capeandcowllogs | In which I wish Fakir could fanboy as hard as I do

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In which I wish Fakir could fanboy as hard as I do

WHO: Fakir, Obi-Wan, later Duck
WHERE: Obi's studio, then the bakery downstairs the next morning
WHEN: August 30th, late evening; The morning following
WARNINGS: Uh. Me being a giant dork.
SUMMARY: Following his request for a sword, Fakir visits Obi-Wan's studio to borrow one and a few pointers on how to use the unique weapon. For the purpose of not log-spamming, this log will double as one for the breakfast meeting between Fakir and Duck to discuss fixing Mytho.
FORMAT: P-p-p-p-paragraph
At this moment in time, as he stood all-too-straight outside the door to Obi-Wan's studio, Fakir wondered if he had stepped out of one story and into another. After all, aged people you know next to nothing about don't just offer to let you borrow swords that glow in anything but stories.

~~Quit thinking about it and knock, you idiot.~~

And he did, and waited, tapping his foot in something akin to impatience.

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He heard Mirin and Gon mewling excitedly before the familiar thump of boots on the floor; the kittens pounced on Fakir's feet almost as soon as the door was open.

"Traffic?" Obi-Wan asked sympathetically, gesturing for him to come inside.

Fakir nodded as he stepped inside, cautiously stepping over the little balls of fuzz racing around his feet.

"It hardly feels safe to walk anywhere in this damned place," he said. "Big machines tearing down the streets, clumps of people milling around and filling any space that's safe to step into..."

"The trick is to try and see how much space there is between those people." He crouched to usher the kittens back inside, then closed the door. "But perspective isn't an easy thing to learn."

"It's the only way I could get here at all. Or at least it feels that way," Fakir said, standing rather awkwardly in the center of the room.

Edited 2009-08-31 14:05 (UTC)

"Well, you're here now. Please, take a moment to catch your breath--you'll learn better if you're in a calm state of mind."

He shrugged off his cloak and folded it somewhat haphazardly. The lightsaber hilt still dangled at his hip, looking alien and perfectly harmless.

"Right," Fakir mumbled, biting back the urge to say that he already knew that. He crossed his arms, eying the hilt. He recognized it from the photograph; he was sure of it. But there wasn't any blade. "That's it?" he asked after a moment, trying not to sound too confused.

"Oh, this?"

Obi-Wan unclipped it and held it up; the ridged metal caught the light, flashing for a moment. "The weapon of a Jedi Knight. My sword and my shield, and one of the most important things a Jedi can own."

Fakir stood silent (or rather, stared) for a moment, digesting the words with a dumbfounded look on his face that he'd be ashamed of himself in most any other situation.

"And you'd be willing to let me borrow something like that?" he asked, the fact that it was only a hilt escaping his concern for the moment.

"You will have to be very careful with it, and I'll expect it back as soon as you're done." He turned it over in his hands, considering all the alterations he'd made to it over what felt like half of his life. "It's very precious to me, and very dangerous. But..."

He paused, trying to find the right words for the sudden swell of emotion.

"But I think you need it, Fakir."

Before the combined sadness and affection could form a choking lump, he cleared his throat, and gestured for Fakir to stand aside.

Fakir nodded slowly and obeyed the silent command, unable to find any words to say. 'I won't lose it,' and 'Thank you,' were all he felt he would be able to force out at the moment, and he at least had the social tact to know that neither statement would suffice.

"You'll want to pay special attention to which end is the emitter array," Obi-Wan remarked almost casually. "And you only need to press the red button once, like so--"

With a sudden buzzing shriek, the lightsaber ignited, its sky-blue blade leaping brilliantly to life.

Suddenly snapped out of his silence, Fakir quickly stepped back with a small sound of alarm.

"It just appears?" he asked, once the shock faded back into wonder-tinged curiosity. He glanced over the shining blade, considered the mention of buttons and arrays. "It's a mechanical thing?"

"In a sense. It's a very complicated mechanism, and I doubt it can be replicated in this world. But the blade, as I told you, is pure energy."

