#he would have one hand holding crions

[antlercollections]

I think i might be going insane about matthew brown

[crispyjenkins]

“Chosen One Obi” sequel sneak peek

(i’ve been fighting the same prompt for a month now, and this chapter of hunger is even worse and it is just   n  o  t   happening this week. seriously, this is the worst block i’ve had on a story in years, and it’s exhausting and i’ve tried giving them both breaks, tried scrapping it all and starting over, flipping povs, changing the outline, butttt nada.

so! while i can’t give a sneak peek of my current secret project, i have been thinking about that chosen one obi prompt again, and thought y’all might like to see what i’ve been playing with in terms of a sequel. ‘think i might get the next dha kar’ta out while i figure out what tf is going on with my brain (ღT◡Tღ)

Alt+R to Quick Reblog on Desktop, Hold the Reblog Symbol to Quick Reblog on Mobile

-

  When Quinlan steps into his buir’s cantina in Foxsoll, looking like he’d seen the second coming of the Sith, Obi-Wan is too surprised to focus on the whispers the Force is trying to weasel into his mind. 

  Frozen behind the bar, Quinlan comes to him through the early-evening crowds, and how many times had he thought about visiting the Temple? About checking in on his friends? How many times had he talked himself out of it?

  “Obi-Wan?” Quinlan asks, as if afraid of the answer; Obi-Wan hasn’t heard that name here in far too long, not since Jango and Jaster had last been around.

  “Quinlan,” he whispers back, and wonders if someone had spiked the papuur’gal at lunch.

  Blinking, Quinlan looks him up and down quickly as something seems to connect in his mind. “Oh,” he says, looking floored, and the Force refuses to tell Obi-Wan what conclusion he had come to. “It’s you?”

  Obi-Wan frowns worriedly. “Are you alright, Quin?”

  “It’s you? Why didn’t you say anything?!”

  Chalmun senses the change in mood immediately, latching onto the edges of Obi-Wan’s mind as he all but storms out of the back storeroom with a few choice Xaczik swears on his lips. Obi-Wan doesn’t get the chance to tell him Quinlan is a friend, because Chalmun takes one look at Quinlan’s expression and comes to a realisation of his own, before grabbing the both of them by the back of their tunics to drag them to the private lounge. Obi-Wan knows better than to protest, but Quinlan yelps in surprise.

   Chalmun hasn’t been a Journeyman Protector in almost five years, but he hasn’t lost the bearing, nor the wall of blasters and bowcasters at the back of the lounge; Quinlan takes this all in quickly, but as soon as Chalmun sets them on their feet, he’s right back Obi-Wan’s space.

  “Why the kriff didn’t you say anything?” he demands, distressed and angry, and Obi-Wan automatically reaches out for his mind, trying to project calm and peace.

  “I’m so sorry, Quin, but there was Xanatos, and the Mand’alor found me and I didn’t– I didn’t think the Temple would want me–”

  Stunned, Quinlan looks from Obi-Wan to Chalmun and back again. “Wait, no– No, Obi, why didn’t you tell us you were the Chosen One.”

  Ah, this nonsense again.

  Obi-Wan deflates and glares at his buir over Quinlan’s shoulder. “It’s nice to see the crazies hadn’t died out,” he scoffs, and Chalmun just shakes his head.

  “You know everyone can feel it, cub.”

  Quinlan knows enough Shyriiwook to at least guess what Chalmun says. “How long has he been like this?”

  It takes Obi-Wan a moment to realise Quinlan isn’t even speaking to him anymore, Chalmun giving a great shrug. “Always.”

  “But that...” Quilan reaches out a gloved hand, Obi-Wan allowing him to almost touch him, to skate over the Force just above his skin.

  “Anyone with a midichlorian count above baseline can feel it,” his buir adds unhelpfully. “It’s caused us quite a few problems, when the less savoury sort have come poking around.”

  “Buir,” he sighs, but allows Quinlan to touch him fully, hand pressed along and down his neck. “Quin, you knew what I felt like before, I don’t–”

  “Yeah, you’ve always felt like this,” Quinlan breathes. “But not like this.”

  “What the kriff does that even mean.”

  “If... Kriff, you’d been at the Temple longer than anybody in the crèche!”

  “I am even less sure of what you’re trying to say now.”

  Shaking his head, Quinlan looks up at Chalmun with a mutual understanding that Obi-Wan does not share. “Does it get easier to look at, the longer you’re around him?”

  “Indeed. He is still a lantern, I could find him from the other side of the planet, but you stop thinking about it.”

  At Quinlan’s sheepish expression, Obi-Wan sighs and translates for him. 

  “Master Plo called you that, too,” he says to Obi-Wan after a moment. “A lantern.”

  “I’m not the ‘Chosen One’, Quinlan.” He steps out from under Quinlan’s hand and glares at the both of them, trying to ignore the way the Force chimes in his head like he’d chosen the wrong answer on a gameshow holo. “Why wouldn’t the masters have sensed it?” If what he remembers about the prophecy is correct, someone would have noticed before now, before Bandomeer.

  “Obes, I think we were all just used to you. Kriff, hey, you remember the Zabraki woman, who came to write about the architecture of the Temple? Maker, we should have realised then, she even called you ‘the chosen’...”

  “Perhaps you will have better luck with him,” Chalmun rumbles. “He will not listen to me.”

  “That sounds in character.” Smiling, Quinlan shuffles to pull a datapad out of the pack over his shoulders. “I’m a Shadow now, Obes, Master Tholm wouldn’t hear of it until I’d given it a shot. I’m here on a mission from the High Council, from Master Windu, there’s some rumours in the lower levels of Coruscant about a Force Sensitive on Concord Dawn. And, when Master Qui-Gon finally faced du Crion, he let slip he’d been looking for the Chosen One as well.”

  Xanatos du Crion. The reason Obi-Wan is even hiding in Mandalore Space in the first place, a dark shadow that has not left his mind since he had tracked Obi-Wan here through Jango. 

  “Master Ti thought it all too much to be coincidence,” Quinlan is saying, holding out the datapad that Obi-Wan doesn’t even bother looking at. It is time, the Force whispers to him, we can hide you no longer. “And then as soon as I touched down, I felt you, Obi-wan. The– The Agricorp masters said you never made it to them, that you would were still in the spaceport when du Crion bombed it. No one knows you’re alive.”

 Chalmun takes the pad instead, looking it over even though Aurebesh isn’t his strong point. “The Mand’alor and I have been keeping him safe out here, we knew others would seek out his power. And I knew we could only do that for so long; it seems we’ve finally run out of luck.”

-

Mando’a: buir —“parent”, gender neutral papuur’gal — a Mandalorian wine, probably akin to a white wine

[colehasapen]

(ONE SHOT) cabur STAR WARS

Jango doesn't know how long he’s been caged.

