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[ First, there's just silence. White noise. Static. It's been a month and a half, so we'll forgive you, Anakin, if you think it might be a prank call. However, if you stay tuned for all that bzz bzZ Bzz, suddenly his voice comes through. It's a bit slurred (alcohol) and faint (angling, he's figuring it out, forgive a man for not knowing everything), but audible. A couple of seconds into the message, it gains volume, too. He got the comlink at proper level with his face. ]
You'll hear this. What are you thinking, Anakin? Too much wine? Not enough action? Are you seeing action? Enough of it? I don't envy you, war is dirty business. Lonesome, too. No matter how many soldiers you send out onto a field, every man is still in it for himself.
[ A pause, though the comlink is close enough to Sarica's mouth to catch his breathing, inhale, exhale, inhale, exhale. ]
I'm extremely good at spending time, you must know. I'm good at wasting it, too, but I don't wait well. Too impatient, I'm told. Too greedy. You said there was time. Well, I say time is now.
Supposedly, in three days, I'll know whether I'm right. Be proud of yourself, Anakin, you're making me wait.
[ And more abruptly than it started, the call ends. ]
You'll hear this. What are you thinking, Anakin? Too much wine? Not enough action? Are you seeing action? Enough of it? I don't envy you, war is dirty business. Lonesome, too. No matter how many soldiers you send out onto a field, every man is still in it for himself.
[ A pause, though the comlink is close enough to Sarica's mouth to catch his breathing, inhale, exhale, inhale, exhale. ]
I'm extremely good at spending time, you must know. I'm good at wasting it, too, but I don't wait well. Too impatient, I'm told. Too greedy. You said there was time. Well, I say time is now.
Supposedly, in three days, I'll know whether I'm right. Be proud of yourself, Anakin, you're making me wait.
[ And more abruptly than it started, the call ends. ]
Edited 2022-05-07 19:20 (UTC)
[ It's been a month and a half plus a couple of extra days and Anakin's mid-siege - again - in the outer rim, trying to stay engaged despite the unavailing nature of it all. They've had intel describing the conditions on the planet below and honestly, waiting around seems ridiculous at this point. They could take the capital in a heartbeat. But alas, here he is. Stuck, in space, and that's when his comlink buzzes in a very particular way, vibrating harshly and repeatedly against his wrist. He excuses himself from the bridge because, well, there's nothing to do - and finds a private corner to play the message.
It takes him a few minutes of blank staring into space before he manages a reply: ]
Excuse me - how drunk were you when you recorded this message? Never mind, don't tell me.
[ A pause. His transmission is mostly devoid of noise or disturbances, apart from the odd sounds courtesy of the ship's mechanics, on constant run in the background. ]
Anyway, glad to hear you've managed to get the comlink working. I hope that one button didn't ruin your day. [ A smirk, clear in his voice: ] Though it doesn't sound like it. Must've been quite some party, Sarica.
[ Another pause. A sigh. ]
I can't believe I'm talking to you. I should be talking to literally anybody else. My men. The Jedi. [ Softer: ] My - well. No, that doesn't matter. But here we are, right, and this message will reach you in another three days so I hope you won't be too drunk to press the button again.
The war keeps dragging on. I think - something is about to change, maybe not tomorrow or even in a month but yeah, it's coming. I have a friend back on Coruscant who never fails to remind me of all the things I can't glimpse beneath the surface, all the little power plays, the games. I'm glad I can't.
You probably could.
[ A long huff of air. Then, the sound of his clothes - leather, armor - creaking as he shrugs. ]
So, here's a message for you. Guess you can't complain about being left to wait any longer, huh? Mr. Talkative.
Er... I hope it finds you well. The message.
[ And - off. ]
It takes him a few minutes of blank staring into space before he manages a reply: ]
Excuse me - how drunk were you when you recorded this message? Never mind, don't tell me.
[ A pause. His transmission is mostly devoid of noise or disturbances, apart from the odd sounds courtesy of the ship's mechanics, on constant run in the background. ]
Anyway, glad to hear you've managed to get the comlink working. I hope that one button didn't ruin your day. [ A smirk, clear in his voice: ] Though it doesn't sound like it. Must've been quite some party, Sarica.
[ Another pause. A sigh. ]
I can't believe I'm talking to you. I should be talking to literally anybody else. My men. The Jedi. [ Softer: ] My - well. No, that doesn't matter. But here we are, right, and this message will reach you in another three days so I hope you won't be too drunk to press the button again.
The war keeps dragging on. I think - something is about to change, maybe not tomorrow or even in a month but yeah, it's coming. I have a friend back on Coruscant who never fails to remind me of all the things I can't glimpse beneath the surface, all the little power plays, the games. I'm glad I can't.
You probably could.
[ A long huff of air. Then, the sound of his clothes - leather, armor - creaking as he shrugs. ]
So, here's a message for you. Guess you can't complain about being left to wait any longer, huh? Mr. Talkative.
Er... I hope it finds you well. The message.
[ And - off. ]
[ Not three days, but almost a week. The party happens and it's over again in that time. Sarica sobers up. Life goes on, senate meetings, a trip to Mergan on the northern borders, friendlier than Reece, they don't mind lending element-wielders to the purpose, if compensated well enough. He's still in the middle of negotiations when the comlink reminds him of its presence. That he even brought it along might puzzle him a bit, but in that moment, at least, he's glad.
Another couple of hours of waiting while he advises the High Priestess of the North Temple, then he can excuse himself, find an empty room in the huge courthouse complex of the Merganian capital. They're a lawful people, the Merganians, Sarica always liked them better than Reecians, in general.
The fact that he's smiling through the entire message is its own message, isn't it? ]
Parties come and go. Like wars do. Journeys. Everything's temporary, but we've had this discussion. It's not what you believe. Something will come after that which is temporary, something that lasts, yes? Or it will eventually bind together these temporary pieces until they form a whole? I'm educated in law, not philosophy, don't come here with your scorn, Anakin. I'm trying to understand what you see in reality that I don't. The unseen is usually the most valuable of all, secrets, Mysteries, gold inside a mountain.
[ The indistinct noise of people yelling outside, the plaza out front filled with people at this hour. Market day, no slaves, Mergan calls themselves advanced - while selling their children to Efith for a price. Is slavery really a worse misdeed than hypocrisy? He doesn't wonder out loud, of course. His slaves are back to work at the villa in the Capital. Timachus oversees them currently. Bound by nothing, but staying regardless. ]
I'm little to you, in comparison to your friends or the Jedi or whoever they are that you won't tell me about, that's why you reply. Because it's of no consequence. I am the perfect vessel for secrets, I reveal nothing, it's like calling into a void, talking to me, so you do. What consequence does it have? What consequence can it have?
[ Behind him, a door opens and closes. A muffled male voice says, only faintly distinguishable, the High Priestess is ready to continue, Legislator, before getting cut off. Door closing. ]
One thing you should know about me, is that I glimpse only what I want to. I'm not an all-seeing eye, I see what I need to keep the advantage in a situation, the rest I'll stay willfully blind to. Power play is just play. I want to be entertained. The power can go wherever, to whomever wants it, as long as the game continues. I'm an indulger, I drink and whore and feast. Everything I see is to further this aim.
Right now, I see you smirk at me, I see it clearly. I see us in the river, rutting. Think of us like that sometimes. We definitely weren't playing for power, then.
[ Off. ]
Another couple of hours of waiting while he advises the High Priestess of the North Temple, then he can excuse himself, find an empty room in the huge courthouse complex of the Merganian capital. They're a lawful people, the Merganians, Sarica always liked them better than Reecians, in general.
The fact that he's smiling through the entire message is its own message, isn't it? ]
Parties come and go. Like wars do. Journeys. Everything's temporary, but we've had this discussion. It's not what you believe. Something will come after that which is temporary, something that lasts, yes? Or it will eventually bind together these temporary pieces until they form a whole? I'm educated in law, not philosophy, don't come here with your scorn, Anakin. I'm trying to understand what you see in reality that I don't. The unseen is usually the most valuable of all, secrets, Mysteries, gold inside a mountain.
[ The indistinct noise of people yelling outside, the plaza out front filled with people at this hour. Market day, no slaves, Mergan calls themselves advanced - while selling their children to Efith for a price. Is slavery really a worse misdeed than hypocrisy? He doesn't wonder out loud, of course. His slaves are back to work at the villa in the Capital. Timachus oversees them currently. Bound by nothing, but staying regardless. ]
I'm little to you, in comparison to your friends or the Jedi or whoever they are that you won't tell me about, that's why you reply. Because it's of no consequence. I am the perfect vessel for secrets, I reveal nothing, it's like calling into a void, talking to me, so you do. What consequence does it have? What consequence can it have?
[ Behind him, a door opens and closes. A muffled male voice says, only faintly distinguishable, the High Priestess is ready to continue, Legislator, before getting cut off. Door closing. ]
One thing you should know about me, is that I glimpse only what I want to. I'm not an all-seeing eye, I see what I need to keep the advantage in a situation, the rest I'll stay willfully blind to. Power play is just play. I want to be entertained. The power can go wherever, to whomever wants it, as long as the game continues. I'm an indulger, I drink and whore and feast. Everything I see is to further this aim.
Right now, I see you smirk at me, I see it clearly. I see us in the river, rutting. Think of us like that sometimes. We definitely weren't playing for power, then.
[ Off. ]
Edited 2022-05-08 05:31 (UTC)
[ He receives the message mid-battle and listens to it during a lull while the enemy regroups and his own men get themselves positioned for what he's expecting to be the final stretch. In a moment, he'll head out to his chosen vantage point, just him and no one else because these days, everybody slows him down.
Sarica does too, in a way, with his message but in this case, he isn't losing time as a consequence. He's just filling out a blank and that's inherently different. He listens, crosslegged on the ground with the comlink in front of him, brow furrowing deeper and deeper until, near the end, he's not actually smirking at all. The power can go wherever, to whomever wants it? And before that...
He shakes his head and turns on the transceiver, movements fast. Abrupt. ]
Okay, wait. Back up.
[ The sound of clothes rustling as he shifts a little, restlessly. ]
If I wanted to call into a void, I've got the entirety of space out there to serve my purpose. That's not what this is. I won't pretend to know what it is, precisely, but I wouldn't willingly waste my time, talking to people who don't matter. [ Pause. A slow exhalation. ] To me.
[ In the background, there's the sound of footsteps and people yelling out commands. There's a brief pause. ]
But it's not about that, is it? I've seen what power means and what it doesn't mean. What it means to have it. [ Another pause as he swallows, audibly. ] And I think you want it, badly, just not the way most people do. You tell me what you think I should know about you but maybe, Sarica, you're the worst person in the world to teach me that. Perhaps you should ask me, instead, what I've come to learn.
