[ Strictly speaking, he doesn't have to hang around for the rest of the dinner - the Chancellor wanted mostly to show him the line-up, as he'd said, the most important people in the galaxy at this very moment, my boy - that is, if you consider politics the most important seat of power. His friend had chuckled a bit at that last part, amused for some private reason that he didn't share. Anakin could have asked, of course - he's always welcome to ask around the Chancellor, encouraged even - but tonight, he doesn't really have the energy. His latest conversation with Padmé (it's a discussion, not a fight, he won't let it become a fight) has drained him well and truly; indeed, he's had all he can take of... political intricacies.
Force, he can't wait to be shipped out again. At least fighting the Seppies makes sense.
Hands tightening behind his back, he stiffens a little at the feel of his mechno hand, the sensors translating the force of his grip, the smoothness of his remaining palm. It's not familiar, not quite. His swordsmanship is still lacking as a consequence and that, too, feels exhausting right now, as he thinks on it. Pushing the thought away, he sighs audibly and is just about to turn away, maybe head for one of the topside balconies - it's not like the Chancellor needs him for anything at the moment, the place is crawling with security - when the Force gives a small twinge. Instinctively, he spins on his heel, hands outstretched and a split-second later, he catches a half-naked, gold-shimmering man in his grip, like he'd been heading right for him.
He blinks.
The man in question is shorter than him by half a head or so and Anakin doesn't recognise him which immediately tells him that he's not overly important, at least not by the Chancellor's standards. Regardless, letting him tumble onto his face just because he'd been unfortunate enough to overlook Anakin in the hallway definitely wouldn't be nice so Anakin steadies him with both hands and says, one eyebrow raised and his voice light: ]
[ He should have minded his step, probably. He shouldn't have been so completely immersed in looking behind his back, making sure Rainier wasn't following, wasn't gonna make his night even more... difficult, but Claude has had enough advice now to last him a couple of days, pretty much, so he's eager to find people who won't try to talk him into sending armed troops after farmers with blasters but not enough aim for a full-scale civil war. If he'd done the former, however, he most likely wouldn't have stumbled into the latter on the way and sometimes there might actually be a meaning to it all, even in the craziness currently playing out in their galaxy.
His mother believes in fate. Rainier never openly scorns her for it, but Claude has seen the way he looks at her. Same kind of look he gives Claude sometimes, these days. Disdain. He can't make himself call it loathing.
Under any circumstances, Claude is busy looking anywhere else than where he's going and consequently, he takes a tumble, more or less stumbling head-first into a random passer-by. Random passer-by who has very quick reflexes and catches him mid-fall, supporting him until he can find his balance again. His bearing. He's glittering in royal gold-leaf and getting caught by young men who look like they wanna be here about as much as Claude wants his advisor to be here.
Claude looks up into his face. The young man, younger than him by several years, he'd venture, is also taller than him and very, very good-looking and for the first time tonight, Claude feels a sense of unease being - without a doubt - the most underdressed guest at the party. He manages not to make a sound mostly by habit. A result of many years' worth of not getting caught up late by his parents, not getting caught sneaking off by his teachers, Claude is very good at going unnoticed when he wants, if he wants it.
And the other man has blue eyes, almost unnaturally so.
So, Claude smiles, widely. Then, hearing Rainier's voice somewhere behind him, his own eyes widen almost comically and he slinks around the stranger until he's standing on his other side, the man with his breadth and width acting as a shield between himself and his old mentor. Keeping his voice lowered, but pleasantly so, Claude leans in a bit, saying, hushed. ]
Please, if you could, you know, not move for a moment? I'm trying to -- [ Escape? Hide? None of that sounds particularly good. ] -- keep a low profile.
[ Sounds better, sure, but it means the same thing. Claude ducks his head a bit, smile returning, a hint of apology to it. ]
[ It takes his brain a couple of seconds to click with reality.
But once it does, his face goes very nearly instantly red which is obviously pathetic - he's a married man, he's seen... things - but the man in his arms really is almost naked and on top of that, he's not at all awful to look at. Anakin is just about to push him away, possibly a bit faster than strictly necessary, except then the man smiles up at him, just beaming, and that's... a good look on him, yes, it's pretty great. Anakin blinks again, not unlike a bewildered Nuna. Just to make matters worse, the Force then wills the stranger to lean in closer, telling him to - what, hide him away? Huh?
