I'M LEFT IN THE DARK PONDERING MY MISTAKES IN THE LIGHT I SWEAR I WILL independent. selective. private FALLEN! OBI-WAN KENOBI from Star Wars
legends & disney canon. fall begins at Lawless Arc in The Clone Wars DENY IT ALL oc & multi-muse friendly || rapid fire friendly || crossover friendly || relative & dupe friendly
(Β loved by jaime )
blog est May 2026 // MAIN OBI-WAN BLOG
independent. selective. private. & slow activity.Β FALLEN ! OBI-WAN KENOBIΒ for George LucasβsΒ Star Wars,Β featuring an amalgam of Disneyβs Canon and Legends.
TRIGGER & CONTENT WARNING: This blog explores dark themes regarding loss and grief. It may include subjects triggering for some individuals, such as graphic depictions of violence, intrusive thoughts, suicidal ideation, self-destructive tendencies, self-harm, drug use, and survivorβs guilt. The dark side is portrayed as a parasitic entity to Obi-Wan because he is a prisoner of his grief.Β
last post edit: 2 June 2026
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was hoping to be around today but i fell very ill this morning with what i suspect is food poisoning and i still feel horrible. Iβll be lurking on mobile and discord but im not gonna get anything done today my apologies
independent. selective. private. & slow activity.Β FALLEN! OBI-WAN KENOBIΒ for George LucasβsΒ Star Wars,Β featuring an amalgam of Disneyβs Canon and legends, featuring original lore for the planet Stewjon
( loved and lamented by jaime )
TRIGGER & CONTENT WARNING: This blog explores dark themes regarding loss and grief. It may include subjects triggering for some individuals, such as graphic depictions of violence, intrusive thoughts, suicidal ideation, self-destructive tendencies, self-harm, drug use, and survivorβs guilt. The dark side is portrayed as a parasitic entity to Obi-Wan because he is a prisoner of his grief.Β
last post edit: 1 June 2026
Β Β Β Β Β Β Letβs talk about Obi-Wanβs selective mutism. Now, this isn't something that cropped up intentionally; it simply developed during my time of writing, which I believe is super important. We all know Obi-Wan has a LOT of feelings and is very emotional, especially now that he has fallen; there is a lot less emotional control.
The Jedi were very emotionally repressed, at least during the Clone Wars. They didn't teach proper emotional manners. Theyβre taught to acknowledge it and then let it go. But what happens if thereβs justΒ so much that itβs overwhelming? They feel ashamed and like failures. Well, at least Obi-Wan does.Β
Because heβs supposed to be able to let it go, isnβt he?Β
Regarding the dark side, Obi-Wan usually has two different responses. The first, complete, encompassing grief that feels like a dark void that pulls all sorrow from the galaxy around him. These are his emotional moments where, in the beginning, he blacks out. The dark side essentially takes over.
The other side is a complete shutdown. Obi-WanΒ suppresses. He suppresses and suppresses until it becomes too much, and he just stops.Β Words no longer form on his tongue; his brain is sluggish, and for some reason, he just cannot get what he wants to say out, and he feels like a droid.
So he isolates.
Obi-Wan finds theΒ deepestΒ corner away from others, where he can pretend heβs meditating when all he really is doing is trying not toΒ burst from the inside out.Β
And then eventually those feelings go away. Not entirely, they just fade. His voice comes back, and he can feign being okay until another such instance arises. Is it healthy?Β No. But he was never really given any healthy alternatives.
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Obi-WanΒ is not entirely sureΒ howΒ many allergies he has - so far, he knows only two. Fortunately, the first allergy:Β HOI BROTHΒ ( which is legend's canon through Matthew StoverβsΒ Revenge of the SithΒ ) is an Aqualish soup that, while it is served at many places on Coruscant, including Dexβs Diner, is something that he can easily steer away from. Though much to his horror, he discovered his allergy while on a mission on the planet Ando when he was served the dish and had an allergic reaction to it, which nearly ended up in aΒ HORRIFIC DIPLOMATIC INCIDENT. Anakin does not let him live that down.
His second allergy is not that easy to get around:Β CAF. Itβs a little-known allergy that has given rise to the apparent idea thatΒ heβs obsessed with teaΒ among his men, and even in the Temple. It is a harmless rumor that he has no problem letting it ruminate; it even ends up in a lot of gag gifts of tea. And donβt get him wrong,Β he really does enjoy tea. There is a small box of different mismatched teas that heβs picked up across the galaxy, but heβs not obsessed with it. Itβs his way of getting caffeine that doesnβt result in anaphylactic shock. And as important as it is to let his men know that heβs actually allergic to their preferred method of obtaining energy, the gag has turned into a little inside joke among the 212th, and how can he take what little happiness they have away from them?Β
Summary:Β a little vignette ofΒ Padawan Obi-Wan KenobiβsΒ time imprisoned with the bounty hunters while protecting Duchess Satine Kryze on the planet Draboon. This is considered canon to this blog.
Word Count:Β 1,195
He comes to with a pounding in his head, eyes blinking rapidly in confusion, not entirely remembering how he ended up here. Here. Where is here exactly? Obi-Wanβs eyes finally find focus with the realization that heβs hanging upside. Ah, yes. That will explain things. An involuntary groan escapes his lips as his injuries finally catch up with his consciousness. Only when thereβs no complimentary commentary from a possible roommate does the padawan let himself relax more. Arms are dangling above his head, almost touching the floor, bound together with manacles.