[ The leather of his boots squeaks as he fiddles with it. Somewhere off in the distance, there's a sudden rumble of canon fire. Once. Twice. ]
Oops, looks like I'm running late. [ The connection goes scratchy for a moment. ] Guess you're coming along.
[ The quality of the recording goes a little funny now with Anakin on the move. He's quiet for about fifteen seconds. The sounds of the battle field grow slightly fainter. Another heavy rustling-sound and then, Anakin's voice, a bit thinner in quality due to the open air around him - he's up high: ]
Anyway, while I'm waiting for my cue, just a thought: when you refuse to care about the distribution of power, the administration of it, does that mean you aren't playing for it? Say, our... meeting in the river, for instance. There was nothing but power, there. [ There a smile in his voice now, a softness that's exceedingly rare these days: ] From listening to you, now I wonder whether you even know what happened to it.
[ Off. ]
Sarica does too, in a way, with his message but in this case, he isn't losing time as a consequence. He's just filling out a blank and that's inherently different. He listens, crosslegged on the ground with the comlink in front of him, brow furrowing deeper and deeper until, near the end, he's not actually smirking at all. The power can go wherever, to whomever wants it? And before that...
He shakes his head and turns on the transceiver, movements fast. Abrupt. ]
Okay, wait. Back up.
[ The sound of clothes rustling as he shifts a little, restlessly. ]
If I wanted to call into a void, I've got the entirety of space out there to serve my purpose. That's not what this is. I won't pretend to know what it is, precisely, but I wouldn't willingly waste my time, talking to people who don't matter. [ Pause. A slow exhalation. ] To me.
[ In the background, there's the sound of footsteps and people yelling out commands. There's a brief pause. ]
But it's not about that, is it? I've seen what power means and what it doesn't mean. What it means to have it. [ Another pause as he swallows, audibly. ] And I think you want it, badly, just not the way most people do. You tell me what you think I should know about you but maybe, Sarica, you're the worst person in the world to teach me that. Perhaps you should ask me, instead, what I've come to learn.
[ The leather of his boots squeaks as he fiddles with it. Somewhere off in the distance, there's a sudden rumble of canon fire. Once. Twice. ]
Oops, looks like I'm running late. [ The connection goes scratchy for a moment. ] Guess you're coming along.
[ The quality of the recording goes a little funny now with Anakin on the move. He's quiet for about fifteen seconds. The sounds of the battle field grow slightly fainter. Another heavy rustling-sound and then, Anakin's voice, a bit thinner in quality due to the open air around him - he's up high: ]
Anyway, while I'm waiting for my cue, just a thought: when you refuse to care about the distribution of power, the administration of it, does that mean you aren't playing for it? Say, our... meeting in the river, for instance. There was nothing but power, there. [ There a smile in his voice now, a softness that's exceedingly rare these days: ] From listening to you, now I wonder whether you even know what happened to it.
[ Off. ]
[ Two months pass. Maybe two months and ten-twelve days. Sarica loses track of time, the way he loses track of a lot of things during that period. He listens to Anakin's message several times during the interim, but doesn't push the button again, can't make himself. Instead he thrashes his villa, doesn't buy new slaves, seeing as Timachus took the ones he had with him. With him and with his little fire priest. Their first mistake. He accuses them of theft before the Sacred Council. Then, he gets the Senate to declare an emergency war against the border regions. Don't let them pass. The conflict escalates. People get burned.
They lost a High Priest that day. Sarica is sitting alone in his villa, he's poured his own wine. He hasn't had friends over since this began. You have to wonder if he has any left.
So, he finds the comlink and stares at it sullenly for a couple of minutes, then he presses the button. ]
You'd be the first, you realise. To whom I've mattered. People are dispendable creatures by nature. Our systems are founded on the basic idea, that if not this legislator, then someone else. If not that priest, then someone else. If not that slave, then someone else. No one is a fixture, Anakin, not here, but I suppose you live in a different world than I. You have created, maybe, a different world than mine.
[ He drinks. It goes down noisily. ]
By the Mysteries, I think I may admire you for that.
[ A long pause. The clinking of glass, a stool scraping over the floor, no voices around him, it's so silent it's conspicuous. You have to wonder, does he have no one?
He wonders, does he have no one. ]
You ordered me to tell you to come back. Now you order me to ask what you will come to learn, when you do. I'm no soldier. I wage war like I play boardgames, setting the pieces quickly down and touching only what needs touched to create forward movement. I don't take orders well, should you have any doubts. I started a war some weeks ago. It's difficult to lead it at a distance, but distance is all I know. [ A contemplative silence for some seconds. More clinking of glass. A hard swallow. ] What do you wish to gain from that?
[ Somewhere down the hallway, a door slams open and the stool scrapes harshly over floorboards and Sarica's glass clinks, then he lifts the comlink to his face, lowering his voice. ]
You want to know, Anakin what happened to the power between us. Well, my friend, you took it with you.
[ Another door slams open, someone shouts. Off. ]
They lost a High Priest that day. Sarica is sitting alone in his villa, he's poured his own wine. He hasn't had friends over since this began. You have to wonder if he has any left.
So, he finds the comlink and stares at it sullenly for a couple of minutes, then he presses the button. ]
You'd be the first, you realise. To whom I've mattered. People are dispendable creatures by nature. Our systems are founded on the basic idea, that if not this legislator, then someone else. If not that priest, then someone else. If not that slave, then someone else. No one is a fixture, Anakin, not here, but I suppose you live in a different world than I. You have created, maybe, a different world than mine.
[ He drinks. It goes down noisily. ]
By the Mysteries, I think I may admire you for that.
[ A long pause. The clinking of glass, a stool scraping over the floor, no voices around him, it's so silent it's conspicuous. You have to wonder, does he have no one?
He wonders, does he have no one. ]
You ordered me to tell you to come back. Now you order me to ask what you will come to learn, when you do. I'm no soldier. I wage war like I play boardgames, setting the pieces quickly down and touching only what needs touched to create forward movement. I don't take orders well, should you have any doubts. I started a war some weeks ago. It's difficult to lead it at a distance, but distance is all I know. [ A contemplative silence for some seconds. More clinking of glass. A hard swallow. ] What do you wish to gain from that?
[ Somewhere down the hallway, a door slams open and the stool scrapes harshly over floorboards and Sarica's glass clinks, then he lifts the comlink to his face, lowering his voice. ]
You want to know, Anakin what happened to the power between us. Well, my friend, you took it with you.
[ Another door slams open, someone shouts. Off. ]
[ In the time that's passed between their last communications and now, Anakin has gone from being secretly married to being equally-secretly divorced and the difference is pretty considerable. He thinks about contacting Padmé way too often - she's expressively told him that she needed distance if they wanted to salvage what's left of their friendship and Anakin does, desperately. Whatever she'll give him...
But then, there's the part of him that keeps screaming about the injustice of it, about how one small transgression... He stops his own mental train from derailing there. Talking to the Chancellor about this had been a mistake, he's fairly certain - for one, why would he burden the most powerful man in the galaxy with his petty, private issues? And why would the older man know what to say, anyway?
Meaning, he didn't know.
Anakin's trying to be understanding about that but on the other hand, he'd never expected the Chancellor who claims to hold Padmé in the highest possible regard, to push him towards getting angry with her, calling her actions perhaps slightly unreasonable and advising him not to trust her judgement. That had been... strange. Out of place. Hadn't it? Or maybe he should've never...
In any case, Anakin's currently been re-deployed again along with the 501st and in a rare, calm moment he's listening to Sarica's message in their shared quarters. Rex has made sure that he gets his privacy, though he's no doubt making the wrong assumption as to why.
He listens, then listen again - and again. Gaze distant, he finally replies: ]
I'm - you know, I guess it's funny. [ He isn't laughing, but there's a wryness to his tone. ] The two of us, all by ourselves. You sound like someone left you - did they?
[ Pause. A long, outdrawn breath as he steels himself: ]
My wife has left me. I know, logically, that she's in her right - it's about you, by the way, if you want to feel important for a hot second - and I don't think I'm supposed to be angry with her. I am, though. These days it seems like I'm always angry. It would be so easy to direct that anger towards her and the Ch - someone close to me suggests that I should, too, that it would be right. Instead, I destroy droids. Machines. People, sometimes, if I must.
I'd give my other arm to share your distance. Perhaps you'd feel different about it if you weren't there by yourself.
[ Pause. His breath hitches briefly, before he gets his voice back under control. ]
And perhaps I'd be far enough away from everything, too.
[ From somewhere, an alarm bleats. Anakin pauses to listen briefly, then ignores it. ]
It's so typical of you, by the way, turning my question around and pointing it back to me. What do I want to gain from you, actually taking my suggestions? I don't know. I never do. Ask anyone who knows me and they'll tell you - my plans are barely even blueprints, let alone cohesive. I think, though...
[ He takes a second here, to swallow. His voice comes back a little rougher: ]
I'd like to know you better than I know myself.
[ And, with a tremble: ]
Please be safe.
[ Off. ]
But then, there's the part of him that keeps screaming about the injustice of it, about how one small transgression... He stops his own mental train from derailing there. Talking to the Chancellor about this had been a mistake, he's fairly certain - for one, why would he burden the most powerful man in the galaxy with his petty, private issues? And why would the older man know what to say, anyway?
Meaning, he didn't know.
Anakin's trying to be understanding about that but on the other hand, he'd never expected the Chancellor who claims to hold Padmé in the highest possible regard, to push him towards getting angry with her, calling her actions perhaps slightly unreasonable and advising him not to trust her judgement. That had been... strange. Out of place. Hadn't it? Or maybe he should've never...
In any case, Anakin's currently been re-deployed again along with the 501st and in a rare, calm moment he's listening to Sarica's message in their shared quarters. Rex has made sure that he gets his privacy, though he's no doubt making the wrong assumption as to why.
He listens, then listen again - and again. Gaze distant, he finally replies: ]
I'm - you know, I guess it's funny. [ He isn't laughing, but there's a wryness to his tone. ] The two of us, all by ourselves. You sound like someone left you - did they?
[ Pause. A long, outdrawn breath as he steels himself: ]
My wife has left me. I know, logically, that she's in her right - it's about you, by the way, if you want to feel important for a hot second - and I don't think I'm supposed to be angry with her. I am, though. These days it seems like I'm always angry. It would be so easy to direct that anger towards her and the Ch - someone close to me suggests that I should, too, that it would be right. Instead, I destroy droids. Machines. People, sometimes, if I must.
I'd give my other arm to share your distance. Perhaps you'd feel different about it if you weren't there by yourself.
[ Pause. His breath hitches briefly, before he gets his voice back under control. ]
And perhaps I'd be far enough away from everything, too.