It doesn't sound overly acute, granted, but Anakin knows the need for an escape plan when he sees one and also, kriff, the man needs to be wearing clothes, stat. So without further ado and with rapid, Force-powered reflexes, Anakin shrugs out of his outer robe (the opposite of not moving, sure, the other man's gotta take what he can get here) and wraps the stranger within it, knowing full well that Obi-Wan's no doubt sitting somewhere in the Outer Rim right now, shivering pitifully at the sensation of utter sacrilege being committed. With a quick flick of his wrist, he even pulls the hood over the other man's head, shrouding him in darknesss and leaving him looking like - like...
Well.
The robe's a bit big on him.
Anakin, however, goes with the flow of his master plan, squares his shoulders and stands up straight just as someone passes by behind him, willing the stranger to do the same or to just... huddle in the robe, whatever, it works. Out of the corner of his eyes, he registers grey hair, a low stature, far too much bared skin for that age-group (there aren't robes enough in the universe for this dinner party) and then, they're alone in the hallway once more. ]
[ If we are honest, Claude would have settled with less. Less than having the stranger shrug out of his robe and proceed to wrap Claude up inside it - because this is a case of the robe wearing him, rather than the other way around, it's that big. Once the hood goes up, seemingly on its own accord, it's more or less a tent by all definitions but the common one. There's commotion all around him, but he can't see a thing - except feet, the stranger's big, booted feet right in front of him and around them, other feet moving by, Parisian sandals on well-known feet, for example, and Claude stands very still until the danger has passed, wrapped not only in fabric, but the scent of the other man, heavy, musky, manly. There's a second, before he lets the hood fall back and looks up at his saviour, in every sense of the word, really, where it feels incredibly safe. Like a fortress. A fortress of personhood, of not being alone.
There's a reluctance to part with it, but it's not his robe and he's getting gold-leaf on the inside of it, sorry to say. It's symbolic, how easily it rubs off, shows where you've been touched, traces back to whom, too. Checking one last time that Rainier is really gone, he shrugs out of the robe again, curls everywhere, and holds it out to the other man, the younger man, Claude wasn't half that attractive at his age. He seems older than his looks. Like there's a weight to him. Some things are like that, Claude knows. ]
Thank you. [ The smile, again, wide, but soft. Amused, but not quite, never quite. ] The gold-leaf wears off after a while. Until then, don't worry, it'll look good on you.
[ Like a testament, one sleeve of the robe now bears a smear of gold glitter across the hem.
Claude frowns and looks down, trying not to get distracted and failing spectacularly, where are Rainier's admonishments when you need them? Oh, yeah. A quick glance the way the older man disappeared, then he turns back towards the stranger who saved him from having to follow him, even one more step. ]
He'll be back, so I should probably go.
[ Looking up at the stranger's face, his chiseled features, the strength in his gaze, maturity beyond his years, Claude doesn't, however. Go. He doesn't, and he longs to be wrapped up in his robe again, that's really all he can think about.
It was soft, it was soft and accommodating. Rare traits anywhere. ]
[ Off comes the robe - and we're back to half-naked, thanks, that's still distracting. Anakin accepts the robe, gold dust strewn across the black fabric in patches corresponding to the other man's musculature so naturally, Anakin thinks about that some more. Good thing Padmé doesn't want to see him tonight, it seems. He wouldn't want to feel unfaithful on top of everything else he's doing wrong at the moment. He looks away just as the stranger looks up at him, sensing his gaze on him all the same and wondering not for the first time why he couldn't just be born with a normal set of emotions rather than whatever this is. He wants to look at the pretty stranger some more. He wants to crawl into a hole somewhere.
I should probably go, says the stranger with the soothing voice, his brown curls framing his face, tracing soft, flowy patterns of shadow across his features. He makes Anakin think about light, somehow. The tip of a sunrise before it breaks into the sky.
Wetting his lips, he nods and bows his head, cradling the robe between his fingers rather than putting it on like a normal person. You should, he tries to say, except what happens is: ]
You don't have to.
[ He swallows and shifts a little, fingering one sleeve with his gloved metal hand, tracing the gold dust on the fabric. ]
I mean, if you have the time. [ He looks at the other man. He doesn't strictly know what he's doing or why - it just feels right and even if they... lead him astray sometimes, his feelings aren't... well, they aren't always wrong. He's aware that they haven't exactly done him credit over the past year but still. ] I don't have anywhere else to be.
