Atton Rand is good at running and drinking. (crackingwise) wrote in valarlogs, @ 2013-11-06 01:16:00 |
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Entry tags: | !complete, atton rand, obi-wan kenobi |
Who: Atton and Obi-Wan
When: Just after Obi was a cat
Where: A bar
What: Meeting for drinks, friendship times, and srs conversations
Rating/Warning: PG, for discussion of the Dark Side
Status: Complete
After weeks of being trapped in the body of a cat, Obi-Wan needed a drink, as anyone would. Truthfully, it was more of a celebratory drink for being returned to his old self. His time as a cat hadn’t been terribly stressful. He’d even learned a few things about himself along the way, as though he’d taken part in some kind of living fable.
But still. Cat. A drink was needed. He’d invited Atton out for one.
Atton arrived shortly after the time he’d agreed upon with Obi, and he couldn’t help but smile at his Master, waving a hand in greeting. “Henrietta Pussycat! Good to see you! How’s life without a tail?”
Obi-Wan tried to frown, but it came out looking lopsided and unconvincing, because he was genuinely happy to see Atton, who was, at the moment, his strongest connection to his old life as a Knight. Now that Padme and Anakin were here, he didn’t know if that would change things, but he hoped it wouldn’t affect their relationship. He very much liked Atton, even though he gave him a hard time.
“How’s life as a married man?” he asked, waiting for Atton to sit. “I’m sorry, who is Henrietta Pussycat?”
Atton smiled, moving to hug his Master. He liked the older man, and even though they snarked at each other, considered him his best friend. With Meetra moved away, Obi was thus far Atton’s only tie to his dreams, and even then it was mostly due to the Force. It was odd knowing Atton dreamed further back than Obi-Wan, from a historical point in the older man’s life.
“Life as a married man is fantastic,” Atton beamed. He couldn’t keep the grin off of his face lately, and he didn’t want to stop if he was totally honest. “Henrietta Pussycat was the cat on Mr. Rogers. The one who only spoke in meows, remember?”
Obi-Wan blinked, forming amused smile beneath his blank eyes. He shook his head. “I have absolutely no idea what you’re talking about. Well, no, I’ve heard of Mr. Rogers, of course. I don’t think I ever watched it as a child.” Shame, he’d probably have enjoyed it.
“If you’re ever up early, I think it’s still on PBS. You kind of remind me of him. The man, not the character on the show. He was this sweet, benevolent, awesome man who took exactly zero bullshit.” Atton slapped his friend on the back happily, ever aware of the ring on his finger. “So. How’s things with you? How’s your pretty lady?” See, he was being nice and not even asking about how pooping on things outside was.
It was a substantial compliment. Just as long as Obi-Wan didn’t still remind him of this Henrietta Pussycat… Reminding people of Grumpy Cat was one cat too many. Although the ease of pooping outside would be missed.
He moved to a table and sat. “Well, Loras is getting married. He’s going to get a new place. And Faiza and I have decided to move in together.” There was a rather wide grin on Obi-Wan’s face as he said this, as if it made him genuinely giddy. It did. he didn’t bother trying to hide it.
Atton grinned broadly as well. “Really? I knew about Loras and Renly, but you and your pretty lady is fantastic!” He reached out to hug Obi-Wan again, having long since lost his fear of showing the other man physical affection.
For his own part, Obi-wan had stopped bracing up at the first sign of physical contact, which was a major step forward. Perhaps being a cat, and having to be carried so many places, had flushed that anxiety out of him. An embrace was no longer a scary thing. “It took me a while to work up the nerve. It almost felt like I was actually proposing.”
“God, I know that feeling. That was hard as hell, actually, for me too. It helped that Isabela was the one who proposed to me.” He tapped his fingers a little on the table, drumming them, trying not to feel too silly about that.
Obi-Wan didn't see anything silly about that all. "It isn't... I mean, it wasn't a shotgun situation, was it? That would be my only concern." He chuckled.
“Nah. We’ve had the kid talk. She’s not ready yet, but maybe someday.” Atton felt pretty smart for having that discussion before getting married. That was a grown up thing to do, and he normally didn’t do grown up things.
A server came by to take their order and Obi-Wan ordered an imported beer. "Faiza... she's not ready either. Maybe I'm not, too. But i'm not aging in reverse, unfortunately."
“You do realize that you can make kids until you die, right?” Atton cocked his head to the side and smiled at Obi-wan. “Maybe you’re not ready.”
“Yes, I could make them--though I honestly don’t want to picture that… geriatric attempt, but I’d like to see them grow up, if possible.” He laughed jovially. He was far more friendly than usual, more at ease. Full of joy, perhaps.
Turning into a cat and back again will to that to a man.
“You’re hardly old now, Obi. You’re what, forty?” Atton shrugged. He wasn’t too much younger, but at the same time, wanted the same things. “Hey, what’s the deal with the new kid?”
“Forty-four,” Obi-Wan replied. He knew he looked younger than he was, which had always bothered him a bit, because he always felt like he’d been born an old man. When he shaved, he looked like he was still in his thirties.
His expression changed a bit at the final question. He found himself needing to take a breath before answering. “Do you mean Anakin?”
“You don’t look forty-four, you look about thirty-five.” Atton took a sip of the drink that someone had placed in front of him without his noticing.