[ From somewhere, an alarm bleats. Anakin pauses to listen briefly, then ignores it. ]
It's so typical of you, by the way, turning my question around and pointing it back to me. What do I want to gain from you, actually taking my suggestions? I don't know. I never do. Ask anyone who knows me and they'll tell you - my plans are barely even blueprints, let alone cohesive. I think, though...
[ He takes a second here, to swallow. His voice comes back a little rougher: ]
I'd like to know you better than I know myself.
[ And, with a tremble: ]
Please be safe.
[ Off. ]
[ The interlude is briefer this time. A week.
Sarica gets his message on the way to the front, where he has been sent to negotiate between captured Reecian freedom fighters and the temple they took over in the border regions, and as it buzzes, the comlink, he halts his horse and pulls it along to a grove nearby, letting it graze in a field of clovers while he plays it. Over and over. He feels, strangely enough, like he's listening to himself in a different pitch, at a different time of his life, but the same tension and dissatisfaction. Anger. He knows this man, he thinks to himself. He knows him intimately.
And he does. It has cost Anakin his marriage. Anakin who reminds him of himself at age eighteen. Alone in the world. But never alone enough.
He presses the button, but the first few seconds is just chirping of birds, the thud, thud, thud of a horse's hooves, a branch snapping. His breathing. Inhale, exhale. ]
I don't know how to genuinely convey to you that I'm sorry about your wife. I don't care for women. I wasn't put on this earth to entertain their kind. However, what I can genuinely say, Anakin, is that I would never wish upon you anything that could burden you or sadden you, hurt you or force forth your anger. However, it seems to me that your former wife is not the catalyst of any of these feelings anyway, they start somewhere else. And if she's not the catalyst, she doesn't deserve to be the recipient of them either. If we're talking about suggestions, here's mine: find out from whom these feelings stem and direct your anger there. That's where they belong.
It might settle some things. Or it might launch another war, who knows. War seems to be all the rage these days.
[ More bird chirping. A faint voice murmuring something to an animal that neighs in response. Half a minute of calm nature noises, then he returns, voice less steady now. He might not have moved, but he's in a different place altogether. ]
I'm on my way to Reece. The man who left me is Reecian, you must understand, he was brought to Efith when he was ten years old as a slave and served eight years with an old scholar. I bought him, then, from the old man. I bought him and I freed him, I made him my heir to inherit everything I owned when I died and I let him live in my house with me, as my - [ A hitch in his voice, whether it's a moment's doubt or a moment's anger, hurt, longing is difficult to tell. ] - partner. He met someone, apparently, not too long ago. A fire priest that has been a thorn in the temple's side for years, and they've run away together. Back to Reece. Timachus has taken up arms, judging by hearsay, and his new friend can blow people up by looking at them.
Reece gained an ally and we, two new enemies. Efith is losing, my friend, but only because I lost first. Like that, every battle feels like a double defeat.
[ The wind rustles the leaves on the trees above his head. If you listen closely enough, you might hear the blue sky - if you've got imagination for that kind of thing. ]
I have plenty of plans, Anakin. I have hundreds of plans, but they all rely on him, on his choices and actions. The more desperate we get, the Senate, the military and me, the more certain I feel that Timachus might simply not be pushed any further. That he's done moving for me, while I... I gallop and I run and next thing you know, I fall.
[ A long, shaky breath. ]
If nothing else, I do believe you know me very well now. You know me better than most people, you know me better than the man I'm bringing down the sky for. What does that say about you? What I would and wouldn't do to have you here?
I would bring down the earth, too.
[ Off. ]
Sarica gets his message on the way to the front, where he has been sent to negotiate between captured Reecian freedom fighters and the temple they took over in the border regions, and as it buzzes, the comlink, he halts his horse and pulls it along to a grove nearby, letting it graze in a field of clovers while he plays it. Over and over. He feels, strangely enough, like he's listening to himself in a different pitch, at a different time of his life, but the same tension and dissatisfaction. Anger. He knows this man, he thinks to himself. He knows him intimately.
And he does. It has cost Anakin his marriage. Anakin who reminds him of himself at age eighteen. Alone in the world. But never alone enough.
He presses the button, but the first few seconds is just chirping of birds, the thud, thud, thud of a horse's hooves, a branch snapping. His breathing. Inhale, exhale. ]
I don't know how to genuinely convey to you that I'm sorry about your wife. I don't care for women. I wasn't put on this earth to entertain their kind. However, what I can genuinely say, Anakin, is that I would never wish upon you anything that could burden you or sadden you, hurt you or force forth your anger. However, it seems to me that your former wife is not the catalyst of any of these feelings anyway, they start somewhere else. And if she's not the catalyst, she doesn't deserve to be the recipient of them either. If we're talking about suggestions, here's mine: find out from whom these feelings stem and direct your anger there. That's where they belong.
It might settle some things. Or it might launch another war, who knows. War seems to be all the rage these days.
[ More bird chirping. A faint voice murmuring something to an animal that neighs in response. Half a minute of calm nature noises, then he returns, voice less steady now. He might not have moved, but he's in a different place altogether. ]
I'm on my way to Reece. The man who left me is Reecian, you must understand, he was brought to Efith when he was ten years old as a slave and served eight years with an old scholar. I bought him, then, from the old man. I bought him and I freed him, I made him my heir to inherit everything I owned when I died and I let him live in my house with me, as my - [ A hitch in his voice, whether it's a moment's doubt or a moment's anger, hurt, longing is difficult to tell. ] - partner. He met someone, apparently, not too long ago. A fire priest that has been a thorn in the temple's side for years, and they've run away together. Back to Reece. Timachus has taken up arms, judging by hearsay, and his new friend can blow people up by looking at them.
Reece gained an ally and we, two new enemies. Efith is losing, my friend, but only because I lost first. Like that, every battle feels like a double defeat.
[ The wind rustles the leaves on the trees above his head. If you listen closely enough, you might hear the blue sky - if you've got imagination for that kind of thing. ]
I have plenty of plans, Anakin. I have hundreds of plans, but they all rely on him, on his choices and actions. The more desperate we get, the Senate, the military and me, the more certain I feel that Timachus might simply not be pushed any further. That he's done moving for me, while I... I gallop and I run and next thing you know, I fall.
[ A long, shaky breath. ]
If nothing else, I do believe you know me very well now. You know me better than most people, you know me better than the man I'm bringing down the sky for. What does that say about you? What I would and wouldn't do to have you here?
I would bring down the earth, too.
[ Off. ]
[ It takes him a little while to process the message from Sarica and not just because he's been down on the streets of yet another planet in the Outer Rim with his troops for weeks, fighting against seemingly never-ending tides of battle droids whilst Count Dooku still hides and plots. Out of reach. They took the planet because of course they did - and then, Anakin was sent back on leave which is why he's currently in his rooms in the Jedi Temple, surrounded by half-finished or barely-begun projects, his old posters on the wall peeling off from wear. He can't visit Padmé. Mustn't. She's angry with him because apparently, for some reason the Chancellor decided to speak with her about... about... well. About what used to be them but isn't and Anakin's trying to respect that, he is. He wasn't doing the opposite by telling the Chancellor about his frustrations, was he? He's the closest things he has to...
Well.
He stares at the comlink on the table, Sarica's voice long since faded into static. The space around him feels overly large and cluttered, simultaneously. He thinks about the other man, far away, trying to fight for the one who left him, refusing to let him go. Starting a war over him, a former slave, a man who should've been doubly free from men like Sarica, trying to re-possess him.
He presses the button and clears his throat. ]
So, I knew you were a slaver. I knew but I... [ He pauses. His voice grows colder. ] I hate that. You have to know that I do. Hate isn't the Jedi way but then, neither is getting frisky in a river on faraway planet. [ A huff of laughter. ] Or, I guess, getting hitched.
I saw Padmé today, in the Senate. I thought that maybe I could catch her, even though I know she doesn't want to see me - she's angry with me now, more than she's been in a while. [ Pause. Rewind. ] Padmé's my - you know. Anyway. Padmé. I wanted to clear up a misunderstanding because I don't want - I don't want the distance between us to grow even wider. Instead, all I accomplished was getting told off by her bodyguard and then, like a coward, I fled. Before the Cha - before my friend could discover me there and pull me aside, as he usually does.
I wanted to - to kill her bodyguard and everybody else who stood between us, right then.
So, what I want to say is - I get it. I get what you're doing.
But maybe we should both take your advice.
[ A long break. He's breathing slowly, deeply, trying to center himself the best he can which isn't very good at all. There's a metallic sound of something clanking about somewhere close to the com. It sounds like something being taken apart, piece by piece. ]
I mean, you told me that my anger doesn't belong with her and you're right. It doesn't. As your desperation, I'm sure, doesn't belong with this Timachus or even his new lover. Direct it elsewhere, if you can, and I'll do my best to do the same. If we fail, at least we can be two hypocrites, knowing each other's secrets. I'm thinking about you a lot, now that I'm on leave. I wonder what you'd think about Coruscant - whether you wouldn't find it completely abhorrent, covered in city from top to bottom.
Or perhaps, like me, you'd simply be another newcomer from a planet where everything is smaller, trying and failing to take it all in. Because we carry our smallness within and everywhere we go, it goes, and rising above it is exhausting.
Let's try to do better, Sarica.
I'm counting on you.
[ Off. ]
Well.
He stares at the comlink on the table, Sarica's voice long since faded into static. The space around him feels overly large and cluttered, simultaneously. He thinks about the other man, far away, trying to fight for the one who left him, refusing to let him go. Starting a war over him, a former slave, a man who should've been doubly free from men like Sarica, trying to re-possess him.
He presses the button and clears his throat. ]
So, I knew you were a slaver. I knew but I... [ He pauses. His voice grows colder. ] I hate that. You have to know that I do. Hate isn't the Jedi way but then, neither is getting frisky in a river on faraway planet. [ A huff of laughter. ] Or, I guess, getting hitched.
I saw Padmé today, in the Senate. I thought that maybe I could catch her, even though I know she doesn't want to see me - she's angry with me now, more than she's been in a while. [ Pause. Rewind. ] Padmé's my - you know. Anyway. Padmé. I wanted to clear up a misunderstanding because I don't want - I don't want the distance between us to grow even wider. Instead, all I accomplished was getting told off by her bodyguard and then, like a coward, I fled. Before the Cha - before my friend could discover me there and pull me aside, as he usually does.
I wanted to - to kill her bodyguard and everybody else who stood between us, right then.
So, what I want to say is - I get it. I get what you're doing.
But maybe we should both take your advice.
[ A long break. He's breathing slowly, deeply, trying to center himself the best he can which isn't very good at all. There's a metallic sound of something clanking about somewhere close to the com. It sounds like something being taken apart, piece by piece. ]
I mean, you told me that my anger doesn't belong with her and you're right. It doesn't. As your desperation, I'm sure, doesn't belong with this Timachus or even his new lover. Direct it elsewhere, if you can, and I'll do my best to do the same. If we fail, at least we can be two hypocrites, knowing each other's secrets. I'm thinking about you a lot, now that I'm on leave. I wonder what you'd think about Coruscant - whether you wouldn't find it completely abhorrent, covered in city from top to bottom.
