolish situations you choose to put yourself into!” “Fine,” Anakin said flatly. “Then I’ll get a blaster. Or a knife.” “Do you honestly think that I would let you have two more weapons when I’m already worried about what you’re going to do with the one?” “Then you don’t trust me.” Anakin stood quickly and strode out of the room, his hand banging against the steaming, sweating kettle of tea. With a hiss of pain, he drew his hand back and cradled it to his chest, the area already turning red. Obi-Wan felt pain distantly along their bond, and he winced in sympathy, coming forward, the matter of Anakin starting to storm out already forgotten. “I have some bandages, and I think there’s a little bacta in the cabinet so you won’t have to go down to the Healers…” “No,” Anakin said. Obi-Wan stared at him, hand on the cabinet knob. In his mind, he had already been halfway finished wrapping Anakin’s hand up in gauze and was unrolling the surgical tape. Now, abruptly, he was pulled out of that fast-forward. “What?” “I said no. I’m fine.” The crisp statement was belayed by the bright pink color of Anakin’s hand as he let it fall to his side. “You aren’t,” Obi-Wan said gently. “Listen, just let me get the gauze…” “No,” Anakin said again, and left, leaving Obi-Wan alone in the kitchen with a bubbling pot of tea, confusion, and twin scars down his hands. He looked at them again in confirmation, and a sudden, irrational wellspring of hatred exploded inside of him. Somehow or another, it was their fault. They had crept underneath his skin in the midst of the strangest dream he’d ever had, and now he and his Padawan were fighting. Not that they didn’t have their quarrels, but this was worse. More intense. And behind their fighting was a higher pitch. It had thrown their bond into sharp relief. Obi-Wan could almost see Anakin now, sitting on his bed, clutching his hand as a stream of tears poured out, and ripping gauze with his teeth to place awkwardly on the wound. And all because of scars on his hands. He pressed his palms against the kettle in despair, hoping that he could somehow obscure the scars with newer ones, but the pain forced his hands to loosen and jerk away, and in the end, all his skin did was redden and burn deep down. Just like his dreams. ** When he opened his eyes, Obi-Wan couldn’t see anything for almost a minute. There was just panic in the dark, just stretching, endless seconds of his nerves standing on end, prickling sensations running from his head to feet. He felt himself floating, not tethered to anything solid that would keep him down. And then, all of a sudden, he started to see vague, discolored shapes forming before him. A young man, tall and strong, with eyes like boiling oceans, standing at the edge of a huge canyon. He turned to Obi-Wan’s floating, hazy form, and smiled. You see, Master? I made something of myself after all. But it couldn’t be Anakin, because Anakin was small and ten and sleeping in the room next door. Still, when this man-boy lifted up his arms and stepped closer to the edge, Obi-Wan tried to will his mist-body forward to stop him from leaping. Because a life… what was it about a life? There was something wrong about ending a life, and ending your own life, that Obi-Wan couldn’t remember at the moment. Don’t! he cried. The young man threw back his head and laughed, reaching back with his hands to brush his hair down. His fingers left wet bloodstains against the sandy brown color, and when he turned around, his eyes were slowly turning red, too. Don’t you see? I’m not going to jump, Master. I’m going to fly. His wings extended, and they were black. ** Obi-Wan woke up tangle in sweaty sheets, his sleeping shirt sticking to his chest, and his hair matted with moisture. He touched his hand to make sure that he was still there, still solid, not mist and vapor. He threw his head back onto the pillow and just concentrated on breathing as he stared at the ceiling. So vivid. It had been like he was floating there, watching that grown Anakin’s wings unfurl in a feathered, bunched mess, exploding through his skin. Blood had flecked Obi-Wan’s face, he could almost still feel that wet stickiness on his face, but it was probably only sweat. He could still see it all, engraved on his eyelids as he closed them in the dark, touching his face and feeling just sweat. Just sweat. That was all. Not blood—blood was something that couldn’t get on his face in his sleep without a cut or a scratch. Not blood. He recited that all the way back into the dark tunnels of sleep. Not blood, he thought, but in the morning, it was. ----------------------------- The next post will be the start of chapter two, "Sick of Shadows," and it will have a strange event, and an invitation to breakfast. -----signature----- And Into the Black http://boards.theforce.net/message.asp?topic=13881821 Mooné, Handmaiden of the Crest
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diamond_pony2002 Registered: Nov '02	Date Posted: 11/12/03 7:29pm Subject: RE: "And Into the Black." (Obi-Wan, Anakin, post-TPM) Updated 11/12/03
	Whoa. That was so freaky! That dream was....whoa! -----signature----- Learning to do, doing to learn, earning to live, living to serve.- FFA Motto
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LuvEwan Registered: Mar '02	Date Posted: 11/12/03 8:23pm Subject: RE: "And Into the Black." (Obi-Wan, Anakin, post-TPM) Updated 11/12/03
	Wow, that was tense, L_M! [face_shocked] The argument between Obi-Wan and Anakin was so realistic. Anakin trying to be a little defensive and prideful, simultaneously hurting Obi-Wan with his words. “I guess you chose the wrong life for me, Master,” Anakin said, “if you hate the idea of me dying so much.” I actually cringed when I read that. What a thing to say to him! The dreams are so harrowing and well-described. Just the right mixture of confusion and Obi-Wan's characteristic rationality warring with each other. Great post! This is fantastic. -----signature----- What Light Breaks-AU Obi-Wan, Qui-Gon Anakin angst (collaboration with Spiritweaver) http://boards.theforce.net/the_saga/b10476/29979222/p1/?0 You want an Obi-Wan epic? We've got it right here.
