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WHO: Obi Kenobi and anyone who wants to hang out with him
WHAT: Obi-Wan Catch-all
WHEN: Mid-Justinian onwards (before the rifter discussions)
WHERE: Kirkwall, ect
NOTES: n/a

i. The Road Ahead
There was a puppy in Obi-Wan's travel-bag. It was actually fairly impressive, given the size and ambition of the mabari and the relative meagerness of the bag itself. It was more of a pack, really, the kind of thing meant to hold trail-food and the necessities to keep a body alive over the course of a few day's travel. Obi-Wan was not a man given to material wealth, otherwise expensive war-hounds aside.

"Cody," He warned, and glanced again towards the door— hanging ajar, open to the hall, now. Ah, that explained how he'd gotten in, again, "Now, we've spoken about this. You can't go in the pack."

The dog only whined and tilted its head, as if confused. Forty pounds and as spindly as a colt, there was no reasonable explanation of physics that could have united both dog and bag in the asked-for manner. But Cody persevered. Obi-Wan sighed to express his disapproval.

"Out."

Obi-Wan Kenobi, was having some difficulty.

ii: The "Ancient" Texts
Today was sunny in a way that, in Kirkwall, always seemed to be somehow qualified. Today, it could have been anything; perhaps it was only begrudgingly sunny in the bare hour before the afternoon rains, or too humid to be pleasant, or the smell of Darktown that's risen up through the streets in a cloud of foul-tasting steam. But, sitting in the Gallows courtyard, Obi-Wan couldn't smell Darktown, and didn't much care about humidity either way; he was writing. In his hands was a little book, and beside him another, both bound in plain, unremarkable leather. Both were handwritten, the one in his hands somewhat less so, and he seemed, despite his preoccupation, to be waiting for someone.

Or maybe he's just giving the sand-colored mabari puppy room to run; it's certainly doing its bouncing, cheerful best to encounter every single person with business in the Gallows to-day.

iii. Old Habits
Step, turn back, begin again. Second form, faster now; breathe, inhale, and lift—

Comforting basics, he'd run this form a thousand times and more. He'd mastered it. There were no fancy moves, nor clever flourishes in this calm ballet. The Lightsaber hilt was warm and comforting in his hand; familiar design, familiar grip, the hum a constant stream of nostalgia near his ear as Obi-Wan whirled it again into the third stance, then the fourth. It was never about hurting people, this way; they'd trained in a time of peace, with the hope of that peace in their ears. There were no targets, only patterns, circles in circles. Yes, a lightsaber was a deadly weapon, but it didn't have to be.

It didn't have to be— like this. None of this had to be like this.

Obi-Wan finds, abruptly, he's shifted off pattern. He stops, pushes the sweat back into his hair, and grumbles a sigh. Focus, Kenobi. How many times are you going to fail? Are you really this out of practice? Time for a break.

"I used to be able to get through this in one try, believe it or not," He says, by way of greeting, "Good evening."

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He blinks for a moment, confused and stuck on what to say about the sudden comparison to himself and his grandfather. It's hard to imagine him as just a young man and not the imposing dark figure of history and his imagination.

"You're practically her family, so it wouldn't be invading privacy to tell you." Her family, when the man had taught his grandfather and had been well loved by his uncle. He bore his name as his own, from birth, in remembrance of that bond.

"It's not as if I had anyone to tell about it." That was the sad truth, really. In times like these he realizes that he's been here for months and is still just as isolated and closed off as he's ever been. It suited him fine, he thought, but sometimes he was envious of Rey having so many people who cared for her. It made him feel cut off from her, in a small way.

"Just because someone is family, or nearly so, it doesn't mean you understand them," Obi-Wan replies, evenly, with a calm he's only barely managing to keep hold of, "People need their own space. I'm sure, the two of you would have come to me on your own, in time."

Or, of course, not. As the case may be. Since, even with Obi-Wan sitting right here, Ben will say he has no one to talk to. It's too much for manners and so Obi-Wan resorts to his native tongue: the ancient language of sarcasm.

"Yes, if only you had someone to talk to. It's only such a shame that there's no one at all willing to sit here and carry on a conversation. What a pity."