[ Claude is so used to the opposite. He's used to obligation and serving his purpose, a purpose that will most often place him in situations that aren't strictly fun. Necessary, sure and important, definitely, but also boring and repetitive. The same polite phrases, in my opinion..., what does Senator what's-his-face think about that, wouldn't it be more beneficial if..., over and over. Over and over and over. Kriff. Wouldn't anyone get tired? Wouldn't anyone look at the stranger who doesn't shrug on his robe, just cradles it between big hands, looking younger by the minute and think, ticket out. One-way, please. Can't just be Claude, right? Must be the universal reaction this man inspires, he can't imagine anything else.
I don't have anywhere else to be. Meaning, there's no one else waiting and Claude knows that feeling too well, all too well.
No one should be alone like that. The two of them, least of all.
So, Claude looks back, gaze open and expression curious. Maybe they're the perfect people to fix that, then. Maybe this is a matter that they're supposed to hold in their own hands. That's a pretty novel feeling. Novel, but exciting. Yes, Claude looks back and Claude smiles, feeling his eyes crinkle at the corners, lips curving, showing teeth. The other man is so young, Claude has to remember, has to keep that in mind, but not treat him anything like it. There's nothing worse, he knows from experience. He remembers. ]
I do, but I'd rather be here. Are you gonna tell me who I'm staying with?
[ He realizes that he's standing at a crossroad. He's got the choice of dodging Rainier all night, possibly the rest of his kriffing life, managing spotty conversation and no introductions worth the time they occupy - or he can stay here, be safe, not worry and have a taste of a different reality than what he usually calls his.
If that was a difficult choice, he wouldn't be human, would he? Come on, he's not that strong. Look at the guy! His bluer than blue eyes. ]
[ The stranger looks up at him and Anakin stops trying to understand what he's doing - it doesn't have to be complicated at all, after all. They're here at a social gathering, they're both not particularly anxious to join the crowd and Anakin has the imprints of his naked upperbody all over the insides of his robe, so you know. They could do this. They could seek each other out intentionally just as well as incidentally, what difference does it make? He pushes all thoughts of Padmé from his mind for now - she's not waiting up for him, after all, and she might not even want to meet up for dinner tomorrow as they'd originally planned. At this point, he wouldn't even be surprised.
He can walk this path for a little while without her. It's temporary. It isn't forever - marriage is. Death.
Not a fight that they can't even find a proper way to have. ]
I'm Anakin.
[ Pause. Skywalker, he should add, to keep things properly formal but they aren't necessarily going to talk again, are they? The Senators attending this gathering come from all over the galaxy - and with the other man looking distinctively human (though looks can deceive, he's well aware, he's had Obi-Wan's awkward lecture on intergalactic genitalia, thanks, even if they're both pretending it never happened), there's really no telling where he comes from, whether it's a planet he's heard of. He might only be on Coruscant for this event, who knows?
Besides, his last name is a matter of family. His mother lies dead in the sands.
Gaze slipping sideways, darkness churning in his chest for a split-second before he remembers himself, he takes a small breath and glances back at the other man, trying for half a smile. ]
You?
[ He sets off down the hallway, timing his pace to the other man's as they walk. ]
[ Etiquette prescribes that he associates himself with the planet that he both represents and rules over, but Claude thinks - if Anakin can get away with just a given name, so should he. They should be equal in this. Their little adventure, wherever it takes them. He's not gonna ask, he doesn't honetly want to know. Surprise him.
Anakin leads them down the hallway, same way Rainier went, but for some reason, in this company, Claude isn't particularly bothered by the thought of running into his old mentor again. There's always the robe, right? It could do with a dash more of golden sprinkle. And he could do with a whiff more of the other man's scent, he still remembers it, how heavy and warm it had been.
Feeling how the taller man is adjusting his step to fit Claude's shorter legs, Claude raises an eyebrow up at him and cocks his head slightly. Definitely, it's meant as praise when he says, ]
You've got good reflexes.
[ But it's also an observation, just as it's in a sense a question, too, a curious poke. Who are you, what do you do, how are you the way you are (you are lovely, by the way) and yet, it isn't posed as a question, because if he did, Anakin would have to answer and Claude doesn't want him to dish out that information unless he feels like it. Unless they're at that stage, where that's something they can do. He doesn't want there to be that kind of expectation between them. For all that it could be, it could still just be praise. True.
It feels like freedom, this. He wouldn't want it to be less than that.
