Atton Rand is good at running and drinking. (crackingwise) wrote in valarlogs, @ 2014-04-22 22:42:00 |
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Entry tags: | !complete, atton rand, obi-wan kenobi |
Who: Atton and Obi-Wan.
What: Drinking.
When: After Faiza's passing.
Where: A bar.
Rating/Warnings: PG-13 for drunky times and Atton's mouth.
Status: Complete!
Two Jedi walk into a bar.
You think one of them would have had the foresight to go through the door.
Obi-Wan had been making it a point to get himself out of the house as much as possible lately. The pain of losing Faiza was no less sharp, but grief can serve to put things into perspective. For Obi-Wan, he wanted to spend as much time with his friends as possible. It was his medicine. All too well, he knew the dangers of giving into the reluctivity he was prone to. And so a man who was infamously solitary was going through the motions of a social butterfly, and even hoping they might stick.
In Atton’s dreams, he was far less solitary than Obi seemed to be, but it was only because Atton faked being the life of the party very well. Were it not for Isabela and things in his life looking up in general, Atton would’ve been at home drinking himself to death. Alone. As it stood, he figured he’d toss back two to four drinks with his friend and make sure he didn’t get too drunk. Either of them, really.
Although, since being social wasn’t exactly Obi-Wan’s natural state, he did feel a little out-of-sorts in the bar. It had been a long time since he’d been to one. There was a knot in his stomach. “It’s been so long, I forget what I like to drink,” he said to Atton as they walked to the counter.
“You could start with froofy and work your way over to hair-on-the-chest,” Atton suggested. He clapped his friend on the back, choosing a booth in a corner over the stools at the bar. That way they’d have a certain amount of privacy, which would make things less awkward.
Obi-Wan signaled to the bartender that they'd be taking a booth and joined Atton. Almost immediately, there was a server at their tableside, ready to take their order. "I'll have... whatever lager you have on tap," he said.
"Anchor," she said.
"Sure. That's fine." Obi- Wan gestured to Atton.
Atton smiled at the bartender. “Maker’s Mark, two fingers, little bit of water, please.” He settled down, taking off his jacket and leaning back. “So. Aside from the obvious, how’re you feeling?”
Obi-Wan smiled a smile that he'd been using frequently as of late, one that allowed for a little sadness. "I'm holding everything together. Moving in with Anakin and Padme has helped."
“Good.” Atton folded his arms and then leaned back. “Now, if you don’t want to talk about it anymore, we don’t have to.” When Atton’s parents had passed away, he’d gotten sick of the endless questions.
For better or worse, he'd been around this block before. And, depending on one's point of view, his eagerness to heal and close the book might have been either very healthy or unhealthy. Either way, he believed he knew what was best for him. "She died a noble death," he said simply. He was trying not to speak like a Jedi for once, but it was difficult.
The drinks arrived.
“Yeah, but that doesn’t make it better,” Atton murmured. He closed his eyes, thinking about his parents. Meetra. His own death. The dreams and real life had too much death in them, and it never got better or easier.
He leaned back. “So. Uh. My dreams gave me another present.”
With his beer inches from his face, Obi-Wan tilted his head at Atton. “What was it?” He glanced downward into the foam and inhaled, trying to recall when he’d last had a beer. After a sip, he questioned why he’d given it up even when Faiza told him she didn’t mind. “Oh, that’s good…”
“Astromech droid.” Atton wrinkled his nose. He’d never trusted droids in the dreams, and that bit of luddite tendency had carried over into his own waking life. He still had a flip phone. “Think Ani has a spanner?”
“You received an entire droid?” Obi-Wan may have woken up with a pile of spaceship parts on his lawn, but a functioning robot was a step up.
“Teethree likes Isabela more than me. I’m just a translator,” Atton huffed. “Of course, he’s a kiss-ass so that’s not surprising.”
Obi-Wan leaned back and exercised his eyebrows, which were bushy and looked as though they could stand for a little jaunt. “I wonder… if Artoo will suddenly appear… Anakin and Padme named their dog after him.” But it wasn’t quite the same. “I had to modify my ship to operate without an astromech droid.”
