| Swings and Roundabouts |
***** "Well, that's my shift completed." An-Paj remarked crisply to nobody in particular, wiping his hands against one another as if to symbolise the passing of a long, difficult day. "Time to collect that errant padawan of mine and head off for the evening…" It suddenly struck An-Paj that Simeon had been remarkably quiet all day; infact in truth he'd hardly noticed him at all. Usually the young man could be found work shadowing his colleagues and mentors or taking time to chat with the patients…or scrubbing the floors if perhaps Simeon had indulged in something he should not have. An-Paj maintained that floor cleaning and fresher scrubbing were both practical and useful, by way of not so much a punishment as a thought-focusing exercise. That way the floor got cleaned and it kept Simeon's otherwise easily amused mind occupied. "He's a good boy," An-Paj reflected, a ghost of a smile playing on his lips, "but perhaps a little more attention to the realities of infirmary work wouldn't go amiss." It was certainly safe to say that whilst Simeon had a lot of natural talent and charm, his janitorial skills were almost as proficient. The floors in the temple were pretty spotless… "Talking of paying attention: where has he got to?" An-Paj scratched at the back of his head, fingers lightly tousling the crystal-white hair. The end of their working day didn't always coincide but it was nonetheless pleasant to discuss how their respective days had gone and to swap observations and anecdotes. Today was one of the occasions when both master and padawan would have that chance to talk - or at least they would if Simeon ever managed to appear. A hasty glance at the delicate chrono that hung slackly over the blue skin of his wrist confirmed that the apprentice was running slightly on the late side. "It's not like him to be unduly tardy." An-Paj muttered, his thin antennae raising slightly into the air. "Correction - it's not like him to be tardy when it comes to the important matter of going home!" It was alright for Simeon. He lived in the apartment next door to his own: he could do more or less as he pleased. Some nights he would stay over on the sofa whilst others he would just fall into his own bed regardless of whether he had partaken of supper. If he, An-Paj, were to try the same trick his wives would soon have something to say on the matter! Six times over, as it happened. "Padawan Cates, you are really going to have to learn that punctuality is what makes the galaxy go round." An-Paj exchanged his healer garb for the light, casual standard robes of the jedi, hanging up the blue overalls and then shouldering his way into the cloak. "I really don't want to be subjected to another friendly explanation of why my supper is having a meaningful relationship with the garbage unit, or how it came to be burned in the first place!" He switched down the lights as low as he could without turning them off completely, not wanting to stand in a darkened room like some abandoned lampshade. The luminous figures of the chrono told him that Simeon was now some seven minutes late. "Well, I'm not searching for you." An-Paj folded his arms, flatly refusing to give the idea any further thought. "You said you'd be here at 10.30 sharp. It's now," He glanced yet again at his chrono, "10.38! And two seconds to be precise! I'll let you have the privilege of explaining to my wives why I'll be eating burned offerings again!" On second thoughts, nothing was worth that grief. Some things were best not left to chance. "Okay, you win, padawan." An-Paj motioned for the lights to reduce to zero before marching swiftly out of the room. "But you had better have an extremely good explanation for this, or else you will be eating incinerated Nerf cutlets for the rest of your days…" The explanation was not long in coming, judging by the intermittent squeak of the oncoming wheelchair. Voices, one feminine and Corellian - if somewhat agitated - and the other extraordinarily familiar and cheerful even in the face of formidable opposition, began to drift their way down the corridor towards him. An-Paj paused in mid stride, trying to make out the echoing words that were punctuated by the irritating squeal of wheel against floor tile. "…Anyway," Simeon was saying in a conversational tone, "who was that guy who brought you home? I've never seen him before!" "Does it matter?" came back the gruff reply. "It'll matter to poor Obi-Wan!" "Simeon, my dear Nerf of a friend, I don't think I like what you're intimating…" This time the tone had gone from cat-like and playful to an outright warning, one that An-Paj winced at. He could only hope that his padawan had the brains to take heed! "I saw where he had his hand!" Chuckled