hope is a weapon

OBI DRANK TOO MUCH ON A JOB AND REGRETS IT.

Obi recovering from "just a shot or two" at a nearby cantina and Cody being tired of Palps. 😂🤣

Hope y'all like it and thank ye for the patience!! Post I got it from (by @tarvek-sturmvoraus ) is at the end!!

By the way!! If you happen to like my art and comics, feel free to toss a coffee my way! No pressure though!! 💖

Glowstick Jedi🌟

General Strix would have called the storm's phase pamięć pioruna. The memory of lightning. Not vicious in itself, but ozonic and heavy enough to require more work to stay aloft. It could bring much-needed coverage for attack and defense. It could bring a spare hour's rest, tucked close under a piece of scrap and trying not to end up with a mouth full of keratin or metal.

Lothal was nothing like Kamino. So many of her vod'e would never see the difference. Thousands dead across hundreds of battlefields, and now she sat here like she was any different. Like she had any right to--any of it. Idleness, uncertainty, survival.

A voice interrupted her musings, Sarge cutting through echoing wind instead of the screams of a battlefield. It was. Reassuring. Maybe. That he slipped too. That their title apparently came more easily than the name he'd waited so patiently for.

Reflex had Kestrel lighting from her perch. Her wings flared, teal remiges a contrast to the stone around them as they slowed her to land beside Obi-Wan. They don't shine in the dim room. Clones were designed for low-light functionality. Stewjoni eyes, she'd learned, were even better.

By the time her feathers had settled, so had her decision.

Many Clones had wanted to keep their rank after ceasefire—just as many walked away—but with peacetime came the daunting concept of work-life balance and while General Kenobi was no more, there was still a Sargent Kestrel, a Captain Rex, an unnerving amount of ARCs who would sooner die than relinquish their title (and power that came with it), and the rest of an upended army who needed to learn how to survive in a galaxy not on fire. A cruel reward for fighting a crueler war.

The temples, both Lothali and Coruscanti, were safe places to test their limits. He remembered the first time he called Cody Cody and Cody smiled at him just as well as he remembered the first and last time he called Commander Alpha Alpha and Commander Alpha looked like he wanted to hit him in his unarmored face. It was so relieving to see Kes fall on the more Cody end of the scale.

"These dry bouts used to worry me. I mean, they still do. But no matter how many times lightning strikes, the grass never catches." Now his worries were just more limited to all the temporary structures and supplies they brought with them. Nothing particularly towering, but in a landscape doing its best to become a barrent saltflat, the perfect conduits for electricity. Obi-Wan himself had learned the hard way just how hungry the sky could be.

Having  a  laser  sword  pointed  at  him  was  not  how  this  day  was  supposed  to  go.  So  much  for  going  to  his  favorite  class.  "The  first  part!  I  fuckin'  swear!"  Assassin?!  Ryan  was  anything  but  one.  Like  he  said,  he  was  the  world's  unluckiest  person  when  it  came  to  this  kind  of  shit,  and  he  had  no  control  over  it. Holy  hell,  he  wished  he  had  been  anywhere  else.  "You  saw  me  fall.  I  have  no  idea  where  the  hell  I  am!"  He  could  lash  out  with  his  magic,  but  that  would  only  prove  the  laser-wielding  dude  right.

It was all gone now. His respect. The hard earned trust that Anakin sometimes barely believed he got. He knew they looked at him with suspicion even all these years later and now, now, they could shake their heads and say I never trusted him, I knew he was wrong all along.

The question snaps him out of his rumination. He lifts his head, blinks at Obi-Wan's back, the knee jerk response on the tip of his tongue. And then it recoils, like he's pulling himself back into the hermit shell he's created. Is the answer so simple?

It is simple because-- Anakin would do anything for the people he loved. For the ones he cared about. He would raze the entire galaxy if it meant saving any one of them. Even at the cost of everyone else. Even when he wants nothing more than to save everyone. To keep them all safe.

"No," Anakin says finally, but the answer is hollow. "But I think you're wrong. ...I know you're wrong."

Jedi. Sith. Just two sides of the same coin. For one second he'd seen it: he'd understood everything. Light always casted a shadow, no matter what. Darkness couldn't exist without it, but neither could the light exist without the dark. In that second he'd seen what he could do, what he could be capable of.

It was in that moment right before Sidious had broken his confidence. He'd been so close. His rage had been righteous, his purpose so clear. Palpatine had been in his grasp and then he played into his fears. Anakin felt something burrowing deep in his mind and--

Again it's Obi-Wan's voice that snaps him back to reality. Try as he might, he can't really remember everything after that. It's bits and pieces all out of order, out of context. Nothing he would say could help his case. Obi-Wan's words hurt. They're a stab wound in his chest. You might not have our trust. It doesn't surprise him, but it hurts all the same.