It could have been days, it could have been months - hells, it could have been years. Jango can’t tell with his mind fogged by spice and agony. His body aches, and Jango is pretty sure his hands have permanently curled into claws from the never ending physical labour, and his back has been flayed by the beatings. He’s spent his days since - since Galidraan - wallowing in a drug-filled haze of never-ending monotony interspersed with violent whippings, and any moment the drugs fade enough for Jango to think, to remember, he almost chokes on his own burning hatred when it claws its way back up to the surface.

It makes him want the haze of drugs. He welcomes it, because it drowns out the grief, the guilt, the memories, and his overwhelming hatred of everything and everyone - including himself.

He’s a failure, a coward - if he had been a better Mand’alor, his people wouldn’t have died, or he would have done them the honour of dying with them. He’s no longer Mando’ad. He has no armour, it had been stolen from him and was probably being used as some shiny trophy for that aruetyc shabuir of a Governor. He has no defense, it’s been taken from him by the collar around his neck and the brand burned into his chest - he’s a slave now, and slaves can’t defend themselves. His tribe is gone, slaughtered on Galidraan and dismembered by those skanah jetiise , their bodies probably left to rot with no one to complete their final rites and thus no way to join the manda. He has no reason to speak the language, because slaves aren’t permitted to speak, and he’d have no one to share it with anyways. And as for his leader?

Well, Jango had failed spectacularly as Mand’alor. He had gotten his people - Jaster’s people - killed, his failure had destroyed the Haat Mando’ade. He had destroyed Jaster’s legacy.

He had failed his people, he had failed himself, and he had failed his Buir. He should have died that day with his parents, he should have burned with their farmhouse. Maybe if he had, Jaster would have saved Arla as soon as he heard her screaming if he hadn’t been weighed down by Jango - he has no doubt Jaster could have pulled her out of the flames if he hadn’t been honour-bound to protect Jango.

None of this would have happened if Jango had died then. But he hadn’t, and now everything and had known and loved was gone - and it was his fault.

Jango doesn’t bother looking up from his huddle in the corner of his too-small cage when he hears the masters walking down the rows. He barely acknowledges their voices. Instead, he stays where he is, considering whether or not to let the fog drag him under again.

A yelp has him jerking.

It was the pained cry of a child - an ad - and it has Jango beating back the numbness of the spice and lifting his head.

The large Twi’lek overseer had stopped in front of Jango’s cage, his meaty hand curled solidly around a chain leading to the collar around the small, pale throat of a Human or Near-Human child with fluffy ginger hair and glazed blue eyes.

“You sure about that, Tol?” The Zeltron at the overseer’s side asks, red eyes lingering on Jango’s huddled form. “Y’know what they say about Mandos-”

The Twi’lek snorts, moving to unclasp the gate to Jango’s cage. “Good thing we ain’t got no Mandos here then. Only slaves . This one was good and broken before we got it.” The overseer sneers, and with a jerk of the Twi’lek’s hand, the scared ad stumbles toward him.

Jango twitches as those cruel fingers lock around the child’s delicate neck, and the adiik flinches. He must not be as far under the thrall of the spice if he could still react like that, and Jango twitches again against the desire to throw himself forward to defend the tiny adiik.

“Be good now, slave.” The overseer coos mockingly, unhooking the chain from the explosive rigged to the small child’s neck. “We paid some good creds for you - I’d hate to be the one telling Lord du Crion that we had to blow you up.”

The child stares back, fire sparking in those foggy eyes, then they make a pained noise when the overseer gives them a violent shake. The adiik’s head ducks submissively as the Twi’lek sneers at them.

“There’s a good lad.” The Zeltron says in a parody of motherly concern, voice sickly sweet as she toys with the ends of the ad ’s red hair. “That brother of yours wanted us to keep you in one piece until you learned your lesson.”

“He’s not my brother -” The adiik’s retort is cut off by a cry of pain that has Jango gritting his teeth in fury, carefully uncoiling himself from the tight ball he had been curled into before. The kid hits the floor of his cage with a bone-jarring thud, and Jango rolls stiffly to his knees as the slave masters laugh.

“That’s your final warning, slave.” The Twi’lek sneers, looking down his nose at the two slaves as he shuts the cage once more. “You talk back to me again and I’ll whip you ‘til you bleed.”

Jango glowers at the two slavers thunderously from under his shaggy hair as the march away, and the ad barely stirs from his sprawl. He grits his teeth, holding his tongue until the overseers are out of sight, before he’s shuffling forwards, towards the limp child that had unexpectedly become his companion.

“Me’vaar ti gar?” He calls softly to the adiik, who flinches, scrambling clumsily onto his hands and knees to stare up at Jango with a wide-eyed glare. He’s scared, Jango can tell immediately, but there’s still a fire burning inside of him that almost has Jango smiling.

He’s definitely Mandokarla , and just looking at him makes Jango ache for home. If they weren’t in this cage - if they were back on Manda’yaim - Jango has no doubt that someone would be snatching this adiik up and adopting him into their aliit . It makes him think of Myles, of the last thing his cyare had said to him before they had rushed into battle - about how he wanted to raise warriors with him - and Ka’ra does it hurt. He tries not to think about the way Myles’ body had been split in half. They would have said their vows after Galidraan had this been a kinder galaxy.

Carefully, Jango sits back on his heels, lifting his hands to show the kid that he means no harm. He probably looks frightening to the already scared adiik , with his unwashed hair and ungroomed beard - not to mention the thick layer of dirt, spice, and blood that covered his face. “Udesii, ad’ika.” He soothes, and the little Lothcat just bares his teeth at him, as threatening as a kitten - and the thought almost makes Jango snort.

Well, if there was any way to calm a feral kitten.

He glances around, then carefully choreography his movements as he pulls his half-eaten gruel towards them, then pushes it at the adiik. “Haili cetare, verd’ika.” He offers, and the kid eyes him suspiciously for a long moment before he reaches forward to tug the bowl closer. The kid hesitates, eyes darting from the bowl, to Jango, then skittering around the cage, and Jango raises his eyebrows in a silent question.

“Is -” The adiik’s voice is rough from spice-inhalation, but Jango can just pick up the refined High Core accent he spoke with - not surprising if was was apparently the brother of a Lord, and doesn’t that knowledge piss Jango off further.

What kind of dar’vod hut’uun sell their own vod’ika into slavery?

The ad flinches, ducking his head, and Jango curses himself, carefully schooling his face into the political mask Jaster had drilled into his thick head.

“Udesii.” Jango says again, and the child steadily relaxes again. “Copaani gaan?” He probes, a little teasingly and hoping to put the kid more at ease.

