I hope I've managed to clear up the formatting for this now. Thank you to
those who have reviewed, I appreciate the comments. The original of this
was written at one thirty in the morning, because, as my beta will tell
you, I don't sleep. At all. This was just something that lived in the back
of my mind for ages. Well, have fun! Here we go.
Last Night By AngelinaDaisey
Obi-Wan awoke suddenly and found himself sitting, his knees pulled up to his chest in the corner of his and Anakin's apartment, situated in the East wing of the Jedi Temple on Coruscant. Raising his head, he focused intently on the wall opposite him, as he drew on the strength of the Force to calm the raging headache that instantly sliced through his skull. Cursing slightly he pulled his hand from its prone position on the floor to rub his itchy eyes. Clutched tightly in his other hand, he noticed, was a large bottle that contained only about a shot's worth of a bright green liquid. Sniffing it gently he recoiled quickly, as nausea struck him.
"Alcohol?" he asked himself quietly as confusion raged across handsome features. He closed his eyes momentarily to ease the suffering of his joints from sleeping so awkwardly, the headache and his nausea. With a sigh he resigned himself to the fact that he had a hangover, and shook his head, before recoiling, struck with another flash of agony. Whatever had happened the night before it must have been big, as Obi-Wan had not consumed enough alcohol in one sitting to give him a hangover before, well, with the one exception being very soon after the death of Qui-Gon, the man he loved more than a Father.
With a start his eyes opened again, with a startling realization. He had no memory of the night before. Releasing as much pain into the Force as he could he pulled himself to his feet and staggered towards the 'fresher, pausing only by the door to the room that his padawan occupied. Satisfied that Anakin was sleeping soundly, he pushed himself into a leaning position against the sink and watched as swirling water filled the bowl. Splashing some on his face he concentrated on listening to the Force as it cradled him in its arms. Looking up suddenly he realized he was only clothed in a dark pair of pants and a rather grubby white vest with a pair of braces slung over his shoulders. Confusion once again gripped his heart. Walking slowly he got himself a glass of water and stood on the balcony of the apartment as his focus looked through the panoramic view of Dawn on Coruscant, to an invisible point far in the distance. Scanning his emotions to try and uncover what had happened the previous night he discovered a great underlying feeling of devastation and mental anguish, plus something else. Rubbing a hand over his face and through his beard, he sighed.
"Not a good evening then," he groaned. The other elusive emotion danced on the edge of his conscious, just out of his reach. Frustrated, he sighed, and sunk to his knees in meditation. Frustration and Anger would not help him he realized.
It was only much time later when his head was finally clear that the emotion's name was revealed to him. Love. A beautiful, shining, immortal love that knew no boundaries or rules. The impact of the realization snapped Obi-Wan out of meditation and back into the apartment. He had known love that intense before of course, just in a different way. His love for Qui-Gon was purely as for a mentor, a father and a friend, but this was, well. It was incredible. It was pure and devoted; the love of soulmates. Letting his feet wonder of their own accord he paced round their small apartment. Somehow he could remember singing from last night, but whether it was he singing or someone else, he could not ascertain. Instead of dwelling, he began to clear the table that lined one of the walls of the small mechanical parts that littered the surface. Making sure to treat each piece with care he settled them onto a shelf in a cupboard. He smiled gently. Despite being nearly sixteen, his padawan still enjoyed tinkering with anything mechanical he could lay his hands on, and Obi-Wan could sympathize, seeing that he had a definite interest in mechanical things as well. He was overcome suddenly with the memory of the long standing argument with Anakin over the age he had to be before he could construct his own lightsaber. Anakin had started campaigning at the age of ten, and been refused point blank. In fact, Obi-Wan was convinced that Anakin could manage to make his own at that point, but the laws of the Temple decreed that he was to young. It had been one of the most enjoyable tasks that Obi- Wan had ever had to undertake that day of Anakin's thirteenth birthday when he had presented the boy with two rich, sapphire colour energy crystals, with instructions of construction. A broad grin crept onto his face at Anakin's delight.
Come what May . . . .
