Toxic Chapter 5: Pride
He wandered aimlessly; having nowhere to go and not wanting a destination. He noticed, with some amusement, that the stares still followed him, but he gathered that it wasn't just his attitude receiving the glances this time. The fact that he was only wearing black leather pants and a thin white tunic and it was pouring down with rain all played a part too. Unconsciously, he found himself walking with his ex-Master's signature swagger: from the hips, shoulders swinging with underlying power (Even if, in Obi-Wan's case, it had been completely oblivious).
He had often commented on Obi-Wan's walk in the past when he had been more trusting and naïve, more easily manipulated by his Master. Commented on how it made every female head, human or alien, turn as he strolled down the temple's corridors.
He wiped every memory of happy times with Obi-Wan from his mind and focussed instead on every glare, every disapproving look and every sigh of annoyance given from his Master.
~Always been a disappointment to you, haven't I, Master? Well, no longer.~ He thrust his hands into the pockets of the black pants, having to use extra force to push his hands into the water-tightened material as it hugged his body in the pouring rain. Wiggling his fingers, he found a small, thin, papery cylinder filled with some kind of fibrous, leafy substance. A grin lit his face.
~Death Sticks~ Yanking the object out his pocket he stuffed one end into his mouth, simultaneously using the Force to heat up one end by blocking out the rain and rubbing the air particles together. He took a deep drag on one end as the other began to glow. He felt the rush of unquestioning reassurance rush through him as the drug began to take effect, and he flicked it to remove the ash accumulated. The question of how it got on his person and how it kept dry while in the pocket of his sopping, skintight pants remained unanswered, but as of yet it hadn't been asked.
The swagger returned as he wandered onwards in the sheeting rain. Looming up ahead was the tall cast iron gates of a small commemorative garden and he wandered toward it aimlessly, noticing figures standing within its boundaries. Unashamed, he leaned carelessly on the edge of the gates and surveyed the scene in front of him, amusement written on his features.
Ahead stood a small group of Padawans of Anakin's age stood, giggling happily, having had been a free evening for some kind of celebration. The group all seemed to be focused on a central person, whom Anakin couldn't see yet. The phrase 'Happy Birthday' was being thrown about in delighted voices. Suddenly, the group parted and the central person was revealed. The young man stood unknowingly directly in Anakin's line of sight.
"Paleeni," Anakin hissed, contempt lacing his voice, caressing it. The man turned sharply and nervously tugged at his robes under Anakin's murderous gaze. He smiled tightly at the other Padawan before turning to his friends and telling them to go on without him. They did as he asked and moved on as a group, buzzing with chatter and excitement, leaving Anakin and Paleeni alone together in the gardens.
"Hey, Anakin, man. How you doing?" he squeaked finally.
"Cut it, Paleeni," Anakin snapped, "Why have you been spreading rumors about me?" Paleeni shifted from foot to foot anxiously, not meeting Anakin's eyes, not noticing the death stick and not seeing the bruise on Anakin's cheek.
"Look, about that, Anakin, it's all a big mistake. I never . . ." He was cut off by Anakin stalking forward and staring down directly into Paleeni's face. He raised his eye-line up to meet Anakin's and was rewarded with a long stream of noxious smoke breathed directly into his face. Coughing, he stumbled backwards slightly. Anakin shouldered past him to walk towards a bench.
"Really," he asked, his voice sarcastic. Bonelessly he sunk down onto the bench, swinging one leg up over the armrest and one arm over the top of the back. Lifting his face to the sky he inhaled another drag of the death stick and held it a few moments, twiddling with the remainder with his prosthetic hand. He blew it out leisurely, reveling in the looks given by the other Padawan. "Leave," he demanded to Paleeni, who spun on his heel and moved to do exactly that, before being stopped by a larger man who directly blocked his path. The shortish Padawan moved to one side only to find his movements matched by the other man. Anakin looked over dispassionately.
"Look what we have here, lads," the man declared, holding Paleeni's shoulders to keep the young man still, "a couple of Snot-nosed Jedi kids." The man leaned down into Paleeni's face. "We don't like Jedi, do we boys?" Behind him there was a murmur in the affirmative from a group of approximately six other men, all as well built as the leading man. The bull like fist that smashed into Paleeni's face was completely unexpected, and confused as he was from Anakin's behavior, felt no warning from the Force.
The sickening smack of flesh against flesh sounded again as the gang crowded round Paleeni. Anakin remained exactly where he was on the seat, only showing the slightest traces of interest at the violence occurring not ten feet from where he was sitting.