Or perhaps, like me, you'd simply be another newcomer from a planet where everything is smaller, trying and failing to take it all in. Because we carry our smallness within and everywhere we go, it goes, and rising above it is exhausting.
Let's try to do better, Sarica.
I'm counting on you.
[ Off. ]
[ A couple of weeks later, he finally has time to put together a response. He received the message on the sixth day, on the seventh he was sent into battle, on the ninth he fell and he survived - and on the tenth he headed back to the Capital with a regiment of soldiers and ten priests and priestesses, two dead, one unresponsive, seven broken in other ways. No one has tended to his villa while he was gone. It's filthy. He pays the neighbour's daughters to clean up the kitchen and the bedroom. Then, he lives there - where he eats and where he sleeps. Except he doesn't eat and he doesn't sleep, either. Not much. Not enough. He thinks a lot, about Timachus. About Anakin. And about himself. The connections.
The fire in the fireplace is crackling behind him, when he decides it's time, late at night, and he remembers torches along the riverbank, then. Another moment. Another eternity, if you ask Anakin Skywalker. ]
I'm aware that you hate it. I hid them from you, because I knew. These days, I have nothing to hide from you, Anakin. Timachus and the fire priest took all my slaves with them when they ran and I haven't purchased new ones since. Why not? The war hasn't exhausted my funds. There's room, there's enough room... Maybe I don't believe myself capable of providing for anyone anymore, consider that. It takes more than a house and it takes more than gold to give people what they need to function. I used to have a household of ten, over whom I governed as head. Yet, what does the head do when the body discards it? Does it blame the legs that ran, the arms that pushed away? Or does it look at itself?
Unfortunately, it's extremely difficult for eyes to look inwards. I've heard you have your methods, though, among the Jedi. Like the priests and priestesses here have their own ways, but I'm done with temples for now.
What more am I supposed to be done with? Count your own losses and let me know.
[ A wooden cup scrapes against a wooden tabletop. Someone drinks, not wine, not tonight. It's been water, barely chilled, and bread for days now. He survives, but he doesn't live, he doesn't indulge. There's nothing to indulge in. It's as if all the elements that he has, wine and fruit and people to fuck, are devoid of value when the things, the people he put himself in, bodily or mentally, are missing.
Is he even thinking about Timachus in that regard anymore? Curious.
A hmm'ing sound. ]
Things you can only see from above, I'll tell you: no building is just a building.
I inherited this villa from my father when he died. I threw out everything he'd touched, minus a few pieces, and rebuilt it out of my own selections. This villa represents me and it's empty, Anakin. It's huge and opulent and empty, very, very empty.
Desperate, you call me.
Accurately, no doubt, but for what, if not for Timachus.
For what you could bring? What would you bring?
[ Off. ]
The fire in the fireplace is crackling behind him, when he decides it's time, late at night, and he remembers torches along the riverbank, then. Another moment. Another eternity, if you ask Anakin Skywalker. ]
I'm aware that you hate it. I hid them from you, because I knew. These days, I have nothing to hide from you, Anakin. Timachus and the fire priest took all my slaves with them when they ran and I haven't purchased new ones since. Why not? The war hasn't exhausted my funds. There's room, there's enough room... Maybe I don't believe myself capable of providing for anyone anymore, consider that. It takes more than a house and it takes more than gold to give people what they need to function. I used to have a household of ten, over whom I governed as head. Yet, what does the head do when the body discards it? Does it blame the legs that ran, the arms that pushed away? Or does it look at itself?
Unfortunately, it's extremely difficult for eyes to look inwards. I've heard you have your methods, though, among the Jedi. Like the priests and priestesses here have their own ways, but I'm done with temples for now.
What more am I supposed to be done with? Count your own losses and let me know.
[ A wooden cup scrapes against a wooden tabletop. Someone drinks, not wine, not tonight. It's been water, barely chilled, and bread for days now. He survives, but he doesn't live, he doesn't indulge. There's nothing to indulge in. It's as if all the elements that he has, wine and fruit and people to fuck, are devoid of value when the things, the people he put himself in, bodily or mentally, are missing.
Is he even thinking about Timachus in that regard anymore? Curious.
A hmm'ing sound. ]
Things you can only see from above, I'll tell you: no building is just a building.
I inherited this villa from my father when he died. I threw out everything he'd touched, minus a few pieces, and rebuilt it out of my own selections. This villa represents me and it's empty, Anakin. It's huge and opulent and empty, very, very empty.
Desperate, you call me.
Accurately, no doubt, but for what, if not for Timachus.
For what you could bring? What would you bring?
[ Off. ]
[ The reply comes about a month later. He's back on a Republic cruiser and they've finished their mission, yet another, the war hobbling along at this point, the Separatists clinging to what territories they have left. They're closing in on Count Dooku, too. It won't be long, now.
Anakin sits by himself again, once more in the shared sleeping quarters, once more watched over by Rex who at this point has managed to ask precisely one question regarding Padmé and nothing more. All the same, he keeps watch now, not knowing for what or why. It's Anakin and apparently, to him, that does it.
He turns it on. ]
Apologies for how long this has taken me - I've thought about you, though, more than once. If you haven't already, you should hire someone to tend to your house, actually hire them. See what difference it makes when good people are driven by something they want, rather than something they fear.
My friend, the one I've mentioned more than once - well, he's been a friend to me since I came to Coruscant, back when I was a kid. He used to take me with him to secret places, show me aspects of the world that I'd never seen or known about. Dark places. Some time ago, I asked the Jedi Council whether he'd done this with others, ever, knowing full well the answer beforehand. I don't know why I needed to ask. Their explanations certainly didn't do anything for me but that's nothing new. In any case, there's something about my friend, about myself in relation to him, that makes me... It confuses me.
I'm telling you this because you asked me what I could bring to your state of emptiness and honestly, Sarica, I can only say that I'd bring myself. What little I own isn't worth much to anyone else. I don't know why my friend wanted it, even back when I was so little that I couldn't speak his language fluently and right now, I can't tell whether you'd find any use in it, either. They say I'm overconfident in my own abilities because they don't understand the extent of them - I'm not, obviously. I just know what I can do.
It's not confidence, it's fact.
And it's fact, too, that I don't know whether you'd be more or less empty if I were to visit you. Are you going to ask, though?
For me to return?
The war is dragging its feet a little but if you ask me, we're definitely reaching the end. The enemy is tired. Exhausted.
[ A small pause and an audible exhalation. ]
You sound tired too.
There's no need for you to think of yourself as limbless, Sarica. You aren't. You have your body, your mind. And if you refuse to own slaves again, then you'll most definitely have a better chance at finding what you need from me.
Consider that.
[ Off. ]
Anakin sits by himself again, once more in the shared sleeping quarters, once more watched over by Rex who at this point has managed to ask precisely one question regarding Padmé and nothing more. All the same, he keeps watch now, not knowing for what or why. It's Anakin and apparently, to him, that does it.
He turns it on. ]
Apologies for how long this has taken me - I've thought about you, though, more than once. If you haven't already, you should hire someone to tend to your house, actually hire them. See what difference it makes when good people are driven by something they want, rather than something they fear.
My friend, the one I've mentioned more than once - well, he's been a friend to me since I came to Coruscant, back when I was a kid. He used to take me with him to secret places, show me aspects of the world that I'd never seen or known about. Dark places. Some time ago, I asked the Jedi Council whether he'd done this with others, ever, knowing full well the answer beforehand. I don't know why I needed to ask. Their explanations certainly didn't do anything for me but that's nothing new. In any case, there's something about my friend, about myself in relation to him, that makes me... It confuses me.
I'm telling you this because you asked me what I could bring to your state of emptiness and honestly, Sarica, I can only say that I'd bring myself. What little I own isn't worth much to anyone else. I don't know why my friend wanted it, even back when I was so little that I couldn't speak his language fluently and right now, I can't tell whether you'd find any use in it, either. They say I'm overconfident in my own abilities because they don't understand the extent of them - I'm not, obviously. I just know what I can do.
It's not confidence, it's fact.
And it's fact, too, that I don't know whether you'd be more or less empty if I were to visit you. Are you going to ask, though?
For me to return?
The war is dragging its feet a little but if you ask me, we're definitely reaching the end. The enemy is tired. Exhausted.
[ A small pause and an audible exhalation. ]
You sound tired too.
There's no need for you to think of yourself as limbless, Sarica. You aren't. You have your body, your mind. And if you refuse to own slaves again, then you'll most definitely have a better chance at finding what you need from me.
Consider that.
[ Off. ]
[ Sarica is a man of action, even in an empty house, even being an empty house. He acts. He arranges and he plans and he executes. Three days after Anakin's message reached him, he sends out his own. This time there's noise in the background, women's voices chatting while things move, scrape over floorboards, clinking of metal and glass. He has emptied his villa. Discarded everything that was from another life, no longer relevant. New items, new furniture, new atmosphere, new residents, too. He's drinking a herbal brew his (new) cook has made for him. She's old and fat, but she likes to make the delicacies he likes and leave them out before leaving in the early night hours. He pays her a little extra for it.
The comlink lies in front of him on the table. His voice is steadier than the past couple of calls. It's got more edge and less hesitancies. He commands once more, he doesn't only chase and charge and lose. Others do all of those things down in Reece, of course, but what has it got to do with him? ]
You want me to tell you to return. Here, to me. But I'm not going to ask, Anakin. Call it what you want, but when your war is over and while mine still rages on, you will come back and live in my house with me, for a little while or a long while or whatever exists in between or beyond those two denominators. I have had the villa emptied for your sake. I've rebuilt it from its very foundation. I've hired people. Know, I'm not appeasing you, I'm being accommodating, it's an offer - and an order, there's room here, fill it, Anakin Skywalker.
[ Foreign as it may sound, there's a smile in his voice, it's warm, almost burning hot, and there's a cut corner and hard edges to it, too. If Timachus matters anymore, it's from a historical perspective. He was here, now he's gone. The bitterness to change. The many, many opportunities as well.
Then, after a long moment of just women laughing, such a foreign sound in his villa, Sarica continues, his tone darkening and deepening. ]
Your friend has no doubt seen the same in you that I see. Challenge. Competence. Conflict. Confusion. Things that can either be harvested naturally or taken advantage of, when the person in question can't properly exploit it themselves. You were a child, my friend, how should you know. Don't Jedi teach each other? If anything they should've taught you to recognise what was fair use, who was to properly utilize what you carry within you, if they were not willing to make more invasive decisions on your behalf. If you're asking them now where they were, in your special, singular case, it's because you already know they weren't where they should've been.
