It was an effective social lubricant at political events, at Republic soirees; accepting invitations and polite cocktails at diplomatic negotiations; blending into seedy back-alley bars when he and his apprentice were undercover.
But it turned out that political aides drank even more. After long endless hours at their offices being run ragged by their workloads, the young employees hit the bars afterward practically every evening. Kenobi and Skywalker had met them at the local bar and wound up gamely joining in, although reining themselves in just enough to not embarrass themselves. The Jedi knights were off-duty: they had a small sliver of time between missions, a little breathing room, where the war seemed far away for once. For one fleeting evening, they could embrace some normalcy.
Admittedly, a hangover was not befitting the Jedi (somewhere in the Force, Qui-Gon Jinn was perhaps looking down in bemused judgment)... but it had been a long year, and their monk-like order were not particularly known for their partying, so any opportunity to relax was rare and relished.
This morning, however, Obi-Wan splashes water on his face, readjusts his robes, combs his hair and beard, and overall tries to make sure he looks trim and presentable, despite what feels like Herglic rage-metal being played in the back of his skull.
He steps out into the morning sunshine, for a walk in the fresh air as he strolls down the gleaming Coruscanti avenues toward the gourmet coffee shop in the Senate district. It was expensive — everything in this district was overpriced — but considering his lack of material comforts, the ascetic nature of the rest of his life... well. A few expensive cups of coffee once in a while hopefully wouldn't betray his every principle.
Even with that hangover drumming at his temples and pulsing in time with his heartbeat, however, Obi-Wan is still on time, still waiting on a bench and kneading his brow when Padmé arrives. He glances up, and the corner of his mouth tugs into a half-smile at the sight of his old friend. ]
[ Having served in politics since she was very young, Padmé Amidala is no stranger to the stress relief tactics of the army of staffers who ensure governments function on a daily basis. Her own senatorial offices are well-stocked with caf and other energy-boosting products (though not the overly sweetened varieties that are continually marketed to her employees), and more than once she's heard a chorus of early morning grumbles as everyone filed in for the day. Each and every member of her staff fulfills their duties to the high standard the positions demand, though, so she never chastises them for not taking better care of their health.
She thinks about it, though. Often. Especially as her own handmaidens take their own steps to look after her when she does a poor job of it herself.
While Obi-Wan's struggles are of the hangover variety, the senator's are that of chronic sleep deprivation. She's always been very devoted to her work, sometimes detrimentally so, and it has only gotten worse as the war persisted. During the aide's parties, she and other senators have met in secret, time and again, to strategize and forge new alliances. She's just coming from an early breakfast meeting with one such new ally, so her mood is buoyed by that success as she enters the cafe.
Seeing an old friend does wonders for her, as well. She approaches with a warm smile, her clothing choice for the day as stately as always but relatively toned down compared to what she might wear to a function or for addressing the Senate. ]
Good morning, General. I see the staffers weren't the only ones to enjoy themselves last night.
[ Yes, there is more than a hint of teasing in those words. Not cruelly so, of course, but she can't just let his apparent state slide by without comment. ]
[ Obi-Wan's voice is light as ever, loose and playful as ever, but there was that sharp instinctive twinge of self-imposed guilt whenever he put down the mantle and enjoyed himself in any way. As if he wasn't allowed to smile, was forbidden from relaxing at all when the war was still ongoing. That constant pressure on all of their shoulders, the responsibilities, the obligation to take everything deathly serious.
And at the sight of Padmé, he rises to his feet, presses a polite whiskery kiss to her cheek by way of hello, and then automatically sizes her up.
She's good at hiding it — meticlously-applied makeup, foundation covering those bags under her eyes — but he knows the senator well enough by now to note the difference between when she's well-rested and refreshed, and... now. It's enough to fool her colleagues, but not someone who's known her for years; has seen her in a war zone and in the intimacy of her bedroom after an attempted assassination. He's privileged enough to be one of the few to be privy of Padmé Amidala lowering that pristine mask. ]
Trust me, this'll be the last time I overdo it with the youths. It's back to my tamer delights now. And you— look like you do truly need that caf. Early morning?
[ That guilt over enjoying himself when a war is going on is something she understands all too well. Every time she allows herself a few hours of carefree enjoyment, she is wracked by guilt for days afterward, burdened by the feeling that the time would have been better spent drafting new proposals or meeting with other senators or managing relief efforts for the areas most effected by supply lines being interrupted. The list of things she should be spending her energy on is miles long and seemingly neverending.
But, for today, she will allow herself these fleeting moments with her friend. He has certainly earned it for his efforts on the front. ]
Very early, but it was also very successful.
[ She can tell by the way he looks at her that he's seen right through her mask. It's honestly a relief to have someone who knows her as well as he does and is just a friend. Her handmaidens know her better than they know themselves, but their lives are so closely tied that things can become complicated in a way she's never experienced with Obi-Wan. In all the years of their friendship, from the days when he'd helped defend her home from invasion, things have always been easy between them in a way she has not and will never take for granted.
