#and found where it was automatically muting itself for some random reason

[windwardstar]

I HAVE GOTTEN THE MICROPHONE TO WORK!!

[obduratemoon]

Sedimentary City 06: Love & Violence

Love comes preceded by 3 occurrences of synchronicity, one may have been told by a street augur.

Jan first saw her walking across the aerial hallway connecting the twin towers of the Central Confederated Academy, a long and tubular walkway strung up like a strand of gossamer. Despite assurances of rigidity by its engineers, it swayed imperceptibly in the wind often causing those inside to feel unease. Eva walked passed, wan and unsteady, a hand gripped clammily on the railings.

He was struck by an instant and uncanny recognition. Who was she? Why did this stranger feel familiar? It was a dolorous and sweet sensation unexplainable as déjà vu and just beyond reach, like a ghost or figurant in a dream misplaced upon waking but remnant in impression.

He looked away just as she looked up, telegraphing exactly what he was trying to hide. What could have Eva seen in that sky suspended hallway? A diffident and clumsy school boy in the body of a gangly man, clearly Level 1 birthed and pedigreed into a family and society who knew no other level or life, a person whose every intimate and subconscious mannerism was congruent to the hallowed and beatific nest of this world’s affordances. Shiftly eyed like a thief or miscreant, he felt himself uncomfortable and self aware as he passed her. All for nothing; she was too nauseated to notice.

The second time they met was at a noodle shop, a popular stand where Jan often went to slurp thick strands drenched in spice and pungent ferment. He always ate too fast with eyes closed and rolled up like a shark in the act of feeding, his mind obviated by the sensations of the tongue and teeth, lost and devolved in a participation mystique within the penumbra of taste. And when he finally looked up from his bowl and saw her standing there with an amused smile in her eyes, eyes which laughed and expressed merimert more than her lips, Jan was once again embarrassed. His lips were cherried grotesquely like a clown from the red oil, an errant noodle dangling from a mouth slightly ajar, a simple kind of comedy that brightened her day.

The third time was at a Samuelson rally held in some interstitial and contingent space between level 1 and level 2, where he had been listening in thrall and, then at the end, joined in choral solidarity with the audience, chanting slogans and lost in the collective. Some youthful part of him thought that he had at last found a purpose, a reason like a life raft bobbing on the oceanic ennui he had been dropped into. He felt a tap on his shoulders and found her standing there, eyes again merry and lips wry with amusement.

“I didn’t know you were a Samuelson supporter,” she said.

Jan looked at her surprised, overjoyed at her presence, the thrill of the rally having touched a genuine and innocent thread in his soul causing it to efflux, overflow, and show itself in an opened and unabashed way. His eyes were lit up like twin molotov cocktails exploding at the end of graceful and parabolic arcs. “Oh, it’s you!” he said, automatic and sincere. In that moment Eva thought he looked like a smiling puppy; in that moment his face struck her as dear and lovable.

“Yea, he’s incredible isn’t he?” Jan continued, sort of breathless, “And his theory of the egalitarian imperative and his critiques of the State are undeniable! But what are you doing here? I’ve seen you at the academy right? I have no idea who you are”, the last sentence trailing off and spoken to himself. “Who are you? Where did you come from?”

He was still young, some core portion of him untouched and vibrant, a sapling replete with vitality in his phloem. That he was drawn to Eva was a foregone conclusion, for she was that dusky image inside of him now reified and reflected in all objectivity. That she liked him as well was the sort of mystery the universe will guard until its final moments, when the whole association of stars and planets, of matter inverted, of memories, dreams, and stories, of those made flesh and those ghostly likewise wink out in a final and resplendent collapse snuffing it all out in a complete and orbicular death, a voiding of the here, then, and ever-will-be into a kind of non-existence that would never be imagined in the minds of sentients, who shall also be annihilated as if never’d and nothing to begin with as well.

A voice broke his reverie, “Hey, where you from, huh? You aren’t from here are you? You’re from one of the upper levels right? That’s where you come from? Hey, what’s the matter, are you hard of hearing?”

Jan turned towards the voice and saw a sharp face, nose like a beak with eyes slant and predatory. He was tall and spindly, folded like a crane on the other side of the bar, smiling a scant and untrustworthy smile. To his right sat his friend, a large and hairless man, a pink meaty face full of idiotic menace, a flesh-orb with thin colorless lips that opened to join in, said: “Yea, you from up there?” Sausage like fingers gestured approximately upwards as if pointing out some stain on the ceiling. “What’s it like up there?”

