Current mood:	amused
Entry tags:	ornamenti

Ornamenti: Part 16
More of Anakin and Padme being held prisoner by the Hutts. I really need to draw some of the slave outfits I've thought up; Hutts might be disgusting perverts, but they do have a certain taste in regards to ornamental clothing.

Even if the clothes are hand-me-downs from slaves that have recently died. Oh dear.

Part 16: In which the prisoners reach a conclusion, and Obi-Wan wakes up.


Any semblance of decency that either of them might have clung to was taken with the removing of their clothes- there was the insistent touching again, invasive and ugly, until Anakin had proved his arm strength and his dislike of uninvited caresses by wrenching off the ear of a small furry blue alien, knocking him out with a single hard punch to the jaw. He'd nearly been strangled for that; the collar had bitten into the soft skin of his neck, and there were spots of blood against the smooth metal.
Padme was still unconscious at first, which was for the best, really, as Anakin had no desire for her to see him cry, and for some reason he couldn't seem to stop. He'd always been a little too emotional, he knew, and tears came to him easily, when he was upset or moved or in pain and even when he was angry, but this felt different. He wanted to lie down next to Padme and take her into his arms, to find solace in her familiar warmth, but he didn't trust himself, and so he pressed into the far corner of the cell and huddled there, covering himself as best he could.
He missed Obi-Wan. It was a steady ache that would not go away.

Unconsciousness faded into sleep after a little while.
Then sleep went away, replaced with sudden alertness of the cold harsh metal against her bare hip. Bare legs. Bare arms. Bare everything.
No clothes, not even the thin silks of before. Nauseated, Padme took a quick inventory of her body.
Only the outside places felt bruised and sore. The inside, she realized gratefully, felt fine.
Nothing had been forced upon her while she was sleeping.
She wasn't hurt.
Overcome with relief but not overeager to display her wakefulness, Padme kept her eyes closed, inhaling and exhaling softly, listening to her surroundings. She might not be alone here. Or she could be by herself.
The thought brought a swift pang of horror. Anakin.
Where was Anakin?
What had the Hutts done to him after he refused to do their bidding?
She forced herself to remain calm and examine her environment. Panicking wouldn't help anyone.
Constant humming from the palace engines keeping them aloft shook the floor and buzzed against her ear. So, they were still moving. Smells of oil, rusty metal, and old sweat and hot flesh declared this place a den for some kind of lifeform, or at least a holding cell like the slave quarters on Hoth. Padme didn't elect to think of what the lifeforms had been doing in this area; considering the nasty bent of Gardulla and Jabba, it was all too apparent. She breathed the air again, hoping for some new bit of useful information about the occupancy of the room... And recognized the sweet scent of a friend.
"...did they hurt you?"

"No," was the quiet response. Anakin wasn't far away, but his voice was quiet and subdued, and a little uneven.

And she was awake and up on her side, lengthy hair swinging loosely beside naked skin like a rich brown curtain. "What happened."

"I'd rather not say," the young Jedi replied quietly. "If it's all the same." He didn't /sound/ as though he was injured, but there was something heavy and unhappy in his voice.

Padme turned a little over her shoulder, careful to gaze at Anakin's face rather than anywhere below his chest. He deserved some version of privacy. "But you're not hurt."
A confirmation of this fact was very important to her.

He was pressed into the corner of the little room, knees against his chest, hugging them loosely and resting his cheek against his forearm, but when she looked at him he lifted his head and shook it slightly.
"I'm not hurt," he said, still in that same soft voice. "And nobody else is either, except the blue Friss that grabbed me."

...Friss?
Padme assumed that whatever it was, the Friss had probably deserved everything Anakin gave it, and she soundly wished she'd been awake to express her opinion upon the grabby creature as well. Anakin didn't sound good.
She drew her knees up to her chest. The change in position caused some of Padme's hair to fan out across the floor like a makeshift skirt. "...is it okay if I come over there?"

"I don't have any clothes," he said, evenly.

"Neither do I," Padme replied, just as evenly.

"If you want to," Anakin replied after a momentary pause, watching her, eyes on her face rather than elsewhere.

