AN:
Ivy – ;)))
Cheire – I love what you said. I agree with all of it, especially how you described their marriage.
Guest – LOL Yes Anakin and someone like Leia would clash – too similar lol. As for Padme, well, Freud said "One is very crazy when in love." :D
Age Of Exploration
Baby, I have no story to be told
But I've heard one on you, now I'm gonna make your head burn
Think of me in the depths of your despair
Make a home down there, as mine sure won't be shared
It was a day for courage. Scintel is beaming with professional pride as she sits opposite her lawyer. A lawyer who gives the utmost support to her clients, never letting them weather any storm alone.
"Page sixty-six is ready." Scintel said, straightening her back against the chair. "Check your email... I know this one took me a while."
"The Uncapturable Adventurer?" Padme read the email subject on her laptop screen, harmless mockery oozing off her tone.
Scintel gave a slight twitch of her mouth before she placed her thumbnail between her teeth, almost cringing. "Too cheesy?"
"I don't know." Padme laughed "I haven't read it yet."
Scintel braced her hands on the edge of the desk, looking down at the papers in front of her, but her mind had sunk to somewhere indistinct. "Listen, I – I just want to say thank you, Miss Amidal—sorry... Mrs Skywalker now. You being there for the meetings with publishers means a lot to me." Scintel smiled earnestly.
"You're very welcome. But just call me Padme. It's easier." Padme said with a friendly, whimsical smile.
"Only if you call me Miraj."
Padme and Miraj exchange a warm glance. An unlikely alliance – establishing a circle of trust, a song of new beginnings for Tatooine. Despite their differences, they both seem to have the same goal in mind. They wanted to rebuild wonder in this town, a place for knowledge and broader horizons. They are on the precipice of externalizing ideas that were once only dreamt of behind closed eyes and in inspired sleep.
"By the way," Padme's eyes lifted. "I think I may have found the perfect spot for your library. But it might be a little costly."
"Money is no object."
"Heard of the Old Green Park?"
"It's been abandoned." Miraj said with tender disappointment. "And probably back under government ownership. It would be tough to get them to sell it."
"Hm." Padme couldn't sit and watch that park collect debris. She had seen pictures of it when it was open, beautiful, beloved. The greenery, how the landscape sparkled from the golden sun, what the russet-coloured benches and fences added to the majestic hill it was built on, it could all be salvaged.
The park meant something to Anakin. He told her of the few good times he had there as a kid with his mother. The only good times. He couldn't recite details, only feelings. He never gave her a monologue of long-lost emotions, but one that was flexible, unclear at times. And she knew Anakin had a sharp memory, so he was blurring his awareness on purpose. When it got difficult to accept thoughts, he'd stop sharing them. They became nimble out loud. But only he knew, in his mind, they never left – no matter how much he wanted to be rid of them.
And this park could mean a lot more to many more people if it offered a place for refuge, learning, escapism. She just needed someone familiar with Tatooine laws to override the obstacles. Someone like... Dorme. "My colleague may be able to help us."
Padme had the analytical drive of a leader with a puerile obduracy — what many would misconstrue as naivety and stubbornness. Miraj loved watching her mind at work; it actually gave her courage, making her want to develop the same carefully designed methods to get what she wants.
"You should know–" Miraj paused. "It will be difficult to represent me. I know what people say about me around here. A woman of luxury. We all know that's code for gold digger. It's just like that DH Lawrence quote – 'A woman unsatisfied must have luxuries. But a woman who loves a man would sleep on a board.' But. . .I've never met a man I'd sleep on a board for." Miraj spoke with a perky arrogance, making Padme chuckle softly.
Padme looked down at the floor but the sensitivity on her face was a quiet confession. This self-consciousness did not go unnoticed. Miraj registered what appeared to be a symbolic significance, a vitality of spirit and flesh, the balance of a philosophical wisdom and gravity.
"Looks like you have though." Miraj observed with eyes warm, sly. Padme unearthed a feeble but heartfelt smile. "Must be something, a love that powerful..."
