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WHO: Kylo Ren and YOU
WHAT: Day to day life; includes some training in the gallows, exploring Kirkwall and such
WHEN: Throughout the remainder of April/Cloudreach 9:44
WHERE: Gallows, Kirkwall, etc
NOTES: Nothing of note but I'll update if that changes

Gallows

With his lightsaber in hand, Kylo can be found training rigorously in various forms. He's careful to practice at a distance from anyone else, should they get too close. Starting his training, feet planted firmly and hand holding his weapon out as if to point it at an unseen target, he swings and swirls the lightsaber in his hands in fluid motions. Each time he avoids hitting the dummy directly, occasionally stopping his blade on either side of the target. The last thing he wanted to do every time he trained was to break a training dummy.

He focuses on more than just his blade work, however, practicing his breathing, the bend of his knees as he strikes, and keeping his body a firm immovable object against his opponent. Eventually he takes a break, brushing his messy shock of black hair from his eyes and shrugging his shoulders, the glowing red light withdrawn into the hilt once more.

During his point of resting, he stretches his arms, reaching down to his toes or crossing them one over the other to loosen each muscle. The rigors of training gave him something to channel his energy into, finding focus in his thoughts through the effort he expends with his blade.

Kirkwall

Having washed the sweat and grime from training away, Kylo can be found exploring the markets and other points of interest within Kirkwall. Lowtown was bustling with life as he browsed the Market District, winding streets drawing his attention now and again as he went from shop to shop. It was far from home, but it was starting to feel as such once the routine had set in.

Stopping at a food stall, Kylo turns over a piece of fruit with a careful gaze as he examines it for any flaws. Eventually he would make his way towards the the next shop, stopping to see the wares that Lowtown had to offer.

Wildcard

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And, Obi-Wan watches all of this with the critical eye of a lifelong duelist. He waited, for patience too was a Jedi virtue, along with flexibility; it was somewhat dangerous to approach the boy here, without Rey to act as a buffer. But then, they could hardly avoid one another forever.

"Your teachers have done you no favors," He observes, when Kylo pauses to stretch. Sand-colored robes against sandstone pillars: Obi-Wan wasn't hiding, not really. Just hanging back, "Have they?"

And Kylo squares his shoulders when he senses the Jedi's approach. He regards him, equal parts curious and on edge. It wasn't as if he was looking to fight him again but he couldn't feel truly at ease around him either.

"Considering my first Master received the majority of his instruction from an alien in a swamp, I'd say I do well enough with what teaching I was given." He's being sarcastic of course. He doesn't want to care what Obi Wan thinks. He crosses his arms almost defensively as he sizes the Jedi Master up.

"Why does it matter to you? If there was something wrong in my technique I'm open to suggestions." Not really, but he wants to hear the rest of what Obi-Wan might have to say.

Obi-Wan listened, all the way through, without interrupting. With every word, his eyebrows climbed a little higher until he was receiving the last of Kylo's extraordinary speech with an expression of such concentrated blase that even when the boy had finished, it took him some moments to respond.

"I presume you are referring to Grandmaster Yoda, a Jedi of some nine-hundred years experience, and who offered their first training to tens of thousands of Jedi younglings in the creche?" To say he wasn't impressed would be an understatement. An alien in a swamp, "The way you put it, I have to wonder why you're defending what you learned from humans. Clearly, neither has actually given you what you need."

Like a good kick in the pants, maybe.

But Obi-Wan considers what he's seen. What's wrong with his technique? Aside from most of it, the truth is that Obi-Wan can hardly say. He hasn't a great deal of sympathy for Kylo Ren, but for Ben Solo? He'll try to start gently.

"Your feet, for one. The stance is too wide, it forces you to minimalize your reach-- you have enough to compensate, but it's your best strength, you should emphasize it. You never learned any formal style I'd recognize, aside from the most basic, did you? That's unsurprising."

His expression when regarding Obi-wan was stern for a moment, as if he wanted to say more about exactly the type of teacher Luke had been, that it could be Yoda's doing too. He wondered how much Rey had told him, if anything. He wanted to throw it in his face, to make him hurt with the knowledge that the Jedi he loved so much were just as cruel to a young boy as any Sith. If anything, the wound hurt more given that the one who had hurt him so much was his family.

