A Night's Refuge
A Vignette by LuvEwan
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The desk was rickety, the surface cracked with age, and covered in stains. A lamp dangled low, and spread ugly jaundiced light across the woman's fingers.
She drummed them absently, jagged nails clacking on the wood. Her other hand was propped under her sagging chin.
When the door managed to slide noisily open, she raised rheumy eyes and bushy brows, threads of shadow gripping to her high, brightly rouged cheekbones.
The doorway was filled with a hulking figure possessing broad shoulders and a thick, powerful body.
Her own willowy, hunched frame trembled slightly when the man stepped closer , immerging from the darkness.
Her heart thumped. A smaller, unconscious man was carried in well-muscled arms, and though he was no child, the stranger didn't seem to mind the weighty burden.
The older man's eyes were the color of twilight, but murky clouds eclipsed that rich blue beauty.
And, for some reason, she relaxed, her tightened lungs easing. She stood from her hard-backed chair, smoothing out the dismal gray dress that hung loosely on her.
"Can I help you sir?" She croaked, and offered a rare, unguarded smile.
Qui-Gon returned the expression, but it was painfully weary. "Yes." He whispered.
His voice was low and husky. She had heard the tone often, many times from her own dry throat. The grating sound of exhaustion.
"I.have no credits."
"Oh." Her gaze raked over his face, searching the leonine features for some sort of trickery, a hint of the crude greed she was accustomed to here. But her probe found nothing, save raw honesty.
The man swallowed. "I would not ask, but my.son is so tired. He can't go any further." Those hazed eyes dropped momentarily to the floor. "I can't go any further. We need a place to rest.Please."
She walked from the behind the desk, glancing at the sleeping youth before shifting her attention to the man again. "This isn't the most desirable hotel, if you haven't noticed. But it's the cheapest you'll find 'round here. So it's pretty much full."
Qui-Gon blinked, disappointment visible in his slightly slumped posture.
She held up a wrinkled hand. "But there is a spare room for employees, if you would like. Nobody's using it right now."
Qui-Gon released a grateful sigh, smiling. "Thank you."
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The Jedi Master scanned the hotel corridor discreetly as the woman led him down to the room.
From behind closed doors he heard muffled shouts and louder curses, saw the flicker of faulty glow rods and peeling, yellowed paint, smelled the must and smoke.
Felt his apprentice's soft damp skin against his cheek.
The heat of his spent body spurred Qui-Gon forth when he would turn back.
"Here we are." The woman announced quietly, fiddling with the lock.
Qui-Gon shielded Obi-Wan's exposed ear from the din of a sudden, close crash.
"Damn drunk." She grumbled in her sour voice. The door finally opened, and the woman shuffled inside, yanking the weak light on. Qui-Gon followed.
The room was cramped, containing a single thin coat, a dust-coated table, with a lavatory attached.
"This is it." She patted his arm awkwardly. "I hope you have a good rest."
Qui-Gon smiled, allowing the tired shadow to clear, to reveal a thankful twinkle. "You have my deepest gratitude." He told her.
She only nodded, and returned to her work, apparently resigned to the gloom, leaving him in the tiny space.
Qui-Gon moved slowly to the bed, and with the gentlest of care, lowered Obi- Wan down.
The young man's body stretched out, relieving crowded, sore muscles. Qui- Gon sat heavily at his side, and slipped off the dirty boots, peeled away the stockings.
Obi-Wan breathed out, turning on his side.
The Master watched him a moment, then removed his own footwear and trudged to the adjoining room. The bare bulb stood starkly out on the ceiling , and in the half-light, he saw it was blackened.
He was too tired to be irritated. Qui-Gon tied his tangled hair back, splashing lukewarm water on his face. Their transport broke down in the thick of the planet's slums, poor, high-crime areas that stretched for miles upon miles. Both Master and Padawan were dehydrated by nightfall, the latter reaching a nearly comatose state, barely able to walk.
Qui-Gon swept him into his arms, ignoring the burning of his own overworked joints.
He made it a few miles before he was forced into the shabby hotel, unable to continue without a few hours of descent slumber.
