[ While Anakin explains, Sarica listens, eyes trekking the shadows from the various candles, criss-crossing across the floors. A pair of feet there, the hem of a tunic here, shadows don't care, they fall on anything, anyone. Shadow has fallen over Anakin's face and Sarica feels it spread to his own features, growing heavy and oppressive and dark. Cold. He should've followed Ulos, of course. Had he expected the man to be able to abide by a simple order? No, he never has been, though once he did at least try. Those days are over.
Ulos kissed him. Sorry, Anakin says. Not about the kiss, he gave the man what he deserved, maybe a little less, but about the impact the aftermath will have on Sarica, tonight, tomorrow, it will have far-reaching consequences. Maybe they will, in the end, stop the war in Reece now. Who knows?
Who cares.
Sarica gets to his feet slowly, rising to his full height, shoulders squared, face impassive in the worst of ways. Then, he turns towards Anakin and looks up at him across the divan, at his troubledness. He can take that away from him, at least, he owes him that much, when he weren't there to protect him against people he calls friends and yet, who overstep their boundaries so utterly, so completely.
Ulos is lucky he only got dipped in the pool, truly. Sarica would have killed him. And it wouldn't be by poison this time. Nothing so kind. ]
Don't be. You showed great restraint. [ Pause. He turns back around towards the room in general, clapping his hands twice, loudly, interrupting the music, the dancing, the chatter. People still wonder about the temperature, a very cold night, someone says. Over his shoulder, Sarica says, only directed at Anakin: ] I would have choked him.
[ Then, back to the room, raising his voice, demanding, ordering. ]
[ The contrast between his life back at Coruscant and now becomes blatant as Sarica gets to his feet and tells him not to be sorry, his gaze dark and hard from anger. He should have controlled himself - told Ulos off firmly but without unnecessary violence. He's tall. He's broad. He could've walked away using only his physical strength.
A Jedi doesn't act like this.
But Sarica looks at him and praises his restraint because Sarica knows what it's like when all you want is to set the world right, to be fast and completely uncompromising. He understands, too, how it feels when it makes you hate yourself and your actions. When others hate them, in turn. So Anakin watches, eyes narrowed to slits, as Sarica reins his serpents in and tells them to leave. The resultant commotion is tedious and Anakin's on the verge of just escorting them all out - after all, they've been told to leave.
And they should show respect.
This time, however, he stays behind Sarica's divan. He doesn't move, doesn't attempt to get himself involved because Sarica knows how to make the crowd appear, how to make them vanish, and everything between the two. He recognises this feeling, too, the need to leave the world to someone stronger than him, even knowing that fundamentally, no one truly is. It's an illusion, perhaps, one that used to be almost unfathomably dangerous - in the hands of Palpatine, it very nearly made him blind.
But here, he thinks, his shoulders still tight and his stance rigid, he can still see.
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Ulos kissed him. Sorry, Anakin says. Not about the kiss, he gave the man what he deserved, maybe a little less, but about the impact the aftermath will have on Sarica, tonight, tomorrow, it will have far-reaching consequences. Maybe they will, in the end, stop the war in Reece now. Who knows?
Who cares.
Sarica gets to his feet slowly, rising to his full height, shoulders squared, face impassive in the worst of ways. Then, he turns towards Anakin and looks up at him across the divan, at his troubledness. He can take that away from him, at least, he owes him that much, when he weren't there to protect him against people he calls friends and yet, who overstep their boundaries so utterly, so completely.
Ulos is lucky he only got dipped in the pool, truly. Sarica would have killed him. And it wouldn't be by poison this time. Nothing so kind. ]
Don't be. You showed great restraint. [ Pause. He turns back around towards the room in general, clapping his hands twice, loudly, interrupting the music, the dancing, the chatter. People still wonder about the temperature, a very cold night, someone says. Over his shoulder, Sarica says, only directed at Anakin: ] I would have choked him.
[ Then, back to the room, raising his voice, demanding, ordering. ]
You'll leave now, the party's over.
no subject
A Jedi doesn't act like this.
But Sarica looks at him and praises his restraint because Sarica knows what it's like when all you want is to set the world right, to be fast and completely uncompromising. He understands, too, how it feels when it makes you hate yourself and your actions. When others hate them, in turn. So Anakin watches, eyes narrowed to slits, as Sarica reins his serpents in and tells them to leave. The resultant commotion is tedious and Anakin's on the verge of just escorting them all out - after all, they've been told to leave.
And they should show respect.
This time, however, he stays behind Sarica's divan. He doesn't move, doesn't attempt to get himself involved because Sarica knows how to make the crowd appear, how to make them vanish, and everything between the two. He recognises this feeling, too, the need to leave the world to someone stronger than him, even knowing that fundamentally, no one truly is. It's an illusion, perhaps, one that used to be almost unfathomably dangerous - in the hands of Palpatine, it very nearly made him blind.
But here, he thinks, his shoulders still tight and his stance rigid, he can still see.
He insists upon it, after all. ]