So Padme scooted backwards until she hit the wall beside Anakin. Although it wasn't a substitute for actual clothes, her hair provided enough chest cover to be decent. She brought her knees up again, ankles crossed at the bottom. Their hips were touching, an echo of Anakin's last attempt of comfort while they'd been marched before Jabba and Gardulla. "...how long has it been since I went unconscious?"

"A few hours." He closed his eyes when she touched him, and when he spoke again it was careful. His eyes were redder than they should have been. "I don't think they're finished with us yet."

She found his hand and squeezed it, leaning against his shoulder. Close and comforting. "No, they're not."
Padme didn't ask if he'd been crying.

He squeezed back, obviously grateful for the contact.
"I don't know if I can protect you."

"That's okay, Anakin." Padme pressed her forehead against his cheek. "...Thank you."
He had protected her. At least once.

Anakin seemed to relax a little more, now that she was closer; he squeezed her hand again and asked, "The drug- it's not still... you're feeling normal now, right?"

Padme laughed briefly without humor. "Yes. I'm fine."
She shuddered, remembering the overpowering loss of control. That substance was nothing short of horrific.

"We're lucky," he went on, in that same quiet voice. "There was a Twi'lek girl there, too... it looked like she'd been given a lot of it. She had no idea what was going on."
For a moment, he'd wanted her, not for any particular reason other than she was female, and wanton. The idea frightened him, but not nearly as much as the threat that had followed. This was an area he had so little experience in, something that had never been a part of his life, even as a young slave. His mother had watched after him, and after that it was the Jedi Order. His Master, who would never in a thousand years put him willingly in a position in which he could be hurt that way.
He'd just never thought it would come so close, to stare him in the face.
Anakin shivered, and was still.

"...I remember." It hurt to recall how tiny the little blue creature chained to Jabba's throne had been, how terribly, impossibly young.
Padme shrugged under Anakin's arm, ignoring nudity for the sake of closeness. Anakin needed the comfort, something told her, needed a familiar presence nearby, and since he was currently cut off from the safety of Obi-Wan Kenobi, there was only her.
She began to hum softly.

He opened his mouth, prepared to tell her what had been done to him, exactly, but the sudden gently musical sound made him stop, brought back the fresh memories of his mother, and he closed his mouth against and simply leaned against her, listening.

It was a traditional mountain song. The prettiest melodies always seemed to come down from traditional songs, and her parents had used to sing it to Padme when she had trouble sleeping.
The dialect was strange, very different from either Basic or Huttese, but it flowed as smoothly as a winding river rolling down curving hills.

Anakin listened, and felt something strange settling over him, something almost entirely unfamiliar. Peace.
He let his cheek rest against the top of her head, and, once he'd caught the gist of the tune, he began to hum along with her, a surprisingly melodious counterpart. His voice was low and pleasant.

AraiYasha: (Aw. <3)
Yoinomyoujou: (I've told you that it's actually canon that he's got a very nice singing voice, right?)
AraiYasha: (:D Oh yes.)

As the song continued, Padme found herself doing the last thing she'd expected to do ever since entering the Hutt palace. Smiling.
Anakin had a wonderful singing voice.

He, too, wore a small smile, and though it did not quite touch his eyes it wanted to come close. Their voices fit together well, in a comfortable and familiar sort of way, and when the song was done he only sat in silence, listening to it fade away, before at last he murmured, "Thank you."

"You're welcome." Padme sighed happily, comfortable under his arm. "You caught on quickly."

"I like to sing," he said, and nuzzled absently at her cheek. "Mom and I used to do it all the time when I was little... Obi-Wan actually has a really beautiful voice, but I think he's shy about it."

"Hmm..." Padme grinned at Anakin's affectionate touch. "I wonder why. Singing is fun."

"I don't know, exactly..." This time the smile did reach his eyes; talking about his Master eased that part of him that ached with his distance. "But I caught him at it once, when he thought he was alone."

Padme giggled. "What did he do?"
Apparently Obi-Wan's facial expressions when surprised (and otherwise) were legendary.

"He finished the song, even though he knew I was watching. It was the night after Qui-Gon's funeral. Something in Malastarian... I never heard him do it after that."

