Chapter Text
Obi-Wan Kenobi lay almost motionless in his quarters, mindlessly using the Force to lift a small ball up and down in the air. In truth, it was a good exercise for his powers; simple enough that it didn’t require much effort, but still allowing him to not sit idly by for days on end. He watched the red ball rise and fall, in sync with the rise and fall of his bare chest, barely twitching his fingers as he did so.
He’d only been performing the ball exercise for a half hour, but had performed this routine for days. Obi-Wan’s Master, Qui-Gon Jinn had been in continuous meetings with the Jedi Council over a matter that was deemed “classified.” Of course, Obi-Wan wasn’t entirely distraught by the lack of training. It was a relief to have a few days’ break, especially after what he had been through.
Obi-Wan and Qui-Gon had spent a whole year on Mandalore protecting the newly coronated Duchess from a civil war started by the Death Watch, a terrorist group posing as a “Mandalorian-traditionalist group.” During the year, moving from hide-out to hide-out, constantly on the run, Obi-Wan grew close to the Duchess. Though such an attachment was forbidden to Jedi, the lines between duty and personal feelings blurred during Obi-Wan’s time on the war-torn planet. After leaving Mandalore, he did his best to try and forget, but she haunted his very dreams.
Obi-Wan caught the ball in his hand and sat up from his bed. The room was not by any means very large, but he was lucky enough to have received one with an above ground-level window. He stood up and opened the blinds to see that night had fallen on Coruscant. I swear it was still day out when I sat down, he thought.
It didn’t rain on Coruscant often, or in many places across the planet, but Obi-Wan could hear heavy drops of the downpour relentlessly hitting his window. It reminded him of the rain on Mandalore. When he was on the run with the Duchess and Qui-Gon, it had rained for weeks at a time without relent and often the rain would be acid-based. They never had been caught in it, the Duchess knew the planet like the back of her hand and always made sure Obi-Wan had somewhere warm to sleep at night.
Obi-Wan let out a sigh and touched his hand to the glass before he felt a gentle tug on his Padawan braid.
“Quin,” Obi-Wan chuckled as he felt a strong hand clasp his shoulder. The hand was warm against Obi-Wan’s shoulder. He must’ve been lying there a long time to become cold enough that Quinlan Vos’ infamously cold hands could provide him with warmth.
Quinlan Vos was Obi-Wan’s cohort-mate and close friend for as long as they lived in the Temple. Obi-Wan could recognize his Force-signature from across the Temple and pinpoint exactly where he was; which is why he always won at hide-and-seek when they were younger.
“You knew I was coming, didn’t you?” Quinlan asked, annoyed that he was unable to take his friend by surprise.
“Indeed I did,” Obi-Wan smiled and put his hand over Quinlan’s, turning around to face him.
Quinlan removed his hand from Obi-Wan and crossed his arms. “That damn predetermination.”
Obi-Wan laughed. “Precognition, but close enough.”
“Whatever, man,” Quinlan said, rolling his eyes. “I still think my psychometry is better...more impressive.”
“Of course, Quin. You and your object reading. Tell me, can you can you use the power to figure out who owned this ball before I did?” Obi-Wan smirked, levitating the ball inches above his palm.
Quinlan narrowed his eyes and snatched the ball from the airspace above Obi-Wan’s hand. “Of course I can, Kenobi,” he said, determinedly.
As Obi-Wan watched, his mouth tugged into a smirk, Quinlan focused his all of his willpower and concentration on the red ball. Although Quinlan’s ability came naturally to him, like any other Force power, it needed honing and practice.
At first, nothing.
“I don’t need my power to tell what, or who rather, you were thinking about when I walked in here, Obi,” Quinlan smirked, his eyes still closed in focus.
Obi-Wan hushed him. “Want to impress me? Stay focused. Tell me the entire history of that ball.”
Quinlan furrowed his brow and squeezed his eyelids tight. Holding the ball between his ungloved hands, Quinlan began to see a flash of images: a dry pale-colored desert; the soft, tender hands of a woman—her fingernails painted red, half of them chipping—; Obi-Wan, just as Quinlan was seeing him now, perhaps a bit younger—a year younger? Two? Obi-Wan at sixteen—; Qui-Gon Jinn performing the same ball-levitating exercise that Obi-Wan was; Jedi Master Dooku throwing the ball angrily against a wall in the Temple; and finally he saw the hands of a Nautolan woman packaging the ball in a blue cardboard box.
