[ Efith is a fairly ordinary planet at first glance with a subtropical climate pattern near its capitol, the forest green and lustrous, the soil varying and multifaceted. He's seen little of the local fauna, yet, though he's heard birdsong in the forest near the mountains where he left his spacecraft before venturing towards the capitol - because this planet, of course, is not space faring at all, nor technologically advanced. As far as worlds go, on the surface at least, this planet is quite, pleasantly uninteresting and it suits his wayward ex-Padawan about as well as Master Yoda's meditation classes.
On the surface, yes.
However, whilst heading through the woods towards the city, Obi-Wan had been struck by the feel of the planet, more so than its physical characteristics. The Force, he thinks, is incredibly strong here - but odd, too, intangible. When he draws upon it, it feels as it always has so it doesn't affect him to any significant degree, whatever the strangeness might be about. But this part, at least, fits Anakin to a 't'. Landing himself on a planet where the Force feels like nothing he's ever heard of.
The drama of it all.
Having asked around in the market mid-town, Obi-Wan's currently taking a break from scouting for information concerning Anakin (because looking him up would, naturally, be ill-advised without any data whatsoever and he can hardly be blamed for the other man's reticence with regards to sharing information about Efith - he couldn't even be bothered to fill out the mission reports from his first visit because of course he couldn't). He's seated by a small table under the cool shadow of the tea vendor's awning, sipping local black tea and watching the mill of people as they bargain for goods.
He's trying not to consider the information he's gathered so far but his brain won't quite let him.
Why in the all the universes would Anakin be here?
Sarica doesn't believe in the blissful passing of time, of course, so he shan't use those words exactly, but it's been calm and undisturbed at the villa, no visitors, no parties, a lot of sex, a few I love you's and the mix has been good enough even for Sarica, one morning, early, before going to work, to venture to the temple as a worshipper rather than as a consultant or negotiator. The fire priest, not Timachus', so ultimately not the right one, had set his prayer aflame and told him the Mysteries would take care of the rest. Sarica had told him, oh, the Mysteries already have. The man had looked slightly uncomfortable.
Sarica feels lighter, it's not a bodily thing, though it's no doubt related to the very physical feeling Anakin gives him, sucking his cock, giving him his own in turn, but the war that rages in Reece bothers him less, even the thought of Timachus still in the wild with his partner in crime, it touches him only insofar that the practical matters which arise from it do. Treaties to sign, information to pass on from his Reecian sources, maps to cross off, again and again. Not there or there or there. None of this really registers. Well, as anything but nuisance.
Happy.
Sarica doesn't use that word either, of course, it's too presumptuous and you risk too much, once it changes as it inevitably will, but he thinks it's something like that. With Anakin. Anakin pleases him to that extent.
So, he goes to work and comes home, to someone, to something. He doesn't mind that they're all pinning this unending war on him, because scapegoats are convenient, or that his influence in the Senate is dwindling slowly away. In a few years he'll be one of the old men who had a name, but no say, that he himself despised when he was younger. He doesn't mind that either.
What he does mind is getting news of a newcomer in the Capital. A newcomer who asks about Anakin, who listens to gossip like it becomes anyone. Something sinks in Sarica's stomach, then. He calls off his upcoming lunch meeting with someone who isn't Ulos and puts on his bright yellow cloak, heading for the market. Bearded man, a bit younger than you, Toril had told him, pretty good-looking, you'll know when you see him.
Sarica knows. When he sees him. His eyes narrow for a brief moment, then he heads over and seats himself at the same small table the man has chosen, straight across from him. In the shade, it's cooler. Maybe even cool enough to accept when the vendor hurriedly comes over and puts a cup of tea in front of him. Legislator, he mutters. As far as Sarica understood, he's been tattling, too.
