jwaneeta

What an odd way to start the day. I woke in darkness and checked the clock: 4:30. Most people, checking the clock in darkness and reading "4:30" would think Why did I wake up at such an ungodly hour? but I was filled with horror, thinking I'd slept all afternoon. My fogged mind interpreted the darkness as the precursor of an apocalyptic storm, and it took getting up and feeding the beasts for it to sink in that it was merely early. At which point I went back to bed.

Yesterday I was deploring Obi-Wan's AotC mullet with some fellow Obi-Wan enthusiasts, and one of them suggested I write a ficlet as a way of addressing my block (month four, shudder). So I took a bash. The last chapter of my WIP is poisoning my life with guilt (it's written but is also a steaming pile requiring a complete overhaul) so I'm willing to try anything.

I prefer laid back!Obi-Wan, the mellow cat of eps 3 and 4, myself. But a block's a block.



A Meeting at StyleMasters
Obi-Wan
No Pairing to speak of, G


The air in the shop was hot and close; it smelled of strange ungents, suds, and salves. The whir of shears almost drowned the tinny popular music piping from the ceiling, but Obi-Wan was skilled at recollecting his senses amid distraction.

In emptiness is perfect peace. It is better to hunger than to mourn. Seek not what is comely or pleasing, but always what is lowly and plain.

"Pardon me, my brother."

Obi-Wan glanced up. A young knight was smiling at him politely, head tilted to indicate his wishes. In his absorption, Obi-Wan had blocked
the waiting area.

"No: pardon me, good brother," said Obi-Wan, stepping back.

The knight moved without haste to an empty chair, robe swaying, and Obi-Wan noted with approval that his hem was extensively mended.

How glorious it is to be poor, reflected Obi-Wan. We are nothing in ourselves, and possess nothing but our duty. How very sweet it is to be of single mind, unfettered and free.

"Busy today, isn't it?" observed the knight.

Obi-Wan frowned, puzzled. Was he being addressed?

"Popular place," said the knight. "That's a good sign."

Was the knight trying to ... make conversation? Small talk? In a public
place, crammed with the laity and barbers?

"I... yes, so it seems," Obi-Wan replied.

"I often go to Ultraclip, when I am on planet," said the knight, "but this is much closer. Since our masters have made attendance at Commons mandatory once again, time is pretty dear, is it not?"

Obi-Wan could scarcely credit his ears. It was scandalous. Not only was the fellow trampling custom by acknowledging a brother knight outside the Temple walls -- A Jedi is invisible in the street -- he was discussing domestic matters (critically!) where anyone could hear. Obi-Wan fought the impulse to check for eavesdroppers, and nodded coolly.

"Still," said the knight, with cheer, "anything that fosters prayer is beneficial. My old master was mad for prayer, Force keep him. You never saw a calmer man. He made me meditate three times a day -- and how I fought it, I was a perfect rebel! But it's a habit I'm glad of now."

Obi-Wan returned no comment.

"When we're dubbed," continued the knight, "we tend to get caught up in activity, running hither and yon, and it's a bad path, I think. We need to keep our center, or what's the point? It's just empty meddling, civil service job work: any clerk can do it. We need to remember our souls."

Would nothing silence the creature? Obi-Wan's quelling stare was having no effect, and he was at a loss. What did charity counsel in such a situation? What of the demands of propriety? Qui-Gon, Force rest him, would have taken a seat and passed the time of day without a blush, but that only proved no man was perfect. In matters of respectability, Obi-Wan was long accustomed to following his own lights, and the code.

Was a rebuff in order? Implied rebuke? Presumptuous in a new made knight, to be sure, but they were both of a rank. And it wan't a question of correcting a brother in public; it was an issue of right and wrong. It went straight to the heart of Jedi poverty: the rich had ease, and leisure to prattle; the servants of the Force spoke only by necessity, as required by duty, or to edify. It ill became knights to jaw like a couple of dayworkers in a field, everyone knew that.

"I think," said Obi-Wan pointedly, "that I should turn this wait to account. Excuse me."

"Oh, is that a breviary?" asked the knight, peering. "Clever things, I must get one. All the sacred texts on a pad the size of your hand! My master was all for paper and scrolls; my cell was so cluttered I could hardly move. Does it have chapters? Does it speak? How marvelous!"

With heroic patience, Obi-Wan handed the breviary over for inspection.

"Remarkable," said the knight, poking it. "We've entered the modern age at last, hey? High time. Next we'll be wearing blasters."

"Force forbid it," said Obi-Wan before he could stop himself.

"Look here: it even has the martyrology and the Great Suppressions; all the depressing bits. The old breviaries didn't have those."

"Some of the compilation is my own," admitted Obi-Wan.

"A scholar," nodded the knight wisely. "Good for you. How came you by this little wonder? Is it yours? Are they free?"

"You may sign them out of the library; you may petition to have one in use. Ah, I believe I am next," said Obi-Wan with immense relief. "Knight --? I beg your pardon."

"I am Sundi."

"Knight Sundi. I am Obi-Wan, your servant. A good day, and may the Force be with you."

"And also with you," beamed the knight, returning the breviary.

I suppose he will bob up in the refectory tonight, thought Obi-Wan,
having scraped an acquaintance, and proceed to set Anakin a bad example.

He slid into the barber's chair and submitted to a neck cloth. The barber chirped no greeting, offered no inanities. It was a sad day when tradesmen understood proper Jedi conduct better than some knights.

"Just trim the front, if you please," said Obi-Wan, and the barber commenced his ministrations without a word.


End



Now I must resize a boatload of jpegs to send to a pal, who is kindly putting up a new site page for me. I got the domain I wanted! Miracle! Next it's about hammering my blurb stuff into shape, and beseeching bios from my artist buddies. I loathe writing bios about myself and I expect they feel the same way. But the race is to the swift, faint heart never won fair anything, and success comes those who toot their own horns. Or so I hear.