He looked at them and offered no reply, a bit stunned like an uncomprehending spectator at the beginning of a slow motion accident. Part of him thought he should do something, but he also felt paralyzed and mute even as adrenaline filled his vessel. Don Quixote and Sancho Panza from hell, Jan thought, suddenly remembering some ancient text.

The young bartender receded to the back of the bar, uninterested in any involvement. The rest of the patrons spectated with a familiar mixture of interest and boredom as if watching a rerun.

“You should reply when someone talks to you,” the sharp faced one said, voice treacly with malice. “It’s just polite, we’re just trying to make conversation.”

“Yea say something,” boomed the big one, for all his corporeality reducing himself into an insubstantial echo. Then the slender one downed his drink and approached Jan, the meatier one following like an indentured golem. Jan’s heart sank. His antagonist leaned an arm against the bar and bent at the hips to bring his keen face close enough for Jan to smell the complex notes of halitosis and ethyl. Jan noted with some relief that they did not appear to be wearing All-Suits but rather regular clothing, the tall fellow sporting a black short sleeved jerkin exposing lean and sinewed arms. The bigger guy wore a colorful assortment of loose colors and fabrics, looking like some demented jester.

“What’s your name, motherfucker? Where are you from?”

“I’m just passing through. There’s no need for any of this,” Jan replied.

“You better just tell him your name, buddy,” urged the big guy while calmly limbering up with head circles, the lack of a perceptible neck making the whole exercise look comical.

Someone in the bar interjected, “Just leave him be, Chiklin!” Thus named, Chiklin turned and spat, turning his hawk like face towards the speaker. “Shut it!” he said and then restored his malign gaze to Jan. “Get up!” he commanded.

Jan did not reply but instead remained seated, his head bowed saying nothing, one hand hidden underneath the bar as the sleeve of his All-Suit quietly extended itself to cover his hand with a glove, growing embossments of little hard pebbles over his knuckles.

“I said get up, fucker!” Chiklin repeated. Jan finally looked up at him feeling inexpressibly sad down to his core. Why this, why now, he wondered, feeling tired and demoralized by this collusion of randomness and violence.

“Hey, listen friend, we don’t have to do this. Can I buy you and your friend a drink? Whatever you like. I don’t want any trouble, I can leave if you like.”

Chiklin gave him a nasty look and then turned back to look at his corpulent friend chortling malevolently, “Look at him, Zasha, he’s about to cry!” and then turning back, “Are you about to cry? Is that what’s happening now, friend? Fuck me, you are! Haha haha!” and then suddenly serious, he said: “You’d better get up now.”

Jan commanded the All-Suit to inject hypodermic meta-amphetamines into his bloodstream, he could feel a vicious coolness spread through his arms and dissipate towards a heart which was revving up like a hard driven engine. Feeling immediately brave, he stood up while pivoting his hips to execute a cross, the All-Suit contracting and stretching subtly in order to impart the last little bit of force to that clenched hand made into trebuchet stone. The impact of the punch sent out a well described plume of spittle, pellucid but dotted with specks of red; it sent Chiklin flying backwards and crashing into a table, scattering the patrons seated there. Jan had probably broken his large beak nose and some teeth as well.

Zasha boomed: “Not very fair, using your fancy All-Suit, not very fair at all,” and in a swiftness belied by his size and slothy demeanor lunged forward and swung both arms, extending further than seemed possible, around to clap Jan’s head between two meaty mitts like two steel doors swung in upon each other.

Pain exploded in Jan’s ears, a thunderclap of jangly sounds went off in the middle of his cranium. He let out an involuntary scream that he himself could not hear, his ears now filled with a cacophonous ringing that caused him to stumble down onto one knee. Confused and vertiginous, he wrapped his arms around his throbbing head, holding it with desperate affection like a mother embracing a dying infant. The big guy then front kicked him plumb and square in the face, the hard shod feet crumpling Jan’s face with a reverberant crack. It all dimmed for him.

When he came to he was outside and on the ground, curled up in a fetal ball as Chiklin and Zasha stomped him with gusto, arbitrary furies enacting a pointless retribution. The All-Suit was protective but only partially absorbed the force of those many blows. Jan wondered at the vast and unplumbed sadism now being doled out with such casual generosity. He wondered if they would simply keep kicking him until the end of time itself.