Someone should be there for you, Anakin. Not because your confidence in your own abilities is wrong, but because confidence is not a protector, only an enhancer.
People who fly very high deserve a softer landing, I'd think. It's only logic.
Speaking of people doing what they want. If your friend doesn't feel like your friend any longer, you always have a choice. You always have a choice.
[ It's audible that he's leaning closer, as if feigning proximity, intimacy. Except it isn't faked, it isn't faked when you feel it. ]
Except for returning to me. I'm not giving you a choice there.
[ Off. ]
The comlink lies in front of him on the table. His voice is steadier than the past couple of calls. It's got more edge and less hesitancies. He commands once more, he doesn't only chase and charge and lose. Others do all of those things down in Reece, of course, but what has it got to do with him? ]
You want me to tell you to return. Here, to me. But I'm not going to ask, Anakin. Call it what you want, but when your war is over and while mine still rages on, you will come back and live in my house with me, for a little while or a long while or whatever exists in between or beyond those two denominators. I have had the villa emptied for your sake. I've rebuilt it from its very foundation. I've hired people. Know, I'm not appeasing you, I'm being accommodating, it's an offer - and an order, there's room here, fill it, Anakin Skywalker.
[ Foreign as it may sound, there's a smile in his voice, it's warm, almost burning hot, and there's a cut corner and hard edges to it, too. If Timachus matters anymore, it's from a historical perspective. He was here, now he's gone. The bitterness to change. The many, many opportunities as well.
Then, after a long moment of just women laughing, such a foreign sound in his villa, Sarica continues, his tone darkening and deepening. ]
Your friend has no doubt seen the same in you that I see. Challenge. Competence. Conflict. Confusion. Things that can either be harvested naturally or taken advantage of, when the person in question can't properly exploit it themselves. You were a child, my friend, how should you know. Don't Jedi teach each other? If anything they should've taught you to recognise what was fair use, who was to properly utilize what you carry within you, if they were not willing to make more invasive decisions on your behalf. If you're asking them now where they were, in your special, singular case, it's because you already know they weren't where they should've been.
Someone should be there for you, Anakin. Not because your confidence in your own abilities is wrong, but because confidence is not a protector, only an enhancer.
People who fly very high deserve a softer landing, I'd think. It's only logic.
Speaking of people doing what they want. If your friend doesn't feel like your friend any longer, you always have a choice. You always have a choice.
[ It's audible that he's leaning closer, as if feigning proximity, intimacy. Except it isn't faked, it isn't faked when you feel it. ]
Except for returning to me. I'm not giving you a choice there.
[ Off. ]
[ The return-call arrives about three weeks later. Anakin's back at the Jedi Temple, seated outside in one of the gardens with the skyline stretching out above him, surrounded by green foliage. He can't remember spending time here for such extended periods since his Padawan days - and even then, the meditation gardens weren't exactly his preferred place to go. These days, however, all his leave takes place within the temple walls - if not, he's afraid he'll forget himself and visit Padmé for a chance at reconciliation and he thinks he'd rather dig his own grave in one of the flowerbeds up here than risk getting rejected by her again.
He's listened to Sarica's message more than once since he got it, weeks back. You always have a choice, he'd said. If your friend doesn't feel like your friend any longer.
Anakin's hand doesn't waver as he pushes the button. ]
Hello, Sarica.
[ There's a smile in his voice along with a touch of warmth. ]
You haven't asked me to return, I suppose, just as you haven't appeased me by changing your home. Your ways of life. I get it, I think. Takes me a while, maybe, but eventually I get there. It's about the words, isn't it, about what they mean and what they don't and how the slightest semantic difference can protect you. I have my lightsaber for that. Doesn't mean I can't appreciate a good weapon when I see it.
Hey, by this logic, we've been sparring since the first time we met! I like that idea.
[ A pause as he shifts, his clothes rustling. A bird walks by, close enough to distract him for another second. Then, it flies off, the sound of its wings loud in the stillness. ]
Off it goes. Anyway, I've decided that you're right. About all you said. I've uh... [ Trailing off in embarrassment here, but whatever, soldier on, Anakin! ] I've memorized some of it so take that as it is. Earlier in the day, I finished a mission with my old Master, rescuing my friend from a tough situation and dealing with a dangerous foe in one swoop. I've fought him before and lost my hand to him - but that was years ago and this time, I won.
And as I stood there with my swords - his and mine - crossed against his throat, Sarica - I heard my friend whisper that I ought to kill him and I would have, I think, I would have, except for some reason, your voice carried over louder in my head and drowned him out. You have a choice, you said and I agree. I know that I do.
But sometimes, I forget.
The foe in question ended up dead anyway but not by my hand and for some reason, I feel like I dodged a blaster bolt when I think about it. Kill him, my friend said. But I'd already disarmed him so surely, I shouldn't have! Surely.
Surely, he shouldn't have goaded me. To... to kill someone. [ A huff, self-deprecating. ] Not like I need that anyway.
Why would he do that, do you think? I'm asking myself that question now, as I have all day. And other things have happened - things that make me feel pulled about and tugged at in many different directions, people asking me to do things that I can't --
[ Pause. Breathe. Breeeeathe. ]
I keep your words in mind, my friend.
It'll be a strange day tomorrow.
[ Off. ]
He's listened to Sarica's message more than once since he got it, weeks back. You always have a choice, he'd said. If your friend doesn't feel like your friend any longer.
Anakin's hand doesn't waver as he pushes the button. ]
Hello, Sarica.
[ There's a smile in his voice along with a touch of warmth. ]
You haven't asked me to return, I suppose, just as you haven't appeased me by changing your home. Your ways of life. I get it, I think. Takes me a while, maybe, but eventually I get there. It's about the words, isn't it, about what they mean and what they don't and how the slightest semantic difference can protect you. I have my lightsaber for that. Doesn't mean I can't appreciate a good weapon when I see it.
Hey, by this logic, we've been sparring since the first time we met! I like that idea.
[ A pause as he shifts, his clothes rustling. A bird walks by, close enough to distract him for another second. Then, it flies off, the sound of its wings loud in the stillness. ]
Off it goes. Anyway, I've decided that you're right. About all you said. I've uh... [ Trailing off in embarrassment here, but whatever, soldier on, Anakin! ] I've memorized some of it so take that as it is. Earlier in the day, I finished a mission with my old Master, rescuing my friend from a tough situation and dealing with a dangerous foe in one swoop. I've fought him before and lost my hand to him - but that was years ago and this time, I won.
And as I stood there with my swords - his and mine - crossed against his throat, Sarica - I heard my friend whisper that I ought to kill him and I would have, I think, I would have, except for some reason, your voice carried over louder in my head and drowned him out. You have a choice, you said and I agree. I know that I do.
But sometimes, I forget.
The foe in question ended up dead anyway but not by my hand and for some reason, I feel like I dodged a blaster bolt when I think about it. Kill him, my friend said. But I'd already disarmed him so surely, I shouldn't have! Surely.
Surely, he shouldn't have goaded me. To... to kill someone. [ A huff, self-deprecating. ] Not like I need that anyway.
Why would he do that, do you think? I'm asking myself that question now, as I have all day. And other things have happened - things that make me feel pulled about and tugged at in many different directions, people asking me to do things that I can't --
[ Pause. Breathe. Breeeeathe. ]
I keep your words in mind, my friend.
It'll be a strange day tomorrow.
[ Off. ]
Edited 2022-05-08 18:37 (UTC)
[ Sarica is in a meeting when his comlink buzzes, it's an urgent meeting, too, about strategies and resources at the Reecian border, but he still excuses himself and goes listening to Anakin. Anakin who sounds equal parts a child and a soldier, a slave and a free man, caught up in thoughts about whom he owes himself to, pointing to everyone but the obvious choice.
Don't Jedi have mirrors, he wonders, smirking, but darkly, unamused.
Checking that the hallway is clear and that no one will hear him, he presses the button and holds the comlink close to his face, intimately, the distance between confidantes, not between strangers. Although they're by all accounts three days apart. ]
Take only the truth from this, Anakin, because I'm not a devout person, but I'll tell you have faith even so. What I mean is, have faith in yourself. I'm getting the feeling that where you are, there is no one else you can truly trust. Your own sword and my words will only protect you insofar that you put that confidence to good use and add all the hope your age should have entitled you to. If tomorrow will be a strange day, hope beyond tomorrow. Trust in your abilities. Believe in yourself. I would say this to no one else, because I care little about most people, but you have earned my words.
Like I have earned your sword.
[ A slight smile-slash-smirk at that. He isn't talking about his lightsaber. Or swords in general. He's talking about grabbing someone by the dick and leading them from there. ]
If your friend asked you to kill someone you had no mandate, and more importantly, no desire to kill in that situation, he is no longer your friend. If you're doubting yourself now, make sure that's the right place to direct those questions. Should you be asking yourself? Or should you be asking him? Doesn't he owe you the answers? Have faith in your own instincts, Anakin. If he wants things from you that you're not prepared to give, that you do not want him to have, he is only one more slaver.
Haven't you known enough of our kind, do you think? Be free. I will you to be.
[ Footsteps down a hallway. A pause in which he waits, holds his breath, then - ]
If it helps, keep memorizing what I'm telling you. If it doesn't, do it anyway. It pleases me.
And it helps, I'm sure.
[ Off. ]
Don't Jedi have mirrors, he wonders, smirking, but darkly, unamused.
Checking that the hallway is clear and that no one will hear him, he presses the button and holds the comlink close to his face, intimately, the distance between confidantes, not between strangers. Although they're by all accounts three days apart. ]
Take only the truth from this, Anakin, because I'm not a devout person, but I'll tell you have faith even so. What I mean is, have faith in yourself. I'm getting the feeling that where you are, there is no one else you can truly trust. Your own sword and my words will only protect you insofar that you put that confidence to good use and add all the hope your age should have entitled you to. If tomorrow will be a strange day, hope beyond tomorrow. Trust in your abilities. Believe in yourself. I would say this to no one else, because I care little about most people, but you have earned my words.
Like I have earned your sword.
[ A slight smile-slash-smirk at that. He isn't talking about his lightsaber. Or swords in general. He's talking about grabbing someone by the dick and leading them from there. ]
If your friend asked you to kill someone you had no mandate, and more importantly, no desire to kill in that situation, he is no longer your friend. If you're doubting yourself now, make sure that's the right place to direct those questions. Should you be asking yourself? Or should you be asking him? Doesn't he owe you the answers? Have faith in your own instincts, Anakin. If he wants things from you that you're not prepared to give, that you do not want him to have, he is only one more slaver.
Haven't you known enough of our kind, do you think? Be free. I will you to be.
[ Footsteps down a hallway. A pause in which he waits, holds his breath, then - ]
If it helps, keep memorizing what I'm telling you. If it doesn't, do it anyway. It pleases me.
