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Оригинал на русском (закончен) // English translation (Updated on Sundays)

Tagging: @weekofobitine

At that moment, Obi-Wan understood everything and was ready to bet his lightsaber, that Satine, now with an innocent gaze looking at him through the pixels of the hologram, had been in a communication session with Quinlan before call to him. Because only this kriffing idiot could help her come to such a blatantly absurd idea!

“Oh, stars… Calm down,” Satine sighed, and although the hologram was monochromatic and only about thirty centimeters high, which made it impossible to say for sure, he was ready to gamble his Jedi uniform too that she rolled her eyes. “If it makes you more comfortable, you can write reports instead of sending a hologram. Like for the Council.”

Obi-Wan imagined it.

“Dear Duchess Satine!

Inform you, that during the combat operation conducted by the 212th Attack Battalion on the Sarrish, Vensensor sector, coordinate grid K-16, at the commander-in-chief of one of the battalion's units, namely, High Jedi General Obi-Wan Kenobi fired no less than thirty-six thousand shots, two shots reached a target a burnt tunic as a result. In addition, were recorded: falls from height fourteen, unsuccessful jumps to height seven, lightsaber knocked out twice, irretrievably lost robes one. Injuries received: wound to the left palm due to one's own short-sightedness, a guaranteed scar.”

He groaned and covered his face with his hands. The scar was almost invisible, but it wasn't the second or even the third scar in the past week, not to mention two months that flown by unnoticed since he returned from the special mission under the mask of Rako Hardini.

“It's even worse.”

Satine seemed to smile.

“So, maybe, you just trying out my proposal in practice at least?”

OR

After Obi-Wan's return from the dead, in Satine's heart steal doubts about both his mental and physical state. Wanting to restore a harmony to his soul and body, she asks him to fulfill her one small wish, which Obi-Wan, still too confused by recent events and his feelings for Satine, interprets in his own way.

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Tagging: @weekofobitine

He flinches as soon as he steps into the room, and leans back slightly like he had two dozen blasters pointed at him, and squints at the box in her hands.

“What is that?”

If it weren't for the box, she would certainly pressed her palm to her face: she is standing in his room in the Temple in the middle of the night, although she should be on Mandalore rehearse her speak for the Separatist Senate, and this is worries him most of all?

“A dessert,” Satine answers with emphasis. “Do you want to take it?”

“Not really. The last, ahem, dessert that was in my hands turned out to be too mobile to eat.”

“You know, I'm not Tal Merrick to present you an activated droid.”

“To present?” his eyebrows arch in surprise.

Unable to restrain herself much longer, she rolls her eyes with a groan.

“Obi-Wan Kenobi, stop pretending. Yes, it's a day late, but I didn't forget! Besides, I'm late because you wasn't on the planet. Do you have any idea how hard it was to sneak into the Temple with freshly baked Uj'alayi?” she squints angrily, but sighs and continues much more calmly. “I used almond and chocolate syrups, because you can't lived without a caf. But it seems that half of the Jedi Order can't too. I even had to hide a couple of times, and on the main staircase…”

“Did you make uj cake for me?”

Satine freezes for a second, her mouth slightly open as she looking at him. How could such a smart man ask such stupid questions? But a confusion in his eyes is real, and she reminds herself that he has just returned from a mission, and it is almost midnight, and his body, exhausted from long forced marches, just trying to squeeze out as much rest as possible in its natural environment and slows down all itself non-vital functions. There is no point in being angry with him for something he cannot control.

“Yes,” she says gentle, her lips curling into a smile. “So take it.”

When she holds the box out and lets it go, Obi-Wan catches it with a gasp, his eyes wide with horror like she almost dropped a bomb that was ready to explode with just one wrong move. Ignoring his state, Satine rips off the lid.

“Why… why are there candles in it?”

“Because, this is not just Uj'alayi,” she clicks her tongue, flicking the lighter and burning wicks one by one. “But a celebratory one. Yesterday was a birthday. Your birthday.”

“Ow,” he's grimacing. “I forgot about it.”

“Well, I didn’t,” their gazes, separated by the flames of burning candles, intersect. “Happy birthday, Obi-Wan.”

He continues to stand there silently, looking at her and doing nothing, so Satine glances sideways at the uj in his hands with a grin.

“Candles,” she prompts. “Make a wish and blow out candles.”