“Master Dooku bought it, gave it to Qui-Gon, who gave it to you, and then you gave it to that Mandalorian chick—but she didn’t keep it, obviously, since you have it,” Quinlan grinned, proud of his accomplishment.
“Consider me impressed, Quin,” Obi-Wan laughed slightly as he took the ball back. At this point, Obi-Wan was sure that if he didn’t force Quinlan to exercise his talent, that it’d never be used.
“What can I say?” Quinlan smirked and shrugged his shoulders. “I aim to please.”
“As always,” Obi-Wan shook his head and put the ball in the footlocker next to his cot. He stretched out his arms above his head and sat back on the cot. “Why the visit, Quin?”
“I couldn’t let my best friend just sit around and mope on his birthday now could I?"
Obi-Wan gulped. There was no good that could come of his birthday and Quinlan's brand of planning together. “My birthday isn’t until tomorrow, Quinlan.”
“Kenobi, what time do you think it is?”
Obi-Wan looked over at the chronometer next to his bed and noticed that six hours had passed since he first laid down. It was now one in the morning. “Oh no,” he said.
“Oh yes,” Quinlan smirked. “It is Primeday of the Festival of Stars. Otherwise known as Obi-Wan Kenobi’s birthday. Outside the existence of months as he was born on the first day of the third festival week between the ninth and the tenth month. During this week we celebrate interstellar travel...and this man, an out-of-this-star-system, kriffing amazing dude.”
Obi-Wan let his face fall into his palms. “I’m going to hear this same thing from Luminara, aren’t I?” he muttered.
“Sure as Malachor you are. Now put on a kriffing shirt—or don’t—and let’s go!”
“Quinlan, it’s late. Can’t we do this tomorrow?” Obi-Wan stood up, protesting.
“First of all Kenobi, it is tomorrow. And no way! Who knows what Tholme and Qui-Gon will make us do after sunrise. For now, this is our, I mean, your night!” Quinlan grinned. “Plus Luminara is already there and we can’t just leave her all alone out in the slums of Coruscant’s undercity.”
“Luminara is a highly capable Jedi, Quin. She could beat either of us in a fight, any day,” Obi-Wan raised his brow.
“Sure,” Quinlan said slowly, trying to think of a rebuttal. “But could she defeat a Sith Lord?!”
“The Sith don’t even exist anymore, Quin,” Obi-Wan reminded him, annoyance in his voice.
“But say they did!”
“I don’t think any of us could defeat a Sith Lord, Quin. We’re just Padawans. It’d take a Council member at least,” Obi-Wan said, rolling his eyes. Quinlan was always raving about fantasies of the Sith returning and defeating them single-handedly. “And at any rate, I’m sure Dex will keep her safe. That is where we’re going isn’t it?”
Quinlan’s mouth tugged into a full smirk. “Exactly! Glad you’ve decided to come of your own free will.”
Obi-Wan chuckled and began to make his way over to his footlocker to grab a fresh tunic. “Just let me grab a shirt—”
Quinlan grasped his shoulder, pulling him backwards. “No time for that now, you took up that time asking questions.”
Obi-Wan protested as Quinlan simply threw a cloak around his shoulders. “It’s one in the kriffing morning, Quinlan. It’s going to be cold as Ilum out there.”
“You chose your fate, Obi-Wan Kenobi. Now come on, let’s go and hope Madame Jocasta doesn’t catch us,” Quinlan smirked as he pushed Obi-Wan out into the hallway.
It wasn’t that Padawans weren’t allowed to leave the Temple. Though it was somewhat of an unspoken respectfulness that Padawans would always notify their Masters when they left the Temple. Even Senior Padawans and especially in the middle of the night. Though, afterall, it was Obi-Wan’s birthday.
*
Luminara Unduli sat in the corner booth of Dex’s Diner, mindlessly swirling her straw around the interior of her blue-milk milkshake. She had been waiting for her friends to arrive—or at least for Quinlan to contact her over comlink—for thirty minutes. It figured that it had been Luminara’s idea from the beginning and she had to be the one to hold the table at Dex’s.
Her stomach began to make noise that was audible from several feet away, turning the head of one of the only two other patrons in the diner. Luminara offered him a polite smile and turned her attention to her noisy stomach, trying to focus on silencing it.
She hadn’t eaten dinner that night—after being prompted by Quinlan—so that she’d have a healthy appetite for Obi-Wan’s birthday celebration. Now she was beginning to regret that decision as her stomach felt as if it might devour itself.
