iprotectyou | OOM: Harvest Festival

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OOM: Harvest Festival

The delectable scents of roasted, imported squash and pumpkin fill the Temple of the Kyber today, as the harvest festival of Jedha is in full swing. Baze has been greeting pilgrims who are here to see the kyber all day, and has decided to make a beeline for the kitchens. Caramel Gor apples await him, and he licks his lips as he heads down the halls, keeping an eye out for Chirrut.

The threat of the newly-established Empire is a persistent, gnawing sensation in the back of Baze's mind, one he tries not to pay too much attention to. Chirrut has decided to stay and protect the kyber, and Baze has begrudgingly chosen to remain by his side. All Baze can do is try to remain cheerful, despite the peril breathing down his neck.

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Chirrut has gained a following.

Most of the children in NiJedha know about Chirrut. They grew up with him wandering through their lives, usually pursued by Baze (or both of them together being pursued by some elder or other). They find nothing odd about a blind man who can pluck a thrown coin out of the air.

But the children of the pilgrims... that is a different story.

No one knows why Chirrut tied a bag of caramels to the top of his staff, but there are currently three rogue children trying to sneak up on him to steal it... and all are failing. Chirrut has enough skill to keep making it look like an accident, like he's horribly unaware of the sugar thieves, but...

Eventually he'll give them the candy. For now, he finds this hilarious.

"I never pictured you as a babysitter," Baze says, plucking three caramels from the bag and flicking them to the awaiting children. One of them drops his, and the other two scramble to pick it up, slamming their heads together. Baze manages to hold back his belly laugh, but only just. After all, now the kids are dazed and confused, clinging to their treats.

"Come, Chirrut," Baze says, cupping his elbow. "There is pumpkin in the kitchens, and how often do we get to taste vegetables from the forest moon of Endor?"

"They were waiting for their parents." Chirrut shrugs awkwardly, not finding it too much of a hardship. "Besides, if I had gone without you, you would have accused me of eating it all before you had a chance."

"I hope they roast the seeds." He's said this every year since he was old enough to be part of temple life, like this year might be that horrible year they decide to do without roasted squash seeds. "Those are always the best."

"Indeed, they are," Baze says, looping an arm around his friend's shoulders. "And I'm sure they'll be there. They are every year, after all."

The trip to the kitchens is a short one, led by Baze's light step and questing nose. He guides Chirrut to a stool and places a bowl of squash seeds in front of him. "Here they are, right in front of you, roasted and seasoned just the way you like."

Chirrut tilts his head one way, and then the other.

And then pings a squash seed off of Baze's nose.

He does love squash seeds.

"So I'm not going to wear the visor." Chirrut announces before starting in on a handful of seeds, like this particular fact of life hasn't already been argued, decided, and finished more than a month ago.

Baze rubs his nose, scowling. He shakes his head, scooping up a handful of his own. "You have to," he says, between bites. "The elders will put you on probation and cleaning duties until you submit. And I'll be right there with you. Master Sheotar will never let you get away with it."

"Eh, I'm faster than her." This is true, as far as it goes. Probably not more wily, but speed has finally come to rest in his favor. "And I won't. It is clunky, and ugly, and makes weird noises."

All of these are patently untrue. The Temple's doctors have been very careful about making sure that the new headgear wouldn't inhibit him.

He just hates it and everything it stands for with a burning passion.

Baze leans lazily on the counter, nibbling on a squash seed. "What's wrong with the visor, again? Giving too many people an advantage when they don't expect you to be blind?"

There's a pang in his heart at the thought that, this time next year, the temple might be overrun with troops, and he and Chirrut will be on the run--or worse, dead. Will they ever partake in a harvest festival again? Will they eat squash seeds and chat idly, like they have for so many years?

"They are afraid." Chirrut huffs, and reaches over to flick Baze's ear. "And don't you start. I am here and you are here and this is the only moment we are guaranteed to have anyway." Fear is growing on NiJedha, as surely as the squash did. He worries about what fruit might come from such a vine.

"I was promised vegetables from Endor, up you get."

Baze scoffs, downing the rest of his seeds and standing straight. "People are right to be afraid," he says, plucking two plates down from the cabinets. "There's a lot to be afraid of."