“You have a ship?” Atton’s eyes went wide. “That’s no fair!” He was a pilot, dammit, he loved flying! “Maybe Teethree can help you.”
“A light interceptor, actis class. I don’t use it much.” Obi-Wan hated flying. “Flying is for droids…” He wondered if the gentle pressure of deja vu he felt was due to anything other than the rapidly disappearing beer in his hand. He was drinking like someone who had forgotten the art of pacing a beverage.
“Flying is for pilots,” Atton smiled. “I miss the Ebon Hawk. Freighter, dynamic-class. I knew every place where you could hide anything.” But his friend’s chugging was worrisome. “You thirsty?” He cocked an eyebrow, having only had a sip of his own drink. “Want me to snag you a water?”
The surprise on Obi-Wan’s face was near-comical when he realized what he’d done to his drink. He had been thirsty and he had been treating the beer like it was water. “Perhaps… And maybe some food. I didn’t eat dinner.” Or lunch. He was forgetting to pay attention to his meals lately, as well.
“We’ll get something to eat. Nothing to make your stomach full like greasy bar food.” Quesadillas sounded really good too, actually. “I’m glad you’re with Padme and Anakin, though. They’ll look after you.” Sometimes it was hard to remember how to function in grief.
Atton’s interior concerns were not lost on Obi-Wan. He didn’t go any further by searching his friend, but this was a case where he didn’t have to. “Atton,” he said, “I’m not drinking to drown my sorrows. You don’t have to worry. I’m drinking… like a plant who could use some water. I need a night to relax, have a bit of fun.”
As if to drive the point home, Obi-Wan finished what was left of his beer. “And I have a pretty high threshold.” He wasn’t even feeling it, yet.
“Okay, point. I’m guessing you could probably just Force yourself sober if you wanted. Oh, Force puns.” Atton waggled his brows and drank a bit more whiskey. “But no, seriously, I think Teethree would like you. He keeps saying I’m not a ‘real’ Jedi.”
"What does he mean by that nonsense?" He asked with a belch coloring his voice. Okay, so Obi-Wan was feeling it a little bit. But he had no intention of Forcing himself sober.
Atton laughed. “Teethree knew me when I was just a smuggler who didn’t like him. He’ll never acknowledge that I’m a Jedi, even if I put him in the air, upside down, and threaten to use my saber on his motivator.”
“That’s when it’s time to reprogram him,” Obi-Wan said, lifting an eyebrow. He signaled for the server to return for the ordering of some food. And more drinks.
“But ... that’s mean,” Atton blinked. “He’s just sassy, he doesn’t need to be reprogrammed, you monster.” Atton’s jaw dropped.
Obi-Wan didn’t have the same affinity some had for their droid companions. He’d never understood Anakin’s attachment to Artoo, the robot, not the dog, but then again, Anakin felt deeply about many things that baffled the old man. “Don’t get me wrong,” he said, “They’re helpful inventions. But I’ve never met a droid whom I could trust more than something with a nervous system.”
“Me too, but ...” Atton blinked. “I like that we fight. It’s ... how we communicate.” He laughed a little when he realized that he and Teethree basically just fought like an old married couple.
Again, Obi-Wan thought of Anakin. "Hmm. A feeling I know all too well."
The server returned and Obi-Wan ordered a burger and fries. He'd lost a little weight and it was time he started to rectify that. Too many days had passed where he couldn't recall his meals... He also ordered a Lagavulin, neat, which had at one point been his regular drink.
"And Teethree, what does he think of Orange County? Does he understand where he is?"
Atton got his aforementioned quesadilla, kind of excited to have one. He’d been trying to eat whatever Isabela ate, out of commiseration.
“Teethree? I had him download Wikipedia, so sort of?” Man, thank god for unlimited bandwidth. He’d just have to suffer the download speed cap for another week or so.
Obi-Wan chuckled. He turned his gaze to the side, taking in the sights of the pub, the conversations shaded in dim lighting. The multicolored clubs of Coruscant had never felt so far away.
