Mature themes; an Adult discussion V 2 topic 3: Good old fashion NOOKIE!

Yes, it does, I just find ways to get around it. Or edit things out.

 

My response to this intriguing challenge.
*****
"One day I'll fly away,
Leave all this to yesterday.
What more can your love do for me?
When will love be through with me?
Why live life from dream to dream
and dread the day when dreaming ends?"

~Moulin Rouge
*****
It wasn't the first time he'd seen her like this, but he hoped it would be the last.

It wasn't the first time she'd come at his call, to some cheap cafe in the middle of the night, and then returned to a more private setting.

It wasn't even the first time he'd seen this dress, a striking royal blue nerfhide sheath that he could have peeled off her like a layer off an onion. She'd worn it merely six weeks ago, with the usual accoutrements of overstated jewelry and understated underpinnings, peeking out the top of the bodice.

If she were recycling her wardrobe, it meant Nyryan was losing her touch or her customers.

Or perhaps, that she simply wanted him to have the same feelings as the last time.

He'd seen her dressed in much more, in elaborate layers or simple street clothing, had seen her wrapped in little other than his Jedi robe.

He knew the bangles on her arms were not simply for decoration, had seen the needle marks and bruises, the deep furrows of scars and fresh gashes that she had inflicted herself at times, and knew that those she consorted with would prefer not to know what decorated her wrists as casually as the silver wrist-sheath.

It was not the first or the last time he took her into his arms, hands rubbing her spine gently as the bones clearly visible beneath the surface moved so she squirmed away from his touch.

"None of that tonight, Kenobi," Nyryan rasped, pushing him away with the kind of perfunctory viciousness that she used to tease others and simply get away from him.

"Sorry," he mumbled. "I've just been worried."

Her hand wrapped around the edge of his robe and he noticed for the first time that the long fingernails, while encrusted with dirt and Force-knew-what-else from her last encounter, were taking on a blue tinge, that the fingers were shrunken and cramped, trembling uncontrollably.

And when she pulled him in for a kiss that lacked none of the elements of a passionate display, save the passion, her lips were icy and suggesting that she was barely restraining chattering teeth.

"You've not been well, my love," he murmured as his mouth went to her ear and her arm wrapped around his waist.

"Have I ever?" she countered. "Where shall it be tonight? My place or yours?"

It was the familiar tease, the ridiculous thought of a woman from the shadows coming to the Temple and the odious thought of the place she was forced to inhabit by routine and by means.

"Where do you think, zheri?" he laughed, hand going to the small of her back. "Shall I call us a cab or do you prefer to fly?"

"Fly, of course," she giggled, hand running along his ribs. "One day, you'll come looking for me and I'll have simply flown away."

"Force forbid I live to see that day," he said honestly.

He hailed a cab and sat with her head in his lap, her chocolate tresses draped artistically over his legs, her cosmetically, unnaturally perfect smile parting the cracked, crimson lips as her hand stroked his beard absentmindedly. The driver, a Bothan with hungry eyes and a knowing, tormenting grin, did not speak, only sent covert winks in his direction, which Obi-Wan forced himself to ignore for fear of abusing his lightsaber for a few moments.

Finally, however, they were at the Warren, a structure that lived up to its name, since the 'apartments' were carved out of stone, privacy a choice rather than an option.

"It's a quiet night," she purred, pulling him from the cab. "Perhaps we should change that."

Her apartment was on the seventh floor, up a winding staircase that reeked of decay and cheap rum since the dilapidated turbolift hadn't been fixed since the previous summer. It took them a full ten minutes to make the climb, stopping for a quick kiss or a teasing word for the benefit of an

 

I'm going to change the 'header title' early as I have a lot to do today and this week but PLEASE continue the absolutley amazing work you guys are doing.

Don't forget to also post in the proper forum as well, these fics need to be seen by everyone!!

All challanges are on going but please link to them here as well, I would hate to miss out!

Next challange:

Suicide is Painless-or is it?

 

Well, wow, Ishie's posy kinda fits both, doesn't it?