Strung up like an animal for slaughter, with blood dribbling up into his hairline from a small cut at his temple. Oh yes, the bounty hunters are after him and Satine. A jolt, and Obi-Wan is twisting around in fear, had they gotten her too? More importantly, why does it feel like heβs wading through water to get his thoughts to move? Not only that, why does he feel soβ¦. empty.Β
( Relax. There is no emotion, there is only peace. )
A centering breath, and he attempts to remember all that his Master has taught him, but as he tries to reach out into the Force, heβs met with a brick wall. No, not even a brick wall. Absolute nothingness. The hum of the manacles reaches his ears β itβs subtle, and amidst his confusion, Obi-Wan had missed it. Force suppressor.Β Kriff. With how muddled his thoughts are, he must have a concussion, and being suspended upside down is only bound to make it worse.
The door hisses, followed by the entrance of a blinding light. Obi-Wanβs sensitive blue eyes sting and attempt to squint through the blinding light. All he can make out is the silhouette of someone entering the room. There are no distinguishing features; the light in his cell is much too poor for that.
βWelcome back to the land of the living,Β Jetii,β snarls the bounty hunter as he pushes the Padawan so heβs swinging in the empty space. A wave of nausea passes through him.
βIf you keep that up, Iβll be redecorating this interior,β the words fall out of his mouth in a sarcastic tone before he can stop himself.
( Oh, Kenobi, youβre going to get yourself killed. )
In the low light, he can make out the glint of a menacing smile. βOh, youβll be decorating this room, alright.β
Dread fills his entire being. Opening his mouth to reply, Obi-Wanβs rebuttal is lost as a scream rips through his mouth, followed by compulsions. After a few excruciating moments, the electro-rod is taken away from his back and is humming menacingly at the bounty hunterβs side. Panting heavily, he can only send a weak glare. Opening his mouth once again, he cannot get a word through; the electro-rod is back again. Obi-Wanβs muscles ache and scream in protest at being abused so much.
Involuntary tears slip from the corner of his eyes, joining the mess of sweat and blood in his hair. Force, he must look a mess. The bounty hunter wonβt even let him talk β this is all merely for entertainment. This time, Obi-Wan doesnβt attempt to talk.
βGood. Youβre learning. I will ask the questions, and you will answer. No answers or talking out of turn, and youβll get worse than that. Itβs only on the first setting.β A soft sigh from Obi-Wan and the humming of the electro-rod and Force suppressor are all that can be heard in the room. Obi-Wanβs jaw clenches as anger flares in his chest, making his already pounding head feel even hotter.
βWhere is the Duchess?β the man asks. It takes almost all his self-control for the Padawan to not roll his eyes and openly scoff at such a stupid question.
βI donβt even know where I am right now. How am I supposed to know where she is?β Obi-Wan stares defiantly, clenching his jaw. A sigh of disappointment and a soft tutting is his response.
βI would be careful with that tone, boy.β His robes are being torn, and this time the rod is directly on the flesh of his abdomen. What he thought was pain before was nothing compared to this. Abdomen muscles cramp violently, and Obi-Wan feels like heβs going to throw up, not only from pain but the smell and sound of his own flesh sizzling under the hot crackles of electricity. Still, ever vigilant, he does not dare give any information.
Without warning, a fist is colliding with his cheekbone, brass knuckles colliding with what was once only dirt-crusted. He can feel his skin split, blood pouring from the wound, and even getting in his eye. Though itβs not much of a concern considering the eye is already swelling with what is most likely a broken cheek and occipital bone.
βIf you would cooperate, this would be so much easier. All you must do is tell me where she is. Iβll let you down, and even let you go. I can end your pain,Β jetii.β
βThere is no emotion, there is peace. There is no ignorance, there is knowledge, there is no-,β Obi-Wanβs spoken mantra is cut off once again with a punch to his stomach. Body so desperately wishing to curl in on itself, he finds himself gasping for breath as the wind is knocked out of him.
Everything hurts; his head is pounding, and every muscle in his body screams at him to end the brutality, to rest. At this point, Obi-Wan doesnβt even feel like his feet or hands are connected to his body. So much time being suspended upside down has messed with his bodyβs natural blood flow. Force knows whatβs going on with his heart.
Despite all this physical pain, what hurts the most is his very soul. Without the Force suppressors, he would have been out of this situation in mere moments, energy borrowed to give him strength to endure the pain and best the man. Instead, he must test his patience and belief in his master. Qui-Gon will return for him.
Thereβs no knowledge that he has that can help him.
When he and Satine had split up, he told her to climb in the tree. He would lead them away, and when it was once again safe to meet back up with Qui-Gon at the camp to the North. For all he knows, she could never have made it to the camp; they could be waiting for him, or they could be trying to rescue him. Thereβs honesty in his responses; he doesnβt know where Satine is. He knows where she was when he last saw her.
The bounty hunter is talking again, asking questions that Obi-Wan is ignoring. The words feel like theyβre going through a filter or a scrambler. Every few minutes, the electric currents are back, muscles spasming, heart constricting in his chest. At this rate, heβs going to die of an induced heart attack. Closing his eyes, Obi-Wan attempts to block out the pain.
