iprotectyou | OOM: First Meeting, part II

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OOM: First Meeting, part II

(OOC: Continued from here.)

Master Sheotar leads the boys to a Spartan, underground chamber perfumed with burning incense and lit only by candles. Thousands of them. Baze looks around, shell-shocked. He's never been this deep in the temple before. He clings to Chirrut's hand and describes the surroundings in a boyish whisper.

"Is this the boy?" a deep-voiced Twi'lek woman in brown robes says, her hands folded in her giant sleeves. "Which one do you wish me to question?"

"Chirrut," Master Sheotar says, stopping in front of her at the end of the chamber, "this is Taza Madowki. A visiting Jedi. She has some questions for you."

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Chirrut has balked the last step altogether, sightless eyes wide and staring.

Staring directly at the Jedi, not a hint of guessing about it.

If it wasn't the kid who'd just raised hell over getting a bath and a haircut (and almost won the battle), one might almost say he was terrified.

He's always known people as sound, movement, touch... sometimes a hint of emotion or general shape through... whatever it is, he's not calling it the Force, not without proof, but...

This person.

She is so painfully obvious he could describe her without laying a hand on her.

He could also describe the power she has coiled at her disposal, enough to defend herself from any harm, or defend others, or...

Minutes stretch by, and Chirrut doesn't move a muscle.

"Well." The Jedi seems amused at this scrap of humanity in hopelessly tangled robes. "That seems promising."

Promising. Baze feels a flicker of jealousy at the thought. No, more than a flicker. His envy roars to life inside his bedraggled brain, buffeted by his grief over his parents and the protectiveness he feels towards Chirrut. Baze has never been promising in his life. The realization that he's truly not Force sensitive, like he wanted to be so much, trickles in slowly, but he's never been more certain of anything.

He shakes Chirrut's hand to try to arrest his attention away from the Jedi. Baze is not a spiteful boy. He just doesn't want Chirrut to look so lost when he stares, sightless, at this strange woman--who doesn't seem obvious or powerful to Baze, any more than the Guardians are. They're just adults, and should be accorded respect based on that fact alone.

Master Sheotar sets her hands on both their shoulders. "Well, shall we start the tests?"

"No! You're hurting him, you're..." His initial flash of ire fades into confusion when he manages to get his attention away from the Jedi and realizes that the hurt he feels beside him isn't due to the adults.

"Baze? No. No. It wasn't me, Baze changed things, not..." His protests, fierce and bordering on desperate to stop that ache beside him die off at a wave from the Jedi's hand. His shoulders slump, and he wavers slightly on his feet.

"I can see what you meant about his temper." The Jedi notes, dryly. "It would make his selection problematic. He is old, to start training. But still, let us begin."

She kneels, and starts laying out a selection of odd-looking gadgets.

The toys don't look that special to Baze. He can't figure out how to use any of them; a couple have wheels and levers for no discernable purposes, and one is a simple doll with scraggly hair. He thinks one might be a holoprojector, but it's unlike any he's ever seen before.

"These curios were used by Jedi of the past," Madowki says, tucking her hands into her sleeves again. "Touch them. Are there any you're particularly drawn to?"

Baze spirals down into himself, shutting himself off from the heat of the candles surrounding them. This is Chirrut's test, and it's not Baze's place to interrupt.

Chirrut steps forward, only letting go of Baze's hand when it is physically impossible to keep advancing and still hold on.

He wants to lie. Viciously, he wants to lie, right in their teeth, tell them none of these things are special. Somehow, in saying yes to this, he hurt Baze.

As much as he is burning to know everything about this Jedi, wants to follow in her shadow like a lost pup, he...

Well.

He'd just gotten used to the idea of having a friend. And he thought Jedi were supposed to prevent harm - here he was, causing more.

So even though he knows the answer right away (it's practically screaming to be picked up, he's surprised no one has already) he stalls, and fidgets, and desperately wishes he kept the whole thing to himself.

He wishes he'd known it was a thing, so that he could have hidden it better.

Finally he can't resist any more. He dashes forward to snatch up the doll, cradling her to his chest and...

He wishes he could stand defiant against the Jedi. He wishes the Jedi would announce him worthy. He wishes a hole would open up and swallow him whole.

"Very good," the Jedi murmurs, watching him intently. She steps forward and places one hand on his forehead and another on the back of his neck. "Now, I'm going to look into your mind, boy. I want you to push back."

Baze hears her as if he's underwater. When he finally processes what she says, he stares at her with alarm, but can't galvanize his muscles into action. If he's good, and doesn't interrupt, it might be his turn next. She might turn her attention to him instead.

In any other circumstance, if someone had said that to him, Chirrut would be fighting for his life, and damned be the consequences.

But... that thing, that thing that must be the Force, it's so sweet, so present, more than it has been his entire life. When she touches him, he could cry. He never wants her to step away, would do anything to stay close.

Chirrut has never been near an ocean. There are none on Jedha. He's never been near a large enough amount water to even imagine that drowning is a thing that can happen.

So when the Jedi's Force signature comes crashing down upon him like a tidal wave, obvious to sense but impossible to escape, the only thing left to him is unreasoning terror.

Chirrut Imwe screams.

That scream reaches down to the base of Baze's spine and pulls. Immediately, he grasps Chirrut by the shoulders and jerks him away from the Jedi, clutching his slight, trembling form to Baze's chest. The older boy glares at the adults in the room, as if daring them to come any closer--but he hopes they don't.