And it helps, I'm sure.
[ Off. ]
[ He's mid-meditation - because he ought to, apparently, because he's got a mess to clean up, the extent of which he isn't even fully aware of yet - when his comlink buzzes. There's no around here to disturb at the moment; with the Galactic Republic still reeling from Palpatine's death and the armada scrambling to close up dead ends all over the galaxy, no one truly has the time. No one but him and a few younglings and they give him a wide berth still, seeing as gossip goes around, particularly in the temple.
That he'd almost...
Well, but he didn't, did he.
He listens to Sarica's message, a smile spreading slowly on his lips. He still gets winded easily and his chest and ribs, in particular, feel like someone parked an RT-AT on him but regardless...it feels right. Listening to his words and knowing what he chose to do. How it turned out.
In other news, the comment about swords go straight to his groin so that's nice and awkward, out here in the meditation gardens. He groans and shifts a little before hitting the button to reply. ]
Oh, definitely - it helps. Even now, though everything has changed, it helps more than I think you realize.
[ He straightens up a little to take the pressure of bending forward off his lungs, his clothes rustling. In the background, there's the faint noises of Coruscanti traffic chugging along as always, like the world didn't just end last week, like it didn't just... He breathes in slowly before he continues: ]
It won't really feel like much to you guys, what with your planet being at the absolute butt-end of the galaxy but regardless, here's your macro-political update of the day. The Chancellor of the Republic is dead. [ Pause. A heavy swallow here, still. He can't help it. ] I - well, my men killed him because they had to. To save me.
[ He looks away, up, towards the sky. A brief pause as he centers himself. ]
He was evil, Sarica. Evil to the bone and deeper yet. [ Thinly: ] And he'd been my close friend for so long. Or, I thought he had. I'm still pretty confused about this.
Anyway, it took me a little while to heal up but I'm up and about again, right as rain. [ Well, close to. Whatever. ] Though I should be focusing on my own mental balance, I bet you already know what I'm thinking about. Your comment about what you've earned. What we've earned and what it implies. I keep thinking about you getting paid help and changing up your entire home, about how it would suit us now if I came on my own volition, freely, with nothing to barter with except whatever you'd like to have of me.
I'll give that to you, if you like. If you want.
[ Pause. Then, with complete certainty: ]
I want to give that to you.
It won't be long now, Sarica. It won't be long.
[ Off. ]
That he'd almost...
Well, but he didn't, did he.
He listens to Sarica's message, a smile spreading slowly on his lips. He still gets winded easily and his chest and ribs, in particular, feel like someone parked an RT-AT on him but regardless...it feels right. Listening to his words and knowing what he chose to do. How it turned out.
In other news, the comment about swords go straight to his groin so that's nice and awkward, out here in the meditation gardens. He groans and shifts a little before hitting the button to reply. ]
Oh, definitely - it helps. Even now, though everything has changed, it helps more than I think you realize.
[ He straightens up a little to take the pressure of bending forward off his lungs, his clothes rustling. In the background, there's the faint noises of Coruscanti traffic chugging along as always, like the world didn't just end last week, like it didn't just... He breathes in slowly before he continues: ]
It won't really feel like much to you guys, what with your planet being at the absolute butt-end of the galaxy but regardless, here's your macro-political update of the day. The Chancellor of the Republic is dead. [ Pause. A heavy swallow here, still. He can't help it. ] I - well, my men killed him because they had to. To save me.
[ He looks away, up, towards the sky. A brief pause as he centers himself. ]
He was evil, Sarica. Evil to the bone and deeper yet. [ Thinly: ] And he'd been my close friend for so long. Or, I thought he had. I'm still pretty confused about this.
Anyway, it took me a little while to heal up but I'm up and about again, right as rain. [ Well, close to. Whatever. ] Though I should be focusing on my own mental balance, I bet you already know what I'm thinking about. Your comment about what you've earned. What we've earned and what it implies. I keep thinking about you getting paid help and changing up your entire home, about how it would suit us now if I came on my own volition, freely, with nothing to barter with except whatever you'd like to have of me.
I'll give that to you, if you like. If you want.
[ Pause. Then, with complete certainty: ]
I want to give that to you.
It won't be long now, Sarica. It won't be long.
[ Off. ]
[ For a day that started out so well, Sarica has to say, this has been ridiculously long and ridiculously complicated. Ulos has shoehorned the interests of the taxing guild into the negotiations on Reecian fruit and vegetables, refusing any tax ceiling below 40 percent which would push the prices through the roof for the average consumer. People are so used to their melons and their banana bread at this point that denying them access to that could lead to revolts, at worst. Not to mention, the whole awaiting issue of slave taxing... Ulos has already hinted that the taxers want at least a 5 percent profit from any slave trade or they won't do the work at all.
Sarica's first gut reaction is to tell him that more suitable men exist. Everyone's expendable. Then, he thinks of Anakin and has to decide whether to go ahead with the lie or not.
They're taking a break now. It's late afternoon, Irestes' slave has just been by with a trayful of juice, also Reecian, pomegranate and itan fruit. Someone joked that they ought to pay a gold piece per sip, but no one laughed. From the outside, Irestes' villa looks rather similar to Sarica's, though the windows are smaller and let in less light. The hallways are arranged identically, all the rooms collected in the middle. Sarica has retreated to the study next to the gathering room where they've been doing their ungrateful work. He's alone. Irestes had business next door that he needed to tend to, so the next half hour is reconnaissance, back to the drawing board.
This will last all night, he predicts, leaning against the windowsill, overlooking the gardens. Not as well-kept as Sarica's, evidently. Maybe paying his staff actually helps. He frowns. Slave taxes... ]
Sarica's first gut reaction is to tell him that more suitable men exist. Everyone's expendable. Then, he thinks of Anakin and has to decide whether to go ahead with the lie or not.
They're taking a break now. It's late afternoon, Irestes' slave has just been by with a trayful of juice, also Reecian, pomegranate and itan fruit. Someone joked that they ought to pay a gold piece per sip, but no one laughed. From the outside, Irestes' villa looks rather similar to Sarica's, though the windows are smaller and let in less light. The hallways are arranged identically, all the rooms collected in the middle. Sarica has retreated to the study next to the gathering room where they've been doing their ungrateful work. He's alone. Irestes had business next door that he needed to tend to, so the next half hour is reconnaissance, back to the drawing board.
This will last all night, he predicts, leaning against the windowsill, overlooking the gardens. Not as well-kept as Sarica's, evidently. Maybe paying his staff actually helps. He frowns. Slave taxes... ]
[ He's finished what he can on the plumbing pipes for Sarica's villa - he's aiming to get the kitchen first because Juila really shouldn't be breaking her back every day, dragging buckets of water from the well to the house. After that, they'll have to do a system for the rain water, possibly for the bathroom. He's got the blueprints in his mind, all worked out. Compared to a starfighter, it's not exactly a complicated task but it gives him something to do whilst Sarica's out and it's something he doesn't have to question.
That last part is pretty important these days, he finds.
Right now, he's heading through the gardens of Irestes' villa, the outline of the grounds relatively simple to Sarica's, if not quite as well-kept. He makes his way along the walls, sticking to the shadows by habit, aware that he's basically infiltrating the place and that it's possibly pretty weird. Regardless, here he is. He keeps his cloak tight around him to hide the silver pendants resting on his naked chest, right above his heart. So, he didn't feel like wearing too many clothes for this. Shoot him - if you have the aim to do it.
All he can think about is that Sarica needs to see. He's been thinking about it all day - about that. About showing him.
The silver feels extremely expensive in ways not at all related to credits or currency.
Expensive enough, yeah, that Anakin pauses next to the window. A few feet above him, Sarica's leaning against the windowsill, looking out over the gardens and not, as it were, to his right. That's lucky. Smiling, Anakin steels himself, grabs onto the side of the window and lops himself over the edge, landing elegantly next to the other man in a swirl of robes and limbs. ]
That last part is pretty important these days, he finds.
Right now, he's heading through the gardens of Irestes' villa, the outline of the grounds relatively simple to Sarica's, if not quite as well-kept. He makes his way along the walls, sticking to the shadows by habit, aware that he's basically infiltrating the place and that it's possibly pretty weird. Regardless, here he is. He keeps his cloak tight around him to hide the silver pendants resting on his naked chest, right above his heart. So, he didn't feel like wearing too many clothes for this. Shoot him - if you have the aim to do it.
All he can think about is that Sarica needs to see. He's been thinking about it all day - about that. About showing him.
The silver feels extremely expensive in ways not at all related to credits or currency.
Expensive enough, yeah, that Anakin pauses next to the window. A few feet above him, Sarica's leaning against the windowsill, looking out over the gardens and not, as it were, to his right. That's lucky. Smiling, Anakin steels himself, grabs onto the side of the window and lops himself over the edge, landing elegantly next to the other man in a swirl of robes and limbs. ]
[ He's watching one of Irestes' slaves drag water from the well to the stables, at this time of day probably to water off the horses before sundown. Absentmindedly, he wonders why he doesn't miss having them, slaves, why he quite enjoys giving Juila and the rest, maybe minus Toril, because he's obstinate, little raises for a job well done. There's something inexplicably satisfactory about it. Not like giving Anakin the silver jewellery, but not unlike it either.
Huffting out a small breath, he's about to step away from the window when - something comes flying through it, a flourish of brown fabric and limbs and Sarica feels his whole system freeze, thinking things like backstabber, betrayal, attack while quickly scouring the room for weapons to counter with. Before getting that far, however, the swirl goes stationary, Anakin straightening up in front of him, his long, billowing Jedi cloak covering him up from neck to feet, though the neckline seems to show a hint of skin and nothing more.
The jolt to his system becomes something else. Something hotter.
With a sharp raise of one eyebrow, he looks the taller man over, eyes running down his features, the contours of his body, everything he's showing and everything he isn't. He meets his eyes, eyebrow going nowhere. ]
You've come uninvited, Anakin.
[ At the back of his mind, he categorises the various sounds from the hallways, knowing intimately how Irestes' kitchen girl tiptoes and how Ulos has a tendency to show up where he isn't wanted. Anakin, at least, is always wanted, isn't he? Maybe not invited, but wanted nonetheless.
Meanwhile, he leans with his hip against the windowsill again, easing back into this much upended, new normal, cocking his head a little at the other man, amused. His undivided attention is still on that slit of skin down his front. ]
Huffting out a small breath, he's about to step away from the window when - something comes flying through it, a flourish of brown fabric and limbs and Sarica feels his whole system freeze, thinking things like backstabber, betrayal, attack while quickly scouring the room for weapons to counter with. Before getting that far, however, the swirl goes stationary, Anakin straightening up in front of him, his long, billowing Jedi cloak covering him up from neck to feet, though the neckline seems to show a hint of skin and nothing more.
