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batsutousaiTitle: Haat'Mand'alor be Yaim'ol
Fandom: Star Wars
Author: Batsutousai
Rating: Mature
Pairing: Obi-Wan Kenobi/Jaster Mereel
Warnings: Time travel, canon-typical violence, fix-it (apparently), not everyone dies/some live, the Kaminoans are the worst, Jaster is the Mand'alor we deserve, character death, the clones deserve better, Jaster has 3 million grandkids, mental manipulation, Mandalorian culture, Mandalorian morality, an excessive amount of murder (of Kaminoans), Jedi culture respected, Jango needs a hug, Rex needs a hug, Fox needs a hug, EVERYONE GETS A HUG (except the Kaminoans), asexual Jango, nonbinary clones, trans clones, polyamory mention, disabled characters, happy ending
Summary: Jaster Mereel doesn't die on Korda VI, but is instead thrust forward thirty years to Kamino.
A/N: The clones start learning some crafty hobbies, and a new jedi comes to Kamino.
There is a single instance of Huttese in this chapter, so I'll be adding a new table with it to the bottom of the glossary, but it's a word everyone is likely familiar with.
In other news, I felt bad about referencing the text of The Bounty Hunter Code, in regard to beskar'gam terms, in the glossary, without having any online copy of the relevant text to send people to. So I went ahead and typed those sections up in a google doc, which everyone is welcome to peruse and utilise as they please.
Obi-Wan and Seventeen met them at the trainers' mess for lunch, Obi-Wan looking contemplative, while Seventeen scowled at nothing. (Until Fox came in arm's reach, then they grabbed their kih'vod and firmly steered them over to the food, catching a finger of their free hand in the back of Boba's shirt and dragging him along as he yelled insults.)
Jaster raised his eyebrows at Obi-Wan. "Bad news?" he guessed, and hoped his nerves weren't obvious in his voice.
s "Hm?" Obi-Wan blinked a couple of times, then shook his head. "Oh, no. Not really." He glanced at Jango, then back to Jaster. "The Council is ordering my padawan to join me here, while Senator Amidala returns to Coruscant on her own. Apparently, with the threat to her life presumably dealt with, her allies in the Senate insist they need her support in person."
Jaster frowned. "Then, what's wrong with Seventeen?"
Obi-Wan turned to look after the three clones, who looked to be selecting enough food to feed a small army. "I am not entirely certain," he murmured, then motioned towards their usual table. "I believe we should sit."
"Without getting food?" Jaster asked. "Vhonte will have words for you."
Obi-Wan made a face. "Tervho spends entirely too much time worrying after my diet," he said, tone prim, and took a seat.
"Sit, Buir," Jango ordered.
Jaster sat, still frowning, but his answer came when the three clones returned with their overladen trays, and proceeded to pass out food for all of them. Once again, Fox ended up between Jaster and Obi-Wan, while Boba gleefully claimed the seat between Jaster and Jango, and Seventeen settled grimly into the seat on Obi-Wan's far side.
Jaster waited until they'd all had some food, before asking, "Seventeen, what's on your mind?"
"The al'verde," Seventeen said with a grunt.
Fox straightened. "What al'verde?" they demanded.
Seventeen nodded their chin at Obi-Wan. "Alor's padawan."
Obi-Wan let out a long, tired-sounding sigh. "Anakin is not a commander, dear one," he said. "Nor is he or has he ever been any sort of soldier."
Fox frowned, leaning forward to cast an uncertain look towards Jango.
Jango grunted. "According to the training the clones received, as sent to the Kaminiise, jetii padawans are commanders, and knights and masters are generals."
Obi-Wan rather obviously took a breath. "Jedi are peacekeepers, warriors only when we must be; as a general rule, all jedi will be uncomfortable being referred to as commanders and generals."
"But, then, what should we call you?" Fox asked.
"Our names, if you know them, or are comfortable with that. Otherwise, our titles of jedi knight, jedi master, or padawan would serve."
Fox frowned down at their tray.
"What if you don't know if you're talking to a knight or a master?" Seventeen asked. "Padawans all have little head decorations—a braid or a beaded chain—we were taught, but no one said how to tell knights and masters apart."
"Ah." Obi-Wan smiled. "The widely accepted term of address for both masters and knights, in Basic, is master—or masters, if there's more than one—jedi. That is also acceptable to use with padawans, although that is usually done by those sentients who aren't aware of the significance of the braid or chain." Fox and Seventeen both nodded. "Generally speaking, if you refer to a jedi as a knight, even when they've already been granted their mastery, they won't correct you, unless you're using it as an insult."
"What are you, then?" Boba demanded.
"I am a knight."
Boba made a face—Jaster suspected his troublesome bu'ad had been hoping for an easy insult—then asked, "What do you have to do to become a master?"
Obi-Wan cast a knowing look Boba's way, but asked, "Myself, specifically?" When Boba nodded, he hummed and rubbed a hand over his beard. "I will be declared a master once my current padawan has successfully completed his Knight Trials; training a padawan to knighthood is the most common manner to achieve mastery. If I had either subdued or been the one to kill Count Dooku, the Council may have granted me my mastery," he added, sounding almost resigned. "Defeating a sith used to be one of the most common ways of earning knighthood or mastery, but their apparent extinction nearly a millennium ago has made that the rarest manner of the modern era."
"Oh," Boba mumbled, and returned his attention to his food.
"What is wrong with your padawan?" Jaster asked.
Obi-Wan sighed, while Seventeen muttered, "Could do with a punishment duel."
"You are not challenging my padawan to a punishment duel," Obi-Wan snapped. "You would break his spine on accident."
Seventeen sneered. "I would not. I know when to pull my punches."
Jango snorted, but refused to so much as look up from his food when everyone looked at him.
When it became clear that Jango was intent to outwait all of them, Jaster turned to Obi-Wan and raised an eyebrow.
Obi-Wan sighed again and rubbed at the inner corners of his eyes. "He disobeyed orders and endangered Senator Amidala, who was in his charge—and whom I suspect enabled his poor choices, Seventeen, so please do stop growling—"
Jaster covered a smile, and saw Fox duck their head in an attempt to hide their own amusement, as Seventeen had started audibly growling.
"–and apparently set himself to argue with the Council when they ordered him to join me, instead of returning to Coruscant with her."
Jango snorted. "It is always possible there is another bounty on her head," he pointed out drily. "Senators tend to make a lot of enemies."
Obi-Wan let out a quiet chuckle. "Oh, I'm certain Senator Amidala is quite capable of taking care of herself," he said with clear fondness, and Jaster couldn't stop from shooting the jedi a surprised look. Obi-Wan offered a crooked smile. "Anakin and I were chosen as her guards due to our familiarity with her; Master Qui-Gon, Anakin, and I assisted her in ousting the Trade Federation's army from her planet when they invaded ten years ago."
Seventeen and Fox both straightened, shooting Obi-Wan surprised looks. "You helped free the Naboo?" Seventeen asked, while Fox said, "That was in our history modules."
Jaster made a note to try and get a copy of the clones' history modules, if just for his own perusal.
"Ah." Obi-Wan rubbed a hand over his beard, cheeks taking on a pink tint. "I wouldn't say I...helped free them, so much," he corrected. "My master and I were rather distracted with the sith; but, yes, we were there. Senator Amidala was the queen at the time," he added, nodding to Jaster. "She was the one who made the choice to return without the Republic's assistance and attempt to raise the Gungan population to assist in defeating the droid army and taking back the capital. And she was the one who stormed the throne room and held a blaster to Nute Gunray's head until he surrendered; she is...eminently capable of defending herself, I assure you."
