A Parody of Manners, 18/? PG-13: Anakin, Padmé, Obi-Wan, Palpatine, Sola, Bail Organa, others
Disclaimer: George Lucas owns Star Wars. This story is purely a work of fan fiction, from which I am not making any profit.
Author's note: Wet!Obi is for pronker. Devious!Palpatine (in other words, just Palpatine) is for ansketil_rose. Awkward!Conversation is for ladyhadhafang.
Chapter title is from "All The Right Moves," by OneRepublic.
A PARODY OF MANNERS
~ Chapter 18 ~
all the right friends in all the right places
Not even a Jedi could swim the lake in under half an hour. Obi-Wan spent the trip in a moving meditation, searching the currents of the Force for any hint of what was happening, or who was behind it. The “who” wasn’t hard to figure out, because the whole situation had “Darth Sidious” stamped all over it ... but unfortunately the same cloud of the Dark Side that so clearly revealed the presence of the Sith obscured nearly everything else. He could sense Anakin, of course, blinding as ever, and Ryn, still the bright clear light he had found so compelling, years ago; but there was a third Force presence somewhere nearby, murky as a stagnant pond, and he couldn’t even get a glimpse of the direction. Not Dooku; after Geonosis he’d recognize Dooku’s tightly controlled use of the Dark Side anywhere. Ventress? He didn’t think so; her presence had always been somehow clean - purified by fire, as it were.
That left Sidious himself; but everything they knew about the Sith Lord so far suggested an arachnoid intelligence -- a master of planning and precognition, who would simply lay his traps and lie in wait. A direct attack didn’t feel like his M.O. at all.
Which means we need to be on the alert for a new enemy.
Of course.
: : :
The private security guard at the door to the large garage where the personal transports were being kept was slumped over at her post, dead; her blaster lay nearby, its gaspack half-empty.
Not Ventress’s work, then; she’d never have been sloppy enough to let the poor woman get off a shot. Ventress didn’t waste her dark flirtation on flunkies. Besides, the guard had been killed with another dart, and that wasn’t Ventress’s style at all.
The dart could point to a Separatist plot; after all, Jango Fett had apparently been using Kaminoan technology to two-time the Republic with the Separatists even while he was living in the cloning facility on Kamino. Dexter Jettster was adamant that the Kaminoans didn’t care about loyalty or taking sides; they didn’t even really understand the concepts. They cared about margins of profit and technical virtuosity. Ryn had said, once, “they’re a cold people,” and although Obi-Wan didn’t like to be judgmental, he was inclined to agree. It wasn’t that they were evil, or ill-intentioned; there was nothing malicious about them. They just lacked the affection dimension that enabled most humanoid species to form bonds among familiars.
Probably Ryn would say, and Anakin would agree, that the Jedi were no different; like the Kaminoans, they felt satisfaction in a job well-done but did not love. Obi-Wan felt there was a difference, but he could not find the words to explain, and it hurt, to think that Anakin saw him as cold and unfeeling. Hurt more than a Jedi should allow -- but then he, like Anakin, had always been plagued with the need for attachments.
He’d have to think of all of it some other time.
Lightsaber at the ready, he advanced slowly, stretching out with his feelings for any sign of his elusive opponent. But there was nothing -- only the choking pall of the Dark Side.
Inside the climate-controlled shed, the only light came from his own ignited weapon; the power that normally illuminated the building and kept it at a constant temperature and humidity must have been cut. That spoke further of a well-organized foe, several steps ahead of them; but Obi-Wan hadn’t really needed convincing.
The transports -- some more luxurious, some less so -- seemed intact, from the outside, at least. Most were late-model airspeeders, probably rented in Theed; not many guests would have flown directly to Varykino. But there were at least three space-worthy ships: Bail Organa’s modest blockade-runner, Padmé’s own sleek Nubian vessel, gleaming chrome in the reflected glow from his lightsaber, and a small ship whose understated opulence could only belong to Supreme Chancellor Palpatine. It was, without a doubt, the space-vessel equivalent of a 500 Republica penthouse. It also looked like the likeliest candidate for an onboard com system that could punch a signal all the way to Coruscant, so Obi-Wan extended his lightsaber and headed in that direction.