A WA-7 waitress droid, FLO, rolled over Luminara with her hands on her metal hips. “Hun, are you gonna order anything else?” she asked in a slightly annoyed, but primarily concerned tone. Perhaps she had heard Luminara’s stomach.
“Not right now, I’m still waiting on my friends,” Luminara said for the fourth time that night. She was going to tie Quinlan down when he got there so that only she and Obi-Wan could eat.
“Hun I ain’t sure if your friends are even comin’. I think you been stood up,” FLO said, shaking her head. “We may be open twenty-four hours a day but some of us have some cel’bratin to do for the festival! And by some, I mean I,” she pointed at herself, “have to prepare the restaurant for the flood of beings that gon’ come here wantin’ food.”
Luminara couldn’t help but stifle a chuckle. It didn’t take much to rile up a waitress droid, but FLO was a special one. “Give me a few moments with the menu? I might find something…”
“I hope so,” FLO said and rolled off into the kitchen.
Luminara slumped back against the booth and noticed that she had been subconsciously spinning the straw with the Force. Once realizing, she stopped. It wasn’t that she didn’t want people knowing she was a Jedi, but if someone did recognize her as a Jedi, she didn’t want her Master to learn she was out at this hour. Somehow those kind of things always got back to the masters—like the time Quinlan manipulated Obi-Wan into using his precognition to place pod racing bets. Their Masters were not pleased.
Staring at the menu, she couldn’t make out what half of the items on it were. After reading the description for Nos Monster Ribs—a dish consisting of the ribs of a Nos monster from the planet Utapau where they were eaten raw by the native Pau'an species—she put the menu down.
After another gurgle from her stomach and the Cathar man sitting at the bar turned around. “Could you keep that thing quiet?” he asked, in a demanding tone.
Luminara nodded and the man turned away. She let out a sigh and racked her brain on what she could possibly eat here. It wasn’t the first time she had eaten at Dex’s, but it was the first time without Quinlan or Obi-Wan. And they usually ordered for her.
Then she had an idea.
Instead of continuing to try and make sense of Dex’s menu, Luminara reached into her headdress—a white variant of her usual Mirialan headdress, worn along with a special set of white Jedi robes for celebration—and pulled out a military-grade ration bar. (Quinlan had joked before about sneaking them into Luminara’s clothing). She hadn’t noticed it when she put it on earlier that evening, but welcomed the surprise if it meant she didn’t have to decipher what L'lahsh-marinated nutrient globes were.
Luminara unwrapped the ration bar, quickly made sure FLO couldn’t see her, and took a bite out of it. The bar tasted of an odd mixture of dirt, dried meiloorun fruit, and blue cheese. She swallowed the bite she had taken but quickly wrapped up the rest and put it on the booth beside her.
Military ration-bars were usually only used by Jedi as a last resort on extensive training or undercover missions. In cases of war, Jedi would consume them just the same as regular troops. At least that’s what they history-holos told Luminara. She hoped that there’d never be an outbreak of war, because she didn’t believe she could ever survive on such ‘food’.
Then FLO came rolling along again. “Decide yet, honey?”
Luminara bit her lip and shrugged. If Dex served it it was probably edible. “I’ll have the special, please,” she said, timidly.
“One Manaan slider coming up!” the droid announced, rolling back to the kitchen.
Luminara hoped that the slider wasn’t actually Selkath. She doubted it, but supposed anything was possible. She also doubted Dex took extra measures to know exactly what meat he bought at the market. If she were to eat a sentient species from a planet that had representation in the Senate, she hoped at least it’d be drowned in some type of sauce.
As Luminara considered her impending meal, a Togruta woman arose from the booth in front of her and took credits out of her pocket, leaving them on the table.
“Thanks darling! Come again!” FLO yelled, poking her head out from the viewport between the bar and the kitchen.
“Oh I would,” the Togruta woman said. “Only I’ve got to go to my home planet. I’ve become pregnant and my parents would like me to be home.” Luminara couldn’t fathom what would incline the woman to tell a droid that. Though perhaps she was merely trying to make conversation with someone. She had already been sitting alone when Luminara arrived forty-five minutes prior.
“Come back once you’ve had the little darling!” FLO exclaimed.
“Alright, Flo. I promise, when the child is a little older, I’ll come back,” the Togruta said and waved at the droid. On her way out the door, two cloaked humans passed her—Obi-Wan Kenobi and Quinlan Vos.