There is no emotion; there is the force. There is no ignorance; there is knowledge. There is no passion, there is serenity. There is no chaos, there is harmony.
βBecause you don't lose someone once. You lose them hearing a song that reminds you of their smile. Passing an old landmark. Laughing at a joke they would've laughed at. You lose them infinitely.β
Force Visions - tw: headaches, migraines, seizures
As a Padawan, Obi-wan was very susceptible toΒ FORCEΒ visions. So much so, that he had a vision about a family member named Owen, later this will be revealed to be the Force showing him the future of Luke, Tatooine, and Owen Lars. HeΒ genuinelyΒ believed that he had a brother named Owen out there, at least until Anakin told him of Owen Lars*.Β The visions could range from random things to possible prophetic futures, such as the one with Owen. His visions were often violent, causing him to have a bloody nose and sometimes even aΒ seizure.Β
Over time, the visions have faded, and would only come when he was asleep or during times of extreme stress and fatigue.
One thing thatΒ wasΒ consistent with his visions, whether they were during the day or dreams, was that they were always accompanied byΒ headachesΒ before andΒ MIGRAINESΒ after. He was able to keep this from Qui-Gon, as Obi-Wan has exceptional mental shields, that is, until one day Obi-Wan had a vision of Qui-Gon being murdered and collapsed, seizing.
After that incident, Qui-Gon had Obi-Wan meet with Yoda. The Jedi Master had Obi-Wan meditate on his visions and learn to properly harness the Force. There, he learned that not all Force visions may come to pass**.
In addition to the visions, he was put on medications to stave off his migraines. Since taking the medication, his Force-visions have stopped exponentially.Β
By the time of the Naboo incident, they were barely present, that is, until Master Qui-Gon died. His nightmares returned, though whether or not they were Force-visions, he was unsure, as most of the time he barely even remembered what the nightmares consisted of.Β
After his Fall, Obi-Wan's headaches and migraines are mostly due to the Dark Side and the exhaustion it causes. He no longer has his medicine and has not suffered a seizure since, though he still has Force visions and migraines periodically.
*Β This bit of information comes from the canceled novellaΒ The Lone WolfΒ by Abel G Pena, which I have adapted myself. It is available as a PDF from the author, starting on page 180.
** Edited after the release of Jedi Knights 1, and edited with artistic flair.
edit: 1 June 2026
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Obi-Wan has a lot of trauma, which translates into how he sleeps. As a child, especially after Melida/Daan, he would often be foundΒ curled up,Β trying to make himself as small as possible. This was so there would be enough room for othersΒ and he wouldnβt take up too much space. The older he got, and the trauma was not forgotten but handled ( as well as possible for Obi-Wan ), his sleeping position slowly became less curled upon himself. As an adult, when he goes to sleep at a normal time, he mostly sleeps on his back with his hands folded atop his stomach, on his stomach, face smushed into the pillow, or, more rarely, on his side with a hand curled in towards himself, usually resting on his face.
Unless worked to exhaustion,Β he often suffers from insomnia and nightmares, which keep him up, resulting in mostly training meditations. To those who know him well, if heβs sleeping on his back, that means frequent nightmares or bouts of interrupted sleep, resulting in either searching for a fight or going through katas. When on his side, itβs usually a peaceful sleep - note this is not often seen. He also does not really move when sleeping.Β Obi-Wan is also very quick to become alert when woken up.Β
Obi-Wan often works himself to exhaustion so he can get an uninterrupted sleep. This, however, does have its own problems, not only because it's unhealthy, but also because he mostly just strips off his armor, throws it on the floor, and then collapses onto his bed, face smushed into the pillow, sleeping on his stomach. Any unplanned visitors to his ship while he's sleeping will usually find him in this half-dressed state, with clothes littering the floor, on the bed mostly made (in which he just straightens the sheet a little), a robe smushed in the corner of the room, and empty mugs in the sink.
All of this, however, is very different when heβs sharing a bed with someone that he is either intimate with or trusts completely. If merely sharing a bed for space purposes, his sleeping will be as described above. When sleeping with a bed partner that he truly cares for, which is extremely rare, Satine, for example, he becomesΒ very clingy and will practically sprawl on top of them, especially if they tend to run warm because he is constantly cold. He still has nightmares and insomnia, but finds it much easier to sleep because thereβs another person to watch his back. Whoever these people are that have the privilege of acquiring his trust, see the slow-to-wake, sleepy head Obi-Wan. A man who you often cannot talk to first thing in the morning because he simply wonβt remember the conversation. Heβll sprawl out with a sleepy stretch and look like pure happiness because of his quality of sleep.Β
Obi-Wan had various tattoos over his body, but they were not easily seen because of his Jedi robes. The first one he ever got was from drunken shenanigans as a Padawan with Quinlan Vos. The two decided it would be an absolutely wonderful idea to see whether stick-and-poke tattoos actually work. It ended with Obi-Wan having aΒ tattoo of the outline of the Coruscant skyline, emphasizing the Jedi temple in a stick-n-poke style, immediately above his right knee,Β drawn by Quin.