At last he heard someone call out: “The police will be here soon.” The violence ceased and there was the sound of receding footsteps. Jan sat up to see snot and blood oozing down his chest and the young bartender regarding him.

“Damn, they really did a number on you,” he observed.

Adrenaline and speed left his body in a rapid ebb and Jan began to shiver from their sudden recession, feeling cold and hollow. A pain that had been heretofore suppressed rose up like an unwelcome moon. He felt exhausted.

Jan forced out a hoarse whisper, “Please … please don’t call the police.” Something seemed to be off within his mouth but he was not sure what, his teeth felt weird, his tongue no longer in its familiar cage.

“Too late. I don’t want to see them any more than you do. But they’ll be here soon,” the bartender repeated matter of factly.

“I have to go,” Jan mumbled to himself, “I can’t be here when they arrive.” He tried to stand up, and perhaps he even did so for a tottering second. Then the young bartender watched as Jan’s eyes turned vacant, his tall and still frame falling hard like some Icarian returned to earth.

[submeowchinegun]

More Assassin Obi-Wan AU, since anon asked for it

Anakin sighed, slumping in his seat as he stared at his datapad. Currently, he was sitting in the Temple library, trying to finish an assignment for one of his classes. The work itself wasn't necessarily difficult, but it was exceedingly tedious, especially when Anakin wanted nothing more than to be up and doing something. Sitting in the library, with only the sound of fingers tapping against datapads, and the occasional cough, was boring. He glanced forlornly at the clock on the wall; he still had a good forty-five minutes of study period left, and it was already dragging by. When Anakin heard something, he immediately turned to look, desperate for the distraction.

Just around the corner of one of the tall shelves, he could see a group of padawans. They were all at least a few years older than him, huddled together and whispering conspiratorially. One of them kept taking quick peeks from around the shelf, scanning the room. They didn't seem to notice Anakin, too focused on keeping track of Madame Nu and the few other Knights in the library. So, once they'd ducked back behind the shelf again, Anakin slid out of his seat, walking over as quickly and quietly as he could. Luckily, Madame Nu was occupied with something on the terminal she was at, and no one else was paying any attention either. He managed to get right on the other side of the shelf, easily within hearing range of the other padawans, and mostly hidden from sight.

“– and you're sure we'll be able to get in?”

“Yeah, I'm sure. I heard about it from Aarn, and he says he went there once with Knight Dhyrr'in. We'll totally be able to get in, no problem.”

“Okay, then – ah, kriff,” the person speaking abruptly cut off, and then Anakin felt himself being pulled by a hand on his upper arm, until he was standing inside the circle of padawans, all of them staring at him.

“Alright, kid,” the last one to speak said, a pale yellow-green Rodian almost twice his height, “How much did ya hear, and whadda we gotta do for you to keep quiet about it?” Anakin didn't think, and blurted out the first thought that came to mind.

“You're sneaking out of the Temple. I want to come with you.” The group stared at him for a moment. Then they were all speaking at once, voices still low.

“Ugh, I knew this was never going to work –,”

“What? You've gotta be kidding!”

“Man, come on, I don't wanna be worrying about babysitting some initiate while we're trying to have fun!”

Anakin bristled, cheeks flushing indignantly. The Rodian hastily tried to quell the other padawans as their volume began to rise, and once he'd managed to quiet them, Anakin found himself speaking again without entirely meaning to.

“I'm not a baby! I'm a padawan too, and I can take care of myself!” The group seemed surprised by his outburst, and as the Rodian checked again to make sure they weren't overheard, the rest of the group gave him a measuring once-over.

“Well,” one of the others began, a crimson Elomin, “He is a padawan.” She shared a look with the Rodian, then turned her golden eyes back on Anakin. The combination of her coloration, and the similarity of Elomin to Zabrak, made him intensely uncomfortable, and he felt an involuntary shiver go down his spine.

“If you come with us, you're responsible for keeping yourself out of trouble, got it?” she stared at him expectantly until he nodded, his braid whipping against his shoulder at the movement. She nodded back curtly, and then the conversation resumed, the Rodian going on to outline the plan to leave the temple.