As soon as they entered, Luminara let her curious smile drop into a pissed-off scowl. She crossed her arms and almost immediately the straw in the glass of now-melted, blue-milk milkshake began to make circles again.
“Sorry we’re late, had to directly avoid Master Dooku. He was leaving the library when we left,” Quinlan said, sitting down next to Luminara.
“Which means he knows you were up and about,” Luminara said, not turning to face Quinlan.
“But does he know,” Quinlan grinned, putting his arm around Luminara.
She rolled her eyes and promptly removed his arm from her. “I doubt he’ll alert anyone but there’s that chance…”
“It’s not exactly against the rules for us to be out, Lumy. Just because your Master is a stick in the mud doesn’t mean Tholme and Qui-Gon are,” Quinlan said, crossing his own arms.
Luminara’s brows came together. In fact, her Master was the least strict of the three Masters. Having been the first student he’d taken on since leaving the Temple Guard, Luminara was somewhat of a pufferpig for his teachings. “My Master is not a stick in the mud, he is a very respected Mirialan Jedi Maste—”
“—Who is a stick in the mud,” Quinlan interjected, smirking.
Luminara shook her head and rose her gaze to look at Obi-Wan—the first time since he sat down across from them. “Obi-Wan, why in the blazes are you not wearing a shirt? It’s cold as Ilum out there…”
“I suppose Quin thought it’d be funny,” Obi-Wan said, bitterly and holding back a shiver.
“Oh you’ve got a cloak on, don’t be a baby,” Quinlan said, making a dismissive motion with his hand. “Besides, what’s a birthday without your birthday suit!”
“I don’t think we want a repeat of your birthday, Quin,” Obi-Wan stated, pulling his cloak tighter around him.
“At least Kenobi and I were able to settle that bet.”
“It was a very close call,” Obi-Wan muttered.
“Want to test that theory again?” Quinlan suggested with a sly smirk on his face.
“Oh no,” Luminara said, raising her hands in protest, “I am not going out looking for another holo-ruler while you two cause a scene by dropping your pants.”
“Oh it was one time. And it wasn’t that bad,” Quinlan shrugged his shoulders.
“It was only a month ago Quin! They put up our pictures on the ‘DO NOT ADMIT’ board. I think that constitutes as bad,” Luminara pointed out, holding back a chuckle. “We’re barred from that bar.”
“Funny, Luminara,” Quinlan rolled his eyes. “At least the Masters didn’t find out.”
“Yet,” she pointed out.
Obi-Wan chuckled at the banter and shivered slightly. “Well I’ll be keeping my clothes on this evening—at least the ones I still have.”
“It’s morning, pal,” Quinlan said, putting his arms behind his head.
Obi-Wan shook his head and let out a brief yawn as FLO wheeled over with a steaming plate in her hand.
“Manaan sliders with extra Ahto City cheese and Selkathian seaweed and a side of Flangth fries,” FLO said as she put the food-board down in front of Luminara. “Anything for you hunnies?” FLO asked, the question directed at Obi-Wan and Quinlan.
“We’ll need a minute. Thanks, FLO,” Obi-Wan said, taking the menus FLO handed to him. The droid nodded and rolled away.
“You ordered without us?” Quinlan asked, appearing genuinely hurt.
“You were,” she looked at the chrono on the wall, “forty-five minutes late, Quin. I wasn’t about to starve.”
“It’s fine, Quin. I’m glad she did,” Obi-Wan chuckled and handed Quinlan a menu. “A good Flanfth fry will warm me right up,” he said, reaching across the table to grab a fry. He looked to Luminara for permission.
“Just take the damn thing,” she said, rolling her eyes playfully. “What’s mine is yours, as always.”
Obi-Wan smiled and took a handful, eliciting a small sound of protest from his friend, but not enough to stop him from stuffing the food into his mouth. As the hot food made it’s way down Obi-Wan’s throat, he could feel the warmth spread throughout his upper chest, bringing a smile to his face.
Luminara smiled and took a few fries herself and ate them, hesitant to pick up one of the three Manaan sliders. “Feel free to go after them as well,” she offered.
Quinlan needed no further coaxing before he had practically inhaled one of the sliders.
Luminara looked appalled. “Quin, you can’t just inhale something like that, you might choke!”
Quinlan’s mouth tugged into a smirk. “You didn’t seem so worried about that when you—”
“—Quin shut up,” she interjected, kicking him under the table.