Another tattoo he has is of calla liliesΒ representing Satine on his thigh. He got it after he returned from Mandalore and, for a while, kept it a secret as he went down to the lower levels to get the tattoo. Qui-Gon later discovered the tattoo during a mission in which Obi-Wan was severely injured, and they had to cut his pants off. At the moment, Qui-Gon didnβt say anything. Later, when Obi-Wan was feeling better, he asked about it, but Obi-Wan didnβt want to elaborate. After Satineβs death, and finally able to get his emotions in check, he added in small script underneathΒ βNi su'cuyi, gar kyr'adyc, ni partayli, gar darasuum.β
The most notable tattoo that he has is aΒ long, intricate design of interwoven knots with flowers and animals along the length of his spine.Β The tradition is that of StujΓ‘n. When a warrior has passed their trials, they would get a tattoo along their spine that told the story of the various trials they go through: prowess, duty, zeal, valor, and reason - the trials for a Mandalorian. As a Jedi, Obi-Wan wanted to keep those roots but decided to adapt them to the trials of the Jedi: skill, courage, spirit, flesh, and insight. Every StujΓ‘niβs tattoo is different and personal to their own trials.Β
During the war, Obi-Wan got 212 on his inner thigh in a very small font. Β
After Obi-Wan's fall, he tried to burn the 212th and the Coruscanti skyline off his body. It didn't work and ended up with disfigured tattoos on his inner thigh and above his knee. The other tattoos are still there and easily visible when his armor is off.
independent. selective. private. & slow activity.Β FALLEN! OBI-WAN KENOBIΒ for George LucasβsΒ Star Wars,Β featuring an amalgam of Disneyβs Canon and legends, featuring original lore for the planet Stewjon
( loved and lamented by jaime )
TRIGGER & CONTENT WARNING: This blog explores dark themes regarding loss and grief. It may include subjects triggering for some individuals, such as graphic depictions of violence, intrusive thoughts, suicidal ideation, self-destructive tendencies, self-harm, drug use, and survivorβs guilt. The dark side is portrayed as a parasitic entity to Obi-Wan because he is a prisoner of his grief.Β
last post edit: 1 June 2026
he questioned as if that werenβt normal. was it really that odd? eris only quirked her brow a fraction, a stiff shake of her head given. no, never. was this something only civilians did? alcohol was usually something included at an important open gathering where everyoneβs standing aroundβ¦or just dinner.
but she could hear it, feel it. the way others would pour into these places and pour their hearts out in any capacity they could. lamenting or just plain reckless. and pay for it.
it seemedβ¦β¦ fun. so was it something in the drinks? or was it whatever was within the walls that made it the way it was?
β just relax. β
bright green eyes that had been seared onto the intimidating unknown had swiveled up to his, expression softening as if she was attempting to take his advice. she then took a deep breath through her nostrils, giving a nod to focus on just that. but then someone was pulling her hood back up so gently. adjusting it just right over her head. something she hadnβt expected from the mandalorian. so surely it wasnβt him.
but the similar feeling of his hand slid back to her shoulder, more tender this time. much more. unrecognizably much. it WAS him. the hood thankfully hiding the slightly surprised look on her face. aching cold heart seemed to pulse to lifeβlike an explosion from within, while his hand slid down her arm. pupils dilated from the rush of the first kind human touch sheβd had in months, goosebumps raising beneath her heavily covered form.
he lead them right on in, eris moving completely on autopilot for a brief moment in the shock of it all. when he stepped in front of her to order, she looked at the back of his head in awe, lips parted slightly.
oh she knew it. beneath that bottomless pit of pain. there was really someone in there, despite his efforts to keep him down there. heart fluttered within her chest while her cheeks flushed, feeling free from the thought. that her intuition to stay and trust him was exactly right.
when he turned to hand her the odd drink, she appeared to be excited about just that. but no. cup was accepted into her hands, examining the liquid while he kept her close. she looked so pleased, content in the moment before he guided them in a different direction. completely wrapped up in her own world, she followed behind, barely catching what had just happened and the words that came out of his mouth. gaze flickered up from her cup to glance at what she could see of the terrified man, his form slipping right out of the booth and dropping his things as quick as he could.
eyes darted to the exit and then to brenβig with raised brows before she let it go, wondering if he really would track him down later. he gestured for her to slide in an eris obliged, ceremoniously smoothing the dowdy fabric of her long skirt while she slid in.
the lights were low and the music wasnβt too loud, the former inujan royal scanning the room with wonder before she took the first sip of her drink. when she did, brows furrowed, humming at the taste an his comment. it was definitely different than what sheβd ever had. but it worked. her tongue begged for more, taking another before she briefly put it down, exhaling heavily.
when she turned to face him, the look on his now visible face made her chuckle, the translucent cloud of smoke blowing past the two of them.
β what? Itβs niceβI like it, really. β amusement still on her features while she brought the cup to her lips, eyes glancing his way again, corners of her eyes crinkling further. because this was hilarious.
he had terrified the daylight out of her earlier and now they were hereβ
eris covered her mouth abruptly in an attempt to swallow before the laughter burst out of her, ducking her head while her shoulders vibrated. when she finally lifted her head, eyes were glassy from how humorous she found it, giving her head a shake as she began to collected herself.
taking a deep breath, elbow was placed on the tabletop, hand supporting her chin, staring up at him. β Iβm really not sure what you expected of me. Have I ever been to a cantinaβ¦ β she tutted quietly, looking at him in playful suspicion.