“You can be serious,” he grins, his backlit face looking slightly sinister because of the grimace. “We're adults. And we both know, our wishes don’t come true just because we think about it while holding a cake.”

“Have you checked it?”

“Checked?” his brows furrow slightly. “Checked in what sense?”

“Most literal. Have you ever made a wish with birthday cake before?”

“I’ve never even blown out candles.”

“Please,” she looks at him pleadingly. “Just do it for me.”

Obi-Wan sighs, but neither his heavy sigh nor his frowningly side-look has any effect on her – she continues to look at him, a silent request burning in her eyes, – and then he blows out all candles with a one sharp exhalation.

“So,” the gray smoke spreading from extinguished candles half hides his face, but its simply impossible not to catch some kind of smugness in his voice. “Are you happy now?”

“Not quite.”

Before he can object, Satine takes the uj cake from him and, leaving it on the table, grabs his hand. Throwing her hood over her head, she runs out into the hallway with him.

“Satine,” he hesses, but doesn't try to pull his hand away or stop her. “Satine, what are you doing? Where are you dragging me?”

“To celebrate, of course,” without slowing down, she quickly looks back at him, a smile on her lips. “Or you think, I would overcome half the Galaxy just to give you a cake?”

“I didn't think you come. I didn't even think you will remember!”

“And why I should forget?”

“Well, you know,” he chuckles, “there's a war going on now, you always have a lot to do, negotiations and so on. Besides, you never congratulated me before. Not in person, but at least by message, so…”

“Nonsense,” she objects with an indignant snort. “The fact that you didn't see my congratulations doesn't mean its weren't there.”

“What?”

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Tagging: @weekofobitine

She stands on the second fallen ship, next to the gaping hole that leads to the half-flattened cabin. She is wearing a rather nondescript dark-blue pantsuit, her hair is loose, her hands are casually placed on hips… No ducal regalia, no fancy dress, no ceremonial makeup. Nothing. Just her…He had almost forgotten how beautiful she could be on her own. <…> Their eyes finally meet.

Satine is surprised – it seems like Kiar, giving him a permission to land, didn't involve her in this issue – and for some time she simply looks at him, her mouth slightly open, and then with a smile she takes off from her place, and Obi-Wan, without a second thought, rushes to meet her.

Her arms wrapped around his neck familiarly, and his - around her back, and he drowns in this moment, in her such comfortable, such acquainted, such safe embrace. He holds her tightly, buries his head in the crook of her neck, half tangled in her hair. He… he missed that so much – to hold her at any moment, in the happiest and in the most bitter time, and to feel this incomparable, bliss calm, which left him after Qui-Gon dissolved into the Force. Surrounded by the warmth of her body and her softly pulsating Forces signature, he feels that just a little more and his carefully constructed facade will fall apart. And he can let it happen. With her he can. Because she will listen. Because she will understand. Because… because she is his anchor, his beacon, his refuge, no matter how far apart they are.

Something suddenly hits his leg, and he reluctantly releases his arms, letting her retreat.

“Well, well,” with a smile Satine looks at Anakin – he rubbing the top of his head. “Just look at this. And who you are, little one?”

“Bantha-pudu,” Anakin throws him an irritated look. “Your kriffing bubbling giving me a headache.”

“Language!” Obi-Wan roars immediately, feeling a blush flare up on his cheeks.

“Like I never heard some worse things,” Satine chuckles, lightly nudging his forearm with her crooked elbow, and her laughter makes his sing inside. “What are you two doing here?”

Before he can even open his mouth, Anakin lifts his chin proudly.

“We have a very important mission on this planet. We’ve come to speak with the Duchess.”

“The Duchess herself?” she feigns surprise. “And what did you want to speak with her about?”

“That’s classified information. Only the Jedi Order and the Duchess have access to it.”

Obi-Wan groans, covering his eyes with his hand.

“Anakin,” he shakes his head, pursing his lips. “She is the Duchess.”

“She can’t be the Duchess,” Anakin snorts, unperturbed. “Duchesses don’t look like that.”

“Oh,” Satine crosses her arms over her chest, a bright sparkle in her eyes. “So you're an expert on duchesses?”

“For your information, I personally know Padmé Amidala. And I even helped her to save her planet from invasion.”

“Padmé Amidala?” her gaze shifts from Anakin to him.