"Admirable," Jaster said by way of agreement.
"So the al've– padawan," Seventeen corrected when Obi-Wan turned to look at them, the angle wrong for Jaster to to determine exactly which expression the jedi wore, "knows this senator can watch herself, but he's still decided to throw a fit with your Council." Seventeen scoffed, while Obi-Wan sighed again and inclined his head. "I don't think you're going to be a master any time soon, Alor."
"He's still quite young," Obi-Wan replied, shaking his head. "Most of those who age in such a manner comparable to humans, aren't knighted until their mid-twenties—twelve to thirteen, by your ageing measure, I believe—so he has some years, yet." He looked at Jaster. "Depending on how long it takes him to find a ship, he should be here sometime this evening or in the very early morning."
Jaster forced a smile against the way his heart sank. "Ah. I'll be losing my roommate rather sooner than I expected, then."
"Gedet'ye," he heard Jango mutter.
Obi-Wan cocked his head, gaze considering. "I don't see why," he said, voice mild. "Anakin's quite old enough to enjoy having his own space."
Thank the Ka'ra, Jaster thought, even as Jango groaned.
"However," Obi-Wan added, glancing over towards where Vhonte was approaching with a tray of food, "we may wish to get better about closing the bedroom door."
Jango let out a strangled sound while Jaster winced and nodded in agreement; if Anakin was anything like Jango, he wasn't likely to wait outside their flat and pound on the door until one of them crawled out of bed to let them in.
Seventeen and Fox had both started laughing—whether in response to the comment, or the sound Jango had made, Jaster couldn't say—and Vhonte raised her eyebrows at the two clones, then asked, "What has you two so tickled?" as she set down her tray next to Seventeen.
"My padawan is expected to join us within the next twelve or so hours," Obi-Wan said by way of explanation. "He'll need quarters."
Vhonte leant forward and cast a pointed look between Obi-Wan and Jaster. "Just for him?"
"Yes," Obi-Wan agreed, while Jango muttered, "Dush'kara."
"I'll see what I can find," Vhonte promised, before turning to Jango and saying in Mando'a, "I would have thought you would be happy for your parent." Jaster groaned and wished Vhonte hadn't chosen to do this while he was still here, or, at least, had waited until they were all in private; the use of Mando'a had caught the attention of any of the Cuy'val Dar who hadn't already been paying attention because Obi-Wan had been speaking of the Jet'tsad or checking to see why the two clones had burst out laughing.
"They're a jetii," Jango snarled, jabbing a finger in Obi-Wan's direction.
Vhonte's jaw went tight, lekku curling up in that way that Jaster recognised as a danger sign. "If you have a problem with my verd'ika, Fett," she snarled, and Jango flinched back, "then you can take it up with me."
"I'm quite capable of defending my own honour," Obi-Wan snapped.
Vhonte shot him a quick scowl, before returning to glaring at Jango. "I'm the one who let you in here–"
"In fact, Taun We was the one to let me in," Obi-Wan interrupted, and Vhonte jerked and looked back at him, blinking. "I made the choice not to leave. And I, Alor'ad Tervho, will be the one to decide if Fett and I need to have a talk. Not you." He stood, collecting his half-full dishes in one hand. "Excuse me," he said in Basic, and then walked away to drop his dishes in the recycler and leave the mess.
"Kriff," Seventeen snarled, and left their tray and dishes to scramble after the jedi, presumably worried he would vanish if they let him out of their sight long enough to clean up.
Vhonte groaned and dropped her face into her hands, muttering curses under her breath.
Jaster turned to Jango and quietly said, in Mando'a, "Jango, if you have a problem with who I'm sleeping with, you can take it up with me, and otherwise keep it to yourself."
Jango ducked his head, mouth twisted with that scowl that said he knew he'd been in the wrong. "Elek, Buir."
"You're full grown; we shouldn't need to have this conversation," Jaster added, not bothering to disguise his disappointment.
"N'epar," Jango muttered.
"I am not the one you need to apologise to," Jaster pointed out.
Jango's scowl deepened and he didn't raise his head or say anything.
Jaster sighed and turned back to Vhonte, who was frowning at Obi-Wan's empty seat. "I can trust you to manage finding Anakin a room?" he asked her.
"Yes, of course. Near yours?" she asked.
Jaster sighed. "Ask Obi-Wan," he suggested, because he couldn't begin to guess how close Obi-Wan would want his student to be to them. He'd said Anakin was nineteen, so he was quite old enough to be on his own. But, with how things were with the clones and the chips, it might be best to keep him close. And maybe put an alarm on his door, depending on how much trouble he was.
Vhonte nodded and quickly typed something into her comm on her kom'rk; presumably, a query to Obi-Wan.
They were all quiet as they ate, the rest of the room returning to their own meals, now the drama was clearly over.
When Jaster finished, he stared into his near-empty glass, then asked, "Sibling, or nibling?" in Mando'a, glancing past Fox to Vhonte.
He sensed, rather than saw, Boba falling still beside him, while Fox stilled and looked at him, then followed his gaze to Vhonte.
Vhonte glanced up at him, her dark eyes wary. "Who are we discussing?" she asked.
Jaster raised both of his eyebrows, knowing she would recognise the silent demand for her to stop kriffing around.
Vhonte glanced past him—to Jango, he assumed—for a moment, then met his gaze again. "Nibling," she admitted quietly, then shook her head. "They'd never agree."
Yes, Obi-Wan seemed quite pleased with his current place in the galaxy, and he clearly saw the Jet'tsad as all of the family he could ever need or want. Jaster hardly begrudged him that, but he did think that one of them, perhaps, should explain the real reason Vhonte had got so offended on his behalf.
Jaster somehow knew it was going to end up being his job.
Neither Obi-Wan nor Seventeen had rejoined them by the time they were done eating, and Jaster dragged Jango and Boba along with to one of the quiet recreation rooms, leaving Boba to do classwork while Jaster trounced Jango at strategy games. (Apparently, he'd decided they were stupid, so he'd stopped playing them. Jaster assumed he'd really just had no one else to play with for too long.)
Vhonte had followed them and made Fox show her around, then dragged them with her when she went to the fabricator, apparently having decided they were lacking some things.
They returned with baskets full of string—no, yarn, Jaster realised when they got close enough—and sheets of flimsi. Vhonte dragged a chair over and picked up the board of the strategy game, handing it off to Fox without a by-your-leave, saying, "I don't know if Jango told you, Jaster, but I adopted another child just before Galidraan. She was a...bit in a bad way, so I had to find little tasks she could do to help her calm down when she had a panic attack."
Jaster straightened, interested despite himself, and saw Jango's own eyes narrowing, attention caught.
Vhonte pulled the pile of flimsi out of the basket and set it on the table between them. "Fox, set that damn thing down somewhere and pull up a chair; you can help show your siblings."
Fox and Boba weren't the only clones in the room, and they very quickly had a crowd of interested eyes around them, Boba hopping into Jango's lap to see, while Fox brought over a chair for themself.
"This is called something fancy in the Anomid sign language," Vhonte told her audience, "which I'm not going to try signing, because I'd look like an idiot."
"How is that new?" Jaster couldn't resist saying.