"Ssh, Chirrut," Baze whispers, holding him tight and stroking his cheeks with the older boy's free hand. "I'm here. I'm here. You're safe."

Chirrut gasps for air, clinging to Baze with an air of desperation.

"No, he will never be a Jedi." he twi'lek announces as she rises, neither happiness nor disappointment in her voice. Chirrut flinches as if stabbed. He failed, somehow he failed, he doesn't even know what the test was, how he was supposed to push, how he was supposed to do anything at all.

Pride, and loyalty, and this new thing called friendship puts strength into his spine and resolution in his heart.

"Test Baze." He calls, his voice shaking but his tone just as imperious as it was back in the kitchens. "Test him. He wants to be a Jedi. He wants it more than me.

Given Chirrut's reaction, Baze is unsure if he wants to be tested. He's not going anywhere near that Jedi.

Thankfully, she makes the decision for him. "There's no need," she says, and Baze's relief mingles with his dismay, like blood and water. "He's not Force sensitive, like you, Chirrut. You can sense the Force, but you'll never be able to use it."

Pronouncement made, she turns to Master Sheotar to discuss plans for the boy. Baze shakes himself, still attached to Chirrut. "Come on," he says, cupping his elbow and starting to guide him out of the chamber. "Let's get out of here."

Chirrut resists being moved - despite pain and terror and fury at being manipulated, he wants to stay by this marvelous person. The Jedi looks over (did he make a sound? He doesn't remember, but somehow she noticed) and then he does whimper. There's a sense of that power, held back but able to be unleashed at any time, and he remembers drowning.

They leave the chamber.

"We can leave. We can be in the market before anyone will notice."

Baze sighs. "My home is here. I've got nothing left," he says, not looking directly at Chirrut despite holding him close.

Baze doesn't know what to feel about his friend anymore. The older boy is still jealous that he's Force sensitive, even though he'll never be able to command it like a Jedi can. In Baze's heart of hearts, so deep he doesn't even know it enough to be ashamed, he's glad Chirrut failed the Jedi's test. That way he won't be taken away from Baze, sequestered away in Jedi training.

But Baze knows he might leave anyway. "I wouldn't blame you if you want to go," the eight-year-old says, tears pricking his eyes again. He's so sick of crying. "But at least stay the night, so you can sleep in a warm bed for once."

Chirrut stops cold, digging his heels into the ground.

"I wouldn't go anywhere without you!" He protests, fiercely, poking a bony finger into Baze's chest. "I promised!"

Fat tears spill over Baze's cheeks, and he hiccups twice, trying to stop crying. In the moment the Jedi told him he wasn't Force sensitive and Chirrut was, Baze secretly hated his friend. Shame sweeps through Baze at Chirrut's loyalty.

"Thank you," the eight-year-old says in a choked voice. "Thank you."

He shudders, and gives into the crying, sobbing into his hands.

Here's why Chirrut would make an awful Jedi: In this moment, he loathes every single person they left behind in that room. They're adults. They should know better than to do things that would make a boy this kind cry.

"Come on, let's get out of here, let them have their stupid conference. They're all..." He deploys his favorite word, loudly, at the top of his lungs even, shouted back down the hallway with all the venom he can muster.

And then he remembers drowning, and decides that maybe putting a little hustle in their step isn't a bad thing.

Baze leads them to the acolyte's room, noting with relief that Master Sheotar moved the boy who used to be next to him in order to free up a bed for Chirrut. The older boy guides Chirrut to his new bed, and then flops backward on his own, throwing an arm over his eyes.

He's exhausted, his nerves in tatters. He's one step closer to breaking; just one more thing, one more trigger for his grief, and he'll find himself in tears again. Baze draws breaths through his nose. He prays to the Force, whispering the Guardian's mantra over and over in an effort to center himself again.

It feels hollow in his ears. Why should he pray to the Force if he won't ever be able to sense it? But he was telling the truth about having nothing left. The structure of temple life is the only thing keeping him together. He still feels like a wrung out rag.

"The Force is with me, and I am with the Force," he says, one last time, before peeking out from under his arm at Chirrut. Baze sits up, resting his hands on his knees. "Let's get some sleep. Maybe things will look better in the morning."

"I don't know, it always looks the same to me." Chirrut dead-pans, from where he's absolutely boggling over the bed.

(It's not really that cushy, it's designed to meet needs and no more.)

(It's a fantasy wonderland of a bed and Chirrut is so bewildered by the whole thing.)

Baze barks out a surprised chortle, and finds he can't stop laughing. He rolls over in his bed, clutching his knees and cackling. Hot tears roll down his cheeks again, and he doesn't bother wiping them away. The ups and downs of the day culminate in this hilarious moment, and Baze finds that deadpan humor the perfect mode to set him off.

"Oh, oh, my Force," the older boy says, turning back to Chirrut. "I'm so glad you're my friend!"

Chirrut looks inordinately pleased with himself, giggling at Baze's reaction. Finally he clambers up onto the bed (and is immediately faced with the problem of who needs all of these blankets? And this pillow? This pillow is insane).

"Good, because I plan to be forever." He informs Baze, his lordly manner undaunted by the day's adventure.

And then he starts making this ridiculous pile of cloth into a nest, because he really has no idea what this is all even supposed to mean.

Baze hops out of bed, crosses to Chirrut's beside, and throws his arms around his friend. "Good," the older boy says, giving him a squeeze before releasing him. "Friends forever."

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OOM: First Meeting, part II

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