Lineage Disasters
Dec. 6th, 2018 12:07 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
sanerontheinsideoriginal post
*snicerks*
ok so this isn’t exactly sleepy confessions… I don’t know what this is?
“Where did they even find that pathetic life form,” Dooku hissed, apparently hovering undecided somewhere between horror and fascination.
It was hard not to share the sentiment, though, given that Hondo’s compound looked as though it had been reduced to a smoking mountain of slag. Obi-Wan noted, with some relief, that their rescue party had survived—he could see Jar-Jar and the clones in the distance, regrouping at the shuttle that had let them down on Florrum. He’d once despaired of Jar-Jar ever finding his feet, but he was beginning to see the value, more and more often, in his particular brand of 'clumsy’.
Case in point: the erstwhile pirate compound. For the most part, the pirates seemed to be minding their own business. That business largely involved wandering around, either shell-shocked or drunk, or wondering whether their shipment of spice had survived the rampant destruction. The rescue party—or rather, the party sent to bring the Count into custody—comprised of a Gungan and four clones with the red-striped armour of the Coruscant Guard, didn’t particularly seem inclined to bother them either.
That was all very well for all of them, Obi-Wan thought (not at all bitterly), but he was on the wrong side of the pirates, hidden behind a rocky outcropping—cold, cramped, and very uncomfortable. Chained, on one side, to Anakin and on the other to Count Dooku, no less. Neither of them made for entirely pleasant company. Anakin, unable to crack the cuffs, was getting restless and frustrated. Dooku was sullen, cynical, and didn’t offer any sort of boost to their morale. He took great pleasure in needling Anakin and antagonising him, which was even more unhelpful.
Anakin had been fiddling with Obi-Wan’s cuffs for at least an hour. There were five different security measures merely on the face of them, and crossing wires the wrong way would as soon blow Obi-Wan’s hands off as do nothing helpful. Of course Hondo had somehow gotten his hands on these. Obi-Wan was seriously beginning to wonder if he’d made some sort of deal with CSF for them—it wasn’t like the Director was particularly happy about other people playing with CSF’s toys. It was also a bit difficult to imagine that she didn’t know precisely where CSF’s R&D projects ended up.
“Should have asked CSF for the standard lock code,” Obi-Wan muttered.
Anakin looked affronted, as if Obi-Wan had professed any less than full confidence in his skills. “Like Hondo wouldn’t have changed it anyway.”
“Hondo?” Obi-Wan echoed, surprised. “Now why do you think he would know to change the codes?”
“Because he’d charm the base codes out of her, and because you didn’t think to ask,” Anakin said.
“She’s not really the sort to fall for charm,” Obi-Wan pointed out.
“Well, Master, you would know.”
“Anakin—!”
“Would you two get on with it?” Dooku cut in roughly.
“One wrong move and somebody loses a hand,” Anakin warned him, then paused and looked up at Obi-Wan. “Maybe we should start with him?”
Obi-Wan snorted. “And what are you going to do when he’s free of the cuffs, hands or no hands, and we’re still shackled together? Give chase?”
Anakin shrugged. “If he loses both hands, it’s not like he’ll be moving very fast.” He grinned at the sound of Dooku growling. “Relax, old man. I’m testing on the cybernetic anyway. Guess I should be thanking you for that.”
The growl shorted out. Obi-Wan shook his head slightly and sighed, turning his gaze up to Florrum’s dusky sky. “We should find a way to signal our rescue force. It seems unlikely that we’ll be able to move before dawn without being spotted—” he raised his hands, then dropped them again “—unless you can get us free of these things before then.”
“And what, exactly, do you suggest we do in the meantime?” Dooku asked—about as politely as he was capable, it seemed.
“I dunno, take a nap!” Anakin immediately suggested.
“Right, yes. For you to kill me in my sleep, I suppose.”
Anakin opened his mouth to respond, then snapped his jaw shut, taking a measured breath. “That is not the Jedi way,” he said, grim.
“A pity. You limit yourself, young one. The Sith suffer no such compunctions—”
“Oh do shut up,” Obi-Wan snapped finally.
It was a bit too much to be so suddenly reminded of Qui-Gon, of the fact that this was Obi-Wan’s Grandmaster lecturing them on what compunctions Sith did or did not suffer. Young one. He ruthlessly suppressed a shudder.