“The newly elected Queen of Naboo. We were sent to help her negotiate with the Trade Federation that occupied the planet, but somehow everything turned into a shootout,” Obi-Wan explains, his hand falling on Anakin's shoulder. “And this is my Padawan. Anakin Skywalker.”

“Padawan? Your own Padawan?” her lips curve in a satisfied, proud smile – not for herself, but for him. “And I was trying to figure out what was missing? It's all about the lack of a braid and that stupid ponytail.”

The heat on his cheeks, which seemed to have just gone away, seems to be returning again.

“It… it wasn't so stupid.”

“Oh, yes, it was! It's the stupidest, most ridiculous hairstyle of all that all the races of the Galaxy with hair could come up with,” she laughs, pressing her palm to her chest, and then impatiently looks around the space behind them. “And where is Qui-Gon? Or he didn't went with you?”

At the mention of Qui-Gon, all a joyful mood from meeting her slowly melts from him, and Satine can't help but notice how his face changes – her right hand reaches for his, and he carefully, a little hesitantly intertwines their fingers.

“Can we… can we talk privatly?”

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Tagging: @weekofobitine

Placing her palm on his forearm, Satine lowers her gaze to his feet, which are in no way in a waltz position.

“Merengue?” her eyebrows raise in surprise. “I didn't know it's gone further than the Outer Rim.”

“I'm from Tatooine, Duchess. Besides, I had a good teacher.”

Before she can ask who taught him, the musicians, like by agreement, switch from a smooth, flowing melody to a faster, more energetic one without a hitch, and he takes the first step, grinning her toothily.

Anakin intercepts her hands, and she feels warmth from the left, but not the right – Padme said once, he has a mechno-arm. It's Anakin who turns her back to himself and it's under his raised hand she makes a full turn, but all his movements are too familiar, and all of this completely knocked out her from a reality, enveloped by memories.

A fire, laughter, stars shining above their heads… They dance – she tries to teach him a very popular dance among Mandalorians – and, once again almost kicking her bare heel with his boot, he apologizes and letting go of her hands so inopportunely that she, without expecting it, falls back, right on top of him, and they laugh more louder, more carefree, more happier.

Suddenly Anakin's cool mechno-arm disappears, replaced by the warmth of a normal human hand Satine's eyes wide open in horror – when had she even closed it? – and she blink in confusion.

“Master Vos?”

“Duchess,” Quinlan wraps their clasped hands around her waist, pulling her toward him, then throws her sharply aside, only to return her back into his arms again. “How you doing?”

“I'm fine. Thank you,” she smiles, barely managing to match his movements, vaguely reminiscent of salsa. “Please, do not perceive it like a rude, but I'm sure, I had dance not with you.”

“Oh, yes, Anakin,” abruptly letting go of her hands, he grabs her waist, spinning her so hard that her temples even begin to ring. “He had to leave on urgent Jedi business.”

“Right in the middle of the dance?”

“Incredibly urgent Jedi business.”

Satine doesn't believe him for a moment, but everything is spinning before her eyes so much that she has no strength to argue, and when the mad spin caused by this crazy Kiffar ends and her heart finally stops pounding so wildly in her chest, his steps, completely suddenly, become somehow not at all dance-like, and his hands on her waist are somehow very cautious, like he's afraid to touch her, which simply cannot be true, considering how he pressed her to himself before.

“Master Vos, what… Oh,” she smiles awkwardly. “Good evening, Commander Cody.”

“Duchess,” he quickly raises his gaze to her face, but almost immediately lowers it down, clearly trying to make sure not to step on her foot. “Excuse me. We were not taught to dance on Kamino.”

“It's all right,” she lightly squeezes his palm with her right hand, and he looks at her again, his stern face brightens with a reciprocal, slightly uncertain smile. “The most important thing in dancing is not a knowing moves, but following the music.”

“And a partner.”

His brown eyes are burning with some kind of understanding, some special, secret knowledge.

“Yes,” Satine nods, and this fire in his eyes becomes stronger. “A partner is very important too. The right partner will fill any dance with meaning, whereas even the most perfect dance will lose all its beauty if you dance with the wrong partner.”

“So maybe now it's time?”

“Time for what?”

His smile becomes so wide and bright.

“For the right partner.”