Simeon. "I don't have to intimate a thing!" The reply sounded hurt, almost wounded, and An-Paj could well imagine the chin raising obstinately in a typical Corellian, stubborn pose. "He was carrying me! How else was he supposed to lift me? Balance me on his nose?" Jemmiah withered Simeon with a dry growl. "Now kindly lie down on the ground before me and stay still so that I can run over your head with this wheel…" Simeon grinned. "You would too, wouldn't you?" "Don't try me. I've had a lousy day. Evla nipping at me to make a proper go of my studies…Rela going on about this excursion to the amusement park…you know, everyone's looking forward to it except me! And to top it off I can barely walk! Even if I wanted to get up to something naughty - which I don't!" She added hastily, seeing the triumphant light in Simeon's eyes, "I couldn't do anything about it like this! Nothing kills passion quicker than blisters, believe me. You don't dare touch anything incase it bursts!" What a way with words, An-Paj thought wryly, straining his ears. It was just as well that Qui-Gon couldn't hear what was being said! Simeon was nothing if not persistent. "But who was the fellow who carried you in?" He insisted, hoping that Jemmiah was telling the truth about the blisters being a passion killer, for Obi-Wan's sake. Jemmiah shrugged, concentrating on the wheels of the chair. "His name is Ricksen. He works at a gymnasium as a fitness instructor. Don't you dare look at me in that know-it-all, insufferable way!" Jemmy snapped at him. "I told you, all he did was kindly give me a lift…" "Literally." Simeon whistled quietly. "I told you, I saw where he put his hand!" "Oh, shut up Simeon!" Jemmy rounded on him crossly. "And don't go mentioning him to Obi-Wan, either!" "Why not," Cates asked with a lazy smile, affecting a nonchalant pose, "when you keep saying there's nothing to hide?" "There isn't, Gundark brains! But Obi-Wan's a man, and you all think the same way! I just have to look at someone and suddenly I've had an affair with them! I can't believe it…you guys are just the limit! So, if Ben finds out some unknown male swept me off my feet, ordered me an aircab and then carried me into the infirmary, he's really going to flip! So just keep your trap shut, got it?" "Got it." Simeon nodded, making a zipping motion with his hand against his lips. "I won't mention anything about scantily clad strangers in the night…" "He was not scantily clad!" Jemmy sniffed indignantly. "He was wearing shorts!" "Not very much else!" Rejoined Simeon. "So, you met him tonight?" Jemmiah nodded, smiling at the memory. Just because she couldn't indulge didn't mean she couldn't take pleasure at the sight of a beautiful face - and Ricksen had certainly been that! Exercise bedamned: she was certain that the gymnasium was probably drawing flocks of affection-starved females: just so they might feast their eyes on the handsome assistant! "Yep." Jemmiah grinned up at him. "You know, he reminds me a little of you." "Really?" Simeon blinked, perfectly happy with the surprise comparison. "Only good-looking." She added with a snerk. "Oh, thank you!" "And he's not mine - he's Rela's. She saw him first so she can have him as far as I'm concerned. You know me: never come between a woman and true love." Simeon frowned, feeling somewhat disgruntled at the information, but continued to wheel the chair forward. Perhaps he banked a little too hard and tilted his patient a touch too far back for comfort; but then again he wasn't particularly inclined to be overly gracious considering the 'handsome' jibe he'd had to suffer. What was wrong with him, anyway? He'd never considered himself unattractive before. Still, maybe he ought to re-evaluate himself a little in the light of this news; after all he'd certainly got nowhere with Dimallie no matter how hard he dropped hints or how unsubtle he acted towards her. But even a gentleman could only take so much of a rebuff before turning his attentions elsewhere. How many bedpans did he have to empty before he saw a return for his efforts? And if someone with good taste such as Rela liked a guy like Ricksen, it didn't seem to bode well for his chance in general - with anybody. "Am I ugly, do you think?" Simeon asked Jemmy curiously. "What? Naw…" She shook her head again. "I promise, if it was dark and I didn't have any prior engagements I'd definitely kiss you!" "Great, that makes me feel so much better." Simeon rolled his eyes, trundling the wheelchair around the corner…only to face something immovable and blue standing in his path. He braked suddenly, nearly catapulting poor Jemmiah out of the chair headfirst into the object…an object that stood calmly, folding his arms once again. "Sorry I'm late, master." Cates