A Parody of Manners, 7/? PG-13: Obi-Wan, Anakin, Palpatine, Padmé, Bail Organa, others
Disclaimer: George Lucas owns Star wars. This story is purely a work of fan fiction, and I am not making any profit from it.
Chapter title from "Some Kind of Home," by Thriving Ivory.
A PARODY OF MANNERS
CHAPTER SEVEN
~ and told you not to cry ~
Obi-Wan sipped his drink cautiously, reasonably certain that there was more alcohol in it than anyone not thoroughly addicted to the substance could deem advisable at this hour of the day. “Ryn,” he said, because Anakin was no use for this sort of thing and because he wanted to keep her busy, “have you any idea what this stuff is?”
Ryn obligingly turned from her determinedly polite efforts to make conversation with Breha Organa - Breha was a fine being, but as far as Obi-Wan could tell, she and Ryn had nothing in common other than bipedality - and squinted at his glass. She was squinting a lot this morning; Obi-Wan couldn’t tell whether this were an after-effect of her night of drunken misery, or merely an expression of her habitual distaste for bright lights of any kind. “Looks like maybe shurra juice,” she pronounced reflectively.
She held out her hand for the glass, and Obi-Wan turned it over. Ryn took it and held it to the light, squinting even more deeply. “Definitely juice. You can see the particulate matter suspended -”
“What?” said Breha, laughing. “Are you accusing Sola of serving dirt in our drinks?”
“Er - no, sorry,” said Ryn, evidently not recognizing Breha’s teasing tone. “I just meant that there’s pulp.” She brought the glass down and took a cautious sip, grimacing at the bite. “And alcohol. Distilled liquor: best guess, some kind of gin.”
“You would know,” said Obi-Wan drily, and Ryn rolled her eyes as she handed the cup back - and then winced, turning a shade of green that, even on Ryn, was decidedly unattractive.
“Hangover?” Obi-Wan inquired solicitously, and Ryn shot him a flaying look.
“Oh, fuck you,” Ryn said with feeling. Breha blinked in shock, but Anakin smothered a grin. “Anyway, I can’t tell you why it’s staying in suspension. A saline additive to the liquor might do it, but there’s nothing to taste.”
“Padmé told me that all the treats for the picnic were locally produced,” Breha offered, still looking askance at Ryn.
“Naboo has one of the mot generous eco-systems in the galaxy,” Anakin reported with a touch of pride, and Ryn almost - but not quite - hid her flinch.
Breha smiled at him, politely ignoring Ryn’s reaction. “I would imagine that you are something of an honorary citizen here, after your adventure at the Battle of Naboo.”
“Jedi do not have homeworld citizenships,” Anakin answered demurely. “But I will admit, Naboo has always felt like home to me.”
Ryn’s face darkened, and Obi-Wan moved to distract her. “It certainly does possess an abundance of natural resources,” he said quickly. “Particularly in flora. Ryn, do you think these meadow flowers are at all similar to the ones that attract jewel-bees on Bellassa?”
Ryn narrowed her eyes at him in a way that said she knew what he was up to, but she bent over to study the plants in question anyway. “This looks more like some kind of flowering grass,” she said, peering at a bloom centimeters from her nose. “I don’t think -”
Padmé’s voice cut across her, bright and unexpectedly hard. “Master Kenobi!” she exclaimed, with more enthusiasm than the occasion seemed to warrant. “Has Anakin yet introduced you to our local shurra? He so enjoyed them the last time he was here!”
Ryn swayed woozily, tried to straighten herself, and then dropped ignominiously to her knees, retching violently.
“Wow,” said Anakin sympathetically. He reached for her arm, but Ryn waved him off. “Stang, Ryn, are you all right?”
“I - I’m okay,” Ryn stammered, settling back on her heels as the heaves died slowly away. “‘S what ... I get ... for standing on my head ... like that.”
The blatant misery in her Force-presence had nothing to do with a tender stomach, but Anakin didn’t comment on that, showing a laudable - and entirely unexpected - discretion.
He’s grown up. It’s too easy for me to forget that.
Obi-Wan stepped forward and hauled Ryn to her feet by one arm, ignoring Padmé and Breha’s shocked stares and the flicker of ... not pleasure, exactly; more like vindication ... in the former’s aura. “Let me walk you back to the house,” he offered, but Ryn shook her head.