*Derisa*

 

Well, I don't know if suicide can ever really be painless. The act of taking one's life probably will always have to do with pain. I don't know if someone would arbirtarily (<--sp) take their own life. I believe pain would always be a part of it.

On those close to the person, yes, I think there would be pain. Their loved one took their own life. Meaning, yes, there would be pain. In the SW universe, I always find it hard to believe suicide fics, even though I have written one. It's just extremely hard to picture someone killing themselves in the world Lucas created for us.

One good example I can think of off the top of my head is Weary by obaona. It's in the Archives, if anyone wants to see it. It was believeable, and incredibly well-written. In suicide fics, it goes case by case. Some of the ones I've read are absolutely terrible, and I'm not trying to be cruel. The reason are not good, and they come on it like a stroll in the park. obaona's did not do that, and she finished it off with a great ending.

With something as serious as suicide, I think the only reason it should be used is to delve into the emotions. If the main focus of a suicide fic is to graphically write down every detail of a person slashing their wrists, then it's not only against the guidelines, it's also very wrong. As someone who's had to deal with suicide in RL, I always find it very sick when I stray upon a fic that details HOW they kill themselves rather as to WHY.

Reading the tortured emotions of someone is always a good read if it's written well. That's the only time I think suicide should be used.

I think I strayed from the topic a little. Sorry about that.

-Krystal

 

The only fics I've written other than that last viggy where a character committed suicide were Bloodprice (Imperial captain commits suicide after the ghosts of an old massacre come back to haunt him, including the wife he had to murder in cold blood to prove his loyalty) and Though Deepening Trials (A Jedi Padawan in a prison camp was driven mad by interrogation and drove her lightsaber through her forehead). I don't believe suicide is ever painless. The reasons for it are an endless torment, a sense of sheer hopelessness. I've had problems with suicidal thoughts for several years and the way I characterize it is kind of like when my friend said people were "dammed", not "damned." They felt they had hit a brick wall in life or that every effort turned into them sliding backwards in an impossible climb. This was what I was trying to express in my fic for this challenge, because she was definitely "Dammed", which was why she couldn't take Obi-Wan's help.

 

A bump of

 

In one of my fics, Bottled Anger, my main character attempted suicide because she couldn't stand the circumstances of her life anymore.

And consider the pain for the ones left alive.

 

I have never written a fic involving suicide. Great pain and personal loss yes, but never the volnutary endong of ones one life. But I can understand who these could well work into a story. Especially if you consider the nobel self sacrifice, not sure if that is deemed suicide but giving ones life to save another or countless others could be very dramatic and elegantly written.

I think, as others have stated, this is a touchy subject do the the number of us it touches personally,be it because we have tried, others near us have tried, or other very personal exprience.
I plan on trying to write something for this, but I feel it requires more time and effort then a slap dash post. So I'll get it up and linked when I feel comfortable with it.

 

I thought I might share this story with those dealing with suicide in their writing.

A friend of mine has a brother that attempted suicide not long ago. He blew most of his face off (literally), yet remained alive. After many, many weeks in the hospital and half a dozen reconstructive surgeries, he?s now living with his mother.

He still has many emotional problems to work out, and he?s become a great burden on his family. My friend can no longer plan in advance since she's constantly worrying that her brother may need her at any moment. Because of his attempted suicide, he?s put both himself and his family through a lot of pain.

 

This borrows very heavily from the movie The Shawshank Redemption. I couldn't help myself. It takes a while to get to the suicide aspects, but it's there.

I've talked to Breezy, and there is going to be a challenge. She just gave me leeway to post this early.

-----

Broken


When I was sixteen, I killed a man.

I meant to kill him. It wasn?t an accident, and I?m not ashamed of it. He deserved it. That man ? that evil, wicked man ? deserved everything he got. I didn?t just murder him. I tortured him. I took him to an apartment on the far side of the city, and I tortured him with electricity, wires, knives, and fusioncutters. I hurt him very badly, and when he screamed, I just hurt him more.

I?m not ashamed of that. He deserved it. We?ll just say he was one of those men who could buy what they wanted, and buy he did. He bought women and used them, but most of the time it was the men he went after, and he used them in ways I can?t think about without shutting my eyes.