Looking at the other man in silence for a moment, he raises an eyebrow. You're not from around here, he could start, because his beard tells on him. Efithian men at his age go without. Instead he says: ]
[ That's... an interesting timing, to be sure. He's been sitting here for, what, fifteen minutes, tops? Word certainly goes around in Efith. Obi-Wan watches the man - curls, a sharp chin, piercing, dark eyes - seat himself like the place and the table and the chair and, possibly, the whole market, belong to him. Legislator says the vendor, serving him so quickly, you'd think he was scared not to and though Obi-Wan's expression stays pleasantly neutral about this whole ordeal, his stomach feels heavy already.
This, evidently, is the man he's been hearing about all day.
This is Anakin's new... partner of choice.
He looks back at the other man, meeting his stare with polite curiosity. Picking up his tea cup, he takes a second to consider his words. ]
Far be it from me to speculate on Anakin's innermost thoughts or feelings.
[ He won't bother pretending, here. This visit is a social call, true, but not for the benefit of this particular man. He sips his tea, savouring the taste briefly - mm, it has a special kind of softness to it, very soothing - before he looks back at the man - Sarica, isn't it? - and raises an eyebrow at him. ]
There's enough gossip going around here as it is, I'd think.
[ Smooth, Sarica thinks, watching the other man as he takes a sip of his tea and buys himself time, stalling the conversation until he's phrased his commentary in the most efficient way possible. It's not like it's a technique unknown to Sarica either. But he still thinks, smoother than your face, and leans back in his chair, extending his legs in front of him and shrugging off his cloak with a swift flick of his wrist and a hard toss of one shoulder, before picking up his own cup and taking a sip from it. It's the vendor's finest brew and Sarica rewards him with a brief glance in his direction, a raise of his eyebrow.
The man seems to breathe freely again.
Then, after that little display of total control, he fixes his gaze on the stranger once more and cocks his head, cup resting snugly between his hands, all but disappearing in the grip of his fingers. The other man has bigger hands yet, his cup looks minuscule in comparison.
There's a purse of his lips that soon translates into a wide, dangerous smile. He hasn't smiled this particular smile in a while, he realizes. Anakin doesn't invite it.
But they aren't talking about Anakin, are they? They're talking about how this man imagines him, and he won't say, he won't even consider it and therein lies the answer, possibly.
From what seems a long time ago, Sarica remembers being the one Anakin asked for help, asked for guidance and support, like he didn't have anyone else, part of a whole order, surrounded by people, but ultimately alone with his fears. Doubts. You have to wonder who this man is in front of him. Anakin had his commander, yes, but were they friends, truly? And what about this new guest who doesn't speculate on Anakin's feelings, is he a friend? ]
Certain inquiries are sure to catch my attention. [ Both eyebrows, now. ] And I'm a man whose attention it can be good to have.
[ Off comes the cloak - heavy-looking, a bright yellow, speaks of rank and governance and wealth - and up goes the eyebrow in the vendor's direction, the poor man straightening up a little in response, visibly relieved. Obi-Wan's gaze doesn't waver much as he notes these details, adding them carefully to what he's managed to find out about this man by speaking to others. The picture is quite coherent already, he thinks.
Politicians are rarely so obvious about their own dominance but then again, he's not exactly a politician. A Legislator, they say. A sort of advisor, possibly, the man who whispers in the ears of law makers. Obi-Wan nods at his words - already advising him, like it's all instinctual, he must be good at his job - and gives him a very slight smile, mostly just a twitch of his lips. ]
Can be, you say. [ His voice doesn't sharpen, though his gaze does, just a fraction. He runs his fingers over his beard. ] Meaning, there are exceptions. I wonder if this is one of them.
[ He thinks about this man, all obvious power, dominance, need for control, and it really doesn't make him any less worried for Anakin, Anakin who nearly... well, he doesn't know, does he. He wasn't there. Just as he hasn't been here, either, not until now and this man clearly knows how to bury his claws deeply and efficiently. ]
[ He's observant. Sarica is almost impressed with the subtlety with which the stranger just looks him over, the stroking of his beard the only obvious show of consideration - the rest is glances, eyes following movement, seeing patterns, adding and subtracting. Sarica has never been a soldier, he has no use on the battlefield as Anakin has pointed out more than once already, but he knows a strong opponent when he sees one.