half-laughed in nervous fashion. "But I seem to have found a last minute patient…couldn't have her wandering aimlessly around the infirmary trying to escape, could we?" Jemmiah looked from An-Paj to Simeon with an expression that suggested she thought both of them were psychotic. "How am I supposed to escape like this?" She indicated her feet, still inside her gym shoes. An-Paj leaned in slightly to get a better look, aware that Jemmiah jumped backwards as soon as he got within arms length of her. Through the force he could sense discomfort and a feeling of heat and tender, swollen flesh. Blisters, he thought impassively, although from what he could sense they were certainly pretty big: enough to cause a great deal of pain. "Sore, is it?" An-Paj asked gently. "It's hardly life or death." Jemmy grimaced, "but I admit it doesn't feel very nice. Just give me some painkillers and I'll be fine. Not a hope of me taking these shoes off until the swelling goes down." The healer dismissed her suggestion, stepping in behind the chair and displacing Simeon as its navigator. Ah, well, he thought sadly as he pushed Jemmiah forwards in the direction of the ward where Leona would be starting her shift; it looked like it would be cremated Nerf again for dinner… "That would be most foolish." An-Paj chided softly. "The skin needs to breathe. And whilst it hardly ranks as an emergency, it is my business if my patient is suffering. So, let me hear no more about it. I'll have a look at your feet and then when we've got you sorted out I'll take you back to Evla's. If there's anything you need after that…" "Just a wheelchair." Jemmiah said hopefully. "…or if you think there's something that we can offer for the pain…" "Only that wheelchair I mentioned." Jemmy continued brightly. "…then we'll see what we can do." "So, no wheelchair then?" She asked.. An-Paj ignored her, although he tucked the references to wheelchairs firmly to one side. The girl was up to something. Certainly she was suffering, that much was true but Jemmiah sometimes - especially where Qui-Gon was concerned - had a habit of making the most of the unfortunate situations that befell her and using them to her advantage. Something told An-Paj that this might well be the case… "I think with some bacta strips and some ice on that ankle, I can guarantee you a swift recovery." He added, taking in every facial twitch and curve of her lips, or flash of coppery eyes. "You know, for an older guy you're okay." Jemmy replied, greatly satisfied. "I could just about kiss you in gratitude!" "More kissing?" An-Paj asked sweetly. "You've already intimated to my padawan that you'd kiss him if you wore a blindfold. Are you saying the same for me?" "Of course. All men look the same in the dark!" She winked as the wheelchair trundled on… ***** Mia waited outside Qui-Gon’s apartment. He had left a message on the com unit asking to see her. Ever since Wol Yanna’s death, six months before, he had kept his promise that he would monitor her recovery. She knew that he and Yanna had been friends and that he felt his loss deeply. As much as she appreciated his kindness she dreaded speaking to him, so far he had not questioned her about what had happened but one day he would ask and she would have to tell him. The door opened and the Jedi Master appeared. “Mia, come in.” He led the way inside the apartment. “Were you looking for Jemmiah? I’m afraid she is still at the gym.” She shook her head, “You wanted to see me?” Master Jinn seemed preoccupied. “Oh, yes. It was your final check up today. What did the healers say?” He asked. “I’m just on my way there now. Knight Gallia thinks that I should be able to resume training in the next week or so, provided the healers agree.” “Will you let me know how you get on?” The Jedi Master looked concerned. “Is everything alright?” “I was in the Archives earlier, the bust of Master Yana is there. I didn’t expect it would be there so soon.” Qui-Gon nodded sympathetically. Her next question surprised him. “Master Jinn is it possible to tell a dream from a vision, apart from being awake that is?” He thought for a moment before replying. “Sometimes dreams can be visions. Maybe as you grow stronger in the force you will know if they are.” For a moment he looked like he was going to say something else but to her relief he showed her to the door. “Thank you Master Jinn.” She told him, bowing. “I’ll let you know.” Instead of leaving the residential area Mia took the stairs to the next level. As far as she could tell, the wounds she had sustained during the attack had healed. She had missed out on months of training and hoped to start catching up soon, as soon as Sifo-Dyas got back that is. The Council seemed to send him on more missions