"........"
Padme laid her head across Anakin's shoulder, remembering the last time they'd skirted around Obi-Wan's grief for his departed Master. Remembered the funeral. Remembered the fight for the palace, and the separation from the Jedi in the ship hangar. The last time she'd seen Master Qui-Gon alive.
It all seemed so far away, now. And so close at the same time. "Did you ever ask him to sing something else?"

"I didn't want to," Anakin said. His bare arm curved around her shoulders, hugging her a little closer. He didn't seem sad, per say, only thoughtful- Qui-Gon's demise was not a happy thing, to him, but he'd never had the impression that the noble Jedi Master was entirely gone. "It felt like... it felt like something that belonged to him and Qui-Gon alone."

Padme settled into that closeness as if it were the most natural thing in the world, thoughts echoing Anakin's. "...I wish he were happy."

"Me too."
He thought of Obi-Wan, the proud young Padawan who'd treated him like a stray animal that had come begging for good. Obi-Wan, the grieving new Jedi Knight, and his silence. Obi-Wan, the teacher, who had put him to bed and given him his first real bath, who had nursed him through fevers and bad tempers with patience and tolerance. Obi-Wan the Master, crying over him on Kyriara because of a simple head injury, pulling him out of the ocean on Illmarei, carrying him to safety through the Llisnal desert.
He said, "I wish I could make him happy."

"There has to be a way." Padme, as a Naboo politician, had always been a problem solver. There were some spectacular instances of problem-solving that included blasters, secret tunnels, and evil merchants with a massive droid army, and those were the examples most people remembered. However, the most difficult problems to solve had involved people and ideas, and those were the greatest battles, the most complicated problems.
Great problems often resulted in the greatest victories.

"I don't think so." Anakin gave his head a small shake. "He's... your Master is part of you, and losing a Master while you're still in his charge is considered to be the second worst thing that can possibly happen to a Jedi."

"Then... Perhaps not happy, but not so sad." Even without Anakin pointing it out, Padme couldn't help but notice the sorrowful cast of Obi-Wan's eyes as he'd walked along the ship's hallways, doubtlessly recalling old days in the same environment. She'd seen it years ago, before and after the bonfire that sent Master Qui-Gon's remains to eternal rest, but hadn't felt she could do anything for the young Jedi then. Perhaps now. Perhaps some way.

The boy smiled a little, and now he too seemed a bit sad. "If I knew a way to help him, I would have done it by now. He likes me, but I don't know if I can make him happy. Not really. I mean, I wouldn't want anybody else to come along and try to take /his/ place in my life..."

"No one could." Padme smiled up at Anakin's thoughtful blue eyes. "You wouldn't let them."
Anakin Skywalker's devotion to his Master was absolute even if his record of obedience declared otherwise; one would have to be blind or insane not to recognize that.
Still, she mused about Obi-Wan. "...trying to replace Master Jinn isn't an option." The very idea was ludicrous- even finding a person with similar attributes wouldn't do any good, Padme felt. Master Kenobi needed something to calm him, to elevate him, to show him that holes could be filled and pain could be eased.

Yoinomyoujou: ("Drugs. Lots and lots of drugs.")
AraiYasha: ("NO drugs.")

Anakin murmured, "If he'd listen to the silence more closely..."

Padme asked the question, soft. "What would happen?"

He glanced at her, then up and at the ceiling of their cell. Nudity was forgotten, their situation was forgotten, all for the moment.
"He'd be able to hear him."

"...Him?"
Padme knew /exactly/ who Anakin was referring to, and the idea left her amazed. She didn't doubt the truth of his statement, didn't doubt Anakin's sanity in believing it true, only didn't understand how it could be possible.

Anakin was a little shy to tell her; it had always seemed perfectly normal to him, the occasional whisper of advice or encouragement from a man long dead, but it wasn't normal to anybody but him.
"He watches," he said, slowly, shifting a little. "He doesn't speak to me very often, but he's watching out for Obi-Wan. He misses him."

Padme smiled, almost impossibly sad. "Still the good Master."

"He wishes Obi-Wan would listen."

"...could he? Is there a way to?"

"Qui-Gon says you just have to open your mind to the possibility." Anakin shrugged. "I don't think Obi-Wan wants to, so... I haven't said anything. I think it would hurt him."

Padme frowned. "Maybe it would... But it might also be better for him in the long run."