What the other man sees, he doesn't wonder, however. Certainly, Sarica has no sword, but he owns the word before it leaves his mouth, long after as well. Because Sarica doesn't let go of things easily.
Another, longer sip of his tea and Sarica looks at the other man over the rim of his cup. He purposefully doesn't enunciate the words in any general sense, they're aimed specifically at this man and no one else. ]
It depends on who you are.
[ A slight pause, mostly rhetorical. The smile returns. ]
[ He raises both eyebrows. At least, they're progressed relatively fast past the word games - Obi-Wan has the patience for them, certainly, but right now he's starting to get a very persistent urge to find Anakin to make certain he's all right. That he hasn't been thrown any further off balance. Keeping his sense of urgency wholly off his face and out of his voice, he finally just says: ]
My name is Obi-Wan Kenobi.
[ He could have refused to answer, let the man feel his own powerlessness inherent to their relation but he can't start out that way with someone Anakin's taken a shine to. He remembers vividly criticizing Palpatine's actions in the Senate even the slightest bit and the resultant reaction that would inevitably follow - even a hint of discourtesy would've been enough to trigger his temper. Yes, Anakin had been quite enamoured with the Sith Lord ruling the galaxy and playing them all like puppets.
Obi-Wan pushes the thought aside - either for later or to forget, depending - and adds: ]
It might be a good sign if you haven't heard of me. Anakin's here to take a break, after all, and I hope that's exactly what he's been doing.
If Kenobi, as he introduces himself, is here to inquire about Anakin's leave, Sarica is in the company of yet another jedi and the thought makes his stomach knot. He has known from the beginning that Anakin Skywalker is for all intents and purposes still attached to the Order, that they expect a date for his return as Sarica knows the exact date and time of day when Anakin came to him in the Senate and they got re-acquainted, desperately and fast. ]
Charmed.
[ He hasn't mentioned you, it means.
Still, the realization makes him fall quiet and he just looks at the man, eyes intense and hard, fingers releasing the cup so it clinks against the wooden tabletop. Tilt, tip, but it doesn't fall. Sarica gestures with one hand, doesn't introduce himself, because he knows the man has already got that information. ]
You should ask him, when we get back to the villa. [ It's not a question or a polite inquiry. It's expectation. You'll come, it means. ] My impression is no doubt correct, but Anakin must answer for himself. I'm not much of a gossiper.
[ Getting to his feet, he picks up his cloak, folding it over one arm and then, gestures for the vendor to procure him a bag of the tea they were drinking, waiting for Kenobi to follow his example. Come, it means. With me. ]
[ Obi-Wan inclines his head slightly in response to Sarica's initial statement (charmed, he thinks, sounds a bit at odds with the man's actual state of mind but who's he to get critical) and empties his tea cup, his breathing calming a little at the warm, rounded taste. Such a pleasant brand; he ought to get himself a bag before he returns back to Coruscant. Whenever that might be - he doesn't exactly have a time limit. Take whatever time you need, he'd been told by the Council. To settle things.
Whatever that means in this context.
Sarica, meanwhile, has had enough passive conversation, it seems. Obi-Wan watches him with a bemused expression as the man gets to his feet and folds his cloak over his arm, shooting off a very indirect invitation to his villa, indirect but certainly presumptuous. Goes with the rest of him, if nothing else.
Setting down his tea cup gently, almost soundlessly, Obi-Wan gets to his feet as well and leaves a handful of coins for the vendor. He follows the other man out of the shadows and into the bright sunlight beyond the stall. ]
You haven't told me who you are.
[ He glances sideways at Sarica as they head down the dusty road past merchants and people going about their daily chores. ]
I'm aware of your name and title but that's not much to go by.
[ Who Sarica is. Well, Kenobi sure knows how to bring in the big guns. Befits a man with such huge hands. Sarica hmm's slightly, a low throaty sound, amused, as he turns a corner and moves down a sidestreet leading to the southern-most part of the city. Away from the huge Senate building, the temples... Away from everything that helps shape him. Who you are, Kenobi wants to know. Sarica turns his head and looks at him, expecting people to move aside for him before his lack of attention to the road gets him run down. His eyes are interested, but also scornful. He's certain that if the man has been asking for Anakin, some tidbits of Sarica's less than intimate life has snuck into the gossip harvest as well.