He bought me once. I worked in a brothel that serviced those whose money far outstretched their kindness. I guess I can?t say worked, though. I was stolen from my home when I was ten and taken to that place, and forced to work with the scum of Coruscant. They called that place Charmalian?s Palace, and from what I?ve heard now, it?s since been broken down by the security officials.

That?s the only good thing that came out of my arrest. When they found that man, and traced his proceedings back to me, they found me in Charmalian?s Palace. The quality of life was so terrible they took it down and ran down the owners. I?m happy for that. I?m happy this sacrifice on my part ? and I?m using sacrifice loosely here, because my murder of him probably saved lives ? worked good on other people?s lives.

What he did to me when he bought me was not something I?m going to retell. He used me in a way I?ve never been used before, and hurt me very badly. I was tough then, too. At sixteen I had been on the street for years. What he did to me broke me down. He had purchased me for twenty credits an hour, and by the time I murdered him he owed far more than what he could pay.

Those in the jury took pity on me. They only gave me two life sentences, because they determined I had not only taken his actual breathing life, I had taken his soul. I don?t know what that means, because that man had no soul. He was a shell whose insides flowed with darkness and nothing else.

The prison was a drab place, but it wasn?t bad. It was better than Charmalian?s Palace, because the bed was clean, I was fed, and the guards couldn?t touch me. There were others that tried, believe me, but I had not lived six years in that brothel without learning tricks to take care of myself. I put two of them in the hospice, and after that no one tried me anymore. I was alone.

-----

After my fifth year, when I was twenty-one, a man came to the prison with a sixty-year sentence hanging over his head for the murder of some senator or another. In prison, it didn?t matter who you killed. You had killed, that was that.

His name was Daravan. He was human, male, and had the look about him that screamed walking wounded. The eyes were what got me. They weren?t blue, really. They were velvet, a kind of heaven-sent blue that managed to rip open my world-weary eyes and cause me to look at him with more interest than usual. I wasn?t interested in him in any kind of romantic way, as some the guys probably did. His eyes were intelligent, and they looked haunted and so real I wanted to rush over and command him to be my friend.

I watched him for a long time after he came, maybe two years or so. I wasn?t nice to him, exactly. I shoved him around, made him sink deeper into himself and avoid all others. He was my personal torment toy, and all others quickly abandoned any idea of getting to know him. When I was ready, he would be my friend, and only mine. I needed someone who would talk to me, and never leave me. For that, I needed Daravan.

The study I took of him

 

How often were you changing the topics for this DarthBreezy?

Liz

 

Several of my characters have been border-line suicidal, held back mostly by their own... I don't want to say cowardice, but that's about how they would describe it. As Hamlet put it,

To sleep perchance to dream--
aye, there's the rub
for in that sleep of death what dreams may come
when we have shuffled off this mortal coil
must give us pause...

...There's the respect
for who would these fardels bear
were it not for the threat of something after death:
that undiscovered country
from whose borne no traveler returns
puzzles the will
and makes us rather bear those ills we have
than fly to others we know not of?

I believe Hamlet's soliloquy on suicide is one of the most insightful on the subject. It proposes both the pros and cons of suicide, and, in the end, obviously, the cons present the more convincing argument--at least for the Prince of Denmark.

Two case studies from my works include Casey Vadis (in Depth of the Shadow)and Venús (from The Ancients). In the previous book, Council of the Sith, a vergance in the Force gave Casey incredible power to defeat an uber-Sith Lord. After their battle, Casey lost her powers, leaving her completely disenfranchised with the notion of a benign Force:

"We're all puppets, you know. Dancing on strings. They surround us, and penetrate us, and bind us to this world and the next," as she spoke, her lips twisted as though the words left a bitter taste in her mouth, and her vacant eyes began to sparkle with tears. "There is no escape.

"There is no escape."

In an attempt to bring Casey over to his side, one Sith Lord touches on the source of her deep depression:

"I pity you, Vadis--One Who Was Kaiburr. Given more power than any mortal has ever held, made stronger even than The Ultimate. And then to have that power snatched away by the providence of the Force," Snayk sneered. "It emptied you, turned your body into a husk. Unable to return to how things were before you became the unwitting focus of a vergance. Unable to proceed forward; trapped in a limbo with death your only hope of escape. I cannot imagine what you must be experiencing, but I know that were I in your place? revenge would be foremost in my mind.