"It's not as if all our other conversations ever ended amicably." He snaps almost immediately, feeling defensive. Yes, that was his his fault, but he felt frustrated that Obi-wan felt the need to be sarcastic about it. "What would we talk about?"

Obviously, how very like his grandfather he is on occasion. He crosses his arms, mouth pressed in a thin line. He had to remind himself that this was Rey's teacher, that he needed to be calmer than this, and yet he felt like he was being patronized for the fact that he was utterly hopless at socializing with anyone who hadn't previously tried to kill him, apparently. Clearly Rey was a glitch in his perfectly reasonable assumption that no one had any desire to talk to him whatsoever.

"Mhh yes," He says, and the words I wonder who's fault that is linger under his tone like a fish peering up through the murky surface of a pond. One might deny they're there, but only if you can avoid eye contact with it, "Last time we spoke..."

Well. No. Obi-Wan stops, and has to amend that:

"...In person, you still had some unanswered questions, I'm sure."

He relents some of that frustration at the mention of his grandfather. He and Obi-Wan had only barely touched the surface when it came to talking about him and no one he knew in his family ever said much about him to begin with. Luke had tried his best with him, but in the end it had culminated into the Jedi trying to kill his young nephew in his sleep.

"I do." He breathes out, interest piqued, and uncrosses his arms. "My mother never spoke of him to me." He realizes now that perhaps she had just been afraid and would have kept it from him forever if she could. It vexed him to no end that she couldn't trust him with the truth even as he'd become an adult.

"Please. Could you tell me about him?" He takes a step towards Obi-wan, humbled by the fact that he was dredging up what were probably painful memories for the Jedi. Just as he had a hard time talking about Luke or his family, Obi-wan struggled to speak of the brother he had lost to the dark side.

Edited 2018-07-03 22:12 (UTC)

Him. He could ask who, if he wanted to be pedantic; there were so many people Ben Solo— Kylo Ren, had never met, but which had been his family, even if not by blood. No one but Obi-Wan would ever remember Qui-Gon Jinn. Bail Organa, old friend that he was, was comet-dust and memory, never to be known. Yoda himself had never met this boy, of that Obi-Wan was sure.

But of course, it's always about Anakin, isn't it?

"You know. Anakin had a student, once. Ashoka Tano, was his Padawan. She was... troubled. Not unlike me, when I was younger; she was the oldest Youngling who didn't have a master yet, and Anakin of course didn't want a student," His tone is that particular rueful tone, halfway to I told you so, that comes of telling a story like this while knowing its end, "He tended to get caught up in himself, sometimes. That whole... heroic lone-Jedi image. Though, he was a hero. No could really have denied it; reckless, certainly. Hot-headed. No patience."

For once, the insults don't carry any heat. After the first, they don't even have humor the leaven them. Obi-Wan wonders what it says about him, with so many dead, so much evil done, all that needless suffering, and yet what he cannot stop from thinking is that... he misses his brother. He misses Anakin. The greatest monster in the galaxy, and Obi-Wan would have given nearly anything just to hear him joke again, to see him whole and happy, with his family.

"Well. I'm exaggerating, of course. In the end, he came around, he always—" Not always. Not in the end, "...hm. He had the habit of referring to her as 'Snips' and she called him 'Skyguy,' never by his actual name, and certainly never Master. I always thought of it as unprofessional, a little disrespectful, even. But, I was wrong about that, too."

Edited 2018-07-07 05:41 (UTC)

He feels almost frustrated, impatient, because this wasn't the story he wanted. What stories did he want? He wanted to know what kind of fighter he was, what kind of man he was to have turned away from everything. He wanted to know what the Jedi had done to make him do so, just as his grandson would eventually do himself.

"What happened to her? Did he- after he turned, did he kill her?" It's what he had tried to do, to extinguish the Jedi and cut away their weakness. This woman was surely extinguished by his grandfather at the earliest opportunity when he made the transition to Darth Vader and destroyed the Jedi.

He studies Obi-Wan, noting the minute changes in him that often came and went when he spoke of the past. The mild insults, the acquiescence of Anakin's personality - those traits he named reminded him of himself, in a way. That made him feel pleased. He'd never felt he truly belonged in his family. Both his parents were hot-headed, sure, but they didn't struggle in their anger as he did. Did his grandfather struggle? He must have, to have eventually turned to the darkside.

