Chapter Two: Passing Frivolity
"Are you trying to kill me?" a startled voice rang out over the din of a cafeteria filled with apprentices catching a quick meal between lessons and duties.
"No, I just want to pin your hand to the table," a female voice growled.
"Acting like a bunch of initiates, you are," a mock authoritarian voice sounded over the disturbance.
"Like you should talk."
"Excuse me?"
"You heard her."
"Me? She's the one stabbing people with utensils!"
"It is called defending my lunch."
"Unprovoked attack is more like it."
"Stop laughing at him."
"Why?"
"I will pin you to the table."
"Careful, she has another fork."
"I dare you."
A thud, clink and a surprised yelp brought the busy cafeteria to a sudden halt. After only a moment of lingering silence, the dull roar charged the air once more.
"Someone please help me," Anakin Skywalker's muffled voice pleaded.
A young Zabrak male with he long dark hair tied back in a leather strap except for a padawan braid dangling behind his ear leaned close to his friend who was face down in a plate of urbi fruit. "I would, but Beshaan might try to stab me again," he whispered.
"I'll take my chances."
"If only I were so brave," he said with a smile as he looked over at the third person at the table, a Golian padawan. Her aura ablaze as she clutched the eating utensil.
"You dared me," the dark eyed beauty said with a soft, almost innocent tone. With the remaining utensil, she returned to her meal.
"Ow," Anakin groaned as he tried to move slightly. His padawan braid was pinned to the table by a two-pronged fork very close to his head.
"Roll models for the next generation, I see," a pale skinned Twi'lek master said as she stopped before the table and studied the threesome. Pointing to the back of Anakin's head, she added, "Padawan Vrosh, please rescue him before he suffocates in pickled fruit."
Sheepishly, the young Zabrak reached over and pried the fork out of the table, freeing Anakin's golden braid. The youth sat up sputtering.
A chorus of tiny voices rang out in cheer at the sight of the apprentice with stringy urbi fruit stuck to his face. The Twi'lek turned to her students and lightly clapped her hands together. "Now, younglings, do not encourage them."
The little one's wiggled in their seats, twisting to see the funny sight. Their small faces clamored to watch Anakin pick the fruit from his face. "Forgive our behavior, Master Navin," he said with a grin.
The tall Twi'lek straightened and folded her arms across her cream colored tunic. "The one day I think it is safe to bring the younglings on a field trip to the wilds of the common cafeteria, you three put on a show. Is this how proper padawans should act?"
"No, Master," the three replied in unison.
"Forgive me," Anakin added, lowering his gaze to the table.
Navin huffed, pulling at the edges of her floor length skirt and returned to the table of younglings. "Pay them no attention, my small ones. Use the example of other padawans here in the cafeteria to learn by."
"Well we officially made gundark rears of ourselves today," Vrosh said as he reached over and picked a piece of purple fruit off Anakin's forehead.
"Speak for yourself," Beshaan said as she suddenly rose from her seat. "You two be good, I have go."
"Oh running away are you?" Vrosh chirped.
"Time to meet with my master. Anakin," she motioned toward the quiet eighteen-year-old. When bright blue eyes looked up, she pointed to the side of his face. "In your ear."
Reaching up, Anakin pulled off another piece of fruit. "Thanks," he softly replied. His thoughts drifting elsewhere as he was unable to get past Master Navin's words.
Is this how proper padawans should act?
Though it was not the Twi'lek's voice or her words that rattled through his head.
It is not the proper behavior of a Jedi. We cannot just run off to the races whenever we feel like it. Our duty always comes first.
"Just ignore it," Vrosh said between bites of an orange vegetable.
Slowly he nodded, knowing if he did not acquiesce his friend would lecture him on the politics of the dead. "I know."
Lowering his voice, Vrosh whispered, "I hear there is going to be a surprise party for Padawan Weln, you want to go tonight?"
"No, I should tend to my studies."
Vrosh stared at him gaped mouthed.
"What?"
