The curtains pulled back on the little stage to reveal a young woman and an instrument made up of many keys. She wore a glittering blue gown and headdress, and Obi-Wan could tell by the way the crowd hushed, the way the club itself seemed to hold its breath, that she was no amateur. Obi-Wan, strangely enough, could not remove his eyes from the sight of her.

She began playing softly, simply, with a single dark melody; the sound was crisp and smooth, and as it grew thicker and louder Obi-Wan found himself intensely entranced. He was not one against music, he enjoyed it. But he rarely often . . . felt things by hearing it, as he was then.

"Like her?" Obi-Wan was startled somewhat at Emalie's voice, distracted enough to not sense her approach. She set a glass of an orangey drink on the table, sitting and pulling her chair closer to Obi-Wan's to speak softly in his ear, "They call her Wisper because when she plays, the club members can't help but do so. This is the quietest it gets all night. Hundreds of people, all shut up for one girl. Barvy, isn't it?"

Obi-Wan nodded, not willing to risk his voice covering the music. The notes she played glittered with intense clarity, the rhythm pulsing evenly, nearly in time with the heartbeat that seems to blare intrusively in Obi-Wan's ears. Subtly, he could feel her presence on the Force was bright, which sparked curiosity in the Padawan: was she Force-sensitive?

"Where is she from?" He asked under his breath.

Emalie shrugged, "Don't know. Came when she was just a kid and played with her parents in nightclubs and things. Don't know what happened to them, but they made her pretty famous. She lives here, now, on Coruscant. That's all I know of her."

Another silence pierced only by a few weak, final notes was soon enveloped in applause and cheers as she finished. She took a bow before strolling offstage, and the announcer introduced the next act. She was gone.

"Can . . . I meet her?" Obi-Wan asked, the music of the next performance drowning his speech, and Emalie frowned, speaking over the noise the best she could, "Why would you want to do that?"

"Why wouldn't I?"

Her pout deepened. Jealousy, he thought, seeing such then in Emalie's eyes, and he said reassuringly, "Don't worry, I'll be back, if you'll wait for me."

Emalie's face lit in a smile, the previous emotion forgotten, and "She's back stage, the third dressing room. Don't keep me waiting."

Obi-Wan gave her a nod, glancing back to the Senator momentarily before making his way behind stage. His Master had said he would do the dirty work, but Obi-Wan felt uneasy leaving the Senator alone. The feeling was diminished under the fascination he had toward the girl. Something in the Force seemed to nudge him along, to hint to him softly. Obi-Wan was not an expert in the ways of the Living Force, but now he seemed to feel it close to him. His Master's teachings were rubbing off on him. A stab of guilt pierced him again but he eased it.

I'll only be a minute, he insisted, entering the darkness of the crowded hall, pressing through the bunches of future performers. He could see only silhouettes, glimpse of painted faces and scintillating costumes, and could smell alcohol around him like a fog. The club was only a few steps above the sleaziness of a cantina, and it was proved then to Obi-Wan that it was hardly that.

Finding the third room, with a flimsy sign marked "Wisper Morro – Do Not Enter" stuck on the outside, the Padawan knocked quickly, eager to escape the crowded hall.

A muffled cry cam for the opposite side of the door, "Come in!"

Obi-Wan opened it slowly, stepping into the bright lights of the dressing room. A rack of sparkling and gowns was shoved to the left, and a small cot covered in music sheets held the other end. It felt cozy and comforting, like she dwelled there often. In the center was a vanity surrounded by bright bulbs, before which a young girl sat unpinning a large blue headdress from her head.

Ob-Wan cleared his throat when she did not notice him, and she looked at him in the reflection of the mirror only, "Whom are you?"

"I . . . Ben, I'm B-Ben." The stutter happened without realization, and Obi-Wan shook his head as if to shake it off and forced a cover smile. Come on, Kenobi, he told himself, don't look foolish.

The girl smiled back, unamused, "Great, listen, I don't do autographs, holographs, or holorecordings. I'll take five questions, maximum."