In the end, Casey gives in to another type of suicide, even more threatening than her nihilism.

Venús lived an ideal life on the Republic frontier until her village was attacked by the followers of the antithesis of the Force (not just the Dark Side, but the devil to the Force's god). By the time The Ancients gets rolling, she's been constantly on the run for three years. Not only is she dealing with the loss of her parents and the upheaval of her entire life, not only is she confronted with the continuous fact that stopping for a moment will mean death, but she is also dealing with the concept that her new way of living would have revolted her parents:

Four years ago she had escaped the Ancients aboard that shuttle, had ascended through the ruined roof of the hanger and hyperspaced to the first safe port the navcomputer offered her. Four years, she had been a refugee, the sole survivor and witness to the Ancient's terrifying ritual of Letting. She left Iego's Moon with no credits, with no destination in mind but knowing that wherever she went she would be hunted.

In her efforts to get by in the universe, she had done many things that before she would never have dreamed of. She found that by peddling her body she could make credits. That by seducing spacers she could gain passage off of worlds that she would otherwise have been trapped on. She found that by using her feminine charms on police that she could avoid entanglements that would have made it impossible for her to flee quickly if she were discovered by the Ancients.

Drugs became her only solace in the quiet moments, and much of the money she made fro

 

Good use of Hamlet to explain.

 

Okay, here is my little viggie for the "Ladies of the Evening" challenge. I have an idea for the suicide one, but this one wanted to be written first.


You Always Remember

Jorlica peered into the mirror, frowning as she noted two more fine lines fanning out from her eyes. Her beauty was fading, but tonight she would put that worry from her mind. He always looked at her with kind eyes and would not notice anyway. She turned away from the mirror, content for the moment. She slowly brushed her hair, wondering if he would come tonight. In spite of herself she felt her pulse speed up a bit.

Golden light filtered into the room as the planet settled down to the nightly revelries. She could already hear the music beginning to pound in the nightclub next to her building. Her eyes flickered up to the chrono noting the hour. Even if he did visit her he wouldn?t be here this early.

She passed the time by straightening up her small apartment. If he was able to visit she wanted to be ready. Orderly surroundings always made him feel more comfortable. She supposed it was because he was a Jedi.

A quick glance at the chrono confirmed the time. He could be here at any moment. She had been hopeful after getting his message but she knew that last minute business could always prevent his visit. When she heard a discreet knock at her door she permitted her joy to show briefly on her face.

He was there, standing easily in the hallway, his size dwarfing her doorway. He returned her welcoming smile and ducked slightly to enter her apartment. He reached out and gently touched her cheek.

?I?m glad you could make it, Qui,? she said softly.

?I?m glad, too. How have you been Jorlica??

He sat down in the huge chair she kept in the corner just for him. She had purchased not long after he began visiting her so that he would have a comfortable place to sit.

?I?ve been fine. How have you been??

He nodded. ?Good, tired but good.?

She went into the kitchen and returned with a cold bottle of his favorite Alderaanian ale. It had a smooth taste that he always appreciated and she made sure to always have it on hand just for him.

He patted the space next to him on the chair as he thanked her. She snuggled up next to him with a sigh of contentment.

?You always remember, Jor,? he said.

She shrugged, not wanting to dwell on why she always remembered. It didn?t matter anyway. ?It?s no big deal. You enjoy it.?

He took a deep swallow of the ale and smacked his lips approvingly. She laughed and he raised a brow at her.

?So you think I?m funny??

?You?re always funny Qui, but that?s why I like you.?

He leaned down then and placed a gentle kiss on her lips. She could taste the ale and the mint he must have eaten before he knocked on her door. After their kiss they sat in companionable silence for awhile, neither feeling a need to speak.

?Anything new going on in your life?? he finally spoke, his voice sounding relaxed.