Vhonte shoved him. "The most literal translation in spoken Basic is probably 'flat-folding', but let's call it 'flimsi folding', for the sake of sensibility. It's the art of folding anything flat and stiff enough to hold a fold, into shapes." She held up a piece of flimsi. "I was told it was something of an affectation for Anomids who suffered some sort of illness or injury that's made it difficult for them to move their fingers easily, or for their elders who suffer the same, to help them regain or retain the mobility, while also having a visual proof that they're doing better. Or worse," she added with a grimace and a shrug.
"This," she continued, as she started making folds in the flimsi, "isn't something that requires six fingers per hand, unlike their kriffing language."
Jango snorted.
"Laugh it up, Jango," Vhonte said without heat, not looking away from the flimsi she was folding. "Most of the folds I still remember are for animals, but I'm sure, once you've got the basics down, someone will figure out the right search term and find directions to fold more things." She withdrew her hands, revealing a rather simplified tooka.
Noises of interest and awe came from their crowd of onlookers, and Boba was already reaching for a piece of flimsi, his eyes wide and interested.
Vhonte gently swatted his small hand. "No, I'm not done." She leant over and picked up the basket of yarn—almost stabbing a clone standing too close with her armoured montrals—pushing her chair back so she could place it in her lap. "Unfortunately, the fabricator's colour setting is gone a bit off," she said, presumably familiar enough with Jaster to know he was wrinkling his nose at the splotches of brown and black staining the skeins of otherwise brightly coloured yarn. "Crocheting and knitting, our Mand'alor will, no doubt, be happy to tell you, are not something I'm skilled with. So." She pulled out a pair of what looked like wooden knitting needles—pointed on both ends, just like every set Jaster had ever bought for his ad—and handed them to Jango, who accepted them around a clearly excited Boba, and a smooth, metal-like crochet hook to Jaster.
"Speaking of ways to calmly pass time in such a way that you'll have something to keep at the end, yarn-crafts are a good way to make socks, hats, scarves, jumpers, and even blankets, when you don't have a fabricator on hand," Vhonte said cheerfully as she dug through the yarn.
Some of the clones in their audience traded wide-eyed looks.
Vhonte let out a victorious sound and held out a skein of blood-red yarn with stains of black to Jaster, then went back to digging through the yarn.
Jaster blinked down at the yarn dropped into his hand for a moment, then smiled and sat it and the hook down so he could pull off his gloves. "I tried to teach Jango how to crochet," he commented, and his ad let out an aggrieved sound, because he knew exactly which story this would be. "There's a few basic stitches in crochet—chaining, slip, single, double, and treble—and once you know them, you can make pretty much anything. So, I taught Jango how to chain, since chains are almost always your first step, and told him to let me know when he thought it was a good length."
"And then you left," Jango said in a tired voice, earning muffled snickers from their audience.
"And then an emergency came up and I had to leave to handle it, yes," Jaster agreed, getting a few more snickers. "When I finally got back, Jango had a chain of just over a metre in length. So, we decided we were working on a scarf."
"Scarves," Jango interrupted drily, "are usually worked width-way, not length-way."
"There's no rule that says you can't work a scarf length-way," Jaster insisted over the snickers from their audience.
"Yes, there is," Jango returned. "I made it."
Jaster coughed a laugh. "I wasn't going to make you rip out all that hard work," he insisted, and Jango huffed and scowled to hide the smile Jaster knew he was fighting. "The next stitch I was taught," Jaster continued for their audience, "was the single. So I showed Jango how to do the single stitch–"
"And got called away again," Vhonte offered as she pulled out a pale blue skein with only a very few, small brown splotches on it, handing it over to Jango; she'd heard the story a time or two.
"Yes, I was called away again." Jaster cleared his throat. "Which should have been fine—chaining and single was enough to complete the scarf."
"He's lying," Jango informed them all.
"I'm not," Jaster insisted, and Jango sighed and shook his head. "The problem," Jaster told their still snickering audience, "was that I'd started the next row without showing Jango how to do so himself. So, by the time I made it back, he'd single stitched all the way to the end of the row and started chaining again."
"And kept chaining until I got frustrated and abandoned it to go shoot something," Jango finished in a bland tone, to more snickers and a couple of outright laughs. "Which is why I will never chain another stitch again."
"Yes, well, luckily for me," Jaster replied drily, "you've supplied me with plenty of bu'ade to pass down my craft to."
"How unfortunate for them," Jango muttered, before holding up his own yarn and needles. "About a year after the unfortunate crocheting incident," he informed their audience, "I was out in Keldabe, attempting to find a Life Day gift for Buir, and found, instead, someone who was knitting a jumper with what I thought of as a very fancy design, but which turned out to be a cable, which is a sort of cross-hatch pattern. Buir can work something similar in crochet, but it always seems to involve more cursing than is necessary for knitting it," he added, flashing a sharp smile at Jaster.
Jaster just sighed and shook his head. "So, you asked them to teach you," he prompted.
Jango nodded. "Yes, I asked for lessons, which went much better. And not just because knitting uses two or more potential weapons." He held up his needles and mimed stabbing Boba in the neck. Boba, playing along, let out a death wail and slid out of his lap. "I," he said, standing, "will be over there." He pointed at a corner of the room with a group of comfortable-looking chairs all sat in a circle. "Get needles—five each, actually, if we have enough?—and yarn from Trainer Tervho if you want to learn." He accepted three more needles from Vhonte, then stepped through the crowd, heading for his corner.
"I suppose I'll be in the other corner, then," Jaster decided as he stood. "You'll want a single hook, for me, and also yarn."
"And I'll be here to teach flimsi folding," Vhonte added as Jaster headed for his own corner, which was populated with the strange, rounded things that were filled with some sort of lightweight and malleable material, which Obi-Wan insisted they needed to have in each of the quiet recreation rooms.
Jaster picked one and gingerly lowered himself into it, grimacing when his beskar'gam caught against the fabric as it reshaped itself to conform to his rear.
Fox was grinning when they dropped into the chair-thing next to him, scarlet yarn with a large brown splotch on one side held in one hand with a hook. "Not quite to your tastes, Ba'buir?" they asked.
Jaster sighed. "No, not particularly," he admitted. "I haven't the faintest what Obi-Wan sees in these."
"They're a lot more comfortable out of armour," another clone said as they settled into one of the chair-things with considerably more grace than either Jaster or Fox.
"Even Prime's going around without," another clone pointed out.
Jaster wasn't certain if that choice was one Jango had made because he still wasn't completely steady on his feet, or because he was determined to earn back the right to wear his beskar'gam one piece at a time. Rather than attempting to pilot through that nebula, Jaster refocussed their attention on learning how to crochet.
They'd all been working quietly for about three hours—two-thirds of the clones had switched to a different group at least once, either because they'd got frustrated with one craft, or because they'd wanted to try other options—when Obi-Wan finally joined them, Seventeen trailing him with a particularly sour expression. "Oh," he said when he stopped behind Vhonte, "you're doing origami?"
Vhonte twisted to look up at him. "Ori-what?"
"Origami," Obi-Wan repeated, leaning forward and then straightening with a piece of flimsi in his hand. "That's what we call it in the Temple."
"Jedi do this?" one of the clones asked.
"We do," Obi-Wan agreed as he started folding the flimsi with quick, practised moves, flattening creases with the thumb of one hand against the palm of the other, instead of using the table, as Vhonte had done. "It's one of the preferred crafts in the crèches, since it doesn't tend to result in a large mess. I'm afraid I'm a bit out of practice, however," he added as he flattened his palm and held it down for those sat with Vhonte to see.
"A 'bit out of practice' he says," Vhonte muttered.