"You are the most boring human being I have ever met. Passing up parties for studies. There is more to being a Jedi than studying the Code, endlessly practicing katas or spending all your free time in meditation."
"There is field work."
Vrosh slapped a tan colored hand to Anakin's forehead. "Are you sure you are feeling all right?"
A look of hurt glossed Anakin's handsome features before melting into a smile as he pulled away from his friend's checkup. "My master happens to believe I am the most dedicated student of the Jedi arts she has ever seen."
"You have her completely fooled."
"Hey!"
"And another thing," the Zabrak said, poking Anakin's chest through his lightly patterned tan tunic, "you are making us all look bad. Stop trying so hard."
Anakin laughed. It wasn't that he was trying to be better, or needed to be better than everyone else, some things–most things–just came easier. And in the places where weakness in spirit revealed itself, he worked hard to tame his raging emotions. With his master's help, he had learned to calm the darkness stirring in him. He had nothing to prove, he had all ready been humbled by his failures.
He would become the Jedi that his selfish, arrogant actions had destroyed.
His gaze settled on the table of younglings that were more interested in what was going on around them than in the food on their plates. He likened their awe of the cafeteria to be similar to the awe he felt the first time Master Qui-Gon had guided him into the large room. It had been just before he was scheduled to take that test with the Council to see if he could be a Jedi.
Even though the Council had denied him entrance, Master Qui-Gon had promised that he would make him a Jedi. But while he was off flying through space and playing hero battling the Trade Federation's Droid Control Ship, Qui-Gon had been slain by an enemy of the Jedi.
His apprentice, Obi-Wan, had stepped up to fulfill his master's promise. And while they often disagreed, Anakin cared for his master. For in those early days, he knew that Master Obi-Wan was the only one who truly believed in him. And yet, there were arguments. Anger, so much anger. It was this one, bright emotion that he had always leaned into that blinded him when his master had needed him the most. Obi-Wan had been murdered, all for an angry little boy.
Seven years into his apprenticeship with Master Hiiro'eza and everyday had been spent worried that he would make the same mistake and let his emotions cloud his judgment and cost him the life of another teacher.
His gaze met that of a small human boy who was turned in his seat staring at him with large brown eyes.
"As a kid, I dreamed of being a Jedi and when I finally got the chance I nearly squandered it." He sat quietly turning his attention away from the child and down at his plate.
Vrosh spoke softly, his dark eyes completely focused on his friend. "You are not the first padawan to lose a master. Nor will you be the last." When Anakin did not respond to his words, he jabbed him in the shoulder. "But you lived, in no small part to your master's actions. And you, better than anyone, have come back from such a loss. I tease you, but I am impressed with your dedication."
"I–"
"No one has blamed you for what happened, you need to stop blaming yourself. Get over yourself and go on. You said it yourself he was protecting you. Take that gift and run."
"It seems no matter how hard I try, I will never be half the Jedi he was."
"Then be yourself." The Zabrak took on a curious expression. "Well, maybe that was not the best advice I could give."
With the slightest wave of his hand, Anakin sent a stringy piece of purple urbi fruit from his plate flying through the air and splat into Vrosh's face.
Laughing as he quickly rose to his feet, not wanting to end up in another food fight, Anakin said, "I have saber practice with Knight Theron."
"Oh, really?" Vrosh sat up, very interested. "She is so–"
"Do you not have studies to attend to?" a female voice interrupted.
"I thought you were an aid for the Council today, Yarda," Vrosh grumbled, peeling the urbi fruit that hung from one of his vestigial horns.
"I am," the Cathar padawan said folding her arms across her chest. Her long dark cloak draped over her lean, feline features. Turning her attention on Anakin, whom she could almost stare straight in the eye, she said, "As such, Master Hiiro is in chambers with the Council and your presence is immediately requested."
Anakin's heart lurched and a flood of anger rushed through him at not having realized his master was before the Council. "What? Why?"
"Instead of asking questions that cannot be answered here, you should go to the Council chamber and find out."