Anakin arrived at Ben's diner and made his way through to the counter. As soon as he sat on the bar stool, Obi-Wan appeared, approaching a customer.
Obi-Wan caught a glimpse of Anakin from the corner of his eye and quickly flicked his gaze away, and Anakin could tell this was going to be a struggle. But it wasn't foreign to them. Their game of tug of war – who will speak first? Who will let go of the rope and their contrasting forces, and rise above blame and shame, the negative side of competitiveness. Sometimes brotherly love is only seen after the swarm of anger and dissent, after the fog of the ego where only humility remains.
Sometimes it was just easier to rationalize your criticisms than hear another's perspective.
Anakin waited for Obi-Wan but his older brother kept himself occupied with other customers or wiping down the counter – it was immaculately clean at this point. A heavy, frustrated breath slipped out of Anakin. But Obi-Wan wouldn't look his way. He wouldn't budge.
"The service in this place is terrible." Anakin groused. His voice edged with humour. Obi-Wan finally peered over at him.
"Would be worse if you were working here." Obi-Wan said dryly, derisive, as he poured the other customer at the counter a cup of coffee.
"Fair." Anakin lifted his hands up, a symbol of a white flag, thinking he had broken the seal, the barricade of avoidance. But Obi-Wan still hung back. "...I get it. You don't approve of my marriage."
Obi-Wan's gaze hopped to him for a second and his sarcasm was back in full force. "What tipped you off?"
"The big 'I don't approve of Anakin's marriage' sign on your forehead." Anakin pointed at Obi-Wan's forehead, mockingly. "You've got the space for it."
But he still couldn't get Obi-Wan's undivided attention.
Obi-Wan frowned. He was not going to stay in this state of limbo. He couldn't sit back and watch the spillage of Anakin's antics when he was wiser. He had to be honest.
Obi-Wan tried to the best of his ability to sound sympathetic but truthful. "It's a mistake." He breathed out. Anakin sighed – in no mood to reiterate what he knew to be fact.
"It's not." Anakin reassured, pushing back gently. He leaned back on the bar stool, making it clear he had eliminated himself from the topic – this wasn't up for discussion.
"Anakin people do all sorts of stupid stuff in the heat of the moment. That's why there are crimes of passion!" Obi-Wan scoffed as he talked himself into a suspended state. He stilled, not knowing how to get through to Anakin anymore. "Did you even talk about the future? Do you want the same things? Where will you live? What about kids? Schools are expensive, and—oh. Oh God, that's it, isn't it? She's pregnant." Obi-Wan groaned.
"No." Anakin grumbled, rolling his eyes. "You said yourself — we got married too fast. I didn't have time to get her pregnant."
Obi-Wan was fed up of Anakin's second attempt to not take this seriously, at the vagueness of his expression. Anakin always found a way to absent himself from conversations that weren't to his liking. And if that's what he wanted, that's what he was going to get. Before Obi-Wan walked off, he sneered, "That's funny. You're a funny guy."
Anakin gave off an imperceptible huff as Obi-Wan walked away.
"My love!" Padme called out as soon as she got home. Anakin was by the kitchen sink, in dishwashing gloves covered in suds. Padme, with a genial smile and crinkled eyes, studied the apartment. "Did you. . .clean?"
She put her bag down on the dining table and made her way to Anakin.
"I was bored." There was that playful smirk. "Had a lot of pent-up energy and. . .nowhere to put it." His eyes ogle her, lecherously down her body as he reaches for her. She feels the slow glide of his big hand on her lower back. "Until now.
He pulls her close, pushing her into his hip, and engulfs her in a deep kiss that tips her head back. His sud-covered glove cups her neck, making everything messy, imprecise, raunchy, wet.
The kiss is akin to a lightning strike, tumultuous, trouble, and forces sounds out of her she had no control over and a waterfall of multihued sensations spiked in between her legs. With every brush of his lips on hers, they share a breathless kiss. One that makes him hum against her lips. She moans softly into his mouth, satisfied, like she had missed this all day. Her knees buckle; her fingers grip onto his t-shirt, gravely, until his strong arms gathered her completely and he feels her arms wrap around his neck. She has stepped into another dimension when she sees him, one that fuels and feeds the high, coalescing faith and love. It drove them crazy to be away from each other. For her, just seeing his face separated them from the outside world; it fades away any stress that latched onto her at work or in traffic.