β I was wild but not like thatβ β brows furrowing and looking him once over like she were offended he thought of her in that way. Even though sheβd spoke of her defiance against the empire. realistially it was just a space royals didnβt go. these places got crazy. the shouting, fighting and the danger. Even here apparently.
β NoβI was just in the jungle. β smirking. yes, off playing in the wild. β so I might not be able to drink you under the table but perhaps I couldβ¦.scale a tree faster than you ever could. β taking another sip of her drink. cause that was just way cooler, right? months of not talking to hardly anyone and sheβd tore herself right open before him.
it was this drink. or the walls. she was sure of it.
eris turned herself more inward to speak closer to him, voice lower. β β¦.so who was that man? β
Blue eyes carefully watched as she took her first sip of the drink. A bemused expression crossed his face before he carefully hid it behind another drag of his deathstick, relishing the feeling of the drug hitting his blood and washing through his blood like a warm blanket. Tense shoulders dropped as his head leaned back to rest on the back of the chair, legs falling open in a comfortable recline.
The picture spoke of a sad, exhausted man in need of a break. The shadows of the bar clung to the bags under his eyes and the slightly gaunt pull to his cheeks. A man running mostly on caffeine, death sticks, and pure vibes. Lazily, his head lolled over to look at her, not even hiding that he gave her a full body scan.
Carefully, Bron'ig looked her over, noting the more relaxed manner of her body, the way the corners of her eyes seemed less tight, the less tension she held within herself with every sip she took. He downed the first half of his drink in one gulp and wiped his mouth with a sleeve, freezing as Eris suddenly started laughing.
Spine straightened in concern immediately on alert. The last thing he needed was for someone to delve into drunkard hysterics because they finally confronted their emotions. Been there, done that, no thank you. Thankfully, Eris composed herself quickly, allowing the Mandalorian to relax once more, but still watching her with a wary gaze.
Bron'ig opened his mouth to say something, but then gave up and took another drag of his deathstick as she tutted quietly. He finished the drink in another gulp, relishing in the buzz.
"The galaxy has been thrown into darkness since the last time we met. Even then, I had already been a slave and a General at 15. Looks can be deceiving. People change."
His jaw clenched in anticipation, eyes tensing, waiting for the onslaught of whispers and waves of pain from the dark side, immediately regretting saying anything. The pain from looking upon that time, acknowledging who he was before, and how far he fell. Except this time it didn't come. His hands unclenched, and he took another drag.
Then she spoke of jungles and climbing trees, and it was so innocent and carefree that Bron'ig really had to fight the smile and the laugh bubbling at his chest from the absurdity of it all. Shaking his head, a concerned look on his expression, he put the deathstick in the ashtray, careful to keep it burning, scratching lightly at the scruff that had grown in the past few days, eyes focusing on the blaster and pouch of money on the table.
"Respectfully, I doubt there's anything you could do faster than me, but I will say I have not been climbing any trees lately, so I acquiesce."
Bron'ig actually got so distracted by her moving toward him that he nearly missed her question. "Wha-oh," waving it off, shifted slightly and shrugged, "Not a clue. Deserted Imperial Intelligence, from the looks of it, felt scared enough to take advantage of it. I doubt he'll last the next 3 days."
Out of the corner of his eyes, he caught the blaster again. Leaning forward, he grabbed the blaster, making sure the safety was on before placing it back on the table. Calculating eyes focused on her belt as he brought a hand up to his mouth and pulled a glove off, then the other. Deft fingers begin manipulating the belt carefully to keep it functional and able to hold a blaster for the time being.
A strange look passed over his face as Bron'ig seemed far away. Not painfully, more like a meditative muscle memory of helping someone fix their gear, it spoke of a different life, a time of constant companionship. Once satisfied, he looked up, only noticing just how close their faces had gotten with a jolt.
Bron'ig leaned back with a slightly pained expression before it disappeared in an instant, making sure to put more space between them so he could just breathe a strange panic filling his chest as he took a slightly ragged breath. A slightly shaky hand reached out for the deathstick. A hit, and his body was relaxing again. He needed another, and preferably another drink.
"I'm going to get another drink. Do you need anything? Have you eaten?" The food here wasn't the best, but he knew they served a hoi broth that was apparently the house dish and what they were known for. Even if she said no, he would probably order some for her to take home, just in case.
He knew the Corellian Rye was strong, but he didn't think her tolerance was so low. She most likely didn't know how to bolster her tolerance in the Force, something he had already mastered as a Padawan thanks to a certain Quinlan Vos. As he stood, he carefully gathered his gloves, pulling them back on.
The man knew he could leave his helmet or take it with him. Deciding it was better to have it on and use the helmet to his advantage. A deep breath, and his helmet was back on, spine straightening as he pulled on the Dark Side around him, the shadows growing longer, almost wrapping around him like a blanket, and shouting GO AWAY even to the Force-null.