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Tagging: @weekofobitine

It's just a dawn. Satine stand on a small hill, surrounded by her guardsmen, which slightly stepped aside. All illuminated by the first rays of the sun, she looks like an unattainable goddess now - so shining and beautiful. With lovely smile on her lips, that made his stomach flip, she beckons him to her with a hand like weaving a spell, and he, enchanted, obeys - gets up from the ground, hides the blaster in the holster, which has been dangling on his belt next to the lightsaber for the last sixth month, and takes the first step towards them.

As he gets closer, the guardsmen narrow their eyes more and more. They look at him like wolves, and it seems to him that he is not walking in response to the call of woman he loves, but straight into an enemy's jaws, an ambush, to the scaffold, where inevitable death awaits him. Does it… does it how every men feel themself when they meet their fiancées' family for the first time? Do their knees tremble with the uncontrollable fear of not being accepted by them? Do they see the same truth in the eyes opposite them?.. He is not welcome at all, they would prefer never to see him, his place is anywhere, but not next to their woman, who for some completely unimaginable reason even looked at him.

Oh the Force, why did his thoughts go this way?

About a meter away from them he stumbles, and Satine, laughing, grabs his hand and pulls him into the immediately closed circle of guardsmen - even if he wanted to, he cannot escape from here now.

“You are blushed, Jetii,” notes dryly the man, standing directly opposite Obi-Wan, there is gray in his light brown hair.

A laugh rushes through the circle, like the wind in the leaves.

“Come on, Captain,” the guardsman standing to the right of Obi-Wan - one of the younger ones, auburn-haired, with green eyes shining with joy - shakes his head with a slightly reproachful smile. “Don't scare the boy so much. Otherwise he'll faint.”

“He is not a boy. He is our Duchess's protector,” the Captain interrupts him with emotionless voice, his face don't changing at all. “Whether he is worthy to be called like that is another question,” the tenacious gaze of brown eyes turns to him again. “Do you think you are, Jetii?”

Obi-Wan swallows hard.

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Tagging: @weekofobitine

“Satine,” judging by the change in his voice, he kneels down in front of her, but she still doesn't dare to open her eyes. “Satine.”

Sobbing, she shakes her head when her shaking knees quiet down under the familiar weight.

There are no gloves on his hands, and the multi-layered skirt of her dress, although muffles, but not able to completely hide the feeling of his hot palms on her. In the way his hands gently and delicately slide over her legs, stroking its through the fabric, is something inexplicably caring, so calming, comforting… Carefully opening her eyes, she looks at him – so cloudy and strongly blurry at the edges due to her accumulated tears – and then hesitantly reaches her hand to his face. When her palm is close enough, he presses his cheek to it, closing his eyes with a relieved smile.

It's not an illusion.

It's him.

It's…

“Obi-Wan.”

With a sigh she rolls off the couch, and now they are both kneeling, looking at the other with disbelief and tenderness, barely perceptibly stroking the dear face to their hearts.

“Hi.”

“Hi…”

The sound of his voice sends shivers down her spine. Her thumbs move slightly on his skin – it's seems, if she stops, he will disappear immediately – her gaze darts over his face: over his slightly parted lips, his cheeks, lined in a couple of places with already healing scratches, his tired, but definitely alive, a little bit glittering eyes.

“Satine,” his tone is terribly serious, and his eyebrows are furrowed. “Please, listen to me. I…”

“Shush,” she kisses him quickly on the lips, pleased to see that he doesn’t resist or seem surprised by her impulsive kiss. “I don’t want to hear any excuses.”

He nods in submission, and she moves her hands from his face to his shoulders, reaching to him, and he to her. In this embrace, their hands slide down their backs, soothing the other.

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Not AI. Just Photoshop and my perennial love for Obitine 💜

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Not AI. Just Photoshop and my another sleepless night.

Under cut a clean version and four with different backgrounds - two with the Jedi Temple, one with night Coruscant and the last one with stars.

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I told that I finished with it, but accidentally clicked on the wrong software shortcut and, well… It was really fun doing it in a first time and someone liked it, so I done some a couple more "move".

Just like a last time - not AI. Just official Lucasfilm Animation tribute poster as a base, something about five hours and 70+ new layers in Photoshop. Maybe it already 100+? To be honest, I'm not sure :D

So, I put Maul behind Bo-Katan's right shoulder and Vizsla - her left shoulder. It was really hard with Vizsla, so, if you thinking that he look some strange, you will absolutely right! Because in new place he don't look on the right side, and I just took his eyes from his another picture, and his legs… One of them even not his own XD I'm also had to update Qui-Gon's tunic - I still hoping of moving him next to Satine, so he is just preparing for it.

