(WARNING- A little bit of adult language in this chap, folks.- Tovah)
Anakin Skywalker was in a terrible mood.
He stomped with purpose through the murky, earth toned patches of water littering the dirt path between the bulwarks of dripping canvas tents, notably glaring anywhere but at the mocking dusk sky, which was of the sickliest oyster gray… gelatinous and dusty; festering maliciously as it threatened yet another blitz of sleet.
And it was cold.
Oh Force was it cold. He rubbed the tip his reddened nose with a leather-gloved hand, wincing as the stiff hide chafed the irritated skin. The chill was nearly enough to sear his heaving lungs, crushing air from them even as he drew breath, releasing puffs of raw steam into the surrounding atmosphere. He shivered intensely. His cloak…his stupid, piece of shit, Temple issued cloak…was rented in several places and decidedly too sheer for the weather.
"Good evening, Commander."
"Shut UP!" Anakin harrumphed loudly, tramping stiffly past the cheery, saluting, alabaster clad lieutenant that had spoken. He had no right to even sound content in this fucking climate! It was wrong. It was unnatural. He himself was exhausted, soggy, frozen, filthy, and had determined several hours ago that he was no longer in disposition for sincerities.
The clone responded in apology, ostensibly unfazed as he watched his grumpy commandant storm past, sending mud spattering over a few of his napping brothers, causing them to sputter awake and fumble for their helmets.
Satisfied with that for the moment, Anakin trudged further down the soggy path, reaching his own sodden, camouflage printed tent with unconcealed relief. The opening flap was unlatched and folded somewhat to the side, the biting wind causing the (partially) waterproof fabric to quaver erratically as it pushed into the refuge.
Ah. Obi-Wan had to be back from the expatriate camp, then. He pushed it aside impatiently.
"Master?" he called in a properly whiney voice, squinting.
There was no answer, and shrugging, Anakin stepped forward into the gloom, kicking off his boots and shedding his soiled cloak in favor of the thicker, warmer one hooked to one of the tent's supports.
"Obi-Wan?" Anakin asked again, prodding the strangely muted bond and peering into the gloom as he hugged the comforting fabric closer to his waterlogged body. The temperature of the tent was no different from outside, he realized with his intense disappointment. In any other situation, Anakin would have suggested to himself a fire, (Their portable space heater had already blown…how extraordinarily astonishing.) but that was far too risky. The wafting of smoke could let the enemy identify their position from miles away, and that plainly would do a lot more harm than good.
He pulled the cord on the artificial lighting system that hung from the upper rigging, and it sputtered to life, splashing a warm orange glow over the interior of the shelter. Obi-Wan's boots and brown socks lay in sopping wet heap on a provisional table in the corner, as did his russet, nerf hide gloves, smudged with unspeakable filth and crusted with liquefying ice.
"Master?"
…………………………………………………………………………………………………………………
Siri Tachi was not a pleased woman.
Whatever she had expected the Council to do with Obi-Wan (not that she really had high prospects…it was the Council, after all), that little number had definitely not been it.
She did not like this sudden disregard for him, this blatant shelving of his requests. Obi-Wan was one of, if not the,finest in the order, and they had just treated him as if he were a crippled nuisance. It was peculiar to her, considering they had always held him before as a near favorite, if you would dare call it that. Force, they had sent the whole goddamn population of able-bodied Knights, Masters, and Padawans after him during the Geonosis disaster! And there had been many an instance where other knights had been discharged in favor of him, she included. What was different now?
She watched the wavering, blushing man begin to eliminate his cloak, tunic, and footwear as his eminent rites commanded, moving oh so cautiously, as if the simple series of motions were enough to threaten him from his calm.
Wasit these new injuries? She frowned, mazarine eyes following the path of the whey colored tabard as it fluttered from his shoulders to the floor. She had yet to get the full story on what happened, and everyone seemed so serious. Was it simply field wounds, or something more grave?