?Same stuff, different day,? she said. ?What about you? How?s Obi-Wan?? She had never met his apprentice but she felt she knew him after hearing Qui-Gon speak of him over the years.

Qui-Gon had noticed that she preferred not to talk about herself so the change of subject was not unexpected. But he knew she really was interested in his life so let it pass rather than risk making her uncomfortable.

?He?s fine, almost ready for the trials,? he said as he finished off the ale and carefully placed the empty bottle on the table at his side.

?Really? That?s wonderful, you must be very proud!? Her enthusiasm was genuine, for Qui-Gon had shared much of Obi-Wan?s progress with her.

He leaned down and kissed her once more. ?I?ve missed you, Jorlica,? he whispered as he pulled away just a bit. He brushed her chestnut hair back from her face.

?I?ve missed you, too,? she replied.

He stood up and took her hand, helping her to her feet. He wrapped his strong arms around her and simply held her for a few moments. Then he began to place a trail of warm kisses

 

NO! NOT NABOO! AUGH! I liked that, even with the face-paling ending.

 

I just discovered this thread. It's the suicide thing in the title that intrigued me, because there's a lot of people close to me who have attempted or at least considered suicide, including my mom and my best friend.

I'm going to write something for the challenge, but it's not exactly finished yet.

Suzi

 

It's finished now! It's a quicky, written in less than an hour, really short, and not particularly good. It deals with teenage depression, because I can understand that a bit better than, say, Luke-angst. (Since I'm a teenager and all.)

Oh yeah, and I'm going to post this in the Beyond forum eventually, but I need help with a title first. I'd think of one on my own eventually, probably, but since titles aren't exactly my strong point, I thought I'd ask for help.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------

He?d seen her with them before, but not like this.

Normally, she?d have a look of vague disgust on her face and would be fidgeting uncomfortably. Normally, she?d be standing to the side, seemingly unhappy. Normally she didn?t want to be with them.

Normally.

This time she was laughing, completely in her element. Dyl?s arm was wrapped around her waist, and she was leaning comfortable into his embrace. She seemed so different like this that Ben hadn?t even recognized her at first.

Then she'd turned around. It was only for a split second, for her head quickly directed back towards her crowd?for they were her crowd, he knew that now?laughing all the harder. All those years of friendship, forgotten for a laugh.

If he told his father, all he would get would be a lecture because he didn?t recognize her through the Force. If he told his mother, he?d get the same, with the added bonus of her litany on trusting few.

He had trusted Tiryl. He had trusted her with everything?all of his secrets, all of his fears, and, more recently, all of his heart. He?d loved her, for Force?s sake!

And with that one mocking glance, she?d ripped his heart into a million pieces and viciously stomped on it.

Ben Skywalker glanced down at the city of Coruscant, lying glittering below him as he sat on the rooftop of his apartment complex. A sense of hopelessness permeated throughout his heart. Growing up, he had counted solely on the friendship of Tiryl Wittran, a girl he had met by chance and grown to love. To find out that it was all a lie, that she had gone and laughed with them everyday when she left him?

He couldn?t take it.

Now that he thought about it, it shouldn?t have come as a surprise. She had been a good actress, but not infallible. Too often his jokes had been met with completely blank looks. A few times too many, he had commed her house and heard a faint laugh in the background.

But, in his foolish naivety, he had ignored these hints. Naivety that was inherited from his father, as his mother would happily remind him if she knew what he was thinking. Inherited from his father, like so many other things that he did not want.

Like the Force. Ben knew that his mother also was Force-sensitive, but if his father was any other man but Luke Skywalker, the great Jedi Master, he would have had some choice as to whether or not he actually wanted to train.

But no, since his father was the head of the Jedi Order, he had no choice. His path lay on that of the Jedi, and everyone knew it.

And they laughed. ?Jedi boy,? they would call him. ?Goody-goody,? as they begged him to do ?magic tricks.? He could not escape from it. Every time it turned around, it seemed, someone else was mocking him for powers he did not want, and had never wanted.

He had tried to escape from it all by talking to Tiryl, though she'd not always looked particularly happy when she was with him. He?d never understood why. How he longed now for that innocent outlook he'd had!