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PadawanKitara Registered: Dec '01	Date Posted: 11/12/03 8:51pm Subject: RE: "And Into the Black." (Obi-Wan, Anakin, post-TPM) Updated 11/12/03
	I wanted to smack Anakin for his atitude, then I got creeped by the dream and forgot all about annoying Ani. -----signature----- Courtier of the Royal Order of Shambling Dufi We are Dufi...Resistance is Futile! UCLA BRUINS
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CrystalKenobi Registered: Jul '03	Date Posted: 11/13/03 5:39am Subject: RE: "And Into the Black." (Obi-Wan, Anakin, post-TPM) Updated 11/12/03
	Well if you wanted to spook me you did. Those dreams are spooky. -----signature----- Dark Lady Min Kenobi (wife to Obi-Wan Kenobi) In God I Trust Obi-wan/Ewan Fan club Member See Profile for Fics. All things can be done thru Christ.
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Lady_Moonbeam Registered: Aug '02	Date Posted: 11/16/03 3:43pm Subject: RE: "And Into the Black." (Obi-Wan, Anakin, post-TPM) Updated 11/12/03
	diamond_pony2002--Thanks! There will be plenty of dreams. LuvEwan--I'm glad the argument seemed realistic--I was trying not to make Anakin appear too much like a brat--I just want him to be like a ten-year-old. And the dreams--good to see I can get that right, too! PadawanKitara--Well, he is ten. Sometimes he is going to be annoying, but in this chapter, there isn't much arguing. All is well... temporarily... CrystalKenobi--I spooked you? Cool! All right, in this post, we get brotherly/parental Obi-Wan, a bad omen, and the word "beardhood." Enjoy! ------------------------------ Chapter Two: Sick of Shadows (part one) “I am half sick of shadows,” said The Lady of Shallot -Alfred Lord Tennyson On the thirty-second morning of waking from bad dreams, Obi-Wan saw a spider-web in the corner of his room, made of thousands of glistening strands. It was a soft, pastel blue, not the color of a normal web, and for a bare instant, he wondered if it could be one of Anakin’s rare pranks. But that would have been impossible. It looked too perfect for that—every strand shimmering in the dawn light that was filtered through his window, and a waving slightly as the air was pumped inside. And then, as he reached his hand towards it, it was gone in a flicker. “What?” he said aloud, startled by its sudden disappearance. “It was just…” He waved his hand where it had been, and felt his finger sink into a silky wetness in the air. As he pulled them back, the tendons in them twitched spasmodically, clutching together, tapping against the long scar. It was a long few minutes before they ceased and lay still on his blanketed knee. This was different. This was strange. Not that strangeness was in anyway unusual anymore. The last dream—he dismissed the web from his mind as he reached across his bed and found his leather journal by memory and wrote in it carefully the details of that night’s dream. They were becoming increasingly detailed, he could remember that much, but when he woke up, it was harder to remember exactly what had happened. There was sensory overload—too much pressing on his synapses. Electrical current had been stifled. Oh, he wished there was going to be a mission. A mission would have distracting elements to pull him out of his night voyages. A mission would put something in his mind other than multicolored dreams of things he couldn’t understand. Things he couldn’t understand—and that was the problem. It wouldn’t be as bad if it were simply dreams, just firings from his subconscious that were ironic, or amusing, or even in anyway related to the worries and happenings of the day. But they weren’t dreams. He couldn’t shake the impression that they weren’t just dreams. They were… Messages? Right, you’re a Seer now, part of him whispered sarcastically. Soon you’ll have prophecies written out and special recognition by the Council. They’ll see to it. What do you say, Knight Kenobi? And on the month’s mark, there shall be a vanishing blue spider web hanging in the corner of your bedroom, and it shall be a sign of… “Things to come,” Obi-Wan said. “A sign of things to come.” He shivered and his hands twitched just a centimeter more on the soft blanket. Maybe his hands were going to become as separate from the rest of him as his mind. Might be a welcome thing, too, because if nothing was going to make sense, than Obi-Wan would settle for nothing making sense openly. He looked at his notes, in his plain, curtailed handwriting standing on it black ink on ancient vanilla paper (such an antiquity). Fire. Fire was coming out of the scars again. Qui-Gon and a man with a shadowed face and blueness coming out of his mouth when he spoke. He said, “You lead, he will follow. Because you are the one they chose.” Obi-Wan closed his eyes, and got out of bed. Someone had to make the tea. Someone had to pretend that things were normal. The spider-web was back in the corner again, swaying slightly. He watched as it turned