Instead of all of that, he relaxes the tension in his shoulders and looks down at his feet before adjusting them, removing his blade from his belt once more. If Obi-wan was in the mood to instruct him, he was listening. He didn't know why except for the fact that Rey had spoken of Obi-wan with such joy, as if she had found a teacher who understood her the way a student should be understood by their master.

He'd never had that with either of his masters. With Luke he had been lead to fear his own growing strength, marred by the darkness Snoke had implanted in him like a seed that grew and grew. With Snoke he had been taught to suppress the love he'd had for his family, destroying himself from the inside out until he'd destroyed the thing he loved the most: his father. Despite how disappointed he'd been by his family, he loved them still.

"What else?" His tone has none of the bite or anger that broils inside of him like a hot coal. His gaze lifts from his feet to Obi-Wan, waiting.

Obi-Wan blinks. He wasn't expecting... that, whatever that was. Quietude. Acceptance.

"Most of what you're doing is off-balance. Your lightsaber isn't well aligned, and the crystal is cracked. It must take a great deal of effort to wield, is that right?" He's certain it is, having handled the weapon himself. No one chooses to swing such a weightless weapon with that much force, not unless they're trying to make some other point, "Lightsaber forms predate the Jedi Order, and they've existed that long for a reason, but something tells me you weren't given exactly that kind of formal instruction."

He steps a little close, almost curious. The boy definitely had reach, there's no denying it. But his movement, jerking, wide smooth arcs that took whole seconds to wind up to, and to recover from-- he was as aggressive as any vapaad master could want, but without the requisite control...

"You need to work with your lightsaber and yourself, not against either. Have you ever heard of Ataaru? The Fourth Form."

"It's like that because I made it that way. You know that the Sith and Jedi differ in their methods. I forced it to bend to my will." This had come after he'd already gone to the trouble of bonding with it in the first place during his Jedi training. Bleeding it, bending the blade to his will, was more akin to an act of self injury when he was already bonded to it. That was what caused it to crack. The two competing parts of himself had overwhelmed it, fracturing the crystal. He shouldn't have to explain that to Obi-Wan, he thinks.

"I don't believe so. The name isn't something I've heard." He had studied with him for years so it stood to reason that he at least had learned it. He doesn't remember much from that time, already mired in so much darkness from Snoke's influence that time seemed to blur as he struggled to stay afloat from it before it devoured him.

Edited 2018-04-21 22:58 (UTC)

"Not a Sith, was it?" But there's humor enough in his voice. Pick a side, Ben; It doesn't have to be someone else's, "You ought to be more gentle, with yourself."

Not that that would stop Obi-Wan from being hard; it wasn't in his nature to mother someone. Anakin had complained often enough, but he'd-- Obi-Wan cut that thought off. He'd thought that Anakin had come so far from his impulsive days as an apprentice. That he'd mellowed, with time, and friendship. But he hadn't, he'd only hidden his darkness from Obi-Wan, or else Obi-Wan hadn't been diligent enough to see it...

... To help him.

"Would you like to learn?"

"Why would you want to teach me anything?" He can't help the suspicion. It had been so ingrained in him not to trust, not to open himself up to anyone. Luke had failed him. Did Obi-wan think he could succeed where his successor to the Jedi had not? Even so, he had allowed at least the critique of his footwork. He had opened himself up to this.

"What has Rey told you?" He doesn't want to think this is her doing, that perhaps she had asked Obi-Wan to take an interest in him. The thought makes him grit his teeth. He didn't need a new teacher.

"About you?" He asks, by way of an answer. He's not about to start an impassioned speech about the death of the Republic, not to this audience, "Precious little. It's none of my business what happens between you."

Jedi lie: as the joke goes, it's part of their essential mystique. That's one of the lessons they don't teach you in creche, after all; that to preserve greater truths, you cannot be afraid to bend the smaller ones.

"Allow me to put it another way-- Are you so confident you could win any fight, as you are? I'm offering you the knowledge, you can take it or leave it as you like. This isn't about pity."

Obi-wan's words leave him feeling guilt and relief. For the briefest moment he wanted to be angry at Rey, to imagine that she would try to push him to the Light by convincing her teacher to help him didn't sit right by him. Yet this was no elaborate plot: it was just a seasoned warrior wanting to impart wisdom to someone of lesser skill.

