Sing It Again, Obi-Wan
by ardavenport
He was warm.
He liked these feelings very much; warm and sleepy, he floated in a comforting, timeless peace, like the Jedi Temple, with no worries of his mission, of the hostage transfer, because everything was done and ready and it wasn't really important. . .
He moved and the slippery sheet covering him chilled the skin of his bare chest.
Obi-Wan Kenobi bolted upright among the scented pillows and cushions.
He was alone. The late afternoon light leaked into the dark and empty room through chinks in the curves and slats of the window screens.
Obi-Wan whirled. The service droid hummed in it's corner alcove. It's three yellow eye sensors blinked, it's wide head pointed toward him. Obi-Wan gulped and tossed off the chilly sheets. He slid to the edge of Foona's round sleeping platform. Only sixteen years-old, he felt small on the cushioned space. He could not imagine why a single person, not much bigger than he was, would require such a huge area for sleeping. But this place with it's satiny, frictionless coverings was not optimized for resting.
He stood. More lights on the droid activated as it prepared to clean up after its master. Obi-Wan went to the fresher.
How could he have fallen asleep, he wondered.
Off balance, he washed and tried to think of when Foona had gotten to him.
"Last night, I dreamed of The Yarbo. The nights so warm, we ran so fast. . . ."
Obi-Wan dutifully 'Oooooooh'ed on cue.
". . . .Far away, wild and free; you came to me and I. . . ."
Obi-Wan inhaled deeply for another longer 'Ooooooooh'.
"Oh, basnatz, put some feeling into it!" Foona demanded, again. Her hands on her curvy hips, her purple eyes glaring at him. The music moved on to the next verse and she shut off the recorder.
Feeling some impatience as well, Obi-Wan said nothing. He had been doing everything she had told him to, but she never seemed to be satisfied.
She pointed at him. "People will believe that I might have taken you on as my latest boy toy, but they're NOT going to believe that I put you in the back-up singers if you can't put out." She scowled. "It might be better for you to be waiting tables after all."
Waiting tables had been their first option, but being on stage with the band was much better. He would have a clear view of the entire dance floor and the rest of the nightclub. It was unlikely that Qui-Gon would need any help with the hostage transfer, but it was still possible.
Foona folded her arms over her generous chest. She wore plain pink pants and shirt and jeweled rings on her bare toes. The simple but low-cut top revealed the lavender skin of the double mounds of her bosom. Even dressed casually, with no facial make-up, her purple-streaked hair tied back, her sexuality remained her most dominant feature. Dressed in sparkling, glowing gowns, her hair wild and fluffed out, her beautiful face perfectly painted, she drew the desires of her audiences to her like a dancing enchantress with every note she sang.
"Do you not like the song?" she asked.
He shrugged. He did not dislike the song. The tune was pretty.
He sat on the edge of Foona's sleeping platform in her private room; she stood before him. This was the only place where she could drill him on the basics of performance singing without attracting attention. Every musician and singer in her band had been selected through rigorous auditions, even the ones who were spies. Foona only knew about one of them, the one who had presumably told her about the impending hostage transfer.
Obi-Wan had learned the parts he was supposed to sing on the first day she had taught them to him, but Foona was a perfectionist and as demanding as any Jedi Master. She had been teaching and drilling him for days about proper breath control and volume and tone. After all that she still complained that he was 'flat' somehow though Obi-Wan was sure that he was singing all the notes correctly.
"Do you know any songs that you do like?" she demanded.
Obi-Wan couldn't think of anything suitable. He knew about music, one of a wide range of arts taught to younglings in the Jedi Temple. He had sung with his clan mates, but that was more for play than any serious study. The Masters had said that he sang well, but it had never been a particular interest for him.
"Do you know ANY songs at all?"
"Well, yes, but. . . ."
"Then sing something. Sing anything, just as long as it's something you know and you like."
Obi-Wan pressed his lips together and then opened his mouth.
"Reach down in the Force,
Feel your center true,
All around, all within, all without, find your source,
Always guiding you."
Foona looked like she had just tasted something unpleasant. That offended Obi-Wan. It was a harmless children's song, meant to be sung in a round. The tune and words were easy to remember, and very hard to forget. It was the first thing that Obi-Wan had thought of when she asked him to sing something he knew.
"I guess I should have clued in on you before now. You Jedi channel all your feelings into the Force, so that's where your singing should come from, too." She put her hands on her hips again. "Give me another one, Force-boy."