The adiik bites his lip, looking up at Jango from under dark lashes. “Are there utensils?” He asks in a rush, before he blushes and ducks his head shyly.

Utensils - Jango snorts. The kid really was some fancy Core lordling.

“Nayc, ad’ika.” He shakes his head, and the kid deflates, looking at the bowl in his dirty hands in dismay. The adiik hesitates a moment longer, before sighing quietly and beginning to use his fingers to scoop the unappetizing mush into his mouth. Jango only watches fondly for a moment, studying the kid; he had obviously been well-fed and well-cared for before his dar’vod had sold him. He’s lanky in the way kids get on the cusp of puberty, and his hair is a rare red-gold that actually makes Jango glad that the adiik had been sold to a spice rig instead of to someone with a taste for the exotic. He might even have some biological resistance to toxins, from the way the adiik grows sharper and more alert with every moment that passes.

He wonders if anyone would be missing this kid.

Well, they should have kept a better eye on him, obviously.

“Tion’ad hukaat’kama, adiik?” Jango asks, watching the kid lick the bowl clean, and big doe eyes blink back at him, confused. “Tion gar gai?”

The adiik blinks again, carefully rubbing his mouth with the filthy sleeve of his stained tunic as his brows furrow. “I’m sorry -” he says slowly, “- do you speak Basic? I don’t understand you.”

Jango blinks right back, a little taken aback - it had been so long since he had spoken to anyone . He hadn’t even realized that his mouth was forming the vowels of his mother tongue. “I -” Basic feels odd on his tongue, but the kid brightens, so Jango will put up with it until he can teach him Mando’a, “- yeah. I speak Basic.”

The kid beams at him and - haar’chak - he has dimples. He would have definitely been adopted in a heartbeat.

“Was wondering your name.” Jango grunts, and the verd’ika ’s smile turns shy.

“I’m Obi-Wan.” The kid introduces himself with a little bow that wouldn’t be out of place in a High Core court. “And yourself?” He asks, eyes curious.

“Jango.” He offers gruffly, “Jango Fett.”

Obi-Wan beams at him again, and - kriff, how could anyone sell this kid into slavery. He was too trusting, too innocent - this life would ruin him. “It’s nice to meet you, Master Fett!”

Jango jerks, scowls, and the kid flinches faintly, looking alarmed and confused, so Jango lets out an explosive sigh and forces himself to relax. “Not your master, Ob’ika.” Jango mutters, gesturing for the kid to come closer. Space gets cold, and the adiik would no doubt be feeling it soon. “Just Jango.”

“Okay.” Obi-Wan agrees quietly, shuffling over to the man’s side, and Jango slowly loops an arm around the ad ’s thin shoulders and pulling him even closer, tucking him against his ribs. “How long have you been here, Jango?” The kid asks, curling his fingers into Jango’s ruined kute, and Jango just shrugs awkwardly. There’s a small sniffle in response, as it fully begins to sink in that his dar’vod really had sold him into slavery no doubt.

Jango tightens his hold on the adiik, and in that moment he swears to himself, to the manda, that he’d get out. He’d get them both out.

[les-eaux-d-eunoe-blog]

Comment réciter le chapelet ? How to pray the rosary in English and French

(img source)

I love the rosary.

It’s a beautiful form of meditation through repetition and intention.

I’ve had some very powerful feelings of peace, joy, and strangely, self acceptance, during my several attempts at praying it. I recommend it to anyone. You don’t even have to be Catholic.

As I’m trying to practice French in some form each day, I thought memorizing the more common prayers of the rosary in the language of a country that is historically heavily Catholic would be lovely, especially since my time in France played a role in my own initial interest in Catholicism.

Rosary Basics

If you are new to the rosary, here’s a quick rundown on how it works:

The rosary is composed of a cross or crucifix and a series of beads, each of which represents a prayer.

It helps to hold each bead as you move through the rosary. This allows you to keep track of where you are without counting, so you can focus on meditation. 

That part dangling down to the cross? That’s where you’ll begin. You work your way up from the cross, then around the neck. You can move either clockwise or counter clockwise, it doesn’t really matter.

When you get to the main loop, there are five sets of beads, organized into what are called “decades.” For each decade first you’ll set your intention, which is to meditate on one of the Mysteries of the life of Christ (more on that later.) You can also additionally set your own intention here and add your own prayer.

Say the Rosary / Réciter le chapelet 

Here’s how to work your way through the rosary and the corresponding prayers:

1.  Make the sign of the cross. Faire un signe de croix.

In the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit. Amen. Au nom du Père et du Fils, et du Saint-Esprit, Amen !

Say the Apostle’s Creed. Réciter du symbol des apôtres:

I believe in God the Father Almighty, Creator of heaven and earth; and in Jesus Christ, His only Son, our Lord; who was conceived by the Holy Spirit, born of the Virgin Mary, suffered under Pontius Pilate, was crucified, died and was buried. He descended into hell; the third day he arose again from the dead; he ascended into heaven; sits at the right hand of God the Father Almighty; from thence he shall come to judge the living and the dead.  I believe in the Holy Spirit, the Holy Catholic Church, the communion of Saints, the forgiveness of sins, the resurrection of the body, and life everlasting. Amen.

Je crois en Dieu, le Père tout-puissant, Créateur du ciel et de la terre. Et en Jésus-Christ, son Fils unique, notre Seigneur ; qui a été conçu du Saint-Esprit, est né de la Vierge Marie, a souffert sous Ponce Pilate, a été crucifié, est mort et a été enseveli, est descendu aux enfers ; le troisième jour est ressuscité des morts, est monté aux cieux, est assis à la droite de Dieu le Père tout-puissant, d’où il viendra juger les vivants et les morts. Je crois en l’Esprit Saint, à la sainte Église catholique, à la communion des saints, à la rémission des péchés, à la résurrection de la chair, à la vie éternelle. Amen.

2. Our Father / Un Notre Père

Our Father, Who art in heaven, hallowed be Thy name. Thy kingdom come, Thy will be done on earth as it is in heaven.  Give us this day our daily bread and forgive us our trespasses as we forgive those who trespass against us. And lead us not into temptation but deliver us from evil. Amen.

Notre Père, qui est aux cieux, que ton nom soit sanctifié, que ton règne vienne, que ta volonté soit faite sur la terre comme au ciel. Donne-nous aujourd’hui notre pain de ce jour. Pardonne-nous nos offenses, comme nous pardonnons aussi à ceux qui nous ont offensés. Et ne nous laisse pas entrer en tentation mais délivre-nous du Mal. Amen.

