a magic flight and the wildest ride
❚❚❚❚❚ OPEN LOG.
■ CHARACTERS: Obi-Wan Kenobi (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
unforced) and you!
■ DATE: DAYS 81, 84 | VARIOUS
■ WARNINGS: An old fogey fogeying about with varying levels of decreasing success.
■ SUMMARY: The black box was definitely a thing, and it seems like just recovering is half the battle. But Jedi do have several methods of recovering! They're great at that. Yeah.......
DAY 81
[Time spent too long in a black box and a phantom hand still lingering in his own, and Obi-Wan suddenly finds himself sorely missing some simple, plain, sensible training. (You won't hear him saying that out loud, but--) He hasn't worked on his lightsaber form for an inordinate amount of time, either--a troubling thought, to a man that's spent the last three years sparring at least every other day in some shape or form. Sparring partners have been a sight more tricky to come across, in his time spent in the CDC--plasma weapons on the bladed variety being rather more sparse, it would seem, and him not wanting to inadvertently destroy possessions in a simple training match--but the Neheda, at least, does provide opportunity in itself. No assessments to attend or colony planets to visit or murderous cinnamon-scented bugs to worry over, and now seems to be as good a time as ever.
Ghosts of dead loved ones brought right before your eyes only to be killed again by your own failures--again--and well, anybody would want to clear their head.
The anti-gravity room proves the most interesting, as it turns out--and, after tweaking around the settings some, Obi-Wan can be found here, leaping back and forth and up and down around a white room filled with cubic obstacles of all sizes, shooting back and forth at him as he moves. Out of his standard bundling Jedi cloak for once, spectators might find him pulling feats of agility rather at odds with his generally civilian demeanor as he somersaults and handsprings his way about, gripping a blade of bright blue light, severing his way through the obstacles before they can touch him and leaving seared halves in his wake. Occasionally, the gravity fluxes at random, rather as it might in a ship undergoing gravity shear--sometimes just intense enough to make his feet heavy and leaping an extra effort, sometimes so minimal he can spring from one wall and practically swim his way across the room to the other.
No particular objective in mind, nor end at hand. It's therapeutic, in its familiarity, being able to detach to the point that one's limbs move on their own, pulling reflexes and lightsaber strikes as familiar and well-tread to you as a beaten path to your house. For awhile, Obi-Wan manages well enough, not a single obstacle striking him. But the gravity fluctuations grow more frequent, and the obstacles move ever faster, and his thoughts begin to wander, even despite himself--lured, unfortunate and unforeseen, by the comfort of the familiar and redundant. He wonders where Cody is, now that the Republic is fallen--what use are soldiers to a place where there is no longer war? But maybe Cody had been aware of that anyway, all along. He wonders what Satine would think of all this, the CDC, a company with its trade in planetary death--what she would do about it. Hypotheticals that could never be, and shouldn't.
Gravity shifts from feather-light to normal mid-leap, and Obi-Wan blanches, missing an obstacle cube by inches--it barrels into him, and he crashes into the ceiling, before falling straight down to the floor. Lightsaber clatters out of his hand, winking out of existence as his grip releases, and for a moment Obi-Wan simply lays there, panting slightly and staring ruefully at the ceiling. Puffs a small, tired laugh, and slowly tries to sit up, muttering half to himself as he does.]
Well, I suppose that's a set of embarrassing bruises I do deserve this time...
DAY 81 REDUX (late night)
[Training aside, though, there tend to be other ways to calm oneself. Sleep feels even scarcer now than it usually is, and so Obi-Wan decides against immediately retiring to his room as the hours grow later. Instead, taking note of the rec wing promotions for the first time, he ends up wandering in there and then settling down on a couch in front of one of the movie displays. Near one of the arms, on a table: a pot of tea and a couple of cups, brought in himself, and one of them steaming between his hands as he settles into the folds of his robes and the support of the couch back, watching the screen before him with evident interest.
Said screen is in the midst of a Twilight Zone marathon, as it happens. And eventually, after watching the monochrome images and dated audio voices exchanging exceptionally interesting stories for a time, he eventually speaks up to whoever might happen to be nearest at the moment, frowning thoughtfully.]