Obi-Wan stared.
"How do you know about the Force?"
"I don't," she snapped. "But I had a pretty good education about you religions types, so I know what you're supposed to know about it."
"You did?"
Foona sighed. "My mother was a Sister of Albadi. She taught me everything she knew."
Obi-Wan's brow furrowed.
"The Sisters of Albadi are celibate," he replied.
"Yes," Foona nodded. "She was a fallen acolyte. And after she raised me and I could support myself she dutifully killed herself to atone for it."
Obi-Wan stared back.
"Can I get another song out of you now?"
Obi-Wan sang 'Light of the Force' and 'The Force Flows'. Foona rolled her eyes when he finished 'Trust Your Feelings'.
"OK, that's about as much youngling school as I can take for now. Did you ever really listen to the words of the last one? About feelings? Well, whatever it is you do with the Force, I want you to do it with the music, Okay?"
Obi-Wan bit his lip. There were Jedi who used song to project mind influences, but that was a practiced skill that he did not have and would not presume to attempt.
"Just try it," Foona urged him tiredly, reaching for the music recorder.
". . . .The nights so warm, we ran so fast. . . ."
"Ooooooo-oooooh."
Obi-Wan thought about Force-racing with other Padawans in the interior gardens of the Jedi Temple.
". . . .Far away, wild and free; you came to me and I come to you. . . ." Foona's expression had become hopeful. She stepped toward him making 'continue' gestures.
"Ooooooooooooooooh, oooooooooooo-ooo-oooooh."
Obi-Wan thought about lightsaber sparring, a good match, his thrusts fast and sure.
". . . .we rise and fall in the heat of our love. . . ." Nodding, Foona took his arms, stood him up and guided him through the simple dance steps that he would sway to with the other back-up singers.
Obi-Wan wasn't using the Force. He was only thinking about using it, but the music did feel different to him; he sang with less effort. 'You have to sing like you breathe, because you have to, not because I told you to,' Foona had said many times. He felt like that now.
". . . .wild and free; you came to me and I come to you. . . ." Foona's voice soared over the notes. She kept her hands on his hips as she moved closer to him in an abbreviated version of her own much more strenuous dance for the song.
"Oooo-ooooooooooooo-oooo-oooo-ooooooh."
Obi-Wan belatedly realized that he could sense Foona's love of the song through the Force and use that to sing with. He moved with her, now aware of the expression of feeling that had been lacking in his earlier performance.
So, when Foona came to the verse of the song where she would huskily speak to the audience and her lips began caressing his, her hands massaging his body with the rhythm of the music, it felt completely natural to him.
Alone in the fresher, Obi-Wan reflected that Foona had not done anything that he had not already heard about. But now he had crossed the huge void between studying and experiencing things like that with another person.
He spent a long time in the fresher. Using all of the facilities, he focused on the mundane task of cleaning and trimming to settle his thoughts in a very rudimentary meditation.
Foona had obviously delighted in making him her real life 'boy toy'. He had indulged his curiosity. With his Jedi training, Obi-Wan could control the blood flow to every part of his body and Foona had demonstrated her satisfaction with this several times.
Yet even though he knew she was using him, he also felt as if he had been using her, and he was not happy with this. He had used the Force for the strength and endurance that Foona had squealed and cooed over. But for that kind of control, he could not immerse himself in his actions. His thoughts always stayed with the Force. He had ridden on the ecstacy of her emotions, almost as an observer.
Finally, when Foona's considerable energy waned, she had informed him that he hadn't fooled her at all.
"Why are you holding back?" Foona idly wondered as she stroked his back. He was sprawled over her because she said that she liked feeling his weight on her. He did not think he weighed much more than she did.
He lifted his head.
"What?"
"Oh, you aren't fooling me, my little Obi. You're just going through the motions." She ran her fingers slowly down his spine. "They're very good motions. Very, very, very good." She pulled his head down so she could lick and nibble his chin. "But you're not really there. Like when you were singing before. I can tell."
His head jerked up again. He could barely read her expression in the dim light, but her eyes looked intently up at him, like they were trying to find a way inside. She moved and he slid off of her. On their sides, amid the plush cushions, they faced each other.
"You're like my mother. Morning devotions. Evening devotions. She was so dedicated to it, so disciplined. But there were never any devotions for me." Her hand rubbed his side as she spoke. She liked touching him; she did it without thinking about it. He always carefully chose where he would put his hands and what he did with them.