3.  Say 3 Hail Marys, one for each bead. Réciter 3 "Je vous salue Marie," une pour chaque perle.

Hail Mary, full of grace, the Lord is with thee; blessed art thou among women, and blessed is the Fruit of thy womb, Jesus. Holy Mary, Mother of God, pray for us sinners, now and at the hour of our death. Amen.

Je vous salue, Marie pleine de grâce ; Le Seigneur est avec vous. Vous êtes bénie entre toutes les femmes, Et Jésus, le fruit de vos entrailles, est béni. Sainte Marie, Mère de Dieu, Priez pour nous pauvres pécheurs, Maintenant et à l’heure de notre mort. Amen

4. Conclude with Glory Be and Oh My Jesus. Each decade also closes with these prayers. Concluez avec “Glorie au Père” et “O Mon Jésus.” Chaque dizaine se termine également avec ces prières

Glory be to the Father, and to the Son, and to the Holy Spirit.  As it was in the beginning, is now, and ever shall be, world without end. Amen.

Gloire au Père et au Fils, et au Saint-Esprit, comme il était au commencement, maintenant et toujours, et dans les siècles des siècles. Amen

O My Jesus, forgive us our sins, save us from the fires of hell and lead all souls to heaven, especially those who are in most need of Thy mercy.

O mon Jésus, pardonne-nous nos péchés, préserve-nous du feu de l'enfer et conduis au ciel toutes les petit âmes surtout celles qui ont le plus besoin de ta miséricorde.

5. (& 9, 10, 11 12) Now, the meditation on the mysteries begin. Puis la méditation des mystères commence.

For each decade, begin by announcing the Mystery (they’re listed below,) then say the Our Father (see Nº 2.)   Pour chaque dizaine, commencez par annoncer le mystère (ils sont énumérés ci-dessous), puis dites le Notre Père (Nº 2.)

6. Recite 10 Hail Marys (see Nº 3), following the beads. Récitez 10 “Je vous salue Marie" (Nº 3,)  en suivant les perles.

7 & 8. Conclude each decade with Glory Be and Oh My Jesus before moving on to the next decade. Concluez chaque dizaine avec “Glorie au Père” et “O Mon Jésus” avant de passer à la prochaine dizaine.

13. After all the decades are complete, finish the sequence with a Hail Holy Queen, followed by a final prayer or the sign of the cross. À la fin, terminez la séquence avec un Hail Holy Queen, suivi d'une prière finale ou du signe de la croix.

Hail Holy Queen:

Hail, holy Queen, Mother of mercy, hail, our life, our sweetness and our hope. To thee do we cry, poor banished children of Eve: to thee do we send up our sighs, mourning and weeping in this vale of tears. Turn then, most gracious Advocate, thine eyes of mercy toward us, and after this our exile, show unto us the blessed fruit of thy womb, Jesus, O merciful, O loving, O sweet Virgin Mary! Amen.

Nous vous saluons, Reine, Mere de misericorde, notre vie, notre joie, notre esperance, salut. Enfants d'Eve, nous crions vers vous de fond de notre exil. Nous soupirons vers vous, gemissant et pleurant dans cette vallee de larmes. O vous notre advocate, tournez vers nous vos regards misericordieux. Et apres l'exil de cette vie, montrez nous Jesus, le fruit beni de vos entrailles, tendre, aimante, douce vierge Marie. Priez pour nous, sainte Mere de Dieu. Afin que nous devenions dignes des promesses de Jesus Christ. Amen.

Final Prayer:

Let us pray. O God, whose only begotten Son, by His life, death, and resurrection has purchased for us the rewards of eternal life; grant, we beseech Thee, that meditating upon these mysteries of the most Holy Rosary of the Blessed Virgin Mary, we may imitate what they contain and obtain what they promise, through the same Christ Our Lord. Amen.

Prions: O Dieu dont le Fils unique, par sa vie, sa mort et sa resurrection, nous a merite, les recompenses du salut eternel, faites que, meditant ses mysteres dans le tres saint Rosaire de la bienheureuse Vierge Marie, nous mettions a profit les lescons qu'ils contiennent afin d'obtenir ce qu'ils nous font esperer. Par la meme Jesus-Christ, votre Fils notre Seigneur. Amen.

The Mysteries

For each decade, you’ll reflect on 1 of 5 certain events of Jesus’ life, depending on the day of the week. I usually like to pull up a classic painting of the event before I announce it, and look at it while I recite the Hail Marys.

Joyful Monday & Saturday | Mystères joyeux Lundi & samedi

The Annunciation, The Visitation, The Birth of Jesus, The Presentation in the Temple,  Finding of Jesus in the Temple

L'Annonciation, La Visitation, La Naissance de Jésus, La Présentation au Temple, Le Recouvrement au Temple Sorrowful Tuesday & Friday | Mystères douloureux Mardi & vendredi

Agony the Garden, Scourging at the Pillar, Crowning of Thorns, Carrying of the Cross, The Crucifixion

L'Agonie de Jésus, La Flagellation, Le Couronnement d'épines, Le Portement de la Croix, Le Crucifiement

Glorious Wednesday & Sunday | Mystères glorieux Mercredi & dimanche

Resurrection of Jesus, The Ascension, Pentecost, Assumption of the Virgin Mary, Coronation of Mary

La Résurrection de Jésus, L'Ascension, La Pentecôte, L'Assomption de la Saint-Vierge Maria, Le Couronnement de la Saint-Vierge Maria

Luminous Thursday | Mystères luminex Jeudi

Baptism of the Lord, Wedding Feast at Cana, Proclamation of the Kingdom of Heaven, The Transfiguration, Institution of the Eucharist

Baptême du Christ, Noces de Cana, Proclamation du Royaume, Transfiguration, L'institution de l'Eucharistie

Learn more about the mysteries here.

So there you have it! How to pray the rosary in both English and French.

I’m not a native speaker, so I almost certainly made some mistakes. Absolutely  correct me if you notice any. :)

[myurbandream]

Shuffle the Deck

For a while now I’ve had a very docile plot bunny about a Happier Star Wars AU, the basic premise being what if the order of Qui-Gon’s Padawans got switched up and everyone was better off because of it. Until yesterday I’d never written a word of this plot bunny, but last night this one scene grabbed hold of me and demanded to be written.  There’s a whole story built up before and after this scene, but I’ve tried to make it clear enough to stand by itself, since I’ll probably never get around to writing the rest of the story.  ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

@quiobiweek, this is probably the closest I’ll come to having a contribution for this week. If background QuiObi counts, let me know and I’ll add this to the AO3 Collection.

~ and now, a snippet:

Anakin keeps his face all but plastered to the window as the shuttle flies from the Senate Rotunda to the Jedi Temple.  From the seat beside him, Padawan du Crion leans over Anakin's shoulder and points out various landmarks as they travel through the skies of Coruscant.  The young Jedi has an endless stream of stories, whether of criminals he has chased into this building or that canyon, or where the best local diners can be found for a meal during an illicit trip to the underlevels of the great city-planet.