The Master shut off the unsteady stream of water once their canteens were re-filled. He left the meager light to shine dimly, too uncomfortable to sleep in complete darkness.
Obi-Wan was lying on his back, red-tainted slits focused blearily on his mentor. "Where.are.we?"
Every word sounded breathless and labored. Qui-Gon hooked his hands under the student's arms, and lifted him to a sitting position, placing a container of cool water in the shaky grip.
Obi-Wan shook his head, tried to shove it back.
Qui-Gon stroked the sweaty strands of wilted, ginger hair. "Drink it, Obi- Wan." He coaxed softly. "Then we can sleep."
At first, Obi-Wan could do no more than sip, pausing to shudder at the sudden moisture. Gradually, he downed more, until the canteen was emptied.
Qui-Gon took it from the still hand, then laid him down on the lumpy pillow. He reclined beside Obi-Wan, draping the worn, tattered blankets over their weary bodies. In the distance, glass shattered, and Obi-Wan's eyes opened.
Qui-Gon touched his shoulder reassuringly. "It's alright. You're safe."
Slowly, those sky-painted eyes closed, a faint smile touching gleaming wet lips.
Qui-Gon saw the black smudges beneath the resting orbs, and frowned, reaching out to touch the sunburned face.
For a few minutes, there was relative tranquility. He began to drift off when he heard doors open, footsteps stomping, and enraged yelling slice through the silence.
Obi-Wan moaned, stirring.
Qui-Gon brought him closer, placing his hand over his ear again, shushing him with meaningless murmurs.
And eventually, they both found deep rest.
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The new day found Qui-Gon with his back propped against the wall, a hand rhythmically stroking Obi-Wan's hair.
He could admit he was still tired, would not truly be rejuvenated until he could indulge in a long meditation, but now, he was confident the remainder of the trek could be made.
The Master found himself thinking of the hotel worker, giving this room without payment, giving him and his apprentice refuge.
For one night, the Jedi had seen the other side. Had been shown compassion in their time of need.
He looked down at Obi-Wan, sleeping peacefully. A great warmth welled in his heart.
He would not soon forget it.
A Vignette by LuvEwan
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The desk was rickety, the surface cracked with age, and covered in stains. A lamp dangled low, and spread ugly jaundiced light across the woman's fingers.
She drummed them absently, jagged nails clacking on the wood. Her other hand was propped under her sagging chin.
When the door managed to slide noisily open, she raised rheumy eyes and bushy brows, threads of shadow gripping to her high, brightly rouged cheekbones.
The doorway was filled with a hulking figure possessing broad shoulders and a thick, powerful body.
Her own willowy, hunched frame trembled slightly when the man stepped closer , immerging from the darkness.
Her heart thumped. A smaller, unconscious man was carried in well-muscled arms, and though he was no child, the stranger didn't seem to mind the weighty burden.
The older man's eyes were the color of twilight, but murky clouds eclipsed that rich blue beauty.
And, for some reason, she relaxed, her tightened lungs easing. She stood from her hard-backed chair, smoothing out the dismal gray dress that hung loosely on her.
"Can I help you sir?" She croaked, and offered a rare, unguarded smile.
Qui-Gon returned the expression, but it was painfully weary. "Yes." He whispered.
His voice was low and husky. She had heard the tone often, many times from her own dry throat. The grating sound of exhaustion.
"I.have no credits."
"Oh." Her gaze raked over his face, searching the leonine features for some sort of trickery, a hint of the crude greed she was accustomed to here. But her probe found nothing, save raw honesty.
The man swallowed. "I would not ask, but my.son is so tired. He can't go any further." Those hazed eyes dropped momentarily to the floor. "I can't go any further. We need a place to rest.Please."
She walked from the behind the desk, glancing at the sleeping youth before shifting her attention to the man again. "This isn't the most desirable hotel, if you haven't noticed. But it's the cheapest you'll find 'round here. So it's pretty much full."
Qui-Gon blinked, disappointment visible in his slightly slumped posture.
She held up a wrinkled hand. "But there is a spare room for employees, if you would like. Nobody's using it right now."
Qui-Gon released a grateful sigh, smiling. "Thank you."
