Well, it has been quite a *long* time since I've written anything and even longer since I've posted. School is, what I like to call, a royal PAIN and so writing time is very hard to come by. Oh well. That's why I look forward to breaks. And so, here is a short fic which I wrote on one such break. Enjoy and remember FB is a wonderous thing.
Disclaimer: The characters, save for Milto and the barmaid, are not mine but belong to GL. No permission is granted and no money is given for the use of these creations.
Rating: G
Timeline: Post- EP. III/Pre-ANH
Genre: Angst/drama - non-slash
Summary: A traveler, an anniversary, and a time for remembrance.
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JUST ANOTHER FACE
By: Susie
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The lone figure sat at the bar with an untouched drink propped before him. His eyes stared unmoving at this beverage, but it was obvious that he truly did not see it. His mind was not on the present, but rather lodge firmly in the past that seemed so much longer ago than it really was. He was not given a second glance by most in the cantina, for weary and wayward travelers were not an uncommon sight. And this single man looked no different from the hundreds of others that found their way into this bar. Those that did stop and take a second glance of the man found themselves staring at a very anguished being. More so, than most that walked into the cantina. Even the most causal observer could see that time had not been kind to this stranger and sought to still beat him down. What, at one time in the past was probably a very handsome face, had been chiseled and left looking much older than the years the man truly possessed. A shaggy mop of almost white blond hair hung limply around the man's face desperately in need of a cut, and a beard, of at least a few weeks, covered his chin. He was also in need of a shower, for dirt clung to almost every visible spot on his body. Yet, even with all this, he was still a good looking man, but there was a beauty beneath all the wrinkles and lines that spoke of what he could have really looked like had life been kinder.
His poster was hunched, shoulders sagged, and his neck at a downward angel causing the white blond hair to hang in his face that successfully hid him prying eyes. But, even as he sat thus, it appeared to be a conscious effort on his part, telling that this stranger was not meant to hide under a curved back and lowered gaze. There was an almost regal air about him, one that spoke of commandment and power, although that, much like his appearance, had been beaten down. It look as if this stranger sought to hide from both the world and himself, although such an action was useless. All in all, even without a single word or any interaction with anyone, the man seemed to tell much of his secret life by appearance. There had been too much pain and suffering inflicted in much too short of a time on this stranger. He was silent, save for the clipped ordering of his drink, and appeared completely unaware of the things around him; too focused on his inward pain. Yet there was just something about his stature that made one believe he was ready for action and all too aware of his surroundings.
He was not a normal customer in this cantina, although an older waitress told the younger and newer ones that she always saw him around the bar this time of year.
"Almost as if he comes here on an anniversary," she had said with a shrug of her shoulders. "He started coming about five years ago and, like clockwork, shows up at dawn on this day and stays for a while until he leaves without a word." She had paused to look at the man with a soft sigh. "I would love to know why he comes here, but I won't ever ask." Nor would anyone else no doubt.
He was a silent enigma that came in with the wind one day a year and left just as silently a few hours later. The drink was never touched and a word never uttered. No one knew who he was or why he came and, in truth, no one wanted to know. All feared that his story would be too sad and bittersweet to handled and so, all went on with their daily activities ignoring the traveler.
All save one.
Milto had only come to the bar a week ago looking for work. Luckily (for him anyhow), an old barman had passed on and he was given the job without a second glance. He was grateful, although still longed to be elsewhere, for an out-of-the-way space cantina, even on Coruscant, was no place to earn a living.
The young man had been beginning his shift when the stranger entered, he had even been the one to take the man's drink order. For hours, as Milto went about his work, the haggard man sat at the bar, never speaking again or moving at all it appeared. Finally, the end of his shift had come and Milto noticed that man still sitting. Still staring.
Still eerily silent.
"Sir?" The young barman inquired softly and was met by a pair of pale green eyes with soft flecks of yellow mixed in. Their coloring was lovely and somewhat out of place on the worn face, for they betrayed the man's real age and youth, although pain and loss radiated in them. His eyes were sharp with attentiveness, and yet not completely focused on the young barman before him, as if lost in a haze of memories. They silently spoke of this man's sorrow-filled past like a window to the soul. Yet, they also held a longing in them as if this traveler wanted to release the pain from his past, but had yet to find anyone who would listen. Or, perhaps, anyone who was worthy.
"Can I get you anything else?" Milto ventured carefully, his own eyes still locked on the man before him, hoping that he may earn this strangers trust enough for them to speak further.
"No," came the simple and curt response letting Milto know that he was not the one to hear the man's tale.
Milto nodded, but did not leave. "What brings you here today?" He asked rather causally, as if trying to disguise his interest.
For a moment it appeared as if the man would remain silent, and Milto's question would go unanswered, but then, after a beat of silence, the man spoke:
"I'm remembering," and that was all. He stood ere Milto could utter another word and left the cantina. The young barman watched the traveler leave and then looked down to see a single Republic coin sitting on the bar. With a sigh, he took the currency and placed it in his pocket knowing his boss would not accept any such coin as payment. Who was this man that used coins from the Old Republic as if they were current, Milto wondered as he wiped the counter. In time, as Milto moved further away from the cantina, life taking him elsewhere, he would forget the stranger that had visited the bar and left behind the Old Republic coin. But the stranger would never forget the young man who had so innocently tried to bring him into conversation. It was this particular man's curse that he was so able to remember every minuet detail, both good and bad.
Back in the streets of lower Coruscant, the man from the bar stopped in front of one of the few holoscreen that littered the less than beautiful section of the city-planet. The man stopped for a moment catching the trail end of a broadcast.
"...on Coruscant Emperor Palpatine is in high spirits at the fifth annual parade celebrating the destruction of the Jedi Temple and the beginning of the plan to rid the galaxy of these demonic creatures..."
The traveler turned and wove his way back into the crowd without a glance behind his shoulder at the holovid that was currently showing clippings of this parade taking place a few hundred feet above his head in the very spot where the Temple once stood. How he hated this day and all the memories it brought back! The memories of friends - family - long gone, killed in a single moment, in the one place all believed to be a sanctuary.
Remembering, he thought with a scoff. He was not remembering any more than the others that still lived were. They were grieving for the fall of the Temple and Jedi just as they had done for the past five years, although the number of grievers grew fewer with each passing day.
The figure was soon lost in the crowd, another face, another story, another traveler weary of life and of pain. In a year's time, he came back to the same cantina and remembered - grieved - once again for his fallen comrades. As he did the year after that until he himself fell against the shadow of darkness. And for those who would remember him, he would always just be another stranger.
Another face in the crowd.
To himself though, he would always be a Jedi, no matter what ultimate fate that brought him.
The End
Further author note: The Jedi was, originally, going to be Obi-Wan and he is the inspiration for this however I wanted this Jedi to remain nameless as kind of a testament of what they all, those who were still alive, went through. You may place a face and name with him if you like, but I prefer him this way.