A Parody of Manners, 12/? PG-13: Obi-Wan, Anakin, Palpatine, Padmé, Bail Organa, others
Disclaimer: George Lucas owns Star Wars. I am not making any profit from this story, which is purely a work of fanfiction.
Chapter :12/?
Length: This chapter is ~ 3,000 words.
Characters: Anakin, Obi-Wan, Bail, Padmé, Palpatine, Sola, Breha, Orn Free Taa, a smorgasbord of OCs, and Darred off-stage.
Pairings: Mostly A/P, some Palpakin tones, Bail/Breha, a little Orn Free Taa/OC.
Notes: Several days ago, I asked readers to participate in the story by taking a poll for Sola's house party guests on what sort of entertainment they would prefer for the upcoming evening. In the event, "musical evening" won by about one vote, but ansketil_rose had begged for "dancing," specifically dancing Palpatine, and then she had a really bad day, and I decided to indulge her. :) So we get dancing!Palpatine in this chappie, and we'll do "musical evening" another time - maybe the next evening chapter? I have devious plans of unwanted guest Ryn singing a torch song too obviously directed at Anakin and getting the riot act to read to her over it before being upstaged by another guest's crazy antics. But that might be an alcohol-induced Bad Idea, much like most of my other ideas. Actually, I don't even need the alcohol. Also, my neighbors are having sex just overhead, and it's making me think that there aren't enough things going bump in the night in this story. So, in the next chapter, Palpatine's machinations will proceed to the next stage, and something will go bump in the night!
Also, you see this awesome icon I'm using? ladyhadhafang made it for me. Why? Because she kicks ass, that's why. This is my Official Ani/Padmé APOM icon, y'all.
Chapter title from Creedence Clearwater Revival's "Have You Ever Seen the Rain?"
A PARODY OF MANNERS
~
CHAPTER TWELVE
~
shining down like water
~ ^ ~
Dinner was a trial. Padmé more or less behaved herself -- you could generally count on Padmé to do the socially appropriate thing -- but the young Jedi she’d brought home when she went into hiding during the GAR crisis kept making the most alarmingly intelligible moon eyes at her, and the insanely beautiful foreign girl was watching him as though she were drowning and he was air. Sola thought she detected a trace of impatience in General Kenobi’s dealings with both of them, but that might be because she was projecting. Sola herself was fast coming to the conclusion that only safe course of action for the rest of the galaxy would be to lock Skywalker and Orun in a room together and let nature take its course. She could help him get over Padmé, and he could answer that damn hungry look in her eyes. And then Padmé could stop pining for a Jedi and move on to someone else. Palo looked like a good candidate, but there were plenty of others.
Palpatine observed Sola’s perusal of the individuals in question with a slight smile. “Exquisite, isn’t she?” he murmured, with a nod at Orun. “Do I detect your hand in her dress?”
Sola glanced down the table at Ryn, reviewing her handiwork with pride and a little misgiving. “She told me she wanted to approximate local norms. Do you think I overdid the starchiness?”
“On the contrary,” said Palpatine thoughtfully. “I cannot conceive that any power in the galaxy could make that particular young lady appear, as you say, starchy. That dress sets off her natural looseness admirably.”
“She does lack a certain ... reserve, doesn’t she?” Sola admitted, surveying the young woman in question. “Do you think that is typical of her people?”
“From what Jedi Skywalker has told me, I would say yes,” allowed Palpatine carefully. “He spent some weeks on their planet a few years ago and I believe he was propositioned several times while there -- and not by Miss Orun, who I gather felt that to do so would be taking an unfair advantage -- of her role as host or Anakin’s own good nature, I have never been quite use.”
“Really!” Sola sat back and considered the tragicomic little love triangle playing out at her table in this new light. “So they were childhood sweethearts, then?”
“Sweethearts?” repeated Palpatine. “Nothing so wholesome. You must know the Jedi would never allow it. But yes, I believe the affection between them is of long standing.” He quirked a pale, urbane brow at his hostess. “I see you are feeling sorry for the girl,” he observed, with that small secret smile Sola could never quite bring herself to like.
“And why not?” she asked him, goaded by some imp of contrariness. “It is obvious he does not return her feelings! The poor girl must have loved him for years!”