Former Vizsla's place is taken by Miraj Scintel and Atai Molec now. And former Atai's by Gregar Typho, because I was needed to patch up a free space and it just next to Jar Jar and not so much from Padme, so I thought Typho was suitable choice.

I think about put Quinlan and Ventress closer to each other and Rex - closer to Anakin, but Rex hugs with Jar Jar, that will makes this moves much more difficult.

Oh, and I added Coronet on the Space!

Feel free to say some ideas about this poster. I'm not promise anything, but I can try to do something :)

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I had a sleepless night, so I decided to spend my time usefully ;)

Not AI. Just a three hours and 50+ layers in Photoshop. And official Lucasfilm Animation tribute poster as a base, of course.

First, I wanted to move Qui-Gon too so that he would stand to the right of Satine (and look at his grown-up kids), but he stands on the edge and, if I had moved him, I need someone else would have to be put in his place or have to be corrected all the empty space and literally pick up the pieces Obi-Wan's tunic and legs like I did with Satine's dress and Cody's armor… I'm not ready for this yet :D I left in place Obi-Wan's hand, but because of the glare on Satine's dress, it's not very visible. There are still many small details that need to be corrected, but, in general, I'm done with it.

In addition to Latts Razzi, I also added Meena Tills to Satine's place, because Anna voiced her too.

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SATINE KRYZE WEEK: DAY 3

Tagging: @satinekryzeweek

She shakes her head, hoping that it will help drive him away, but for some reason he doesn't disappear and continues to look at her. Oh, yes, she definitely should to sleep soon, but first she should throw these stupid images out of her head.

“I'm not going anywhere.”

“Why?” he whispers with incomprehension, matching her own.

“I'm getting married,” it is the stupidest thing she could answer, looking into the eyes of her dreams, pulled out of the hidden depths of her memory, but she has no other answer than the truth. “The invitations is done already. All that remains is to send it out.”

“I…” raising his hand, he slowly moves the hood back, so now she can see his face, his gaze filled with a strange embarrassment and almost disappeared, smoldering sparks of horror, which she didn't see either in their youth, when cities were burning around them, or now, when entire planets are burning around him. “I thought you are held captive. That you in custody. That Vizsla wants taking you as his wife… by force.”

Satine blinks, frowning - too many specifics for an image born of fatigue.

“How did you even know I was getting married?” she feels herself like a fool, arguing with her own subconscious, but the question slips out of her mouth before she can think it through. “The information hasn't been sent to the HoloNet yet.”

He winces, as if she's caught him doing something illegal, and this is so much like real him that it makes her shudder. He couldn't really be here right now, could he? Rushing to her from almost the other end of the Galaxy to rescue her from a supposed captivity that threatens her with a forced marriage?.. It is such an absurd idea, but at the same time so suitable for the overly selfless and reckless Padawan he once was, that in a burst of courage Satine comes closer and carefully touches his face, sure that she will not feel the warmth of his skin or his stiff beard.

But she does.

Obi-Wan Kenobi, who has rushed to rescue her from Vizsla's clutches, is real.

Eyes wide, Satine jerks her hand away, like it has been burned.

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SATINE KRYZE WEEK: DAY 2

Tagging: @satinekryzeweek

As the three of them approach, the guardsmen disperse, forming a protective circle, and although Korkie is clearly not happy about their separation and makes no attempt to hide his displeasure, he doesn't resist when she hugs him.

“You don't have to send me away for so long,” he mutters when they break apart their hug. “If you'd told me straight out to don't interfere, I'd just do it.”

“I know, darling, I know,” Satine smiles, squeezing his shoulder gently, resisting the urge to stroke his cheek, but he's old enough to find this gesture too saccharine. “But if you're go away, I'll be able to worry a little less about how my actions might affect you.”

“And whether I'm being used against you."

“Yes,” she nods, unsurprised by his intelligence. “And whether you're being used against me.”

Korkie purses his lips, frowning as he glances at the guardsmen surrounding them.

“Captain,” he says to Kiar’s back, and he turns around, Mari, Klay and Rayton looking into the circle with him now, while Simon and Henk, and Matis twins, standing between them, looking out the circle, taking control of the perimeter. “If anything happens to my aunt, you will answer to me personally.”

“The order is clear,” there is no mockery in the way Kiar bows his head, only respect.