He didn't doubt his own abilities, of course. Obi-wan was right in that regard. He was confident, but not confident enough to think he could take on a Master and win. His "victory" over Luke had been an empty one.

"Good." About Rey and that this didn't come from a place of pity. He hated the idea that he was some pitiful creature who needed someone to help him or, Force forbid, save him.

"I am confident. I may not be a Master but I'm not some padawan either." Or so he likes to believe. He wasn't so confident he could beat Obi-wan, after their first scuffle. He had Iorveth's thoughts about it in the back of his head, too. He telegraphed his movements too much. It was how Luke was able to dodge him so easily and distract him. He telegraphed his emotions too.

"Show me, if you like." He crosses his arms waiting, curious if Obi-wan is even still willing to take the chance on him. He wasn't exactly humble about his skill.

Edited 2018-04-23 01:13 (UTC)

Obi-Wan considered this offer and what it might mean, behind the unwarranted confidence. But then, maybe that too made sense-- the more you press someone into the dirt, the more determined they get to put their nose up out of it.

"Very well. Would you prefer to counter on your own?" He gestured towards the stagnant target dummies that were all Thedas had to offer. Truly, it was the little things that he missed most, the convenience of holograms and screens, and the little droids so disposable that you could afford to destroy them merely for target practice, even in the lean economies of places like Tatooine, and Jakku, "Or would you prefer merely to observe?"

It's the challenge that lingers that really draws him in. He wanted to fight him, but the idea that this would just end up the same as last time, or worse, still hung between them.

"I haven't sparred much since I've been here. Rey was away when I fixed my lightsaber. If you'd be willing?" She would have been easy to practice with. She knew his moves and he had known hers, until she'd trained with Obi-Wan of course. Now he's curious if the Master Jedi had taught her this style as well.

He holds his lightsaber out from his side, poised to ignite it should Obi-Wan be interested. He might not be planning to kill him but he certainly wouldn't hold himself back either.

To answer, Obi-Wan raises an arm in an idle, almost careless gesture, and the lightsaber comes easily into his hand. He takes a moment to adjust something on the hilt, and then ignites the blade, a bright actinic snap of plasma and magnetism that rattles along his nerves like a venomous panacea.

He hasn't used his weapon, not once since... but then, that was not this blade. This was from before. Obi-Wan reverses his grip in a sweeping hum, regards Kylo Ren with a deep calm, and spreads his free hand in clear invitation.

"By your leave."

Kylo watches him, for a moment awestruck by the power he refuses to ever acknowledge. It wasn't that he thought himself better - it was that he refused to ever feel anything good for the Jedi ever again. They were a myth for a reason, despite how strong Obi-Wan is and how strong his uncle had been.

He ignites his blade, the crackle and sizzle immediate as he rotates it in his hand in a lazy circle. He watched like a predator, his lips parting in a smile he rarely ever showed even to Rey. It was more menacing than free, his thrill for battle warming his veins. He points his blade to Obi-Wan before drawing it back again and moving in to aim his first blow.

Iorveth would probably call him foolish for this, for trying to challenge the Master again when he had not changed nor formulated a plan. Yet he liked these sorts of things better when there was no choreographed plot with which to drive his blade home. He didn't want to know the odds of whether he would win this. He wanted to taste the thrill in his bones.

Kylo Ren moved and it grated. He led with his shoulders, pressing against the natural turn of his blade-- his blades, and Obi-Wan moved in opposition, nimble as the animal for which Form Four was named.

He dodged past the curve of the blade, leaping over its arc and whirling with the movement, lightsaber describing a graceful halo above Kylo's head. But it wasn't enough; he kept moving, moving always, round and round, circling around in close-quarters to avoid the inevitable back-hand stroke. Obi-Wan ducked again, anticipating the next strike, then shifted positions and blocked blindly, trusting the Force to read Kylo's intentions correctly for him.

The fourth blow smashed into Obi-Wan's blade with all of the boy's weight behind it, and for just a moment, Obi-Wan stood under it, felt the heft, and grimaced. Ah. That could be a problem, someday.