The only place he had truly found a refuge was in the house of his cousin Jaina and her husband Jagged Fel. They had understood what he was feeling. Their son Anakin, named for two great Jedi, would not have grown up to be one.

But he would not grow up at all now. The Fels had died in a speeder accident two years ago, when Anakin had been eleven and Ben fifteen. It was an unjustly anti-climactic ending for such heroes, just as they would have wanted it.

Ben brushed a bug

 

I've written something for the "suicide" challenge but I'd like someone to take a look at it to make sure it meets the board requirements. Anyone want to volunteer? I also want to make sure it is in good taste...

 

Oh wow! I can't beleive my little viggie inspired this! It was beautifully done. I'm so impressed.

In the late hours of the evening I woke and she was already gone. Her fiery passion burnt out with the night?s exhaustive activities. I wondered if this Qui-Gon, the name she called out in her throes was a Jedi as she was and what may have happened to him. As I began to dress and my thoughts turned to the next client, I saw the credits she left for me on the table.

I hope I see her again, she?s a very good tipper.

Very nicely done. You really captured her emotions here very well. WOW! That's about all I can say.

 

A/N: This viggie deals with suicide, which is of a mature nature. I tried not to get overly precise in the descriptions, but I did want to convey a sense of the scene.


Not According to Plan

He?d messed it up. What a surprise. He really hadn?t thought it would hurt as much as it did. When he had imagined this moment, he actually thought it would be a matter of two quick, sharp pains and then a blessed feeling of lassitude that would usher him to his final sleep. What he had wanted was to drift away from the pain and hopefully into something better. Nothingness was better than what he had.

What he had not considered is that his arms would throb and burn until he wanted to howl with the agony. No, that had definitely not been part of his plan, not in a single variation of this scene that he had played out in his head.

He waited in vain for the torment to subside and leave him in peace. With each hammer of his heart, he sensed more of his blood soaking into the cheap carpet. And with every stuttering pulse he felt a thousand vibroblades burrowing into his flesh. So it seemed he would be successful in ending his life, but that it would be a long, messy, and painful process.

He glanced down and noticed the widening stain beneath him. He wanted to lift his arms and inspect the wounds he had so carefully and optimistically inflicted. He tried, he really did. But his arms did not cooperate, either due to the blood loss or because he had severed something. He would have shrugged had he the energy to do so.

A small smile appeared on his pale face as he considered that it really wasn?t unexpected that even his suicide would not go as he had planned. Nothing in his life had ever gone as he planned, so why should it start now with his death?

Kriffin Jedi, he thought, as the room around him began to blur at the edges. This was all the Jedi?s fault. If they hadn?t been hiding in the wastelands of his planet, then the Imperials never would have invaded. And if the Imps hadn?t invaded, then his wife and daughters would still be alive. A part of him knew it wasn?t fair to place the blame solely on the Jedi, since Imperial weapons had actually done the killing.

But placing the blame on the Jedi was a comfortable place for him, so he stayed there.

If Lorna and Dani and Kyrla were alive, then he wouldn?t be sitting in this dump watching his blood soak into a carpet that had probably been anointed with that same fluid many times before. Yeah, it was the Jedi?s fault.

He felt an itch on his nose, which only added to his misery. He was able to see the long, angry slices on his arms. They were crimson canyons from his biceps to his wrists. He should be dead by now; perhaps he hadn?t cut deep enough. He was pretty sure the slice on the first arm was perfect. But the second slice had been much harder to accomplish. That?s when he had started to cry.

Dying really shouldn?t hurt so much. But he supposed that since life wasn?t fair, it probably made no sense to expect that death would be either.

The room had been reduced to a grayish mist, which was a mercy when he remembered the furnishings. It was getting a little harder to breathe now and he could feel the beat of his heart getting slower and slower.

From far away he thought he heard the laughter of little girls. He liked the sound. So he imagined that one of the little girls had dark brown curls and hazel eyes. She liked to sing songs and dress up her little sister. The other girl was a brown-eyed blond. She had a dimple in her left cheek which always peeked through when she smiled. She liked to laugh.