Obi-Wan couldn’t feel anything but a cold void where Dooku sat behind him, yet he could have sworn the void shrank back somewhat apologetically. That impression held implications that were too much to even consider, so Obi-Wan resolved not to think about it, and turned his attention back to the cuffs. “What about that circuit, right there…”
Darkness fell quickly, so it was less than twenty minutes before Obi-Wan felt he could no longer trust himself with the wiring, and another half hour before even Anakin was forced to stop tinkering. Instead, he started tinkering with the cybernetic, which he knew well enough that he could disassemble and reassemble it in the dark. Obi-Wan thought, ridiculously, of Rex taking apart his rifle and putting it back together at speed.
At least Anakin had something to tinker with, Obi-Wan thought sourly. He had Dooku at his back. Meditation seemed wiser than dozing off, but Obi-Wan couldn’t get his thoughts to settle. He leaned back against the cold rock and wrapped his arms around himself as best he could.
They’d sat together in silence for what seemed like a long time—half an hour, maybe more. Maybe less, now that Anakin and Dooku weren’t actively sniping at each other to make the time go by more quickly.
It was Dooku who broke their temporary truce first.
“You were with him, when he died.”
Obi-Wan jerked awake. He hadn’t even realised he was half-dozing. Anakin’s side of the bond prickled with concern, and Obi-Wan couldn’t blame him. He wasn’t sure how much he was broadcasting, but this was a particular subject he would have liked to avoid. Avoid it forever, actually—forever would be nice.
He certainly didn’t want to discuss Qui-Gon’s death with Dooku. “You’ve asked, before.” On Geonosis.
“You refused to answer.”
“Well, at least we’re both consistent.”
His voice must have been cold enough to startle Anakin. He shifted uncomfortably at Obi-Wan’s side, partly wanting to strangle Dooku and partly seeing no justifiable reason to do so—yet. The support, Obi-Wan found, was gratifying. Dooku’s silence, for the next few minutes, even more so.
Not that the Count seemed to know what was good for him. “Chancellor Palpatine showed me the security holo from the generator complex.”
Obi-Wan just barely suppressed a snarl. “Then you already know what happened.”
A shift of cloth, perhaps a shrug, answered him in the dark. “I saw his death. That I saw very clearly. I saw the Zabrak, Maul. I didn’t see you.”
“So that was his name,” Obi-Wan murmured. “And you joined the Sith, even after this?”
“I joined the Sith because I couldn’t save him,“ Dooku said. “Because stagnation in the Order was damaging years ago, because it killed him, because the Senate’s impotence has been killing Jedi for decades!”
“Oh, and you thought you could create something better, did you?”
“Do not mock me, youngling. The Confederacy will serve its purpose, as will the Sith—”
“You made a deal with the Sith?”
Something about his voice was off. It must have been: Anakin stiffened beside him, and, far more tellingly, Dooku shut up.
But that wasn’t enough. Suddenly, overwhelmingly, Obi-Wan wanted to break him apart into little pieces.
No, not that. Jedi, he reminded himself. Control.
To hells with control, Obi-Wan decided. Something had broken open inside him and demanded to be released.
“I was standing behind a ray shield, watching as a creature from crècheling nightmares skewered my Master on a red ‘saber blade,” he said, voice full of a cold calm that startled some distant, detached part of him. “I sliced the thing in half. I didn’t Fall, Count, but I killed that which had taken my Master from me.
“Here’s the trouble with you, and all the revolutionaries I’ve ever seen,” Obi-Wan went on. “You fight for some sort of ideology, you fight in the name of someone you cared for. But you forget—the victim of your war is not merely the one who wronged you. Your collateral damage, your acceptable costs, number in billions of innocent lives.
“And all this, on a gamble that you will outwit the Sith.” Obi-Wan allowed himself a derisive scoff. “Rich, from a man just so recently captured by pirates.”
Dooku, bless the stars, said nothing for once. The ensuing silence was so stiff that—
“Ha!”
Obi-Wan turned and caught what was easily the most disconcerting image he’d ever seen: Anakin, waving his detached cybernetic hand and grinning like a fiend in the dim light. “I think I might be able to find an internal release switch.”
anvil527up said: anakin, obi, and dooku, in the ‘we all chained together’ finding a safe(ish) spot to rest, debating on the ‘we’re ALL tired, but (I) don’t trust you enough to doze off’… cue sleepy confessions and oups moment
*snicerks*
ok so this isn’t exactly sleepy confessions… I don’t know what this is?