Thus, instead, Claude just keeps up with the other man's long legs that would look amazing in a loincloth, he's not gonna pretend he isn't imagining it. Blue, sky, like his eyes. Wherever he comes from and wherever they're going, that's the association that follows along. ]
[ A small laugh, then a shrug. It's not modesty, obviously - even Anakin will admit that he wouldn't know modesty if it bit him in the arse - but it's something maybe a little awkward, possibly born from the fact that Claude - Claude, he says, what a soft-sounding name - is walking half-naked next to him, complimenting Anakin on something that's honestly just inherent to him.
It doesn't feel like something he ought to be proud of, but all the same, there's that well-known warmth spreading in his chest, the notion that someone looks at him and likes what they see. He grew up, measured by whatever worth he had to others - the reflex is hard (impossible) to shake and coupled with how much he's managed to ruin in very little time, the whole thing just makes him feel... weird. Wrong. Happy, but wrong.
All the same, his mother didn't raise him without manners so he pushes the sense of wrongness aside. ]
Thanks. [ He gives Claude a sideways look. ] I - well, I'm a Jedi. It comes with the package.
[ He gestures towards his robes briefly before taking them left down a narrow sideway leading to one of the large balconies curving against the dome. There's an outside and an inside-option. He figures Claude might prefer the latter with how little clothes he's wearing - though, a part of him wouldn't mind lending him his cloak again, just to watch him wearing it. To see what sort of imprint he might get to take home in the aftermath.
Another thought that doesn't feel right, true. He should make a list at this point, probably, except then he'd have to figure out what to do with whatever's on it. Work through it somehow? Meditate?
[ I'm a Jedi, Anakin says, gesturing at his robes like that should mean something to Claude except the fact that he just wore them and he's left the dust of gold all over a supposedly devoted man's clothes. Oops? He doesn't even feel particularly bad about it. Curious, more. Intrigued. He's heard about the Jedi, of course, but Paris having been neutral throughout his whole childhood and adolescence means, there hasn't been any direct interaction, no visits, no help extended, though he knows about the Order through his teachers, Dia among others spoke of them.
He'll admit as much, the visual he'd conjured up of a Jedi was very different than the one currently walking next to him. Older. More beard, less blue eyes, right?
Truthfully, he likes this Jedi better, he thinks. This Jedi is less fantasy, more real presence, personhood, company.
The kind of company that leads him towards the balconies on the outside of the dome, passing by colleages and opponents alike as they move forward. Claude steers them towards one of the outer balconies, gesturing with one hand while he moves, steps slow, firm, light footfalls. He's gotten used to the chillier atmosphere of Coruscant at this point. Sure, he'd probably have worn a tunic, meant for colder weather, if he'd known where he'd end up tonight, but then Anakin's robe wouldn't have come into the equation, would it? That would have been a shame. Instead, he comments, ]
Oh. You're my first, then. [ A small smile, the inclination of his chin, then he asks, carefully: ] Do you like being a Jedi?
[ The adjustment takes a second, a split-second, then he realises how it might come off, like suspicion and questioning and demanding answers, all the things they're not doing tonight. So, he slows down a little and turns halfway towards Anakin, looking up at his face. ]
I don't mean to doubt your dedication, it's just... Sometimes the roads we're walking in life are complex and we can follow one direction for ourselves while also being uncertain about it. I know this from myself, at least. I figured maybe it could be something like that. [ A pause. Claude turns back, finds his balance, the stride in his step again. ] You tell me.
[ It's your life, it means. Your experience. Tell me about it. ]
[ Claude actually steers them towards the outsides and Anakin follows his lead with a sense of quiet dread (mixed in with some excitement that he very staunchly isn't thinking about), knowing full well that going outside in the cold wearing nothing on your upper body tends to make things... slightly... Kriff, there's another item to the list. He shrugs right out of his cloak once more, deciding that forestalling is best, and throws it over Claude's shoulders haphazardly before stepping in front of him to open the door.
Do you like being a Jedi.
Do you like.
The rest of Claude's elaboration sort of slips past his ears, some of the words lost to the churning in his stomach, the question unexpectedly hard to contemplate. He frowns, holding the door for the other man and waiting for him to pass by, the cold drifting in from outside making his breath stick in his throat for a second. Though he's spent many years away from Tatooine now and flown in space countless times, his body remains sensitive to cold weather. Everything outside of blazing heat - desert, dry, twin suns and dunes without shade - is always at least a few degrees below his comfort zone.
As he steps outside behind the other man, he thinks the question over again.
You tell me.
