| Swings & Roundabouts |
Written by: * Jemmiah * Darth Ishtar * Ty-Gon Jinn * Sabe * Kithera (Kit) * Healer Leona * Mouse * Wampy * Lilith Demodae ~~~~~~~~~~~~ ***** "Stupid school…stupid, stupid ex-teachers and their stupid ideas! Help me? Everybody knows I'm beyond help! I hate 'em!" That wasn't entirely fair. Whilst it was perfectly within her rights to bemoan her bad luck, Jemmiah knew full well that she had been the one who'd ultimately given her consent to carry on with her studies following her recent expulsion from the prestigious Coruscant Finishing School for Ladies. Finishing? Jemmiah gave an imperious, disgusted snort. It had certainly darned near finished her! The silly prank that she and Geri "The Spider' Pippage had indulged in - to whit the unauthorised borrowing of the head teacher's aircar - may ultimately have brought about her downfall, but conversely her despicable actions meant her street cred had soared right through the roof. Just the way the head teacher had when he'd been thrown from the back of the aircar on crash-landing… Nobody liked the head teacher. The other tutors hated the miserable old Gamorrean swine, and they'd gone out of their way to make sure that, expelled or otherwise, Jemmiah still got the best of tutoring outwith school premises. She'd been a popular - if unorthodox pupil and she supposed some gratitude was due to her teachers in their desire to see her education completed…but then again Jemmy's gratitude did not extend to the gruelling physical exercise Ms Murdleberry had so kindly mapped out for her. Gabali, swimming, Bolo ball…and worst of all jogging. "You want to keep that pretty figure of yours, my dear?" Murdleberry had asked rhetorically. "Take up exercise and forget men." "I'm sure it's possible to combine both…" Jemmy had replied helpfully. The answer had of course gone right over Ms Murdleberry's head. "What kriffing use is jogging going to be in my as yet unspecified future career?" Growled Jemmiah to herself, slinging the canvas bag containing her crisp, white running shorts over one shoulder. "Unless I become a smuggler and need to learn to run quickly? I mean, c'mon! How's that going to look at an interview?" Two copper eyes, round and disparaging, rolled contemptuously in her head as she mimicked the situation. "Do you have any relevant qualifications, ma'am?" "No, but I can jog!" She answered herself with the full force of her ascorbic wit. "Keep fit is nonsense! It's a pathetic excuse to cull the paranoid, pill-popping exercise junkies that threaten to overtake this galaxy! Let them loose on a row-machine for five hours at a time and then call for the mortician!" She swished her Gabali stick ominously for a moment as if it were a weapon, daring any invisible listeners to say otherwise. "And it's always the unfit imbeciles that go in for that sort of thing. Don't they realise that if they spent some more quality time vegetating on the couch at home they'd have a much greater chance of living to old age than by taking a run down the streets of coronary city? Like this," she brandished the stick, "is going to get me a clerical job!" Of course, Qui-Gon was the one who wanted her to get a clerical job. Something nice and safe. Something totally unconnected with Lilith Demodae. Something that kept her always within sight. Something…dull. And Jemmiah did NOT want a dull career! She wanted to race swoops! She wanted to…she wanted…well, something! She didn't know what exactly. But she doubted very much that it would be whatever Qui-Gon wanted for her. One of the two of them was going to wind up very disappointed. "Ah, well. We all change…have to accept the reality of situations, even if it's not what we want. We all grow up in time. " She shrugged, turning off the lights to Evla's apartment, casting an unenthusiastic look at the dark sky outside, lit as if by torchlight by the intersecting lines of traffic high above. "It had to happen to Qui-Gon eventually." And with that Jemmiah shut the door behind her, wondering if the gymnasium that Rela had recommended might contain any attractive, male personal training assistants… There had to be some compensation for the misery that was unnecessary physical exercise. "You've done well, padawan." Qui-Gon noted approvingly, clapping Obi-Wan lightly on the back with one hand. "You're certainly much stronger than this time last year. But then I think you know that for yourself." Obi-Wan, the tall shadow of his master looming large beside him, stopped for a moment beside the exit of the shower room adjoined to the training