Correlian Rum (pre TPM to post TPM)

The smell of smoke hung in the air and the cloaked figure slipped through the crowd as if by magic. Eyeing a table covered in shadows and seperated from the bustling crowd and wailing jizz players by a somber atmosphere, the man walked over, silently slidding into the vacant chair.

His companion failed to even glance up as he made his presence known. In another corner of the galaxy, their brown robes and tan tunics would have called attention to the pair like a beacon. Here, amidst the dark clothes and military uniforms of the spaceport, they blended in well. Reticence and magic helped to further mask the presence of two Jedi in a house of smugglers, scoundrels, and thieves.

Wordlessly, the servo-droid brought 2 shot glasses filled with Correlian rum to the table. The transaction, credit chips for liquor, was silent - noted only the value of the chips. Real Republic credits rather than traded district coins often seen in out of the way ports of call.

Lifting his glass, the older man downed yet another glass of the burning liquid. Behind a gray beard, his lips twitched into a frown. Pronounced in its controlled expression.

Sliding a datapad towards his younger companion, he watched as comprehension dawned. The message was one of foreboding, for the planet and the Republic. Fighting with a trace of fear and anger behind his eyes, the young man drank the rum as if it was a panacea - fit to cure his troubles.

Standing to leave, he dropped the datapad to the floor and crushed it beneath his boot.

As the last customers drifted out, the cleaning droid disposed of the piece of crushed metal and wiring. It's only message still emblazoned across its still screen.

The King is dead. Long live the King.

 

Hey, that's a great start! I hope you're going to write more soon?

 

I gotta admit you've piqued my interest. You've written just enough to grab the reader's attention without revealing anything.

Looking forward to more.

 

Cool....I wanna read s'more!

aa

 

More Daphne more!!!!!!!!!!!!!

 

The crowd swirled around the ballroom floor. Colors of every hue intertwined as flowing skirts and long tailcoats touched and passed, twisted and dipped. In the aura of gaiety which filled the room, two outsiders were conscious of their visibilty. Plain clothes and dull colors made a statement.

Drawing further into his brown robe, the younger man tried and failed to simply disappear. His companion scanned the room for danger. Danger hidden and venomous. The tension and fear was thick amongst those on the veranda behind them, and the Jedi realized the stakes pinned on their shoulders.

A guard attired in a dark metal and black plumes approached the pair, breaking their self imposed silence. "Master Jedi, His Majesty wishes to speak with you."

Stepping back the guard noted that it was almost as if a conversation had flowed between the thoughts of the Jedi, for as the older man turned to follow, the younger, his apprentice stepped into his place and began to watch the crowd with the eyes of a prophet.

Once the steps to the low platform of the veranda have been mounted, the guard melts away into the wall. The unbroken line of men protecting their sovereign adjusts to accomedate another body while the cloaked figure bows before the throne.

Straightening, he looks towards the finely robed man seated upon the golden chair. "You wished to speak with me your majesty?"

"I am afraid so. Your efforts have thus far been fruitless. Tonight was the best opportunity they will have until next year's ball."

Nodding silently, the Jedi waited for him to continue. "I am wish for you to return to Coruscant. Take along my pledge of alliance with the Republic and news that I will sign the treaty." Pausing the sovereign appeared to loose himself in thought. When his voice resumed, it was weaker, unsure, yet stubborn. "Take with you also my daughter. Keep her safe from the forces threatening our home."

Waving his hand in dismissal, the king stood - slowly, as one with a boulder resting between his shoulders and a world on top of them.

The Jedi bowed towards the retreating form. As he stepped down from the veranda, the guards noticed that the younger was instantly by his side. Their heads bowed briefly in what might have been quiet conversation, but their lips were still as if in death.

As the young princess was lead before them, they bowed lightly and the master, the bearded one, offered a hand towards the girl wrapped in fine silks and veiled in black.

The sound of blaster fire rang out. Bolting up from his bed covered with a sheen of sweat, the young Jedi was aware only of crying out - and of the vision of the future burned on his psyche.