“Undoubtedly,” Palpatine agreed. “But the Jedi would hardly condone the sort of liaison you seem to imagine for them, whatever Anakin’s feelings.” He swirled his wine contemplatively. “And you are wrong if you think he is callous toward his young friend -- in fact, he is deeply fond of her, in spite of knightly discipline.” He sipped the wine, surveying Ryn over the top of his glass. “The kind of utter devotion she gives to him must be very hard to resist.”
Sola watched Ryn watching Anakin and Anakin watching Padmé and stifled a sigh. The Chancellor, as usual, was right. Be careful, little sister.
: : :
They lined up for dancing after dinner, the servants having cleared a long open room with glossy polished floors -- whether it original purpose had been as a ballroom, Anakin wasn’t sure.
I’ll have to ask Padmé sometime, he thought, and then grinned, because she was his wife, and he could ask her things any time -- like in the middle of the night, or over breakfast, with Padmé still beautifully undone in her robe. And, okay, it was harder with all these people and Obi-Wan here ... but they had the rest of their lives together. He could ask her tomorrow or ten years from now. They were forever.
He caught sight of Ryn across the rom, and she lifted one eyebrow in that way she had that meant Anakin, you’re doing something stupid -- in this case, probably grinning like an idiot. Anakin carefully blanked his expression and did his best to show proper Jedi composure, but from the way Ryn rolled her eyes he wasn’t all that successful.
Anakin was surprised to see Palpatine lead Sola out first in the set, until he realized that dance partners were being arranged not by preference, but by rank. He picked up enough murmuring over orders of preference to glean that the Chancellor was starting the dancing with his hosress as a sign of respect.
It seemed like a strange way to go about dancing, and Anakin could tell that Ryn -- situated across from him, and several places down, clearly not one of the honored guests -- thought the same; but if Obi-Wan, standing just to Anakin’s left, found it strange he did not show it. When the musician -- a sour-looking woman Sola had identified as Ryoo and Pooja’s tutor -- called out for the couples to begin, he took the hands of Bail Organa’s wife -- and Queen of Alderaan -- and whirled her around the ballroom as expertly as if he did this every day.
Anakin was paired with a slightly older woman, a political wife of some sort, though he’d missed catching just whose wife she was in the flurry of introductions. She wasn’t a bad dancer, from what Anakin could tell -- she obviously knew the steps better than he did (which was not at all), and she was gracious enough not to seem to mind when he fumbled and and she had to gently nudge him in the proper direction. Anakin might even have enjoyed dancing with her, except she kept clutching at his shoulders, feeling of the muscles in a way that reminded Anakin uncomfortably of the physical appraisals that accompanied slave auctions. If her occasional hmm of satisfaction was anything to go by, she planed on buying him.
“Thank you,” she said, rather breathlessly, as the music ended and Anakin swirled her to a stop. “I don’t imagine Jedi dance often, but you do it very well.”
That seemed like rather heavy-handed flattery, considering his recent performance, but Anakin bowed. “Thank you, milady.”
She laid her hand on his arm -- an imploring gesture this time, rather than a possessive one. “Please, Master Jedi. Call me Arielle.”
Anakin managed to smile, and gave her another slight bow. “Anakin,” he replied in kind.
She smiled at him, but Anakin found himself taken aback by the loneliness in her eyes. “Do you think you might get me a glass of punch ... Anakin?”
“Of course, milady,” said Anakin, and then corrected himself. “Arielle.”
He nearly ran into Padmé at the sideboard. “Senator Amidala,” he said, bowing deeply. (House parties seemed to call for more bowing and scraping than a meeting of the Jedi Council; but at least in this case he meant the tribute from the bottom of his heart.)
“Master Skywalker,” she murmured demurely, dropping a courtesy in response -- but her eyes were shining.
Anakin was so mesmerized by her beauty that it took him a minute to realize she had asked him a question.
“I’m supposed to be getting punch,” he stammered, hoping it was a reasonable answer.
Padmé's gentle smile was like peace and homecoming and victory, all at once, igniting his heart, burning through his veins. “Then would you mind pouring me a glass as well?”
Obi-Wan couldn’t possibly miss his fierce, almost incandescent joy. Anakin struggled -- and then, a fragile composure regained, gave Padmé a slightly less elated smile. “Not at all, milady.”