Korkie nods quickly in response, looking back at her.

“Please be careful.”

“You too.”

<... >

She takes a small sip, sitting into the sofa, then sets her cup down on the coffee table, elegantly bringing her legs together, knees slightly tilted to the side, and looks at Bo-Katan, still standing in the middle of the room.

“My hospitality is clearly not what you came for. Then why?”

Bo-Katan stay silent, and Satine, taking advantage of the moment of silence, looks at her in response.

In their youth, her sister seemed to always be held in much higher esteem by the clan elders: not only a steadfast and a physically strong, but also a straightforward, preferring to move only forward instead of, like Satine, stopping for a moment and looking around in search of a secret loophole. Satine don't envy this favor, on the contrary, she was happy for her older sister and, although over the years their worldviews and ideas about the future of Madalore increasingly distanced themselves from each other, she continued to look up to her, involuntarily trying to change herself in her sister's manner. It took a years to understand that her hesitation, which was so much talked about in the clan, in fact was more of a thoughtful caution, a foresight, a florid, dodgy cunning, originating from a feigned weakness that was so obvious to those who considered the first glance and the conclusions drawn from it to be the only correct ones. And the gap between them, which previously felt like a blunder, with this new, experienced look changes the difference in their heights.

They are no longer the formidable favorite of the clan and its quiet, frail shadow. Now they are not just the older and younger sisters, not just the one who is praised and the one who must follow in the footsteps of the other. They are equal now. Moreover, now they are on a different territory, such distinguished from their usual youthful clashes in which one of them was always the obvious winner, and the other - the loser. And this knowledge gives Satine a strength.

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SATINE KRYZE WEEK: DAY 1

Tagging: @satinekryzeweek

"Yes."

The gazes of all her ministers, silenced by this quiet word, are directed at her now, but Satine herself looks only at Pre Vizsla, standing opposite the throne. Her throne. Still her throne, from which she can and will dictate her own terms.

"I said yes," she repeats a little louder, keeping her back straight, her hands relaxed on the armrests. "I will your wife, Pre."

Vizsla smiles, no, he bares his teeth, like a beast, not doubting for a second in her capitulation. Raised to rely on military directness, despite his long and very successful experience in hide-and-seek on Concordia, it seems he to be insufficiently versed in the subtle game of politics and simply doesn't always – and not immediately – think about the fact that at a moment of vulnerability behind other people's words may still be a pitfalls. Satine stands up from the throne, and unconsciously he raises his head after her, which makes her smile: it's still she who is at the top, not he, and it's still he, not she, who is forced to look up.

"How about some tea, my darling groom?" slowly descending, she folds her hands on her corset, like an innocent, unblemished child. "You will not refuse your bride on her little wish, isn't you?"

It's a question. But she doesn't need his answer. Her own is enough for her, and, no longer looking at Pre Vizsla, she walks towards the exit of the hall. The ministers diverge before her, the guardsmen, flocking from all corners of the hall, on the contrary, come closer. Stopping at the arch, Satine looks back, half-turning, and the guardsmen - her faithful, devoted guardsmen - step back slightly, allowing Vizsla, still standing by the throne, to look at her again.

Framed by twisted columns and a archivolt, illuminated by rays of light coming through the stained glass windows, causing the scattering of stones in the necklace and diadem to sparkle, with a spiritual face and a pose full of humility… She must resemble one a saint sent by the ancestors now.

But she is not a saint. Certainly not for him.

And in her unholiness, in her bad delusion, unworthy for a mando, as whisper the clans obsessed with bloody feuds tirelessly, despite other people's prejudices she will not renounce her people, she will not give them up into a grinning maw, becoming a puppet in someone else's dirty game.

"Let me change," Satine smiles and bows her head slightly as if in recognition of his victory, but her gaze is sharp and regal as usual.

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Tagging: @satineweek

DAY 4: Cat

Quote prompts: “Peace is not absence of conflict, it is the ability to handle conflict by peaceful means.”

“Duchess?..”

Cody’s quiet call almost makes her flinch, but, instantly controlling herself, Satine turns around and with a polite nod accepts her glass of Tihaar from his hands, internally rejoicing that no one is demanding answers for her behavior.