than they had Master Yana and she looked forward to the day when she could accompany him. There were too many memories on Coruscant but here she was returning yet again to their source. Keying in the entrance code, Mia slipped inside her old apartment. It had not yet been reassigned and she had spent much of her time here while Sifo-Dyas was away. It was here that she could begin to face up to what had happened. Master Jinn was wrong; growing stronger in the force would not help. Master Yoda’s words sounded in her head. “Through the force, things you will see, the future, the past.” The events in her dream had already happened and she had not heeded it’s warning. It was too late. She had obeyed her Master’s final order, to run, and she had not looked back. Mia left the apartment and took the turbolift to the medical centre. She had other things to think about now. After her appointment she would go and see Rem and plan their trip to the amusement park. As she entered the centre, she caught sight of Simeon disappearing down the corridor pushing Jemmiah in a wheel chair. ***** "I should have known." Liara frowned at the wall, setting her bag quietly on the floor before turning to face her master. There was the weary disappointment, of course, with a hint of smug amusement at her appearance. "Should have known what?" she demanded, rather testily. Fione simply gestured expansively, eyes scanning the bruised legs, the grimy sweat on her brow, then pointedly at the chrono. "I let you out to go to one fitness club and you come back 5 hours later than you promised." Her mouth quirked. "I didn't think I'd be on the one airbus that broke down seventy-three levels above the ground," she countered lightly. "It took three hours to get us out of there, then another two to walk back to the Temple." "I figured that," Fione said wearily. "I just hoped you'd do something rash to get out of that. But then again, Jedi don't fly, no matter what the horror stories say." An image of the sixth time she'd fallen, legs splaying horizontally behind her as she belly-landed on her face came to mind. We certainly try, sometimes. "I'm sorry, Master," she said genuinely, eyes lowering to the floor. "I'll use the Force in rash ways next time." She snuck a look at Fione, found her shaking her head with a grin. "How was the gym?" She sank into the nearest chair with a resounding thud. "A disaster. The manager took it personally upon himself to humiliate me because of my 'rather rotund chassis,' whatever that means." "Rotund?!" The grin was turning into laughter despite their best efforts and Li knew that she had nothing to fear. As if an Archivist could actually inflict any damage in the first place, except with a monumental fine or death by papercut. The story came spilling out, from the manager to the treadmill, the accidental black eye she'd given him the second time she'd landed on her back. "So," Fione said when the laughter had subsided, "mind if I join you tomorrow?" "Come along," she pleaded. "Perhaps he'll see you as his latest infatuation." "Good," she said curtly. "I think I don't have to order you to bed, but you're fortunate." "Fortunate?" she replied warily. "The apprentices are excused from their duties tomorrow to escape the Temple for a while." Her heart nearly stopped. The talk of the Temple among her age group had been a daring plan to escape to amusement park for days now, but surely her master didn't intend for her to have a single moment to breathe free and enjoy herself. She'd had to threaten leaving the Order just to get to go for a run. "There's a wonderful seminar on pre-Republic record extraction that the Order would like you to attend," she explained. "Registration is tomorrow night and it will go for three days." It hardly seemed possible. "Three days!" The smile disappeared behind a sharp look. "It is customary, Padawan Liara Utina Khe to look disappointed that you will be away from your aged, beloved, slightly insane master for such a lengthy period of time." "Of course," she said dutifully, hang-cannoid expression taking over her face. "But if I must for the sake of the Order, I will." As soon as I've been on a few repulsor-coasters. ***** An-Paj finally managed to half-drag, half-force lift Jemmiah from her wheelchair some five minutes after he and Simeon had first wheeled her into the little examination room - a small but sparely furnished, box like antechamber just off the side of the main ward. It was brightly lit so as to be cheerful and welcoming but not enough to cause any glaring headaches from the illumni-strip above, and just the right size to stop people in wheelchairs from trying to escape out the door! A single couch which could be adjusted to any height or angle lay towards