halls to consider Qui-Gon's words. He HAD put on muscle, whilst still being lean and lithe. With the additional muscle had come strength - and with it an unassailable confidence and fluidity of movement. At twenty, Obi-Wan could still hope to fill out a little and in time perhaps even come to challenge his master. Not in height: that was a forlorn hope if ever there was one. It was, he reckoned with a wry grimace, like comparing a Jawa with a Wookiee! But in matters of co-ordination and skill there would soon be little to choose between them. "I like the exercises." Admitted Obi-Wan a touch reluctantly as Qui-Gon's powerful arm guided him onwards. "They concentrate the mind wonderfully." "So," Jinn played along for the sake of it, determined to tease the young man, "you don't think it the epitome of unnecessary tedium that you once did?" He was rewarded by a rather guilty looking blush, and Obi-Wan actually found his eyes scraping the floor. He had indeed said that a few years ago. Back then the exercise and hours training put in didn't seem to merit the effort, or indeed any reward that might be gained. It had been a learning curve for him, and he wasn't above admitting his mistake. "I find that I enjoy it much more than I once did." Replied Kenobi with a rueful smile. "And," he added perhaps a touch too hopefully for Qui-Gon's liking; "I did work hard at that kata, didn't I?" Qui-Gon's right eyebrow rose suspiciously towards his hairline. "I've already said so." He agreed patiently. "And I think I am about to be begged some almighty favour in return for this prodigious display of enthusiasm, is that not right?" The large arms folded by way of a warning, even although Qui-Gon's face showed small traces of amusement. "Although I would have hoped that maybe you would have taken an interest in your own physical welfare, rather than the idea of being awarded like a performing Flipperphant with a fish in a circus ring…" Obi-Wan swallowed. Did he know??? And if he did…HOW??? Was he merely stringing him along before dropping a metaphorical permacrete brick on his head? Jemmiah had insisted that in return for Qui-Gon's tolerance in letting them see each other they treat the master with respect and openness. Honesty was the best policy, she had said - although Obi-Wan had saw the way she crossed her fingers behind her back as she did so. If they told Qui-Gon the truth about everything, then in time he would come to respect them as a couple. That was why when Jemmy decided they should mention their planned trip to the amusement park, with it's 5000 plus mind-bending, stomach distending, eye popping rides - circus acts, performers, arcades and just about every form of pleasure you could legally find, Obi-Wan did not think it was a good idea. He knew what Qui-Gon would say. It was a short word. Shorter than yes. "I put in the effort simply because I like to work hard." Obi-Wan surprised himself by saying, wondering at the simple honesty of his statement. "I find that I thrive on hard work, and the more difficult it is the more pleased I am. When something goes right I feel satisfied. When it does not it just makes me more determined to do it right next time." "You've grown up." Qui-Gon nodded, feeling disconcertingly proud of his apprentice. "And if there is some small part of me that would like to benefit from my hard work by way of maybe receiving your permission," his blue eyes gazed hopefully up at Qui-Gon, "to spend tomorrow with Jemmy then would it be so terribly wrong of me?" Jinn regarded him for a moment, tempted to shake his head sadly at his padawan's - no, not infatuation - his burgeoning adoration of Jemmiah. This went way beyond the temptations of youth: this was just plain stupidity! When Qui-Gon looked back and saw the mess he had made of things with Sal-Fina, he couldn't help but picture Obi-Wan and Jemmiah several years down the line in the same hideous mess. And there was no way he was going to stand by and watch that happen: not to these mere children. Okay, one was twenty, the other sixteen, but that meant nothing when you knew nothing of the world and its heady intoxication… "Tomorrow?" Qui-Gon scratched absently behind his ear. "What's so special about tomorrow? Have you something planned?" "I wouldn't dream of making plans without your permission." Obi-Wan hoped that his statement of loyalty, topped with a little respectful head bow, wouldn't seem as obsequious and toadying as it had sounded to his own ears. "It's just that some of the other padawans have been given permission to go out from the