Well. There's only one thing to tell, surely. Anakin is a Jedi. He was meant to be one, according to some and if nothing else, he's got the powers to go with the job, doesn't he? He's meant to be here. Back straightening a fraction, he slips his hands behind his back, fingers folded in a tight grip. ]
Of course I like it.
[ The words feel dry and he adds quickly, voice unintentionally sharp: ]
The Jedi philosophy is about showing compassion. About peace-keeping. It's what I want to do.
[ He thinks about the war, about Obi-Wan fighting on the front lines as they speak. About his marriage, at an uneasy standstill now, lies on top of lies. Do you like being a Jedi, Claude asked, and he does, he likes it. It's just never... it matters, what comes out of it. What he accomplishes, how the world changes as a consequence.
[ It's the way Anakin drops his robe on him, haphazardly, like he's predicting Claude's next move three steps ahead - outside is cold, after all, and one guard against the cold is more clothes - which makes Claude think something strange to himself. Anakin is acting like Claude's servants back on Paris, letting him step out first like that - his servants who are making his bed in the morning, preparing his lunch, laying out his things at the right time, in the correct order. Sure, it could be a Jedi trait, but nowhere in the description Anakin gives of his life as a Jedi does it say servitude. Compassion and peace-keeping, something that's hard enough to believe, right? In these times. But not that kind of service.
He remembers Dia's introduction of privilege clearly still. And he thinks, for someone with the kind of powers they hone in the Jedi Order, Anakin doesn't strike him as someone with a lot of it.
Once he's stepped outside, just far enough that Anakin can follow easily and not block the entrance for anyone else wanting to come out here, he turns towards the other man, gathering the heavy fabric of his robe around himself, the scent of him right where they left off, but feeling somehow warmer in the chill. Heavier. Musky. Masculine. The Jedi come from all over the galaxy, they herald from different planets, systems, species. What unites them is not anything like that, it's - as Anakin says, their philosophy. Their belief.
And they are not making themselves popular in this war, but war makes no one popular except the ones benefiting from it. Considering that for a moment, Claude frowns. ]
I don't find that hard to believe. [ You've helped me twice already, twice and counting, it means. A shrug, and he carries on, holding on to his point, because he's used to arguing his case and besides, it's an important distinction to make - the philosophy you wanna live by and the reality that philosophy has to accommodate. It's always the same. The monarchy was built on a foundation of wanting to govern the people justly, too. What it is now, he doesn't kriffing know anymore... ] It's just, sometimes what we want to do isn't what we end up doing, despite our best intentions.
[ Walking over to the balustrade, he gives Anakin time to decide whether to follow, how closely, how soon. Slowly, he leans his elbows on the railing, looking out over the city planet at night. ]
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Force, he can't wait to be shipped out again. At least fighting the Seppies makes sense.
Hands tightening behind his back, he stiffens a little at the feel of his mechno hand, the sensors translating the force of his grip, the smoothness of his remaining palm. It's not familiar, not quite. His swordsmanship is still lacking as a consequence and that, too, feels exhausting right now, as he thinks on it. Pushing the thought away, he sighs audibly and is just about to turn away, maybe head for one of the topside balconies - it's not like the Chancellor needs him for anything at the moment, the place is crawling with security - when the Force gives a small twinge. Instinctively, he spins on his heel, hands outstretched and a split-second later, he catches a half-naked, gold-shimmering man in his grip, like he'd been heading right for him.
He blinks.
The man in question is shorter than him by half a head or so and Anakin doesn't recognise him which immediately tells him that he's not overly important, at least not by the Chancellor's standards. Regardless, letting him tumble onto his face just because he'd been unfortunate enough to overlook Anakin in the hallway definitely wouldn't be nice so Anakin steadies him with both hands and says, one eyebrow raised and his voice light: ]
Whoops, careful!
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His mother believes in fate. Rainier never openly scorns her for it, but Claude has seen the way he looks at her. Same kind of look he gives Claude sometimes, these days. Disdain. He can't make himself call it loathing.
Under any circumstances, Claude is busy looking anywhere else than where he's going and consequently, he takes a tumble, more or less stumbling head-first into a random passer-by. Random passer-by who has very quick reflexes and catches him mid-fall, supporting him until he can find his balance again. His bearing. He's glittering in royal gold-leaf and getting caught by young men who look like they wanna be here about as much as Claude wants his advisor to be here.