the right sidewall, whilst two chairs stood propped up against its left-hand counterpart in a solemn single file. "Relax." An-Paj suggested to Jemmiah, wondering why mere trifling blisters had managed to get her so wound up. "I'm here to treat you. Don't you want your feet to get better?" Jemmiah seemed rather in two minds on the subject. "Yes…" She began somewhat uncertainly. "It's just that I don't want the pain that goes with it. And I have very sensitive feet. The moment you start to wrench those shoes from me…" "Uh-uh." An-Paj shook his head, tutting at her choice of words. "I don't 'wrench' anything. You make me sound like a mechanic tinkering with some broken swoop! If there's one thing that I'm not, then it's heavy-handed." "How are you going to get them off her feet then, master?" Simeon asked gleefully, receiving a death-glare from Jemmiah in return. He was enjoying it just a little too much for her liking! An-Paj examined the white leather shoes with the long, off-white laces tied tightly in a criss-cross pattern that finished up with a bow. It shouldn't be too difficult: all he had to do was put the patient at her ease. As was so often the case with Jemmiah the biggest obstacle to her recovery was herself, but still it confused the master healer as to the degree of fuss she was making of something so small, especially when she'd faced much bigger and more dangerous hazards to her health in the past. "Oh, I dare say I'll manage with my usual combination of flare and delicate skill." The healer flexed his fingers for a moment, causing Jemmy to recoil in horror at the thought of him ripping the flesh away from her feet - which would surely happen, so swollen was her skin. "Er…young lady, please try and relax?" He grinned cheerfully at her to put her at ease. "I wouldn't want to remove your feet by accident!" The dramatic widening of Jemmiah's eyes told An-Paj that the joke hadn't exactly worked. "Sorry…" he mumbled, bending ominously over her feet. "That probably wasn't the right thing to say, was it?" Jemmy saw the fingers hovering once again above her footwear and turned aside, not wanting to watch her feet explode and hoping against hope that if she didn't watch what was going on then it might not be happening… "Good idea. Don't look." An-Paj agreed, using the force to gently raise her right foot fractionally into the air, beckoning Simeon to stand beside her. "I am surprised at you, however." He began to slowly untie the laces of her shoe, edging the strands apart by deft, force assisted fingers. "Sixteen years old and screaming over blisters?" "When I get blisters I REALLY get blisters." Retorted Jemmiah, her eyes tightly screwed together. "I never do things by halves. Besides, I know how bad it feels and you don't!" "Then it's just as well that Simeon's here to entertain you whilst I see to your current affliction, isn't it?" An-Paj replied glibly, concentrating on diverting Jemmiah's attention away from him as he began, unbeknownst to her, to slide off the first shoe. "Simeon?!?" Jemmiah curled her top lip in revulsion. "I know the sort of things he views as entertainment, thank you very much! Have you seen that disgusting thing he does with his toes?" "Every day since he was eleven or so." Nodded An-Paj, happy to keep on talking. The foot was certainly rather misshapen and swollen with bubble-like blisters: rather huge ones just as Jemmiah had predicted. Some of the upper tissue layers had rubbed away at the back of her shoe, leaving her socks sticking against her skin. Some amount of bruising on her ankle…but it was more cosmetic and unsightly than anything else. A day or so resting her feet and she would soon be up and about, hobbling perhaps, causing mayhem and mischief as per usual. "You told me you liked my toe trick," Simeon replied agreeably, "If you remember! I have wonderful digits!" "Stop talking about toes." Moaned Jemmy, wondering when An-Paj was actually going to start removing her shoe, her muscles tightening at the thought. "You started it!" "Then talk about something else!" Jemmiah implored him, her hands almost wringing in despair. "Look, I'm sorry if I'm wittering on like a total coward. I just can't help it…the small things are always the ickiest. Like flimsy-cuts and chipped nails that catch on the bed linen and get torn right off…oh, force I'm making myself feel queasy at the thought. I mean, you must have seen some terrible sights as a healer - really ghastly." "Yes." Simeon agreed softly, his voice catching just fractionally, aware that An-Paj was listening to his every word with great interest. "I have." "Same here. I've been at death's door myself…felt so dreadful that every breath I took felt like prolonged misery. But the moment I see a