He shrugs, feigning nonchalance. When he speaks, it's in an even, neutral tone that doesn't really fit the words he chooses. ]
I'm someone who makes everyone here wonder what use I have of you, what you need me for and whether we're going to fuck as part of that exchange.
[ As if to support that claim, in the vendors and booths that they pass, people are watching them with only scarce discretion, some even craning their necks to stare after the man in the weird clothing (another one of those) and their less than favourite legislator move side by side down towards the more lived-in neighbourhoods ahead. Sarica notices they're almost the same height.
They've all gotten used to Anakin now, in the Capital, towering over him, not knowing what to make of that.
[ Well, it's an answer. A... very honest answer, if there's any truth in it and Obi-Wan senses that there is. The man isn't the least bit embarrassed to tell him that he uses his body as a means of transaction, that he uses other people in whichever way he finds most rewarding - though there's something about his general look, about the scornful glint in his eyes that speaks of hidden depths, too, and things left purposefully unsaid.
Chuckling, Obi-Wan gives him a smile, less restricted this time. ]
I've known several people who could be described a little like that.
[ He looks away, gaze gliding over their surroundings, taking in the details, the way they're being watched. His cloak, he realises, is definitely making them more conspicuous and he shrugs it off carefully, mirroring Sarica and folding it over his arm. His tunic and trousers don't stand out much whatsoever and the lightsaber by his hip, well. In this place, unless Anakin's been waving his around (and he realises the chances of that are actually quite depressingly high), it shouldn't draw much attention by itself. ]
The workings of the world will always make themselves known, regardless of what I admit to or not, so why bother lying?
[ As they move down the street, away from the city center and out into the more habitable quarters, apartment buildings and neighbourhoods comprised of villas that are gradually increasing in size, the further out they get, their audience grows sparser and Sarica doesn't bemoan the loss of eyes staring them down. Kenobi shrugs out of his cloak as well, so they're both walking, side by side, without conspicuous amounts of fabric tugged around their shoulders. At this point, Juila will no doubt have heard she is to expect an extra person for dinner, she is not only a regular at the foot of the rumour mill, she runs the whole thing. Out of all his servants, she is by all means the most useful, although he'd miss Erene's peaduck soup if she were to quit.
But knowledge bests peaduck, such is the lesson here.
Glancing at Kenobi, approximately same height as him, bigger hands, no doubt a bigger sense of self all-around, Sarica smiles slowly, shaking his head once. He doesn't say that he never lies, that in itself would be quite the lie, wouldn't it, but about these matters? Whom he sleeps with, when, how, why... If his network doesn't know these things, it's a sure sign something is wrong.
He turns them right at the next corner, avoiding a horse-driven wagon with habitual ease. ]
[ Obi-Wan never stops taking in their surroundings, watching the neighbourhood change as they drift further out towards the outskirts. The houses certainly grow bigger - and it strikes him, then, that a man as obviously influential as Sarica would also know how to gather enough resources to live his life comfortably. Hm. Anakin certainly knows how to pick them, doesn't he. He thinks Sarica's words over for a moment, frowning slightly in thought. ]
There are those who believe that the gain is worth the trouble, my friend.
[ He looks up at the sky - blue, blue, like water and kyber-infused light, like Anakin's eyes, too - and his shoulders tense ever so slightly, memories pushing at him, fighting for dominance. The war, an elaborate game cooked up by Palpatine. The Senate - so many, many beings, incapable of seeing through his lies or, ultimately, uncaring about them. The Council, blind to the danger they accepted by sending Anakin into Palpatine's claws, week after week, year after year.
And the way they nearly lost everything.
Obi-Wan nearly lost everything.
So he adds, into the comfortable silence between them: ]
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
action.