The shock of their fingers brushing, when he handed her the glass -- his hands shaking so that he nearly sloshed the bright liquid over the side -- was like a promise of everything they’d do, later tonight.
Padmé looked up at him from under her soft lashes, blushing; she must know what he was thinking. “Ani, you’d better get back to Lady Osso,” she murmured. “But ... dance with me later?”
Anakin took a deep breath and steeled himself for another round of polite subterfuge. “Of course, milady,” he said. “I promise.”
: : :
Palpatine kept one eye on Arielle Osso’s attempts to seduce his unwitting protegée as he spun his own dance partner about the room. Anakin had obviously very little knowledge of refined dancing techniques, but he was a natural, and not just due to his Force-enhanced sense of spatial relationships. Kenobi had that -- Palpatine himself had that -- but neither of them would ever possess Anakin’s frank, unselfconscious pleasure in the act itself. He had a sense of rhythm so deeply ingrained that he didn’t have to pay attention; the challenge would have been for him to step off-beat.
As much an animal, in his own way, as Maul. And yet Palpatine could not summon quite the sophisticated disgust for Anakin’s native energy that he had always -- secretly and not-so-secretly -- harbored for Maul’s baser instincts. If Maul had been brutally primitive, given fully to his Dark Side instincts that always ran hot ... Anakin was a living link between energy and matter, a brilliant nexus that fused into transcendence -- soon to burn itself out in an ecstasy of sacrifice.
“... Chancellor?”
Palpatine dragged his eyes away from Skywalker and the future and trained them once more on Bail Organa’s tediously upstanding wife. “Indeed, milady,” he murmured. “I quite agree with you that the loss of arts programs is a great evil. But I fear that we must all make sacrifices in war.”
: : :
“Senator Taa.” Ryn lifted her glass in a brief salute as the Senator from Ryloth joined her against the wall. “Are you enjoying the dancing?”
Orn Free Taa puffed a bit before answering. “No!” he declared, breathily. “So much unnecessary exertion! What does one get from dancing, huh?”
Ryn felt the corner of her mouth twist up. “The joy of moving to a beat?”
Taa snorted. “And what joy is that? Is it better to move to this ‘beat’?”
Ryn grinned at him. “It is if you’re doing it right.”
Taa’s lekku darkened in a blush. Little late to get shy on me, isn't it? “I think you refer to a different kind of dancing, Sweet?”
Ryn looked out at the sedately prancing figures and slumped a little, wrinkling Sola’s dress. “Yeah,” she admitted gloomily. “The fun kind.”
: : :
Arielle was delighted with her glass of punch, and with Anakin for bringing it. She thanked him with a lot of enthusiasm, leaning into him with her hand on his arm as she sipped.
“Tell me more about life as a Jedi,” she encouraged him. “Is it exciting?”
I used to think so. But he caught a glimpse of something in her eyes that he hadn't expected: a longing, buried deep -- the last flicker of an almost-defeated hope. “Master Yoda tells me that a Jedi does not crave excitement,” he said instead.
That made Arielle smile. “Master Yoda. Is he as wise as they say?”
I used to think that, too. “He certainly has experience,” Anakin said diplomatically. See, Obi-Wan? I learned something from you after all.
Arielle laughed. “They say he is a thousand years ago.”
“More like nine hundred,” Anakin said. “It’s still a lot.”
Arielle pressed closer, her breast brushing against his arm, and Anakin couldn't decide whether she was trying to be suggestive or she just came from a planet that didn't emphasize personal space much. Don't judge, he reminded himself. “I’ve finished my punch. Would you like to take a walk outside? It’s so stuffy in here!”
Anakin didn’t think it was all that stuffy, but Arielle did look a little flushed, so he gave her his arm and escorted her onto the patio with all the courtesy he could muster.
“This is more like it.” Arielle breathed deep, turning her face up to the sky. “Stars. You never see them on Coruscant. And not often in Geled City, either.” She titled her head to give Anakin a rueful smile. “You must see them all the time.”
“They never get old.” She still looked unhappy, so Anakin tried out a reassuring smile. “I remember the first time I met Master Jinn, I told him I wanted to see them all.”
That earned him a real smile, finally, one that touched her hazel. “How old were you?”