He’d thought his senses were alert, but the sudden flare of light from the ship’s aft burners caught him entirely by surprise, momentarily blinding him.
He threw himself into a dead run anyway, with no clear plan except to stay on the target, and was almost close enough to simply fling himself bodily against the hull when he felt a dull thud of warning from the Force and whirled to deflect the attack with his lightsaber, batting away a thick hail of blaster bolts that ricocheted away into the remaining vehicles as the Chancellor’s transport escaped. In the light of the flying laser fire, Obi-Wan could see battle droids closing in, a full platoon at least; that explained why he hadn’t felt the presence of a sentient enemy nearby, but still he should have sensed something. Had the shroud of the Dark Side clouded his perceptions so thoroughly?
: : :
Things were getting out of hand.
It wasn’t often that the greatest Sith lord in generations -- perhaps the greatest Sith lord ever -- found himself overborne by the plans he himself had put in motion; but on this occasion events threatened to spin out of control. He would have been happy to have rid himself more conclusively of Taa and presented the corpulent Twi’Lek’s demise as the action of vigilantes bent on eradicating corruption in the Senate; Beiy’ssa’s death was an acceptable substitute, as it would save having her killed later. Sidious would have been glad to have seen Orun tried for the aide’s death, screwing Anakin’s frustration with the system to an even tighter pitch; but perhaps it was just as well to let that simmer a while longer. No need to hasten his plans just yet.
So far, all was well. But the destroyed coms ... what sort of incompetent had Dooku hired for this operation? Innovation was most unwelcome.
Perhaps it was time to act more directly.
: : :
Because she was keeping a sharp eye out for the next disaster, Ryn noticed when Senator Osso disappeared onto the patio with the young aide he’d been slavering over for most of the night.
And I thought the Separatists were trouble.
“Excuse me,” she said to Senator Organa, who had been trying (she thought, anyway) to to improve her evening with polite conversation.
It wasn’t his fault she had nothing to say for herself.
She stalked out onto the patio in time to see Osso finally make his move, sliding one hand under the aide’s flimsy skirt, sparkling in the starlight.
Ryn cleared her throat. “Excuse me,” she said again. “I’m sorry, Senator -- ma’am -- but I’m going to have to ask you to step back inside now. It’s not safe for any of us to wander.”
“My wife isn’t in your ballroom,” said Osso with acidity, oblivious to his would-be lover’s chagrin.
“Then maybe you should be with her,” Ryn retorted tartly. “I doubt either of you is a target, but I certainly am not going to jeopardize security so you can carry out an affair with greater convenience.”
Osso spluttered.
Ryn met the aide’s eyes. “Go back inside,” she told her. “Try to pick an unmarried man next time.” Good advice, Orun. You should take it. “There’s a secretary from Bellassa who’s been watching you all night.”
The aide was outraged at this treatment -- maybe fairly; she hadn’t pursued Osso so much as let him catch her, and Ryn’s advice so hypocritical it was turning her own stomach -- but she couldn’t come up with a retort. She uttered some strangled noises to vent her fury and retreated, her back arched like an angry feline’s.
Ryn folded her arms and fixed Osso with a sharp stare. “Nice girl,” she observed caustically.
Osso bristled. “My affairs are none of your --”
“They are if they compromise security.” Ryn hesitated, acutely aware she wouldn’t be bothering with any of this if Anakin hadn’t cared so damn much. “Any particular reason you can’t just fuck your wife?”
Osso choked, eyes bulging. “What?”
Ouch. Ryn winced a little at her own lack of tact. “Sorry,” she said. “It just seemed ... more convenient.”
“What?” said Osso again.
Okay, so I don't have a future in couples’ counseling. We knew this. “I just thought --”
“You thought nothing, young lady!” sputtered Osso, quivering with indignation. “You weren’t thinking!”
That seemed pretty fair, actually.
I was thinking it would make Anakin happy to see their problems fixed. I was thinking ...
Ryn lifted her chin and looked him in the eye. “I was thinking that she was lonely,” she said distinctly. “And so are you.”
She let that sink in a little, then pointed to the door. “Inside, please, Senator.”
Osso went, shaking his head at her, and Ryn let out a shaky breath of relief.
What the fuck is wrong with me?
. .