~Help him!~ part of his mind screamed at him in desperation, but the more dominant part kept him seated exactly where he was, sprawled across the seat in the pouring rain, smoking. Paleeni's cries called out to Anakin frantically, begging him to help, but Anakin blocked him out.
~What are you doing?~ His mind screamed, distressed. ~He's hurt! He's dying! You've got to help him!~ There was a pause in his mind, the only sound he could hear being the sodden thump of fists against flesh. ~You'll never be a Jedi Knight~ The voice whispered to him. ~You slaughtered all those Tuscan Raiders in cold blood, and now you're witnessing the murder of a fellow Padawan, and all you're doing is sitting, SMOKING~ Even in his mind, the voice sounded to Anakin to be disappointed.
The cries silenced suddenly with a wet snap, which Anakin refused to acknowledge, and the group turned to look at Anakin with expectant expressions. Sighing, Anakin swung his leg back to the ground and stood slowly. He brought his head up last and met the eyes of the leader who looked at him with a strange gleam in his eyes.
"Your buddies dead. Not so powerful now, are you, Jedi?" he declared triumphantly. Anakin rolled his eyes and blew out a breath-full of the illegal smoke into the man's face. Absently, he stuck the stick back into his mouth and, without touching the man, raised his metal hand and curled the fingers into a fist. The thug's eyes went wide and he clawed at his throat desperately, trying to remove some of the pressure around it to clear his airways, making pained gasping sounds. A slight movement of his other hand snapped the man's neck and he fell to the floor, dead.
The rest of the gang of thugs took a step back, wide eyed, from Anakin before fleeing. The Padawan's laugh followed them as they ran.
Flicking the butt of the death stick onto the body of the thug, Anakin stepped over it and swooped down to Paleeni's side, reaching out with the Force. There was a life sign there, but it was feint. Sighing, Anakin put out his hand and placed it on Palaani's forehead, helping the battered body to heal slightly. Hefting the form of the other Padawan up, Anakin strode out the gardens and waved down a speeder-taxi and put Paleeni's form in.
"Jedi Temple. Healers ward. Go, Now!" Anakin barked. The driver looked slightly terrified for a brief second before tugging the credits away from Anakin's grasp and speeding off. Anakin watched him go with a shake of his head.
Turning on his heel he stalked off again in the rain, running a hand through his wet hair absently, feeling the full effects of the drug kick in suddenly, a warm, comforting haze settle over his entire body, making every nerve, real or synthesized, tingle with a thrumming energy. He was aware of every single thing touching his body: the clinging leather and cloth, the braid falling across his chest, his boot clad feet heavy, the cool metal feel of his new lightsaber tucked into the waistband of his trousers at the back, the smooth handle pressing reassuringly against the bottom of his spine. Everything whispered across fiery nerves.
The burst of energy when it came was welcomed. The pure power that flooded his limbs made Anakin feel awesome; needed. His strides became longer and quicker as they led him away from the gardens.
Hurrum Shoom
The breathing, this time, sliced through his mind with such violence that he stumbled and fell, clutching his head in agony, kneeling in the middle of the street on Coruscant, late at night, in the pouring rain, with a heart-wrenching moan.
~Help me~ he whispered in his mind, hopelessly. In reply he felt a gentle touch on his mind from Obi-Wan and he sent back thanks before catching himself and slamming down his shields and sending a harsh rebuff to the Knight. Staggering to his feet he spun, his mind clear of the drug, and felt no surprise at seeing the figure of his Master standing, silhouetted in the rain against the yellow light of the street lamp.
"Anakin," Obi-Wan whispered carefully. Anakin prowled forward to close the gap between them silently before standing in front of the older man.
"Knight Kenobi," he replied politely, bowing slightly. Obi-Wan regarded him, his brow furrowing in confusion.
"Anakin, what are you doing? You will return to the Temple with me immediately, Padawan," he informed, staring up at Anakin. The blow, when it connected to the side of Obi-Wan's head was completely unexpected, and he raised a hand to his temple with a hiss. Anakin glared at him sullenly.
"Padawan? I no longer want you as a Master. I saw you talking to Yoda and Mace today. I know you want to get rid of me, so I'm saving you the hassle. I will make a request to the Council tomorrow for you to sever the training bond and halt all mentoring," Anakin hissed, watching Obi-Wan clutch his head, hurt in his green-blue eyes, sparkling in the lamplight.
"And you are so sure I was talking to them about that, Anakin? You have no back up for that claim, and I deny it. I did not speak to Master Yoda and Master Windu regarding your training today," Obi-Wan replied quietly. Anakin felt his confidence falter slightly, before rage took over.
