Author's note: Another Dark Rendezvous fic. This is the companion piece to Red. Scout is 11, Whie is 10.
Disclaimer: Belongs to me not does Star Wars.
2: Jealousy
"She's smart. Loyal too, but…"
"Such a pity,"
"…better suited to a different way of life…"
"She'll never become a Jedi."
Tallisibeth Enwandung-Esterhazy, Scout to her friends, was pretty sure her head was about to explode. She hated lectures. Master Diedral had only been talking for about—she glanced at the chrono on the wall—two minutes, but it already felt as though an eon had passed. This one was going to be a long one too; she could tell by the way he capitalized, the phrases dropping from his mouth like stones.
Right now he was droning on about Civic Virtue, the importance of a Jedi's Moral Center: his Sense of Duty, self-sacrifice for the Needs of Others, etc. etc. Scout let his words tumble past her and stared at the wall, trying to see whether she could remember the eight essential holds that Master Xan had taught them yesterday.
"A Jedi must not only be Aware of the Moral and Ethical Consequences of his actions, but the socio-political and economic Ramifications…"
Arm bar, wrist lock…
"…which of course Leads us to the Question: when does the Juxtaposition of these two mitigating factors Justify the…"
Choke hold, thumb lock, um…arm bar—wait, no, that wasn't right…
"—sibeth? Tallisibeth?" Scout's head jerked up.
"What?" she said stupidly. Master Diedral furrowed his eyebrows.
"I was Asking, young Tallisibeth, how the Situation on Tatooine could have been avoided by means of the Proper Application of civic virtue. Do you have a Solution?" Scout's mind raced desperately, but to no avail. She looked down.
"Very well," he said disapprovingly. He scanned the rest of the unfortunates. "Could Someone who has been Paying Attention please answer the question? Anyone? Whie, how about You?" Whie answered coolly, utterly composed. Scout's neck flushed redder and redder, and she bit her lip harder and harder.
When she had regained control of herself, she glanced sideways at the source of her humiliation. He sat about three people distant, but his natural detachment made it seem farther. His posture was perfectly upright and attentive, and his serene grey eyes stared straight ahead. Behind him, two younger children, about five years old, were whispering to each other, glancing at him every so often in mingled curiosity and awe. Scout looked away.
Of course. After all, they were always talking about him. The teachers. The other students. Whie is so powerful in the Force this, Whie is so calm and collected that.
Especially now that he had been made Padawan.
Her hands fisted on her knees, clenching the cloth of her leggings. It wasn't fair. She worked harder than he ever had, but it didn't even matter. No one saw, no one cared. The only thing anyone would say about her was "the Force is weak in that one." All the students looked up to him, all the teachers bent over backwards to be nice to him. Anything he wanted, he got. Anything for Whie. It wasn't fair.
"Class dismissed." Numbly, Scout joined the herd of other acolytes as they filed out of the classroom. The students laughed and chatted as they went to dinner. Scout slipped away from the group, and headed towards the training room. It was no good going down there, trying to join in and act normally.
Besides, she wasn't very hungry anyway.
After warming up, Scout headed over to her favorite corner of the room where the hand-to-hand combat dummy stood, eternally ready to take a beating. Fortunately, right now Scout was really in a mood to hit something.
She started off simple, alternating reps of straight punching with roundhouse kicks. Right, left, kick. Right, left, kick. Faster. Faster. Thump thump wham! Thump Thump Wham!
Sweat trickled down her face, mixing with the salty water from her eyes. Her teachers, whispering behind their hands. Thump! Her classmates, pitying, openly contemptuous. Thump! That boy, with his mocking, tranquil eyes. WHAM! The tears were pouring faster now. Scout paused to swipe at them angrily with a sleeve. Why was it so hard? THUMP! Why couldn't she do anything right? THUMP! Why was she so weak? WHAM!
And there were no more words, only pain. She relished it. The ragged rattle in her lungs, the throbbing of her arms, the burning in her legs. The ache in her chest.
Ten yards away, a boy stood watching.
Footsteps. Another boy approaches, taller, older. He attempts to pass into the room. A grey-eyed boy blocks his way.
"Hey, what's the deal?"
"Sorry. It's occupied."
"So?"
"So leave."
Their gazes lock. Time passes.
The taller boy looks down.
"W-whatever." Footsteps continue down the corridor.
Grey eyes keep the vigil long into the night.