(mobile users, there’s a cut here)

As the Temple looms larger in the viewport, Padawan du Crion points out each of the Temple towers by name, and Anakin carefully repeats them, checking the sun for direction.  If he's going to be a Jedi, then that's definitely important information to know.

“Uh-oh,” du Crion murmurs as they near the landing platform.

“What's wrong?” Anakin asks, concerned.  He doesn't see anything dangerous on the platform - just the ground crew moving around, and a few people standing at the edge of the landing zone, probably waiting to meet them.  Nothing's on fire or anything.

Padawan du Crion snorts.  “Nothing's wrong, just…” he bites his lip on a smirk and glances across the aisle, to where Master Qui-Gon has been sitting, silently, eyes closed for the entire shuttle ride.  “I think Master Qui-Gon is in trouble.”

Whatever this supposed trouble is, Padawan du Crion seems more amused than worried.  Anakin frowns and looks out the viewport again, but all he can see now is the skyline of the city, before it’s cut off by the side walls of the landing bay as the shuttle delicately maneuvers into its resting spot.

Master Qui-Gon opens his eyes when the shuttle engines start cycling down.  Anakin is watching closely enough to see a faint grimace cross the Jedi’s face, before his expression smooths out.

“Xan,” Master Qui-Gon calls across the aisle as he stands up, “will you keep Anakin with you until we report to the Council?”

“Yes, Master,” Padawan du Crion says, and then a sly smirk appears on his face.  “After all, we can't tarnish your dignified reputation before you have a chance to make Anakin's status as your next Padawan official.  What a shame that would be.”

“Imp.”  Master Qui-Gon glares, but there's no heat to it, and the corners of his mouth are twitching as if he's holding back a smile.  “Off with you.  Anakin, I'll see you in a few hours, and Xanatos will take good care of you until then.”

“Psshh,” Padawan du Crion waves his hand dismissively.  “Depends on your definition of ‘good care’.  C’mon kid, we're getting ice cream.”

“What's ice cream?” Anakin asks as he follows the two Jedi down the ramp.

“Kid, trust me, you're gonna love it,” Padawan du Crion promises with a huge grin.  “Aaaand step this way,” he adds, tugging Anakin sideways as another Jedi marches straight towards them across the landing bay with a thunderous scowl on his face.

The approaching Jedi is a human male, middle-aged although maybe not quite Master Qui-Gon's age, with a neatly trimmed beard and ginger-brown hair just starting to turn silver at the temples.  He looks as regal as the Queen of Naboo in her fancy dresses, despite the fact that he's wearing the same brown and tan robes as Padawan du Crion, and his scowling face promises trouble.

“Hi, Obi-Wan,” Padawan du Crion calls out as the man passes by them.  The other Jedi gives him a distracted wave in response and then strolls right up to Master Qui-Gon, until they're standing almost toe-to-toe.  He has to look up to meet Master Qui-Gon's eyes, but his glare is no less intimidating for it, and he isn't even aiming it at Anakin.

“Qui, where in the seven Sith hells have you been?” the new Jedi hisses.

“I left you a message,” Master Qui-Gon protests, eyebrows raised in faint surprise.

“You call that a message?  You didn't say where you were going, your mission wasn't logged in the roster, and the Council refused to tell me where you were!”

“They wha- Plo promised me he would tell you about it!”  Master Qui-Gon looks upset, but the other Jedi shakes his head.

“Don’t blame Plo,” he sighs.  “He left for a border dispute on Malastare just hours before I returned.  I just- I was out of the Temple for less than 48 hours and you kriffing vanished.  For Force’s sake, Xan is halfway through his Trials, what was so important that his Knighting had to be delayed for it?  You can't go gallivanting off on clandestine missions and not take me with- not even tell me-”

“I'm sorry, dearheart,” Master Qui-Gon rumbles, pulling the other Jedi into a tight hug.  The ginger-haired Jedi growls and grumbles like a territorial krayt dragon, but returns the embrace just as fiercely.  Master Qui-Gon says something else, too soft to hear, and then Padawan du Crion tugs at Anakin's arm and pulls him away from the shuttle.

“Alright, time to go, drama’s over,” du Crion whispers.  He pulls Anakin back into the depths of the loading bay, where the foot traffic is thicker.  They dodge around a loader droid’s shipping crate, and the long ebony braid behind the Padawan’s ear sways back and forth with the motion.  

“Who was that?”  Anakin ventures to ask.  “I didn't think Jedi were allowed to, uh…”

Padawan du Crion snorts.  “Yeah, I know that rumor.  Stuck-up, cold-hearted Jedi with no emotions, no love, no family.  It's not true, it's just hard for non-Jedi to understand our way of life, and most of us are very private about our relationships.”

“Obi-Wan and Master Qui-Gon are life-bonded - they're mates, partners,” du Crion clarifies at Anakin's puzzled frown.  He leads them into a hallway as he talks, touching Anakin's shoulder to steer him through the crowd of other Jedi entering and exiting the landing bay.

“They're the Jedi equivalent of being married, basically.  Obi-Wan is technically my brother-Padawan, too - he was orphaned just a couple years before his Knighting, and Master Qui-Gon finished his training right after he'd just been Knighted himself.  They life-bonded before I was around, while Master Qui-Gon was still training Feemor.  Feemor is our other brother-Padawan,” du Crion clarifies.  “He's away on a long-term assignment right now, but he'll be back in a few months.  He always comes to visit after his missions, I'll introduce you.”

They move from the industrial hallway of the loading bay into a larger, much grander walkway, with a colonnade along one side that opens into a cavernous multi-level space lined with stairs and other hallways around the perimeter.  Padawan du Crion steers Anakin to one side of the wide hallway, to allow a group of little kids dressed in matching white tunics to walk past them.  Some of the little ones wave at them and call out hello, and Padawan du Crion waves back cheerfully, greeting a few of the younglings by name.

“Anyway,” he continues, once they start walking again, “since Obi-Wan is practically the same age as Master Qui-Gon, and they're life-bonded, I basically have two Masters.  It's great, Obi-Wan is wicked smart, you'll like him,” du Crion assures Anakin, smiling.

Anakin takes all of that in, chewing his lip thoughtfully.  “So then, after you finish your tests-”

“Trials,” du Crion interjects, and Anakin nods.

“After your Trials, you'll be a Knight, and then I'll be Master Qui-Gon's new Padawan, and both you and Knight Obi-Wan-”

“Master Obi-Wan, or use his family name, Master Kenobi, if you're being formal.”

“Alright.  You and Master Kenobi will both be my brothers?”