Reaching out, she rests her hand on his arm long enough to give it a gentle squeeze, then gestures to the coffee shop. ]
Ah, it pays to have friends in high places. However did you know that my Republic-funded allowance is a paltry thing?
[ It was a small line of credit outside of missions, for incidentals only. Obi-Wan leads the way into the coffee shop, holding the door open for her with a wide sweeping gesture.
The pressure on his arm had been pleasant in a way he doesn't want to examine too closely. Polite, he tells himself: they're both simply being polite and friendly and easygoing as ever, a gesture between friends. But he can't avoid how rare it feels, this affectionate physical contact which isn't colliding during a sparring session, or hauling someone up from the dust, an offered hand when someone falls. Touch simply for the sake of affectionate touch.
As the pair enter the line for the cashier, the alien in front of them startles, four eyes widening as they recognise the senator and the war hero plastered on all the propaganda posters. Whistling, fluting speech: Please, go on ahead, and they scurry out of the way for them. The corners of Obi-Wan's eyes crinkle into a faint wince; one subtle enough that only Padmé will notice.
The Clone Wars have changed things drastically. It all goes rather contrary to his original understanding of what being a Jedi meant: humility, subtlety, staying out of the spotlight.
He says, low and for her ears only: ]
They have a backyard here. We could have some privacy without people gawking.
[ Before the war, Padmé was rarely recognized outside senatorial functions, despite how often she spoke up in the chamber for various causes. War changes everything, though, and she's been one of the leaders of the movement to end the war and resume diplomacy. It's strange to be noticed in public like this; her four years as queen hadn't prepared her for it when she'd never been seen in public without the traditional royal makeup.
She knows it's been much the same for Obi-Wan, a strange and fairly severe shift in his life as the Jedi were forced into positions of leadership in the military. And for him and Anakin to be used so often to sway public support... Her thoughts on the matter are not the sort she dares share in public. ]
What a good idea.
[ Her voice is as quiet as his, and she covers their private conversation by offering a well-practiced, cordial smile to another pair of onlookers who have very clearly noticed their presence as well if their furtive glances and murmured words are anything to go by.
It's a relief when it's their turn to order. Padmé orders a triple caf with a splash of milk, strong and slightly bitter but highly effective — and also quick to make. ]
[ Obi-Wan's favourite caf method entails a slow pour-over to exact temperatures and exact timing, stirring and counting, a whole procedure. It's a slow and meditative process, largely meant for the calm in the brewing as well—
but they're at a cafe with a long line and they don't have the time, so he simply orders his caf black with a dash of cardamom, and he takes a honeyed pastry with him as they make their way into the back. Blessedly, it's quieter back here. It's not the lunchtime rush, so there aren't too many people crowded into the tables in the fresh air, and it means they can take their seats in the shade beneath a blackneedle tree, the gentle twittering of birds overhead.
It's peaceful. Perhaps not as peaceful as the Jedi temple is supposed to be, but nowadays the temple is a hive of activity and buzzing wartime energy, so he's glad of the opportunity to step away from it for a little while. He imagines the Senate building is in a similar position. ]
So while we were being frivolous, you were working through the night. My shame is acute.
[ He always sounds light like this, only half-serious. ]
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
i have measured out my life with coffee spoons.
It was an effective social lubricant at political events, at Republic soirees; accepting invitations and polite cocktails at diplomatic negotiations; blending into seedy back-alley bars when he and his apprentice were undercover.
But it turned out that political aides drank even more. After long endless hours at their offices being run ragged by their workloads, the young employees hit the bars afterward practically every evening. Kenobi and Skywalker had met them at the local bar and wound up gamely joining in, although reining themselves in just enough to not embarrass themselves. The Jedi knights were off-duty: they had a small sliver of time between missions, a little breathing room, where the war seemed far away for once. For one fleeting evening, they could embrace some normalcy.
Admittedly, a hangover was not befitting the Jedi (somewhere in the Force, Qui-Gon Jinn was perhaps looking down in bemused judgment)... but it had been a long year, and their monk-like order were not particularly known for their partying, so any opportunity to relax was rare and relished.
This morning, however, Obi-Wan splashes water on his face, readjusts his robes, combs his hair and beard, and overall tries to make sure he looks trim and presentable, despite what feels like Herglic rage-metal being played in the back of his skull.
He steps out into the morning sunshine, for a walk in the fresh air as he strolls down the gleaming Coruscanti avenues toward the gourmet coffee shop in the Senate district. It was expensive — everything in this district was overpriced — but considering his lack of material comforts, the ascetic nature of the rest of his life... well. A few expensive cups of coffee once in a while hopefully wouldn't betray his every principle.
Even with that hangover drumming at his temples and pulsing in time with his heartbeat, however, Obi-Wan is still on time, still waiting on a bench and kneading his brow when Padmé arrives. He glances up, and the corner of his mouth tugs into a half-smile at the sight of his old friend. ]
Good morning, Senator.
no subject
She thinks about it, though. Often. Especially as her own handmaidens take their own steps to look after her when she does a poor job of it herself.
