The former Jedi's residence is expansive, to be sure. This Obi-wan expected. What he hadn't expected was the understatedly posh speeder sent to pick him up, driven by a respectable chauffer ordered to say absolutely nothing of relevance.
"Thank you, kind sir. I will assure your employer that you've been frustratingly vague and have delivered me as promised," he says dryly as he steps from the vehicle. He shoots the man an amused look. "I know nothing more than when I arrived."
The young man looks like a boy and acts like a boy. The trip from the spaceport to their destination had been plenty long enough for him to have attained at least something from the kid. His attempts to subtly squeeze any sort of helpful information from the boy had been subtly parried aside with all of the deft skill of someone far more experienced than the kid's age implied.
"Just doing my job, sir," the boy says, all professional manners and youthful cheek. Dark eyes glint with amusement beneath dark brows and Obi-wan is reminded of the energetic teenager he left at the Temple.
He tips the lad. Generously.
"Oh no, sir. I can't possibly –"
"And I was giving up hope of every seeing you flustered," he says with a chuckle. The youth has the grace to blush. "Keep it. I'm sure you are paid handsomely and all that, so consider it a gesture of appreciation for your considerable… talents. However irritating they may be."
"But –"
"Master Kenobi," a new voice drawls, deeper and much more cultured than this young man's. "Will you please desist from your incessant badgering?"
Obi-wan smirks at the driver (the boy seems shocked that he would dare to be anything but nervous in the company of this other man) before smoothing his expression and pivoting to face the newcomer. "My apologies, Count. I am merely trying to tip your driver for a job well done, but I assume he is not allowed to receive tips?"
Count Dooku, former Jedi, one of the Lost, and suspected architect of the Separatist Coalition, nods graciously. His dark eyes are anything but amused, and yet they seem just a touch softer than when Obi-wan had last seen him. "You may keep it, Ori. Just this once." The young man grants the two of them a little half bow and then turns without further comment and reenters the speeder. Within seconds it is just Jedi Master Obi-wan Kenobi and the Count of Serenno standing at the beginning of a winding pathway leading to the entrance of the Count's sprawling estate. Dooku studies Obi-wan through narrowed eyes glinting with something before spreading an arm towards his home. "Shall we?"
Obi-wan steps smoothly into the lead while inwardly puzzling over the former Jedi's play at manners. It is no secret that the man despises the Order and all that it stands for.
"I hold no ill will towards you personally, Master Kenobi," the man says from a step behind him. "Though my reputation within your sacred home is no doubt of somewhat ill repute, I assure you that I am anything but a barbarian when it comes to behaving civilly."
There is a touch of amused sarcasm there that makes Obi-wan grind his teeth. The reminder that the Count has never been anything but a suave gentleman in various social arenas not only grates on his nerves (he mentally curses himself for thinking otherwise), but is also grudgingly appreciated. "Thank you," he replies in a tone that just barely conveys his irritation. "Do you mind if we wait until we are inside to discuss things?"
"Things, Master Jedi?"
Without turning, Obi-wan smirks. "In the right company, the term can quite easily imply something obvious while remaining insufferably vague to those giving unwanted attention."
The Count's sigh is barely audible. "And yet it is decidedly unpolitic."
"As I said," Obi-wan cheerfully replies, "only in the right company."
"It's a miracle Qui-gon didn't succumb sooner."
Had the comment been from any other, Anakin included (because his deceased master is still a touchy subject between them…), Obi-wan most certainly would have bristled and growled some distinctly choice words in response. Coming from this man, though…
He only smiles. "Probably. So. Ori. I'm afraid I haven't been to Serenno more than twice, including this visit. I am not very familiar with your people's names nor their culture, but that young man is fulfilling his life's purpose."
The Count chuckles wryly. There is clear amusement there, but it carries a dark edge to it, something that Obi-wan has never felt comfortable with. "Yes, Ori is quite suited to the position. Currently, he is a paid intern acting as my personal chauffer as well as my assistant on occasion." The pause that follows is long enough to make Obi-wan stop and glance back. Dooku is kneeling beside a rose bush and fingering one of the white blossoms with a frown. "They're dry again," he hears the man mutter. When he notices Obi-wan waiting, he rises smoothly to his feet and joins him once more. "Names are very important on our planet. Ori's mother gifted him with a good one."
The way Dooku says 'good' is so matter of fact that had he not known the man better, he would've thought nothing special about the boy's name. But Dooku hardly ever wastes words, so the comment makes him smile. "Good?"
"It means 'light'."
Ah. Very good, indeed. "Perhaps if I meet him at a different time, when he isn't expertly thwarting my every attempt to gain some sort of traction, then I might learn to like him," Obi-wan comments as they near the entrance.
Count Dooku passes him with a few graceful strides and casts a sidelong glance in his direction. "You like him already."
Obi-wan murmurs his thanks as Dooku holds the door for him and then they are inside. It takes a long moment for him to adjust to the rather luxurious interior. There is a great deal of black and darker shades of crimson that make the spacious home seem smothered in shadows, but Obi-wan feels surprisingly at ease. The Count's wealth is obvious, but it isn't screaming in his face. The furniture that he can see (tables holding plants, a large desk in a corner, a large table partially hidden by a dividing wall) is either handcrafted or made of some sort of metal manufactured on-planet (he read somewhere that Serenno exports a vast amount of resources). The lighting is dim, but large windows let in the sun. He finds himself absently gravitating towards one of the plants and reaches to run his fingers along one of its massive leaves. It is an odd plant with spindly, yet sturdy, branches and a total of seven large leaves. Qui-gon would have loved it.
"While I appreciate your admiration for my plants, that particular species prefers not to be touched."