She glanced at Anakin. The boy had a strangely enraged look on his face, the muscles in his neck and thin jaw bulging from his bullion toned flesh as he stepped forward to help Obi-Wan's skeletal arms from the last layer, a thin pliable shirt of translucent white weave. Obi-Wan thanked him quietly, patting his hand dimly before slowly moving from his knees to lie prostrate on the intricately tiled flooring, barely silent coughs shuddering through him in ceaseless waves.
The Council Chamber suddenly became very still. Every eye, with the exception of Anakin and Bant- for they knew, they had already beholden - was trained on the man's bared upper body, features ranging from horror to pity. Siri herself was somewhere in between the two, nearly reeling as she took in the endless splashes of bruising, the revoltingly prominent trace of ribs, the pink, not quite healed whip wheals, the punctures, and the now goose-bumped skin that quivered in its exposure to the running cooling system.
The man gave a thin, tired sigh.
"Oh, Obi-Wan…" Garen gasped quietly, striding over to him and crouching, letting his dearest friend rest his forehead in the palm of his hand rather than the chilled marble. "Damn. I'm…oh, dear gods. I'm so sorry, mate. I didn't know it was this bad."
Obi-Wan offered a small, enervated grin of empty reassurance, shrugging. Even a weak Force user could have felt the thick tendrils of shame swelling off of him as the room stared like a fascinated crowd at a popular exhibit. He wanted nothing more than for this to be over, and here they were renouncing again that humble wish.
"I'm fine, Garen. Really I am." He murmured, lifting his weary head and clasping the soothing hand that cradled it. "Get back in line."
"Obi-"
"Please." he whispered.
Garen ran a hand over his face and through his carroty hair. He stood, looking square into Yoda's mossy eyes. "With all due respect, Councilors, Obi-Wan should not depart from the Temple. I wasn't going to say anything, but this has now become out of hand."
"I agree," a strong female voice chimed stridently as Siri finally overcame the initial shock, stepping forward to stand abreast of Garen. "I don't think this is the time. Forgive me for being so bold, but I am appalled at your lack of deference for him. He is terribly ill."
"Stand down, Tachi." Mace said firmly.
"No, she's right, Master." A soft, reserved voice muttered.
Mace turned his hairless head toward the small Mon Calamari, obsidian eyebrows raised. "Is that so?"
Siri could practically see the little alien recoil, blinking at the powerful Jedi Master with wide eyes. "Yes sir. I-"
"Stop it."
Everyone whipped around, staring at Obi-Wan. He looked back at them decisively, eyes bright despite his restricted breathing. His face was wholly tranquil, as was usual, a stone mask that was becoming weathered and more prone to fissures with each demand.
"Thank you for everyone's touching concern." he said tightly, strong jaw muscles bunching visibly. "But if I may elucidate myself a bit more clearly… I. Am. Fine."
There was a moment of incredulous silence.
"I cannot believe that just came out of your mouth." Siri groaned intolerantly, raising her eyes dramatically skyward in time with Anakin.
"Don't be unreasonable, Obi." Bant added at the same time, hands planted on her hips.
Obi-Wan glared, pushing himself up onto his elbows. "Look , it's just going to be a quick jaunt to another planet and back, nothing too serious…"
"And if it's a trap?" Siri snapped.
"That's why I have Anakin." Obi-Wan answered coolly. "I trust him to eventually pull me out of whatever bird infested tree I happen to end up hanging in this time."
The rest of the room snickered despite themselves, and Anakin blushed. There was a well-known story that went with that little comment.
Siri, however, was not amused.
"You are absolutely insufferable, Kenobi."
Obi-Wan's head cocked, a soft grin plastered on his face. "It's my rank ceremony, Siri." He reminded her sweetly.
"A complete lunatic."
"I'm sure you will respect that…"
"A harebrained, unbalanced loon…"
"…and eventually stop insulting me…"
"…A brainless, unhinged, impractical, childish git…
"…because it's not really very nice"
"…who is really ticking me off." Siri finished.
Obi-Wan looked her over resignedly. "Are you quite finished with your tantrum?"
Siri sniffed, scowling at him.
Obi-Wan fell back into his original position with satisfaction.
"Master Windu, can we please, please get this over with?"
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