"LIAR!" he roared, putting all his energy into shoving the Knight as hard as he could, before throwing his head back and curling his hands to fists by his sides. "You never wanted me! I hate you!" With that, Anakin pulled out his lightsaber from the waistband of his trousers and lighting it at Obi-Wan's throat.
In defense, Obi-Wan danced backwards, out of the range of the humming blade, making a simultaneous ducking and sliding movement. Anakin slashed at him madly, power but no style in his strokes. Backing up, Obi-Wan half crouched in preparation as Anakin held the blade out, rage in his eyes. "Anakin, put down your lightsaber," Obi-Wan half commanded, half pleaded, his voice thick with confined emotion. A crowd began to gather behind Anakin, curious but a safe distance away, huddled together in the rain, watching the two Jedi. "Anakin, please. Put down your lightsaber," Obi-Wan repeated, holding his hand out.
Anakin watched him carefully, the pair remaining perfectly still, half crouched, dripping and tense in the middle of one of Coruscant's walkways; a wall to one side and the rest of the street the other; speeders whizzing high overhead.
A sneer flashing across his features briefly and he aimed a high slash at the top part of Obi-Wan's chest. In return, Obi-Wan dropped to his knees and rolled, passing under the deadly blade. He returned to his feet with his classic feline grace and cursed silently to find himself trapped against the wall. He was part way through working out how to use the wall to his advantage when he felt the heat of the lightsaber blade bared by the Padawan near his cheek. He raised his hands, palms outwards to Anakin, the angry red marks from the cuts inflicted from the glass that morning displayed to Anakin, who locked his eyes on Obi-Wan's. The resolve bled from Anakin's face.
"Why won't you fight me, Master?" he asked, his voice sounding very young and helpless, his eyes boring deep into Obi-Wan's soul. Without breaking eye contact, Obi-Wan answered.
"I will not raise my blade to you, Padawan mine," he murmured, "there would be no justification for it." The sneer returned to Anakin's face.
"Then I will kill you," he declared, sweeping the blade behind him, ready to strike. But yet, Obi-Wan remained where he stood, palms up, eyes locked on his Padawan's.
"So be it," he whispered gently.
Anakin swung his blade.
He wandered aimlessly; having nowhere to go and not wanting a destination. He noticed, with some amusement, that the stares still followed him, but he gathered that it wasn't just his attitude receiving the glances this time. The fact that he was only wearing black leather pants and a thin white tunic and it was pouring down with rain all played a part too. Unconsciously, he found himself walking with his ex-Master's signature swagger: from the hips, shoulders swinging with underlying power (Even if, in Obi-Wan's case, it had been completely oblivious).
He had often commented on Obi-Wan's walk in the past when he had been more trusting and naïve, more easily manipulated by his Master. Commented on how it made every female head, human or alien, turn as he strolled down the temple's corridors.
He wiped every memory of happy times with Obi-Wan from his mind and focussed instead on every glare, every disapproving look and every sigh of annoyance given from his Master.
~Always been a disappointment to you, haven't I, Master? Well, no longer.~ He thrust his hands into the pockets of the black pants, having to use extra force to push his hands into the water-tightened material as it hugged his body in the pouring rain. Wiggling his fingers, he found a small, thin, papery cylinder filled with some kind of fibrous, leafy substance. A grin lit his face.
~Death Sticks~ Yanking the object out his pocket he stuffed one end into his mouth, simultaneously using the Force to heat up one end by blocking out the rain and rubbing the air particles together. He took a deep drag on one end as the other began to glow. He felt the rush of unquestioning reassurance rush through him as the drug began to take effect, and he flicked it to remove the ash accumulated. The question of how it got on his person and how it kept dry while in the pocket of his sopping, skintight pants remained unanswered, but as of yet it hadn't been asked.
The swagger returned as he wandered onwards in the sheeting rain. Looming up ahead was the tall cast iron gates of a small commemorative garden and he wandered toward it aimlessly, noticing figures standing within its boundaries. Unashamed, he leaned carelessly on the edge of the gates and surveyed the scene in front of him, amusement written on his features.
Ahead stood a small group of Padawans of Anakin's age stood, giggling happily, having had been a free evening for some kind of celebration. The group all seemed to be focused on a central person, whom Anakin couldn't see yet. The phrase 'Happy Birthday' was being thrown about in delighted voices. Suddenly, the group parted and the central person was revealed. The young man stood unknowingly directly in Anakin's line of sight.