“That's right, kiddo!”  He ruffles Anakin's hair.  “And I'm almost done with my Trials too.  I only have my Combat Trial and the Chamber left, and if we hadn't gone to Naboo I would have done those last week.  As soon as this karking invasion from the Trade Federation gets sorted, the Council will set a new date for my last Trials and I'll be a Knight.  You'd better get used to calling me Knight Xanatos,” he teases, grinning proudly down at Anakin.

Anakin smiles back.  “Is it nice, having older brothers?” he asks.

“Yeah, it's really nice,” du Crion says, his grin gentling into a soft smile.   Then he rolls his eyes.  “Except for when Obi-Wan and Master Qui-Gon get all sappy, or worse, hornnn...nevermind that.”  He coughs.  “Ice cream.  We need ice cream.  My favorite refectory is this way, c’mon kiddo, let's go.”

Anakin blinks at the sudden subject change, but leaves it be.  If Master Qui-Gon and Knight Kenobi and Padawan du Crion are going to be his Jedi family, then he'll have plenty of time to figure out what that was all about.

And he's eager to figure out what's so great about ice cream.

[msu82]

Pajustji (Ch.3)

Hey! This only updated 5 days late, and considering I was doped up on pain medication for an injury? That is a perfectly-landed feat and y’all should be proud of me.

Tagging: @markwatnae (The lovely creator of TPAU), @peskylilcritter, @devilangel657, @demad69, @tygermama, @isweariamanadmin, @wordwelder 

[Ch.1] 

Previous (Ch.2) | Current | Next - Coming Feb. 24th – March 3rd

Chapter 3: An unexpected series of tea, truth, tears, and nonchalance

She wanted her Master. She had only seen Obi-Wan Kenobi roughly twenty minutes prior, but she wanted her Master. Edie wanted her family for, even though the four year old was cute, the blatant lack of existence in regards to her family was starting to grind down on her faint hold upon her emotions. The more she realized she was truly in the past (she had already pinched herself many times) the more the feelings of dread and anxiety began to well up within her. She wanted to eat candy, make tea with Master Obi-Wan, and read old books—digital and paper—with him. She wanted to spar with Anakin, accidentally hurt him, and get to fret over him even as he was complimenting her abilities for taking him down. She wanted to play pranks with Ahsoka and help her fuse over the troopers if either of the battalions were planet-side on Coruscant. She did not want a toddler version of her guardian and teacher that she had been the one to comfort.

She did not want her padawan-brother to not be alive for roughly another decade. She did not want her best friends—from Ahsoka to the troopers—to not come into existence for even longer than that. I want my family. The brunette thought to herself, eyes squeezed shut as she tried to keep herself out of the throws of the panic attack the Force was tickling her ears in warning to calm herself. I want Obi-Wan, I want Anakin, I want Ahsoka, Cody, Rex, and all the others. I want my family. Her hands clenched in the fabric of her pants, her eyes burned as her breathing did its best to start hitching. I want my family, I want my family, IwantmyfamilyIwantmyfamilyIwantmyfam–

“Drink.”

Edie startled, blinking back tears quickly to come cross-eyed with... a cup of tea cradled by a pair of green three-fingered hands. A moment passed, long yet tension-free, and slowly she cupped the blue porcelain in her hands before taking a slow sip. She was about to lower it from her mouth, but the sight of the green being raising his hand in a 'Stop' motion made her freeze. “Drink all of it at once, nice and slow, you shall. Savor it, you will, but have it last a while? It will not.”

Edie hesitated, anxiety and panic still doing it's best to boil out of her young body, but then her logical side kicked in. Her Master's voice, gentle in her ear as if he was there with her in the scary, long-ago past that was now tangible far before her birth into the galaxy. Reminding her that she was still in the Temple even if it was not her own, that she was safe, and that Yoda would never harm her. The brunette tipped the cup on her lips once more. She closed her eyes as she slowly swallowed down the rest of the warm drink. It was.... minty. Mint was the first thing that stuck out to her. As she sipped more, slowly draining it all away as it flooded her tongue, there were traces of chocolate that grew more clear the longer she drank. And the there was the absolute warmth of it all combined. The warmth of the tea was swirling like petals in the wind come blooming season, filling her up and running away the chill of stress that had settled upon her. It startled her a little when her lips met wetness no further, she blinking as she lowed the cup and saucer from her mouth before looking at a grinning, ancient, beloved troll capable of using the Force. “What was in that, Master Yoda? Some sort of soother?” “Bah, chocolate and mint only. Believe in simple comforts I do, young one. Perk it is, if delicious.” Yoda let out a chuckling, and Edie found herself smiling as all of her current flooding of negative emotions were lost to the Force. Unfortunately, it was seconds later that her face fell flat and paled. She dropped the dishes to the carpeted ground. A bond thrummed with pure terror in her mind, and she was not used to being flooded with such intense emotions that were not her own. Not the negative kind, anyway.

“What is the matter, young one?” Yoda asked, humor gone and clear concern in his voice but it had no effect on her at first. Edie had simply stood there a moment more....

Less than a heartbeat, actually. She scrambled to pick up the spilled tea-cup and saucer. Thankfully it had been empty. “I-I'm so sorry, Master Yoda, but I have to leave right now! I won't leave the Temple and I'll be back later. I promise!” There was no time to wait for a response. Edie ran as if her life depended on it. Or rather, she was running for a life that she didn't personally possess. But, considering who she was connected to, it was technically her life she was running for.

Her anxiety was mounting as she raced through the Temple, past other Jedi, and into the depth of a room that smelled of a mixture of fresh-water and chemicals that kept the waters as such. She was blinded and saw nothing until wet curls and big green-blue eyes were in her sight. “Obi-Wan!” There was a flurry of movements, a wail, before she was kneeling and hugging a sobbing child in her arms.

She hugged the shaking little body in her arms, whispering soft comforts and taking off her padawan robe, wrapping it around the young boy to bundle him up for some kind of warmth. He truly was chilled to the bone. She had no idea what had been happening, but she felt Obi-Wan's stress and lingering fear in the Force; what was still inside of him, for there was strong amounts of some kind of evilness having almost occurred that tainted the room filled with bright, aquatic life. “It's alright, Obi-Wan. You're safe.” The girl whispered, pressing a kiss idly to the side of the little ginger's head before standing up with him on her hip. It was then that she looked up, blinking at the tall figure standing up by the large pool. Oh.

She hadn't noticed that there was someone in the room, but considering she felt no fear from the one she was holding on her hip when the young attention was turned the same way she was looking? It was near instantly clear that Edie was staring at a savior and not the potential doer of evil. He was tall and clearly a few years older than herself, wearing a padawan braid with the rest of long-and-dark hair pulled into a tie behind his head, blue eyes, pale skin, and soaked to the bone just like the child she held.