On the surface, yes.
However, whilst heading through the woods towards the city, Obi-Wan had been struck by the feel of the planet, more so than its physical characteristics. The Force, he thinks, is incredibly strong here - but odd, too, intangible. When he draws upon it, it feels as it always has so it doesn't affect him to any significant degree, whatever the strangeness might be about. But this part, at least, fits Anakin to a 't'. Landing himself on a planet where the Force feels like nothing he's ever heard of.
The drama of it all.
Having asked around in the market mid-town, Obi-Wan's currently taking a break from scouting for information concerning Anakin (because looking him up would, naturally, be ill-advised without any data whatsoever and he can hardly be blamed for the other man's reticence with regards to sharing information about Efith - he couldn't even be bothered to fill out the mission reports from his first visit because of course he couldn't). He's seated by a small table under the cool shadow of the tea vendor's awning, sipping local black tea and watching the mill of people as they bargain for goods.
He's trying not to consider the information he's gathered so far but his brain won't quite let him.
Why in the all the universes would Anakin be here?
More importantly, what is keeping him? ]
no subject
Sarica doesn't believe in the blissful passing of time, of course, so he shan't use those words exactly, but it's been calm and undisturbed at the villa, no visitors, no parties, a lot of sex, a few I love you's and the mix has been good enough even for Sarica, one morning, early, before going to work, to venture to the temple as a worshipper rather than as a consultant or negotiator. The fire priest, not Timachus', so ultimately not the right one, had set his prayer aflame and told him the Mysteries would take care of the rest. Sarica had told him, oh, the Mysteries already have. The man had looked slightly uncomfortable.
Sarica feels lighter, it's not a bodily thing, though it's no doubt related to the very physical feeling Anakin gives him, sucking his cock, giving him his own in turn, but the war that rages in Reece bothers him less, even the thought of Timachus still in the wild with his partner in crime, it touches him only insofar that the practical matters which arise from it do. Treaties to sign, information to pass on from his Reecian sources, maps to cross off, again and again. Not there or there or there. None of this really registers. Well, as anything but nuisance.
Happy.
Sarica doesn't use that word either, of course, it's too presumptuous and you risk too much, once it changes as it inevitably will, but he thinks it's something like that. With Anakin. Anakin pleases him to that extent.
So, he goes to work and comes home, to someone, to something. He doesn't mind that they're all pinning this unending war on him, because scapegoats are convenient, or that his influence in the Senate is dwindling slowly away. In a few years he'll be one of the old men who had a name, but no say, that he himself despised when he was younger. He doesn't mind that either.
What he does mind is getting news of a newcomer in the Capital. A newcomer who asks about Anakin, who listens to gossip like it becomes anyone. Something sinks in Sarica's stomach, then. He calls off his upcoming lunch meeting with someone who isn't Ulos and puts on his bright yellow cloak, heading for the market. Bearded man, a bit younger than you, Toril had told him, pretty good-looking, you'll know when you see him.
Sarica knows. When he sees him. His eyes narrow for a brief moment, then he heads over and seats himself at the same small table the man has chosen, straight across from him. In the shade, it's cooler. Maybe even cool enough to accept when the vendor hurriedly comes over and puts a cup of tea in front of him. Legislator, he mutters. As far as Sarica understood, he's been tattling, too.
Looking at the other man in silence for a moment, he raises an eyebrow. You're not from around here, he could start, because his beard tells on him. Efithian men at his age go without. Instead he says: ]
Will he be happy to see you, do you think?
no subject
This, evidently, is the man he's been hearing about all day.
This is Anakin's new... partner of choice.
He looks back at the other man, meeting his stare with polite curiosity. Picking up his tea cup, he takes a second to consider his words. ]
Far be it from me to speculate on Anakin's innermost thoughts or feelings.
[ He won't bother pretending, here. This visit is a social call, true, but not for the benefit of this particular man. He sips his tea, savouring the taste briefly - mm, it has a special kind of softness to it, very soothing - before he looks back at the man - Sarica, isn't it? - and raises an eyebrow at him. ]
There's enough gossip going around here as it is, I'd think.
no subject
The man seems to breathe freely again.