The strong voice filled the void of his mind. "Obi-Wan, are you alright?"

No response passed from his lips. His mind still reeled from the remembrance and the words of the Princess still rang in his ears.

"You have the eyes of a prophet. What do you see?"

 

Aha! So it's Obi-Wan and Qui-Gon.

Well, what has the dynamic duo gotten themselves into now? I guess I'll have to stick around to find out.

 

Very cool. I like the sort of surreal qaautlity to the scene, even before we find out it's just a dream.

 

Very interesting.

 

A weight falling across his arm jolted the young man from the waking nightmare his mind locked his into. A cell with no key.

Turning his head, his mind was torn between expecting to see darkened figure leering at him and longing to see a wisp of a girl smiling softly. As the fog lifted slowly from his eyes, his ears, his heart, he became aware the the weight was that of a hand. Slowly the comfort offered by that hand on his arm, by his master's presence, fought through the darkness settling about him. Allowing himself to be pulled into a warm embrace, he cried.

Qui-Gon felt the sobs rack this apprentice. Each tear threatened to tear him apart, and the master was taken back to days in which the tears came, with the same hesitation, from the eyes of a young boy still afraid of rejection. Now they came from the eyes of a man hurting too greatly to pretend to be strong, hurting to greatly to remember he was a Jedi, hurting to greatly to remember he was a man, and not a scared little boy crying into his master's arms.

As the moon passed through the sky and the darkness grew pale, the sobs became quiet hiccups soothed away by the somber voice of his master. In the stillness, Obi-Wan felt the light pressure on his forehead, before he could gather the resolve to fight it he was already falling into the dreamless rest of a healing trance.

Rising stifly, Qui-Gon cast his eyes about the small room as if to turn away the demons he knew would return to taunt his apprentice. Tucking the blankets around the sleeping figure, he bent and pried a string of beads from the hands of his padawan. Lying them on the bedside table, he sent a message into the Force.

"May the son of my heart heal his own."

 

Coolbeans.

 

Yes!! This is great...I need s'more!

aa

 

Oo, don't leave us in suspense too long!

 

Oh this is really good. Can't wait for you to post more. Keep up the good work!!

 

Yes! Another Daphne story. This is looking pretty darn good already. What's happened to poor Obi?

 

I don't know how you manage to come up with all these wonderful ideas but you've done it again!! I'm hooked! Yet another thread I'm going to have to add to my favourites......

 

Pale slivers of sunlight pierced through the heavy draperies, bringing light even into this corner of darkness. Chasing the shadows from their home, the light settled across pale blue orbs, staring, unseeing.

Qui-Gon stood in the doorway for an endless moment. Watching, waiting. Stepping soundlessly towards the bed, he called a name. Silence was his only answer. Brushing the boy's braid off his brow, the Jedi broke through his silent reverie with promises of time and space easing his pain. Hollow words coming from a trusted source. Just enough to justify a few more moments of existance.

Turning to leave, to give this boy, this man, a few moments with his thoughts before another day threatened to overcome his resolve, he paused at the sound of a quiet voice. The sound was painful and the words broke his heart yet again.

"Master, if all I do is hurt them, why can't I be the one to die?"

::::::::::::::::::::::::

Staring into the mirror, he takes a few moments to adjust his clothes. The black fabric is unfamiliar, and the absence of his lightsaber rends his heart. *Why should they fear what I do? I can do nothing. Over and over again, I have proven, I can do nothing.*

One last day has dawned. One last day before the Council. One last day before their punishment. One last day to live with his failure. One last day and that one last day is one more without her.

The string of beads finds its way into the folds of his overcoat. Black beads disappearing into the heavy black cloth. Still staring into the mirror, he does not believe. Black smudges claim the pale skin beneath his eyes while the redness of blood claimes the whites, surrounded by the reddening, the pale blue pupil's have taken on a surreal look. But he does not believe. Skin fades and light reflects the growing tranluscence of a body wasting away. The black garmets transform him into the star of nightmares. But he does not believe.

Blind to the stares and whispers, the journey through the Temple is endured. As a booted foot reached the street, he attempts to melt into the crowd, but no amount of magic could make this man look at home here.