blister it just freaks me out totally! They're all squishy and puffy and horrible!" Jemmiah shuddered. "So, please change the subject." "Agreed." An-Paj prompted Simeon to do as requested. "Talk about something else." "Like?" asked Simeon, just about out of ideas. "How about an entertaining story. You have lots of those. I hear the patients laughing at you wherever you go. Although whether or not that's down to the stories, who can say?" An-Paj slowly, inexorably raised Jemmy's other foot into the air to repeat the earlier procedure, teasing out the laces of her shoe with such slight of hand that she never felt so much as a single movement. "Thanks!" "How about…I know! How about the time that you and I first met? That's a killer of a story: I like that one!" An-Paj flashed his teeth in a happy grin. "Very amusing." Simeon snorted, his disgusted expression managing to capture Jemmy's attention at long last. "I should have known even then that you were destined to be my master! It was a horrible trick to play on a poor child…" "Poor child? Don’t you believe it! If you listen to him," An-Paj floated Jemmiah's second shoe off her other foot, examining a marginally more blistered surface, "he'd conjure up some image of an innocent, cherubic, wide-eyed urchin with ne'er a bad thought in his developing mind!" "Hey, that was me!" Protested Simeon. "Nonsense." "Hey…would somebody like to tell me the story?" Jemmiah insisted, her curiosity beginning to get the better of her. Simeon cast a disparaging look at his master through one narrowed eye. "I must have been about five years of age. You know, typical crèche kid? Fuzzy hair, sweet tempered, innocent face…possessing a slight lisp?" "Yeah, like one of those supposedly adorable child actors in holos that you want to hit with a brick." Agreed Jemmy, managing in her mind to regress big Simeon into…well, little Simeon, with hardly any trouble at all. "I went banister sliding." Simeon recalled as if transported back in time by the memory. "Ned Sequedes and Tanni and myself. Unfortunately I didn't get very far…went down a few floors and then just slid off. So, next thing I know I'm being taken by one of the crèche masters to the infirmary to get my bruised leg looked at. They had to go back and look after the other children in the crèche, so I got left on my own." "In the infirmary?" Jemmy looked impressed. "Five years old and on your own? Weren't you scared?" "Not really. I thought it was interesting. Infact I wandered around to see what was going on. You know, poked my head around corners, looked into cupboards. Infact it was so fun I almost didn't want to go back to the crèche! I guess at that time one of the healers must have come looking for me…" "Yes." An-Paj agreed with an upward twitch of his antennae. "I did." "…But I kept on wandering around. I got into the healer's rec. room and fortunately for me it was near empty…except for this huge refrigeration unit in the corner!" Simeon's eyes sparkled fondly at the memory. "Well, I just had to have a look! I mean, you know what the food's like in the crèche and at the refectory! I wondered if it had any real food in it like the masters got to eat. So, I used the force to move the handle - and then swung open the door. All this weird light spilled out and near blinded me! But there in the midst of it all," Simeon's face had taken on the sort of dreamy, ecstatic look Jemmy had only seen on Rhyl sniffers, "lay all this food! Real food…" "And let me guess? Being the greedy little Gundark that you are, you stuffed your piggy, padawan face. Yes?" Jemmiah suggested, much interested in this glimpse into Simeon's childhood. "It was an opportunity not to be missed." Simeon explained with a guilty shrug. "I ate somebody's pre-packed lunch. It was all made up neatly and placed in one of those plasti-storage boxes. Must have taken a while to prepare…" "And minutes to scoff." Simeon sighed, remembering what came next. "There was this beautiful petal fruit sitting in the middle of the plasti-box. It was mesmerising! I remember it as clearly as if it were lying where you are now." Simeon could almost feel his mouth watering as he thought about it: his grubby little child's hands reaching out for the hidden treasure. "I floated it out with the force, then took it over to the table in the room. I had to stand on a chair to reach! But then I realised I didn't have anything to cut it with. Nanny Evla always cut our food, you see - because she didn't want us to hurt ourselves…" "Quite right." Jemmy grunted. "Can you imagine the likes of Dimallie let loose with a knife? Doesn't bear thinking about." "This is where I come in to the story." An-Paj smirked. "I found him standing on the chair, trying to cut up the fruit