Then, after that little display of total control, he fixes his gaze on the stranger once more and cocks his head, cup resting snugly between his hands, all but disappearing in the grip of his fingers. The other man has bigger hands yet, his cup looks minuscule in comparison.
There's a purse of his lips that soon translates into a wide, dangerous smile. He hasn't smiled this particular smile in a while, he realizes. Anakin doesn't invite it.
But they aren't talking about Anakin, are they? They're talking about how this man imagines him, and he won't say, he won't even consider it and therein lies the answer, possibly.
From what seems a long time ago, Sarica remembers being the one Anakin asked for help, asked for guidance and support, like he didn't have anyone else, part of a whole order, surrounded by people, but ultimately alone with his fears. Doubts. You have to wonder who this man is in front of him. Anakin had his commander, yes, but were they friends, truly? And what about this new guest who doesn't speculate on Anakin's feelings, is he a friend? ]
Certain inquiries are sure to catch my attention. [ Both eyebrows, now. ] And I'm a man whose attention it can be good to have.
no subject
Politicians are rarely so obvious about their own dominance but then again, he's not exactly a politician. A Legislator, they say. A sort of advisor, possibly, the man who whispers in the ears of law makers. Obi-Wan nods at his words - already advising him, like it's all instinctual, he must be good at his job - and gives him a very slight smile, mostly just a twitch of his lips. ]
Can be, you say. [ His voice doesn't sharpen, though his gaze does, just a fraction. He runs his fingers over his beard. ] Meaning, there are exceptions. I wonder if this is one of them.
[ He thinks about this man, all obvious power, dominance, need for control, and it really doesn't make him any less worried for Anakin, Anakin who nearly... well, he doesn't know, does he. He wasn't there. Just as he hasn't been here, either, not until now and this man clearly knows how to bury his claws deeply and efficiently. ]
no subject
What the other man sees, he doesn't wonder, however. Certainly, Sarica has no sword, but he owns the word before it leaves his mouth, long after as well. Because Sarica doesn't let go of things easily.
Another, longer sip of his tea and Sarica looks at the other man over the rim of his cup. He purposefully doesn't enunciate the words in any general sense, they're aimed specifically at this man and no one else. ]
It depends on who you are.
[ A slight pause, mostly rhetorical. The smile returns. ]
Which begs the question. Who are you, my friend?
no subject
My name is Obi-Wan Kenobi.
[ He could have refused to answer, let the man feel his own powerlessness inherent to their relation but he can't start out that way with someone Anakin's taken a shine to. He remembers vividly criticizing Palpatine's actions in the Senate even the slightest bit and the resultant reaction that would inevitably follow - even a hint of discourtesy would've been enough to trigger his temper. Yes, Anakin had been quite enamoured with the Sith Lord ruling the galaxy and playing them all like puppets.
Obi-Wan pushes the thought aside - either for later or to forget, depending - and adds: ]
It might be a good sign if you haven't heard of me. Anakin's here to take a break, after all, and I hope that's exactly what he's been doing.
no subject
If Kenobi, as he introduces himself, is here to inquire about Anakin's leave, Sarica is in the company of yet another jedi and the thought makes his stomach knot. He has known from the beginning that Anakin Skywalker is for all intents and purposes still attached to the Order, that they expect a date for his return as Sarica knows the exact date and time of day when Anakin came to him in the Senate and they got re-acquainted, desperately and fast. ]
Charmed.
[ He hasn't mentioned you, it means.
Still, the realization makes him fall quiet and he just looks at the man, eyes intense and hard, fingers releasing the cup so it clinks against the wooden tabletop. Tilt, tip, but it doesn't fall. Sarica gestures with one hand, doesn't introduce himself, because he knows the man has already got that information. ]
You should ask him, when we get back to the villa. [ It's not a question or a polite inquiry. It's expectation. You'll come, it means. ] My impression is no doubt correct, but Anakin must answer for himself. I'm not much of a gossiper.