This was a horrible idea, Anakin thought, fruitlessly trying to sink further under the hood of his cloak. Things had gone according the other padawan's plans, and they'd all successfully made it out of the Temple, slipping out through one of the loading docks between deliveries. Anakin had made sure to stick close to the group as they got to the deeper levels of Coruscant; he wasn't familiar with more than the area immediately around the Temple, and the path to and from the shop where Qui-Gon went to purchase tea. When they'd finally arrived, it was at some kind of club, on a level so low there wasn't much natural light that was able to make it's way down.

Apparently Aarn had been telling the truth, because despite the fact that they were all obviously underage, the Duros at the door didn't give them a second glance before letting them in. The inside of the club was lit by flashing colored lights, and was filled with music so loud that Anakin could feel it's vibrations in his chest. Their group began splitting up, and unsure of what to do with himself now that he was here, Anakin looked around until he found an unoccupied booth, sliding himself onto the seat. The music wasn't so loud here, where Anakin now realized was at the very back of the club. He could just see the Rodian at the bar thanks to his height, but could find anyone else in the sea of people.

The excitement of sneaking out had begun to wear off, and as he watched the sea of strangers, Anakin could only think of how much trouble he'd be in if he got caught; of how disappointed Qui-Gon would be. He was practically brooding by the time he heard shouting from the direction of the front entrance, and he jumped as the Elomin seemed to materialize out of the crowd.

“We need to go!” she shouted over the music, pulling Anakin onto his feet and dragging him with her as she made for the back door. As they were passing through it, the shouting had gotten  louder, and people were starting to follow them out. The Elomin led them down an alley at a light jog, and a steady stream of people were coming out of the club after them, all of them running down different alleys.

“What's going on?” Anakin asked, now that he could hear himself think.

“Security Forces raid,” she answered, not letting up on her grip on him. Down another alley, a Security droid caught sight of them, and started to run after them. The Elomin cursed under her breath, pulling him around a corner leading to a split in the alleys.

“Do you remember how to get back to the Temple?” she demanded, and Anakin mutely nodded. She seemed satisfied, turning him around and pushing him in the direction of one of the alleys.

“Alright, then start heading back. I'll keep them distracted so you can get away.” Anakin opened his mouth to protest, and was cut him off before he could even get a word out.

“Go!” she ordered, and Anakin could only nod and obey, turning to run down the alley.

And now, here he was, lurking at the mouth of some alley in a decidedly unsavory part of Coruscant. Anakin did not, in fact, remember the way back to the Temple, something he'd realized as soon as he'd stopped running. Even if he did, the number of random turns and paths he'd taken to make sure he'd gotten away would have made the knowledge useless. He couldn't even go up a level, because he couldn't find any lifts, despite some additional wandering that had only gotten him more lost. And to top it all off, he'd left both his lightsaber and his comm back in his room at the Temple. He watched pedestrians pass by as he leaned against a wall and heaved a sigh. Master Qui-Gon was always warning him not be so reckless, and now Anakin supposed he was in a situation that provided the perfect “why” to that advice.

Anakin was so busy thinking of all the ways he'd start listening more closely to Qui-Gon's advice, if he made it back to the temple (which, in Anakin's mind, was still only a maybe), that he didn't notice one of the people passing by stop, and look him over with a faintly puzzled expression. He still didn't notice when the puzzlement was replaced by understanding, or when the person walked over to him.

“I'm fairly certain that this is no place for padawans, young one,” the person said, amusement coloring their Coruscanti accent. Anakin startled so badly he almost lost his footing, narrowly avoiding falling by leaning more heavily against the wall. His head snapped upwards so quickly his hood slipped off, and the end of his braid smacked against the tip of his nose. He stared at the man, whose mouth had quirked up at one corner at his reaction, and frantically tried to figure out how he knew him. The man was leaning against the wall next to him, arms crossed casually as he waited for a reply. When Anakin finally recognized him as the man he'd seen with the Sith on Nar Shaddaa, he automatically reached for his lightsaber. His hand closed around nothing, and it felt like the bottom of his stomach had dropped out, as he remembered that he'd forgotten it.

“Oh, come now, there's no need for that,” he said, raising his hands placatingly, before loosely crossing his arms once more. “I'm simply being a good Samaritan. This really isn't someplace for a youngling to be wandering around by themselves. Not to mention you're a good distance from the Jedi Temple, and I was under the impression that padawans didn't leave it without their Masters.” Anakin just looked down guiltily, mind going back to the ever more likely reality of a disappointed Qui-Gon. The man frowned, scratching a bearded cheek in thought before coming to some conclusion.