And then he angled his blade and let Kylo's force go to the side, let it slide off away, and whirled again, force-assisted motion to allow for a speed and angle that his body's strength couldn't have given him on its own. The reverse-grip whirled, a false turn, and stopped-- with his blade humming inches from Kylo's face, held from behind his head, arm extended past his ear, straight at the elbow.

"This was Master Yoda's favored form," He says, calm despite his labored breathing. It was hard work, "It's particularly useful against individuals, for its speed and unpredictability."

He stepped back, and back once more, careful, cautious. Obi-Wan's blade hummed as he reversed the grip again, and nodded.

"Again."

He kept up an unrelenting barrage as Obi-Wan dodged and parried him, pushing his blade to the side. When he finally landed the hit to make the seasoned warrior grimace Kylo felt nothing but pride that swam with the adrenaline.

He'd been so sure that he could keep it up, keep attacking and never stopping, but Obi-Wan slipped beneath his guard again and for a moment he was struck, the blade so close Obi-wan could have sliced a new scar across his face if he wanted to. He was breathless already and to his surprise, Obi-wan's own breathing was labored.

"Impressive." He was impressed in that moment, but then Obi-wan had beaten him once before. He couldn't deny he was impressed by the fact that he was showing his true skill with a blade, versus the use of the Force. Even so, there was no denying he was strong in that too.

Kylo takes a breath, his chest heaving in and out as he righted himself again, feet planted firm and blade circling again as he moved inward to renew the barrage. He watched and waited for where to turn his turbulent swings and body. When he was ready the circular swing he brings over his head rains down, a strike towards Obi-wan's blade in an attempt to drive it to the ground.

It was an impressive strike, with all of Kylo's weight behind it, and Obi-Wan would have to be suicidal, or a fool, to stand and let it fall on his head. So instead, he sidestepped. The blade reversed easily in his hand, and between the ruddy glare and the movement, it was as if he were twenty again, facing down Maul for the first time.

Aggression. That was what categorized that fight, as well as the Ataru forms he'd favored then, to honor his master. Qui-gon had been the one to teach it to him, and the one who knew it better; it wasn't given to defense. Obi-Wan shifted his feet and went on the offense instead.

Round the blade came in a feint at Kylo's back, then back again from the other side, forcing him to come to grips with his own weapon's limitation. When he turned to meet Obi-Wan's indirect assault, Obi-Wan didn't step to the side, or dodge under his guard. He jumped, and with the Force, cleared Kylo's head in a single graceful somersault that landed him on the opposite side, ready to press another attack against the boy's guard, such as it was.

He wasn't much for defense either, it seemed. All he could do was be impaled, or attack; it was all Obi-Wan had left to him.

Sparks flew and plasma screamed as they locked blades together. Obi-Wan held the balance for a moment, the tip of his own lightsaber hooked against the crossbars and main blade of Ben's, bearing down, making him work against gravity. It was an uneven competition, Kylo had superior height, and an edge for sheer brute strength. Strength wasn't everything, of course; Obi-wan let up and parried in a sudden flurry of motion that ultimately owed very little to Ataru, attempting to disarm Kylo Ren by dint of pure leverage, and the element of surprise.

The thrill of fighting a Master - a true Master - was actually making his adrenaline spike. He hadn't felt like this since fighting Rey, the Force rolling between them like a tidal wave as they went blow for blow with one another. Even after she had finally struck him he found himself caught by her presence.

He worried Obi-wan would do the same as Luke had, dodging him instead of really trying to fight back. They were meeting one another's blows and dodging where they could but when their blades locked, Kylo's eyes lit up. He stared down his opponent, nostrils flared and his breathing labored from the effort of keeping up with each of his moves.

That jump before had thrown him off for a moment but he'd been able to recover fast enough for this moment where their blades collided. His parry had caught him off guard again, drawing a gasp of surprise. He'd had to tighten his hold further on the blade to keep Obi-wan from disarming him. It had been enough just to be surprised.

When he recovered again, his teeth were ground together and his brows knitted with frustration as he tried again to strike, to call forth that familiar spark of blades clashing and burning hot against one another. This wasn't like fighting Rey or Luke at all.

Shoulders tight, he brings his blade up and then down in a sweeping motion to meet the blade again, to use force to try and push Obi-wan's hold as low as he could yet again. If he could disarm him it would be worth the effort. Neither of them seemed ready to yield yet.