It was a state of bliss, beyond words. The feelings are roses and wine – sweet, strong and sensual.
"Hmm—" She finally pulls herself away to talk, looking at him with careful eyes, slowing herself down. "I have something for you."
He takes off the gloves and wipes the suds off her neck and chin with a dish towel. "Oh yeah, what's that?"
She walks back to the dining table and he follows her, tossing the towel over his shoulder and it landed on the countertop. He slouches down in the chair while she pulls something out of her bag.
She hops onto the dining table, kicks off her heels, and swivels round to him, bracketing his thighs with her feet on his chair. She hands him a key. Anakin instantly recognizes what this is – a key to her apartment. She had bumped into Panaka the Super earlier today. "The Captain made you a copy this morning."
"You want me to move in?" Anakin looks at the key with interest and surprise. "It's a bit forward but. . .alright." He teased, casually, but you can hear how charmed he is behind the words.
"That's not all." She reaches behind her for her bag again. She is brimming with excitement for this new journey they were to explore together.
There was a reason movies and literature tend to centre around the age of exploration – because the age of exploration had no age limit. It is the time in your life where you decide to learn your hopes, your fears, uncover mysteries and explore who you are as well as the world around you.
And the world they have created with love notes, love-making, and endless possibilities as husband and wife couldn't be more spectacular – reality cannot touch it. Reality cannot touch them.
This time, she flaunts two rings in the palm of her hand – one thin gold band for her, one thicker silver one for him.
"Babe!" Anakin's forehead raised, slightly shocked, confused but with a hint of delight in his eyes. "Where'd you get this?"
"Online. And it wasn't expensive – before you go off!" She warned with a twirling finger. And he feigned a look of suspicion.
"This is great." He sounded grateful but hesitance tangled with his mind. "But. . .shouldn't I be getting you this?"
"Who cares! We have it. It's ours." She almost groaned, and he tilted his head to one side, sympathetically, like a sigh of acceptance. He should appreciate her sage advice and he knows it.
"–Oh and now you can have this back." She was about to take off the necklace he gave her but he quickly stops her with a firm hand over hers.
"No." He seemed offended by the gesture. "It's yours. Don't ever take it off."
Her eyes landed on his, glowing, overjoyed, wanting to honour the gesture.
She loved what the necklace represented – the exceptional, complex beauty of the bond between a husband and wife. Those titles can go unnoticed, unappreciated, understated by those who don't understand the magic behind them. But those words are the purest form of companionship, a worthy gift to be granted. These words give life to what was once featureless.
"Okay." She assured. She pressed her mouth to his and her teeth slowly dragged over his bottom lip until she released it. That got his mind off things. And any tension was knocked askew. He stood up, emerging in between her legs and looped his arms around her. That menacing flare in his eyes is awakened, the most cogent response. He bent over her so she shifts to lie back; her shoulders feel the cool surface of the dining table. It contrasts with the heat that ripples over her when he drapes his body over hers. She hooked her legs behind him. Now there are unyielding kisses full of genius, enthralling, lewd and lustful. His hands glide along her arms, lifting them up, goosebumps following every trace of his fingers, and he interlaces his fingers with hers once he had pinned her hands over her head.
Anakin grabs a stool at the bar of this dark tavern. A bar where surrealism and familiarity rent space between trapezes, bottled lights hanging upside down, and it begins to crowd with lively patrons. Their laughter, smoke, and clinking of glasses winding through the area reminds Anakin of why he likes the atmosphere here. The scene, the scents, the bouncing energy, it's a flavorful old habit. Here lies tears, battle shields, bruised and bleeding knuckles, but also music, dancing, new faces, old faces, resounding spices, immaturity, growth.. A marking of traditions, lore.