“Where did they even find that pathetic life form,” Dooku hissed, apparently hovering undecided somewhere between horror and fascination.
It was hard not to share the sentiment, though, given that Hondo’s compound looked as though it had been reduced to a smoking mountain of slag. Obi-Wan noted, with some relief, that their rescue party had survived—he could see Jar-Jar and the clones in the distance, regrouping at the shuttle that had let them down on Florrum. He’d once despaired of Jar-Jar ever finding his feet, but he was beginning to see the value, more and more often, in his particular brand of 'clumsy’.
Case in point: the erstwhile pirate compound. For the most part, the pirates seemed to be minding their own business. That business largely involved wandering around, either shell-shocked or drunk, or wondering whether their shipment of spice had survived the rampant destruction. The rescue party—or rather, the party sent to bring the Count into custody—comprised of a Gungan and four clones with the red-striped armour of the Coruscant Guard, didn’t particularly seem inclined to bother them either.
That was all very well for all of them, Obi-Wan thought (not at all bitterly), but he was on the wrong side of the pirates, hidden behind a rocky outcropping—cold, cramped, and very uncomfortable. Chained, on one side, to Anakin and on the other to Count Dooku, no less. Neither of them made for entirely pleasant company. Anakin, unable to crack the cuffs, was getting restless and frustrated. Dooku was sullen, cynical, and didn’t offer any sort of boost to their morale. He took great pleasure in needling Anakin and antagonising him, which was even more unhelpful.
Anakin had been fiddling with Obi-Wan’s cuffs for at least an hour. There were five different security measures merely on the face of them, and crossing wires the wrong way would as soon blow Obi-Wan’s hands off as do nothing helpful. Of course Hondo had somehow gotten his hands on these. Obi-Wan was seriously beginning to wonder if he’d made some sort of deal with CSF for them—it wasn’t like the Director was particularly happy about other people playing with CSF’s toys. It was also a bit difficult to imagine that she didn’t know precisely where CSF’s R&D projects ended up.
“Should have asked CSF for the standard lock code,” Obi-Wan muttered.
Anakin looked affronted, as if Obi-Wan had professed any less than full confidence in his skills. “Like Hondo wouldn’t have changed it anyway.”
“Hondo?” Obi-Wan echoed, surprised. “Now why do you think he would know to change the codes?”
“Because he’d charm the base codes out of her, and because you didn’t think to ask,” Anakin said.
“She’s not really the sort to fall for charm,” Obi-Wan pointed out.
“Well, Master, you would know.”
“Anakin—!”
“Would you two get on with it?” Dooku cut in roughly.
“One wrong move and somebody loses a hand,” Anakin warned him, then paused and looked up at Obi-Wan. “Maybe we should start with him?”
Obi-Wan snorted. “And what are you going to do when he’s free of the cuffs, hands or no hands, and we’re still shackled together? Give chase?”
Anakin shrugged. “If he loses both hands, it’s not like he’ll be moving very fast.” He grinned at the sound of Dooku growling. “Relax, old man. I’m testing on the cybernetic anyway. Guess I should be thanking you for that.”
The growl shorted out. Obi-Wan shook his head slightly and sighed, turning his gaze up to Florrum’s dusky sky. “We should find a way to signal our rescue force. It seems unlikely that we’ll be able to move before dawn without being spotted—” he raised his hands, then dropped them again “—unless you can get us free of these things before then.”
“And what, exactly, do you suggest we do in the meantime?” Dooku asked—about as politely as he was capable, it seemed.
“I dunno, take a nap!” Anakin immediately suggested.
“Right, yes. For you to kill me in my sleep, I suppose.”
Anakin opened his mouth to respond, then snapped his jaw shut, taking a measured breath. “That is not the Jedi way,” he said, grim.
“A pity. You limit yourself, young one. The Sith suffer no such compunctions—”
“Oh do shut up,” Obi-Wan snapped finally.
It was a bit too much to be so suddenly reminded of Qui-Gon, of the fact that this was Obi-Wan’s Grandmaster lecturing them on what compunctions Sith did or did not suffer. Young one. He ruthlessly suppressed a shudder.