from sky blue to shimmering pearl, and crumbled to ground dust on his floor, leaving behind a slightly silver mist where it had been hanging. No, he thought. Not this. Not now. Not ever, and that last thought was more fervent than anything else. His mind cracked and splintered under the fury of his denial. He wanted to break something, anything. Wanted to wrap his hand around wineglasses and expensive statuary, lift it up and just swing until the shattering filled his entire mind, and glass and crystal coated the carpeting. He wanted his feet to bleed from stepping on it, wanted to tear apart silver mist with the same wineglass’s broken stem, wanted to turn the heat up in his room until he boiled inside his own skin and maybe even shed it, like a snake, because his current body didn’t seem to be functioning properly, with its spasmodic hands and misbehaving mind. Didn’t choose this, was the next thought, still coupled with that savagery. I didn’t choose this, and I don’t want it. It was the same old story handed down in so many religions and even around campfires—possession. A spirit that was a more true alien than any culture could lay claim to—a spirit that was so functionally different from any sentient race anywhere that it was, in fact, the Outsider—had taken control of him and suffused him with dreams that were not his own. The Outsider had pressed visions of spider-webs and dust against his eyes and it was the Outsider who had sparked the terrible rage inside of him that was so all-consuming, he could only stand in his bedroom and shake, his arms wrapped around and hugging his elbows. Possessed, something else owning him, and there wasn’t a thing Obi-Wan could do about it. It was time to do something about this. There had to be a solution, he wasn’t going to deny legitimacy to that more civilized thought. He had been raised in the walls of the Jedi Temple, one of the few places in the worlds that seemed to call for miracles as well as science, and that meant that he had been raised with the belief that everything had a solution. Everything must have a solution—he had learned it in algebra and science. There were no nonsense phrases, not really, because behind the façade, underneath the skin of every difficulty, there was some sort of logic. Just a complex lock looking for the right key to make it open. What about when the only solution is “no solution?” But he was able to banish that thought quickly, because along with his belief in civilized means, he had optimism lying close to his heart, too. Optimism that was really an overly constructed use of hope. The best would happen because the worst had never happened to him—well, the worst had only happened once, on Naboo, when Qui-Gon had died. And even the odds said that he was winning on this one. He had to win. He was ahead by the numbers, and even Jedi had to appreciate a gambler’s point of view, every once in a while. Because gamblers, with their red-and-black wheels and slick, imprinted cards, got things right more than occasionally with no help at all from the Force or whatever Other he was touching now. They understood the odds, and, more importantly, some of them knew how to cheat—how to stack the deck so that it favored them instead of their opponent, and where to place the pads of their fingers to feel the crisp marks in the patterns of a sabaac card. And if Obi-Wan couldn’t quite make out the shape of the mark, well, he was going to guess at it, and one way or another, he was determined to come out on top. Filled with a certain self-satisfaction, he stretched underneath the sheets, creating katas against the soft boundaries of cotton and shimmersilk. His back arched on the firm mattress and his shoulders rubbed into the fabric. It felt astoundingly good, and he certainly felt more awake now then he had in ages—in thirty-two days, as a matter of fact. He wondered if maybe seeing a blue spider-web was a blessing rather than a portent. That would make everything much, much simpler. After a few minutes of lazy exercise, he rose, peeling the sheets off his frame, and dressed swiftly, choosing his older robes over the starched and pressed new ones that refused to shape themselves to him. The older robes, worn and the color of dark coffee, were comfortable, and far more suitable to a day without missions or meetings than the crisp ginger that the Council had granted him a few weeks ago. Presents, he thought. Some administrations give bonuses, the Council decides it’s time for me to get some new robes. Life in the Jedi Temple. He tugged his arm through the sleeve and ran an impatient hand through his hair. He’d been meaning to grow it out and add a few years to his face, but it stubbornly refused to go beyond typical Padawan shortness. The beard he was trying to cultivate also remained unsightly stubble. Obi-Wan sighed as he stared into the mirror and slid into the refresher for lather and a razor. Better to be clean-shaven and look like he was barely a