“On Mandalore people believes that physical death is only a continuation of life, whereas during life a mandalorian can die if there is no one to remembered him and his deeds,” shaking the glass, she thoughtfully looks at how the Tihaar slides along a glass's walls, and then raises her hand with the drink high above her head. “Obi-Wan Kenobi was a Jedi and a soldier for the Galaxy, but I will remember him differently. I will remember his mistakes, his fears, his doubts… I will remember the person, and not the ideal, a soulless image which the Holonet is replete. And I know that I will not be alone in this memory.”

Blinking away completely uninvited tears, Satine drained the entire portion of Tihaar in one gulp and lowers the glass, when the doors to the dining room slide apart. Because she is standing on the table, she can see a large red cat frozen for a moment on the threshold and then rushing headlong into the crowd, which starting a wave of altercations with the very first meter covered.

“Ouch.”

“Oh!”

“Kriff.”

“You’re a bantha poodoo…”

“Shab! Whose cat is this?”

“What a hell a cat even do in the barracks?”

“Don't look at me like that. This time it's definitely not me!”

“Catch the whiskered one!”

“A сlanker in my ass! He also bites!”

In the end, the Clone troopers moving apart, but somehow confusingly, asynchronously, and the Cat, meowing desperately, apparently unable to bear it. Judging by the sharp cry, he climbs over one of the soldiers, rises higher – partially on soldier's head – and looks around, gently running its paws over a trooper's hair and shoulders. The Clones those standing nearby are trying to grab him, but the Cat, having caught Satine’s gaze, gracefully, despite its impressive size, jumps onto the shoulders of another trooper, then onto the next one… When he overcomes about half the way – still looking at her – the doors open again, this time revealing Quinlan Vos with a cut, slightly bleeding cheek and several Clones from the 501st Legion, looking inside with curiosity.

“You a Sith's spawn!” the kiffar yells without sparing his throat. “Of the two of us, it always was me who been the pain in the ass, but this is too much even for me! Get out in my way!” with a sharp movement of his hands he pushes the Clones away.

The Cat, turning around for a moment, looks at Satine with completely humanized despair and jumps again, but, not calculating its strength, misses and with some kind of surprised “meow” falls to the floor. Cat's gaze haunts her, and, having passed the glass to someone, she descends in front of the table supported by the Clones, but before their hands leave her hips and elbows, the Cat is literally a couple of meters away and with a hiss, swings a paw at Boil's leg whom standing to her right, when suddenly Quinlan, having broken through the crowd, grabs the Cat by the base of its tail and pulls towards himself.

And then happens something unimaginable.

The Cat, transferring all its weight to its front paws, with a powerful blow from its hind paws to Quinlan's chest who is swearing dirty in the Hutt's language throws him back several tens of meters. And, baring its teeth angrily at him, the Cat in one graceful jump end up on the table behind Satine.

“Oh,” the kiffar, clinking his teeth, rises, carefully rubbing the place of impact. “What a son of…”

Satine feel a warm between her shoulder blades – the Cat rests the top of its head on her back – and then, probably because of the huge tail wrapped around her waist, this warmth spreads to her stomach.

“What a cute tail.” Boil reaches for the tail with admiration, but the Cat, immediately bristling, hits him on the hand, so much so that the Clone grabs his wrist. “Not a cute cat. A bad cat. Very bad cat!”

“A badly-catly!” someone from the crowd enthusiastically suggests.

“No.” another one picks up. “The cat-beast!”

Satine, not knowing what to expect from a clearly enraged animal, carefully turns around.

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[cinciri]

Tagging: @satineweek

DAY 3: Tears

Quote prompts: “Sometimes heroes fall, despite their strength”

The Cat, which having already crossed the arch, begins to slow down for some reason, desperately clinging to the gaps between the marble slabs, and Quinlan, still screaming, catches him as he runs, and then, stopping with difficulty, also notices her like everyone else. And they silents at once and looking only at her now.

“Duchess Satine,” Quinlan nods, breathing heavily.

And his disheveled appearance, the way he tries to hold on the struggling Cat, breaks the last wall of her restraint.

“And you also called yourself his best friend, Master Vos,” Satine recalls in an icy tone. “Where were you when his body was burned? Hanging out with your new best friend?”

She waves her hand, pointing to the Cat floundering in his arms.

“Satine,” Padmé jumps up to her. “Let's get out of here.”

“Oh, I will,” mercilessly throwing her hand off her forearm, she glances at everyone with burning look. “I will, but first I will have a good look at all these hypocrites who dared to call themselves his friends.”