As he descends the levels, he wonders if her hell is real. The red fire of her story books prevailing over the benevolence of the Force. He wonders and he doubts, for there is no light in his world.

His master's has watched him retreat from the world each morning and return only to cry and whisper dire words through troubled sleep. This morning Qui-Gon wonders, //What will it take for him to believe he will die?//

 

This is getting eery.

Make no mistake, that's a good thing.

 

Within the cold walls, soft footsteps fall. The echoes tell of a destiny unfullfilled and a future destroyed. Killer. Sinner. Traitor. Dying for crimes long imagined, no justice would prevail here.

The courtyard beyond this cell stained a with the blood of martyrs. Dying by the scores, victims of the firing squad, the hangman, the mobs.

Pacing within the space outlined in stone, dreaming back to the soft voices telling stories of wars long ago, of sacrifice and of victory.

"No victory to be had today."

The stone answered in silence.

The screams of vengence could be heard by all who passed by. Bowing their heads in solemn prayer, all those above merely walked by. Life over truth. That is how her people survived.

"Let them all die for this! Traitors! Thieves! Let him die for his failure! Let it rest on *their* heads! Not ours!"

Collapsing in anguish, her thoughts turn to the blue sky above, and the dark earth which captures her people day by endless day.

Murmering quiet revenge, the thoughts of many are spoken aloud. "The King is dead. Let him rest in peace forever."

 

I am throughly engrossed! Please what is wrong with poor Obi?

Please give us more!

 

Wow. Very creepy. Don't stop now!!

 

Twelve faces stared silently at him and for the second time in his life, he doubted his ability to withstand their gaze. The first time had been on the day his padawan had turned, today was the day he would admit his apprentice, his son, was lost to them.

Bowing deeply, he drew a deep breath. Continuing was painfull, but mistruth would be unforgiveable.

"Masters. I am here as summoned."

The silence rang in his ears as 12 faces looked back at him, unmoving. Finally the silence was broken.

"Summoned too your padawan we did. Obi-Wan Kenobi, missing is he?"

"He is... unable to appear before you, Masters."

Twelve sets of eyes gazed steadily back at him. *They know. How can they know?!*

"Tell us you will of the mission to Taekan."

Swallowing painfully, the Jedi Master began to speak. A painfully detatched voice began the recitation of the mission. People, places, dates. Facts, only the facts.

He related the many failures they had encountered. Their failure to find those who threatened the king. Their failure to return the Princess safely to Coruscant. Their failure to draw up a treaty which was agreeable to all. Their failure to prevent the coup. And then he paused. The silence grew until it stifled all thought within the hallowed chamber.

The grave voice of the dark skinned Council member shattered the oppresive quiet. "And what of the holo, Master Jinn? What of the charges that your padawan caused the failure of the mission? What of the appearance of your padawan working for the Taekan military? What of his behavior?"

The charges fell and lay in the air between them, but the Jedi master had no answer.

 

The thick brown paneling on the wall was just interesting enough to distract. Feeling the slow burn of the Correlian Rum sliding down his throat, the man in black wondered what it would be like to simply drink himself to death.

The phenomenon was far from unheard of and the dream of an anonymous death in the bowels of the planet brought a wane smile to his face.

Sounds filtered into his mind, unprocessed and ignored. The blaring cheers issuing forth from the holo reminded him only of his presence in the Taekan district. "The King is dead. Long live the King." The pursuit of mortality brought him back time and time again. Someday someone would recognize him. Someday someone would call him forth for his crimes. Someday someone would allow him an honorable death.

*There is no honor here.*

Casting hooded eyes upward he stared at the image presented to him in his mind's eye. A waif in fine silks standing just beyond the fire. The soft skin of her hands reaching for his. The pain and betrayal as he turned away, as he heard the clatter of boots in the hall behind him. Her face, reflected in smooth steel as they claimed her, saluting his back, straight and still, before retreating down the hall.

Her voice. *Traitor! Traitor! How dare you call yourself Jedi!*