"Don't..." Bron'ig paused as the word punched out of him without a thought, already ready to scold someone for wandering off. Oh, who cares? If it's meant to be, the dark side will tell him. Without another word, he turned stiffly and walked back to the bar.
hands joined together while he hesitated, heart sitting uncomfortably within her chest, caught between the silent noises of the ship. oh she hoped, just for once. something could go her way. another beat of silence and bron'ig responded in a language she didn't understand, anticipating gaze softening while it slowly fell to the floor, attempting to at least interpret the tone. so... he was coming? right?
he disappeared briefly, eris turning around to immediately trace her fingers along the metal walls. as if it would tell her more in his absence. but it really wasn't long before the sound of his voice alerted her of his presence, the former inujan royal turning promptly on her heel to face him, eyes wide for a brief moment.
..so he was coming.
a (surprisingly) joyous smile stretched across her face, the low lights of his ship glistening in her eyes while she gave a nod.
" hm. I think I like that. " still somewhat beaming at the mandalorian as she walked backwards toward the groaning ramp, finally twisting around to walk back out into the dark of night.
his helmet was slipped back over his head, the identity of the same version of this man she'd seen earlier now connected with a different feeling. It felt chaotic, how this startedβ¦and how it was now going. but eris almost enjoyed that. to feel so alive. the pair trekked together through the deep depths of the city, her own way to conceal her identity remaining down around her shoulders. she'd seen the way people weaved and walked around him. surely she was safe. surely--she was less noticeable. deep grey and muted navy fabric that hung over her form made her look almost invisible, eyes swiveling up from the streets ahead to listen to his words. staring a second too long while his hand reached up to touch her shoulder.
perhaps this armor protected him in more ways than one.
gaze swiveled toward the way they were headed, his touch feeling so foreign. but all of that was forgotten with his choice of words, eris chuckling under her breath. not completely deplorable. how thoughtful.
" soβ-it's called a cantina. " eris repeated, brows furrowing. she guessed that made sense. she bit the inside of her cheek in thought, drawing a blank at what would come next, looking a tad nervous. the entrance was upon them. was it as simple as it sounded? you arrived like you do at the market stalls, say what you wantβand you sit?
slightly panicked, a hand as pale as the moon reached up to gently cling to his forearm, leaning closer.
β order me something. anything. I donβt care, Iβll drink it. β
most of the things sheβd figured out and executed on her ownβshe had time to rehearse it. but there was no rehearsing now. and looking too out of place felt too obviousβeven if it were a safer place to be.
The smile Eris gave him was so genuine and kind that, for a moment, he felt like an entirely different person. Not the monster that walked his skin, but a respectable Jedi Master helping someone in need. It was a juxtaposition to everything that he told himself he was, everything he became after Satine.
The helmet was a welcome barrier as he allowed the emotions to pass over his face freely. A lone tear fell down his cheek and disappeared into the folds of his armor at his neck. Bron'ig daren't wipe away any sign of his vulnerability around her.
( WEAK. )
( PULL YOURSELF TOGETHER )
( SHE IS A PAWN. A TOOL. )
His jaw clenched, guiding Eris through the crowds of the planet they were on: Exala. Helmet flicked down to look over her attire, noticing the grey and navy clothing, not looking too dissimilar to his own grey and black armor, though his gold accents made him stand out a bit more, which he supposed helped her anonymity a bit.
People outside of a typical Mandalorian's work would be deterred from looking too closely. Meanwhile, bounty hunters would be looking for weakness in him, wondering who she was to be worth his time.
Helmet turned toward her as his hand dropped from her shoulder. "...You've never been to a cantina?" A wariness laced his tone as he questioned her, as if he couldn't quite believe her words. Surely, on her planet, which he couldn't remember the name of, she snuck out as a child and went out.
( BETTER YOUNGLING THAN YOU. )
The thought stung, but he knew it was true, true enough that for once the whispering from the dark side didn't hurt.
Bron'ig wasn't expecting the hand to cling to his forearm like a lifeline as they approached the cantina.
"Just relax," he murmured loud enough for his vocoder to put the words out, but not too loud.
Gently, he pulled the hood over her head, adjusting it carefully. His hand gave her shoulder a reassuring squeeze, then slid down her upper arm to her elbow, softly guiding her with him. It spoke of a common movement he made, but his touch was infinitely more gentle, just barely there so as to guide rather than truly handle.
Approaching the bar, his free hand dug into a pouch at his breast, pulling a few credits out and tossing them on the counter. "2 Corellian Rye and a death stick if you have it."
As the bartender prepared the drink for them, Bron'ig scanned their surroundings for the best place to sit, paying attention to the warmth of her under his touch: a reassurance she was still there. If Eris intended to get drunk, then he should probably put them in a corner booth. All of them were occupied.
( THAT ONE. )
Head snapped in the direction of a singular man in the corner who looked like he would rather stay out of the limelight. Without thought, his hand is handing Eris her drink before grabbing the death stick for himself and his drink.
"This way," directing with his helmet, Bron'ig headed toward the squirrely man, making sure Eris was slightly behind him, her face hidden. As he approached, the man's spine straightened, glancing around in fear.
"Please, I can pay whatever you want, just leave me alone."
Bron'ig had absolutely no idea what he was talking about.
From the looks of the man, upon further inspection, he seemed to be a deserter from Imperial Intelligence. Silently, Bron'ig glanced behind him at Eris and then turned to the man in the spot.
"Your weapon, all your money, and I'll give you as much time as it takes to have a drink and deal with her."