Claude looks up into his face. The young man, younger than him by several years, he'd venture, is also taller than him and very, very good-looking and for the first time tonight, Claude feels a sense of unease being - without a doubt - the most underdressed guest at the party. He manages not to make a sound mostly by habit. A result of many years' worth of not getting caught up late by his parents, not getting caught sneaking off by his teachers, Claude is very good at going unnoticed when he wants, if he wants it.
And the other man has blue eyes, almost unnaturally so.
So, Claude smiles, widely. Then, hearing Rainier's voice somewhere behind him, his own eyes widen almost comically and he slinks around the stranger until he's standing on his other side, the man with his breadth and width acting as a shield between himself and his old mentor. Keeping his voice lowered, but pleasantly so, Claude leans in a bit, saying, hushed. ]
Please, if you could, you know, not move for a moment? I'm trying to -- [ Escape? Hide? None of that sounds particularly good. ] -- keep a low profile.
[ Sounds better, sure, but it means the same thing. Claude ducks his head a bit, smile returning, a hint of apology to it. ]
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But once it does, his face goes very nearly instantly red which is obviously pathetic - he's a married man, he's seen... things - but the man in his arms really is almost naked and on top of that, he's not at all awful to look at. Anakin is just about to push him away, possibly a bit faster than strictly necessary, except then the man smiles up at him, just beaming, and that's... a good look on him, yes, it's pretty great. Anakin blinks again, not unlike a bewildered Nuna. Just to make matters worse, the Force then wills the stranger to lean in closer, telling him to - what, hide him away? Huh?
It doesn't sound overly acute, granted, but Anakin knows the need for an escape plan when he sees one and also, kriff, the man needs to be wearing clothes, stat. So without further ado and with rapid, Force-powered reflexes, Anakin shrugs out of his outer robe (the opposite of not moving, sure, the other man's gotta take what he can get here) and wraps the stranger within it, knowing full well that Obi-Wan's no doubt sitting somewhere in the Outer Rim right now, shivering pitifully at the sensation of utter sacrilege being committed. With a quick flick of his wrist, he even pulls the hood over the other man's head, shrouding him in darknesss and leaving him looking like - like...
Well.
The robe's a bit big on him.
Anakin, however, goes with the flow of his master plan, squares his shoulders and stands up straight just as someone passes by behind him, willing the stranger to do the same or to just... huddle in the robe, whatever, it works. Out of the corner of his eyes, he registers grey hair, a low stature, far too much bared skin for that age-group (there aren't robes enough in the universe for this dinner party) and then, they're alone in the hallway once more. ]
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There's a reluctance to part with it, but it's not his robe and he's getting gold-leaf on the inside of it, sorry to say. It's symbolic, how easily it rubs off, shows where you've been touched, traces back to whom, too. Checking one last time that Rainier is really gone, he shrugs out of the robe again, curls everywhere, and holds it out to the other man, the younger man, Claude wasn't half that attractive at his age. He seems older than his looks. Like there's a weight to him. Some things are like that, Claude knows. ]
Thank you. [ The smile, again, wide, but soft. Amused, but not quite, never quite. ] The gold-leaf wears off after a while. Until then, don't worry, it'll look good on you.
[ Like a testament, one sleeve of the robe now bears a smear of gold glitter across the hem.
Claude frowns and looks down, trying not to get distracted and failing spectacularly, where are Rainier's admonishments when you need them? Oh, yeah. A quick glance the way the older man disappeared, then he turns back towards the stranger who saved him from having to follow him, even one more step. ]
He'll be back, so I should probably go.
[ Looking up at the stranger's face, his chiseled features, the strength in his gaze, maturity beyond his years, Claude doesn't, however. Go. He doesn't, and he longs to be wrapped up in his robe again, that's really all he can think about.
It was soft, it was soft and accommodating. Rare traits anywhere. ]
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I should probably go, says the stranger with the soothing voice, his brown curls framing his face, tracing soft, flowy patterns of shadow across his features. He makes Anakin think about light, somehow. The tip of a sunrise before it breaks into the sky.
Wetting his lips, he nods and bows his head, cradling the robe between his fingers rather than putting it on like a normal person. You should, he tries to say, except what happens is: ]
You don't have to.
[ He swallows and shifts a little, fingering one sleeve with his gloved metal hand, tracing the gold dust on the fabric. ]
I mean, if you have the time. [ He looks at the other man. He doesn't strictly know what he's doing or why - it just feels right and even if they... lead him astray sometimes, his feelings aren't... well, they aren't always wrong. He's aware that they haven't exactly done him credit over the past year but still. ] I don't have anywhere else to be.