Obi-wan pulls his hand away and turns towards his host who has disappeared and returned with a glass of red liquid in each hand. Inside of his home, fingering two glasses of what the Jedi assumes to be a horrendously expensive variety of wine, Dooku looks as if he belongs nowhere else. The man's black attire makes his dark eyes darker and more piercing than they've ever been and his Force signature seemingly has no beginning and no end. It just is. Dooku is not even remotely out of place here.
For a moment, Obi-wan is happy for him. No matter that he left. No matter that he started a movement that is very much against the Republic that his former Order serves. No matter that he used to hunt shadows for a living and he doesn't seem to have stopped.
Obi-wan blinks. Dooku smiles.
It's a smile edged with something shady.
Obi-wan accepts the drink with a nod of thanks. "Well, we're inside."
"We are," Dooku agrees. "I suppose you've been thoroughly briefed about my message?"
"You mentioned that you'd discovered something of great importance."
"Yes."
Obi-wan had been looking at the sparsely-leafed plant again, but at that single word he flicks his attention fully to the Count. Though containing only a single word, Obi-wan had felt the gravity in his answer. "Well?"
Dooku's dark eyes don't leave the Jedi as he takes a sip of his wine. "I met with a senator about a month ago to discuss a bill he is planning to propose and other minor things that have no relevance to our discussion here."
In other words, Dooku preferred to keep his political movements to himself. Obi-wan frowns. "And?"
"I have reason to believe that the man is not only Force-sensitive, but powerful as well." The Count pauses, studying Obi-wan. "And dark. Very dark."
Suddenly, the Jedi feels cold. "You think that he's a Sith."
Dark eyes are still staring at him. Assessing, separating, filing details away, seeing things that Obi-wan doesn't want him to see. "I do."
"You can't know for certain." Obi-wan is still scrabbling for traction. Ori had left him slipping and tottering, but Dooku has just sent him sailing off the edge of a cliff. Not another one…
When Yan Dooku smiles, it is the smile that Obi-wan remembers. The smile of a hunter, a predator who has found a trail worth following. The smile of someone who knows his quarry and knows them well. It is a smile dripping with staunch determination, brimming with fierce intelligence, and oozing with self-confidence.
"I have been to worlds driven mad by a darkness you could never imagine, Master Kenobi. Don't forget my days as a Jedi. I may no longer serve your Order, but I still consider myself something of an expert when it comes to the messier side of the Force."
Messier. Not darker. This man doesn't waste words and so Obi-wan considers the semantic difference worth noting. "Even so…" he trails off when Dooku's smile goes flat. He is not afraid, per say, but he is definitely on his guard.
Especially when the Count takes a few steps forward. "Spare me your Jedi doubts, Kenobi. You are a fool if you believe that you can ignore my advice in this. I spent over sixty years studying and hunting creatures of darkness. This man is a Sith, I guarantee it. I know their scent."
Their scent. To Obi-wan, this scent is bathed in crimson hues, fiery rage, and icy, murderous intent. It is loud, nasty, and painful in its proximity. He wonders what the Sith feel and smell like to the man before him. He imagines it is a very different sensation. Coolly holding the Count's gaze with his own, he nods once. "Very well. You have my attention and, by extension, the Council's. What do you plan to do about this?"
Dooku smiles again and Obi-wan feels a chill snake down his spine. It hardens and settles itself in his gut. The Jedi suddenly has a very bad feeling about this.
"My business is my own, Master Jedi. I think the more important question is, what is the Order going to do about this? Because if the Council chooses to do nothing, as is their habit, then I'm afraid my intentions might become a bit of a problem for them and, by extension, for you."
Obi-wan narrows his eyes, right hand twitching towards his weapon. "Do you intend to ally yourself with this man?" he asks softly.
The Count releases a bark of genuine laughter, though his smile is no less dark and his eyes no less hard. "Do I intend to become a Sith? Master Kenobi, you disappoint me. I had hoped you were above such loathsome stereotypes."
"The work of Shadows puts them at greater risk for obvious reasons. Everyone knows this," Obi-wan retorts.
"You mean that since they spend most of their waking moments studying, hunting, and eliminating traces of evil, then they become more vulnerable to its seductions, is that it?" Dooku's voice has grown even colder and he has set his wine glass on a nearby table.
"Bad company breeds bad morals," Obi-wan quips.
Dooku grants him a small nod. "Perhaps. I will admit that I have grown somewhat indifferent towards certain methods others would find appalling. However, I would also suggest the opposite. Familiarity breeds contempt, does it not? The Code demands that hatred be set aside, and yet some things deserve very much to be hated. There are not many Jedi, except the Shadows, who know their enemy well enough to truly despise it. Tell me, Obi-wan, how close did you come to embracing the Dark when you avenged Qui-gon's death?"
Obi-wan flinches, frowning. He doesn't drop Dooku's gaze, but he remains silent.
"I wager you came very close indeed. In fact, you probably thought you were avenging his death, but revenge is not the way of the Jedi. Shadows know this and they know it well. There are some who fall, yes, but there are many more who look at the enemy and see only an evil that must be eliminated before it spreads."
"And you are one of the many?" Obi-wan challenges.
"I was one of the many, Master Kenobi. I am no longer a Jedi and thus, no longer a Shadow. As such, I am no longer subject to the orders of a Council, nor must I await their summons to proceed on missions. I am free to operate as I see fit. Considering I pled my case to deaf ears for over six decades with no success, I consider this a vast improvement."
"You would interfere with the Order's handling of this situation?"
Dooku smirks. "Only if your means of handling it prove… ineffective."
He wants the man dead, Obi-wan realizes. He lets out a long breath and lifts a hand to run it through his hair. "I understand. Can you provide a name?"
Dooku takes up his wine glass, swirls it thoughtfully, and then takes another sip before speaking. "His name is Sheev Palpatine. From Naboo."