The impromptu memory struck him suddenly, with all the delicacy of a hungry Bantha at feeding time. "What in the name of the Force was that?" he hissed, clutching his forehead. A brief vision sliced across his senses. Red hair. Perfume. Elephants.
"Elephants?" he cried desperately, before remembering his sleeping padawan and quieting his voice. "Elephants?" Pushing the cupboard door slowly he rested his head against the wall. On a sudden impulse he yanked the door open again. Reaching to the top shelf he grabbed a bulky box-shaped item and raised himself to the tips of his toes to get a better purchase on it.
"Eugh. Where's Anakin when you need him?" he muttered to no one. It was a joke between Master and Padawan about Anakin's extraordinary height. Heaving, he placed the item onto the table. Stroking the top gently he read out the maker's name.
"Underwood". He remembered the day he got it exactly. He and Qui-Gon were on a peacekeeping mission on the planet of Acres-Caar, which was famed for its markets. On a whim, knowing his padawan's love for restoring objects, Qui-Gon had purchased the broken typewriter. Every spare minute after that, Obi-Wan had spent working on it, restoring it to its original working order. Typewriters were very rare, as everything was carried out electronically. After the restoration, Obi-Wan had delighted in writing with it. It turned out he was very creative, and his stories and songs were passed round the Temple. However, after the death of his master Obi-Wan no longer desired to write and stored the typewriter away, out of sight. Dust now covered the shiny surface, but a quick inspection told Obi-Wan that it was still in working order. Feeding a piece of paper (another rare object) into the top he paused.
Twisting in his seat he eyed the typewriter. The dim light illuminated his features gently, playing with the contemplative look on his handsome face. Intense emotion struck him, and his sadness turned itself into tears that rolled down his face. Great sobs heaved his chest as he began to type, long fingers playing on the keys as it struck him in full clarity. Even the Force seemed to pause as he pushed the hair out of his brilliant aquamarine, sea hued eyes, awash with tears. The tears continued as he read the single line that he had typed at the top of the page.
"The greatest thing you'll ever learn is just to love, and be loved in return"
Finish.
Now your gunna have to go watch Moulin Rouge, aint ya??? You hated it, I can tell! Just tell me what you didn't like, but please be kind.
Last Night By AngelinaDaisey
Obi-Wan awoke suddenly and found himself sitting, his knees pulled up to his chest in the corner of his and Anakin's apartment, situated in the East wing of the Jedi Temple on Coruscant. Raising his head, he focused intently on the wall opposite him, as he drew on the strength of the Force to calm the raging headache that instantly sliced through his skull. Cursing slightly he pulled his hand from its prone position on the floor to rub his itchy eyes. Clutched tightly in his other hand, he noticed, was a large bottle that contained only about a shot's worth of a bright green liquid. Sniffing it gently he recoiled quickly, as nausea struck him.
"Alcohol?" he asked himself quietly as confusion raged across handsome features. He closed his eyes momentarily to ease the suffering of his joints from sleeping so awkwardly, the headache and his nausea. With a sigh he resigned himself to the fact that he had a hangover, and shook his head, before recoiling, struck with another flash of agony. Whatever had happened the night before it must have been big, as Obi-Wan had not consumed enough alcohol in one sitting to give him a hangover before, well, with the one exception being very soon after the death of Qui-Gon, the man he loved more than a Father.
With a start his eyes opened again, with a startling realization. He had no memory of the night before. Releasing as much pain into the Force as he could he pulled himself to his feet and staggered towards the 'fresher, pausing only by the door to the room that his padawan occupied. Satisfied that Anakin was sleeping soundly, he pushed himself into a leaning position against the sink and watched as swirling water filled the bowl. Splashing some on his face he concentrated on listening to the Force as it cradled him in its arms. Looking up suddenly he realized he was only clothed in a dark pair of pants and a rather grubby white vest with a pair of braces slung over his shoulders. Confusion once again gripped his heart. Walking slowly he got himself a glass of water and stood on the balcony of the apartment as his focus looked through the panoramic view of Dawn on Coruscant, to an invisible point far in the distance. Scanning his emotions to try and uncover what had happened the previous night he discovered a great underlying feeling of devastation and mental anguish, plus something else. Rubbing a hand over his face and through his beard, he sighed.