"Teach me!" Boba—who had remained with Vhonte the entire time, and only whined a few times about how he wanted to do more interesting shapes early on—demanded.
Obi-Wan hummed. "Ah, I suppose I can," he said, almost musing. "But, before I do, I think I should teach the first folds every initiate must learn."
"But we've been folding things for hours, General," one of the clones who had stayed with Vhonte complained.
"I appreciate that, Storm," Obi-Wan said, because he never seemed to have any trouble telling the clones apart. "But I think you'll like this one. And it's best learnt with many participants, if the knitters and crocheters would like to help out."
"Help out?" Jaster repeated, bemused. But he joined the rest of his group in making their way over to Obi-Wan and Vhonte, letting Fox help him out of the cursed 'chair'.
"Delightful," Obi-Wan said, once all of them had gathered around, even Jango, Jaster was a little surprised to see. "Now, this is a rather simple series of folds, quick to learn, easy to do right the first try. So, everyone pick up a piece of flimsi and follow after me."
The folds Obi-Wan led them through were quite simple, far more so than Vhonte's tooka, or the rather more three-dimensional bird that was clearly Obi-Wan's contribution. But, when it was done, it didn't look like anything.
"This particular piece, comes with a lesson attached," Obi-Wan explained as he plucked Seventeen's piece from their hands and neatly fit an extended flap into a pocket of his own piece. "Well, I supposed the lesson is a bit two-part," he added as he accepted Vhonte's piece when she held it up. "It's a lesson about working together, and how every little contribution, no matter how rough around the edges," he said with a smile as he accepted a slightly messy piece from one of the clones who had remained with Jango the whole time, "or how perfectly done, is a part of a whole. That, together, we can make something amazing."
They all watched on as Obi-Wan fitted in the final piece—from the clone he'd called Storm—and held out an intriguing geometric shape, patterned with a riot of different colours, which he handed down to Vhonte to stare at, while he started collecting the rest of the pieces and fitting them together, requesting, "Boba, make me one more, please?" which Boba set to without complaint.
"What's the second part of the lesson?" Fox asked.
Obi-Wan smiled and was silent as he finished fitting the pieces together and the first figure got handed around for everyone to look at. Finally, the piece completed, Obi-Wan said, "The second part? That not everything is as simple as it first may appear." And then he manipulated the shape in his hands, gently shifting pieces that caught on each other, until he had a completely different shape in his hands, which he handed down to Vhonte. "Communities change as they need to, but that doesn't always mean that your contribution must change. If your speciality is strategy, be a strategist; I guarantee there are places for you, even during times of peace. If your speciality is fancy flying, or medical aid, or shooting things, there are places for you. You don't need to force yourself to fit into a new space, because we can find a space that already fits you as you are.
"You are, every single one of you," he continued, looking over all of the clones with such a wonderfully welcoming smile, Jaster felt like his heart had just skipped a beat, "perfect exactly as you are. You are all individuals with your own skills and preferences, and I should never wish any of you to force yourself to be something you're not."
"Oh," one of them whispered, while a couple of others let out sniffles or ducked their heads down to rub at their eyes.
And then Seventeen yanked Obi-Wan into a hug, muttering, "Dammit, Alor," in a thick, wet voice.
Obi-Wan twisted to hug them back, murmuring an apology that Jaster suspected he didn't really mean.
Slowly, Jango and Jaster's groups trickled back to their corners, while Obi-Wan accepted the chair one of the clones offered him at Vhonte's table, cheerfully taking over the flimsi folding lessons.
When they finally broke for dinner, those who had spent the whole time with Jaster had some pieces that were a respectable length for a scarf, those who had been with Jango the whole time were just tugging tight the tops of hats, and the flimsi folding table was covered in tookas, dogs, birds, starships, kad'ause, flowers, and plenty of other shapes Jaster couldn't completely recognise in the mass. One enterprising clone had chained some yarn to make a thick cord and figured out how to thread it through the interjoined pieces of the geometric shapes, without damaging them, and someone had turned up some sort of adhesive, so they were both hanging from the ceiling.
Jango looked between the two hanging shapes, then around at the stark white walls, and sighed. "I suppose we should see about fabricating paint for the walls."
Almost as one, all of the adult clones turned to stare at him.
"Just the walls in here?" one asked.
"I think we can get enough for all of your recreation rooms, including the meshgeroya hall, and your barracks," Jango said with a shrug.
Excited whispers started.
"What about the mess?" another clone asked.
Jango hummed. "Paint takes time to dry," he said drily. "You'll have to shift the tables far enough away for Trainer Gilamar's comfort and only do one wall at a time."
"I'm going to the medbay!" one of them shouted, and raced for the door, two more clones on their heels.
"We have to see how hard it will be to shift the tables," another said, looking between three other clones, all of whom nodded, and then they were out the door, too.
"Now see what you've done?" Vhonte said to Jango with a teasing lilt.
Jango shrugged, then nodded up towards one of the shapes. "It's sad, I think, that that is the most colourful thing in this entire city."
Vhonte inclined her head. "Fair enough. But you are in charge of fabricating and delivering the paint to the various rooms."
Jango groaned. "Kriff. Fine. I'll need a team of twenty to meet me in the meshgeroya hall after breakfast tomorrow," he told the remaining clones. "If you can find hoversleds, that will make all our jobs easier. Also, colour ideas for the shared spaces; we'll figure out barracks colours later."
"Understood, Prime!" they all chorused, saluted him, and then made their escape.
"Did you two want to go with them?" Obi-Wan asked Seventeen and Fox. "I'm fairly certain Jaster and I can find our ways to the trainers' mess and back to our room tonight."
Fox glanced uncertainly at Jaster, who smiled at them and nodded. "Go on, Fox'ika. You have a colour preference to argue with your vode in your barracks."
"Thank you, Ba'buir!" Fox called, leant in for a quick hug, which Jaster was all-too-happy to give, and then hurried after their vode.
"I'm not leaving until your padawan is here," Seventeen intoned.
Obi-Wan sighed, but nodded. "Very well. Let's get some supper, then. And you and I can find something to do while Jaster helps put Boba to bed."
"Yes!" Boba crowed, and caught Jaster's hand with both of his, swinging it.
Jaster huffed a laugh.
Dinner was a much more cheerful meal than lunch had been, with Boba showing off all of the folded creations he'd made to Jaster and Jango.
"I'll have to fabricate more flimsi," Jaster heard Vhonte mutter to Obi-Wan. "I expected more interest in the yarn, once I ran out of shapes to teach them."
Obi-Wan chuckled. "Why don't I come with you to the fabricator, after supper, and we can make more. Perhaps leave some in all of the rooms. More yarn, too."
They were back in their room, Seventeen glaring at Vhonte—who had apparently insisted she also wanted to meet Obi-Wan's padawan first chance—over cards in their dining area, while he and Obi-Wan sat together on the sofa, reading their datapads from Tyranus, when Obi-Wan straightened, almost directly followed by a chirp from his comm.
"Kenobi, a ship has just come out of hyperspace above the planet. The pilot claims they're expected," the Cuy'val Dar member on the other end of the comm said, once Obi-Wan had answered it.
"He is, yes; that's my padawan."
"You're certain?"
"Oh, yes. I'm afraid I employed some Force nonsense and sensed him as soon as he returned to realspace."
Vhonte snorted, while Jaster allowed himself a quiet chuckle.
"Jetiise," the Cuy'val Dar member muttered.
Obi-Wan just smiled and requested, "Which landing pad are you directing him to?"
