Two Halfs of One Warrior • Obikin/Vaderwan One-Shots

Sun, Sun, Sun, Here It Comes

• Summary: Jedi Master Obi-Wan Kenobi, has trouble counting. But to be fair, Anakin Skywalker--full-time galactic senator and part-time public speeder commute eye-candy--isn't exactly making it easy for him.

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If Obi-Wan had known that excelling in his negotiation and public influence classes would lead the Jedi Council to choose him as the Jedi-Senate liaison, he really may have thought more seriously about the ExploraCorps as a career option.

After all, members of the ExploraCorps never have to wear stiff robes, nor do they have to endure Senator Mawkul’s stray and rather eager hands, nor do they have to deal with any accidental political explosions they may set off just by their mere presence.

The Senate, perhaps unsurprisingly, is a powder keg on any given day. Every Jedi knows that, and Obi-Wan in turn understands how flattering it is that the Council has deemed him brave, stupid, and skilled enough to act as the Jedi spokesperson in a room full of planetary representatives who are perpetually torn between hating, worshipping, and fearing the Jedi Order.

It is singularly exhausting, and it makes Obi-Wan long for the days of his padawanship that he spent stomping after his master through mud-filled swamps and brambled-covered forests. Oh, if only Qui-Gon could see him now. What he must think of his padawan, so totally abandoning the tenets he tried to instill upon him and his very connection with the living Force, trading it in for pomp and procedure and mind-numbing, endless boredom.

Endless boredom with one very integral bright spot.

Well, technically two.

An argument could, of course, be made for three.

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There were many sessions of arguments and concessions before Obi-Wan was able to wrest a pre-loaded, monthly Coruscanti transit card from the Council’s cold-hearted hands.

You could take one of the Jedi Order’s speeders, one Master had pointed out.

But then park the thing? Obi-Wan would rather fly it straight into the Senate Chambers or the gloomy, evil pits of Umbara.

You could walk, another Master had said, concerned about the strain this request might place on their quarterly budget numbers. Obi-Wan had not bothered to dignify that with a response.

You could use one of the Jedi who work in the hangar bay as a valet, someone else had suggested. And be beholden to another’s schedule and intricacies when it comes to the acceptability of their tardiness? If Obi-Wan had learned one thing during his tenure as a Jedi Padawan and then Knight, it’s that he is the only Jedi in the entire Order with a precise and perfect sense of timekeeping.

“I’ll take the public transit speeder, thank you,” Obi-Wan had said very politely and firmly. “Two hundred credits a month will do it, I should think.”

None of the masters had liked that, but Obi-Wan knew the bargaining power he held. After all, it wasn’t as if Jedi Knights were clamoring for this position. He could probably have gotten away with asking for three hundred monthly credits, but he’d been raised to be kind and respectful and most importantly, forgiving.

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The public transit speederline that runs past the Temple and close to the Senate building is Liner 212. It’s a ten minute walk to reach the speeder stop from his quarters in the Temple, a variable twenty to thirty-five minute ride to the Senate gardens, which is where Obi-Wan generally likes to dismount as it’s a pleasant stroll through the neatly-kept greenery before he enters the twelfth level of Sith’s hell which is the actual Senate chambers, a mere five minutes away from the drop-off point at the mouth of the gardens.