How long had it taken for them to really see him as belonging? He'll never have that back. What does Ahsoka think of him? Padme would never look him in the eye again. He hasn't taken a look out of that barred window for weeks now. At first he'd dared--denial of his own actions making him pace like a captured lion. The anger had come quick on its heels-- anger at Sidious, at the Jedi, at Obi-Wan. At himself. Until finally it had turned into this. All lack of desire to even acknowledge the outside world.

It doesn't matter what he does from here on out. He's lost everything and to gain it back would take another lifetime.

He wants to vomit and cry and scream all at the same time, but his mind and body stay frozen in place. Would he? It's impossible to imagine it, striking down the boy he raised with the two lightsabers he trained him with, the ones that so naturally hummed in harmony with Anakin's own. They never felt exactly the same, but they did feel like fractures of something once whole and they were pleased to be together again. Obi-Wan never wanted a padawan, he can't imagine never having one now, never having Anakin. His toothy smile, choppy hair, and eager eyes; a boy with passion too big for his heart and a power barely contained within his small fragile body. It's no wonder the Sith had their eyes on him, no wonder his mind broke, he was all the galaxy in a paper bag.

"Not in defense of myself. But for others . . . yes." This time, he feels confident in his words and they only barely waver. He would do all he could to spare his life, but he wouldn't stand down. Not only because it was the right thing to do (he wouldn't know how to stop anyway), but because Anakin would hate him if he didn't. Would hate him even more than he does now had Obi-Wan stood by and watched him slaughter the defenseless and innocent.

He tries not to think about how he did. The 212th had been beyond far from Coruscant when rumors of Dooku's surrender and Palpatine's final grab for power collided, hundreds and thousands of miles away from Anakin with no way to reach him and only a thread-bare mentor bond to assure himself he was even alive.

Logically, Obi-Wan knows there is nothing he could have done in the moment, but there is nothing to spare him from the guilt of ignoring Anakin's need for help for all the years prior. Had he just been a better teacher, a kinder mentor, a more caring brother.

"I'm sorry, but it won't come to that. Ever." Because they're going to help him (those who could stand to be in the same room as him), the Jedi are done with abandoning their own, Obi-Wan would make sure of it. "Who you are- you don't want to hurt people. You aren't evil. I know that."

It would be a lie to say everything he's doing he's doing for Anakin's sake, but he's certainly a driving factor. The temple can hold him forever, but they won't want to, not when he's painted the walls red with blood of their own. The Lothal temple is far and out of the way, both easy to forget about and inoffensive. It will be well fortified and the Force will be quiet. Early on, he'd considered recruiting Rex—who likely wouldn't refuse a call to duty—but from what little Obi-Wan knows of their relationship, he was really more Ahsoka's Captain than he ever was Anakin's and inviting him might do more harm than good. To all three of them.

Tarre is political enough to know that the Republic wove their leash on the Jedi too well. Breaking it is not easy, and it should not be, because the consequences of a badly-made separation will not be good. But he still dreams, just as he understands that his time is long gone, and all he can do is give advice.

But if the Force didn't want him to give his advice, it should not have called him, of all Jedi from the past.

"A nightmare." He huffs. And then, with a sigh, his voice softens. "I will not tell you it was easy, or pretty. But it was necessary, and it held back the Sith, and the Republic was quite grateful to have us there, I assure you." He points out. "But what you need right now, I agree, is not an army of Jedi."

And then, after a moment, he smiles. It's something easier, something fonder, because he can certainly relate to breaking every protocol for what he believes in.

"It will not be easy." He tells Obi-Wan. "There will be many times, as the years go on, where you will wonder if you are making the right choices. That is normal. It is a good sign."

Tarre himself doubted more than he could ever show, because the throne he sought was not one that allowed for weakness. And for all he has an axe to grind against the Republic and he has his disagreements with the Order, Kenobi is the one trying to make changes.

"I come from a very different time. It would be concerning if we wanted the same thing for the Order." He says. "And the situation is different."

Then, however, he tilts his head.

"And my people would be foolish to refuse an army, considering the state of our chosen home planet."

Because he was aware of more than he let on, considering his connection to the Force in wartime.

"No matter how twitchy the Republic got. But Dual citizenship... that's a concerningly modern concept."

One is either Mandalorian, or one isn't, and Tarre does feel his age a little now.

Mandalore is back to how it was just under two decades ago: without leader and without cause. Obi-Wan can't help but feel responsible for their instability twice over now.

"I admit, I don't know much about your home, but . . . it would be a huge win for our troops. The senate is scared to grant them citizenship because of their number and abilities—and they'd have to admit to their faults in denying it earlier—but if Mandalore does then the Republic will have to. They'll be backed into a corner. They won't want their army living under a foreign government." It is a depressing way of thought, yet the reality they're living under. Obi-Wan would personally recommend against the Clones staying, but he knows most of them are too stubbornly loyal to the Jedi to leave and the rest simply have little elsewhere to go. Though, Mandalore doesn't really have the ability to shelter them all; it's just a bluff and one he can't imagine the senate refusing.