Quinlan let out a squeal of pain as Obi-Wan looked up from his menu, his eyes widened.
“You didn’t,” Obi-Wan said, shocked and holding back laughter.
“Oh but we did! A few times while you were on Mandalore...”
“Quin!” Luminara’s eyes went wide and the straw in her glass began to spin at a rapid pace.
“By the Force,” Obi-Wan began to let his laughter through as he lowered his menu.
“It’s true what they say about Mirialans,” Quinlan started, “they’re very flexible.” And with that, the glass on the table shattered, sending fragments of glass and splotches of melted blue-milk milkshake everywhere.
Obi-Wan now had a hard time containing his laughter, even despite the small glass cuts on his ear and chest.
Luminara looked mortified as she buried her face in her hands. “It only happened three times, Quin. THREE,” she reminded him. “And it won’t happen again.”
After a few minutes laughter, Obi-Wan was finally able to recompose himself. “Welcome to the club, Luminara.”
“So you did make contact with your Mandalorian Duchess,” Luminara brought a small chuckle out of herself and lightly tapped Obi-Wan’s ankle with her foot.
“Something like that,” Obi-Wan said, his cheeks beginning to flush.
“More than something, Kenobi,” Quinlan said, pulling Obi-Wan’s lightsaber out from his wrist-holster.
“How did you ge—” Obi-Wan’s eyes went wide. Somehow Quinlan had managed to slip it from him. But how? He was always so careful with it. Qui-Gon had drilled the practice into his head: this weapon is your life, don’t lose it.
“She held it. You even offered to let her keep it,” Quinlan announced, using his psychometry powers to see the recent history of Obi-Wan’s lightsaber.
“That’s enough, Quin,” Obi-Wan said, becoming unnerved.
“Oh please do continue, Quin,” Luminara said, smirking. Payback.
“You even kept it on your belt while you—why you kinky sun of a hutt,” Quinlan smirked. Before he could continue his reading, Obi-Wan snatched the weapon from his hands and hooked it on his belt.
“I wanted to hear more about your admittance to this club of yours,” Luminara protested.
“Personally, Kenobi, I thought you meant admittance to the club of people that have slept with me,” Quinlan said, unashamedly.
It was now Obi-Wan’s turn to be mortified. His entire face and upper chest flushed red as Luminara burst into a fit of laughter never before seen by either of her friends.
“What did we blame it on? Adolescent experimentation?” Quinlan recalled, propping his chin up with his hand. “Sorry Lumi, but Kenobi’s got ya beat in that department.”
Obi-Wan’s head hit the table with a thud and Luminara began to stifle her laughter. She tenderly reached out her hand and rubbed Obi-Wan’s shoulder. It was then she noticed the Cathar man at the bar had left and they were the only three patrons left in the diner.
“Though you handle a lightsaber better,” Quinlan added before receiving a punch in the arm from Luminara. “Ouch—I meant actual combat training not my lightsaber.”
Luminara frowned and narrowed her eyes at Quinlan before turning her attention to Obi-Wan. “Quite the club we have going here, Obi.”
Obi-Wan slowly raised his head, pretending as if the preceding conversation didn’t happen, as FLO rolled back over.
“What’ll it be, boys?” FLO asked.
Quinlan ordered, “Three Yowvetch custard-filled donuts,” and flashed his signature grin.
“And you, hun?” FLO asked, pointing her finger at Obi-Wan.
Before he could begin to form an answer, Quinlan beat him to it. “He’ll be having the zoochberry cobbler and Denta bean ice cream with nineteen candles.”
“Please,” Obi-Wan added.
“Dentazooch and three fyyow’s comin’ right up!” FLO announced before rolling to the kitchen to put in the order.
Luminara smiled in admiration at her friends’ bravery to eat things from Dex’s menu she could hardly even sound out. On her left, Quinlan was having himself a grand time. Never once did he let his smirk fall for longer than a few seconds and it seemed he always had another joke or wisecrack up his sleeve. Though across from her, she could see Obi-Wan now beginning to force his laughter at Quinlan’s joke.—The auburn color of his hair made it even more apparent how pale he was. Perhaps it was the cold or the synthetic light that reduced the pigment of Obi-Wan’s skin. Luminara recalled his skin usually exhibiting a pinkish-bronze color. Examining her own skin, it resembled more of a grassy green in the harsh lighting than its actual olive color. While Quinlan maintained his healthy tan glow—When Obi-Wan sighed at a joke Quinlan made about Master Windu (quite a clever one too) she knew something was up.