As soon as they had the landing pad designation, they all got up and headed out. Jaster had changed out of his beskar'gam once he'd got back from putting Boba to bed—he suspected it would be more comfortable for the jet'ad if he was in softer clothing—and Seventeen hadn't been wearing anything but their kom'rke—Jaster suspected that was so they would have a comm readily accessible—all day, so Vhonte was the only one who looked anything like a proper Mando'ad.
They all made the consecutive decision to wait inside the facility for the jet'ad, so they were still pleasantly dry when a young human with short-cut hair and a thin braid, wearing dark tunics, rushed through the doors out to the landing platform. "Master!" they—he, Obi-Wan always called them—called before the doors closed, shutting out the sound of rain.
"Welcome to Kamino, Anakin," Obi-Wan replied, a hint of humour in his voice. "Is it wet enough for you?"
Anakin twisted to look out one of the windows lining the outer walls. "Force," he said. "Did I come at a bad time of the day, or something?"
"No, I'm afraid we get about a week's worth of sunshine every year," Vhonte replied drily.
"It's a water planet, like Mon Cala," Obi-Wan added, while the jet'ad cast Vhonte an uncertain look. "But...rainier."
"Karking weird," Anakin muttered, eyes darting between his welcoming committee like a suspicious tooka. "Master?"
"Ah. Anakin, this is Jaster Mereel, Mand'alor and currently in charge of this facility," Obi-Wan introduced, and Anakin bowed towards Jaster, who inclined his head in return greeting. "Vhonte Tervho, one of the trainers here, and an old acquaintance of mine." Anakin bowed again, expression turning curious. "And this is Alpha-Seventeen, who has been my guide and self-decided bodyguard."
"Uh, yeah, you could probably use one, Master," Anakin said as he bowed to Seventeen.
Obi-Wan sighed, while Seventeen barked out a laugh and turned a bit of a mean smile on Obi-Wan. "Now you're twice as stuck with me, Alor," they informed him.
"How utterly delightful," Obi-Wan said with clear sarcasm, and Seventeen's smile widened. "Jaster, Tervho, Seventeen, this is my padawan learner, Anakin Skywalker."
"Uhm, yeah, hi?" Anakin said, casting another uncertain look towards Obi-Wan.
Obi-Wan sighed and shook his head, fondness clear in his eyes. "Have you eaten since you left Tatooine?"
"Rations," Anakin mumbled, shrugging. "I saw this part of the planet is facing away from the sun, so I assume it's night-time?"
"Yes, a little over four hours past supper."
Anakin nodded. "I'm okay until breakfast, then. I wouldn't say no to some sleep, though? The second sun had just gone down when I left, and I wasn't certain the ship would make it if I fell asleep," he added a little wryly.
"How promising," Obi-Wan muttered, shaking his head. "Yes, Tervho had a room set up near Jaster and mine; come along."
Anakin made a face, but fell in at Obi-Wan's side as he led the way back the way they'd come. "I could have roomed with you, Obi-Wan."
"Yes, but I thought you might enjoy your own space while we're here," Obi-Wan replied smoothly. "I don't mind sharing with Jaster; it makes it easier for everyone to find us, should one of us be needed."
"Oh, I suppose."
Jaster blinked and glanced over to find Seventeen smirking and shaking their head, while Vhonte's shoulders shook like she was laughing behind the cover of her buy'ce's faceplate.
They left Anakin at his door, and Obi-Wan told him which room he and Jaster were in, then they all bid each other goodnight, and parted.
Jaster waited until they were back in their own flat, with the bedroom door securely closed and even locked, just in case, before he asked, "Is there a reason you didn't tell him we're sleeping together?"
Obi-Wan let out the sigh of the beleaguered buir, a sound Jaster was most familiar with. "Anakin, Force bless him, has walked in on me having sex twice, and is still somehow convinced that I'm a virgin."
Jaster couldn't quite stop himself from laughing. "How?" he demanded, because even when they'd been dancing around admitting to their mutual attraction, Jaster had been able to tell that the jedi was no virgin.
Obi-Wan shook his head. "Unfortunately, even the most brilliant can be idiotically oblivious," he said drily, before shoving down his leggings in such a way to put his rather fetching bare arse on display.
"Hint taken," Jaster promised, yanking off his shirt and tossing it aside as he stalked forward to put his hands where they were clearly required.
They were woken by Seventeen's now-familiar insistent knocking on the flat door, and Obi-Wan muttered curses under his breath as he stumbled out of bed, into leggings, and went to let Seventeen and Fox in.
Anakin joined them about the time breakfast was ready, stumbling in without knocking and dropping into the chair Obi-Wan had pulled out for him, his eyes only half open and his tunics mussed like he'd slept in them.
"Where is your travel bag?" Obi-Wan asked in a bland tone as he set a bowl in front of the jet'ad.
Anakin mumbled something.
"Why did you leave it there?"
Another mumble; evidently, Obi-Wan was fluent in half-asleep mumbling.
"Well, now you'll get wet again. Congratulations."
Anakin managed a half-hearted glare, then set about demolishing his breakfast and the mug of caf that Obi-Wan had poured from the pot Jaster always made for himself and Seventeen, instead of the tea that Obi-Wan seemed to favour, and Fox found acceptable enough to drink for breakfast.
Jaster, Obi-Wan, and the two clones were just debating their plans for the day—namely, should they attempt to supervise the painting attempts, or find somewhere they weren't committing mass chaos, to spend time with any of the clones who didn't want to participate in the painting efforts—when Anakin's head jerked up and he blinked around the room, then focussed on Obi-Wan and said, "There's only one bedroom."
Obi-Wan hummed and nodded. "This is true."
Jaster raised an eyebrow, while both of the clones looked between him and Obi-Wan with confused looks.
Anakin frowned and glanced at Jaster, then back at Obi-Wan. "You don't have to sleep on the sofa, Master."
"I'm not sleeping on the sofa," Obi-Wan replied in a perfectly even tone.
Anakin seemingly took a moment to consider that, then said, "Neither does Ser Mereel."
"I'm also not sleeping on the sofa," Jaster supplied drily, curious if the jet'ad would make the logical conclusion.
Anakin just looked between them a couple of times, so obviously baffled.
"They're kriffing, Padawan," Seventeen snapped, clearly having lost all patience for the conversation.
Anakin turned an insulted look on Seventeen. "Master Obi-Wan would never," he said with authority.
Fox was slowly shaking their head, eyes wide.
Obi-Wan sighed. "Not the way I would have worded it," he said drily, "but Seventeen is correct, Anakin."
"But it's against the Code!" Anakin shouted, looking a mix of offended and angry.
Obi-Wan was turned away from Jaster, so he couldn't see his expression as he sat very still for a moment, until Anakin started to deflate, looking more confused than anything else, and then Obi-Wan quietly asked, "In what way?"
"It– It's attachment," Anakin hissed, casting an uncertain look around the table, like he thought that was some sort of secret.
"Sex is not attachment," Obi-Wan said, tone flat and unimpressed.
Anakin's eyes went wide and he stared at Obi-Wan like he'd never seen him before.
"Oh for– I gave you the sex talk, Anakin!" Obi-Wan said at a volume that was, for him, practically a yell.
"Th–that was required," Anakin insisted, face gone bright red. "You don't– No one says that word."
"Quinlan says it at least three times a week."
"Vos doesn't count."
Obi-Wan let out a frustrated breath.
"Attachment," Jaster repeated slowly. "Copad? Kar'taylir darasuum?"