“Alright, how about this,” he said, straightening up, “Hello, I'm Obi-Wan. It's very nice to meet you...?” and he paused, looking at Anakin expectantly.

“... Anakin,” he finally replied, committing Obi-Wan's name to memory. Qui-Gon hadn't been able to find anything about the man with only a physical description, but maybe with even just a first name he'd have more luck.

“Well then, it's very nice to meet you Anakin,” Obi-Wan said, giving Anakin a sunny grin. “Now, whatever are you doing all the way down here?” Anakin frowned up at him, and didn't say anything.

“Hmm. Well let me take a guess: for one reason or another, you snuck out of the Temple. Then, you managed to get lost, and here we are. Is that close?” Obi-Wan arched an eyebrow, looking very sure of himself. Anakin hastily wiped the surprise off his face, replacing it with an indignant scowl.

“No!” he bit back. “I know exactly where I am!” he insisted at Obi-Wan's skeptical look.

“I suppose you don't need any help finding the lifts then,” Obi-Wan said smoothly, and as he turned and began to walk away, Anakin felt a jolt of panic go through him.

“Wait!” Anakin called out, and Obi-Wan stopped, looking at him over his shoulder. “I don't know where the lifts are,” he ground out sulkily, and Obi-Wan smiled at him.

“Now that wasn't so hard, was it? And I just so happen to be heading to the lifts right now,” Obi-Wan replied, beginning to walk again as Anakin caught up to walk next to him. “Pull your hood back up too, I was being serious before,” he added. When Anakin wasn't quick enough for his liking, he reached down and tugged the hood back over Anakin's head himself. Anakin huffed in annoyance, halfheartedly batting at Obi-Wan's already retreating hand. Qui-Gon was always doing the same thing to him, straightening Anakin's tunic or robes, and by now his default reaction was mild exasperation. They walked for awhile, Obi-Wan easily leading them through the crowds, and Anakin stared at him for awhile, lost in thought.

“Why were you with the Sith?” Anakin finally blurted out, and Obi-Wan looked down at him, visibly confused.

“Sith?” he asked, and Anakin rolled his eyes.

“On Nar Shaddaa,” he clarified, “The Zabrak.”

“Ah,” Obi-Wan said in understanding, “You mean Maul?” Anakin didn't know if that was the right name, but nodded nonetheless. Obi-Wan looked away again, efficiently scanning the crowd like he'd been before.

“Maul is –,” and he paused for a moment, an expression Anakin couldn't decipher crossing his face, “– a friend. He asked me to go with him to Grakkus' party.” He then turned his gaze onto Anakin. “Why were you and your Master there? Nar Shaddaa isn't exactly Jedi friendly, though if you're any example that doesn't seem to stop you, does it?” Anakin glared and looked away.

“Grakkus had things that belong in the Temple,” Anakin said after a few minutes of silence.

“I see,” Obi-Wan hummed, deftly steering Anakin around a group of surly looking Bith. After a little while longer walking, they ran into a dense crowd, blocking their path. Obi-Wan frowned at the obstruction, leaning up onto the tips of his toes to try and see what the hold up was. He sighed in frustration, settling back onto his feet.

“Lovely,” he muttered, an aggravated look settling on his face. Anakin tried to see through the crowd himself, with predictably poor results, before giving up and turning to Obi-Wan.

“What? What is it?” he asked as Obi-Wan began leading them down a different street.

“Someone crashed a speeder into the lifts, from the looks of things,” Obi-Wan explained, “Don't worry, there's another way up, it's just a bit more roundabout.” His comm suddenly chirped, and Obi-Wan tapped a small earpiece that Anakin hadn't noticed before.

“Yes?” Obi-Wan said, and if there was a reply, Anakin couldn't hear it over the ambient sounds on this level. He still watched Obi-Wan, at least paying attention to the half of the conversation he could hear.

“I'm afraid I've been waylaid slightly. Someone appears to have taken the lifts out of commission,” Obi-Wan said after a brief silence.

“Well, I've also run into a bit of a situation of my own,” at this, he shot a glance at Anakin.

“Nothing for you to worry about,” followed by another pause.