"Well, when he comes for us, I'll see about telling him." Anakin seemed to be feeling a little better, at least, though the shadow in his eyes remained.

Padme leaned against her companion, mulling over everything she had learned. "You'd know best what Obi-Wan needs....Well, you and Master Jinn."
The two did know him best: one as Padawan, the other as Master.

"Sometimes I'm not sure I do." But Anakin shrugged, and tugged at the collar around his neck with his free hand. It was still cutting painfully into his skin. "In any case... I wonder if we should try to come up with a plan."
It was easier to think now, more clearly. Whatever the drug they'd been given it seemed to be entirely out of his system for now, and while Padme's closeness at his side was comfortable, warm, enjoyable, it did not create the same horrible urgency of before.

"Do you know how to use a blaster?" Although the basic concept of any firearm could be distilled to something as simple as "Point and shoot," there were vagaries to every model that could confound someone unused to such a weapon, even a person as mechanically gifted as Anakin.
Then again, Anakin might be able to assemble the Best Blaster Pistol Ever before any of Gardulla or Jabba's cronies managed to get a shot off.
Best to get the stupid questions out of the way first.

Anakin looked down at her, and grinned just a little bit.
"Do you think they just teach us ballroom dancing at the Temple?" he replied. "Of course I do."

She stuck her tongue out at him. "I had to ask."
Thoughts of the Temple brought to mind a grim fact. "We need to destroy the force disruptor."

He winced. "That'll be difficult. Those things are practically indestructable. We ran into one once on Kaydorn VI... Obi-Wan wasn't affected quite as badly as I was, luckily."

Padme didn't fancy the idea of Anakin having to go through all that pain again.
In fact, she didn't like Anakin having to go through all that pain in the first place. Even now, the thought of him screaming against the rockface of the canyon and suffering indescribeable agonies underneath the water made her shudder. "You say 'practically.' Is there a way to disable it?"

"Give me a screwdriver and two minutes and I could tell you." He made a face. "The Order just thinks they're too dangerous to keep around. Too much from one can kill a powerful Jedi. So... I don't have a lot of hands on experience."

"...That's not a very adaptive policy," murmured Padme quietly. "They could have at least removed the most dangerous parts from one and kept the shell so that wayfaring Jedi could examine it."
There were terrible stories of Jedi disappearing from the Outer Rim. Who knew how many of them had met with a Force disruptor?

"I suppose," Anakin replied, with a small shrug. "They do keep containment collars around for that purpose, so we know what they look like and what they do." He shifted a little, trying to stretch one leg without exposing himself.

She closed her eyes with her chin on his shoulder, solving his problem succinctly. "...But none of that helps us now."

"No," he said quietly, and let himself breath in the sweet scent of her hair. "It doesn't."
He let the silence stretch for a while, and then he said at last, "...Do you trust me?"

"Yes." Of this, she was sure. "Why?"
If he had an idea for getting out of here, no matter how risky, Padme was all ears.

"...As long as they're pleased with us," he said slowly, trying to think out the words as he spoke, "They won't... it'll be easier on us. It'll give us time to wait for the others to track us down. There are ways to..."
He had to stop, because the memory of his own performance was still fresh. Deep breath. Ignore the shaking.
"...After you passed out," he went on, as steadily as he could, "They tried to... they wanted me to go on. With you. I said no, so they tried to offer me that little Twi'lek girl... I said no again, and they threatened to, ah..." He tightened his jaw. "...they threatened to hurt me if I didn't do /something/ and so I just, well..." He shrugged, clearly uncomfortable even talking about this. "I don't know if I could pull it off again, but I'd... I'd be willing to try, if it would keep you safe-"

She squeezed his hand once more, nearly hugging him this time. Gentle fingers pressed gainst his lips, shushing him with amazing kindness.
Padme had a fierce protective love for this boy, this desperate, innocent person so devoted to doing good. If she could do /anything/, she wouldn't let him be touched. "I'll do the same."

He looked at her, and then his hand left hers to touch her cheek, lightly, fingers careful and almost reverant.
He kissed her fingers against his mouth, and said, quietly, lips brushing the soft pads of her fingertips, "I would do anything for you. You know that, don't you? It's always been true."
The hand dropped from her face, as though conscious he might be intruding. "Whatever you need or ask of me, Padme."
He couldn't say the words. Not yet. The time hadn't come yet to speak the sacred words.
But that time would come soon.