What Atton did notice was how hesitant Obi seemed. “Yeah, that kid. He seems ... nice. Why’re you all jumpy?”
Obi-wan pressed his lips together in thought, wondering how much he could reasonably say about Anakin and how to be fair. How much would Atton even be able to grasp? Memories from the dreams were tricky. “I know him, from the past,” he said. “Let’s just say he puts me on edge. Have you spoken with him much?”
“Little bit. He’s ... very fond of you,” Atton smiled. He was choosing his own words carefully, and he leaned back in his seat.
Obi-Wan knit his brows and then lifted them high. “Fond of me? I was under the impression that I was somewhat terrorizing him.” Talk of the dreams alone was frightening enough.
“I don’t know, he seems really ... he wouldn’t rib you if he didn’t like you.” Atton smiled to himself, looking down. “It’s what we did when we first met.”
Obi-Wan leaned back against the booth and smiled. How long had he and Atton known each other, now? "Well, let's hope he still likes me when all is said and done. His dreams to come will be... difficult, I'm afraid. But you may be in a position to help more than I can, at times. He... I... Well, he has challenges ahead. And he may... grow to trust you more than myself." Cryptic Jedi is cryptic.
“You know, is it part of the Jedi code that when you get old you have to be cryptic? I should warn Isabela now, if so.” Atton rolled his eyes. “What you’re saying is that in his dreams you and he have a falling out?”
“Yes. You may want to warn her.” Obi-Wan sighed. When he spoke to the Anakin of this world, it was his brother-in-arms he saw, not Vader, and that made everything concerning him so damn confusing. Was he being a fool? Was he too eager to forgive. “You’ve spoken before about the pull of the Dark Side,” he continued, lowering his voice a little. “Anakin will face that. Perhaps very soon.”
That made Atton’s eyebrows raise. “Oh, balls,” he muttered. “Does he go full on Sith Lord, or does he just dabble?” Atton hadn’t talked about his dreams of dying at the hand of Darth Sion. What was the point? Sion wasn’t here, and it would only upset Isabela to know that Atton had died to save Meetra.
Obi-Wan pressed his lips together. He didn’t want to give life to Anakin’s fate with words from his own mouth. A few moments passed, and all he could do was shake his head.
“Oh, shit.” That wasn’t good, and Atton looked down. “I’ll do what I can. I’ll talk to him,” Atton murmured. “Nobody deserves to hate themselves that much.”
“Like I said, you may be in a much better position to help him.” Obi-Wan paused. He took a drink. “If it turns out that’s what Anakin wants.”
“Of course. I’m not going to go around offering Sage Advice if he doesn’t want it. But I’m going to be a shoulder if need be.” Atton was good at that.
“Good,” Obi-Wan took a drink. He nodded. Anakin did not need a clone of himself, telling him what to do. “That’s exactly what I would advise. I don’t know what I expect of him, yet. He’s already surprised me more than once… although perhaps I have been clinging to certain memories too long.”
“We’re not exactly who we are in the dreams. I didn’t desert in the Jedi War for the same reason I left the Air Force. And I’ve never assassinated anyone.” Atton sipped his own drink, sighing to himself. “Those dreams are fuckers.”
Obi-Wan was quiet for a few moments, contemplating Atton’s words and taking in the emotions that accompanied them. This was about as serious as his friend ever became. “It’s easier to forgive ourselves, to surmount what we’d prefer to move beyond, than it is to forget what you’ve witnessed someone else…” He shook his head. He was generalizing and he didn’t like it. “I want to believe the best of Anakin, but it’s intensely difficult.”
“Obi, you trust me, right?” Atton looked at his friend. “I was trained to kill Jedi in the dreams. I’d take the Padawans out first, so that the Master was already hurting if they were Force bonded. Drove them out faster, made them reckless.” Atton shook his head. “I was terrible in my dreams. I was scum.”
He did trust Atton. Obi-Wan also knew the ways of the Sith better than nearly all the Jedi of his generation. He knew them first-hand. He’d held Qui-Gon when he died. As Atton spoke now, he felt his stomach clench, but his eyes remain on his friend. “And what would you say about such a leader who gave you the order to do that?”
“I’d say they were smart enough to recruit actual scum like me to keep their hands cleaner.” Atton sighed, drumming his fingers against his glass, counting cards in his head, trying to keep out the thoughts of all the blood on his hands.
The conversation had turned very serious faster than Han Solo made claims about his beloved Falcon. Obi-Wan blinked and allowed the silence to pass, almost as if he was taking a moment to remember the fallen. Then, he slowly stretched a hand half-way across the table. “But I trust you, Atton. I never question that. Hopefully, I grow to trust Anakin, too. Again.”
“That’s all it takes, Obi-wan. Time. The longer he goes without going all ‘Peace is a lie’ on you, the more trust you’ll have.” Atton smiled, reaching out to pat the old man’s hand. “Don’t go all romantic on me now, old man, I’m married. Isabela’s scarier than any Sith Lord out there, too.”
The smile returned to Obi-Wan’s face as he moved his hand back to his drink, circling his fingers around the glass. “Yes. Hopeless romantic. That’s me.” He wasn’t being completely facetious, that was clear.