"I used to think I was selfish for wanting it so much when I was your age. I felt guilty. The only thing I ever wanted more was to sing. And that's all I ever got," she admitted, her voice sad.
"I'm sorry," he told her softly. He laid his hand on her waist.
"Hmmm." Her lips touched his forehead in a simple gesture of affection. "Thank-you. That's sweet." She nudged a little closer to him. "Can you tell me, my little Obi, what you want? What you really want?"
'I want to be Jedi', Obi-Wan thought immediately. But he hesitated to say them; the words sounded so shallow, rehearsed. They only skimmed the depth of what he strove to be. He did not dare utter any words about discipline, not after what Foona had just said about her mother.
"When I follow the Force, I feel complete. I guess I want that."
"Well, I suppose that's all we ever want." she whispered, pulling herself closer so that his head rested on her shoulder. He smiled, happy and content that he found the right words, his eyes closing. He sighed next to her warm skin.
When he reentered the sleeping chamber, light shone in through the windows, everything was cleaned and in order, and the droid settled back in its alcove. He tugged his borrowed tunic and pants in place and slipped on his sandals.
He heard a noise, voices, in the next room. The door silently slid aside for him.
Obi-Wan froze in the doorway.
Now covered in a loose, pink kaftan, Foona turned from the light meal on the table before her. Qui-Gon Jinn stood in his Jedi robe opposite her, his arms folded before him.
"Show's on tonight, my little lover," Foona smiled seductively. "I was just telling your Master here that I think you've learned how to hit all the high notes." Obi-Wan blushed but Qui-Gon hardly glanced at him though he scowled at the singer's teasing.
"All the parties have finally agreed that the exchange will be tonight." Obi-Wan heard some relief in his Master's voice. He had hardly seen Qui-Gon for days. The older Jedi had been part of the secret talks with the various negotiating teams. Obi-Wan did not even know where they had been held.
"So the hostage that no one wants to admit to having can finally go home?" Foona asked. She did not sound like she really cared. Obi-Wan knew she didn't.
"Yes," Qui-Gon stated. "After I have him we will be gone immediately." Qui-Gon nodded toward Obi-Wan and he nodded back.
"That's fine with me. If I knew that this club was so thick with spies I might have booked myself somewhere else." Then she leaned on the table, stretching herself toward Qui-Gon. "Unless you want to stay for a three-way," she suggested, grinning. "He can really sing. It's such a waste that he doesn't use it. I taught him everything I know."
Qui-Gon tilted his head toward her, neither offended nor interested. He walked around the table and dragged a chair around close to Foona. He sat down. Then Qui-Gon conspicuously licked an index finger and held it up to Foona's lips. Her eyes widened with surprise as he pressed it along her sensuous lower lip and then her upper. Then her eyelids drooped and she moaned.
Through the Force Obi-Wan sensed her falling completely under Qui-Gon's mind influence. She reached for him but he easily caught her wrists.
"I am told, Foona, by your fellow musicians," Qui-Gon said, his voice low as he guided her hands to her chest, "that you are in the habit of recording some of your favorite conquests, for your own entertainment." She moaned again.
"Oh, yes. Would you like to see what we did? He doesn't have any style and he's too skinny, but he makes up for it with youth." The tip of her tongue ran over her lips where Qui-Gon had touched them.
He leaned closer to her.
"Aaah, but I think that might be a disappointment. In comparison. It would be best to destroy the recording before it can ruin this moment." Foona pouted, but then sighed, smiling.
"Ooooh, it really would be," she agreed.
One hand barely touching her, Qui-Gon guided her up out of her chair and toward the sleeping chamber. Obi-Wan hopped out of their way and they disappeared, the door sliding closed behind them.
Stunned, Obi-Wan stared after them. Then he backed away from the door in case he might hear something. He stepped down into the sitting area. Obi-Wan suddenly felt painfully aware of the difference between boy and man. Qui-Gon satisfy her lust. He did not need the mind influence to know what she wanted and give it to her, while Obi-Wan could only flail about, not knowing his own feelings.
Moments later, Qui-Gon emerged, his Jedi tunics and robe in place, his long hair unruffled. He went to the sitting area. He held out Obi-Wan's lightsaber to him. Obi-Wan took it.
"Master, I'm sorry, I. . . ." Qui-Gon stopped him with a raised hand.