For a moment, Obi-Wan reflected that its uniqueness might pose a problem: after all, if this world hadn't found a way to travel as far as Ilum, he might be in trouble should the crystal in his lightsaber end up damaged.

"I'll treat it with utmost care, then," Fakir said, his gaze drifting between Obi-Wan's face and the unearthly blue glow of the blade. A moment passed in silence before he spoke up again. "If it's energy, it has no weight?"

"Not quite." He had to smile at that--he remembered asking a very similar question of his own Master, decades ago.

And then, gently, he offered the hilt to Fakir.

"Try it for yourself."

"Right," Fakir said, not looking down as he accepted the weapon. The corners of his mouth lifted slightly, shifting his expression from a frown to a look of passive calm. Probably the closest he'd come to a smile in days.

He turned the hilt over in his hands, examining it. And being very careful not to switch on that red button. It was an exotic thing, longer than the hilt of his own sword and obviously designed to be used with two hands. That in and of itself was nothing too strange; he had seen and handled such weapons before, but everything else about the thing seemed totally alien. It was all buttons, and little dials, and shiny metal. It was hardly like a sword at all.

Fakir cleared his throat and turned to one side, mindful of the 'blade' and the fact that he hadn't exactly remembered how far it extended when alight. He gripped the hilt with both hands and ignited the blade, his eyes widening at the sudden light and startling electric sound.

The hilt hummed gently in his hands, like a thing alive. When he moved, even slightly, the blade buzzed, its core almost white and its edges fluctuating in a dozen different shades of blue, like a summer sky at twilight.

"Hold it however is most comfortable to you," Obi-Wan said, his tone growing deeper and more serious as he remembered his own lessons. "I realize the hilt may be a bit big for your hands, but if you want to wield it one-handed, try it. Any knight must let his sword be an extension of his arm and his will."

Obi-Wan's change of tone was not lost on Fakir, and he took it as a subtle reminder that he was here to learn, not to marvel at the absurdity of the situation. Mytho was in danger; he was endangering others. Worse still, most if not all other people who would defend him at this point were largely unable. Wondering could wait. Questions, for the most part, could wait. Now he needed to learn to wield the only remotely suitable weapon he could find, and how to compensate for its unfamiliarity.

He did as he was instructed and moved one hand from the hilt, sweeping the blade before himself once, noting for the first time the strange sort of resistance that came with moving it. In a way, the resistance made up for the blade's weightlessness. What effort Fakir would have normally expended in lifting the blade was spent instead on overcoming the struggling resistance as he worked through a few of the simplest exercises he knew.

~~Maybe it was a mistake to- No, I need to do this, difficult or no.~~

"Don't forget to breathe."

How many afternoons had he spent like this, with his own Padawan or with other curious Temple younglings, trying to pass on his knowledge of the classic forms he'd studied? How many calm hours had he passed in his own world, believing that he was only a single thread in a web of Jedi knowledge that would stretch out forever, secure in his belief that the children he taught would go on to take students of their own, and grow, and thrive?

The familiarity of the routine was more sweet than bitter, and for a moment Obi-Wan was simply grateful for the opportunity to go through it.

Then he took a breath, and let calm overtake his other emotions. He still had much to teach today, after all.

"Don't try for speed right away. It's better to be accurate than to be fast."

"With this thing, speed's a lot easier for me to achieve than accuracy," Fakir said, obeying and adjusting his movements in spite of the backtalk. Responsibility outweighed his disrespectful nature, for now.

Moving more slowly, now, he stepped into a routine reminiscent of those he'd practiced as a dancer, moving lightly and with purpose.

"The easy method does not make one a truly competent warrior," Obi-Wan chided gently. "The right strike is far better than the swift strike. Do it again, slower."

"Yes sir," repeating the motions for what he was sure would be the second of many, many times.

Obi-Wan watched him, nodding his approval slowly. "Better. Don't grip so tightly that your hand cramps up. Again."