He beat up his father three high tables away from where he was sitting right now. Had his first beer with Obi-Wan by the window. Met Kitster and Wald during a game of pool. And got into a bar fight right in the centre, after a heated game where a guy tried to stab him with a dart.
Anakin is further reminded of why he kept coming back to this home away from home by the friendly shout of his name.
"Ani!"
Anakin is greeted by Chewie from behind the bar. A towering man with a long, flamboyant beard and rakish hair that he had decided had gone rogue of its own accord. "Where's your beautiful wife?"
"You heard." A half-smile graced Anakin's lips.
"Word gets around."
Anakin brushes his hair back. "She's having drinks with Dorme – a friend from work."
"At another bar? What, this place isn't good enough?" Chewie pretended to be insulted, flicking his wrist, a dismissal. "Divorce!"
Anakin chuckled before reaching in his pocket for his cigarette pack. He pulls one out and drags it to his mouth. When he finally lights up and tastes the relief, he practically groans. "Oh sweet heaven."
Chewie catches Anakin blowing out a slow spiral of smoke. "Been dying for that, huh?"
"Like you wouldn't believe." Anakin drawled. "Moved in with Padme. Can't smoke in the house."
"They say the first year of marriage is the hardest." Chewie gave a laid-back shrug.
"Nah, it's good." Anakin grinned. "Real good."
"Glad to hear it." Chewie handed him a beer. "Here."
Anakin's brows knitted. "I didn't order anything."
"On the house." Chewie flashed a broad smile. "Newlywed special."
Anakin raised the bottle in salute before Chewie walked off to tend to another customer. Anakin took a sip of his beer, basking in his peaceful solitude... Until it was interrupted by a voice. A voice that has him lamenting stepping foot in this bar.
"Hello handsome."
Anakin turned to face the woman on his left. He looked at her with detachment, a tired resignation. The rainbow range of colours seen when he entered the bar dwindled to a dull hue.
"Mrs Dooku." His voice was low, empty of effort as were his eyes. "What do you want?" He took a sip of his beer while the woman plopped herself on the bar stool beside him.
"For starters, a light." She waved her cigarette in the air between them. "And it's not Dooku anymore – I'm a widow now, remember? I'm going by my maiden name, Scintel."
For a moment the name sounded familiar. But Anakin didn't give it much thought. She had probably told him once back in the day.
Without looking at her, he offers his lighter. His thumb brushes along the sparkwheel and ignites a flame. She leans into it with her cigarette sitting in between her fingers with ease. Her red lips wrap around the tip of the cigarette as she takes a couple of puffs, until the thick smog sways around her mouth.
Her sight narrows in on his wedding band. And with a prankish incredulity, she grabs his wrist. "What is that? A wedding ring!" She can feel his arm tense under her fingers, threatened, and the quick, cutting inhale exposed his defensiveness. "Who's the lucky girl?"
He shoves her off his arm, retrieving it from her grasp. And she let out a wry smile. It was impossible to tell if she was seething with jealousy or impressed by the upping of the ante. She always did like a challenge.
"No one you know." He mumbles and touches the tip of his cigarette to his lips. His eyes remain glazed on the bottle rack on the back bar. He exhales smoke, watching it vanish into thin air, escaping through the ventilation, wishing he did. He sees the patterns, the way the smoke dares to linger and dance around his anxieties. Just like the woman beside him, who overstayed her welcome.
In the silence, another stream of smoke leaves her mouth and flows past him, destroying the slow flakes at the end of his cigarette, taking his peace.
Miraj rests on the back of the stool and observes Anakin. He looked older, growing more scandalously handsome, rugged with age. His striking eyes and bone structure more pronounced, thinner face, strong jaw and smile lines stressed, hair longer and curling at the ends, but he still had that Just got out of bed look and he wore it well.
"A lot happens in three years..." She said reflectively. She knows he's ignoring her. He won't face her. And she finds his hostility, aggressivity, and contempt for her quite entertaining. He was never good at hiding when he was annoyed or angry. And he hated that she knew when he was struggling to get his caprices under control. "We should meet up. . .for old time's sake."