“Obi-Wan,” she started, cutting Quinlan off mid-punchline, “are you alright?”
Obi-Wan turned his head to look out the window. “Yeah, fine,” he said, solemnly.
“You’re not down and out about the Mando chick again are you?” Quinlan asked with the smallest tinge of actual concern.
“Her name was Satine, not ‘mando chick,’” Obi-Wan said, bitterly.
Luminara then saw Quinlan’s smirk drop into a resting neutral position. It stayed that way until FLO brought out his and Obi-Wan’s food.
With the candles in place and lit, Quinlan and Luminara looked at each other and began to sing a rendition of the Wookiee Life Day song Tree of Life—quite terribly—to lighten Obi-Wan’s spirits. Obi-Wan’s mouth involuntarily pulled itself into a smile and he shook his head.
“Stop singing and I’ll blow them out,” Obi-Wan said, chuckling breathily.
They stopped their serenade and he blew out his candles. Nineteen of them. Luminara reached across the table and blew out the last one, a smirk on her face as she did.
Obi-Wan and Quinlan began to make quick work of their food, signalling to Luminara that the substances were edible at the very least.
“Did either of you hear…” Luminara started, extending her arm to grab a fork full of Obi-Wan’s cobbler.
“Hear what?” Quinlan asked. “Something go down in the Temple and I didn’t know about it?”
“You’re not exactly the listening type, Quin. I mean your natural ability is to discover what happened—after the fact,” Obi-Wan reminded him while taking a large bite of his cobbler.
“Hey…” Quinlan crossed his arms and did his best to make a face that Luminara figured was supposed to be a pout, but to her seemed more like he was in desperate need of a laxative.
“As I was saying,” she continued, “Master Sifo-Dyas was ‘removed’ from the Council.”
Neither of the male Padawans were surprised by this. Sifo-Dyas was known for his more radical ideas on how the Jedi should run and how they should be affiliated with the Republic. Obi-Wan’s interest was however sparked as he had heard rumours of his Master being chosen for the next empty seat.
“Rumour has it, they’re looking to appoint Master Jinn,” she said.
And there it was; Obi-Wan’s greatest fear. While it was a great honor to sit on the Council—one of the highest honors a Jedi could receive—the three had only speculations of how the Council worked. Sifo-Dyas had sat on the Council for almost a decade and only sporadically mentioned his different opinions. Obi-Wan had expressed that he believed Qui-Gon wouldn’t last a week due to his Master’s own thoughts independant that of the Council.
“Let’s talk about something else,” Obi-Wan requested in a whispered voice. Luminara knew he hadn’t told her and Quinlan everything that Qui-Gon had shared with him. And he probably didn’t wish to get into an entire conversation about Jedi/Republic philosophy at the moment. Not on his birthday.
“Alright,” Quinlan said. He reached across the table and pulled one of Obi-Wan’s hands into his; his right hand holding Luminara’s. “Let’s talk about the future,” he said. “I predict that in nineteen years, when you have doubled in age, Kenobi, that the three of us will all sit on the Council. Bring some sense to it.”
Obi-Wan couldn’t help but join in on Quinlan’s vision, “and we’ll each have trained a Padawan into Knighthood that is an exceptional member of the order. Each one of them will embody all that a Jedi can or ever will be.” He grinned and reached out his remaining open hand to join with Luminara’s.
Naturally, Luminara joined in as well. “And they’ll carry our legacies,” she said, squeezing the hands of her friends. “They’ll be the Jedi responsible for ending all war and conflict. They will be heroes and bring all criminals to fair trial. While we sit in the Council chambers of the Temple, our Padawans and Grand-Padawans—” Obi-Wan and Quinlan chuckled at the term “—will be an army of peace, fighting for the light side and holding it dear in their hearts. With our legacies, the Republic will never fail throughout all time.”
FLO then rolled up to the table and put down their bill. “Credits or card?”
The Padawan trio broke their circle of hands and each turned out their pockets, finding no currency within them.
“Put it on our tab?” Quinlan requested.
“Sure thing darling,” FLO answered. “Twenty-point-two credits have been added to your unpaid tab balance of five-hundred, eighty-three-point-four credits. You now have six-hundred and three-point-six unpaid credits.”
Luminara shook her head. “And our future Padawans will always carry credits with them.”