"And how is Isabela?" he asked. Atton hadn't mentioned her, but Obi-Wan sensed she had come to mind. His eyes hadn't exactly returned to their table just yet. He appeared to be distracted.
“She’s good. It’s a boy.” Atton bit his lower lip, smiling to himself. “We were talking, and we’ll probably name him Ben.” It was a secret, but Atton Rand was a sentimentalist. Always had been.
As was Obi-Wan, although he'd tried to convince many people otherwise. He turned in surprise. His mouth was even hanging agape. Then he wondered if he was assuming too much. After all, he wasn't the only Ben in the universe. "Do you mean...?"
“After you.” Atton chuckled and moved to lightly sock his master on the arm. “Please don’t cry. I suck with crying chicks, I can’t help but think I’d suck with crying guys too.”
Obi-Wan's smile spread from ear to ear. For a man with an excellent stone-face, he could manage quite a broad grin. "Really?" he asked, still in disbelief. "Well... that's quite the honour, Atton."
“Of course really. There’s no other old guy that I’d rather name him after. His middle name will either be my dad’s or Isabela’s dad’s, depending on who wins rock-paper-scissors. Teethree’s already claimed he’ll ‘defend my offspring’, which is kind of cute. I just hope he won’t be Force sensitive before he’s like, ten, if at all.” Atton was glad that his friend was smiling for once. The man had seen too much goddamn dark.
The smile remained on Obi-Wan’s face as his gaze turned slightly inward, though it looked more like he had merely lowered them to his glass. A few seconds passed as he counted his blessings, and a few more passed as he wondered just why it seemed to be that every Jedi he knew had been entrusted with a child except for him. He thought about Faiza. And then he counted his blessings again, for good measure.
“As long as you don’t name him Obi-Wan or Obi. The boy doesn’t need that torture.” He lifted his eyes and laughed. “You need another drink, my friend. You need to let me to buy you a drink in honor of my namesake.” He waved over the server before Atton could protest. “Or at least some french fries.”
“Well, that’s why we were naming him Ben. You’re my best friend here, and naming him Obi-Wan just seemed mean. Or Anakin. I mean, how many Little Orphan Ani jokes can one kid take before he snaps?” Atton shuddered, but was excited at the idea of french fries.
Little Orphan Ani? Obi-Wan failed to get that reference… Oh, wait. Wasn’t there some sort of movie or musical about that? Then he remembered the old comic strip. Finally, he gave Atton’s joke a belated laugh. Quite clever, although Anakin would probably be reluctant to chime in.
The celebratory french fries and drinks continued until Obi-Wan’s face was as ruddy as his hair. The smiles continued, as well, although there were definite moments when he experienced emotional pangs akin to pain. Faiza would jump into his mind, memories of happy moments that were now clouded by unforeseen doom. He worried about Anakin and Padme’s expectant future. No doubt Obi-Wan was drowning more sorrows than he cared to admit.
But it did not erase his joy over the present situation. The old Jedi was truly happy for his friend. There was no Council now to tell him otherwise. “Ffffffuck the Council,” he said rather suddenly, biting his lip. “Look at the Jedi, reproducing like rabbits. We change with the times. And we won’t die out.”
Grinning, Atton was glad that Obi-Wan had gotten one of his jokes. Hey, it had been bound to happen sooner or later, right?
Even though Obi-Wan was putting up a good fight, Atton knew that it would be impossible to fight pain off for always. So he was quiet when Obi-Wan looked upset, making sure to keep out of his friend’s mind.
But the sudden exclamation made Atton crack up, nearly spittaking whiskey across the table. “Indeed. Fuck the Council,” Atton laughed. “You forget, I’m from a time when the Council didn’t really exist. So fuck them indeed.” And fuck them for not helping during the Mandalorian Wars, and fuck them for cutting Meetra off from the Force, and just ... fuck those guys. Atton held up his drink in a toast.
Obi-Wan pointed a looping finger at Atton. “You’re right. You don’t even… you couldn’t care less about the Council!” He laughed and lifted his glass. “Hey, wait. I was on it!”
The drinks were lubricating cogs that had rusted in his mind, things he’d buried and spoken about only in the most ideological terms. Truth be told, he was as guilty as the rest of them. But he now had the fortune of hindsight.