Obi-Wan shook his head. "Ori'copaad," he said.
Fox and Seventeen both nodded in understanding, while Jaster inclined his head in thanks for the clarification.
Anakin just looked confused. "What?"
"Basic isn't Jaster's first language," Obi-Wan explained. "He was asking for clarification."
"It's not my first language, either," Anakin muttered grumpily.
Obi-Wan hummed, and then said, in Huttese, "Not desire, but obsession."
Anakin made a face. "Your accent is still terrible," he informed Obi-Wan, who let out a long-suffering sigh. "And that's the same thing."
"It is not," Jaster said, speaking in Basic as much to save himself from any criticisms about his—no doubt—terrible accent, as to reinclude Fox, who clearly didn't understand enough Huttese to follow the conversation. (Seventeen was scowling, but not in the way that Jaster believed meant they were confused.)
"Desire is a want, an interest," Obi-Wan corrected, following his lead and speaking Basic again. "I desire tea, but I'm not obsessed with it."
"Yes, you are."
By the way Anakin slumped, the expression Obi-Wan had turned on him was not particularly friendly.
"Obsession is when your every thought is consumed with that one thing. When you will do anything to have it, even if it hurts yourself or another. That is attachment. That is the path to the dark side."
Jaster straightened; the more he heard about the jedi's 'dark side', the more it sounded like the way to avoid it were sensible cautions that any verd should be aware of. Don't let your anger or your interest in something or someone lead you to hurting someone. Be mindful of your duty to your clan and alore.
Anakin was quiet for a moment, clearly mulling that over, then he asked, "So, if I wanted to kiss Padmé...?"
Obi-Wan sighed. "I will remind you, my young padawan, that she is a senator."
Jaster felt his eyebrows going up in surprise, and saw that Fox looked equally startled by the turn the conversation had taken. Seventeen was just nodding along grimly, as though they'd already an idea about the jet'ad's crush on the senator he'd been protecting.
"Her duty is to her people and to the Republic, and she is very much in the public eye. If you start kissing her—or more—and it gets out, you will ruin her career, and very likely your own."
"What career?" Anakin demanded with a scoff. "I'm a jedi!"
"Yes, and we are given missions by the Senate," Obi-Wan replied in a firm tone. "If you believe they will approve of assigning missions to someone who was part of an incident that resulted in a senator being dismissed, I believe I have a planet to sell you."
Anakin scrunched his nose. "That joke hasn't been funny in years, Master."
"Oh? But I still enjoy it."
Anakin rolled his eyes. "What if I'm really, really careful?"
"Yes, that would be the day, wouldn't it?"
"Master."
Obi-Wan sighed. "If I may ask, Anakin, what did Padmé say when you made this proposition to her? Assuming you did so."
Anakin's face fell and he stared down into his empty bowl. "She said no," he muttered.
Obi-Wan nodded. "Then I fail to see what any suppositions regarding your abilities at subtlety have to do with matters."
"But, what if I can get her to say yes?" Anakin pleaded, clearly in earnest.
Obi-Wan turned to Seventeen and said, "Cyar'ika, you may wish to leave with Jaster; Anakin and I will be spending the morning meditating."
"All morning?" Anakin moaned.
"And into the afternoon, if necessary," Obi-Wan agreed in a cheerful tone that Jaster suspected was false.
Seventeen grunted and inclined their head. "I'll be back for you at lunch. And with someone to mind the padawan."
"I don't need a minder," Anakin snapped.
"You do, and you will behave yourself for whichever of Seventeen and Fox's siblings are assigned to you," Obi-Wan replied, tone gone flat and cool.
Anakin stiffened, jaw clenching. "Master," he hissed.
"Do you, perchance, recall our visit to Camorr?" Obi-Wan asked mildly.
Anakin blanched and ducked his head. "Yes, Master."
"Delightful." Obi-Wan turned to Jaster, eyes darting to Fox to include them as he said, "I apologise for reneging on our plans for the morning."
Jaster shook his head. "If anyone understands the necessities in managing difficult ade, it would be me," he pointed out.
Obi-Wan's mouth quirked. "True enough. And I'm certain that said ad will be most delighted by my absence."
"Doubtless," Jaster agreed tiredly. And then, mostly because Anakin was glowering in their direction, he brought up a hand to the bearded curve of Obi-Wan's jaw and pulled him in for a kiss.
Anakin's outraged squawk got a laugh from one of the clones, and Obi-Wan's mouth curved upwards against his as he leant into the kiss, both of them keeping it to a close-mouthed press of lips, since they had an audience.
When Jaster finally withdrew, he didn't go far, pressing his forehead to Obi-Wan's in a mirshmure'cya, which Obi-Wan didn't hesitate to return. "I'll see you at lunch," he murmured in Mando'a, and honestly couldn't say if he had defaulted to the language to annoy the jet'ad, or if it just felt more natural, at the moment.
"'Lek," Obi-Wan murmured in response and nudged their noses together, then pulled away and started collecting dishes. "Anakin, why don't you go make yourself comfortable in the sitting room," he ordered.
"What about my things?" Anakin demanded, tone petulant.
Obi-Wan let out a tired sigh.
Seventeen stood. "I can collect them, Alor," they offered. Then flashed a smirk and added, "My morning cleared itself unexpectedly."
"I would appreciate that," Obi-Wan agreed with a warm smile. "Anakin, did you set any security measures on that ship?"
"No."
Obi-Wan nodded. "You can leave them in Anakin's flat, and I'll send him to freshen up and change before lunch."
Seventeen gave a sharp nod and turned to leave.
"Why does he–"
"They," Jaster and Obi-Wan corrected in unison, with Fox half a beat behind.
"Sorry. Why do they have the code to my room?"
"The same reason they have the code to this flat, I expect," Obi-Wan replied drily. "Just in case it's necessary."
"Not that they ever use it," Jaster muttered as he stood.
Fox snorted. "Alpha says they don't want to be scarred, like Prime was," they explained.
"We were both under the covers when he burst in," Jaster pointed out. "The only scarring that occurred, was him getting the same rude awakening that Anakin just received."
Fox snickered as they followed Jaster from the flat, leaving Anakin to mutter in the sitting room, and Obi-Wan to do the washing up.
By the time Obi-Wan, Seventeen, and Anakin join them in the trainers' mess for lunch, Anakin looked like he'd got a shower, and they'd been joined by a blond clone who was half-hiding behind Obi-Wan, almost like they expected trouble.
Jango frowned at the blond clone—whom Obi-Wan had caught with an arm around the shoulders to lead them towards the food—but didn't say anything.
"Jan'ika?" Jaster called.
Jango shook his head and very pointedly speared a chunk of meat and shoved it in his mouth, to snickers from Boba.
When the others finally joined them, Seventeen had taken over managing the blond clone, while Obi-Wan walked with Anakin, nudging him into the spot next to Fox, where he usually sat—Fox made a face at their plate—then motioned for the blond clone to take the next spot, which they did with clear uncertainty.
"Alpha," Jango said, as Obi-Wan and Seventeen settled into their own seats, "tell me Kote knows you've borrowed him."
"Kote knows," Fox offered, then tapped one of their kom'rke—like Seventeen, it was the only part of their armour they were wearing—and added, "They've been bitching about it for the past hour."
The blond clone let out an aggravated noise. "The long-necks are gone," they muttered.
"Really?" Seventeen asked in a falsely surprised tone. "Then why have you been clinging to Alor's sleeve like a blubberfish?"