The other padawan's features taken in she bowed, ducking her head before raising straight once more. “Thank you for whatever you did to save him from, well, whatever was happening in here.” Edie hugged Obi-Wan a little closer, resting her chin against the side of his head, “I felt his stress and I got here as soon as I could, but-”

“No thanks needed.” The boy spoke, and he wore a smile that almost made her think of her Master—the adult version—when he was speaking with those he needed to be diplomatic with. Or when he spoke of those he didn't like, like with how he spoke with Anakin on the topic of Chancellor Palpatine, whom she was supposed to meet in about week... and around thirty years from the current time. She was pulled from her wandering thoughts by the boy speaking once more, “The young one didn't deserve what was happening. No one did.” The firmness of declaration did nothing to comfort her lingering anxiety from not knowing what had happened just yet, but the goodness of it brought a smile to her face. “Obi-Wan is his name, yes? That's what you called him?” The boy continued, “It's nice to know the name of my young rescuee, but may I know yours Padawan....?” His voice trailed off, but his face spoke of the 'kind' expectation of wanting to know who she was.

Well, far be it for me to be rude. Especially to a fellow padawan, for being in a different time isn't an excuse for a lack of manners. The girl thought, though a tickling in the back of her brain almost felt like Anakin and Ahsoka were right there, on her shoulders, whispering sass and snark into her mind. The voice of her Master was there as well; scolding and giving the voice of reason over the two troublemakers. “I'm Padawan Edie and, yes, his name is Obi-Wan. Obi-Wan Kenobi.” Smile still in place she kept her face a perfect picture of pristine innocence. At least, she assumed she did. In all honesty her lineage line always claimed she looked constantly innocent, but she was being raised by a negotiator and knew how to use appearance to an advantage. “And again–” the short brunette hiked the ginger-haired Crecheling a little higher on her hip– “I can't help but thank you for saving him from whatever happened. So, thank you Padawan....?” Her eyes upon him as her words trailed off, browns almost meeting blue, she saw as the boy's expression became more genuine and felt a twitch in the Force and a slight tingling in her eyes. She was not one with the Unifying, though her Master and padawan-brother were, but the Living Force seemed to be ruffling it's feathers in a near content way at such a subtle change in the teenager. Speaking of, her attention returned he gave a half-bow respectfully fitting for when addressing one who was younger and not of the same standing, for the titles of 'junior' and 'senior' for apprenticeships was more than just an age-divider. “I am Padawan Xanatos Du Crion,” The teenager smiled, “It is a pleasure to meet.....” Edie knew he was speaking more, and that it was rude of her to be staring at him as wide-eyed as she could feel herself doing. Xanatos. Her teacher and guardian's lineage-brother whom he had never gotten to meet until after the elder's abandonment of the Order to become a Dark Jedi. It had occurred as a flickering thought in her mind that there would be many alive, around, or still members of the order if they had left. In pertaining to her own line of heritage, she had not thought that far ahead even if she had spent the majority of the morning (after noon? She was unsure of the time of day) with Master Yoda. However, it was not the realization of who this teenager was that caused her such stillness and surprise, for her mind had raced a thousand parsecs in a moment's notice to focus on one tiny, loan fact that if Xanatos was here, and still very clearly a jedi, then that would mean.... My... grandmaster is ali–?

“Are you alright?” Edie startled, looking to the boy who was no frowning at her with a touch of concern but she swore she saw a flicker of curiosity. “You looked slightly dazed.... you aren't prone to visions, are you? Of the Unifying? I am of it myself, though was not granted such a gift by the Force.” She just stared at him, it taking a moment for her wits to return, but then quickly she gave a smile. “Oh! Oh, um, no. I'm one of the Living Force, not the Unifying.” She offered up a smile, that moment being enough to cover up thinking of an excuse. “I was just...” The brunette then turned around, beginning on the path to exit the room since the child in her arms had finally calmed down, but was still cold to the touch even through her tunic despite it having been a handful of minutes since he'd been saved from the water. “I was just trying to remember where I've heard your name before. You're... Knight Jinn's padawan, right?” He as taller and she knew this, but it didn't stop her from startling when the response he gave to her question was a surprising chuckle from beside her, rather than behind still. “Yes he is, though you're wrong by the title.” She knew her confusion but be clear on her face as she glanced up at the boy, for he added, “He may only be 38 years old, but he is already a Master.” A button was pressed by the boys hands and they continued on, Edie's eyebrows scrunched up in further confusion until shooting up in shock a moment later the boy added, “He had a padawan before me, and after seeing him to Knighthood, the Council rewarded my teacher with his Mastership as a Jedi.” There was another padawan? Her Master had another padawan-brother out in the galaxy somewhere. “Really? Wouldn't he have been too young to have taught you and another by now? What's the other one's name?” The girl asked quickly in rapid-succession, barely holding back a wince at how eager she sounded for information. One rule of negotiation was to never show too much thirst for knowledge in something that should be a neutral topic even if it was one of interest. Thankfully, the boy did nothing more but arch an eyebrow. “In a usual circumstance, most likely, but he only taught his padawan for two years,” The duo had made quite a bit of distance already, and neither noticed the stairs that were lingering after them for two different reasons; interest at the unfamiliar face, and seeing a very familiar and usually stuck-up being having a seemingly civil conversation with one other than Qui-Gon Jinn. “His name is Feemor Gard, and he was 18-years old when Master Jinn took him on to finish his training.” Why didn't I know about this? Why didn't Obi-Wan, Anakin, or Ahsoka ever tell me? The girl wondered as the duo of two trotting a totting-third to the Healing Halls fell into a casual silence. ...Did he do something bad? Did he Fall too? Did he die? The girl wondered and, unable to hold off for more than five minutes, she decided that some things she'd never know until she got home. Well, if she got home that was. No, no! No thinking like that, brain! Be positive, not negative. Despite her words being from her own-brain-to-itself it didn't have much effect, for the body didn't like listening without reason, so she decided to distract herself by asking more questions on this lineage-uncle she had formerly not known the existence of. “How old is he? Master Jinn's graduated padawan?” “Well he's ten-years older than myself, and thirteen-years younger than my Master. I don't exactly remember his birthday,” a look of disbelief must once more be clear on her face at such a declaration, a very firm expression of 'Really? Really?' for Xanatos blushed slightly. Clearing his throat, he continued, “But either way, knowing the exact date or not, he is either already 25-years old, or in the least will be rather soon.” “Why did Master Jinn take Knight Feemor on if he was already 18-years old? Didn't he have a Master before him?” She couldn't resist asking. It was odd to have such a well of information to the past... while in the past. “Now that, though not a happy fact, is one I know for certain.” He offer a dry yet genuine smirk, glancing down at her as they walked through the large, swishing doors that lead into the Healing Halls. Edie smiled a little back at the boy's growing openness, even if still barely existent, as the doors swished back shut after their entrance. It was time to get a certain little Crecheling checked over.