senior Padawan then have shadow on his face like a refugee. The key was to look immaculate. As he ran the razor down another strip of white foam, Anakin knocked on the door. The razor went off its previously assigned course and nicked his jaw, a sudden bright pain and warm sensation rising from his face. His good mood clouded over. Wonderful. Now, instead of looking like a sober apprentice, he was going to look like this was his first time shaving. “Come in, Anakin,” he said. The door swished open and Anakin, furiously bright-eyed, flew inside and landed on the bed with a casual bounce. Apparently, there was no purpose to his visit, other than to make sure Obi-Wan cut himself shaving. “Did you want something?” Obi-Wan asked. “No, I just wanted to see what was taking you so long. You said you’d take us out to a café this morning, remember?” “I remember,” Obi-Wan said hastily. He had actually forgotten all about his promise to take Anakin to a café so he could get “a real breakfast, with pastries and stuff.” But that was what normally happened, he supposed, when you discovered a mystical web in the corner of your room after thirty-two consecutive nights of unbelievably strange dreams. “Just let me finish shaving.” “I thought you were going to try to grow out a beard.” Anakin looked suspiciously at the stubble in the sink. “You know, so you could look just like Qui-Gon.” The razor glided across his face too sharply again and hit upper lip. Obi-Wan stared at the trail of warm blood dripping down his mouth in stunned silence. “Yuck,” Anakin said decisively. “That’s gross.” Obi-Wan wiped the blood away with the back of his hand, still staring in the mirror. Anakin’s casual cruelty went deeper than that second cut. Obi-Wan’s aspirations for beardhood had a great deal to do with becoming, in effect, his Master, but for Anakin to suggest it implied some kind of darker intent. The reminder alone would have been enough to jar him, but that light venom in Anakin’s tone finished the job. He washed the lather off his face with a few handfuls of water. Anakin watched wide-eyed, and Obi-Wan was ready to rebuke him for that snapping comment, but he suddenly realized that despite the line and even its sharp tone, Anakin hadn’t mean the comment to be interpreted darkly. It had been so casual that it had actually meant nothing at all—except Anakin had said it with that faintly resentful tone, which meant that Anakin too, had yet to give up Qui-Gon. “What café were you thinking about?” Obi-Wan asked. Anakin shrugged. “I don’t know. D’you know a good one?” “Several.” “Dex’s?” Anakin suggested. Obi-Wan sighed. His Padawan had developed a latent attachment to Dexter Jettster, and while Obi-Wan could certainly understand that—after all, he was rather fond of Dex, too—that didn’t mean he wanted his apprentice running rampant through a low-class diner constantly, bumping into skillets of grease and harassing the types of customers that, more often than not, carried blasters with the same ease as they carried credit chips. Besides, it was partially his responsibility to ensure that Anakin had decent nourishment, and he was fairly certain that nothing at Dex’s diner could possibly be construed as healthy. “Not today,” Obi-Wan said. “I thought we’d try some place with a little more class that Dex’s usually provides.” Anakin’s nose wrinkled and he looked down at his casual tunic. “Do I have to change?” Obi-Wan chuckled as he straightened the collar of his own tunic. “I really doubt that. You look like a Jedi, and we’re accepted into most places.” As he turned from the mirror, he felt the strangest, closest, most parental urge he’d ever felt—he wanted to swoop down on Anakin’s tiny, bouncing figure, scoop the boy up and tickle him without mercy. He considered it. Anakin probably would not appreciate that, he thought solemnly. Well. That didn’t stop him from thinking it would be fun. He settle for shooting a quick smile at his apprentice. “Ready, Ani?” The nickname felt short and awkward in his mouth, but somehow okay, nevertheless, like a brief swallow some sort of sweet beverage. Anakin didn’t seem to notice Obi-Wan’s first attempt at using the nickname, he just kicked his heels back up against the bed again. “Okay,” he said, and hopped off. Obi-Wan slid open the doors and let Anakin walk out first. --------------------------------- The next post contains paranoia and sugar. In the literal sense. -----signature----- And Into the Black http://boards.theforce.net/message.asp?topic=13881821 Mooné, Handmaiden of the Crest
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PadawanKitara Registered: Dec '01	Date Posted: 11/16/03 6:04pm Subject: RE: "And Into the Black." (Obi-Wan, Anakin, post-TPM) Updated 11/16/03
	AT least there is one constant in Obi_wan's life. Hungry growing boy. -----signature----- Courtier of the Royal Order of Shambling Dufi We are Dufi...Resistance is Futile! UCLA BRUINS
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