“I'm not certain that's the best idea –,”

“Who are you talking to?” Anakin interrupted, and immediately snapped his mouth shut at the look Obi-Wan gave him. Convinced that Anakin was sufficiently cowed, he turned his attention back to his conversation.

“No one,” he said into the comm, then with a roll of his eyes, “Yes.” He was quiet for a few moments, listening, then let out an exasperated sigh.

“Alright,” Obi-Wan answered, and hung up.

“You know,” Obi-Wan said, giving Anakin a chastising look, “It's rude to interrupt people while they're using the comm.” Anakin muttered an insincere 'sorry', and despite his unimpressed expression, Obi-Wan let it go. He changed the direction they were going slightly, and before long they'd reached a working set of lifts. It was a smaller station than the other one, and there was a short line they waited in before they were able to take one up. When they stepped in, Anakin looked at Obi-Wan suspiciously when he didn't press the button to take them to the surface level. When he noticed Anakin's expression Obi-Wan rolled his eyes.

“This lift doesn't go to the surface levels, despite having the buttons for them,” and he gestured to levels one through seven, right above the button he'd pressed for level eight. They all had faded black tape over them, most of it peeling off. “We'll have to find a more central lift on eight to get to the surface. I told you, this is a more roundabout way.” Anakin spent most of the ride looking out the lift's view-screen, watching as the light steadily became brighter the further up they went. This lift was clearly older than the one Anakin had initially come down in with the other padawans, and it took longer to get them to their destination. The lift stuttered worryingly as it stopped, and Anakin practically leapt off of it ahead of Obi-Wan, who followed him at a more sedate pace.

This level, despite being much higher and closer to the Temple, was still unfamiliar to Anakin. He looked around, disappointed. He'd hoped that he would recognize the area, and be able to get back to the Temple on his own, but it looks like that idea wasn't going to pan out. Obi-Wan stopped once they were clear of the lifts, looking around.

“So, how much of Coruscant are you familiar with, Anakin?” Obi-Wan asked once they'd started walking again. Between the walking they'd already done on the lower levels, and Anakin's running from Security Forces, his energy was flagging fast.

“Just around the Temple,” he mumbled, and without much thought continued, “And where Master Qui-Gon goes to buy tea.” Obi-Wan watched as Anakin began to tiredly drag his feet, a small amused grin on his face.

“And where would that be?” Obi-Wan asked him, slowing his pace slightly. Anakin's brows furrowed as he thought.

“Sector twelve, I think?” Anakin answered, uncertain. He didn't usually pay that much attention when he was out with Qui-Gon, trusting his Master to lead them around safely.

“That's not too far from here,” Obi-Wan replied, changing their direction ever-so-slightly. He chuckled under his breath as Anakin lagged behind.

“Do you need me to carry you?” he asked, gently nudging Anakin's shoulder. Anakin puffed up his chest and glared at Obi-Wan, his face flushing.

“No, I'm not a baby!” he complained loudly, which only seemed to amuse Obi-Wan more.

“If you're sure,” Obi-Wan said with a short laugh. Anakin was so focused on glaring at Obi-Wan, he nearly missed the cloaked figure that fell into step with them on Obi-Wan's other side. Obi-Wan saw his eyes shift, and turned to look at the figure as well.

“Ah, there you are,” Obi-Wan said without missing a beat. Anakin got a good look under their hood, and felt his face go white as a sheet. It was the Sith, terrifying yellow gaze meeting his for a moment that felt like an eternity, before it shifted to Obi-Wan.

“Kenobi,” he said shortly, and Anakin was too shaken to make conscious note of what was probably Obi-Wan's last name. He instinctively glued himself to Obi-Wan's side, putting as much of the man between himself and the Sith as he could. Upon feeling Anakin practically clinging to his leg, Obi-Wan stopped and looked down at him. He seemed confused for a moment, before glancing between Anakin and Maul in understanding.

“Now, now, Anakin, there's no need to be afraid of Maul,” Obi-Wan smiled, giving him a consoling pat on the shoulder, “In fact, would you like to know a secret?” Anakin tore his eyes away from Maul to look at Obi-Wan cautiously. After a moment, he nodded.

“You see,” Obi-Wan began in a conspiratorial stage whisper, while Maul rolled his eyes next to them, “Maul only looks scary. That's just what his face is like. He's actually very nice.” True to form, when they both turned to look back at him, Maul was giving Obi-Wan an impressive scowl.