"What?"

"Well, aren't you here to interview me?" She turned then, and Obi-Wan could see for the first time her liquid green eyes. He paused for a moment, weighing out his options, "Yes, yes of course."

"Take a seat, then. I'll give you ten minutes." Wisper gestured to a small footstool aside the bed, and Obi-Wan sat on it unenthusiastically, feeling and looking ridiculous. He could tell she did this often, and her respect for journalists seemed to have faded likewise. Obi-Wan found himself annoyed by how she shrugged him off. He didn't usually care if others liked him or what they thought of him, at least beings he had no connection to. She made him feel worthless.

Nevertheless, he straightened his jacket and sat tall, not willing to make a fool of himself despite her efforts, "Alright Miss Morro, first question."

Obi-Wan watched her finally pull her headdress loose, revealing fall of auburn hair. He hesitated as she ran her fingers through it slowly, combing into the softness of it –

"Hello?" Wisper called, and Obi-Wan snapped himself back. She stared at him impatiently, her brows drawn close, "I'd tell you to take a holograph if I could – it lasts longer."

"Apologies." Obi-Wan fought to keep a straight face. Focus! He told himself, the word hinting the tone of his Master's voice when he'd call on the boy during saber practice after receiving a sting on the chest. Obi-Wan cleared his throat, "What is your real name?"

Wisper's face hardened, "How do you know my name isn't really Wisper Morro?"

"I'm asking the questions, miss." Obi-Wan smiled to himself at her frustration.

Wisper heaved a furious sigh, "My name's Lystra. It means 'song of the waters.'"

Lystra. Yes, he could see it in her emerald eyes, the soft expression she wore then, and asked, "May I call you Lystra?"

Though he could see by her tensed expression that she was annoyed, Obi-Wan could not sense such. He extended his senses toward her inquisitively, and found her mind guarded slightly by force of will; whatever she knew about the Jedi, she still used to her advantage. Likewise, Obi-Wan shielded himself, figuring if she could do one thing, she most likely could do another, and had no desire to have her probe his own mind.

"If that's question number two, then sure." Wisper rose, placing her headdress on a shelf lined with other colorful headpieces, "If not, then never."

"Let's say not." Obi-Wan watched her gather scattered flimsy sheets and dishes on the floor and commented lightly, "I suppose you're not always this tidy?"

"You should see my apartment." Wisper gathered a bunch of sheets and dumped them into her closet. "But that's besides the point."

"Alright, question two: where were you born?"

"Corellia. Next?"

"How long have you been playing music on Coruscant?"

"Since I was seven."

"So . . ."

"Eight years."

"Quite. Question four . . . ." Obi-Wan's words faded as Wisper began to unzip her long dress. She noticed his eyes and scoffed, slipping behind a tall concealer, "What?"

"N-nothing."

"You didn't think I'd just strip in front of you, did you?"

"No." Obi-Wan tried to control his flaming cheeks, "Of course not."

She peeked out a bit, enough to see the bare of her shoulders, "Unless you'd like me to –"

"No!" He nearly shouted, and took a breath, "No, don't. I'm not here for any of that."

"I was kidding." Wisper smiled gently, seeming sorry for the joke, seeing the redness on the former's face, "I didn't mean to . . . upset you."

"I'm not upset." Obi-Wan didn't personally admire her pointing out his discomfort, and he quashed his embarrassment, So much for not making a fool of myself. "Question four: are you familiar with Jedi studies?"

Wisper's voice was confused, "Jedi? Like what? I know who they are."

"Yes, but you haven't..." He couldn't flat out ask her - he was a journalist, still, not a Jedi, "...taken lessons or learned anything?"

The hesitation sparked curiosity into a flame in Obi-Wans chest, and Wisper gave him a look, amused why the matter seemed so crucial to him, "I've done my research."

"That isn't an answer."

"Yes, then. And that's all you will know."