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The Jedi Master scanned the hotel corridor discreetly as the woman led him down to the room.
From behind closed doors he heard muffled shouts and louder curses, saw the flicker of faulty glow rods and peeling, yellowed paint, smelled the must and smoke.
Felt his apprentice's soft damp skin against his cheek.
The heat of his spent body spurred Qui-Gon forth when he would turn back.
"Here we are." The woman announced quietly, fiddling with the lock.
Qui-Gon shielded Obi-Wan's exposed ear from the din of a sudden, close crash.
"Damn drunk." She grumbled in her sour voice. The door finally opened, and the woman shuffled inside, yanking the weak light on. Qui-Gon followed.
The room was cramped, containing a single thin coat, a dust-coated table, with a lavatory attached.
"This is it." She patted his arm awkwardly. "I hope you have a good rest."
Qui-Gon smiled, allowing the tired shadow to clear, to reveal a thankful twinkle. "You have my deepest gratitude." He told her.
She only nodded, and returned to her work, apparently resigned to the gloom, leaving him in the tiny space.
Qui-Gon moved slowly to the bed, and with the gentlest of care, lowered Obi- Wan down.
The young man's body stretched out, relieving crowded, sore muscles. Qui- Gon sat heavily at his side, and slipped off the dirty boots, peeled away the stockings.
Obi-Wan breathed out, turning on his side.
The Master watched him a moment, then removed his own footwear and trudged to the adjoining room. The bare bulb stood starkly out on the ceiling , and in the half-light, he saw it was blackened.
He was too tired to be irritated. Qui-Gon tied his tangled hair back, splashing lukewarm water on his face. Their transport broke down in the thick of the planet's slums, poor, high-crime areas that stretched for miles upon miles. Both Master and Padawan were dehydrated by nightfall, the latter reaching a nearly comatose state, barely able to walk.
Qui-Gon swept him into his arms, ignoring the burning of his own overworked joints.
He made it a few miles before he was forced into the shabby hotel, unable to continue without a few hours of descent slumber.
The Master shut off the unsteady stream of water once their canteens were re-filled. He left the meager light to shine dimly, too uncomfortable to sleep in complete darkness.
Obi-Wan was lying on his back, red-tainted slits focused blearily on his mentor. "Where.are.we?"
Every word sounded breathless and labored. Qui-Gon hooked his hands under the student's arms, and lifted him to a sitting position, placing a container of cool water in the shaky grip.
Obi-Wan shook his head, tried to shove it back.
Qui-Gon stroked the sweaty strands of wilted, ginger hair. "Drink it, Obi- Wan." He coaxed softly. "Then we can sleep."
At first, Obi-Wan could do no more than sip, pausing to shudder at the sudden moisture. Gradually, he downed more, until the canteen was emptied.
Qui-Gon took it from the still hand, then laid him down on the lumpy pillow. He reclined beside Obi-Wan, draping the worn, tattered blankets over their weary bodies. In the distance, glass shattered, and Obi-Wan's eyes opened.
Qui-Gon touched his shoulder reassuringly. "It's alright. You're safe."
Slowly, those sky-painted eyes closed, a faint smile touching gleaming wet lips.
Qui-Gon saw the black smudges beneath the resting orbs, and frowned, reaching out to touch the sunburned face.
For a few minutes, there was relative tranquility. He began to drift off when he heard doors open, footsteps stomping, and enraged yelling slice through the silence.
Obi-Wan moaned, stirring.
Qui-Gon brought him closer, placing his hand over his ear again, shushing him with meaningless murmurs.
And eventually, they both found deep rest.
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The new day found Qui-Gon with his back propped against the wall, a hand rhythmically stroking Obi-Wan's hair.
He could admit he was still tired, would not truly be rejuvenated until he could indulge in a long meditation, but now, he was confident the remainder of the trek could be made.
The Master found himself thinking of the hotel worker, giving this room without payment, giving him and his apprentice refuge.
For one night, the Jedi had seen the other side. Had been shown compassion in their time of need.
He looked down at Obi-Wan, sleeping peacefully. A great warmth welled in his heart.
He would not soon forget it.