He felt a whisper soft touch on his cheek. He knew the feel of that hand. It was hers. She always stroked his face when he had trouble falling asleep. He was having trouble now. The touch was warm and smelled faintly of freshly baked bread. It was her smell. It was the smell of home.

Finally, he began to feel drowsy. It must have been Lorna?s touch that did it. It always worked. Always. He suddenl

 

He?d messed it up. What a surprise. He really hadn?t thought it would hurt as much as it did. When he had imagined this moment, he actually thought it would be a matter of two quick, sharp pains and then a blessed feeling of lassitude that would usher him to his final sleep. What he had wanted was to drift away from the pain and hopefully into something better. Nothingness was better than what he had.

Very nicely done, from beginning to end, VaderLVR!

 

I'm going to update this by midweek... I'm on Kinko's time AGAIN!!!!! My PC ate my browsers...

 

Title: Where the Heart Wants to Be.

Somewhere between Canon and AU

Obi-Wan , Sabe, baby Luke

Author?s Notes: Inspired by the Ladies of the Evening Challenge. Obi-Wan has to make a decision that he really doesn?t like. Sabe is doing something she does not want to be doing. Now the question is will the force keep Obi-Wan from having to give up his code of honor and will Sabe get the help she needs in order to quit doing what she does for her baby?s sake. This is also a twist on how Luke gets to Tatooine. Also Thanks to Lady Kenobi for help with the title.

I decided to approach the challenge in a slightly different way. I wanted to show how someone comes to the decision of being a Lady of the Evening and why a Jedi such as Obi-Wan would go to one.

--




The sound of humming could be heard in the air in the early dawn. A shimmering length of green could be seen against the two suns as the rose from the horizon. A man with reddish, brown hair that was streaked with grey was moving a light saber in measured patterns. As he performed these patterns he reflected on the previous night.
?

He gathered some supplies from the pantry and went about creating a meal. Chuckling to himself, he thought about the days when his master or apprentice could not get him near a kitchen, unless it was to eat. Now days he took pleasure in performing this simple task. His only regret that there was no one to share this task or the final outcome of this task with, unless he included his imagination. Chuckling to himself again, he thought how when he was very lonely for someone to converse with, he would talk to his imaginary companions as if they were really there with him. Sometimes, it would be the Jedi council, Yoda, Mace, Bant, Siri, Qui-Gon, and his former apprentice Anakin, who after he left the order became a Sith, that he would talk to. Nothing wrong with speaking to imaginary people, and it helped to keep a mind sharp and strong, when you are in the circumstances he was in.

He reflected on how he left the order in shame, when his apprentice fell to the dark side and how everyone at the Temple gave him the cold shoulder, believing it was his fault that Anakin fell to the dark side. He couldn?t even walk out side the Temple, without people staring and pointing at him, whispering behind his back saying? That?s General Kenobi, he is the reason the Jedi are being killed by Lord Vader and why we live in this dictatorship galaxy. People would throw things at him and he even had assassination attempts made on his life. He could not even visit some of his friends, who were still loyal to him and did not believe it was his fault, for fear of endangering their lives. He eventually decided that it was best that he left the order, and it seemed the Jedi council couldn?t get him out the door fast enough. At first he went to live in the underground of Courasant, but it wasn?t long before he begun to hear rumors that Lord Vader would spare any Jedi that brought him Obi-Wan Kenobi. He knew that there would be some Jedi who would take advantage of this offer, so he decided that it was time to leave the planet and go somewhere that Vader would not look. The biggest problem was how to get off the planet without anyone knowing; He was too well known to be able to get aboard an outbound ship under an assume name. He was on his way back to his little hideout in the underground thinking about his problem, when someone grabbed him and pulled him down an alley, he struggled with his attacker, but eventually he had been knocked out. He had later woken up to find Bail Organa sitting in a chair waiting for him to wake up. Bail had explained that he had heard of what was going on and had made plans to help his friend off the planet, and had found a place on Tatooine where Obi-Wan could live in a small hut, close to the wastelands, under the name Ben Kenobi.

Sighing to himself, if he was at fault for Anakin?s fall, then only history would tell. While he believed that he had done everything he could for Anakin, t