"Not a good evening then," he groaned. The other elusive emotion danced on the edge of his conscious, just out of his reach. Frustrated, he sighed, and sunk to his knees in meditation. Frustration and Anger would not help him he realized.
It was only much time later when his head was finally clear that the emotion's name was revealed to him. Love. A beautiful, shining, immortal love that knew no boundaries or rules. The impact of the realization snapped Obi-Wan out of meditation and back into the apartment. He had known love that intense before of course, just in a different way. His love for Qui-Gon was purely as for a mentor, a father and a friend, but this was, well. It was incredible. It was pure and devoted; the love of soulmates. Letting his feet wonder of their own accord he paced round their small apartment. Somehow he could remember singing from last night, but whether it was he singing or someone else, he could not ascertain. Instead of dwelling, he began to clear the table that lined one of the walls of the small mechanical parts that littered the surface. Making sure to treat each piece with care he settled them onto a shelf in a cupboard. He smiled gently. Despite being nearly sixteen, his padawan still enjoyed tinkering with anything mechanical he could lay his hands on, and Obi-Wan could sympathize, seeing that he had a definite interest in mechanical things as well. He was overcome suddenly with the memory of the long standing argument with Anakin over the age he had to be before he could construct his own lightsaber. Anakin had started campaigning at the age of ten, and been refused point blank. In fact, Obi-Wan was convinced that Anakin could manage to make his own at that point, but the laws of the Temple decreed that he was to young. It had been one of the most enjoyable tasks that Obi- Wan had ever had to undertake that day of Anakin's thirteenth birthday when he had presented the boy with two rich, sapphire colour energy crystals, with instructions of construction. A broad grin crept onto his face at Anakin's delight.
Come what May . . . .
The impromptu memory struck him suddenly, with all the delicacy of a hungry Bantha at feeding time. "What in the name of the Force was that?" he hissed, clutching his forehead. A brief vision sliced across his senses. Red hair. Perfume. Elephants.
"Elephants?" he cried desperately, before remembering his sleeping padawan and quieting his voice. "Elephants?" Pushing the cupboard door slowly he rested his head against the wall. On a sudden impulse he yanked the door open again. Reaching to the top shelf he grabbed a bulky box-shaped item and raised himself to the tips of his toes to get a better purchase on it.
"Eugh. Where's Anakin when you need him?" he muttered to no one. It was a joke between Master and Padawan about Anakin's extraordinary height. Heaving, he placed the item onto the table. Stroking the top gently he read out the maker's name.
"Underwood". He remembered the day he got it exactly. He and Qui-Gon were on a peacekeeping mission on the planet of Acres-Caar, which was famed for its markets. On a whim, knowing his padawan's love for restoring objects, Qui-Gon had purchased the broken typewriter. Every spare minute after that, Obi-Wan had spent working on it, restoring it to its original working order. Typewriters were very rare, as everything was carried out electronically. After the restoration, Obi-Wan had delighted in writing with it. It turned out he was very creative, and his stories and songs were passed round the Temple. However, after the death of his master Obi-Wan no longer desired to write and stored the typewriter away, out of sight. Dust now covered the shiny surface, but a quick inspection told Obi-Wan that it was still in working order. Feeding a piece of paper (another rare object) into the top he paused.
Twisting in his seat he eyed the typewriter. The dim light illuminated his features gently, playing with the contemplative look on his handsome face. Intense emotion struck him, and his sadness turned itself into tears that rolled down his face. Great sobs heaved his chest as he began to type, long fingers playing on the keys as it struck him in full clarity. Even the Force seemed to pause as he pushed the hair out of his brilliant aquamarine, sea hued eyes, awash with tears. The tears continued as he read the single line that he had typed at the top of the page.
"The greatest thing you'll ever learn is just to love, and be loved in return"
Finish.
Now your gunna have to go watch Moulin Rouge, aint ya??? You hated it, I can tell! Just tell me what you didn't like, but please be kind.