temple for the day and I thought that if you agreed it might be an ideal opportunity to…" The padawan's words dried in his mouth. There, walking down the corridor on the way to the turbo lift, was the object of the desires Qui-Gon told him he shouldn't experience under any circumstances. The Chestnut hair was tied back into a Nerf's tail that swung with every jaunty Corellian step, whilst pert, red colored lips pursed tantalisingly in Obi-Wan's direction for a moment, suspending the air between them with a brief, invisible kiss. The padawan, knowing Qui-Gon was there beside him, wanted to feel embarrassed at the display of wantonness. He knew it was his duty to feel ashamed! But he couldn't. And he doubted that Qui-Gon, for all his wisdom and experience of the galaxy, could ever truly understand how difficult it was at that moment for Obi-Wan not to forsake him and hurry along the corridor behind his ladylove. Nobody could understand how it felt. But control himself he did as befitted a jedi padawan. Instead he smiled gallantly back, blue eyes twinkling in acknowledgement of the first moment they'd manage to spend with each other in over two days. A brief encounter in a corridor? Was that really the best they could hope for? Fate - and Qui-Gon - seemed to be conspiring against them. Jemmiah, walking backwards for a moment, gesticulated wildly at Qui-Gon and started to mouth "HAVE YOU TOLD HIM…" at Obi-Wan, but the downright suspicious look her guardian treated her to instantly quelled the urge to ask further questions. "Where are you off to?" Qui-Gon frowned, nodding at the bag over her shoulder. "At this time of evening?" "I'm playing Gabali." Jemmy grinned maniacally, hoping she'd find some poor individual she'd take an instant dislike to so that she could hit her repeatedly with the stick. "Then I'm going on a jog-a-thon on the running machines down at the new club Rela recommended. I'm going to be exhausted tomorrow!" "Who goes running at night?!" Qui-Gon clearly smelled a very large rat, not trusting her in the least. "And Rela doesn't even indulge in such exercise! I can't imagine what reason she would have in recommending a gymnasium to you." "I think his name's Ricksen." Jemmiah threw a wink over her shoulder at Obi-Wan, just to tease him. "Bye, Ben! And don't forget to ask Quigg - " "Yes!" Obi-Wan hastened, not wanting Jemmiah to raise any further suspicions in Qui-Gon before he had the chance to talk it over with him. "Take care! Don't overdo it! I don't want to have to wheel you about in a wheelchair…" One finally, lazy wave behind her and Jemmiah was gone from sight, but not from Obi-Wan's mind. He could still hear her voice, imagine the smile…sense the lingering excitement filling the vacuum she had left. It was so silly…he had to stop himself from chuckling. Qui-Gon aimed what was quite clearly meant to be a silent reprimand in Obi-Wan's direction, one that the padawan obviously recognised but did not understand. The young man's brow furrowed, his eyes darting repeatedly back and forth beneath lids as he regarded his master, questioning the reason behind the tacit rebuke. "What have I done?" Obi-Wan queried cagily. "Padawan," Qui-Gon's voice was a gentle hiss of air through lips that barely moved, "How many times???" He waved in Jemmiah's direction, noticing the slight, affectionate smile that spread across his apprentice's lips as in his imagination he watched her walk away with a distinct sway to her hips. "You said that we could see each other from time to time." Obi-Wan turned back to face his master, although his mind was obviously engaged in more pleasurable thoughts. "I didn't think that…" "Be discrete!" Qui-Gon insisted. "I keep telling you this!" "Discrete?" Obi-Wan's voice climbed fractionally in consternation. "I've not done anything wrong…I only smiled at her!" "Precisely!" Qui-Gon looked highly uncomfortable in the face of his padawan's reply. "Was that absolutely necessary?" "I was being polite!" Obi-Wan resisted the urge to scowl, knowing that it would hardly win Qui-Gon over, yet he couldn't help but feel that he was fighting a losing battle no matter what he said or did. "For smile read kiss, padawan." Qui-Gon began to steer Obi-Wan in the other direction. "Don't think I couldn't read what you were thinking." "Master, it was just a smile!" Contested Obi-Wan, trying his best to keep his frustration at bay. "I smile at all manner of things…I smiled at Master Windu this morning but that doesn't mean I want to kiss him!" "Something we are all relieved to hear," Interjected Qui-Gon