For just a moment, a single, shining, beautiful moment, Obi-Wan thrills to the fight. He forgets that it's adverserial, that it's anything but the joy of learning through example. The Force ebbes and flows around them, like a dance, like a conversation, and when Ben pushes at him with the Force, he grins in response. The boy was smart, and already he's picking up the basics, despite his lack of refinement-- a promising turn, towards moving with and around the problem, rather than bulling straight through.

He looks up at the overhand strike, and meets eyes that he'd last seen in another's-- in the weary, desperate gasps of Padme Amidala. The effect was a blast of ice-water, drowning that warm, joyous emotion dead.

Obi-Wan pivots, feet shifting, rotating again, and as he had done in their first fight, allowing himself to be pushed, pulling with the Force in turn, controlling the motion of them both by extension. His blade, magnetic field strengthened at the beginning is now brought around in a vicious, viper-quick strike, tagging Ben's sword-arm in what would have been a crippling blow. With the safety precautions in effect, it was merely a shock that would leave that arm unpleasantly numb and unresponsive for some minutes. That too is a Jedi philosophy: to speak before fighting, to defend before attacking, to disarm before killing, and to take lives only when all hope was lost.

Obi-Wan steps back, taking deep, slow breaths, deliberately slowing his heart. He thumbs his lightsaber off and waits for Ben to retrieve his own weapon before speaking.

"That's... That's enough, for now," He says, distracted, in-turned and thinking. Ben Solo. Kylo Ren. Luke Skywalker. Anakin. Anakin, "Ataru was Anakin's specialty."

He's said it before really meaning to, and it's low enough and quiet that, for a moment, Obi-Wan can only wince at the memory of pain, and pass a hand over his eyes with a sigh.

Edited 2018-04-28 04:32 (UTC)

He'd felt warmth extending through his finger tips, a smile gracing his own features as he and Obi-wan had begun to finally get into the thick of it. The joy is brief, however, as something about Obi-wan shifts and before he knows it the fight is done. He winces, rubbing his arm with his free hand, his lightsaber disabled when Obi-Wan's does.

His own breathes are heaving, his hands shaking slightly as he deposits his weapon back to his belt.

"Ah- my grandfather's...?" His eyes widen, curiosity overtaking him at just the mention of him. He had known Obi-wan had taught him, had been felled by his blade in the end. Somehow no one had every talked of his grandfather to him beyond what he had done in his life as Darth Vader. It was because of that, feeling that he himself was the villain, that he had latched onto him so hard. Now he was talking to someone who had truly known him, before Darth Vader and before his uncle had brought him back to the light. Obi-wan had seen him in his descent.

"You wanted to teach me this because of him?" Maybe not entirely because of him, but it did something - made his chest hurt - to think that the old Master had wanted to show him the parts of his grandfather that he had been denied. "No one ever talked of him. Still no one talks of him. My mother, she- I didn't even know who he was to me until it was too late."

His fists clenched, remembering that moment of their confrontation, the feelings of love and longing she'd had for him to come back to her after they had been separated for so long. He bites his lip, taking a deep breath to steady his thoughts. His mother might think she wants him back but surely things would be as they had always been. He was always a monster.

Just like his grandfather.

"I--" Obi-Wan stares at Ben, stricken. How to find the words, grief rising, bitter like bile. The temptation is strong, too strong, to simply shut it away and shut down. To hide.

Tatooine had only made sense, after all. Not for the first time, he longs for the simplicity of the solution; protect the baby, look after the vulnerable family, cut oneself of and wallow and-- Obi-Wan looked away. He closed his eyes and simply let the feeling wash over and through him, bearing up against the terrible blackness of loss as if it were a real and physical wave. As if it had an end, somewhere. Oh, those children, their wide and trusting eyes...

"He was like a brother to me," Obi-Wan tells the boy, unable to find his breath, and grapples again for words that are not failure or loss, "Not today. Another time, another-- That's enough, for today."

He has to leave. Even the enclosed courtyard of the Gallows has become too much and so Obi-Wan simply turns and walks away. Dignity would prefer him not to call it fleeing, but it closely resembles such an act. He has no more words to give.

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