Padme pressed her lips together, one step away from heartbroken, nestled there in the corner with Anakin's arm warm around her shoulders. "...Just keep safe."
The forgotten kiss of before haunted her. Anakin didn't remember his behavior then, how close and easy he'd acted, but Padme certainly did. She couldn't ignore it, especially after his confession. What he said. What he didn't say.
What he felt was impossible.
It couldn't ever come to fruition. A Pawadan couldn't, shouldn't, feel what he felt.
Jedi weren't allowed.
But he couldn't help it, any more than he could help the situation they found themselves in now.
She sighed and settled against the boy, long dark hair falling and winding around her torso (and doubtless tickling his) in chestnut waves. She knew all these things, but keeping a distance between herself and Anakin while they were trapped here wouldn't serve a single useful purpose.
He needed the comfort.
And so did she.
They had no one else.

What was unspoken in his soft confessions, in the way he'd kissed her before in that moment of comfortable familiarity, when he'd acted like a much older man who knew her with startling intimacy, what remained unsaid was that nothing would occur, nothing would be moved, unless she first gave signal.
He was waiting for her, had /been/ waiting for her for years, waited even now, even as he put his arms around her and hugged her close, protective and silent, content simply to be allowed to be near her. It seemed the only area in which Anakin Skywalker was patient.
He would wait for her forever, if it took that long.
He would die waiting, if that was what she wanted.

Padme brought her arms modestly across her chest, hands tucked beneath her chin almost as if she were preparing to sleep.
And perhaps she was.
"...what are we going to do?"
Or maybe not.

For a moment it didn't seem as though he was going to answer; he, too, had closed his eyes, cheek gentle against her hair.
"...Stay alive," he said at last. "At any cost."




A graceful silver dart zoomed across the open wastes of nighttime Tatooine, reflected light from the moons whipping across it.
Or at least, it SHOULD have been.
Rabe restrained the extremely tempting urge to throw a wrench at the damn broken rudder.
The Skywalker kid's previous estimation of a damaged thruster had also proved true; Eirtae had ventured out long ago to find some Jawas and barter, but in the meantime they were stuck banging out the dents as best they could. Artoo whistled at her, reminding Rabe that if she wasn't going to /use/ the wrench, she probably shouldn't be waving it around among the rest of the equipment.
"Dammit, they shouldn't have gone out alone."
The blue droid beeped quietly, nudging a toolbox towards the angry handmaiden- who finally did put the wrench down. In the correct compartment.
Rabe patted Artoo's smooth dome. "Probably should've sent you out there, Little Blue..." She pulled out a new tool, this one intended for clipping wires, and Artoo made a "wooohooowur" sound as she dusted his scanning lens with her sleeve. "I know, I know, the sonic pulse would've fried your circuitry at that proximity, but as a general rule you're good to have around."
Ruwee wandered up, arms full of the various extra mechanical parts that Eirtae hadn't carted off as trading contriband. "Loolee's doing his best with Corde on the other side, and Ficha just put Suldai to bed." He started sorting the parts, examining each one for implements that could be cannibalized and used for other purposes. "She didn't want to go. Didn't want to dream."
Rabe nodded and turned back to the work at hand.
Within the thin, hard, semi-crippled shell of molten metal that was the Naboo space cruiser, Obi-Wan slept.

The observer was silent entirely, felt only in the ocassional breath of gentle wind through the corridors- Sabe, on her way to the medbay to check on the children, paused when she felt it, and shivered a little, suddenly chill. It was not so much that the air was cold, as that it felt as though the oxygen they'd been breathing until then had been entirely unpure.
This was air of another kind, stronger, more persistant.
It whispered at Obi-Wan Kenobi's ear with a familiar gentleness, until it became a voice, and the voice said:
You'll be hard pressed to ignore me here.

Obi-Wan's body didn't stir; the power required to take on another person's likeness had drained it of all volition, and it currently faced the difficult task of both recharging and healing from the nasty gash Naraka had left as one final mark of aggression against the Jedi Order and all practicioners of their art.
But the wounded Knight's spirit lulled serenely in the Force, also recovering. It was momentarily weak, regaining strength slowly.
...who?