“Nine, I think.” He wasn’t about to go into all the reasons his birthday was a nebulous thing. He knew the month, anyway. “Years too old to begin the training, but Qui-Gon Jinn brought me back to Coruscant anyway.”
“And then you became a Jedi.”
“And then I became a Jedi,” Anakin agreed. His companion lifted an eyebrow, and he couldn’t quite keep a straight face. “Well, maybe it took a while.”
And an outright laugh. “I’ll bet you have some stories to tell.”
“Obi-Wan more than me,” Anakin answered grinning. “He trained me after Qui-Gon died -- and it wasn’t always easy.”
“Were you a handful?”
“Well,” said Anakin with exaggerated deliberation, “I always had good intentions...”
Arielle chuckled appreciatively and tucked her hand back into his arm to draw him away from the door, deeper into the shadows on the far side of the patio. “Tell me, were there any Jedi disciplines you found ... difficult?”
Attachment. No matter what anyone says, I will never believe that love is of the dark side. But that secret lived too close to the surface already, and it was dangerous not just for him. “Patience,” he said instead, making her grin. “And I might have had some trouble with diplomacy from time to time.”
“Isn’t Master Kenobi known as The Negotiator?”
“I was better with aggressive negotiations.”
“What are those?”
He told her.
Arielle’s reaction was pretty much the same as Padmé’s had been, what felt like a lifetime ago. But then she added: “So ... do you handle your lightsaber well, Master Jedi?”
“I do my best,” Anakin answered. “Every Jedi does. It is our duty to protect the Republic.” Arielle looked a little troubled at that, so he put his hand over hers and squeezed gently. It’s too easy for Jedi to forget simple comfort. “We will win this war, milady. I promise you.”
“Thank you,” said Arielle, amusement flickering at the edges of her mouth and in the Force. “I am sure the Republic owes you a great debt. But are Jedi lives so ascetic? Do you never have a moment for yourself?”
Anakin was too busy thinking guiltily of stolen moments with Padmé to pay much attention to the way the older woman was drifting closer. “Until the war is over, milady, we must make the safety of the Republic our top priority.” There: that was true, at least. He’d fight this war just for Padmé, if that was what it took to keep her safe.
“Noble,” Arielle murmured, reaching up to rest her hands lightly against his chest. “But surely you have ... needs, like any other man?”
“What?” Anakin asked, finally registering the undercurrents swirling around them -- caught so off-guard that he actually backed up a step. “No! I mean, yes! I mean ...”
The woman in front of him laughed softly and held out one hand in a gesture of conciliation. “Relax, my innocent young Jedi,” she admonished him teasingly. “I only thought we might be able to please each other a little.” She faltered. “If I have offended you ...”
“No,” said Anakin, gathering Jedi calm with an effort. “No. Of course not.” Arielle still looked anxious; there had to be something better he could say that wouldn’t be too compromising. He floundered for a moment and came up with a phrase he had heard Obi-Wan use before: “I am truly flattered, milady, but ...” Stang. What’s the rest of it?
Even in the darkness, he could see Arielle’s mounting blush. “If it’s because I’m too old for you ...”
“No!” said Anakin hastily. “You ... that’s not … you're married!" And so am I.
“To a man who has not touched me in years,” Arielle said, with quiet bitterness. “Who is even now flaunting his pursuit of some young doxy in there.” She waved vaguely at the ballroom behind them, where her husband was in fact practically drooling into an aide’s cleavage. “I don’t mean to complain. Osso is not worse than most men of his rank. But it has been a long time since I felt like a woman.”
Battling a droid army would have been easier -- but maybe this was just as important. We can’t ignore the feelings of the people we’re meant to help.
Anakin took a deep breath and stood his ground. “You are a woman,” he told her firmly, since she seemed a little uncertain on that point. “If your husband can’t see that, he is a fool.”
Her smile was kind but unconvinced. “You’re very sweet,” she whispered, looking down. No, I’m not. “I hope I haven’t shocked you too much.”
“No, no!” Anakin protested, but the look on Arielle’s face told him it wasn’t a very convincing performance.
“Are you quite sure you won’t let me show you a good time tonight?” she asked him, drawing closer and looking up again, meeting his eyes. “There are some benefits to an older woman, after all.”
“You’re not old,” Anakin said. “But --”
Then everything went to hell.