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I don't have anywhere else to be. Meaning, there's no one else waiting and Claude knows that feeling too well, all too well.
No one should be alone like that. The two of them, least of all.
So, Claude looks back, gaze open and expression curious. Maybe they're the perfect people to fix that, then. Maybe this is a matter that they're supposed to hold in their own hands. That's a pretty novel feeling. Novel, but exciting. Yes, Claude looks back and Claude smiles, feeling his eyes crinkle at the corners, lips curving, showing teeth. The other man is so young, Claude has to remember, has to keep that in mind, but not treat him anything like it. There's nothing worse, he knows from experience. He remembers. ]
I do, but I'd rather be here. Are you gonna tell me who I'm staying with?
[ He realizes that he's standing at a crossroad. He's got the choice of dodging Rainier all night, possibly the rest of his kriffing life, managing spotty conversation and no introductions worth the time they occupy - or he can stay here, be safe, not worry and have a taste of a different reality than what he usually calls his.
If that was a difficult choice, he wouldn't be human, would he? Come on, he's not that strong. Look at the guy! His bluer than blue eyes. ]
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He can walk this path for a little while without her. It's temporary. It isn't forever - marriage is. Death.
Not a fight that they can't even find a proper way to have. ]
I'm Anakin.
[ Pause. Skywalker, he should add, to keep things properly formal but they aren't necessarily going to talk again, are they? The Senators attending this gathering come from all over the galaxy - and with the other man looking distinctively human (though looks can deceive, he's well aware, he's had Obi-Wan's awkward lecture on intergalactic genitalia, thanks, even if they're both pretending it never happened), there's really no telling where he comes from, whether it's a planet he's heard of. He might only be on Coruscant for this event, who knows?
Besides, his last name is a matter of family. His mother lies dead in the sands.
Gaze slipping sideways, darkness churning in his chest for a split-second before he remembers himself, he takes a small breath and glances back at the other man, trying for half a smile. ]
You?
[ He sets off down the hallway, timing his pace to the other man's as they walk. ]
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[ Etiquette prescribes that he associates himself with the planet that he both represents and rules over, but Claude thinks - if Anakin can get away with just a given name, so should he. They should be equal in this. Their little adventure, wherever it takes them. He's not gonna ask, he doesn't honetly want to know. Surprise him.
Anakin leads them down the hallway, same way Rainier went, but for some reason, in this company, Claude isn't particularly bothered by the thought of running into his old mentor again. There's always the robe, right? It could do with a dash more of golden sprinkle. And he could do with a whiff more of the other man's scent, he still remembers it, how heavy and warm it had been.
Feeling how the taller man is adjusting his step to fit Claude's shorter legs, Claude raises an eyebrow up at him and cocks his head slightly. Definitely, it's meant as praise when he says, ]
You've got good reflexes.
[ But it's also an observation, just as it's in a sense a question, too, a curious poke. Who are you, what do you do, how are you the way you are (you are lovely, by the way) and yet, it isn't posed as a question, because if he did, Anakin would have to answer and Claude doesn't want him to dish out that information unless he feels like it. Unless they're at that stage, where that's something they can do. He doesn't want there to be that kind of expectation between them. For all that it could be, it could still just be praise. True.
It feels like freedom, this. He wouldn't want it to be less than that.
Thus, instead, Claude just keeps up with the other man's long legs that would look amazing in a loincloth, he's not gonna pretend he isn't imagining it. Blue, sky, like his eyes. Wherever he comes from and wherever they're going, that's the association that follows along. ]
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It doesn't feel like something he ought to be proud of, but all the same, there's that well-known warmth spreading in his chest, the notion that someone looks at him and likes what they see. He grew up, measured by whatever worth he had to others - the reflex is hard (impossible) to shake and coupled with how much he's managed to ruin in very little time, the whole thing just makes him feel... weird. Wrong. Happy, but wrong.
All the same, his mother didn't raise him without manners so he pushes the sense of wrongness aside. ]
Thanks. [ He gives Claude a sideways look. ] I - well, I'm a Jedi. It comes with the package.
[ He gestures towards his robes briefly before taking them left down a narrow sideway leading to one of the large balconies curving against the dome. There's an outside and an inside-option. He figures Claude might prefer the latter with how little clothes he's wearing - though, a part of him wouldn't mind lending him his cloak again, just to watch him wearing it. To see what sort of imprint he might get to take home in the aftermath.