Snorting, Atton couldn’t help but laugh a little to himself. “I’m sure you were decent when you were on the Council. I mean, it’s all a good idea, but I think the Council and the Sith are way too far apart, you know? I always preferred the path that’s a little more compromise-y. Little more in the middle.” Atton was a good sort of guy, but if he had to steal a spaceship or something to do the good thing, he would.
“I’m just glad there isn’t an Empire here. Life’s easier without those jerks.”
Qui-Gon had always tried to warn Obi-Wan about the Council while he’d been his master. Without deriding them, he’d put a worm in his padawan’s ear to be cautious, because they had held too much power for too long. Obi-Wan, meanwhile, had thought his master so deserving of a Council seat that he assumed Qui-Gon wasn’t speaking from some secret jealousy. It had taken a war for him to grasp what the man really meant when he said the Force was a living thing.
“Yes, but only a little easier.” He finished what was left in his glass, which had begun to spin in his hand.
“Yeah. But ... I think it gives us clarity. To be able to govern ourselves. The Force ... moves.” Atton leaned back, wishing he was allowed to smoke in bars. Stupid laws. But he still had fries, and that was good. “And it’s not just ... in us. It’s in everyone.”
If Atton had starting smoking, Obi-Wan was intoxicated just enough to bum a cigarette and undoing all his hard work quitting. “I have felt the Force change direction mid-step. It’s like…chaos theory…butterfly wings…” Hm. What was folder was he trying to find buried deep in his soggy brain? “If I butterfly lands on a flower in...some part of the world...something else happens here. Och, I’m blootered.”
It was harder to get Atton Rand drunk, but if blootered was tipsy, then yes. Atton was also blootered, as evidenced by the fact he almost fell over giggling. “Blootered! Ha!”
Somehow forgetting there was a table between them, Obi-Wan reached to steady Atton, and succeeded only in knocking over half the glasses on the table. It caught the attention of several patrons around them, which caused him to burst into giggles, as well.
“I’m going to smell like whisky and then Isabela will be sad,” Atton laughed. “She misses the booze place. Bar.” Sighing, Atton took some deep breaths, trying to steady himself as well. “Okay, okay, gotta sober up.”
Obi-Wan could could not recall the last time he’d felt even remotely drunk. It felt good and horrible at the same time. “Of course. You don’t want to anger the pirate,” he said sincerely. That’s what Isabela was, right? Some sort of pirate. If she was any sort of pirate, it was a good idea not to upset her.
“Yeah, she knows how to use knives. And she’s got boobs and she kicks and she’s all... perfect and stuff.” He looked over at his best friend, his eyes a bit filmy. “I’m really fucking sorry there’s not more we could’ve ... you know.”
It was a bit delayed, and his movements weren’t very sharp, but Obi-Wan flinched. His smile faded as he worked his jaw. His brain was mostly static now, but Faiza’s image was...like watching a video tape with the tracking disrupted. Flip flip flip.
He nodded. “I know. So do I.” There was more depth to his tone than the words taken on their own.
Sniffling, Atton moved to sit by his friend. “Come on, we should walk home. Or get a cab.” He reached out to hug Obi-Wan, something Atton didn’t normally do to people he wasn’t dating. Atton Rand wasn’t really a touchy guy. But hell, this called for hugs.
Obi-Wan wasn’t one for hugs himself, but again, he was drunk enough that his walls had liquefied and melted. Accepting a hug from Atton was surprisingly easy, so much so that his friend received a rare hug in return.
“If we walk, we might sober up enough that Isabela will only be slightly pissed about us getting pissed.” With a grunt, Obi-Wan rose to his feet. Either the floor was uneven or his legs had turned to rubber.
“I don’t think she’ll get too mad,” Atton started. “She’s just glad she’s not barfing anymore.” He wrapped his arm around his friend and smiled as they wobbled. “Ffff we are so trashed.”
Obi-Wan stumbled forward, crossed-eyed. Goodness, he'd become a lightweight. "What's left of my family in Scotland would be so disappointed. "