[ Getting to his feet, he picks up his cloak, folding it over one arm and then, gestures for the vendor to procure him a bag of the tea they were drinking, waiting for Kenobi to follow his example. Come, it means. With me. ]
no subject
Whatever that means in this context.
Sarica, meanwhile, has had enough passive conversation, it seems. Obi-Wan watches him with a bemused expression as the man gets to his feet and folds his cloak over his arm, shooting off a very indirect invitation to his villa, indirect but certainly presumptuous. Goes with the rest of him, if nothing else.
Setting down his tea cup gently, almost soundlessly, Obi-Wan gets to his feet as well and leaves a handful of coins for the vendor. He follows the other man out of the shadows and into the bright sunlight beyond the stall. ]
You haven't told me who you are.
[ He glances sideways at Sarica as they head down the dusty road past merchants and people going about their daily chores. ]
I'm aware of your name and title but that's not much to go by.
no subject
He shrugs, feigning nonchalance. When he speaks, it's in an even, neutral tone that doesn't really fit the words he chooses. ]
I'm someone who makes everyone here wonder what use I have of you, what you need me for and whether we're going to fuck as part of that exchange.
[ As if to support that claim, in the vendors and booths that they pass, people are watching them with only scarce discretion, some even craning their necks to stare after the man in the weird clothing (another one of those) and their less than favourite legislator move side by side down towards the more lived-in neighbourhoods ahead. Sarica notices they're almost the same height.
They've all gotten used to Anakin now, in the Capital, towering over him, not knowing what to make of that.
Does Kenobi? Know? He wonders. ]
no subject
Chuckling, Obi-Wan gives him a smile, less restricted this time. ]
I've known several people who could be described a little like that.
[ He looks away, gaze gliding over their surroundings, taking in the details, the way they're being watched. His cloak, he realises, is definitely making them more conspicuous and he shrugs it off carefully, mirroring Sarica and folding it over his arm. His tunic and trousers don't stand out much whatsoever and the lightsaber by his hip, well. In this place, unless Anakin's been waving his around (and he realises the chances of that are actually quite depressingly high), it shouldn't draw much attention by itself. ]
Not too many who'd so readily admit to it.
no subject
[ As they move down the street, away from the city center and out into the more habitable quarters, apartment buildings and neighbourhoods comprised of villas that are gradually increasing in size, the further out they get, their audience grows sparser and Sarica doesn't bemoan the loss of eyes staring them down. Kenobi shrugs out of his cloak as well, so they're both walking, side by side, without conspicuous amounts of fabric tugged around their shoulders. At this point, Juila will no doubt have heard she is to expect an extra person for dinner, she is not only a regular at the foot of the rumour mill, she runs the whole thing. Out of all his servants, she is by all means the most useful, although he'd miss Erene's peaduck soup if she were to quit.
But knowledge bests peaduck, such is the lesson here.
Glancing at Kenobi, approximately same height as him, bigger hands, no doubt a bigger sense of self all-around, Sarica smiles slowly, shaking his head once. He doesn't say that he never lies, that in itself would be quite the lie, wouldn't it, but about these matters? Whom he sleeps with, when, how, why... If his network doesn't know these things, it's a sure sign something is wrong.
He turns them right at the next corner, avoiding a horse-driven wagon with habitual ease. ]
No, too much trouble.
no subject
There are those who believe that the gain is worth the trouble, my friend.
[ He looks up at the sky - blue, blue, like water and kyber-infused light, like Anakin's eyes, too - and his shoulders tense ever so slightly, memories pushing at him, fighting for dominance. The war, an elaborate game cooked up by Palpatine. The Senate - so many, many beings, incapable of seeing through his lies or, ultimately, uncaring about them. The Council, blind to the danger they accepted by sending Anakin into Palpatine's claws, week after week, year after year.
And the way they nearly lost everything.
Obi-Wan nearly lost everything.
So he adds, into the comfortable silence between them: ]
I'm glad you have found other ways.
[ Gladder, even than anyone might understand. ]