The man was shocked at first and was about to protest, but then looked over the full Beskar armor and then nodded emphatically. The officer placed his blaster and pouch of money on the table, then bolted, offering his gratitude for the chance to escape.
Once Bron'ig knew he was gone, he gestured to allow Eris to sit and then slid into the booth next to her. Their backs were to the wall, open on all other sides, with clear sight of the exit and an emergency-only outdoor to their right.
"It might not taste the best, but I have found it works well enough to start the night," he explained as he slid his helmet off, lit the death stick, and took a long drag. As he exhaled, he sank back into the seat and then turned to look at her expectantly - this was her idea after all.
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she could see the way his being slowly grew agitated, one hand raising to clutch to the fabric on covering her chest. an emotion she didnβt intend to invoke by evading the truth. the way his own responses choked him were visual proof.
gaze followed his line of sight, watching in silence while the threat of a disturbance in the force grew the more he looked toward his bed with his mind visibly racing. his stare searing into it. she could almost feel it physically, the deep connection that began to make itself known the more his chest heaved. that same pull from earlier began to manifest, the noise rushing in her ears until he excused himself, it cutting off with the slam of the door.
shoulders dropped when she frowned, lips pressing together while she milled over her chosen words, feeling a bit of regret.
a different feeling began to fill the space within these walls, hands slipping down to grab the seat of her chair. body leaned forward as if to attempt to hear what he was doing, the smell following. eris raised a brow, features hidden in the flash of brief darkness after the loud sound. eyes shifted around the room before she slowly retreated toward the back of her seat, pressed against it as much as it would allow.
brenβig soon returned, eris making a conscious effort to adjust her postureβ¦..had he burned something back there?
brows furrowed at his sudden loaded question, giving a heavy sigh through her nostrils. oh the deflection with this one.
β¦ah. thatβs what it was. the brooch from earlier. the one that matched the symbol on his skin. the root of his pain it seemed. her expression softened for a moment, lost in thought before it disappeared in his pouch.
β β¦I am no oneβs queen. β she corrected, avoiding his gaze at the uncomfortable topic. hands rested in her lap, pinching and fidgeting her fingers discretely.
β the outer rimβ¦.. is where someone like me who rejects the empireβs control goes. β she bit the inside of her cheek, heart feeling heavy.
she still couldnβt believe it. the bitterness in her tone. β β¦with methods like stationed storm troopers and their own personally assigned governor telling me my new limitations. and that I was just for show, to keep the people from uprising. β eris scoffed, shaking her head while she continued to face away from him. and her parents advised she accept it as she stepped into her new role. it would be a good thing. less on their plate. how could they say that? it felt so spineless. but maybe that was who they always really were.
but it was not a good thing. and it wouldnβt be. because the future she saw from her abilityβ¦. the planet was the color of soot. like a burnt down civilization after rain. heavy with misery and gloom and what ifβs. legislations and prosperity she had planned for their fruitful home no longer possible.
It hurt terribly.
she could feel how the galaxy cried through the force, her grief amplifying her ability to find it in the moment. It glistened in her eyes, eris clearing her throat while she lowered her head.
and maybe she did try. just a little. to voice her disapproval, to reject and plot to remove control. a reminder was there, like a scar on the skin. but it was no use. the empire was too strong, too many innocent lives would be in the crossfire. so she had to retreat. leave her people dishonorably to cheat death, try to bide more time, find whispers of rebellion somewhere in this galaxy. but there were no whispers. not even a silent nod.
so she was to exist until she fizzled out. a future once promised a distant dream. a woman left with no purpose.
β but all hail the empire, right? β
eris stood up suddenly, adjusting her clothes once more, shame written all over her face, even as she smiled with those glassy eyes. she couldnβt bear to dwell on it anymore. so she began to talk quickly, thumb pointing toward the ramp.
β you know what Iβve observed during my time here? people talk. and then they go together to a place and have a drink. and then they come out, and look much more content. β sad smile faded into something a tad more genuine, giving a shrug.
β itβs something in the building, or something in the drink. I think Iβd like to go. wouldnβt you like to go? β beginning to backtrack toward the closed ramp.
β come. clean up first. show me this place. β eris stood patiently, rocking once on her toes.
Shoulders visibly dropped as she took his deflection and gave him a moment to calm his own nerves. He didn't miss the way she refused - no - couldn't meet his gaze. It was then he realized her questions were less grilling and more searching for a kindred soul.
( YES. YES. YES. )
( SHE'S SO VULNERABLE )
Bron'ig felt her emotions swell in the Force. They weren't terribly overbearing or as poignant as before. Instead, it swirled and danced like a vapor display he once saw on an aquatic planet during his travels. His own tendrils of regret and anguish longed to latch onto hers.
He could feel the tug in his chest as she spoke more of her struggles. As Eris got further into her own mind, Bron'ig could feel, nearly see the Dark side gathering around her, though there was still this barrier of light that kept it at bay deep in her core.
It felt like the shadows in the room grew darker as the pull of her BITTERNESS, her SADNESS, her FEAR was intoxicating. Bron'ig swallowed heavily as he tasted the tears she had shed before, the tears that glistened in her eyes now, and the tears she would shed in the future.
