Lesson In Fear
Lightsaber ignited, URELA TORAL stands over ATTON RAND, who at the moment, is splayed out on the floor of the Ebon Hawk’s swoop garage.
URELA: You’re not breathing.
ATTON: Quit celebrating. I’m not dead yet.
Urela smiles as she prods him with the toe of her boot.
URELA: I’m talking about when you move to attack me. You’re holding your breath.
She extends her hand to help him up, but he waves her off.
ATTON: So I hold my breath? Big deal. It’s gotten me this far.
He ignites his lightsaber and charges, but the Exile easily parries his attack, knocking him back to the floor with a brutal low kick.
URELA: I see what you mean. Maybe we should just promote you to Master and call it a day.
Atton grunts in pain as he massages his knee.
ATTON: What does holding my breath have to do with you kicking me?
URELA: Breath is life, Atton, and conversely, life is breath.
ATTON: Oh, that’s catchy. Did you get that out of the Jedi handbook?
Urela ignores the jab as she deactivates her lightsaber.
URELA: Our bodies equate breathing with life - and rightly so - they are linked. You and I can go days without food or water…
ATTON: (Interrupting) Food or what?
Urela smiles as she kneels next to him on the floor of the garage.
URELA: Juma in your case, but we can’t survive without oxygen. Every fiber of your being knows that fact. That’s why, when your body senses danger, it instinctively holds on to what it fears will be its’ very last breath.
ATTON: That’s just self preservation.
URELA: But it’s based in fear. Subconsciously you want to live - which means you’re attached to the outcome of a situation- and not the Force.
Atton nods thoughtfully as he flashes her his most disarming smile.
ATTON: I think there’s a small flaw in your logic, teacher.
His right hand snakes forward, clasping Urela’s ankle.
ATTON: I mean - if I found something that made me want to do good things, become a better man, than I would have a hard time letting it go.
Urela stands up, but doesn’t immediately pull away.
URELA: Attachments make us weak, Atton.
ATTON: I don’t agree.
URELA: What a surprise.
He kneels in front of her, his lopsided grin growing wider as his hand slides a little further up her leg.
ATTON: All I’m saying is - if I found someone I wanted to protect with my life, then…
URELA: (Cutting him off) Then you would be a pawn. A slave to your desire to keep the thing you loved. This is precisely why attachments are forbidden.
She untangles herself from his grip, but he is not about to let her escape.
ATTON: And you should know, right?
URELA: What?
ATTON: It’s easy for you to let go. Of the war. The Force. The Jedi.
URELA: What’s that supposed to mean?
ATTON: You lost the Force, and it was like you lost your favorite pair of socks, Urela. Nothing affects you. Nothing touches you because you don’t let anything get close enough.
She takes a step back as he moves toward her, his words hitting their mark in a way his lightsaber could not.
URELA: (Defiant) A Jedi’s life is… about sacrifice. That might be a hard concept for someone like you -
ATTON: (Cutting her off) Spare me. It’s one thing to let go of your attachments- and another to run from them, sweetheart.
He corners her at the back of the garage, trapping her against the sleeping swoop bike. His lust and frustration are laid bare for her through the Force, and Urela drops her gaze, unable to face him.
URELA: What do you want me to say?
He cups her chin in his hand with a calm certainty that seems almost out of character.
ATTON: That you can’t live without me.
She stares at him, breathless, his newfound confidence rendering her nearly mute. Atton notches her discomfort with some amusement.
ATTON: You’re not scared, are you?
URELA: Of you? Don’t be ridiculous.
ATTON: Then why are you holding your breath?
She exhales as he leans closer. The scent of sweat and juma fills the space between them, and for a moment, Urela wonders what she might need to give up in order to let herself be caught. She imagines his strong arms encircling her waist and…
ATTON: You okay, Master Toral?
But - the smug manner in which his lips curl around the word ‘Master’ is enough to end the daydream.
URELA: Don’t call me that. I hardly want the credit or the responsibility for you.
He laughs, throwing both hands up in a gesture of mock surrender.
ATTON: Okay, okay, if there’s one thing Pazaak has taught me, it’s when to walk away.
It might be disappointment that flickers in the Exile’s eyes as she smoothes back a bit of mussed hair.
URELA: Good. I mean - great.
She nods curtly before EXITING, and Atton pulls a deck of Pazaak cards from a hidden pocket as he watches her go. Quickly flipping the first of four cards over the seat of the swoop, he builds to an impressive score of twenty. Pure Pazaak.
ATTON: (Chuckling to himself) Well, what do you know? I think my luck is startin’ to change.
END
A/N: A big thank you to Bald as Malak, Lossefalme, and everyone involved in the “Corners” challenge for allowing me to bend the rules.
Thanks for encouraging me to finish this, BaM!