Obi-Wan was relieved she could not see the expression of interest on his face, "Perfect. Alright, final question: when can I interview you further?"

Wisper revealed herself from the concealer, dressed then in a loose scarlet shimmersilk dress that collected just below her feet, sitting at her vanity again and removing her dangling cerulean jewels earrings, "It depends. I'm here all week. Are you truly that interested in me?"

"Of course. I'm sure I'm not the first."

She scoffed, "You wish. Most of the others only come back asking for holos, which I don't do, or business deals, which I also do not do."

"No worries Miss Morro, I only wish to speak with you more. Maybe as a friend instead of a reporter," Obi-Wan rose and she turned to looks at him, eyes deeper than before, "I don't do friendship." All that mushy relationship stuff doesn't ever work out for me."

"Maybe you have not yet found a true friend." Obi-Wan shrugged, "Or maybe you haven't been trying."

"Am I supposed to trust you or something?" Wisper narrowed her eyes, and Obi wan could feel in the force her shields harden as did the gaze upon him, "Because I don't do that either."

Obi-Wan could see in her tense eyes faint reflection of a lesson learned about trust, the hard way, he figured. Her caution was not foolish, but a bit more than instinctive, more practiced. She had experience with liars and cheaters and swindlers and advantage takers, all the sleazy no good inhabitants of the lower levels.

But something, something she did not and probably would not tell him was seen, and as Obi wan studied her gaze he noticed a scar at the corner of her eyelid, thin and faint, trailing down the side of her cheek until her earlobe. She must have covered it with make up, he supposed, musing how it looked almost like a permanent tear trail on her delicate, otherwise unblemished, skin.

Seeing her still firm expression, Obi-Wan proposed half jokingly, "Why don't you interview me, then, and I'll prove to you I'm trustworthy?"

Wisper didn't hesitate, "Tomorrow. I'm free then."

Great, look what I've gotten myself into. Obi Wan's mind raced for a minute, calculating when or how he could escape the temple tomorrow, between the saber practice and scheduled sparring be had with Garen, the meditation session he had promised his Master - and wasn't he supposed to assist the Crèche Masters with the infant initiates nightly schedule?

The opportunity would not likely happen twice - if he didn't accept, she'd assume he lost interest, and she still did not trust him. It would be trivial to sacrifice his duties to see her. Sacrifices, he thought, for what? This girl I barely know, who happens to know a thing or two about the Force, and could possibly be a Jedi herself?

"Tomorrow." Obi-Wan decided without second thought, "But don't be offended if I can't make it."

"Other plans?"

"Other priorities."

Wisper nodded, holding out her hand. Obi-Wan blinked, leaning forward to see one of her earrings resting there, and she said gently, "To remember me by."

"But...You're missing one now."

"You'll have to return it to me then, won't you?" Wisper smiled at her own clever thinking.

Obi-Wan took it, tucking it gently into his pocket and unpinning one of his badges to give to her, a small round crest with shiny green designs around a roaring, winged creature, "And this one to me - it is my fathers, so be sure to keep it safe."

"Yes, I will." Her tone was genuine, the first hint of it Obi-Wan had heard.

"May I call you Lystra now?"

Wisper bit her lip, "Yes. Consider yourself lucky."

Obi-Wan felt oddly honored at the gesture, sensing her relax her shielding. He relaxed his also to allow her to feel his appreciation and honesty -

Padawan!

Obi-Wan flinched, hearing his Master's voice speak through their bond in a current of alarm.

Obi-Wan?

Obi-Wan switched his attention in seconds, Yes Master?

I've been calling you - you've had your shields up!

"Blast." Obi wan said audibly and Wisper giggled. He realized how stony his expression had become, how serious.

"What's wrong?" she laughed, "You look like you've seen a ghost."

"I wish -"

Padawan!

Obi-Wan cursed himself, Yes Master, I was distracted -

No time for that; where is the Senator?

Where I left him, he almost replied, but instead said, the entertainment area, fifth table from the front.

Are you monitoring him?