He crosses to the ovens, where roasted pumpkin is cooling on a baking sheet on the counter next to them. Baze scoops up some of the pumpkin and places it on the plates, making sure to pick up a couple of forks before heading back to Chirrut. Baze sets Chirrut's plate in front of him, pushing aside the seeds.

"There has always been much to be afraid of." Chirrut counters, finding the fork with quick hands. "We just know its name now." Of course he knows the universe is darker, you don't need vision to understand that. Now, however, that he's made his decision to stay, he refuses to live his life in fear of the consequences of that decision.

Some say he's just being a reckless idiot.

"Mmm, the pumpkin is good this year."

Baze would never say that out loud, but he has thought it a time or two. "Its name, and how far reaching it is. According to the HoloNet, the Empire has its tentacles in everything now. It's unwise to underestimate them."

He pushes his pumpkin around on his plate, the discussion turning the food into dust in his mouth. "I don't know how you can be so cavalier about all this."

Chirrut sighs - he knows his determination to continue as before worries Baze. He has no special insight to tell him that everything will be okay, or even that it wouldn't be better to cut and run while he still can.

"The Force is with me, and I am with the Force. I fear nothing, for all is as the Force wills it."

It's the only answer he has, and when he can get a handle of the currents of the Force, just for a moment... it never seems that he is putting a foot wrong.

"Come, they will be wanting us to show off soon." Chirrut chides his friend, tweaking his hair as he stuffs a last piece of pumpkin in his mouth.

"And I'm not wearing the visor!" He calls, mouth full of food, as he heads for the door.

Baze grumbles something incoherent, taking a quick bite of pumpkin before abandoning the plate entirely. He follows Chirrut, arms folded and brow furrowed.

"The Force is with me, and I am with the Force. I fear nothing, for all is as the Force wills it," Baze murmurs to himself, trying to convince himself that he really does have no fear in the face of such a menace like the Empire. "The Force is with me, and I am with the Force..."

He catches up to Chirrut in the courtyard, watching two young acolytes spar in the middle of the herb braziers, which burn bright with perfume. The first acolyte whacks the second over the head with a staff, and the match is declared done with the second dazed, sitting on the ground.

Master Sheotar materializes from the crowd and plops the much-hated visor on Chirrut's face, not so much as asking for a by-your-leave. When Chirrut reaches up to rip it off, she smacks his hands down emphatically.

"Ridiculous boy, endanger yourself if you must but leave the temple out of it." She hisses, having none of his nonsense today. Chirrut huffs a sigh, but leaves the visor be.
"You two are up next - don't scare the children." She snaps, and hurries off again, busy as a mother cat with an over-large brood of kittens.

"Don't. Say. Anything." Chirrut sulks, arms crossed over his chest.

Baze nudges his friend in the side, offering silent support. The previously sparring acolyte hands Baze a staff, which he accepts gratefully. "I don't like the visor any more than you do," he says, idly twirling the staff in his hands. "But if Master Sheotar wants you to wear it, you should listen to her."

The pillars still have a little bit of blaster char from when the temple was attacked a lifetime ago. Baze notes that the acolytes tasked with cleaning it up did a decent enough job, but that it's impossible to get rid of completely.

He takes the second stick from the acolyte that lost, and offers it to Chirrut. "Come on," Baze says, stepping into the circle in the middle of the crowd of pilgrims. "Let's give them a show."

Chirrut refrains from visibly sulking in front of a crowd, and hands his usual staff off to one of his fellow Guardians. The one he usually carries has candy tied to it at the moment, never mind being weighted to be a much more formidable weapon than suitable for sparring. Resigned (for the time being) to his fate, he follows Baze to the ring set aside for this showmanship.

If the way he spins his staff once there is more showy than actually useful, that's everyone else's problem. He has to wear the visor, so he's going to take his joy where he can.

Stupid visor.

Baze bows to Chirrut. The older Guardian twirls his staff over his shoulders for the benefit of the crowd and faces his sparring partner. Baze's first attack is swift and brutal, an undercut with the tip of the staff intent on disarming Chirrut. The larger Guardian presses his advantage of reach, intending to jab his friend in the stomach with the end of the staff.

Chirrut floats. Like a dust-devil in the autumn wind, he whirls away from Baze's staff. There's almost no visible effort in the movement, only liquid grace.