"Hasn't been long enough." His voice is quiet, a wispy mutter.
"Come on." She leans forward, resting her forearms on the bar. Her voice designed to tease—with intent. "We'll catch up, undress each other... Metaphorically."
His eyes remain steadfast ahead but she can see his bitterness, unimpressed, but she is almost applauding her own wit with a self-obsessed grin. Their combined smoke takes on a twirly shape, breaking up clouds, streaks are released, pervading the path of silence. He offers nothing more than a whispery drawl with a jagged edge.
"I'll pass."
Swimming against the waves of rejection, she won't relent. She is almost vengeful in how she seeks joy. Her turgid talk gives no reprieve. But that was how he remembered her. Grandiose, pretentious. And she'd lean into it, cruelly, if it meant she'd win.
"Oh I think you'll agree to see me. After all–" She moves an inch closer, and her soft expelled breath hit his ear, that same old vintage Chanel perfume wafts under his nose, slicing through him like a cold shiver, carving him with a whisper, a memory, rough to the shell of his ear. He tries to remain indifferent but he almost winces at the stinging impact. It was a coarse reminder of the past. He feels sickened just thinking about it, the things he did, his mistakes. "I've done a really good job at keeping your secret."
Icy knives stab him in place from head to toe. He begins to suffocate under a dismal mood. How could she bring that up? They agreed to never mention it.
He tries reeling in a cold, nervous breath and he ends up exhaling through his nose. Sharp. And he is trapped. Trapped atop a volcano, fearing an explosion – contained by this sordid current between them.
He finally looks her way, glaring at her, a quick fear, an acidity bubbling up. But both of them wore the stoicism of a solider, a warrior in battle, never revealing their weakness to the enemy.
Without taking his rancorous eyes off her, he puts out his cigarette in the ashtray and yells out. "Chewie. Thanks for the beer."
He leaves a tip on the table and walks off. Every step filled with resentment.
Miraj watches him with taunting eyes as he leaves. She takes another puff of her cigarette and the smog pivots skyward. She glances at his beer, the one he left unfinished and takes a sip. Something illicit and victorious braids through her, feeling like she had put him in his place. She may have been out of touch, but she knows which details harm, which phrases insult, which fragments of truth clutter his mind, and most importantly, she knows he will be more receptive to her manipulations than he believes.
There's a fire starting in my heart
Reaching a fever pitch and it's bringing me out the dark
Finally, I can see you crystal clear
Go ahead and sell me out and I'll lay your shit bare
See how I'll leave with every piece of you
Don't underestimate the things that I will do
Anakin arrives home to Padme's, and now his, apartment. He throws his key in the bowl beside the door. He swipes a hand over his face, rubbing his eyes, wanting to brush off the weariness that clings to him. But as he stands there, hand now running over the nape of his neck like he had a strained muscle, he is overcome by an unnerving lightbulb signaling in his head – putting two and two together.
His eyes widen and his once trudging steps are now quick, heavy, and fierce.
He catapults himself through the living room, and pulls open the cabinet drawer beside the couch. His hands rummage through the contents until he finds Padme's notepad.
He then with inexorable fear flips through the pages, thinking, praying, hoping that he's wrong. But his eyes land on the smoking gun. His heart lurches at the sight of Padme's handwriting, remembering the night when she jotted down the message. She was on his lap, phone held between her ear and shoulder, and had propped the notepad up against his chest when she voiced out:
Meeting with Scintel 8.30.
Anakin stands there frozen in fear and fury, worrying, furious exhales abounding. His stomach in knots, body clenching, helplessness curling over his chest. He rips out the paper, scrunching it up in his fist. Channeling all his anger and dread, he punches the wall.
Fuck!
Throw your soul through every open door
Count your blessings to find what you look for
Turn my sorrow into treasured gold
You'll pay me back in kind and reap just what you sow
You're gonna wish you never had met me
Tears are gonna fall, rolling in the deep
Adele - Rolling In The Deep