with a plasti-spoon! There was squashed fruit and puddles of sticky juice all over the table! But the little munchkin had managed to eat his way through my lunch like some hungry caterpillar! So, I decided to play a trick on him…" "Surely not!" Jemmiah laughed. "Not you! Not the great An-Paj!" "It's not funny!" Scowled Simeon. "I could have been mentally scarred for life! You know, at first I thought he was a really nice man: just the sort of man I would want to have as a master! He sat down and talked with me, asked my name and where I'd escaped from. Then he asked if he could see my sore leg…" "But he refused to move! He wouldn't put down the fruit." An-Paj muttered out the side of his mouth. "Greedy child! Just sat there eating my lunch as cool as a…as a…" "As cool as a half-eaten petal fruit?" Suggested Jemmiah. "Just so!" "Yes - but it gets better!" Simeon's lip protruded in a small pout. "He pretended to look all over the room for something. Looking in every corner as if he had lost something! All the time he kept chatting…telling me about how it was okay if I didn't want to go with him because people got lost all the time in the infirmary. Started telling me about this woman called Mrs. Avar or something like that, who liked to wander off into the rooms and hide in really strange places. Said she was a shapeshifter, and that she often liked to disguise herself as ordinary objects…like a loaf of bread or a vegetable or a piece of fruit. Then he told me that he'd caught her only the day before hiding in the refrigerator!" An-Paj's beamed with pride. "If you could have only have seen your face!" He moved around the folding bed so that he could punch his padawan lightly on the arm, to show that he was only joking. "I swear, I'd never seen anyone so stunned before in my life. Still, it taught you to keep out of the refrigeration unit, didn't it?" Simeon answered him with stilted silence. "I've never eaten a petal fruit again without wincing." He admitted eventually. "And it just goes to show that you should always be careful of what you wish. There I was, barely five years of age, wishing for a master just like An-Paj. Six years or so later - and what happens?" "You end up with one of the most talented and sought after masters in the history of the jedi temple." An-Paj laughed at his own immodesty, smoothing his hair into place. "And all because of a piece of fruit and a bruised leg…talking of which…" "Yeah," Jemmiah half struggled to sit up, "when are you going to take off my shoes and get going with…shoozer! When did you do that?!" An-Paj smiled but said nothing, holding up the empty shoes in each hand. "I never even noticed…" Jemmiah continued, much confused. "The mind is a powerful tool, Jemmiah. More powerful than any scalpel or laser. That and a little force trickery," he waved his fingers about by way of demonstrating, "and we have complete success. Simeon's little story drew you in whilst I worked. The bacta strips will be able to go on and then you can go home." "In a wheelchair, yes?" Jemmiah set her sweetest smile at him. "Please?" Something was definitely going on, An-Paj thought, as Jemmiah turned pleading eyes on him once more. This was more than merely showing off the war wounds or getting Qui-Gon to feel pity - running around after her as he invariably did on such occasions - but a definite hidden agenda was lurking within that devious Corellian brain of hers. Quite what it was An-Paj couldn't yet make out, but discover it he would… "Why this fascination for wheelchairs all of a sudden?" he asked her bluntly. "I seem to recall a time when you could barely stay put in one for more than a few minutes at a time." Jemmiah indicated her puffy, raw feet - although not daring to look at the blisters. "Do you really expect me to get about in this state?" she asked him. "No, I expect you to stay put and rest. That way you won't have to go about anywhere." He replied casually, watching her squirm from underneath his brows. "I need a wheelchair!" "And have you squeaking around the temple all day and night? I don't think so!" An-Paj shook his head. "You are a public menace. If I had my way I wouldn't let you in charge of anything more technical than a tea strainer…now hold still whilst I apply the bacta strips." "I still need a wheelchair! Simeon, tell him I need a wheelchair?" She begged the dark haired padawan. Simeon's brow creased with confusion. "Why?" "Fast-pass." She whispered so that the young man virtually had to rely on his lip reading skills to understand what she was saying. For a moment he stood there blankly, uncomprehending. Then suddenly the credit seemed to drop. "She needs a wheelchair." He turned to An-Paj. |
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