"Despite everything, or maybe in spite of it, planets are more determined than ever to have no formal militia of their own. From what they've seen, the Republic will do anything to keep them from fighting their wars and they're not wrong. Even if we never will again, they need us to look like we will." And if they ever ask, well, Obi-Wan thinks they'll just have to cross that bridge when they get there. Or preemptively make a plan that involves absconding with millions of people without anyone noticing.

The same place of caring that had governed so many of his choices, and that had him, right now, regard this living Jedi before him with far more gravity, because the conversation now deserved it.

"I hoped, for a long stretch of my life," he said, in the end, settled and more serious and a mix of wry and mournful, "to bridge the gap between the Jedi and the Mando'ade. I did not find my very being a contradiction, and I had hoped there would be more like me to follow." He replied. "But I was also born during what history now calls the New Sith Wars." He added, gently. "The Jedi Order I grew up in was an order of warriors that did not yet answer to the Republic Senate. My Clan of origin did not find it abhorrent to let me go to the Jedi, when they could help me and when I would grow up as a warrior still."

He had wanted them to work together. He had also never wanted to ask them to be anything but what they were. Unlike the Republic had.

"I did not embark on the campaign that won me the leadership of my people for this hope. I did it because I had the might and I had the means, and because if I did not, someone else would, and that someone would unite the Clans in favor of the Sith, and then my people, already stretched thin and bled, would likely not survive." He said, tone gentle.

It had never been ambition that drove him. It had never been entirely peace, either.

"The Ruusan Reformations took place when I was already Mand'alor." He told Kenobi. "I had, and have, opinions about it. I even gave a speech in the Republic Senate." And he had enjoyed watching the politicians squirm. Even those he had once respected.

"I had wanted better for the Order. They lost their independence, their ability to act as the Force asked, instead of as the Republic asked. And from that point on I could not, in good faith, ever ask any of my people to join the Order, when it would be a betrayal of who we were." And he did not hide the mourning on his voice.

"Independence for the Jedi . . . part of me still feels it's unwise, but I couldn't explain why, it's just how we were raised. The stories of the Army of Light, they made it sound like nightmare, that we almost destroyed the galaxy with out negligence, but look at us now! We almost did it again!" He barks out a laugh, for once thankful the temple is sparsely populated so no one catches wind of his manic energy. "We must be more than a fist. We need a voice, we need to listen.

"And I can already feel it starting- the change. The Force. It wants me here, breaking rules and going against every protocol I was taught." Though small and far from fully formed, several of his hopes are already blossoming. He has representatives from the different councils working together to ensure that every youngling has a place, Jedi living amongst the outer-rim planets who so often go ignored, and though he can't take complete credit for it (because it's less him and more the stubbornness of their troops), it seems solo assignments are slowly becoming a thing of the past. No more secrets, no more mysterious deaths, no more Sifo-Dyases. "Every lesson I passed on to my own padawan."

His heart still aches at the thought of Anakin back on Coruscant, starved for allies and sympathy. He doubts if even Ahsoka has spoken to him. It's only yet another reason why the Wayseekers have to work; Anakin will need somewhere to heal and prove rehabilitation from the Dark is not some extremist thought. For a moment, Obi-Wan considers asking for Tarre's opinion on it because it couldn't have always been so unheard of, but he holds his tongue. It's a question for when the temple is more habitable and when the people of Lothal are less wary of their new neighbors.

He does need all the help he can get, even despite the way he wants to defend his Master. Alas, time to be diplomatic instead. Just as diplomatic as he is when he nods at the trooper that approaches him, polite enough, but not lingering on him too much. He's handled worse people following him. He still appreciates the lack of an armed escort.

"The Conflict has not been helpful, no, and the Force itself feels noticeably Darker than I remember. Then again, I cannot quantify how much." He admits.

His mission, which has been going far from well, he does not talk about. He's just as far from finding Sifo-Dyas as he was before.

"I know I am not on the wrong track, at the very least." He considers, arms crossed loosely. "That shall have to be enough. And when I find him," he tells Kenobi, "I will try to keep him safe, as we figure out what we next do."

In truth, he has no plan. He has goals, yes, but if Sifo called him here...

"His connection to the unifying Force is uncommonly strong." He says, in the end. "Wherever he is, he is there for a reason."

"Your dedication to him is admirable." He never had the opportunity to meet the man, but Master Sifo-Dyas has been a shadow over his shoulder all the same. Obi-Wan suspects he is yet another reason why Qui-Gon kept him so distant from Dooku, not wanting to have his visions encouraged or validated by someone constantly plagued with them. In his younger years, Obi-Wan's connection to the Unifying Force—while quite strong—was comparatively weak and like with any unpracticed skill, faded with age. He's never wished it otherwise, but he bets it would be rather helpful now.

"Forgive me for asking, but why do you think there is purposeful reason to this? The man I've known you to be is . . . more materialistic, less trusting in the Force and the way my Master always spoke about you, I assumed you were always that way." Master Nu is similar, different in that she trusts her instincts and the universe's whispers, but she's as equally efficient. She gets shit done and when she's not getting shit done, she is preparing for the next stone to drop.