Fakir nodded and readjust his grip, flexing his stiff wrist. "I'm kind of reluctant to not hold it tightly with the way it... pulls," he said, slowly repeating the motion twice more.

"Don't concentrate on the pulling. Concentrate on where you want the blade to be. Again."

For an hour he watched the boy move through the motions of an unfamiliar sword form, and when he could he gently coached him into trying the tight and graceful movements of Soresu, to bolster his defenses. He had a dancer's agility, and a kind of tension that reminded Obi-Wan of his own extensive practice sessions as a Padawan.

Loosen up, my boy, Qui-Gon had laughed time and again. Water can't flow when it's frozen solid.

Fakir didn't quite have the same problem, but he thought he might understand, a little, what he must have been like to watch as an apprentice.

In an hour's time, Fakir had grown appreciative of Obi-Wan's advice, as little sense as it made to him at the time. If he didn't know any better, he would say he had gotten somewhat better for it. Of course, he had also grown tired, and a little of his focus was lost every time his aching wrists twinged.

The shimmering blade disappeared as he powered down whatever mechanism ignited it, and Fakir rested casually against the nearest wall, flexing his hands.

"Very good, Fakir, very good!"

He found himself smiling--a genuine, pleased smile, broad and unrestrained--as the boy relaxed.

"You're adapting very well, and that was remarkable progress for such a short time."

Fakir felt his face warm slightly at the praise. It wasn't every day that he was called anything other than a failure as a knight. He shifted his gaze to the other side of the room and reached up to pull the tie out of his hair and shake the sweat out of it.

"It wasn't much, I'm sure," he said. "But if you say so."

Though he knew enough by now to keep himself from reaching into Fakir's thoughts, Obi-Wan couldn't help but notice a little whisper in the Force that came from the boy's emotions, something familiar and painful: failure.

He knew all too well what that felt like.

"Well, to go from a heavier weapon to a lightsaber isn't exactly an easy task, but you're handling it quite nicely."

"I wouldn't learn so well in a less pressing situation," Fakir said, sinking down to the floor to rest. "I have to learn, so I do. Or I try."

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In which I wish Fakir could fanboy as hard as I do

ffffff welcome to joseph campbell territory, fakir

THIS IS DANGEROUS COUNTRY FOR YOU, OLD MAN

DANGEROUS COUNTRY? THIS IS SPARTAAAAAAAA

DOES THAT MEAN YOU'RE NOT DOOMED TO DIE?

THANKS FOR REMINDING ME OF MY OWN IMPENDING DOOM, KIDDO :(

SDFHDFGERFHJK STUPID NOTIFS D'X

D:

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oh that's kind of- WTF SHINY THING

fffff is he going to run away like a scared puppy

no, he is a big boy >:| | is it wrong that I have had the exact same thought as Obi re. crystals

NO. NO IT IS NOT

I MEAN THERE MIGHT BE PASSABLE IF UNSTABLE ANALOGS THE ELEMENTAL MAKEUP ISN'T GIVEN. I THINK.

I KNOW THEY'RE CRYSTALS. PERHAPS HE SHOULD INQUIRE AT STARKTECH

SYNTHESIZED? I HAD CONSIDERED THIS. THEY MAKE DIAMONDS IN LABS AFTER ALL. also i type a lot ):

POSSIBLY! also sennet tell me to do my essay for school :(

I will be doing my homework while watching movies tonight lol. gettowork. orgetonaim.

FUCK THIS ESSAY

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5j2YDq6FkVE

fff where do you find this shit

IDEK (Who's doing the handwave for this?)

(BEST STAND ASIDE AND LET THE JEDI MASTER DO HIS THING)

[HANDWAVING IS ONE OF THEIR SIGNATURE MOVES]

[EXCEPT OBI-WAN IS SO GOOD HE DOESN'T EVEN NEED TO LIFT A FINGER]

[JUST DON'T READ FAKIR'S MIND AGAIN. HE HAS TOO MANY SECRETS.]

[/resists the Sneakers joke SO. HARD.]

DO NOT RESIST D: also waaah i am slow