Title: Three Days
Author: Kadi-Wan Kenobi
Rating: PG
Archive: Please ask first.
Warnings: Violence towards the end.
Disclaimer: Star Wars belongs to GL and his companies. No money is being made off of this. I'm just borrowing them for fun.
*Day 1*
Somewhere in the Jedi Temple, an initiate gazed at his reflection in the small, misty mirror. Already, the section he had wiped off was becoming hazy again. The water must have been hotter than her had realized. He reached out to wipe the mirror again, although there was not much point in doing so, and paused, before writing something in the moisture.
Jedi Padawan Tarren Xand
He looked at it for a moment, picturing himself with the spiky hair-cut and briad of a Padawan Learner, standing proudly beside his Master. Tarren wiped it out, writing a new title underneath.
Farmer Tarren Xand
He stood there, staring. In his mind's eye, Padawan Xand was replaced by Farmer Xand, working for the Agri-Corps, knee deep in Nerf manure. His nose wrinkled involuntarily, as if he could already smell that stench. The picture was by-far clearer than the first, and more likely to happen. The door to the locker room slid open, admitting a bright-eyed Padawan about his age.
"Hey Tarren." THe boy greeted him cheerfully. "Great match. You fought well."
Tarren didn't look at the Padawan. "I lost, Jak."
Jak followed his friends gaze to the inscription on the mirror. "Oh no..." He groaned. "Don't start that again."
"It must be the will of the Force for me to be a farmer. Why else has no Knight or Master asked me to become their Padawan yet?"
"Tarren, you still have over a year until your thirteenth birthday." Jak pointed out, wiping away the offending title. "It's rare for an Initiate to be chosen before their 12th birthday. You'll be chosen. Don't worry."
"That's easy for you to say. You were chosen when you were ten." Jak didn't say anything. The fact was, he had been at the top of their classes, excelling in sparring and levitation, while Tarren just barely passed every class. Both knew this, neither mentioned it.
A distant look came to Jak's eyes, but it was gone as quickly as it had come. "Master's calling. We'll finish this later." He paused in the doorway, turning back to Tarren. "Please do not pack your bags just yet." The door slid shut, leaving Tarren alone once more.
*****
Min Kemia walked down the hall of the Healer wing, looking in on the few patients they had. The older Healers said this was the quietest the Infirmary had been in decades. No relief came with this fact though. The lack of patients held a darker under-tone than in should have. It meant that fewer Jedi survived when the mission turned deadly. In this age of unrest against the Jedi, and fewer Force-sensitive children brought in each year, every loss held greater consequences for the Order.
She shook her head, hating herself for thinking of the deaths of her fellow Jedi in so unfeeling a way, but she had seen the list of losses...a staggering number. It was hard to feel anything but fear these days.
Laughter from the Healer's lounge drifted down the hall, making Min smile despite her sober thoughts. Bant was at it again. Although noone would ever admit it, each and every Healer in the Infirmary thanked the Force for her each day. Bant knew how to make people laugh, usually with a story from when she was a Healer Apprentice. The younger Healers and apprentices especially loved hearing about Master Obi-Wan Kenobi's many accidents as a disaster-prone Padawan. She felt sorry for the great Master if he ever ended up in the Infirmary.
Her train of thought was cut off as her com-link's alarm went off. All sounds of happiness ended abruptly. The Lounge door slid open. The quiet hall was instantly filled with Bant's shouted orders, taking charge of the situation as everyone rushed to prepare for the injured. In seconds, she found herself pulling a stretcher with one group, on their way to the Docking Bay, while the other group hurried to make ready the ER.
Author: Kadi-Wan Kenobi
Rating: PG
Archive: Please ask first.
Warnings: Violence towards the end.
Disclaimer: Star Wars belongs to GL and his companies. No money is being made off of this. I'm just borrowing them for fun.
*Day 1*
Somewhere in the Jedi Temple, an initiate gazed at his reflection in the small, misty mirror. Already, the section he had wiped off was becoming hazy again. The water must have been hotter than her had realized. He reached out to wipe the mirror again, although there was not much point in doing so, and paused, before writing something in the moisture.
Jedi Padawan Tarren Xand
He looked at it for a moment, picturing himself with the spiky hair-cut and briad of a Padawan Learner, standing proudly beside his Master. Tarren wiped it out, writing a new title underneath.
Farmer Tarren Xand
He stood there, staring. In his mind's eye, Padawan Xand was replaced by Farmer Xand, working for the Agri-Corps, knee deep in Nerf manure. His nose wrinkled involuntarily, as if he could already smell that stench. The picture was by-far clearer than the first, and more likely to happen. The door to the locker room slid open, admitting a bright-eyed Padawan about his age.
"Hey Tarren." THe boy greeted him cheerfully. "Great match. You fought well."
Tarren didn't look at the Padawan. "I lost, Jak."
Jak followed his friends gaze to the inscription on the mirror. "Oh no..." He groaned. "Don't start that again."
"It must be the will of the Force for me to be a farmer. Why else has no Knight or Master asked me to become their Padawan yet?"
"Tarren, you still have over a year until your thirteenth birthday." Jak pointed out, wiping away the offending title. "It's rare for an Initiate to be chosen before their 12th birthday. You'll be chosen. Don't worry."
"That's easy for you to say. You were chosen when you were ten." Jak didn't say anything. The fact was, he had been at the top of their classes, excelling in sparring and levitation, while Tarren just barely passed every class. Both knew this, neither mentioned it.
A distant look came to Jak's eyes, but it was gone as quickly as it had come. "Master's calling. We'll finish this later." He paused in the doorway, turning back to Tarren. "Please do not pack your bags just yet." The door slid shut, leaving Tarren alone once more.
*****
Min Kemia walked down the hall of the Healer wing, looking in on the few patients they had. The older Healers said this was the quietest the Infirmary had been in decades. No relief came with this fact though. The lack of patients held a darker under-tone than in should have. It meant that fewer Jedi survived when the mission turned deadly. In this age of unrest against the Jedi, and fewer Force-sensitive children brought in each year, every loss held greater consequences for the Order.
She shook her head, hating herself for thinking of the deaths of her fellow Jedi in so unfeeling a way, but she had seen the list of losses...a staggering number. It was hard to feel anything but fear these days.
Laughter from the Healer's lounge drifted down the hall, making Min smile despite her sober thoughts. Bant was at it again. Although noone would ever admit it, each and every Healer in the Infirmary thanked the Force for her each day. Bant knew how to make people laugh, usually with a story from when she was a Healer Apprentice. The younger Healers and apprentices especially loved hearing about Master Obi-Wan Kenobi's many accidents as a disaster-prone Padawan. She felt sorry for the great Master if he ever ended up in the Infirmary.
Her train of thought was cut off as her com-link's alarm went off. All sounds of happiness ended abruptly. The Lounge door slid open. The quiet hall was instantly filled with Bant's shouted orders, taking charge of the situation as everyone rushed to prepare for the injured. In seconds, she found herself pulling a stretcher with one group, on their way to the Docking Bay, while the other group hurried to make ready the ER.