swiftly, "But it's important that you understand that your training must always come first before anything else." "Doesn't it always?" Opined Obi-Wan, challenging his master to say otherwise. "Master, please try trusting me? I am a jedi. This is my life - the only one that I know or want. But Jemmy is a part of our lives, just like Rela is. Just like others are. So we must give our all to the Jedi and only a little to those we care for. And whilst I acknowledge that this is the way it has to be, that doesn't mean I don't want to make the most of the chance to spend some time with Jemmy. That's why, with your permission, I'd like to take Jemmiah to the amusement park tomorrow…" Something in Qui-Gon's face froze. It was as if the mechanics of his features had suddenly ceased to function, becoming a mask of ice. The reaction to his words caused Obi-Wan to flinch for whilst he had anticipated his suggestion might not meet with initial approval he hadn't expected such…coldness. No - that was the wrong word. It was more like emptiness…distance… It wasn't, Obi-Wan realised, the idea of his taking Jemmiah out that was causing the incredible reaction but rather his choice of destination. And that was something that puzzled Obi-Wan tremendously. "No." Qui-Gon replied simply, walking away from his padawan. "You're not going to the amusement park. Not tomorrow, nor any other day. And that is my final word on the matter." ***** The announcement certainly came as a shock. There was no question of that, since it inspired so many different reactions. From one friend, it would spawn encouragement while the other raged against the merest mention of it. From her Master, there only came disappointment and a simple question. "Why, Li?" Liara Khe blew out her cheeks, raking her fingers almost violently through the mess of curls that normally lay beneath her cowl. "You know perfectly well why, Master. My place is not here." Master Fione Eriz eyed the bag at her apprentice's feet with a mixture of frustration and defeat, clearly searching for words appropriate to this sort of situation. At a loss for such words, she instead hid her frown behind a mug of tisane. Li's eyes narrowed at the familiar, patient gesture, but she refused to respond. Typical. When things go wrong, take a vow of silence and get an herbal high until your dutiful apprentice swears to change her mind. Not sithing likely this time. "I was hoping there would be some way..." "Master," Li said sharply. "It's not like I'm abandoning the Order. I'm just asking for freedom." "Freedom?" Fione gestured so violently, so thoughtlessly, that whatever had been left in the mug was now decorative watercolor on the cheap tablecloth. "You call this freedom?" "It's freedom from a lot of things," she countered bitterly. "Where I'm going, I'll have a chance. I'll have my own discipline, my own restrictions, and I won't have overprivileged Temple brats kicking me to the ground for what I am." Unexpectedly, the spill of tisane was nothing compared to the spill of humiliating tears that she had forgotten to restrain. Turning in her chair, she pulled up her cowl, using the motion to wipe furiously at her eyes. There was no point in hiding it and certainly no way Fione wouldn't know, but she had to retain some of her dignity in this. Leaving was going to be hard enough as it was. There was a sigh and a familiar hand reached across, extending a folded square of cloth. Li took it, mumbling her thanks, but her eyes were on that hand that she knew so well. It had the capacity to draw upon the treasures of knowledge from Jedi a thousand years back, but it was, by the universe's standards, a deformed thing. The fingers were gnarled, curling at unnatural angles, bones and muscles refusing to work in harmony. Most visitors to the Archives would not note this, but it was a familiar thing to most. They all had their deformities, whether emotional or physical. It was not a mark of shame to be an Archivist, to be an eternal student of the Force's wisdom, but it required a certain type. Li's personal oddity was why she had to go, why she could not endure the confines of the Temple one minute longer if she wanted to keep her mind in a healthy state. And, from the look in Fione's eyes, she was beginning to understand. "I was hoping you would be content to be as one of us," she sighed. "You've been a dedicated apprentice, but your mind was always on what you thought you should be." Unable to withstand any more jibes, Li pushed to her feet, hardly towering over her Master, but drawing herself up. "It is not