( act two ⎯ resentful reinforcements ) Coruscant. 22 BBY ✶ 5 Era V
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The speed at which the elevator ascended was imperceptible from inside the capsule. Anakin looked down at his hands to confirm his skin was smooth and clean as it should be before shifting his gaze down towards his clothes.
His choice to wear darker robes instead of the ivories and beiges that were prevalent amongst members of the Order had been controversial in the eyes of some. A fair few related his election with the dark side of the Force, as if Anakin wore umber as some kind of sick reminder (maybe even in protest) that he wasn't just made of light, that he would inevitably have to confront that part of him ⎯ he is balance, and they dreaded it. Others couldn't care less about whatever he decided to wear, white, bronze, gray or black, it's was nothing but clothes; Kenobi ⎯ the only one who should truly mind the boy's behavior ⎯ couldn't care less so they cared none. But the golden boy actually wrapped himself in browns to proudly announce his freedom in a way that was familiar to him, the freedom that he had earned himself ten years ago now. Not to mention that he took a shine from standing out from the rest.
(The black sheep among the flock, the wolf in sheep's clothing. He thinks of the dragon, of the flaming sword buried in its eye and the way it looks at him: It tells him he doesn't belong.)
He liked the meaning the color held, but he found the way dust seemed to pop out everywhere now when it didn't before highly distasteful. (Why now, why now?) With the palms of his hands he impatiently brushed away all the lint and dirt he sighed, the phantom creeping of sand grains something that made living under his skin feel repulsive. With fidgety hands he arranges the soft fabrics, laid one over the other loosely and even slackly over his leather cloak, his Jedi robe reposing over it all ⎯ the cherry on top melting seamlessly over the similar colors like molten chocolate skimming on cake. He arranged it nicely over his shoulders as well, brushing his fingers through his short, golden hair hoping he had managed to achieve the desired look without a need for reflection.
"You seem a little on edge." Standing beside him, his master acknowledges firm and unconcerned.
(His robes are cream. He is the light, he is flawless. Anakin wishes he was more like him.)
Anakin turned his face to look at him and immediately regretted it. He knew his master would spot his lie in seconds if he were to look into his eyes, so he pulled his gaze away before Obi-Wan could consider doing so. "Not at all." He lied through his teeth.
"I haven't felt you this tense since we fell into that nest of gundarks." Obi-Wan recalls. The memories not as distant as were the ones replaying inside Anakin's mind.
Anakin visibly tensed in his stance, motionless and in place as he silently prayed for the doors to open before he could get an answer out of his mouth. He took a deep, unsteady breath in, swallowing hard as he recalled said mission with vanity. "You fell into that nightmare, Master," He finally turned to him as if his nervousness would be easily overlooked under the light of the new conversation.
