OBI-WAN

They walked through the Temple's atrium, a bone-white bowl capped with glass and the piercing sky. Obi-Wan paced slowly to match his steps to the click of Yoda's cane on the stone floor and bent, out of habit, waiting for him to speak. He crossed his arms into the sleeves of his robe and adopted patience.

Click.

Click.

Younglings, padawans, and force-sensitive layfolk hurried in and out of the atrium nexus, attending to the needs of the day. The Jedi were ever on missions, and children needed to be taught. The Temple was a hive, and they each moved about their roles. Obi-Wan cast glances at those that passed by and let his eyes roam over the very few, very small trees kept perfectly coiffed on the perimeter. They had looked the same as long as he could remember, and he drew a comfort from that. Qui-Gon had known these same trees, as Anakin would—a species for which a human lifespan was but a breath.

Master Yoda sniffed audibly, and Obi-Wan brought his attention back, stopping when the cane remained planted where it was.

"An assignment for you, I have," the old master said, and peered up. His long green ears twitched with something Obi-Wan had long ago decided was mischief.

He arched an eyebrow. "Go on."

"In a month, the Star Bloom festival will be." He lifted his cane and motioned toward a wall, vaguely in the direction of the Senate Chamber several miles across town. "Important to the Republic," he said gravely.

Obi-Wan smirked. "Everyone enjoys a good party"—Yoda cut a look at him—"so I'm told," he finished placidly.

The old master hmphed and started walking again, dragging Obi-Wan slowly with him. "Participate we shall."

Shock straightened Obi-Wan's spine. Participate? "In the parade?" The Order hadn't done that in years.

Yoda nodded and clicked, clicked in the direction of the Council chambers. "Organize you must, a show of arms. A demonstration for the Senate. Valued, the Order should be."

The declaration brought Obi-Wan to a stop, and he frowned down with a growing sense of consternation. "You want to... show off? To the Senate?"

Master Yoda turned and gazed at him, with one of those looks that felt like it saw more. Obi-Wan became conscious of the sensation of his own breathing and the tenor of his thoughts. Then Yoda bowed his head once in assent.

"Why?" Obi-Wan's voice may have come out louder and more offended than he'd intended. Valued? Since when was their service, their sacrifice not valued?

The old master's shoulders rose and fell with a sigh. "Always a performance politics must be. Reform Chancellor Palpatine seeks. Change. Serve Valorum faithfully the Jedi have done."

Obi-Wan scowled. "Serve the Republic the Jedi have done."

A shrug, and Master Yoda continued his slow trek. "Support us they will, if given reason."

Obi-Wan dug his hands further into his sleeves in agitation and took a few long strides to catch up. "A show of arms," he echoed after a moment's thought. "A threat?"

Yoda slanted a look up at him, ears twitching. "A reminder of the Force."

Not exactly a threat. Just not not one either. Obi-Wan had been trained mostly in lightsaber techniques. If they were coming to him to... arrange a pageant—the words tasted strange and bitter in his head—then the Council must know what sort of show they'd be getting and the kind of message that was likely to send. Their choice, the only Jedi in recent memory to kill a Sith, was not an arbitrary one.

"Master—"

"Master Yoda!" a voice broke in, and Obi-Wan glanced up to see a woman in a consular's gold tabard running in their direction. She waved one hand and juttered to a halt in front of them, breathless, and clutching a collection of paper books, datapads, and flimsis to her chest.

"Master Yoda, the Asyr Study? It's been so"—her gaze briefly caught on something above his head and then flicked back down—"I can't remember how—which—" She stopped herself forcibly. Pressed her eyes shut. Breathed and hugged everything tighter. "I'm late." It came out a proclamation.

Obi-Wan blinked at the rush of words and junk heap of half-thoughts, but Master Yoda simply lifted one hand and pointed a claw toward the far end of the room with a chortle.

"Down three. On the right, stay."

The woman bobbed. "Yes," thinking. And then, "Yes!" brightly when she seemed to connect to what he'd said in a new, more useful way. She turned, darted a few steps away, and then abruptly stopped and rushed back toward Obi-Wan, as though noticing him for the first time.

He lifted his eyebrows at her in question.

"Hi! Sorry, I—" She shuffled the materials in her arms to get a hand free and shoved it in his direction. "Aylee Desai," she said, and then dropped the datapads before he had a chance to react. "Blast!" She crouched to gather them back, muttering to herself from behind a curtain of white-gold hair.

Obi-Wan bent to pick up the pad that had collided with his foot and placed it carefully on the rebuilt stack in her arms.

She smiled tightly, embarrassed and quickly turning red, and bobbed again."And you are?"

"Uh, Obi-Wan Kenobi." He frowned, not sure why his own name sounded like a question. Or why her gaze had slipped to the side, clearly tracking someone else. He started to turn and look when her attention found him again and pinned him in place with the deep brown of her eyes.

"Right. Well, thank you," she said to him, and "Thank you," again to Master Yoda. And then, quickly, "I've got to go," before rushing in the direction of the elevators and, presumably, the Asyr Study.

Obi-Wan stared after her and then pivoted slowly toward Master Yoda. "What... was that."

"Stressed," the older master replied.

He huffed. "You aren't kidding."

Then Obi-Wan stepped back to Master Yoda's side and slipped his hands into his sleeves.

"Long she has been gone," Yoda added. He narrowed his eyes in the direction she had disappeared and flexed his ears before looking up. "The festival, Obi-Wan."

He drew a breath and sighed. Glorified party-planner hadn't been high on his list of dream occupations. And pandering to Senators held little appeal. But... if the Council thought it was important, a good use of his time...

"A demonstration," he said, resigned. "I'll see what I can do."

Master Yoda made a displeased sound, and Obi-Wan caught himself with a wry smile. "I'll see that it's done," he amended.

The old Jedi huffed, grinned, and turned away. "Good day, Master Kenobi," he said, and clicked, clicked toward one of the towers.

Obi-Wan stood for a time in the atrium's clean spaciousness, letting its calm fill his senses. "Good day, Master Yoda," he replied quietly.