Ah...but you know, I don't think I've ever seen anything quite like this before! Not bad for a night, not at all. But, the display here... [He gestures at the screen slightly with a faint air of bemusement.] Is there any particular reason for the lack of color? I understand this is media from Earth--is it an accommodation of the native inhabitants' eyesight?
[Not necessarily the weirdest format of native media he's ever seen, but still...this whole time he's been associating with so many from this Earth planet, and he never figured that normal color might not be an immediate part of their eyesightbecause that's gotta be why the show's black and white like this right--]
DAY 84
[The silence of the black box was lonely. But somehow, even as he leaves it, starts down the hall, the ship, footsteps wandering and thoughts blank, still the silence persists. The Neheda is still thriving and well, plenty of recruits around and about, be it attending black box sessions themselves or partaking in the rec room festivities--but somehow, now, it's all detached. There's no hearing them. There's only Anakin's voice, ringing from across another life, wondering why he's even trying--
He's terribly unbalanced right now. He ought to center himself. But even that feels like a jarring idea, now--letting go of that much more, when he's so detached from the present already, and Obi-Wan is half-afraid he would only drown himself in the past right now. Perhaps some tea--but no. The very thought only reminds him too much of Qui-Gon, the silence there, the failure he can never forget.
Obi-Wan wanders in an uncharacteristic daze, not particularly sure where his steps are taking him and somehow not particularly caring. Vaguely realizing the scenery has changed around him at some point, at length, he doesn't even pause to wonder what rec wingclub he's even in; he drifts up to the bar like a lost man, orders a drink whose name he can't remember the moment the glass is in his hand, and somehow manages to track down a table. But his hands have been shaking ever since he left that sim, and they seem hard-put to stop, and the drink slips between his fingertips and splashes its way all along the tabletop the moment he pauses.
Ah.
Obi-Wan stares at the slowly soaking table with a distant unhappiness--attempts to pull away a bit more from thoughts that threaten to consume him, and glances around the tables, searching for--ah, nearest napkin dispenser there, right--and he reaches over for a handful, pale, murmuring apologies to the occupied table in question.] Terribly sorry, I--wasn't paying attention, it'll only be a moment--
■ CHARACTERS: Obi-Wan Kenobi (
unforced) and you!■ DATE: DAYS 81, 84 | VARIOUS
■ WARNINGS: An old fogey fogeying about with varying levels of decreasing success.
■ SUMMARY: The black box was definitely a thing, and it seems like just recovering is half the battle. But Jedi do have several methods of recovering! They're great at that. Yeah.......
DAY 81
[Time spent too long in a black box and a phantom hand still lingering in his own, and Obi-Wan suddenly finds himself sorely missing some simple, plain, sensible training. (You won't hear him saying that out loud, but--) He hasn't worked on his lightsaber form for an inordinate amount of time, either--a troubling thought, to a man that's spent the last three years sparring at least every other day in some shape or form. Sparring partners have been a sight more tricky to come across, in his time spent in the CDC--plasma weapons on the bladed variety being rather more sparse, it would seem, and him not wanting to inadvertently destroy possessions in a simple training match--but the Neheda, at least, does provide opportunity in itself. No assessments to attend or colony planets to visit or murderous cinnamon-scented bugs to worry over, and now seems to be as good a time as ever.
Ghosts of dead loved ones brought right before your eyes only to be killed again by your own failures--again--and well, anybody would want to clear their head.
The anti-gravity room proves the most interesting, as it turns out--and, after tweaking around the settings some, Obi-Wan can be found here, leaping back and forth and up and down around a white room filled with cubic obstacles of all sizes, shooting back and forth at him as he moves. Out of his standard bundling Jedi cloak for once, spectators might find him pulling feats of agility rather at odds with his generally civilian demeanor as he somersaults and handsprings his way about, gripping a blade of bright blue light, severing his way through the obstacles before they can touch him and leaving seared halves in his wake. Occasionally, the gravity fluxes at random, rather as it might in a ship undergoing gravity shear--sometimes just intense enough to make his feet heavy and leaping an extra effort, sometimes so minimal he can spring from one wall and practically swim his way across the room to the other.