“No,” she rasped. “I’ll be all right, in a minute.” She dragged in an unsteady breath, her strained face clearing a little. “Just let me ... sit down.”
“Can I get you something?” Padmé asked, her better nature rising to the occasion in spite of whatever bitterly futile rivalry stood between them.
She really is a decent being. No wonder Anakin has never gotten over her.
“No,” said Ryn, with tortured dignity. “Thank you.”
There was something about the stubborn set of her jaw that made Obi-Wan think better of insisting.
“If you’re sure you’re all right?” he said.
“Positive,” Ryn answered firmly; so he guided her to a seat in the grass a few meters away and left her to her own devices.
She was a big girl; she could take care of herself.
Probably.
It’s optimistic thinking like that that gets you in trouble.
: : :
Her resentment was not only probably misplaced, but definitely dangerous; Obi-Wan could hardly help but notice it. Padmé struggled with herself, trying to get a grip on her jealous anger - disrupted but not dispersed by Ryn’s abrupt indignity. Anakin loves you, she told herself. He shouldn’t have to prove it in front of Obi-Wan.
A proposition, she soon saw, that was in all too much danger of being realize; the way Anakin was gazing at her now was confirmation, if Padmé had needed any, that his devotion lay all with her. it was a heady experience, but not one she should be enjoying under his former master’s watchful gaze.
She opened her mouth to divert the older Jedi’s attention, but then Anakin did it for her:
“Master,” he said, glancing past Obi-Wan’s shoulder at Ryn as he returned to them. “Will Ryn be all right?”
“She’ll be fine once she can keep down some water,” Obi-Wan said lightly. “It’s just a hangover.”
Anakin looked skeptical. “Are you sure -”
“Anakin,” said Obi-Wan, gently but repressively. “I think Ryn wants to be alone right now.”
Anakin jerked a little, a blush of startled shame washing over his handsome features. What’s this all about? Padmé thought; and then Kenobi’s gaze flicked sideways to Ryn and she knew. They had a liaison after all. She’d suspected it before, of course, and not just last night - had wondered whether it was with his bright barbarian friend that Anakin learned those caresses she loved so much, before they ever came together. But somehow she had never really believed that Anakin was sleeping with Ryn now.
She narrowed her eyes at the younger woman, sitting in the grass looking improbably fragile and romantic for someone who a few minutes ago had been hurling vigorously.
“She’ll be fine,” Breha said, startling Padmé - how could she have forgotten her friend’s presence? “She’s young; she’ll bounce right back.”
“I know,” said Anakin, nodding reluctantly. “Ryn’s tough. I’ve just never seen her this hungover before.” He frowned. “Actually, Ryn doesn’t get hungover much.”
“Does she drink a great deal?” Padmé inquired, wincing inwardly at her own saccharine tone.
“Not much more than a smuggler on Boonta Eve,” Anakin answered, oblivious to the subtext. “All those Lorethans are like that.”
Breha blinked. “I thought Lady Orun was the only representative of her people in the Republic?”
“Officially, yes, she is the liaison,” Obi-Wan replied, stepping gracefully back into the conversation. “But besides the Exiles, there are a few Lorethan pilots and traders wandering around the galaxy. Mostly young women, owing to some social changes on their home planet.”
“Owing to the death rate, you mean,” said Anakin, his tone betraying an unexpected bitterness.
Obi-Wan shook his head at his former apprentice, but he moved to explain. “A high percentage of Loreth’s young people serve on active duty in their planetary defense force. They start quite young, and many of them never make it to adulthood. The average life expectancy of a child born into Ryn’s class - the warrior class - is very low. And until the past generation, it was customary for men to bear the brunt of warfare, with the result that they now have a great many more women than men.”
Padmé looked back at her would-be rival, trying to imagine what it must have been like to grow up, expecting to die so young.
“I guess that explains the drinking,” she said finally.
“I can only imagine what childhood looks like on Loreth,” Obi-Wan agreed. “Anakin spent more time among the people than I did, on our trip there. He can tell you -” He broke off suddenly, as Ryn got shakily to her feet and headed off, with no evident purpose. “Now where in the blazes is she going? Ryn!"
She kept walking.