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 01:58 am
unforced) wrote in nerdcentral2015-01-02 01:58 am
muffled cantina band soundtrack swells in the bg
Obi-Wan had not planned to be in Mos Eisley today.
But, well, there's some things you just can't plan out in life. However that saying goes. And the notion of strange Force inclinations is far from a new one--Obi-Wan has been entertaining them for years--but somehow the sheer bemusement of it all just never entirely wears off. One day he wakes up, and he decides that he really ought to be in Mos Eisley today, and that's that.
There's probably a good reason for it. Obi-Wan, for his part, does not trouble himself overtly with trying to figure out what that reason might be. The eopie ride to the nearest oasis market is as lengthy as ever, and from there it's an eopie dropped off for temporary care and a landspeeder rented for the day, because a ride to Mos Eisley by steed would be a day-long trip in itself (and there's no time for that, the notion tells him, insistent as only the Force ever is).
He doesn't make it a habit to be in the larger public hubs these days, even such a remote one as Mos Eisley might qualify to be in some circles of the galaxy. Generally, it's still too much of a risk, too much of a chance, and much too far away besides. But today, today will be the exception. And Obi-Wan has built up quite the reputation by now, he thinks, a satisfyingly obscure reputation for strange vague wizardry and solitude. A mad old hermit out in the desert, wandering in for a drink at the cantina, and what is there to distinguish him from the next ragged-cloaked beggar seeking to drown his sorrows?
Nothing at all, really.
Well, nothing to those who don't matter.
Midday, the twin Tatooine suns at their scorching zenith outside, and Chalmun's Spaceport Cantina is packed; upbeat music swells and flows as the regular Bith music band wanders its way through a seemingly endless number of songs. Obi-Wan drifts in quietly, orders a drink in similar quiet fashion, and settles himself at a table in the most quiet-ish corner of the bar he can find, tucked out of the way half in shadow. A bent and hooded figure nursing his drink in his hands, to anybody else, face hidden in shade--occasionally, the head turns, and stares at the cantina doorway as if waiting for someone.
Perhaps he is. Obi-Wan is not yet entirely sure. But he sits, and he waits, and he wonders. Any time now, probably...
But, well, there's some things you just can't plan out in life. However that saying goes. And the notion of strange Force inclinations is far from a new one--Obi-Wan has been entertaining them for years--but somehow the sheer bemusement of it all just never entirely wears off. One day he wakes up, and he decides that he really ought to be in Mos Eisley today, and that's that.
There's probably a good reason for it. Obi-Wan, for his part, does not trouble himself overtly with trying to figure out what that reason might be. The eopie ride to the nearest oasis market is as lengthy as ever, and from there it's an eopie dropped off for temporary care and a landspeeder rented for the day, because a ride to Mos Eisley by steed would be a day-long trip in itself (and there's no time for that, the notion tells him, insistent as only the Force ever is).
He doesn't make it a habit to be in the larger public hubs these days, even such a remote one as Mos Eisley might qualify to be in some circles of the galaxy. Generally, it's still too much of a risk, too much of a chance, and much too far away besides. But today, today will be the exception. And Obi-Wan has built up quite the reputation by now, he thinks, a satisfyingly obscure reputation for strange vague wizardry and solitude. A mad old hermit out in the desert, wandering in for a drink at the cantina, and what is there to distinguish him from the next ragged-cloaked beggar seeking to drown his sorrows?
Nothing at all, really.
Well, nothing to those who don't matter.
Midday, the twin Tatooine suns at their scorching zenith outside, and Chalmun's Spaceport Cantina is packed; upbeat music swells and flows as the regular Bith music band wanders its way through a seemingly endless number of songs. Obi-Wan drifts in quietly, orders a drink in similar quiet fashion, and settles himself at a table in the most quiet-ish corner of the bar he can find, tucked out of the way half in shadow. A bent and hooded figure nursing his drink in his hands, to anybody else, face hidden in shade--occasionally, the head turns, and stares at the cantina doorway as if waiting for someone.
Perhaps he is. Obi-Wan is not yet entirely sure. But he sits, and he waits, and he wonders. Any time now, probably...
no subject
Probably for the best, considering how easily this one trusts.
He'll put on a friendly face, though. It's not like the guy's disrupting the peace.
"A fine day? Guess it doesn't take much--all things considered." The Empire had a way of ignoring the Outer Rim. Things were easily cast to the side or neglected. Pretty much anything that wasn't near Coruscant or had high political power was considered only for it's resources. And Tattooine didn't have much to offer.
Ben. Something about the way the man says that name. It feels familiar. Like he SHOULD know this person. Of course, Kanan's not crazy--he's never met this man in his life. Especially if he's been living on Tattooine. "Could live without the sun, actually. Seems like your brain gets fried if you stand out in it."
But he bites his lip, wondering just how much he can get away with. "Pit stop. You know, supplies, spare parts. Now before you go and say what a crazy idea it is coming here for supplies, wasn't exactly our routine stop."
He flashes a smile, before looking at his drink.
"Things don't always go according to plan."