iprotectyou | OOM: First Meeting, part I

Baze turns to his friend, slowly, disengaging his hand from the older boy's robes to take it into his own. "Chirrut," he says, with all the weight of his eight years of life. "I don't want to leave. Do you? The Guardians... They can't keep you hers. But if you stay, they'll feed you and take care of you and teach you things. And we... We can be friends. Stay with me. Please."

He wants to leave. He wants to leave so much he could cry from longing. But...

But he promised.

He promised, and he keeps his promises. If Baze won't leave... then he'll stay.

(It doesn't hurt that something feels right about this, as right as knowing exactly when guards would be looking the other way, when food was free for the taking.)

"Fine." It's a bit disgruntled, and it ends with a snarl and a show of teeth when one of the acolytes doing the cooking giggles at the boy's reluctant acquiescence. "But I'm not going back in the screaming box."

Baze releases a breath he didn't know he was holding in. Relief floods him, and it's so sweet, he could cry. He smiles, instead, a boyish, happy smile that lights up his whole face. Baze didn't know how much he needed a friend until one fell in his lap.

But something Chirrut says catches Baze's attention. "Screaming box? You mean the sonic cleaner?" he says, erupting into giggles. He can't help it; screaming box is the best description he's ever heard for that. "Have you never been clean, Chirrut? How did you not get sick?"

Chirrut shoves him, disgruntled.

"It's too loud." He huffs as he sulks, and the strength of his ire is strong enough to cause him to miss Master Sheotar sneaking up on him.

A flurry of movements later he's pinned, held still by strong hands as the students he abused before keep him from lashing out again.
"Now, hold still and this will look decent. Flail like the mynock you are and you'll have bald spots." She warns an irate Chirrut, curtly. Potential Force-sensitive or no, she has figured out that she's going to have to put a lot of work into this one to bring him up to par.

Baze scoots closer to his friend, taking one of his hands. "Yes, stay still so they won't cut you, okay?" Baze tells the pissed off younger boy. "I'd hate to see you get hurt."

The eight-year-old hopes beyond hope that Chirrut will stay still. Baze prays to the Force in his head, thanking it for his new friend and that he won't resist the haircut any more than is necessary--which is to say, not at all.

Chirrut suddenly freezes, stock-still. Master Sheotar doesn't pause to count her blessings, but starts attacking the matted mane Chirrut calls hair.

Cautiously, as if approaching some sort of feral creature, Chirrut lifts his free hand to trace Baze's face with ghost-light fingers.

He doesn't know how, didn't know it was possible, but... this thing, this feeling, something no one talks about... it's changing around Baze. Changing, shifting... and around him, too.

Chirrut has never actually been around anyone who was actively calling on the Force before, user or no. It's... startling. Arresting. Captivating.

Baze stays as still as he can while Chirrut touches his face. It's... strange, to be frank, but apparently it's something his friend needs to do--and he's letting the Guardians cut his hair, so Baze allows him to explore at will.

"Thank the Force," Master Sheotar breathes after she and her students finish cropping Chirrut's hair. Her students release him at a gesture from her. "There, now. You look almost respectable. Would you like more food? It's almost dinner time."

Baze remains still.

Chirrut shakes himself, startled. His head feels bizarrely light, and cold.

He doesn't like it.

The mention of dinner, however, keeps him from grousing about it. Cautiously he moves on from exploring what his new friend is like and scrubs at his head, grimacing when he discovers just how short his hair is.

"Dinner would be good. Baze should eat." That's what he hears, from the old woman who does laundry in the square. Food, warm food for grief, hot tea to soothe the soul. He hasn't had much practice in actually applying this advice, but this place should be able to provide.

Dinner is a delicious butter chicken dish with a tomato-based sauce and flatbread. Master Sheotar allows Baze and Chirrut to eat in the kitchen tonight so that he won't feel overwhelmed being surrounded by so many new people.

Baze feels lighter after dinner, despite being full. More at peace. Everything is as the Force wills it. He sits at the counter with Chirrut, staring at his friend, committing his face to memory. "The Force is with me, and I am with the Force," Baze says, smiling a little. "It's a prayer you'll have to get used to saying around here."

"I've heard of the Force." This is... partially a lie, partially the truth. He's certainly heard of things being Force-forsaken, or Force-cursed, but...

Never as being part of a good thing. Never explained other than as part of a comprehensive and uncaring evil.

That certainly doesn't fit, except with the screaming box. The one he is definitely never going into ever again.

"... but people don't pray to it." He finally offers, after a few minutes of contemplation, because that's just weird.

Baze stares, his puffy eyes widening. "Of course people pray to the Force. The Force binds all living things. It's an energy field that some people can use to influence minds, or push things, or live on after death," he says. The words sound like he heard them from other sources and beat then into something resembling his usual speech patterns. "In life, there is the Force. In the Force, life."