The blond's cheeks darkened and they leant towards Obi-Wan, who wrapped an arm around their shoulders, seemingly automatically. "Gen– Alor gives good hugs," they insisted, wrinkling their nose. "Not that you would know, you–"
"Rex," Obi-Wan warned.
Jaster blinked, recognising the name; this was most likely the blond clone they'd met a few days ago, then. The one who had begged a hug from him.
Seventeen glared at the blond clone for a moment, then turned their gaze to Jaster. "Mand'alor, I think you'll remember Rex. Masculine pronouns."
"I do," Jaster agreed, shooting a quick, grateful smile at Seventeen, before turning a warmer one on Rex. "It's good to see you again, Rex'ika."
Rex's face lit up even as it darkened with a flush, and he ducked his head, looking down towards his food. "It's good to see you again, too, Ba'buir," he whispered.
Anakin let out a noise that sounded vaguely frustrated.
"It means grandparent," Obi-Wan said.
Anakin blinked, then looked between the three adult clones, Jango, and Jaster, and said, "Oh."
It occurred to Jaster, then, that Fox hadn't been introduced that morning, since Anakin had been barely more than sleepwalking, and this was the first time the jet'ad was meeting Jango and Boba, so he said, "Anakin, this is Fox, Boba, and Jango. Jango is my son, and everyone else around the table, save yourself and Ob'ika, are my grandchildren."
Anakin blinked a couple of times, then slowly said, "So, when Obi-Wan said you were in charge of this facility..."
"He meant the majority of the beings within these walls are members of my clan, and so under my protection," Jaster supplied agreeably.
"Oh. Right." Anakin stared down at his food for a long moment, then looked at Obi-Wan and asked, "Where does that put them, legally? Because you said that, according to the contract you found, they're the Republic's property–" the way he spat the word made it sound like the absolute most vile of curses "–but if someone's claiming them as...as family? Right?"
Obi-Wan sighed. "Yes, and it's complicated, unfortunately. Both Ser Fett—Jango—and Jaster are Mandalorian; they're not members of the Republic, and both have been presumed dead by the wider galaxy for over a decade."
That, Jaster thought, is a very pretty way to avoid bringing up my being yanked through time.
Anakin tapped his spoon against the side of his bowl, brow furrowed and mouth turned down in a frown. "Mandalorians. From Mandalore?"
"Yes."
"We have a trade alliance with them, right?"
"We do," Obi-Wan agreed. "I'm glad to see you've been paying attention in your political classes."
Anakin wrinkled his nose. "The last time I failed an assignment, you made me meditate for four hours and found a mission that the assignment was relevant to, and I ended up stuck slogging through a bog for a week."
"Did you?" Obi-Wan asked in an almost-absentminded tone.
Anakin turned a scowl on him, while Jaster coughed to muffle a chuckle, and caught sight of Jango hiding a smirk behind his glass of juice; that was certainly one way to ensure a lesson stuck.
Obi-Wan gave Anakin a quick smile, before his expression turned serious. "Yes, Mandalore is one of our non-Republic trading partners. Should Mandalore step forward and make a claim on the clones, they might well win the bid, if just because the Republic wants to keep a good relationship with them, and because it might be used as leverage to finally bring them into the Republic."
Jaster grimaced at the thought, and heard Jango mutter, "Even Kryze is too sensible for that," in Mando'a.
"Unfortunately," Obi-Wan continued, giving no sign he'd heard Jango, "both Jaster and Ser Fett belong to a faction of Mandalorians that follows the old ways, which are currently outlawed by Mandalore's ruling council."
Anakin's brow furrowed and he frowned again, apparently thinking through that mess.
Jaster saw Seventeen open their mouth and shook his head to stop them speaking; he had prompted his own ramikade and Jango through enough critical thinking exercises to recognise one, and if Obi-Wan believed his padawan needed help, he would give it.
Finally, Anakin slowly said, "Without the backing of a planet with a trade agreement, the Republic Senate may not recognise Sers Mereel and Fett's claims on the clones."
"Unfortunately true," Obi-Wan agreed. "I do suspect," he added, "that, given sufficient time, Jaster could manage to collect sufficient support to make the Senate rethink their stance. However, given the current climate, I cannot guarantee that it won't fall to a war. With the clones caught in the middle."
"E chu ta," Anakin muttered, and Obi-Wan let out a loud sigh. "What can we do to help?" the jet'ad asked, nearly pleaded. "You have to have some idea."
Obi-Wan raised an eyebrow. "Must I?" he asked.
"You always have a plan. I mean," Anakin added with a crooked smile, "it tends to go sideways at least twice, but it always works out, in the end."
Obi-Wan let out a quiet cough. "Your confidence in me is heart-warming," he said, and Jaster was fairly confident that Obi-Wan meant that. "Unfortunately, there is very little we can do here, at the moment. The Separatist leadership has taken a blow, which will hopefully make them more willing to negotiate with the Republic. If matters can be handled peacefully, then there will be no need for a war, nor this army. Without a need for the army, the Republic is less likely to attempt to fight for them, so Jaster may claim them without any loss of life."
"So, we're depending on the Separatists being sensible, for once?" Anakin muttered disparagingly.
"It takes two governments to declare war or to agree to peace, my young padawan," Obi-Wan chided gently. "The Separatists have a valid grievance, and if the Senate refuses to work with them to resolve it, they are within their rights to secede. Which I know we've discussed before."
Anakin huffed. "The chancellor–"
"Has already failed them by allowing the proposals that impoverished their worlds to become laws," Obi-Wan interrupted with a frown.
"But he said–"
"We're not talking about what the chancellor has said to you in confidence, Anakin," Obi-Wan interrupted again, a hint of frustration in his voice. "We're speaking of what has actually occurred and what may occur in future, depending on the choices of those with the power to affect such outcomes. So far, I have seen no signs that the Senate or Chancellor Palpatine has any interest in negotiating any formal settlement to avoid an outbreak of war."
"From what I have been reading on your holonet," the non-Mando'ad Pantoran with the oddly coloured eyes who had spoken with Obi-Wan a few days before called (reminding Jaster that this discussion was taking place very publicly, and the Cuy'val Dar had already proven that they weren't shy about listening in to conversations at their table), "it sounds more like your government is treating these Separatist planets like, ah, what is your word for it? Tantrum-throwing?"
"Upset," someone suggested, while another called, "Agitated!"
"One of those," the Pantoran agreed, nodding, "children who need be dragged back into the nursery."
Obi-Wan grimaced and muttered, "Unfortunately apt."
"And about as likely to end well," someone at a table of Mando'ade commented in a low voice that was clearly meant to travel.
"Face it, jetiise, your government is laandyc nibral," someone said from behind Jaster.
"At least they have a government!" someone else shouted. "All you Mandalorians have is some cowardly duchess and Fett!"
Jango flinched and hunched down in his seat, while Boba's face twisted with rage, and the older three clones at their table stiffened, turning towards the speaker with grim expressions.
"Say that to my face you–"
"Enough!" Jaster roared as he stood.
"Mand'alor–" said someone from the direction of the Mando'ad speaker.
"The next person to speak, will be sparring with me," Jaster informed the room.
Everyone was silent; the Mando'ade likely recognised he was threatening to put them through a punishment spar, while the non-Mando'ade—he could only assume—weren't quite willing to try their hand against him.
Obi-Wan raised an eyebrow at Jaster, a clear request in his pale eyes, and Jaster sighed and nodded, motioning for him to speak.