Another thought that doesn't feel right, true. He should make a list at this point, probably, except then he'd have to figure out what to do with whatever's on it. Work through it somehow? Meditate?
Right. ]
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He'll admit as much, the visual he'd conjured up of a Jedi was very different than the one currently walking next to him. Older. More beard, less blue eyes, right?
Truthfully, he likes this Jedi better, he thinks. This Jedi is less fantasy, more real presence, personhood, company.
The kind of company that leads him towards the balconies on the outside of the dome, passing by colleages and opponents alike as they move forward. Claude steers them towards one of the outer balconies, gesturing with one hand while he moves, steps slow, firm, light footfalls. He's gotten used to the chillier atmosphere of Coruscant at this point. Sure, he'd probably have worn a tunic, meant for colder weather, if he'd known where he'd end up tonight, but then Anakin's robe wouldn't have come into the equation, would it? That would have been a shame. Instead, he comments, ]
Oh. You're my first, then. [ A small smile, the inclination of his chin, then he asks, carefully: ] Do you like being a Jedi?
[ The adjustment takes a second, a split-second, then he realises how it might come off, like suspicion and questioning and demanding answers, all the things they're not doing tonight. So, he slows down a little and turns halfway towards Anakin, looking up at his face. ]
I don't mean to doubt your dedication, it's just... Sometimes the roads we're walking in life are complex and we can follow one direction for ourselves while also being uncertain about it. I know this from myself, at least. I figured maybe it could be something like that. [ A pause. Claude turns back, finds his balance, the stride in his step again. ] You tell me.
[ It's your life, it means. Your experience. Tell me about it. ]
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Do you like being a Jedi.
Do you like.
The rest of Claude's elaboration sort of slips past his ears, some of the words lost to the churning in his stomach, the question unexpectedly hard to contemplate. He frowns, holding the door for the other man and waiting for him to pass by, the cold drifting in from outside making his breath stick in his throat for a second. Though he's spent many years away from Tatooine now and flown in space countless times, his body remains sensitive to cold weather. Everything outside of blazing heat - desert, dry, twin suns and dunes without shade - is always at least a few degrees below his comfort zone.
As he steps outside behind the other man, he thinks the question over again.
You tell me.
Well. There's only one thing to tell, surely. Anakin is a Jedi. He was meant to be one, according to some and if nothing else, he's got the powers to go with the job, doesn't he? He's meant to be here. Back straightening a fraction, he slips his hands behind his back, fingers folded in a tight grip. ]
Of course I like it.
[ The words feel dry and he adds quickly, voice unintentionally sharp: ]
The Jedi philosophy is about showing compassion. About peace-keeping. It's what I want to do.
[ He thinks about the war, about Obi-Wan fighting on the front lines as they speak. About his marriage, at an uneasy standstill now, lies on top of lies. Do you like being a Jedi, Claude asked, and he does, he likes it. It's just never... it matters, what comes out of it. What he accomplishes, how the world changes as a consequence.
What he can do to make it. ]
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He remembers Dia's introduction of privilege clearly still. And he thinks, for someone with the kind of powers they hone in the Jedi Order, Anakin doesn't strike him as someone with a lot of it.
Once he's stepped outside, just far enough that Anakin can follow easily and not block the entrance for anyone else wanting to come out here, he turns towards the other man, gathering the heavy fabric of his robe around himself, the scent of him right where they left off, but feeling somehow warmer in the chill. Heavier. Musky. Masculine. The Jedi come from all over the galaxy, they herald from different planets, systems, species. What unites them is not anything like that, it's - as Anakin says, their philosophy. Their belief.
And they are not making themselves popular in this war, but war makes no one popular except the ones benefiting from it. Considering that for a moment, Claude frowns. ]
I don't find that hard to believe. [ You've helped me twice already, twice and counting, it means. A shrug, and he carries on, holding on to his point, because he's used to arguing his case and besides, it's an important distinction to make - the philosophy you wanna live by and the reality that philosophy has to accommodate. It's always the same. The monarchy was built on a foundation of wanting to govern the people justly, too. What it is now, he doesn't kriffing know anymore... ] It's just, sometimes what we want to do isn't what we end up doing, despite our best intentions.
[ Walking over to the balustrade, he gives Anakin time to decide whether to follow, how closely, how soon. Slowly, he leans his elbows on the railing, looking out over the city planet at night. ]