No particular objective in mind, nor end at hand. It's therapeutic, in its familiarity, being able to detach to the point that one's limbs move on their own, pulling reflexes and lightsaber strikes as familiar and well-tread to you as a beaten path to your house. For awhile, Obi-Wan manages well enough, not a single obstacle striking him. But the gravity fluctuations grow more frequent, and the obstacles move ever faster, and his thoughts begin to wander, even despite himself--lured, unfortunate and unforeseen, by the comfort of the familiar and redundant. He wonders where Cody is, now that the Republic is fallen--what use are soldiers to a place where there is no longer war? But maybe Cody had been aware of that anyway, all along. He wonders what Satine would think of all this, the CDC, a company with its trade in planetary death--what she would do about it. Hypotheticals that could never be, and shouldn't.
Gravity shifts from feather-light to normal mid-leap, and Obi-Wan blanches, missing an obstacle cube by inches--it barrels into him, and he crashes into the ceiling, before falling straight down to the floor. Lightsaber clatters out of his hand, winking out of existence as his grip releases, and for a moment Obi-Wan simply lays there, panting slightly and staring ruefully at the ceiling. Puffs a small, tired laugh, and slowly tries to sit up, muttering half to himself as he does.]
Well, I suppose that's a set of embarrassing bruises I do deserve this time...
DAY 81 REDUX (late night)
[Training aside, though, there tend to be other ways to calm oneself. Sleep feels even scarcer now than it usually is, and so Obi-Wan decides against immediately retiring to his room as the hours grow later. Instead, taking note of the rec wing promotions for the first time, he ends up wandering in there and then settling down on a couch in front of one of the movie displays. Near one of the arms, on a table: a pot of tea and a couple of cups, brought in himself, and one of them steaming between his hands as he settles into the folds of his robes and the support of the couch back, watching the screen before him with evident interest.
Said screen is in the midst of a Twilight Zone marathon, as it happens. And eventually, after watching the monochrome images and dated audio voices exchanging exceptionally interesting stories for a time, he eventually speaks up to whoever might happen to be nearest at the moment, frowning thoughtfully.]
Ah...but you know, I don't think I've ever seen anything quite like this before! Not bad for a night, not at all. But, the display here... [He gestures at the screen slightly with a faint air of bemusement.] Is there any particular reason for the lack of color? I understand this is media from Earth--is it an accommodation of the native inhabitants' eyesight?
[Not necessarily the weirdest format of native media he's ever seen, but still...this whole time he's been associating with so many from this Earth planet, and he never figured that normal color might not be an immediate part of their eyesight
DAY 84
[The silence of the black box was lonely. But somehow, even as he leaves it, starts down the hall, the ship, footsteps wandering and thoughts blank, still the silence persists. The Neheda is still thriving and well, plenty of recruits around and about, be it attending black box sessions themselves or partaking in the rec room festivities--but somehow, now, it's all detached. There's no hearing them. There's only Anakin's voice, ringing from across another life, wondering why he's even trying--
He's terribly unbalanced right now. He ought to center himself. But even that feels like a jarring idea, now--letting go of that much more, when he's so detached from the present already, and Obi-Wan is half-afraid he would only drown himself in the past right now. Perhaps some tea--but no. The very thought only reminds him too much of Qui-Gon, the silence there, the failure he can never forget.
Obi-Wan wanders in an uncharacteristic daze, not particularly sure where his steps are taking him and somehow not particularly caring. Vaguely realizing the scenery has changed around him at some point, at length, he doesn't even pause to wonder what rec wingclub he's even in; he drifts up to the bar like a lost man, orders a drink whose name he can't remember the moment the glass is in his hand, and somehow manages to track down a table. But his hands have been shaking ever since he left that sim, and they seem hard-put to stop, and the drink slips between his fingertips and splashes its way all along the tabletop the moment he pauses.
Ah.
Obi-Wan stares at the slowly soaking table with a distant unhappiness--attempts to pull away a bit more from thoughts that threaten to consume him, and glances around the tables, searching for--ah, nearest napkin dispenser there, right--and he reaches over for a handful, pale, murmuring apologies to the occupied table in question.] Terribly sorry, I--wasn't paying attention, it'll only be a moment--