"Paleeni," Anakin hissed, contempt lacing his voice, caressing it. The man turned sharply and nervously tugged at his robes under Anakin's murderous gaze. He smiled tightly at the other Padawan before turning to his friends and telling them to go on without him. They did as he asked and moved on as a group, buzzing with chatter and excitement, leaving Anakin and Paleeni alone together in the gardens.
"Hey, Anakin, man. How you doing?" he squeaked finally.
"Cut it, Paleeni," Anakin snapped, "Why have you been spreading rumors about me?" Paleeni shifted from foot to foot anxiously, not meeting Anakin's eyes, not noticing the death stick and not seeing the bruise on Anakin's cheek.
"Look, about that, Anakin, it's all a big mistake. I never . . ." He was cut off by Anakin stalking forward and staring down directly into Paleeni's face. He raised his eye-line up to meet Anakin's and was rewarded with a long stream of noxious smoke breathed directly into his face. Coughing, he stumbled backwards slightly. Anakin shouldered past him to walk towards a bench.
"Really," he asked, his voice sarcastic. Bonelessly he sunk down onto the bench, swinging one leg up over the armrest and one arm over the top of the back. Lifting his face to the sky he inhaled another drag of the death stick and held it a few moments, twiddling with the remainder with his prosthetic hand. He blew it out leisurely, reveling in the looks given by the other Padawan. "Leave," he demanded to Paleeni, who spun on his heel and moved to do exactly that, before being stopped by a larger man who directly blocked his path. The shortish Padawan moved to one side only to find his movements matched by the other man. Anakin looked over dispassionately.
"Look what we have here, lads," the man declared, holding Paleeni's shoulders to keep the young man still, "a couple of Snot-nosed Jedi kids." The man leaned down into Paleeni's face. "We don't like Jedi, do we boys?" Behind him there was a murmur in the affirmative from a group of approximately six other men, all as well built as the leading man. The bull like fist that smashed into Paleeni's face was completely unexpected, and confused as he was from Anakin's behavior, felt no warning from the Force.
The sickening smack of flesh against flesh sounded again as the gang crowded round Paleeni. Anakin remained exactly where he was on the seat, only showing the slightest traces of interest at the violence occurring not ten feet from where he was sitting.
~Help him!~ part of his mind screamed at him in desperation, but the more dominant part kept him seated exactly where he was, sprawled across the seat in the pouring rain, smoking. Paleeni's cries called out to Anakin frantically, begging him to help, but Anakin blocked him out.
~What are you doing?~ His mind screamed, distressed. ~He's hurt! He's dying! You've got to help him!~ There was a pause in his mind, the only sound he could hear being the sodden thump of fists against flesh. ~You'll never be a Jedi Knight~ The voice whispered to him. ~You slaughtered all those Tuscan Raiders in cold blood, and now you're witnessing the murder of a fellow Padawan, and all you're doing is sitting, SMOKING~ Even in his mind, the voice sounded to Anakin to be disappointed.
The cries silenced suddenly with a wet snap, which Anakin refused to acknowledge, and the group turned to look at Anakin with expectant expressions. Sighing, Anakin swung his leg back to the ground and stood slowly. He brought his head up last and met the eyes of the leader who looked at him with a strange gleam in his eyes.
"Your buddies dead. Not so powerful now, are you, Jedi?" he declared triumphantly. Anakin rolled his eyes and blew out a breath-full of the illegal smoke into the man's face. Absently, he stuck the stick back into his mouth and, without touching the man, raised his metal hand and curled the fingers into a fist. The thug's eyes went wide and he clawed at his throat desperately, trying to remove some of the pressure around it to clear his airways, making pained gasping sounds. A slight movement of his other hand snapped the man's neck and he fell to the floor, dead.
The rest of the gang of thugs took a step back, wide eyed, from Anakin before fleeing. The Padawan's laugh followed them as they ran.
Flicking the butt of the death stick onto the body of the thug, Anakin stepped over it and swooped down to Paleeni's side, reaching out with the Force. There was a life sign there, but it was feint. Sighing, Anakin put out his hand and placed it on Palaani's forehead, helping the battered body to heal slightly. Hefting the form of the other Padawan up, Anakin strode out the gardens and waved down a speeder-taxi and put Paleeni's form in.
"Jedi Temple. Healers ward. Go, Now!" Anakin barked. The driver looked slightly terrified for a brief second before tugging the credits away from Anakin's grasp and speeding off. Anakin watched him go with a shake of his head.