And the returning shot aimed at Baze's kidneys from close quarters is about as friendly as a pissed-off viper.

Baze barely bats Chirrut's attack away in time. The bigger man turns to the side, lifting one leg, bent at the knee, and raising his staff above his head at an angle. He surges forward, aiming a vicious sweep at Chirrut's feet.

Chirrut leaps clear, and forward - reaching out and using Baze's shoulder as a counterbalance, he dodges the charge entirely, grounding his staff on the way down to ease the landing.

And then kicking the staff backwards to try and catch Baze on the rebound, because he keeps 'forgetting' the rules of polite sparring.

Baze didn't expect--well, he almost didn't expect--Chirrut to fight dirty. The kick to the staff catches the older Guardian off-guard, and he takes the hit to the side with a grunt, staggering away. The smack of wood on flesh reverberates throughout the courtyard, and the people cheer.

Baze shifts his feet, digging his heels into the dirt to make his stance more steady. He swings his stick up, trying to get under Chirrut's guard and possibly smack him in the jaw.

He knows he's managed to get Baze's blood up when the blow comes too fast for him to dodge. He manages to get his head out of the way, but only in favor of turning his shoulder into the blow to absorb it. Chirrut grunts at the impact, and swings his staff across to knock Baze's arm down, hoping to catch Baze on the reverse blow.

Baze's arms are already tired from spinning the staff, so he's too slow getting out of the way. The hit stings; the crowd roars. Blocking Chirrut's strikes has taken a lot of energy, so Baze's hands are growing numb. He whirls away, greasy sweat dripping down from his hairline and impairing his vision.

He shakes his head to try and get his hair out of his eyes. Drawing a breath through his nose, he brandishes his staff again, coming at Chirrut from the side.

Again Chirrut practically dances out of the way, his feet leaving trailing arcs in the dust over the courtyard stones. He dumps his momentum into his staff, aiming a low blow at the back of Baze's knees. He has been told, from reliable sources, that the move 'looks' cool.

He doesn't have much faith that it will land, but they're showing off. They might as well give the pilgrims something to talk about.

Baze manages to block this one, having seen it coming, but his arms are getting tired and his sides are sore from being struck earlier. He spins the staff around himself to construct a shield in which he can possibly catch his breath, or at least convince Chirrut to back off for a spell.

Baze has always considered himself a rational, peaceful person, and has never wanted to hurt anyone--especially Chirrut. That doesn't stop Baze from wishing, more than anything, that the younger Guardian would do something completely out of character like, say, trip on his own staff. Or, better yet, let Baze hit him for once.

He holds his staff above his head at an angle, waiting for Chirrut to make the next move. Baze has been doing all the offensive attacks this time, and it's up to his friend to carry on the fight.

Chirrut pauses, considering, a hint of a smile (despite the visor, even) playing over his lips.

Then he charges, low and fast, looking to dodge any wide defensive swing Baze might take. He can block, but that's a lot of momentum to get in the way of.

Baze sees him coming, and doesn't go wide. Instead, he meets Chirrut head on. Baze slams the end of his stick into the ground and uses that to balance himself as he aims a tight, controlled kick at Chirrut's chest.

Chirrut, wheezing, stumbles backwards onto his ass.

That... wasn't what he was expecting, at all.

After a minute to catch his breath (and to gingerly explore his ribs to make sure he didn't crack one) he flops back on the paving stones, and giggles.

Baze chortles, lowering his guard. He'd like nothing more than to lower himself to the courtyard stones and rest a bit. Wait, that's not true--he'd like nothing more than a shower with real, hot water. He's never had one before, and he thinks they'd be amazing for aching forearms and sides.

He steps forward, resting the staff on his shoulders, and offers a hand to his wayward friend. "Want some more squash seeds, Chirrut?"

The crowd, finally loosening out of its stunned silence when Chirrut went down, erupts into applause. Chirrut grabs Baze's hand and leverages himself up onto his feet.

"Please. And maybe some Caramel Gor apples - I heard them dipping some earlier." He scoops up his fallen staff with a lazy kick and heads for the edge of the ring. He trades out the sparring staff for his own gratefully, and on their way out of the courtyard, he drops the visor on the head of a wayward child.

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OOM: Harvest Festival

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