muffled songs about rain and gross suffering swell in the bg

[unforced]

Obi-Wan Kenobi doesn't have good days--only slightly less bad ones.

He would deny this, of course--he would claim, with mild tact and sensible optimism, that a day is only as bad as you decide it must be. (Whether this came from Qui-Gon or some other Jedi proverb book--literal or figurative--remains to be confirmed.) One only has so many things in a day to worry about anyhow, he would argue, without getting oneself tied up in such unnecessary ruminations as the badness of bad days too. You take your day and you make do with it, whatever it might throw at you, and that's all you can really do in the end.

But sometimes, well....

It's raining up his nose, which is what brings Obi-Wan to his senses properly, complete with rather a lot of spluttering and coughing. Whether the chill is coming from the air itself or the unbelievable amounts of water pouring down from the sky is anyone's guess, but it bites either way. Wheezing, he shifts, feels sodden earth squish under his back--blinks against more water, and tries to lift a hand to wipe at his eyes, but his right arm responds with an entirely unwarranted stab of breathtaking pain, and that's just lovely, now isn't it? Of course.

His left arm turns out to be a great deal more cooperative, to Obi-Wan's immense relief, and he scrubs at his face with a long exhale. Something's ringing, he realizes belatedly, something beyond just his head--a klaxon alarm from not too far off at all, and he sits up slowly, right arm limp, left arm shielding his eyes from further rain as he peers around himself. The pale walls of the Separatist base loom through the rain, barely a hundred yards off; and, all around, blasted mountainside rock that had been a faded path only a few seconds ago litters the area, Obi-Wan on the side of its radius like so much of the other debris.

A mine. Of course it'd be a mine. Of course the Separatist base would notice, no mistaking the direction of those klaxons. Of course--

Obi-Wan climbs to his feet in a rather embarrassingly punch-drunk fashion, legs still trying to catch up to the rest of him and head still swimming. Absently he mops at a bloody lip--or is that blood also coming from the bloody gash on the side of his forehead? A bit difficult to say--lovely, lovely--right arm dangles useless at his side, driving needles into his shoulder with every shift, but Obi-Wan ignores that in favor of pulling his lightsaber from his belt with his left hand. He doesn't ignite it yet, instead half-staggers to the nearest rocky outcrop providing some semblance of cover (goodness knows how long it's been since the blast, how many droids might already be on their way--), slumps against its muddy side, and looks at his commlink, torn and sparking and barely still attached to his wrist.

Ah.

The realization sets in all at once, rather as a hammer might to the back of one's head, and Obi-Wan's staggering away from the rock outcrop just as quickly, trying to extend what sense of the Force he can at his current state, but eyes still straining against the curtains of rain anyhow for anything, some orange stripe or white of armor or--

"Cody? Cody! Where--oh, blast--Cody, I need your status, where are you?!"

Comments

[212th]

If there's one thing Cody had learned about working with General Kenobi, it's that there were never good days. Just slightly less bad ones. A responsibility he took with pride, no less--they were similiar in many ways. Dutibound, focused, straight arrows... It made for surprisingly good team work. But with that came some slight cynicism. Maybe it was Jango Fett's personality seeping through that conditioning. Maybe he--as a soldier--inherently expected them. But nevertheless, he kept by the General's side, on the bad days and the good ones.

...Speaking of bad days.

A mine. One that must have missed the minesweepers, or one planted after. If he rightfully believed in it to a religious extent, he'd thank the Force. But there's other things to worry about. Like the status of his men.

He hears Obi-Wan shouting his name, and it's either a good distance away or his hearing's been shot. He lies in the mud, white armor stained lovingly with it as he tries to move his head, only for a sharp, whiplash-like pain to shoot through. His vision's a bit blurry, as he opens those eyes, although whether or not that's from the rain spattering his helm or not has yet to be figured out.

But Cody's not one to ignore his General, as a hand slightly moves, quite an obstacle as he tries not to move his neck any. And tapping his com on his helmet, he answers, albeit gruffly.

"Sir--"

He cuts out slightly, trying to hoist himself up into a sitting position. Easier said than done, with his neck strained and--thankfully, he'd shut off his comm, because a sharp pain rips through his right leg, a scream echoing through his helmet. He was a clone, so he knew pain, and this had to be a strong contender for worst injury. Okay, Cody. Okay. Keep calm. Obi-Wan asked for your location.

"I'm...I'm about a klick east of the mine site."