#(he smells like stale blood because of the tusken massacre. only she doesn't know that. and nobody else will for a while

[starchivist]

Baby Kenobi

i don’t know how to write serious summaries/synopses, so you get this: obi-wan gets ambushed with the daughter he didn’t know he fathered while she’s roaming the galaxy looking for mama in a sort of reverse finding nemo. shenanigans and accidental fix-its ensue.

warning for below the cut: none that i can think of, aside from an extremely confused narrator

Stitchup hates everything about this.

“Look, sir, we’re just travelers,” he insists to the trio of bounty hunters, simultaneously glad for and resenting that this mission required he be in civilian clothes and not his plastoid shell. Behind him, General Kenobi is calm and still, letting Stitchup be the focus of the standoff. After all, Stitchup might have a face that’s repeated by a few billion others, but that can be fixed with a bit of contouring — and the hunters are from a race of sentients that are wired more for overarching shapes than small details, meaning his voice is the thing most likely to give him away as a clone in this situation. Jedi High General Obi-Wan Kenobi, on the other hand — his face is far more singular, and his accent is very distinct, which means he has a much higher chance of being recognized if he speaks up.

The hunters buzz, clearly unconvinced. “Sure,” the lead hunter says, the translator at their throat crackling faintly. “Listen, bucko, you can’t seriously think we’re that stupid. General Kenobi’s ship crashed here, and I can’t think of any other reason for a clone trooper to be here. Can you?”

Motherfucker. He’s been suppressing his accent, dammit! “I’m not a trooper,” he tries, knowing his General is about to do something idiotic if he can’t de-escalate and get them out of here. “I’m just a traveling doctor,” he says levelly. “That’s all.”

The lead hunter buzzes again, derision dripping from their stance. They take a step closer—

“Papa,” a young voice says, and only sheer professionalism save Stitchup from jumping about a mile in the air. He turns to see a small humanoid girl trotting up to General Kenobi with Great Purpose, going right up to him and tugging on his sleeve. “Papa,” she says again, a soft, chirping rumble beneath her voice. “I can’t find the right tools — they’re all for droids ‘n engines.”

To Stitchup’s utter shock, General Kenobi doesn’t miss a single beat before playing along, bending down to meet the girl and chirping back.

“That’s alright, Anate,” he says gently, his Coruscanti accent somehow completely gone and replaced with something else. “We’ll just keep looking, yes?” Then he makes this — crooning, trilling sound, and the girl responds in kind with a warbling purr.

“Okay,” the girl says, reaching out her arms when General Kenobi stands in the universal request to be picked up. Again, General Kenobi plays along as flawlessly as if the two of them had rehearsed this beforehand, scooping her into his arms and settling her against his chest with a quiet “Hup!” She makes another purring noise, shuffling as best as she can to get more comfortable, then finally turns her attention to Stitchup and the bounty hunters. “Hi,” she says, peering at the hunters past thick, feathery white hair that covers half her face. “Are you policemen?”

The droning buzz of the hunters is, this time, very clearly uncomfortable. “Policemen,” the hunter on the left echoes carefully, stepping forward and crouching, their blaster holstered in the same movement. “Sorry, kid, my translator doesn’t recognize that. Wanna tell me what that means?”