The jolt to his system becomes something else. Something hotter.
With a sharp raise of one eyebrow, he looks the taller man over, eyes running down his features, the contours of his body, everything he's showing and everything he isn't. He meets his eyes, eyebrow going nowhere. ]
You've come uninvited, Anakin.
[ At the back of his mind, he categorises the various sounds from the hallways, knowing intimately how Irestes' kitchen girl tiptoes and how Ulos has a tendency to show up where he isn't wanted. Anakin, at least, is always wanted, isn't he? Maybe not invited, but wanted nonetheless.
Meanwhile, he leans with his hip against the windowsill again, easing back into this much upended, new normal, cocking his head a little at the other man, amused. His undivided attention is still on that slit of skin down his front. ]
Edited 2022-05-24 12:02 (UTC)
[ Anakin raises an eyebrow briefly in response because really, invitation or not, the other man clearly isn't doing anything particularly pressing right now. Sure, Anakin could've waited on his return but who knows how long that would take? Besides, he's in the mood now.
A grateful kind of mood.
Casually, he picks off his glove and puts it on the floor, his rings glittering on his metal fingers, metal on metal, the jewelry smooth and dainty in comparison to the darkness of his hand. The bangles sit tightly against his wrist, all of them worn on the same arm. He looks at Sarica, who's leaning against the windowsill and cocking his head at him in a way that looks decidedly hungry. Anakin's body reacts in turn, heat pooling in his belly. With a sharp flick of his wrist, he opens his cloak and lets it fall free around his shoulders. He's half-naked underneath it because leaving without his trousers on seemed somehow excessive (or just plain stupid, in case he'd run into trouble - having your private parts dangling around in the wild whilst trying to mount a decent defense is exactly as stupid as it sounds).
He's wearing Sarica's necklaces, both of them, one slightly longer than the other. The dim afternoon light from outside catch in the two pendants, making them shimmer against his chest. Taking a moment to show himself off, he finally drops his cloak to the floor and stands up straight, crossing his arms in front of his chest. ]
Do you want me to leave?
[ He takes care to sound as genuine as possible here; Anakin's nothing if not thorough. ]
A grateful kind of mood.
Casually, he picks off his glove and puts it on the floor, his rings glittering on his metal fingers, metal on metal, the jewelry smooth and dainty in comparison to the darkness of his hand. The bangles sit tightly against his wrist, all of them worn on the same arm. He looks at Sarica, who's leaning against the windowsill and cocking his head at him in a way that looks decidedly hungry. Anakin's body reacts in turn, heat pooling in his belly. With a sharp flick of his wrist, he opens his cloak and lets it fall free around his shoulders. He's half-naked underneath it because leaving without his trousers on seemed somehow excessive (or just plain stupid, in case he'd run into trouble - having your private parts dangling around in the wild whilst trying to mount a decent defense is exactly as stupid as it sounds).
He's wearing Sarica's necklaces, both of them, one slightly longer than the other. The dim afternoon light from outside catch in the two pendants, making them shimmer against his chest. Taking a moment to show himself off, he finally drops his cloak to the floor and stands up straight, crossing his arms in front of his chest. ]
Do you want me to leave?
[ He takes care to sound as genuine as possible here; Anakin's nothing if not thorough. ]
[ Attitude. That's what you get with Anakin Skywalker, attitude on legs, attitude with arms, attitude with a good head on it. Sarica doesn't even blink, letting his eyes follow the fall of the cloak as it drops to the floor, revealing a half-naked man beneath it, bared chest, broad shoulders, bulging upper arms. And against all that skin, his two necklaces catching the afternoon sun, reflecting it and blinding Sarica briefly. Now, he blinks. Blink, blink.
Anakin has come uninvited, obviously, but he comes bearing himself for show, his metal arm full of the rest of the jewellery, all the bracelets, all the rings. Metal on metal, one darker than the silver that runs like water trickles against the blackened material his arm's made of. Sarica feels himself almost inevitably hardening in his trousers, though it's not the attitude, he can withstand that, it's not even the arm, he can withstand that, too, with a little will power and a lot of experience.
No, it's the vulnerability. How Anakin is showing all his appreciation off, like a man putting his goods on display in his marketplace tent. This is what I can give you in return, it means. This is what I have, this is mine.
It can be his.
Anakin's offering. Sarica's vision feels almost hazy with lust. Do you want me to leave. ]
I want you to do something - [ Pushing off the windowsill, Sarica walks, a little bit stiffly, towards the middle of the room, like common ground they can share, stopping in front of Anakin and inclining his face so he's looking directly up into his eyes, blue eyes, more water. All this water. Water's precious, anyone in Efith knows this. It's why water priestesses are valued almost as highly as their fiery brothers. It's why no one can ever be valued as highly as this man with his naked chest and Sarica's jewellery, which is now Anakin's jewellery and which might hang off of him, but it binds them together.
A harsh exhale. Sarica reaches out and presses his hand flat next to the necklaces, covering one nipple with his palm, rubbing over it, a slow upwards push. He's putting weight into it. Pressing closer. Looking up, up, up. ] - about the fact that you've made me hard.
Anakin has come uninvited, obviously, but he comes bearing himself for show, his metal arm full of the rest of the jewellery, all the bracelets, all the rings. Metal on metal, one darker than the silver that runs like water trickles against the blackened material his arm's made of. Sarica feels himself almost inevitably hardening in his trousers, though it's not the attitude, he can withstand that, it's not even the arm, he can withstand that, too, with a little will power and a lot of experience.
No, it's the vulnerability. How Anakin is showing all his appreciation off, like a man putting his goods on display in his marketplace tent. This is what I can give you in return, it means. This is what I have, this is mine.
It can be his.
Anakin's offering. Sarica's vision feels almost hazy with lust. Do you want me to leave. ]
I want you to do something - [ Pushing off the windowsill, Sarica walks, a little bit stiffly, towards the middle of the room, like common ground they can share, stopping in front of Anakin and inclining his face so he's looking directly up into his eyes, blue eyes, more water. All this water. Water's precious, anyone in Efith knows this. It's why water priestesses are valued almost as highly as their fiery brothers. It's why no one can ever be valued as highly as this man with his naked chest and Sarica's jewellery, which is now Anakin's jewellery and which might hang off of him, but it binds them together.
A harsh exhale. Sarica reaches out and presses his hand flat next to the necklaces, covering one nipple with his palm, rubbing over it, a slow upwards push. He's putting weight into it. Pressing closer. Looking up, up, up. ] - about the fact that you've made me hard.
[ He watches as Sarica blinks at him, finding his feet in this new development - that's the advantage to striking first, always leaves the other party a little flustered, right? It's another great look on him and Anakin swallows it up, remaining as he is with his arms crossed and his gaze calm. Ready.
He sees it when the change finally settles in Sarica's eyes. He makes his way over to Anakin, his movements a little stiff - looking south, the explanation's obvious - and Anakin's pulse quickens from satisfaction, from the inherent success of hitting the mark. He shifts a little, his own body responding in kind as his cock hardens slowly in his trousers. When Sarica pauses in front of him, his initial words hanging between them along with what feels like a massive quantity of sexual tension, Anakin stays as he is, watching him, a dark heat spreading through his lower body.
Give it, he thinks, without knowing what exactly he's aiming for.
Sarica presses his hand to his chest, rubbing over his nipple, the other perking along with it at the small sparks of pleasure. He groans and reaches for his wrist, metal fingers curling around it lightly, without any intention of stopping him. Eyes fluttering shut for a second, he processes the rest of his sentence before he smiles, sharply. ]
Lucky me.
[ He opens his eyes again. Looks directly into Sarica's before he drops to his knees in front of him, managing to keep his hold on his arm only because he's used to multi-tasking. Like that, he's on eye-level with the bulge in his trousers. He adds, in a clear command: ]
Take it out, then.
He sees it when the change finally settles in Sarica's eyes. He makes his way over to Anakin, his movements a little stiff - looking south, the explanation's obvious - and Anakin's pulse quickens from satisfaction, from the inherent success of hitting the mark. He shifts a little, his own body responding in kind as his cock hardens slowly in his trousers. When Sarica pauses in front of him, his initial words hanging between them along with what feels like a massive quantity of sexual tension, Anakin stays as he is, watching him, a dark heat spreading through his lower body.
Give it, he thinks, without knowing what exactly he's aiming for.
Sarica presses his hand to his chest, rubbing over his nipple, the other perking along with it at the small sparks of pleasure. He groans and reaches for his wrist, metal fingers curling around it lightly, without any intention of stopping him. Eyes fluttering shut for a second, he processes the rest of his sentence before he smiles, sharply. ]
Lucky me.
[ He opens his eyes again. Looks directly into Sarica's before he drops to his knees in front of him, managing to keep his hold on his arm only because he's used to multi-tasking. Like that, he's on eye-level with the bulge in his trousers. He adds, in a clear command: ]
Take it out, then.
Fine.
[ It comes out slightly breathless, mostly because the visual of Anakin dropping to his knees just like that in front of him, suddenly on eye-level with the outline of his hard cock in his trousers, makes his pulse go up noticeably. Blood rushing, rushing south. The metal hand gripping him by the wrist doesn't help much either. But Sarica is here for the long game, come now, Anakin has dressed up so prettily for him and is here to play, then let them play. Who cares that it's neither the time nor the place, they've just made it theirs. As every other room they ever take together. Every surface they touch. Theirs. Wrestling his hand free from the other man's hold, Sarica quickly slings his tunic over his shoulder and starts loosening the knot on his trousers, letting them fall right to the ground, baring his crotch, his legs. He spreads his legs a big, grabbing himself by the root and angling his cock outwards, for show. All for show.
Playtime.
With his other hand, he grabs Anakin's shoulder, the left one and holds him in position there, hard. Like a signal, stay. Be good, stay. He trusts you with that, Anakin Skywalker. ]
You can't command it onto your tongue, though.
[ His voice is smooth, deep, even. It doesn't shake, it doesn't falter. He's leaning in over them slightly, throwing them both in shadow, but the jewellery glints like water still, catching glimpses of sun that escape their bodies, escape the space between them. They're not made for sun, they're made for shade, the two of them, that's what Sarica thinks. Carefully, he releases himself and reaches up, pressing two fingertips to the pendant on the longest of Anakin's necklaces, the sign for balance disappearing beneath his touch. There's enough sun in Efith by contrast. ]
Ask nicely.
