A Cruel and Unusual Romance-Part One- A Story by DarthIshtar
It was a time-honored tradition, but something that no one particularly wanted to acknowledge. Worst of all, like most time-honored traditions, it was both an embarrassment and a service opportunity. Nevertheless, every twelfth day of the second month, the Jedi could anticipate the arrival of their assignments.
They were delivered quietly sometime during the night without fanfare or knowledge of who dispersed the datacards. Some of the younger ones would anticipate the event with such great trepidation that they would wait until their Masters were asleep and then keep a silent vigil beside the front door.
It was said to be one of the greatest lessons that a Jedi could learn if he applied himself properly to the task at hand, but those who had experienced it knew that it usually ended in something equivalent to heartache and tears.
The older group was divided in its perspective, since most held sympathy for those who were not accustomed to it, but others gloated over the inexperience of their younger compatriots and took every opportunity to make the situation worse.
The assignments pleased no one, but they were normally accepted with both resignation and obedience.
For the most part, that is.
Obi-Wan could remember his first assignment as if he were still twelve years old. He had been chartered by the Chandrilan delegation and it was considered both an easy task and a great honor, but he had made the mistake of attempting to blot out the entire event in a most inappropriate manner.
To whit, he had accepted the Chandrilan cognac that was offered every few minutes in order to 'loosen up' as his Master had counseled. He had woken up the next morning half-dressed on the streets of Coruscant, head throbbing both from the hangover and the fact that he had run into Master Yoda sometime during the night.
In the four years since that debacle, he had learned both temperance and humility in facing this challenge, but it didn't make the event any easier.
"Stop watching the door," Qui-Gon commanded sternly. "Sitting next to it until the break of dawn won't hasten the delivery."
"No," Obi-Wan agreed gloomily, "but I'll get first crack at it, as they say."
He seemed to be more eager than the previous year, which suggested that he had an ulterior motive, but it was difficult these days to find a Jedi who didn't.
"You have your eye on anything in particular this year?"
"Not at all," Obi-wan muttered, peering intently under the crack of the door to spy the approaching messengers.
"There is nothing to be worried about," Qui-Gon soothed. "It wil be a learning experience to say the least."
Obi-wan turned a reproachful glare on him. "I'm sure you'd be just as anxious as I am if you hadn't been on the short-list of the Alderaanian delegation for the last thirty years."
It was true that his assignment had been almost exclusively Alderaanian since his days as a Padawan and that was one of the more enjoyable aspects of this much-anticipated fiasco. The administrative aide that he had met in his third year and who was now the senior Senator was a good friend in particular.
This is ridiculous.
"Padawan," Qui-gon barked, "if you don't move in three seconds, I'm going to have to assign you to minding the younglings for the next three months."
Within two seconds, Obi-wan had demonstrated remarkable agility in scrambling to the other side of the room.
"I'm up! I'm up!" he yelped in obvious panic.
"Good," Qui-Gon said calmly. "Now, let's have a sedate, civilized..."
"Delivery!"
They both scrambled back across the room, snatching up the datacards and heading off in opposite directions to find an available datapad.
Obi-wan's hands were trembling so hard that he was amazed that he could even find the slot for his datacard, much less activate it, but his efforts were rewarded a few moments later when the text came on-screen.
Padawan Kenobi,
We thank you for your willingness to cooperate in the yearly public relations effort to be held on the fourteenth day of the second month. We know it will be an excellent learning experience as it has been for the Jedi in the last three hundred years. This year, it is the wish of the Corellian embassy that you liaise with Lady Carmyn Delairs, daughter of the chief ambassador. She awaits your contact to make the necessary arrangements. We anticipate that you will bring honor to the Jedi in this time-honored tradition and that your efforts will only further our cause of promoting good relations between our Order and the peoples whom we serve. Again, we thank you for your efforts. Sincerely,
The Jedi Council
The wording was formal, but he just knew that they had been laughing uncontrollably (or however the Council did such things) while writing the assignment. Indeed, the assignments themselves were evidence of a cruel sense of humor from generations past.
It had begun, as the Council claimed, in an effort to promote understanding between the Jedi and their Force-blind counterparts. They would accept the invitations of any distinguished party that would offer one of its own and allow one of the Jedi to escort them in a night of activities.