"..." When it comes to facial expressions beyond smiling and snarling, Chirrut is... fairly inept. He doesn't know how they're supposed to go, that they're even a thing most times, so what Baze gets is a muddled approximation of confusion, more clearly reflected in his how Chirrut shifts, head cocked, as if to study him.

"The Force is... how did it go?" He thinks it's completely bantha poodoo (to put it politely), but his new friend seems committed... so.

Baze is relieved that his friend is at least willing to try. The older boy wants to be a Guardian so very badly, and he now wants Chirrut to want it, too. Baze shifts on his stool, hooking his feet under the top rung.

"The Force is with me," he says, "and I am with the Force."

Out in the hallway, Master Sheotar smiles.

"The Force is with me," He echos, for the first time in his life, "And I am with the Force."

For the record, the truth of the universe aren't immediately revealed, Chirrut doesn't suddenly realize where his capabilities are coming from, random objects don't go zooming around the room.

But Chirrut can tell his new friend is happy, and that makes any amount of praying worth it.

"Good, you got it!" Baze says, beaming at him. "The Guardians of the Whills--that's us--have all sorts of prayers to the Force, but that's the most common one. Whills is just another word for Force. Then there's the Church of the Force, which is another whole kettle of fish. Then there's the Jedi, which everyone knows about."

He quiets after his explanation, staring at his hands in his lap. "Ky parents..." Baze starts, and though his breathing hitches, he manages to keep his composure. "My parents sent me here two years ago, to see if I was Force sensitive. I don't know if I am, but I want to be. I want to be a Guardian when I grow up. I want to do them proud."

Chirrut considers this as he continues to nibble at the plate of food he refused to let anyone take away. He's going to regret the excess later, but for now... he's never felt so full.

"I think they would be. Proud, I mean. You're friendly and nice and... well, you can make things happen with your mind, you did, earlier. Or at least, I think you did. Does that mean you're going to be a Jedi?" He asks in all innocence, sucking the juice out of an apple slice.

Baze blinks at him, opening his mouth and then shutting it again. "What do you mean, I made something happen with my mind?" he says, and shakes his head, forgetting that Chirrut can't see the gesture. "I'm not going to be a Jedi. I'm not near Force sensitive enough for that."

Chirrut scoffs, climbing up a bit on his stool to reach across the bench for another one of the rolls that smell so good. He sits back with a thump, his treat in his hands.

"Of course you did, you didn't notice? When that lady with the clippers and the goons had me pinned, you did... what were you doing, anyway? It changed all the currents."

Miracle of miracles, Baze is full from his second helping of dinner, so he doesn't reach for a bun. He also doesn't begrudge his friend one; living on the streets must build up an appetite.

He peers at Chirrut as if he's a particularly interesting bug. "What currents?" he says, trying to think back to that time. "And I guess I was praying. The Force is with me, and I am one with the Force. That sort of thing. I was thanking it for bringing you to me, and hoping you stayed still."

"Well... I did. So you made it happen, with your mind, so they must be wrong." Chirrut is very logical about the whole thing, or as logical as one can get when stuffing your face with a fresh-baked roll.

"And what do you mean, what currents? I mean, no one ever talks about it, sure, and sometimes it's not helpful at all, but... you know, how you know something is right or not."

Baze's eyes widen again. "Chirrut," he breathes, "I think you might be talking about sensing the Force. Have you told a Guardian about this?"

Baze can't help but feel the tiniest bit jealous. He doesn't feel any currents, and the doubts that have plagued him for the past two years about his own Force sensitivity come back to haunt him. If Chirrut really is feeling the Force... Well, Baze decides they'll get to the bottom of this and figure out what to do from there.

"No way, they're crazy." Chirrut scoffs, very visibly debating going for another roll. He's not sure he can actually physically eat another roll, but... they're really good.

"Besides, it's not the Force. You said Jedi could do stuff with it - it doesn't do anything for me."

"Sensing the Force and using it are two different things, I think," Baze says, fidgeting and playing with his fingers. His hands flutter about like two distressed birds. "You really should talk to the Guardians about this. They'll know better than I do whether it's the Force or not."

Chirrut pauses in his debate over whether or not sending himself into a food coma is worth it, frowning. Then he scrabbles across the stools to get to Baze, his hands lightly tracing over his face again.

Stunned, he sits back.

"You're really worried about this."

"Well, yeah," Baze says, nonplussed by having his face touched again. He drops his hands into his lap to keep them from twitching. "It's a fact about yourself. Don't you want to know? If you're Force sensitive, you have an opportunity that other people don't. And an obligation to honor the Force."

OOM: First Meeting, part I

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