Turning on his heel he stalked off again in the rain, running a hand through his wet hair absently, feeling the full effects of the drug kick in suddenly, a warm, comforting haze settle over his entire body, making every nerve, real or synthesized, tingle with a thrumming energy. He was aware of every single thing touching his body: the clinging leather and cloth, the braid falling across his chest, his boot clad feet heavy, the cool metal feel of his new lightsaber tucked into the waistband of his trousers at the back, the smooth handle pressing reassuringly against the bottom of his spine. Everything whispered across fiery nerves.
The burst of energy when it came was welcomed. The pure power that flooded his limbs made Anakin feel awesome; needed. His strides became longer and quicker as they led him away from the gardens.
Hurrum Shoom
The breathing, this time, sliced through his mind with such violence that he stumbled and fell, clutching his head in agony, kneeling in the middle of the street on Coruscant, late at night, in the pouring rain, with a heart-wrenching moan.
~Help me~ he whispered in his mind, hopelessly. In reply he felt a gentle touch on his mind from Obi-Wan and he sent back thanks before catching himself and slamming down his shields and sending a harsh rebuff to the Knight. Staggering to his feet he spun, his mind clear of the drug, and felt no surprise at seeing the figure of his Master standing, silhouetted in the rain against the yellow light of the street lamp.
"Anakin," Obi-Wan whispered carefully. Anakin prowled forward to close the gap between them silently before standing in front of the older man.
"Knight Kenobi," he replied politely, bowing slightly. Obi-Wan regarded him, his brow furrowing in confusion.
"Anakin, what are you doing? You will return to the Temple with me immediately, Padawan," he informed, staring up at Anakin. The blow, when it connected to the side of Obi-Wan's head was completely unexpected, and he raised a hand to his temple with a hiss. Anakin glared at him sullenly.
"Padawan? I no longer want you as a Master. I saw you talking to Yoda and Mace today. I know you want to get rid of me, so I'm saving you the hassle. I will make a request to the Council tomorrow for you to sever the training bond and halt all mentoring," Anakin hissed, watching Obi-Wan clutch his head, hurt in his green-blue eyes, sparkling in the lamplight.
"And you are so sure I was talking to them about that, Anakin? You have no back up for that claim, and I deny it. I did not speak to Master Yoda and Master Windu regarding your training today," Obi-Wan replied quietly. Anakin felt his confidence falter slightly, before rage took over.
"LIAR!" he roared, putting all his energy into shoving the Knight as hard as he could, before throwing his head back and curling his hands to fists by his sides. "You never wanted me! I hate you!" With that, Anakin pulled out his lightsaber from the waistband of his trousers and lighting it at Obi-Wan's throat.
In defense, Obi-Wan danced backwards, out of the range of the humming blade, making a simultaneous ducking and sliding movement. Anakin slashed at him madly, power but no style in his strokes. Backing up, Obi-Wan half crouched in preparation as Anakin held the blade out, rage in his eyes. "Anakin, put down your lightsaber," Obi-Wan half commanded, half pleaded, his voice thick with confined emotion. A crowd began to gather behind Anakin, curious but a safe distance away, huddled together in the rain, watching the two Jedi. "Anakin, please. Put down your lightsaber," Obi-Wan repeated, holding his hand out.
Anakin watched him carefully, the pair remaining perfectly still, half crouched, dripping and tense in the middle of one of Coruscant's walkways; a wall to one side and the rest of the street the other; speeders whizzing high overhead.
A sneer flashing across his features briefly and he aimed a high slash at the top part of Obi-Wan's chest. In return, Obi-Wan dropped to his knees and rolled, passing under the deadly blade. He returned to his feet with his classic feline grace and cursed silently to find himself trapped against the wall. He was part way through working out how to use the wall to his advantage when he felt the heat of the lightsaber blade bared by the Padawan near his cheek. He raised his hands, palms outwards to Anakin, the angry red marks from the cuts inflicted from the glass that morning displayed to Anakin, who locked his eyes on Obi-Wan's. The resolve bled from Anakin's face.
"Why won't you fight me, Master?" he asked, his voice sounding very young and helpless, his eyes boring deep into Obi-Wan's soul. Without breaking eye contact, Obi-Wan answered.
"I will not raise my blade to you, Padawan mine," he murmured, "there would be no justification for it." The sneer returned to Anakin's face.
"Then I will kill you," he declared, sweeping the blade behind him, ready to strike. But yet, Obi-Wan remained where he stood, palms up, eyes locked on his Padawan's.
"So be it," he whispered gently.
Anakin swung his blade.