"I don't know. Ashoka... ran into trouble. It was ruled that she had completed her trial, but instead of becoming a knight, she left the Order entirely. That was years ago," It had come as a blow to Anakin, of course, but for more than personal reasons. With the loss of a student came the loss of ambition, as well as the breaking of personal ties. Obi-Wan sighed, "She did take her lightsaber with her. I must assume that either she's gone into hiding, or the empire has executed her along with the rest of us. I suppose I'll never know."

Another deep breath, and as if noticing it for the first time, Obi-Wan thumbs the blade of his lightsaber off. It had been there, in his hand, humming all the while.

"If you wanted to know something more specific... I can tell that wasn't really what you wanted to know.."

"She left." He repeats the words as if trying to fit them in his mouth. He'd never thought of someone voluntarily leaving the Jedi. He had only ever experienced being cast out. Even if he had been the one to burn the temple down and kill several of his peers, he had still been cast out by his uncle.

"Strange how that keeps happening to the Jedi - their own people leaving." He hadn't meant for the barb, but he can't deny that it was satisfying to him to know that the Jedi then and now clearly hadn't changed. He notes that Obi-wan had sheathed his blade. He wouldn't have minded training with him but that moment had passed for now.

"I forget how little you know," He replies, with what Obi-Wan feels is a justified affront, "We began training at a very young age with the understanding that many of those children would grow up and prove unsuitable for the life of a Jedi. People left the Order when they felt the need; I left the Order, even. Briefly."

The wave of a hand as if to say and there you are, brat.

"We were many things, but being a Jedi wasn't a prison sentence. Far from it."

"No, you just betray your own students time and again." And there's that stone wall of hatred again. He stands, defiant as ever, with his arms crossed and his jaw set. Somehow he's sure that must be what happened. He doesn't know who this girl is that was his grandfather's student, but surely that can't have been his fault that she left. He left too, in the end. He saw the Jedi for what they were.

"The Jedi may not be a prison sentence but leaving - or being cast out - becomes like the ultimate betrayal, does it not?" On both sides, really. While he'd been trying to be understanding and wanted Rey to learn from Obi-Wan he still felt stubbornly against it - stuck - when it came to himself. The Jedi had only ever been errant knights of a dead and failed history.

"Hardly."

He says it almost like a scoff, folding his arms into his sleeves. When Obi-Wan turns, it's to regard Ben with that same speculative look he'd been giving the training dummies.

"Children grow up. People change. Ashoka chose to leave, and we accepted her choice. It's not a betrayal to want something else from life," Which is true enough. The betrayal had never been in the wanting, nor even in the choice. It was about blood, and death, and the lie of it all. But of course, the weren't talking about Ashoka any longer, "You're very determined to paint the Jedi as evil, aren't you? Are you afraid we might not be?"

"You are evil." He grits his teeth, his hands dropping to his sides again to clench into fists. "The Jedi Order is evil and full of weak men - too weak to ever change what's exactly wrong with the Order in the first place."

His face becomes twisted with anger and he very nearly reaches for Obi-Wan to grab him by the front of his shirt. He was angry, but beneath it were flashes of fear that Obi-Wan was right. The Jedi weren't the evil once but he had always been, just as his parents and Luke had seen. Instead of reaching for Obi-Wan, his hand drops to his lightsaber though he doesn't remove it from his belt just yet.

"No, you want us to be evil. Because it's not enough for one man to have been wrong, you have to be right in order to have left the Jedi. Completely right, morally right. Or else you might have to admit you've done something wrong."

And he had, hadn't he? He'd killed for it, likely many people. Likely as not, people who'd done nothing to deserve it, who would otherwise have welcomed him as a friend, if he'd chosen differently. As a protector, a savior, a... a Jedi.

"This isn't about the Jedi Order, and this isn't about me. This is about you."

He opens his mouth to speak only to close it again, lips pressed tightly together. He stared at the space between them, the dirt feeling farther and farther away. His throat felt tight and his jaw tense.