[ It comes out slightly breathless, mostly because the visual of Anakin dropping to his knees just like that in front of him, suddenly on eye-level with the outline of his hard cock in his trousers, makes his pulse go up noticeably. Blood rushing, rushing south. The metal hand gripping him by the wrist doesn't help much either. But Sarica is here for the long game, come now, Anakin has dressed up so prettily for him and is here to play, then let them play. Who cares that it's neither the time nor the place, they've just made it theirs. As every other room they ever take together. Every surface they touch. Theirs. Wrestling his hand free from the other man's hold, Sarica quickly slings his tunic over his shoulder and starts loosening the knot on his trousers, letting them fall right to the ground, baring his crotch, his legs. He spreads his legs a big, grabbing himself by the root and angling his cock outwards, for show. All for show.
Playtime.
With his other hand, he grabs Anakin's shoulder, the left one and holds him in position there, hard. Like a signal, stay. Be good, stay. He trusts you with that, Anakin Skywalker. ]
You can't command it onto your tongue, though.
[ His voice is smooth, deep, even. It doesn't shake, it doesn't falter. He's leaning in over them slightly, throwing them both in shadow, but the jewellery glints like water still, catching glimpses of sun that escape their bodies, escape the space between them. They're not made for sun, they're made for shade, the two of them, that's what Sarica thinks. Carefully, he releases himself and reaches up, pressing two fingertips to the pendant on the longest of Anakin's necklaces, the sign for balance disappearing beneath his touch. There's enough sun in Efith by contrast. ]
Ask nicely.
[ He's too busy staring at Sarica hungrily as the other man drops his trousers and stands there, half-naked and hard, to comment on the fact that he could, in theory, just mind-whammy him and get what he's after. Then again, if he were to do so, he wouldn't truly be getting it so maybe the other man's right. Besides, the thought kind of makes him sick. Pushing it away, he leans into Sarica's touch against his shoulder just a fraction, enjoying the sensation of being held. He looks up at him through half-lowered lashes and licks his lips slowly. Deliberately. ]
Thought I already had.
[ He gestures down his front, his rings and bangles sparkling at the movement. Kriff, but they're really pretty. For just a second or two, he can't bring himself to look away, staring at the way they look, curled around the black metal, like something incredibly expensive and rare. He swallows, heavily. Then, he looks up again and takes a deep breath because sure, he can play along.
This is Sarica's present, after all. ]
I'd like to suck you off, Legislator.
[ He shifts a little, then leans in and presses a kiss to Sarica's naked inner thigh, tasting salt there along with the other man's own, darker taste. Then, on a sudden impulse, he pulls back, looks up into the other man's eyes and opens his mouth, taking care to cover his lower teeth with his tongue because he learns, does Anakin, and usually faster than people give him credit for.
At your leisure, it means. ]
Thought I already had.
[ He gestures down his front, his rings and bangles sparkling at the movement. Kriff, but they're really pretty. For just a second or two, he can't bring himself to look away, staring at the way they look, curled around the black metal, like something incredibly expensive and rare. He swallows, heavily. Then, he looks up again and takes a deep breath because sure, he can play along.
This is Sarica's present, after all. ]
I'd like to suck you off, Legislator.
[ He shifts a little, then leans in and presses a kiss to Sarica's naked inner thigh, tasting salt there along with the other man's own, darker taste. Then, on a sudden impulse, he pulls back, looks up into the other man's eyes and opens his mouth, taking care to cover his lower teeth with his tongue because he learns, does Anakin, and usually faster than people give him credit for.
At your leisure, it means. ]
I'm greedy.
[ He tells him, surprising no one, while Anakin holds himself out and opens his mouth, covering his lower teeth nice and knowing, and Sarica stares at him for a long time, just stares, looks over his features, half-shade, strong jawline, firm chin, nose. Lips. Open, round O staring back at him, inviting him. He grunts, then, and grabs his cock by the base, stepping one step forward, making sure not to fall in his trousers, because there's no time, there's only incentive and motivation and want. There's only I'd like to suck you off, Legislator, an unnecessary comment in the big picture, because the jewellery says as much, his knees against the floor says it. But the words matter and Sarica knows, Anakin masters words quite well.
He loves that about him.
He's greedy, he wants that as well, he wants the jewellery and he wants everything that's his, voice and mouth and that lowered-lashes look in his eyes. By the Mysteries, if he ever wanted - no. Not to possess. To hold. Synonymous words, but they don't mean the same thing, he never gave a shit about that before. Now, he does. Now he does give. Sarica draws in a hard, long breath through his nose and pushes his cock head against Anakin's lower lip, just following the slope of it where it covers his teeth. Unthreatening, if you're a fool, perhaps.
Upper lip, then, the plump curves of it. It leaves a string of precum just above the jut of his front teeth. Sarica's balls feel like lead. ]
So are you, you're wearing all of it.
[ Moving his free hand, he grabs Anakin by the chin and angles him slightly, giving his cock a slow push inward. ]
[ He tells him, surprising no one, while Anakin holds himself out and opens his mouth, covering his lower teeth nice and knowing, and Sarica stares at him for a long time, just stares, looks over his features, half-shade, strong jawline, firm chin, nose. Lips. Open, round O staring back at him, inviting him. He grunts, then, and grabs his cock by the base, stepping one step forward, making sure not to fall in his trousers, because there's no time, there's only incentive and motivation and want. There's only I'd like to suck you off, Legislator, an unnecessary comment in the big picture, because the jewellery says as much, his knees against the floor says it. But the words matter and Sarica knows, Anakin masters words quite well.
He loves that about him.
He's greedy, he wants that as well, he wants the jewellery and he wants everything that's his, voice and mouth and that lowered-lashes look in his eyes. By the Mysteries, if he ever wanted - no. Not to possess. To hold. Synonymous words, but they don't mean the same thing, he never gave a shit about that before. Now, he does. Now he does give. Sarica draws in a hard, long breath through his nose and pushes his cock head against Anakin's lower lip, just following the slope of it where it covers his teeth. Unthreatening, if you're a fool, perhaps.
Upper lip, then, the plump curves of it. It leaves a string of precum just above the jut of his front teeth. Sarica's balls feel like lead. ]
So are you, you're wearing all of it.
[ Moving his free hand, he grabs Anakin by the chin and angles him slightly, giving his cock a slow push inward. ]
[ Sarica tells him that he's greedy, that Anakin's greedy too and he isn't wrong, really, Anakin's always wanted more than he was allowed to want. He shivers as the other man paints his upper lip with precum before pressing his cock into his mouth along the slope of his tongue. Anakin breathes in deeply, the other man's scent suddenly full and hot in his nostrils and in the back of his mouth and he swallows because he wants that, too, wants all of it.
Regardless, as he lets the other man push into his mouth, he thinks about how he's also not entirely right, probably because he's never really experienced what it's like, owning nothing that other people don't own, nothing that you aren't truly entitled to. Anakin doesn't think about it much, doesn't attempt to string any coherent words onto the basic sentiment, but he's aware, regardless. He's always, at his core, aware.
So he hides Sarica's secrets - his own, by proxy and isn't that amazing? - away on his person, keeping it all almost as close as his very skin. That's how you own things, regardless. And more importantly, how you keep them.
Breathing out slowly, he opens his mouth a little wider and leans forward, letting Sarica's grip on his chin support him. Like that, he impales himself gradually on the other man's cock, taking it into his mouth inch by inch, until he can feel the thick head pressing against the back of his mouth. Looking up at Sarica, he finally reaches up with his flesh hand and curls it around the base, keeping it angled downwards.
Pulling back a little, he hollows his cheeks and sucks. ]
Regardless, as he lets the other man push into his mouth, he thinks about how he's also not entirely right, probably because he's never really experienced what it's like, owning nothing that other people don't own, nothing that you aren't truly entitled to. Anakin doesn't think about it much, doesn't attempt to string any coherent words onto the basic sentiment, but he's aware, regardless. He's always, at his core, aware.
So he hides Sarica's secrets - his own, by proxy and isn't that amazing? - away on his person, keeping it all almost as close as his very skin. That's how you own things, regardless. And more importantly, how you keep them.
Breathing out slowly, he opens his mouth a little wider and leans forward, letting Sarica's grip on his chin support him. Like that, he impales himself gradually on the other man's cock, taking it into his mouth inch by inch, until he can feel the thick head pressing against the back of his mouth. Looking up at Sarica, he finally reaches up with his flesh hand and curls it around the base, keeping it angled downwards.
Pulling back a little, he hollows his cheeks and sucks. ]
[ He holds him by the chin and Anakin uses it as leverage, impaling himself on Sarica's cock inch by inch until Sarica can tell, he's pressing against the very back of the other man's mouth, where he won't go further, because the angle's awkward and he's not here to get retched on, just for a deeper dig. This is good, this is fantastic, how Anakin lets himself be taken and takes in turn, how it's always that way with him. All wins with Anakin Skywalker are mutual ones. If nothing else, because Sarica wouldn't want him to lose, would he? He'd never leave him in that position. He's been there often enough, you can tell.
The slide is so good, the warmth of him, at his core, how he burns on all sides of his cock, the wet slick sloppery of spit. Sarica stares down at his face, how he's disappearing into the cavity of him. How Anakin is letting him do that, he could bite it off, easily. And who knows what else, damned Jedi. A huff of breath, almost a laugh and he shifts from one foot to the other as Anakin sucks now, holding him with his flesh hand and angling him downwards, towards him, into him. Oh.
Sarica keeps silent only by virtue of much experience in having to do so. Instead of sound, Anakin gets his free hand in his hair, fingertips dragging over his scalp and pulling his head a little closer, without actively forcing himself further down. ]
You're stunning like this, keep it like that, keep all of it. Keep it.
[ His voice is rough and dusk-ridden, his hips trembling as he tries not to take more of the suction, take more of his tongue, his lips. Anakin didn't only come here bearing everything Sarica gave him to show that he appreciates it, it's his way of owning it and that, more than anything, even more than his mouth, by some miracle, makes Sarica's pleasure surge. Small, gentle waves that'll brew to become a storm. ]
The slide is so good, the warmth of him, at his core, how he burns on all sides of his cock, the wet slick sloppery of spit. Sarica stares down at his face, how he's disappearing into the cavity of him. How Anakin is letting him do that, he could bite it off, easily. And who knows what else, damned Jedi. A huff of breath, almost a laugh and he shifts from one foot to the other as Anakin sucks now, holding him with his flesh hand and angling him downwards, towards him, into him. Oh.
Sarica keeps silent only by virtue of much experience in having to do so. Instead of sound, Anakin gets his free hand in his hair, fingertips dragging over his scalp and pulling his head a little closer, without actively forcing himself further down. ]
You're stunning like this, keep it like that, keep all of it. Keep it.
[ His voice is rough and dusk-ridden, his hips trembling as he tries not to take more of the suction, take more of his tongue, his lips. Anakin didn't only come here bearing everything Sarica gave him to show that he appreciates it, it's his way of owning it and that, more than anything, even more than his mouth, by some miracle, makes Sarica's pleasure surge. Small, gentle waves that'll brew to become a storm. ]
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