There was the impression of warmth, like the memory of being held safe in a large lap, the smooth murmur of a familiar calm voice that had once spoken their shared native tongue, a broad hand atop his head when he was so small as to only come up to his tall Master's hip. Careful fingers tending to his wounds, easy words to soothe away childhood tears.
You cannot tell?

Yoinomyoujou: (Wow, and Happy Phantom plays, WEEE)

It wasn't so much that he could not tell, but that, even in dreams, he had lost too much to fully believe.
But not believing didn't stop him from wanting to.
I am sorry.
There was so much to be sorry for.

Qui-Gon looked just as he had that day at Theed, just as noble-faced and calm as he'd always been, and his smile was the same tiny glimmer of mirth, as though the world were whispering secrets in his ear.
That will not be necessary, he said. You have nothing for which you owe me an apology.

But I failed you, Master.
At so very many things, he'd failed. Even sometimes with Anakin, he despaired of being able to show the boy the peace that could be found within the Force, despaired of showing him how to surrender and trust it, to stop rushing in with lightsaber blazing and nothing but youthful enthusiasm to sustain him.

His Master tilted his head- this dreamscape had no borders, no color, only the two of them face to face in the nothingness.
How? he asked. How have you failed me?

...I'm not the Jedi you wanted me to be. I wasn't fast enough to save you.

In actual fact, Qui-Gon replied mildly, It was my fault, as I was clumsy enough to allow a Sith to upset my forearm guard. A simple mistake, really. Younglings make it. As for being the Jedi I want you to be- well, that has little to do with how you feel about it, my Padawan. In actual fact, I am very proud of you.

Obi-Wan couldn't think of anything to say to that, so he just waited for the vision of his dead Master to disappear. When the dreamscape stayed firmly the same with Qui-Gon just as firmly ensconced within it, Obi-Wan frowned.
This was not how it was supposed to go.
...Why are you here?

The smile turned faintly sad, as though Qui-Gon had been expecting this less-than-happy reception.
The boy is in danger.

Qui-Gon couldn't have said anything simpler to galvanize Obi-Wan Kenobi into full alertness.
What? /How/? We should be off Tatooine by now, all we had to do was deposit his mother at her home and leave-

The ship was damaged thanks to a gaggle of bounty hunters and crooks who were very interested in collecting him. He and Padme were ambushed yesterday when they went to bathe in a local waterfall. A Force disruptor was used to subdue them... and now...
There was a broad hand against Obi-Wan's cheek, and then a vision in his head; Anakin sprawled half naked on an unfamiliar metal floor, spent and gasping and weeping after what he'd been made to do, while the cruel laughter of Hutts echoed.

The Jedi did not reply to his former Master. He not say goodbye, did not make any coherent observation about the vision.
Obi-Wan Kenobi's physical eyes flew open.
Then he set about the important task of removing the restraining harness from his body. It may have saved him from certain doom when the ship had been attacked, but he did not need it now.
The man who rose from the medtable viewed the intricate metal cylinder forgotten beside him impassively, calling it to his hand after recognizing it for what it was.
If Anakin wasn't going to keep track of his lightsaber, then Obi-Wan would just have to deliver it to him.
He strode out the door.

"Kenobi?" Sabe exclaimed at his back, jerking to her feet to follow him. "Kenobi, you shouldn't be up-"

He didn't turn to look at her, only kept walking. "Yes. I should. I can't feel Anakin."

She kept up with him admirably. "Then I assume they've put a collar on him, like the one he wore before."
The only other possibility was the boy's death, but something in his tone said that she didn't want to even attempt to suggest that.

"Yes. That would be the only way to keep him still." Obi-Wan punched the controls for the landing ramp, waiting patiently for it to complete its slow descent. "I can follow the Ambassador's trail, however. How long have they been gone?"
How he knew Padme had been taken too was one of those mysteries unique to Jedi. He still had not turned to look at Sabe.

Sabe eyed him, jaw tightening a little. "Since yesterday afternoon," she said. "About twenty-four standard hours- what is it you're planning to do?"

"Retrieve them."