The Jedi had strict guidelines that forbade romantic attachments and this one excursion seemed to always devolve into the efforts of the non-Jedi party to marry one of their own to a suitable Jedi. It therefore had the effect of terrifying almost every Jedi into following the guidelines on love.
It had worked so effectively that for many generations, every Jedi from the age of twelve on had been forced to go on one date to break the spirit of his or her hormones. It was remarkably successful.
Obi-Wan glanced over the brief missive once more, but it didn't inspire the same terror as in years past.
An ambassador's daughter. Well, it was better than last year's attempts to ingratiate himself to a swoop-racer from Raltiir. This young woman would know things such as decorum and refinement.
Perhaps he had overestimated the Council's cruelty.
"Absolutely not," Mace snapped.
"A great honor this is," Yoda countered. "Good relations we must build with all sentients and respect you greatly they do."
Well, that was understandable, since he had negotiated a trade agreement that had narrowly avoided slave trade on that world. And he was a member of the Council, so they would expect him to set an example for the others.
Still...
"I can't even pronounce her name," he lamented.
"Ralataricha," Yoda supplied. "A most agreeable name suggesting her nobility."
"Ralataricha," Mace muttered. "I wouldn't be able to say it ten times fast, much less remember the inflections."
"No need for that is there," Yoda assured him, whacking him with his gimer stick, which seemed to be his only gesture of affection. "Call her Rala you may."
That was better. If his escort were already being less formal than some of his other victims, it boded well for their ability to converse freely. There was just one objection to the entire arrangement to be had.
"I am not spending my yearly date with a Wookiee!" "What time is Lady Delairs arriving?" Qui-Gon asked idly.
"1800," Obi-Wan supplied, running a comb through his damp hair. "What about Noela?"
Qui-Gon scowled at the mirror at the casual way in which Obi-Wan referred to Senator Ovorp, but given the number of years that she had been a friend to them both, it was hardly surprising.
"The same," he explained. "We had no desire to make things awkward for you by forcing you to meet your companion on your own."
"I've heard she's quite charming," Obi-Wan mused, frowning into the mirror as he prepared a razor and foam for his jawline. "Just a few months younger than me and with aspirations to enter the diplomatic corps."
"I've heard the same," Qui-gon said mildly. "What are your plans for the evening?"
"Dinner to start with and we have tickets to a concert given by a friend of hers."
"Really," Qui-gon said with a smile. "Your idea or hers?"
He could see Obi-wan's smile under the shaving foam. "I did my research, Master, just as you requested."
Obi-Wan frequently made him proud, but it was rarely due to obedience. Qui-gon found his own smile growing.
"And yourself?"
"Dinner at the 23rd Hour," he named the restaurant that he and Noela had discovered on their first 'assignment' together, twenty-four years ago, "as per tradition. Then we thought we'd go to the new exhibition at the Republica Gallery."
"Thrilling, I'm sure," Obi-wan snorted.
It wasn't thrilling, per se, but Qui-gon had certainly grown to enjoy this tradition, this yearly opportunity to cement friendship and explore new ones. The situation with Noela was hardly romantic, though they kept in touch several times a week both out of friendly affection and diplomatic necessity, but it was certainly comfortable.
Suddenly, the door chimed.
"Blast," Obi-wan stammered. "She's early!"
There was no doubt who he meant by 'she,' since they would have recognized Noela outside, but the person impatiently hit the chime once more as Obi-wan hastily finished his shave and toweled off, heading for the door.
Qui-gon, not one to miss a spectacle, moved to a position where he could observe the proceedings.
The first thing he noticed when the door opened was the hair. A surprisingly flattering shade of fuschia, it was a stark contrast to the skin that looked as if it had never been touched by sunlight, but matched the eyepaint and lipstick perfectly. Below that, there was a good deal of bare skin before the strapless black-and-fuschia corset began, followed by a skirt that was certainly long enough to be modest, but cut up the sides so that absolutely nothing would be left to the imagination once she started moving along on those swoop-racer booted feet.
"Good evening," she said in a lilting, cultured voice. "If you are Obi-Wan, then I suppose that makes me your date for the evening