“I am not nice,” he growled, aiming a kick at Obi-Wan's shin. The man easily moved his unencumbered leg out of the way, and Maul just sneered at the both of them.

“See?” Obi-Wan said, and gently pried Anakin off his leg, getting them moving again. Anakin couldn't get himself to let go completely, and settled for having his left hand clenched in the loose fabric of Obi-Wan's pants. Maul growled to himself, but kept pace with them at Obi-Wan's side.

“How did you manage to pick up a stray padawan? And Jinn's no less?” Maul hissed at Obi-Wan, at a volume clearly meant to be out of Anakin's hearing. Anakin pretended not to hear them as Obi-Wan whispered back, pretending to be engrossed in the sight of the shops they were passing.

“I found him lurking in some alley on the lower levels,” Obi-Wan said, a note of irritation in his voice, “What was I supposed to do? He's what, ten? That's no place for a child, I wasn't going to just leave him there.” Anakin resisted the urge to tell them that he was twelve, thank you very much, and kept listening instead.

“Well you can't keep him. As much as I would like to see Jinn's face once he realizes he's lost another padawan, I'm don't want the entirety of the Jedi Order on the warpath to rescue their poor, innocent padawan from the big bad Sith,” Maul muttered sarcastically. Lost another padawan? Anakin thought, face twisting in confusion. “And he's twelve,” Maul tacked on, and Obi-Wan raised an eyebrow.

“How do you know how old he is?” Obi-Wan asked. In lieu of answering, Maul hummed and looked away, pretending to pay attention to the shops they passed, in much the same way Anakin was. Obi-Wan let out an exasperated huff, but dropped the topic. He looked down at Anakin instead.

“Anakin, you said your Master goes to a specific tea shop?” Anakin looked up.

“... Yeah,” he said, eyes darting to Maul suspiciously, who was still pretending to ignore them. Obi-Wan nodded, and turned to Maul.

“Would it be safe to assume you know where this tea shop might be, Maul? Somewhere in Sector twelve, maybe?” Maul was quiet for a few moments.

“Yes,” he finally said, and started walking slightly ahead of Obi-Wan, leading the way. Quickly, things began to look more familiar to Anakin. Before he knew it, they were passing by the restaurant whose window had been broken the last time he'd seen Maul. Both his and Maul's gazes lingered on the yet to be fixed hole where the window used to be, walled up now with a wooden board. Obi-Wan watched them curiously.

“Wait,” Obi-Wan said abruptly, “Did you actually get thrown through a window?” He looked at Maul, waiting for an answer. Maul only growled, sinking further under his hood, doing a much better job of it than Anakin had earlier.

“Master Qui-Gon force-pushed him,” Anakin provided helpfully, earning a glare so venomous from Maul that he immediately hid himself behind Obi-Wan's leg again.

“Stop that,” Obi-Wan said to Maul as he loosened Anakin's grip once more. Maul turned his glare onto Obi-Wan instead, though it lacked any real bite now. Instead of replying, Maul flung an arm out, gesturing to the shop they'd now stopped next to.

“We're here,” he said through ground teeth, then looked at Anakin again.

“Youngling,” he started, and Anakin forced himself to meet his unnerving gaze, “You can find you way back to the Temple from here?” It was barely phrased as a question, and Anakin nodded haltingly. Seeming satisfied with this, Maul turned on his heel and began to walk away.

“Your good deed for the day is done, Kenobi, let's go,” Maul said as he passed Obi-Wan. Obi-Wan gave Anakin one last look.

“Can you find your way back from here?” Obi-Wan asked. Anakin took a moment to think, and nodded much more easily this time.

“Yes,” he answered, “I'll be okay.” Obi-Wan grinned at him, giving him one last pat on the shoulder.

“Well then, I hope next time we meet under better circumstances,” and with that, Obi-Wan turned, jogging to catch up to Maul, who had stopped at the corner to wait for him, impatience clear on his face. Obi-Wan gave him a jaunty wave as they turned the corner, much like he had on Nar Shaddaa, and Anakin watched the spot he'd disappeared from for a while longer. By now, he was sure Qui-Gon had noticed he was gone. He gave the tea shop a considering look. Maybe he could pretend that he'd left to buy Qui-Gon some tea, as an apology for sneaking onto the ship to Nar Shaddaa.

Yeah, that could work.