The Jedi And The Warrior

The Phantom Menace

Ben Kenobi hated the Jedi Temple.

He hated its stonework, hated its lofty towers, hated the insufferable quiet of the place, the air stuffy with poetry and peace and perfume and suffocating pleasantries. Standing on the street far, far below the towering buildings lumbering skyward, privy to the whir and growl of the many ships passing overhead, he gazed up at it. Ships bustled about its topmost turrets like troublesome flies, and Ben turned away, heading deeper into the alleyway with his hands shoved into his pockets.

He passed several men huddled in a darkened doorway, their mutters carried to him on the suffocating air, along with the tang of piss and vomit.

"I've risked life and limb for this, you know!" came one's voice, high-pitched and shrill, tinged with an edge of mania.

"That's your job, innit?" growled another, a low, petulant rasp. "And if you think I'm giving you one penny higher than..."

But Ben had already slouched past, ignoring their familiar bickering as he made his way to the establishment at the end of the street. Above its dim yellow doorway giant purple letters beckoned, glowing and iridescent in the deepening twilight. They read: Droopy McCool's Pleasure Establishment. And then, underneath in smaller mustard yellow letters, was the legend: Nights Cooler Than Fights.

Ben had always thought it ironic that the owner of the establishment was named Droopy, considering the... activities that went on, most of which required one to be anything but droopy. But he was willing to forgive it its quirks, in favour of all it had done for him.

Tonight, he did not go there for a night of pleasure, though he had done many times before, but for information. The dull days had passed slow, and miserable, and suffocating since that day he would not think of. The day he had lost a home, and a family. But he had found something, a mockery of contentment, within Droopy's walls. A mockery of friendship, one born on debts and payments, on conditions and negotiations, on an inability to form attachment. A mockery of love, in the arms of men and women, a mockery of bliss.

He dreamed about it, sometimes. That night in the snow. The keen sting of the world without his father, the cold and the darkness and the crushing fear. And the warmth of his mother's hand that slipped from him, the tears that froze on her cheeks, the comfort ripped from him. He had put a blind trust in Obi-Wan then, because he had to. And instead Obi-Wan had walked away, forgotten him, left him to rot by the wayside. Respect was not a word that hung between the two of them — not when Obi-Wan was a Jedi and Ben was... well, nothing at all.

Before he'd left for Dantooine, Obi-Wan had visited Ben's chambers. Ben had been fiddling with a broken blaster and a few tools he'd managed to buy in the lower city, hoping to mend it enough for it to be of some use. Perhaps he could sell it, or keep it for his own safety. But as his brother strode through the quiet doors, his hands behind his back and wearing his travelling robes, he had to stifle the urge to stuff it out of sight.

Had to remind himself that he no longer cared for Obi-Wan's approval. Obi-Wan stopped just beyond the door, waving a hand to close it behind him, and Ben decided that he'd done so merely to show off. His brother watched him for a long moment, a frown deepening between his brows. Ben went back to his work.

"I leave for Dantooine today," Obi-Wan said, and Ben at last lifted his head, fixing him with a piercing stare.

"Would you please get out," he said quietly. Not a question.