"Padawan, I realize the gravity of the situation for you. And I regret that it could not be avoided while I was engaged in the negotiations. I do not blame you for becoming entangled with Foona. F'zah," he named the agent in Foona's band that she knew about, "seemed convinced that this was inevitable. As his own entanglement seems to have been." They both suspected that this was why F'zah had told Foona about the hostage transfer in the first place.
"Have you betrayed any confidence about our mission with her, Obi-Wan?"
He shook his head. "Nothing about our mission, Master."
He raised his eyebrows at this phrasing. "Do you have any strong feelings for her?"
Obi-Wan gulped. He did not like saying that he did not. That seemed cruel. He shook his head. "I do not think she is a bad person," he finally stated.
Qui-Gon smiled down at him.
"No," he agreed. "She is not." He took a seat on a plush couch and Obi-Wan sat next to him. "But she is a woman of strong appetites." Obi-Wan acknowledged that. He looked toward the closed door of the sleeping chamber. Qui-Gon followed his gaze.
"She will be busy with her appetites for the moment." Obi-Wan did not ask about that.
Qui-Gon quickly briefed him on their mission. The hostage, a scholar and political advisor, would arrive with his captors. They would all be disguised as night-clubbers. Qui-Gon would also be disguised. They would pass their hostage off to Qui-Gon on the dance floor. The nightclub thoroughly scanned all its patrons for weapons before they were allowed to enter, but Obi-Wan, technically an employee, would not be. He would have both their lightsabers ready in case there was a problem. Near the end of the song, Qui-Gon would move close to the stage. F'zah would call for a break to tune his instrument, covering Obi-Wan's departure. They would leave together.
Their heads turned when the door to the sleeping chamber slid open again.
Her purple eyes blazing with fury, Foona hurled a long object at Qui-Gon.
His lightsaber flying to his hand, Qui-Gon destroyed it in mid-air. Then he slowly lowered the bright green blade so the tip pointed at Foona's middle. The weapon hummed ominously.
Her eyes wide with shock, Foona stared at the deadly lightsaber.
She adjusted her loose kaftan and strolled forward, descending to the sitting area. Qui-Gon's lightsaber followed her.
"That looks a bit phallic, don't you think?" she commented, settling herself on the couch opposite them.
Qui-Gon's lightsaber blade vanished. He returned the saber hilt to his belt.
Foona unhappily glared at both of them. Qui-Gon looked quite unaffected though Obi-Wan felt embarrassed for her even if she didn't. Her expression softened.
"Well," she said. "I guess I can't say that you Jedi didn't show me a good time."
It was not late. The pedestrian way was still crowded. Hovercars descended into the club's entryway. Party-goes disembarked, laughing and jostling each other.
Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan, moved among them. They had left the former hostage with his comrades. There had been some tears of joy among them. They were gone already. The two Jedi now only had to return to their ship at the spaceport.
Qui-Gon, taller than most of the crowd, led them to the parking hangar where he had a transport. His hair, beard and mustaches sparkled with entwined jewels. His eyes were accented in blue and red lines and he wore a close-fitting, blue body suit that shimmered with rainbow decorations on the arms and legs.
Obi-Wan's face was powdered to perfection, every bump or spot covered over and his features re-painted for the stage. His long-sleeved, glittering shirt opened in a V that reached down past his naval to a low, golden belt that held up long pants that flared wide at the bottom. His boots matched the belt and his headdress matched the shirt. Their lightsabers were still concealed in his shirt sleeves.
Nobody noticed them. To the casual observer Qui-Gon was just another party-goer among many, leaving early with his young man.
Obi-Wan glanced back toward the crowded club entrance. There were no good-byes. Their mission was successfully done and they were leaving. Foona had played the proper song when they signaled her. The exchange and their exit had been uneventful. Still on stage, she did not even glance at them when they left.
They entered the parking hangar and Qui-Gon gave his chit to the attendant droid. The sounds of the crowd faded behind them.
"You look thoughtful," Qui-Gon commented as they waited for their transport to arrive.
"I don't think I will forget this mission, Master," he replied, not wanting to discuss any details in a public place.
Qui-Gon nodded his understanding. "No. I would expect not." Then he smiled. "But I must agree with Foona on one point." He laid his hand on Obi-Wan's shoulder. "You can sing."
END
(This story was first posted on the Jello Anarachy forum and an expanded version on tf.n -- 12-Feb-2007)
(The character, Foona, also appears in the my story, 'Better Days')
Disclaimer: All characters and situations belong to George and Lucasfilm; I'm just playing in their sandbox.