Obi-Wan stood himself, inclining his head to Jaster. "We are not here to debate whose government is worse than another's," he said in a quiet voice that, nonetheless, carried easily across the silent room. "We are not even, really, here to argue over what the future of the differences of opinion between the Republic Senate and the Separatist Council will be. So far as I'm aware, everyone in this room is here for the sake of the millions of clones that were not given any choice about their future.
"I recognise that you were all brought here for the purpose of training an army, but your employers are dead, and your duties have been placed on hold; no one is forcing you to remain here, but I believe I speak for everyone at my table when I say that we would appreciate it if you would remain and help us build a future for the clones, one that is separate from the war they had been taught to expect.
"Once the majority of the clones have recovered from the surgery to remove the slave chips the Kaminiise placed in their heads–"
Disgusted snarls and impolite mutters briefly filled the room.
"I know," Obi-Wan said, and shook his head. "Once we can, I would like to start holding lectures or group interviews, where those clones who are interested in, say, bounty hunting or being a bodyguard, can hear about such jobs, can learn what they would like their future training to look like."
Interested murmurs filled the room.
"Knight Kenobi," Jaster said, "has already agreed to give such a lecture about his duties in the Jet'tsad–the Jedi Order–and to ask other jedi back on Coruscanta to record their own such talks about their own varied duties, for those of the clones who wish to serve the community they were raised believing they would serve. We would like something similar for jobs outside of the Jedi.
"It need not be a lecture about the employment that is your livelihood," Jaster added. "Yesterday, Jango and I taught some of the clones to knit and crochet, while Vhonte and Obi-Wan taught them to fold interesting shapes in flimsi."
"You taught them origami?" Anakin hissed, clearly surprised, and Obi-Wan waved a hand at him.
"You can teach about hobbies, about what those who raised you or your friends or family outside of Kamino do. Talk about the cultures you know, be it one you grew up in, or one you fell in love with later." Jaster looked around, heartened by all of the interested expressions and the faint smiles, the signs of beings who cared about his bu'ade, who wanted to help them find the futures that suited them. "I guarantee that, if you are willing to teach, they are willing to learn.
"And, for any who do not wish to remain, who would prefer their employment be at an end so they might return to the lives they led before they came here, find me, and we shall settle your tab and see you on your way. This planet is no longer your prison, but I would request that we limit our comings and goings, at least until the clones are enough up to strength to protect this planet."
"Alor," a very dark brown-skinned Kiffar in orange and green partial beskar'gam called. When Jaster nodded to them, they continued, "As part of our contract with the Kaminiise, we were forbidden from contacting anyone outside of Kamino. I understand wanting to keep as many able-bodied combatants on Kamino while dealing with the chips and giving the clones time to recover their strength after their surgeries, but what is your stance on reaching out to those we cut all contact with, and, if possible, bringing in more assistance? Especially assistance with medical skills."
"Quayn," Jango murmured, leaning closer to Boba like he was reminding his ad to eat something, presumably so fewer would hear words meant for Jaster. "Mir'baar'ur."
Jaster hummed and nodded; that certainly explained why such a request would be on their mind. "I cannot, in good conscience, refuse the chance to bring in more medics, nor would I wish to deny any of you the rights to contact, at last, those you have been missing. I ask only that you are careful. Ensure any comms are as secured as our comm technicians are capable of making them, and avoid sharing information that might mobilise an enemy against us, in case your communication is intercepted or overheard."
Jango grunted and raised his voice to add, "Use your kriffing common sense; every single trainer here was hired because you'd managed to survive the galaxy on your own and were exceptional in your chosen field, so I know none of you are too stupid to live." And then his head jerked up, golden-brown eyes narrowing in the direction the earlier insult about his leading abilities had come from, and someone flinched. "Despite some recent evidence to the contrary, Lashaun."
"Get karked, Fett!" someone from the direction Jango was staring in shouted.
"Still not interested, but I'd be happy to meet you on the mats," Jango shot back without any sign of offence; Jaster assumed that meant his ad wasn't particularly bothered by the reply.
Someone groaned, while snickers broke out around the room.
Jaster glanced at Obi-Wan, who had returned to his seat at some point, and the jedi cocked his head in a thoughtful manner for a moment, then shook it. When Jaster looked over at Jango, he got a shrug and another head shake, so he cleared his throat, then said, "I know not everyone is here, so please spread that among yourselves. Anyone looking for me, can find me far away from the painting attempts."
Chuckles and outright laughter filled the room as he returned to his seat and the last of his lunch.
Their table ate quietly for a good few minutes, until Obi-Wan commented around his glass, "Well, that was unexpected, but rather fortuitous."
"I could have done without the insulting segue," Jaster muttered.
"Buir," Jango groaned.
Anakin huffed, and Obi-Wan said, "Parent," then raised an eyebrow at the jet'ad. "I'm happy to teach you Mando'a, Anakin."
"Must you ruin our fun, Alor?" Seventeen asked in Mando'a.
Anakin shot them a scowl and muttered something extremely insulting in Huttese.
Seventeen's eyebrows raised, looking almost impressed, even as Jango groaned.
And then Boba repeated the phrase in that particular gleeful tone that Jaster knew meant he understood enough to get the gist of the meaning.
"My son," Jango snarled, "speaks Huttese, jetii."
Anakin shot Obi-Wan a vaguely worried look, and Obi-Wan smiled. "Well," he said cheerfully, "it seems you will finally have to stop muttering insults in Huttese."
"Or what?" Anakin demanded, even as he shot Jango's glare a slightly uncertain look.
"Oh, I'm certain that Ser Fett would be happy to help you with your hand-to-hand combat."
"I would, in fact, be delighted," Jango agreed in a tone that could only be called predatory.
Boba was watching Anakin with that particular smile that, on a young Jango, had always meant he'd just got the sort of idea that would serve to do little more than make Jaster grey before his time, and he had a feeling that Anakin was either going to be training himself out of speaking Huttese very quickly, or Boba was going to learn a lot of new curses.
Jaster sighed and decided it wasn't his problem.
At least Jango and Obi-Wan seemed to have finally found something to unite over?
A/N: Anyone more than passingly familiar with me will know I crochet; the story of how Jango learnt (or failed to learn) is a bit of an embellishment from how I learnt—my brother and one of my sisters was learning at the same time, so my chain ended up rather long before my father's wife finished with them and could turn it and teach me single. I was not given the option to not learn the skill, alas. (My appreciation for it came much, much later.)
While I'm a crocheter, most of the yarn-crafters I know irl prefer knitting (which I have been resisting learning, even if I am a little jealous of how much nicer knitted cables look, and how much less of a hassle they seem to be). Kudos to my sister, who sat through my questions about knitting (and ranted about how much she hates double-pointed needles, lol) and helped me ensure that scene was a little more accurate for Jango's craft. (She also clarified, like, three times, that cabling is not a beginner's skill. Which I sort of assumed going into it, but just in case anyone else needed to be told that; assume that the hats the clones made are no more fancy than switching between purling and knitting.)
Origami has been one of my greatest loves since I read Sadako and the Thousand Paper Cranes in grade school. It broke my heart, and the copy of the book I read had directions for folding a crane; I have been folding them in my free time for nearly two decades. (My sister's speciality is rose buds.) The specific version Obi-Wan uses as a lesson is modular origami, which a history teacher introduced me to in secondary, and my sister has a couple of books on.
| Chapters | ||
|---|---|---|
| One | Two | Three |
| Four | Five | |
| Seven | Eight | Nine |
| Ten | Glossary | |
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