“Duchess,” Plo Koon nods at her again, very politely. “The loss of Master Kenobi is very difficult for the Order. He was a hero and…”

“Yes, yes, of course, Master Koon,” Satine nods in response, grinning. “He was a hero, and sometimes heroes fall, despite their strength. But he was not a hero or a Jedi or a general to me. To me he was just a hunam. He was my friend. My true friend.”

“Satine,” Padmé again tries to take her hand, but she, snatching her wrist, moves away from her.

“You are all cowards who don’t have the courage to admit that he meant something to you,” she turns to Anakin, who is just looking away from Padmé, full of despair. “You was like a little brother to him. You told me yourself that he is more than just a friend to you.”

Anakin wants to answer something - to justify himself, no doubt - but she is already looking at Plo Koon.

“You was his main support when Qui-Gon died on Naboo. You replaced him a father whom he never knew… And you,” her eyes, when she looks at Quinlan again, are full of tears, so his outlines are slightly blurred at the edges. “I’ve only seen you once, Quinlan Vos. Two minutes and a dozen sentences, and it already became clear to me how dear you are to him. And you didn't come…”

“Duchess,” Quinlan, taking the noticeably quiet Cat more comfortably, carefully moves closer. “Duchess, please…”

“You didn’t come to say goodbye to him, Quinlan,” she’s shaking all over, and her voice is very hoarse. “You were not with him in the last minutes of his life and did not even come to say last goodbye.”

He takes another step towards her, but Satine, shaking her head, retreats again.

“You are all pathetic, cowardly pretenders! But, unlike all of you, I’m not afraid or ashamed to admit my feelings,” raising her head proudly, she wipes the tears from her cheeks. “I loved him. My ancestors are witnesses to this, I loved him like no one else and will love him until the end of my life! But you bunch of droids will never understand my feelings.”

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[cinciri]

Tagging: @satineweek

DAY 2: Mother

Quote prompts: “What do you see when you think about the future?”

It becomes so quiet that everything can hear is the hum of the speeders running somewhere outside the hangar and the droids repairing the fighters. In this oppressive silence, the Clones look at her, and she looks at them, proudly accepting a new wave of discontent, which has quickly replaced such a ringing laugh. It seems to her that one of them is leaving, but those standing closer don't move, and she, not wanting to lose her chance, doesn't dare to find out whether it is true or not.

“We are soldiers,” Cody finally begins to say again, and this is a first time in her memory that she has no idea what is hidden behind the calm expression on the face her interlocutor. “We are good soldiers. And good soldiers follow orders.”

“This war will end someday,” while she speaks her gaze does not leave his face. “What will you all do then? What do you see when you think about the future?”

Another pause almost causes a shiver, but she is a Mando, she will not allow fear to make her retreat and continues to boldly look into the brown eyes almost ten meters away from her.

“You are asking a very dangerous questions, Duchess,” Cody’s voice is now noticeably quieter and even trembles a little. “Dangerous and too political. Don't involve us in your games with the Senate.”

“These are not games, Commander.”

She speaks more quietly too, almost in a whisper, and the Clones, not wanting to miss their words, move closer, tightening the ring that has formed around her, in any other situation - with any other creature - perceived as an approaching danger.

“It's worry. Because you are children,” Satine puts her right hand on Crys's shoulder standing next to her. “You are the children of Mandalore. You are my children,” with a sad smile turning to the left, towards Boil, she touches his temple with her fingertips, and leaves her palm on his cheeks. “And as your mother, I will worry about you and want the best for you.”

“We are clones,” Rex interjects. “And as people in your sector like to say, Jango Fett was not a Mando.”

“Mando is not blood and, despite our traditions, it is far from just the oaths. This is the spirit. This is the rod. And Jango gave you this, even if his gift was passed on to you only in fight training,” with a smile, still a little sad, she glances at them. “Duty is not an empty phrase for me, and the fact that you do not refuse it does you honor. But when the war is over, when you don't know where to go, you can always come to me. And I will give you shelter, I will give you protection, I will give you… a clan, if that is what your heart desires.”

“And why would you do this?” the Clone that looking at her has a prosthetic eye instead of a right eye, and she feels sad that she doesn't have the opportunity to turn back time and protect him. “We are not your people, no matter what you say. We are just clones. We were created to fight. To the war.”

“No one is created for war,” Satine objects gently.

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