While Obi-Wan's struggles are of the hangover variety, the senator's are that of chronic sleep deprivation. She's always been very devoted to her work, sometimes detrimentally so, and it has only gotten worse as the war persisted. During the aide's parties, she and other senators have met in secret, time and again, to strategize and forge new alliances. She's just coming from an early breakfast meeting with one such new ally, so her mood is buoyed by that success as she enters the cafe.
Seeing an old friend does wonders for her, as well. She approaches with a warm smile, her clothing choice for the day as stately as always but relatively toned down compared to what she might wear to a function or for addressing the Senate. ]
Good morning, General. I see the staffers weren't the only ones to enjoy themselves last night.
[ Yes, there is more than a hint of teasing in those words. Not cruelly so, of course, but she can't just let his apparent state slide by without comment. ]
no subject
[ Obi-Wan's voice is light as ever, loose and playful as ever, but there was that sharp instinctive twinge of self-imposed guilt whenever he put down the mantle and enjoyed himself in any way. As if he wasn't allowed to smile, was forbidden from relaxing at all when the war was still ongoing. That constant pressure on all of their shoulders, the responsibilities, the obligation to take everything deathly serious.
And at the sight of Padmé, he rises to his feet, presses a polite whiskery kiss to her cheek by way of hello, and then automatically sizes her up.
She's good at hiding it — meticlously-applied makeup, foundation covering those bags under her eyes — but he knows the senator well enough by now to note the difference between when she's well-rested and refreshed, and... now. It's enough to fool her colleagues, but not someone who's known her for years; has seen her in a war zone and in the intimacy of her bedroom after an attempted assassination. He's privileged enough to be one of the few to be privy of Padmé Amidala lowering that pristine mask. ]
Trust me, this'll be the last time I overdo it with the youths. It's back to my tamer delights now. And you— look like you do truly need that caf. Early morning?
no subject
But, for today, she will allow herself these fleeting moments with her friend. He has certainly earned it for his efforts on the front. ]
Very early, but it was also very successful.
[ She can tell by the way he looks at her that he's seen right through her mask. It's honestly a relief to have someone who knows her as well as he does and is just a friend. Her handmaidens know her better than they know themselves, but their lives are so closely tied that things can become complicated in a way she's never experienced with Obi-Wan. In all the years of their friendship, from the days when he'd helped defend her home from invasion, things have always been easy between them in a way she has not and will never take for granted.
Reaching out, she rests her hand on his arm long enough to give it a gentle squeeze, then gestures to the coffee shop. ]
So let's celebrate. My treat.
no subject
[ It was a small line of credit outside of missions, for incidentals only. Obi-Wan leads the way into the coffee shop, holding the door open for her with a wide sweeping gesture.
The pressure on his arm had been pleasant in a way he doesn't want to examine too closely. Polite, he tells himself: they're both simply being polite and friendly and easygoing as ever, a gesture between friends. But he can't avoid how rare it feels, this affectionate physical contact which isn't colliding during a sparring session, or hauling someone up from the dust, an offered hand when someone falls. Touch simply for the sake of affectionate touch.
As the pair enter the line for the cashier, the alien in front of them startles, four eyes widening as they recognise the senator and the war hero plastered on all the propaganda posters. Whistling, fluting speech: Please, go on ahead, and they scurry out of the way for them. The corners of Obi-Wan's eyes crinkle into a faint wince; one subtle enough that only Padmé will notice.
The Clone Wars have changed things drastically. It all goes rather contrary to his original understanding of what being a Jedi meant: humility, subtlety, staying out of the spotlight.
He says, low and for her ears only: ]
They have a backyard here. We could have some privacy without people gawking.
no subject
She knows it's been much the same for Obi-Wan, a strange and fairly severe shift in his life as the Jedi were forced into positions of leadership in the military. And for him and Anakin to be used so often to sway public support... Her thoughts on the matter are not the sort she dares share in public. ]
What a good idea.
[ Her voice is as quiet as his, and she covers their private conversation by offering a well-practiced, cordial smile to another pair of onlookers who have very clearly noticed their presence as well if their furtive glances and murmured words are anything to go by.
It's a relief when it's their turn to order. Padmé orders a triple caf with a splash of milk, strong and slightly bitter but highly effective — and also quick to make. ]
no subject
but they're at a cafe with a long line and they don't have the time, so he simply orders his caf black with a dash of cardamom, and he takes a honeyed pastry with him as they make their way into the back. Blessedly, it's quieter back here. It's not the lunchtime rush, so there aren't too many people crowded into the tables in the fresh air, and it means they can take their seats in the shade beneath a blackneedle tree, the gentle twittering of birds overhead.
It's peaceful. Perhaps not as peaceful as the Jedi temple is supposed to be, but nowadays the temple is a hive of activity and buzzing wartime energy, so he's glad of the opportunity to step away from it for a little while. He imagines the Senate building is in a similar position. ]
So while we were being frivolous, you were working through the night. My shame is acute.
[ He always sounds light like this, only half-serious. ]