Obi Wan's hesitation told all.

Where are you Padawan?

The boy could feel the tense frustration in the inaudible tone, and glanced to Wisper, seeing the concerned confusion in his odd silence, and hesitated yet again.

"One moment." he said to her, turning to face the opposite wall. His Master spoke through the link shortly, "Where are you?"

"Close by-"

"Where Padawan?"

"...Back stage of the entertainment area."

"And you left the Senator unattended?"

Obi-Wan hated how his master always found a way to squeeze the truth from him- or may be how he couldn't help but tell it, "I only meant to be a few minutes-"

"And so does the Senator, and whoever is here trying to kill him. You have endangered not only the mission but the Senators life, the club members and our own because of your lack of focus. You must always be attentive, my apprentice. What if you were hurt? I had no idea where you were or what was happening. Your carelessness has caused you to forget our purpose here, and make things more difficult for us."

"I thought...I though you said you'd handle things."

"Not alone - and that is no excuse for you to run off and shut me away. I suspect you've had a good reason to be shielding me?"

Wisper shifted, and Obi-Wan sighed, knowing she could detect the intent of their conversation, Force sensitive or not, "No Father, not a good one."

At the cover name, Qui-Gon took realization, "Whom are you with, Obi-Wan?"

He reflexively looked over his should at her, "I...it's, I'm - she's just a performer."

"I see. A performer."

The indication was palpable, and Obi-Wan shook his head, "Master, its not like that, she isn't - I'm just-"

"Alone with a woman in a nightclub, shielding your Master from you for no good reason?"

Any explanation was useless then, any apology, though he yearned to express both. His Master was more than upset, and had every right to be. Shame trickled through his voice as Obi-Wan whispered, "What must I do Master?"

"I am currently on the opposite side of the club. I need you to find the Senator and approach him. I've acquired information that leads me to believe an assassination attempt will occur on Thor-Chio Dawn, and whatever may or may not happen will happen very soon. Make haste, young one." The tone was nowhere close to lighthearted.

"Yes, Master." Not even a goodbye, a "we will speak of this later", or a hint of forgiveness was heard as the link closed. Obi-Wan shoved his comm back into his pocket, turning back toward a concerned Wisper who still watched him intently. She did not even ask, waving a hand toward the door with an understanding smile, "Go on, then. We'll talk tomorrow"

With one final apologetic look to her, Obi-Wan nodded, taking off into the hallway and shoving hastily through the entertainers with an added urgency. Please, he begged, please let him be there. He would be in too much trouble to imagine if he'd let the Senator get away. He thought of the punishment: a lengthy lecture, a day or two of intense meditation and studies, exercises like hand-standing and levitating items simultaneously to help him to learn to focus. And of course, the natural but most difficult discipline, his Master's disappointment. Obi-Wan could nearly hear Siri's teasings and Garen's sympathy - both which he personally avoided. He had to resurrect the mission, not only for his sake, but the mission's itself.

Obi-Wan moved quickly, then, to avoid a group of dancers racing past him and he ducked beneath a man with a long wooden instrument fractions of a second later. He imagined the hall was like a small maze, like the obstacle-training course at the Jedi Temple. Obi-Wan remembered times when he had beat his peers in races around the course. His analytic qualities paired up with the split-second thinking acquired from his Master aided him greatly. He was a natural.

Obi-Wan leapt over the legs of stretching contortionists sitting along the floors and slid against the wall past one of the largest beings he'd seen so far. He swiftly crawled beneath a table being lifted through by a group of men and tucked into a roll to stand and again duck beneath the four chairs that followed.

Almost there, Obi-Wan said to himself, pausing for a breath only to be shoved from behind by a passing Rodian male, dressed in a long purple robe adorned with many glittering sequins, which pushed him to the grimy floor headfirst. A wave was felt in the Force, a warning, and Obi-Wan sat up, rubbing is cheek empathetically, to find a blaster suddenly pointed directly at his face.

"Don't -"

It was all he managed before it was fired.