Obi-Wan couldn’t feel anything but a cold void where Dooku sat behind him, yet he could have sworn the void shrank back somewhat apologetically. That impression held implications that were too much to even consider, so Obi-Wan resolved not to think about it, and turned his attention back to the cuffs. “What about that circuit, right there…”
Darkness fell quickly, so it was less than twenty minutes before Obi-Wan felt he could no longer trust himself with the wiring, and another half hour before even Anakin was forced to stop tinkering. Instead, he started tinkering with the cybernetic, which he knew well enough that he could disassemble and reassemble it in the dark. Obi-Wan thought, ridiculously, of Rex taking apart his rifle and putting it back together at speed.
At least Anakin had something to tinker with, Obi-Wan thought sourly. He had Dooku at his back. Meditation seemed wiser than dozing off, but Obi-Wan couldn’t get his thoughts to settle. He leaned back against the cold rock and wrapped his arms around himself as best he could.
They’d sat together in silence for what seemed like a long time—half an hour, maybe more. Maybe less, now that Anakin and Dooku weren’t actively sniping at each other to make the time go by more quickly.
It was Dooku who broke their temporary truce first.
“You were with him, when he died.”
Obi-Wan jerked awake. He hadn’t even realised he was half-dozing. Anakin’s side of the bond prickled with concern, and Obi-Wan couldn’t blame him. He wasn’t sure how much he was broadcasting, but this was a particular subject he would have liked to avoid. Avoid it forever, actually—forever would be nice.
He certainly didn’t want to discuss Qui-Gon’s death with Dooku. “You’ve asked, before.” On Geonosis.
“You refused to answer.”
“Well, at least we’re both consistent.”
His voice must have been cold enough to startle Anakin. He shifted uncomfortably at Obi-Wan’s side, partly wanting to strangle Dooku and partly seeing no justifiable reason to do so—yet. The support, Obi-Wan found, was gratifying. Dooku’s silence, for the next few minutes, even more so.
Not that the Count seemed to know what was good for him. “Chancellor Palpatine showed me the security holo from the generator complex.”
Obi-Wan just barely suppressed a snarl. “Then you already know what happened.”
A shift of cloth, perhaps a shrug, answered him in the dark. “I saw his death. That I saw very clearly. I saw the Zabrak, Maul. I didn’t see you.”
“So that was his name,” Obi-Wan murmured. “And you joined the Sith, even after this?”
“I joined the Sith because I couldn’t save him,“ Dooku said. “Because stagnation in the Order was damaging years ago, because it killed him, because the Senate’s impotence has been killing Jedi for decades!”
“Oh, and you thought you could create something better, did you?”
“Do not mock me, youngling. The Confederacy will serve its purpose, as will the Sith—”
“You made a deal with the Sith?”
Something about his voice was off. It must have been: Anakin stiffened beside him, and, far more tellingly, Dooku shut up.
But that wasn’t enough. Suddenly, overwhelmingly, Obi-Wan wanted to break him apart into little pieces.
No, not that. Jedi, he reminded himself. Control.
To hells with control, Obi-Wan decided. Something had broken open inside him and demanded to be released.
“I was standing behind a ray shield, watching as a creature from crècheling nightmares skewered my Master on a red ‘saber blade,” he said, voice full of a cold calm that startled some distant, detached part of him. “I sliced the thing in half. I didn’t Fall, Count, but I killed that which had taken my Master from me.
“Here’s the trouble with you, and all the revolutionaries I’ve ever seen,” Obi-Wan went on. “You fight for some sort of ideology, you fight in the name of someone you cared for. But you forget—the victim of your war is not merely the one who wronged you. Your collateral damage, your acceptable costs, number in billions of innocent lives.
“And all this, on a gamble that you will outwit the Sith.” Obi-Wan allowed himself a derisive scoff. “Rich, from a man just so recently captured by pirates.”
Dooku, bless the stars, said nothing for once. The ensuing silence was so stiff that—
“Ha!”
Obi-Wan turned and caught what was easily the most disconcerting image he’d ever seen: Anakin, waving his detached cybernetic hand and grinning like a fiend in the dim light. “I think I might be able to find an internal release switch.”