discontent to succeed," she corrected quietly. Slinging her gym bag over her shoulder, Li offered a crooked smile. "I'm going," she pronounced, "with or without your blessing." Her Master would still not look at her, was still clutching her empty mug as though it would do her any good. "Sith, Master," she sighed. "It's not the Dark Side. It's just a gym." "A gym outside of the Temple," she snapped. "I don't see why..." She pushed her chair back against the table. "Because every time I try at the Temple, I run into skeptics like you or the people who expel me from the training halls to make room for the 'real' Jedi." To her credit, Fione blanched and Li knew she'd won. "All right," she conceded. "But don't stay out too late. There's files to be shelved and Knights to bewilder and you can't do it half-dead." If she thought that the stares coming from the others in the Archives were bad enough, they were nothing compared to the reaction that was spawned by a Jedi coming in full garb to the BodyBeGood Gym and Aerobics Center. Some patrons were good enough to scurry away with mumbles of "Whatever it is, I didn't do it!" Others just stared. Luckily, the receptionist was a little more helpful. True that she had about the intelligence of a piece of plastifoam and the body of a Corellian mythological goddess, but she at least didn't discriminate. "Good evening and welcome to the BodyBeGood Gym and Aerobics Center. I'm Cinde and feel free to ask any questions. Our current specials..." "Yes," Li interrupted impatiently. "I'd like to sign up." She blinked several times, eyes focusing a little more. "Master Jedi," she chirped, "for what?" Li pushed back the cowl, exposing her Padawan braid. "The name's Liara Khe, the word Jedi will not be mentioned, and I wish to join your gym." Four more blinks. If this kept up, she'd find herself without eyelids. "I'll have to talk to my manager." Li thanked the Force for Jedi patience as the girl disappeared for a full five minutes into the back office. If this is the punishment for arguing with your Master, I swear I'll be as docile as a difune the next time! "Mr. Sumns, she may be a girl, but she's a Jedi. We don't accept non-humans here!" "Now, I'm sure that..." The manager pranced out the moment she bothered to remove her cloak and stopped short, quivering with restrained mirth. He circled, tugging at the loose folds of her robes, pinching at her waist, hands gauging girth and backside. She would have felt shocked if she weren't so embarrassed and had the strongest urge to pull rank and take off one or two of his probing hands. "Oh, my," he squealed. "I can see why she's come." Force help us. "Yes," he sighed sympathetically. "Too many days of meditation and refectory food. Not enough time leaping tall buildings in a single bound or dodging blaster fire." He clucked as his fingers pinched her cheeks. "Oh, yes. She hasn't been the first and she certainly won't be the last." His hands released her cheeks and clapped loudly, startling her from her flushed reverie. "Datawork is not our concern here," he assured her. "We'll have you looking normal in no time." "So, what brings you here?" It was a wonder the man had to ask after the third time she'd fallen flat on her face while attempting a simple five-mile run. She was too concerned with not tripping over her feet to cushion her fall and he had tsked a painful number of times as he'd had to sanitize after a little blood-letting. Great, I'm going to show up with a broken nose and scraped knees and have to explain to my Master that this is for my own good. "I'm," she gritted, "a bit of a klutz." "Come now," Sumns laughed. "Just because you're a tad out of shape..." "Fourteen years of training," she grumbled, "and he calls me a tad out of shape." "Now, now, dearie, it's nothing to be ashamed of." The frustration gave her a second wind as her legs pounded against the treadmill. "Yes, Mr. Sumns," she grunted, "it is something to be ashamed of. When you're surrounded by people who could leap tall buildings if they put their talents to it or who master every kata with hardly a drop of sweat while you're taunted with fumble fingers, a stuttering tongue, and seven left feet, it is something to be highly ashamed of." "You don't have a stuttering tongue here," he countered. "You," Li spat, "don't intimidate me." Her left knee knocked into the other, bringing her once more onto her stomach. This time, she was too tired to get up again. "Yes," he sighed. "At least we now know where the problem lies." |
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