"No. It isn't. This is about the Jedi twisting everything into their neat little existence - anything that deviates from it is cast out." He was cast out. He's so sure that was the case for his grandfather too - perhaps his student as well. Even so, it pains him to hear Obi-wan's words because he knows they're true. It all boiled down to the hurt he felt, the betrayal of his uncle and his parents. The family he had been taught to rely on had let him down so greatly that he'd done whatever he had to do to survive.

"I did what I had to do to do - regardless of right or wrong. I would have been dead otherwise." He raises his chin in defiance, despite his eyes burning with tears and his face slack with sorrow. Why had no one wanted to save him before? Perhaps that isn't accurate: his father had tried, but it had been too late. Snoke's claws had sunk themselves so deep that there hadn't been a way to shake them loose.

"The Jedi legacy is failure." His hand flexes over his lightsaber, wanting so badly to draw it, to show Obi-Wan how wrong he is. This isn't his fault. It's their fault.

"Ah yes. A thousand generations of civilization, a stable, democratic government and relative peace that lasted more than four millennia, and the only legacy left behind is... you?" The scowl in Obi-Wan's voice is as cutting as his expression is mild. Tightly controlled. He can sense the emotion riding in Kylo, and the accompanying danger. But he won't be the first to react, never the first to strike, but always the last to give in; that was the Jedi way, "For someone who's so adamant that it's only other people who reject the diversity of perspective, you're very quick to do the same to others. Of course, you are the center of the universe, are you not? The only one with an opinion that matters, and at all of... what, twenty years of life? It can't be more than forty years that stand between my life and yours."

He's silent for a moment, looking at Ben, at his open, unhappy sorrow. He looked as if he were going to cry.

"Rey is the strongest single point of light, in that legacy, but she's not the only one. You can still join her, if you're finished slinging petty, poorly-informed insults. But it's time to grow up, Ben," He couldn't decide, couldn't remember, if he'd ever called the boy by that name, before, "You've managed to reject, escape, or kill every other obstacle, until now, but you cannot escape yourself. Search your feelings. You know what I'm saying, is the truth."

Edited 2018-07-19 17:08 (UTC)

He takes a steadying breath, actively trying not to give in to his anger. It was a a first for him. Not long ago, his first impulse would have been to cut this man in half before ever having an in depth conversation about his faults.

"If that makes me selfish, to place the blame where it belongs, then so be it. The Jedi created Darth Sidious, created Darth Vader, and they created me. At the height of the Jedi's power, you were eradicated like insects and you stood vigil for twenty years while your former student laid waste to the galaxy. If anything, you're the most failed of them all. You'll fail her too, in the end."

He was making barbed remarks at this point, trying to hurt Obi-wan as much as he felt hurt himself. He rocks on his heels a bit, taking another steadying breath. His ears ringing and his hands shaking, he pushes back the hurt and channels it into fierce anger. At the sound of his birth name, his head jerks up.

"You don't get to call me that." He still struggled with Rey publicly calling him by his birth name, but hearing Obi-Wan call him that while telling him to search his feelings was too much. It reminded him of his mother, of how she'd named him after this very man whom she'd put her hopes into during the height of the war with the Empire. Her own hopes for her son had been dashed, of course. He was nothing but a monster who clung hopelessly to a girl like some sentimental fool.

Edited 2018-07-21 05:22 (UTC)

Obi-Wan stood there in silence, simply breathing. He had grown up in a temple, trained to mindfulness from the impetuous annals of youth, through the hormones and rage and grief, over and over and over again. And he had learned well, that you could lose everything, and not break. That it could happen again. That you could love and struggle, and lose that love, and heal. But how long, before the scars overgrew him, like growth blocking a path?

He opened his mouth, to speak. And then closed it again, jaw working. Because it wasn't Kylo at whom he laid the blame for any of it, nor was it Rey, or Anakin, or Master Yoda, Darth Sidious, or even Vader. Everything he'd said to the boy had been true for him as well: You cannot escape yourself.

So he inhaled sharply, through his nose, and said only simply: "You are absolutely right."

Then he turned on his heel, and walked away into the comparative darkness of the Gallows. And he didn't look back. What he needed, just now, was a strong drink, and a quiet, lonely place to have it in.

Edited 2018-07-21 05:35 (UTC)

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