Obi-Wan Kenobi (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
unforced) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
nerdcentral2015-01-02 02:01 am
unforced) wrote in nerdcentral2015-01-02 02:01 am
muffled songs about rain and gross suffering swell in the bg
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?!"
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?!"
no subject
Joking enough, but definitely tying over into the Jedi preference for wearing as little armor as possible in general, even in the thick of battle. Just the light half-plating of clone armor Obi-Wan sports for the moment had been a long endeavor in getting used to, and he's fairly certain he wouldn't be able to function half as well in full armor as his clone troopers admirably do. Not a problem, though, he'd claim--just the same as any other Jedi would--for after all, in any time of conflict, a lightsaber is all you should ever need. Hailstorms of blasterfire mean nothing with good blast-deflect form, after all, and it only builds up from there...
But Obi-Wan sniffs a bit, even as he secures Cody's arm over his shoulders and painstakingly draws the both of them upright--said sniff could easily be blamed on the rain still coming down in torrents, but it's also timed after Cody's remark on one-legged fighting, most coincidentally. "A minor inconvenience on both sides, then! Well, but that's alright. I suppose if we combine all our remaining limbs together we ought to be a functioning enough fighting unit, what do you think? Turn this inconvenience into the very font of convenience, I--"
A slight stammer, as Obi-Wan draws upright with most of Cody's weight over shoulder, supported by a combination of his own strength and the loaned strength of the Force--the pressure lances down his right shoulder, jolting through the bone of his broken arm in an electric jolt of pain, and he draws in a sharp breath through his teeth. But that's the most that Obi-Wan allows, for that particular expression (a Jedi is always calm and composed, especially when others need it more); the pain persists, hot and breathtaking, but he lets it go from thought and continues on as if nothing had happened, slight breathlessness regardless.
"--Well. But anyhow. Here, let's try for a bit of a walk, one step at a time..." The mud makes footing treacherous enough already, but Obi-Wan takes it slow, using his own intact legs to support Cody on his remaining functioning one as they move the way two younglings might work together in a protato sack race. "I think my commlink's reaching the end of its use--got hit pretty hard in the blast, I'm rather surprised it's still working. Is your comm in better shape, Commander? We'll need to check in with the men, if they're still up ahead..."
no subject
As the jedi lifts him up, he can feel his own weight sagging on him, and the soft, but certainly audible hiss gets a slight head turn. Obi-Wan was renowned among the Clone troops as being perfectly composed at all times, and if now wasn't a sign of him taking a dislodged arm rather well, then Cody would eat his own blaster. But if there's one thing Cody refused to be, it was dead weight. So he'll slightly shift his weight, at least a little, onto his leg. It may be useless, but he'd MAKE it into something useful, as long as it helped Obi-Wan.
"I'll take your word for it, General. I know better than to say you can't do something." If Obi-Wan wanted to live, he'd certainly find a way. That was one of his best traits, and one Cody would remember.
Thankfully, the leg that Cody had broken was on the inside of their little human-walking machine, so he could rely on the Jedi's opposite foot for support, while doing the same for his own.
Quite a team, weren't they.
At the question of his commlink, he puts his free arm to his helm, testing it. There was no static, surprisingly most of the damage had been to Cody's lower half. Range was an issue, but it certainly was functional. "I'll radio the troops to a rendezvous point. If you don't mind me saying, sir, I think somewhere close ought to be a good spot to meet up."