Silent footsteps took him closer to her, unbeknownst to both of them. He could feel the power brimming under him; this was different. The whispers are of POWER, of PROMISES OF REVENGE; it felt so, so good. His eyes blazed as the feeling filled his chest the closer he got.
Bron'ig jumped back to himself as she abruptly stood and looked at him. Golden eyes dim back to blue as they dash to her pointed hand.
Her offer, nay, her plea, to get a drink with her, felt like emotional whiplash that showed on his face with a minuscule furrow of his brow and a blink.
"Uh-" was the man's very eloquent response. Was this woman so lonely that she wanted to spend time with him? Or was there an ulterior motive that he wasn't privy to? The options weighed heavily on his mind as he watched Eris backpedal to the ramp then bounce on her toes.
( YES. )
( LISTEN. )
( KEEP HER CLOSE )
Something about her pulled him to her, yet at the same time, everything told him to keep her away from him. His years of solidarity in protecting not only himself but also others weighed on him. Obi-Wan wanted to let her go; to care is to deliver a death sentence.
But there was a strange silence to the dark side around her. Well, when she wasn't opening her big mouth, which was the whole problem, wasn't it?
"Gal, ori'skraan, riduur, yaim' dab'ika," Bron'ig nodded. "That's the phrase you're looking for." Without another word, he turned on his heel and went into the adjoining refresher. A couple of moments passed, and he returned with a freshly washed face, armor in less disarray, and having run a hand through his hair.
"Alcohol, food, good company, and bed," the man finally translated for Eris as he grabbed the helmet off the workbench and shoved it over his head. The Force pulsed, and with a metallic groan, the ramp began lowering.
Bron'ig followed her out the ramp, called his lightsaber to his side, clipped it, and then closed the ramp.
With the helmet on, there was a noticeable difference in his entire demeanor. Perhaps not noticeable to him, but anyone paying close attention could see that the helmet served as his final protection against the outside world, his emotional separation from other living things.
"There's a cantina that way, the least Empire-friendly place I know without being entirely deplorable. Family-owned, run by a woman and her two sons, now that the husband is out of the picture." His hand came up to her shoulder to steer her in the direction of where to go.
It was the safest place he could think of to take her. Of course, Bron'ig really doubted anyone would try to kill, attack, or sell her with him around. Not to mention she already seemed to be taking care of herself to a certain extent, which was another mystery about her he couldn't quite understand.
βΈ» β§ πππππ πππππππ ππππ ππ 0-200, Casimir had left to fetch a late-night dinner at one of his preferred locations only to thereafter double back past the booth in order to retire to his ship of a home ( or home of a ship ). Intuition & well, noise coming from the closed overhead door piqued his concerns. Someone was trying to rob him. Great.
It's easy to shield himself. Second nature to cloak his presence. This was, after all, not the first time an attempted robbery has been made. & so here he stood, arms folded across his chest, head tilted to the side. He does not threaten the hoard who seemed to be mindlessly trashing his particularly curated shop. It is because the place reeked of the stench of something old & familiar is why he does not call law enforcement. So neither would this be the first time he had dealt with something on his own.
The man who does address him corrects Casimir's suspicions. If he leaves anything of real value in the shop, he is always careful to ensure that only someone like him was able to retrieve it. β You know, most people knock or schedule an appointment. β It was better to deescalate the situation anyhow. The Crystal Priest might pose as quite the convincing ( & rather very talented ) mystic, but he is not incapable of defending himself.
Maybe he doesn't have a blaster, but there was an old fashioned sword snuggly sheathed at his side. & anything else he might have was kept thoroughly hidden on his person. β I don't take kindly to clients unwilling to pay either. So please, let's stop dragging mud on my nice rugs and have a civilized discussion. β
With a frustrated huff, Bron'ig shoved the drawer closed and opened another, rustling through it with slightly shaky hands.
( OVER HERE. )
( RIGHT THERE. )
( LOOK. LOOK. LOOK. )
It felt like the dark side was playing with him. Obi-Wan briefly remembered as a child on Ilum how hard it was to get his crystal at first and the trials one faces. The memory was pushed aside as he glanced at the man again, his suspicions confirmed.
"In a bit of a rush, I don't have time for appointments, my apologies," Bron'ig quipped back with a sarcastic grin. Blue eyes raked over the other's, form taking him in with a calculating gaze - assessing for hints of fighting capability.
The hilt at the man's side is a welcome difference, and Bron'ig has to wonder if it's a saber or beskar.
( TAKE IT. )
( TAKE IT ALL . )
A bark of a laugh punched from his chest at being called uncivilized - something pained about the laugh. As if he was laughing at himself.
"Nudanla," Bron'ig repeated with a light chuckle, glancing at his boots, which were, in fact, mud-caked. "Hm...perhaps."
No need for pretense here as he waves his hand. The threads of SORROW connecting him to the men - siphoning their worst memories and losses - gently drifted away, the tendrils slowly sinking their way back into his chest. The men leave.
( LOOK AT HIM. LOOK AT HIM. )
( WHAT DOES HE HOLD? )
And oh, how does he want to explore the torments of the man, but he doesn't. Perhaps, this could be the opportunity for networking.
"I'm not quite fond of having to pay for things that are rightfully mine, but perhaps we can come to an arrangement."