A chuckle was the first thing released as he heard doors swish to an open, and Master Qui-Gon Jinn was hunched over in a stretch. He knew it was instantly by both bond and Force signature. “There you are, my wayward padawan. I've been hear nearly an hour, rather like the amount of time you claimed it would take myself to get here,” His voice was full of a mixture of tease yet mild scolding, the man standing up, straightened his training clothing, “However, I can't lie how much it tickles me... that....”

His words trailed off, steel-blue meeting grey-blue. There was a set of blinks from either of them, while each simply stared back at the other. “...Xanatos?” “Yes, Master?” “Why, in the name of the Force, do you look like a drowned womp-rat?” “Probably because I was in an aquatic-life pool with my clothing on, Master,” The boy walked further into a room, moving to sit on a bench before beginning stripping down to his under-tunics. “Water does make things wet on most planets in the galaxy.” Clothing now hung on the bench beside himself, Xanatos proceed to shed his boots and socks, both equally damp as the rest of him, since their sessions usually involved no shoes. “Though–” he sat there, running his fingers through his hair before standing and redoing it as he moved to a corner of the room “–there are the few planets that rain acidic water, and there is also that moon which holds carnivorous micro-organisms in its entire water supply.” The boy fell silent a few long moments, rummaging through the cabinet for a spare set of training robes that would fit him. The poor Master Jedi in the room, Qui-Gon, had been doing his best to keep track of all this babbling and silently searched for an answer in all of the rambling. He found none at all unfortunately, and he sent a small wave of thanks to the Force that his padawan had yet to notice the undoubtedly gobsmacked expression he must be wearing. Finally removing a set of training clothes in his size, he watched as Xanatos pulled them on over his semi-dry under-tunics before finally finishing his slight babbling with a simple, “I am very certain in those circumstances that water technically dries or violently burns, and in the other leave scarring or death by mauling.” The two were finally looking at each other once more. Another set of blinks was once more granted from each other. “Xanatos.” Qui-Gon's tone was firm, though most of it was due to confusion rather than discipline.

“Yes, Master?” “Why were you even in one of the Temple's aquatic-life pools?” Not that the man was against the fun of youth—Mace Windu, his friend and lineage-uncle (the little kriff was only 18-years old and was held dear to the man's heart, but that boy just never let up on his 'position of authority' in their lineage unless Qui-Gon's former teacher was around, for Yoda just encourages the teasing) had said many a time that long-haired man acted very immature for his age and rank. Qui-Gon never denied it, for he enjoyed a good time and following the will of the Force. If the Force said have fun then, by the stars, he'd have it. However, he was still a Jedi. He was a jedi, and connected to the Living Force. He encouraged his padawan to enjoy himself, sure, but Xanatos could have hurt whatever creatures were assigned into that pool! Some of them have extremely delicate ecosystems that should not be disturbed unless by a sanitized, aquatic-raced Jedi handler. Xanatos sighed, arms crossing over his chest as he shifted his weight from one foot to another. There was a long, hanging silence before sound once more filled the room. A muttered, grumbling sound that was hard to understand even with their Master/Apprentice mental bond. “Can you repeat that, padawan?” Qui-Gon asked, eyebrows arched. His boy was not one for muttering in any circumstance, no matter how angry he was. It interested and concerned the man all in one go. Another sigh was his response, before Xanatos moved past the man and back to the bench to pick up his lightsaber from it's place next to his wet clothing. “I said, 'I got pranked by some Initiates'. Some younglings got one over on me, okay?”

Qui-Gon's eyebrows shot up even higher after the information was now given clearly. Xanatos took that as a prompting for more information. “I was on my way here, a boy stopped and asked me for some help in naming some species for an assignment in one of the aquatic rooms.” The boy bent over, beginning his stretches and Qui-Gon began to mimic his student in order to finish his own interrupted exercises. “When I got there we both bent over a pool, he pointed one out but I couldn't see it... and then a friend of his popped out and pushed me in.” The boy stood up straight, stretching his arms out now, “To be fair to them it was partially an assignment for a class. They're practicing Force-stealth in their learning group. You didn't receive any calls, so I obviously let them live.” The boy looked irritated despite the apparent kudos he gave to the unnamed Initiates, but Qui-Gon was impressed with the boys maturity when one disregarded the last bit that was tacked on. The man couldn't resist chuckling at the teen’s dead-pan. Qui-Gon stepped forward, clapping a hand onto the younger's shoulder. “I see. If that is the case, the only answer is to exercise quite a bit to work the chill from your bones. And then, after I've turned you into exhausted mush, we shall go to that buffet I promised.... and perhaps to that dessert place with your favorite cakes after that.” Master and student shared a grin, and the training for the day would begin. Unknown to Qui-Gon, but the Force had done something rare in the past few minutes; it had helped a student successfully lie to their teacher.

[helioheliks]

Crion Character Questions #1

1.What is your full name? Crion Furtuna “Sturmfrei” Lume 2.Where and when were you born? Birthed in the Fournier medical wing in Ishgard, Eorzea. 3.Who are/were your parents?  (Know their names, occupations, personalities, etc.) Mum, Usoara Lume, and pop, Stejar Lume, were royal guards of great privilege to House Fournier. Mum… died giving birth to me. Dad hung up his sword soon after to tend to matters of the estate. Said trying to fight without her around was like trying to hold a sword without a thumb. 4.Do you have any siblings?  What are/were they like? I've two brothers. The oldest, Krysis, took up the position as head of the guard when dad stepped down. He's as tough as a mountain and about as hard to make budge… on any matter, really. Stern and hard-headed as he may be when on duty, he loves to recline and drink rather heavily in his off time. Not in any dark way, he typically has a deal of friends and family around him. He just loves to relax. Serikan is wildly different. He's the middle child, and it shows in how different he is than Krysis and I. He's quiet, hardly speaks to anyone outside the family. Not in a cold way, not on purpose. Just uninterested. He's a poet, and says he doesn't like to talk because it would interrupt the endless verse he speaks to himself to perceive the world. “Sees the world in words,” he says. Fancies men, though he doesn't like to make the matter known. He’s not ashamed of it, just tight-lipped. I’ve told him over and over that if he wants to find a good guy, he’s going to have to be more open about eventually, but he still stays quiet and content with his lot. Bloody hell can he have a temper, though. It’s like holding a flame to oil, he’ll just flare up in an instant when prodded. 5.Where do you live now, and with whom?  Describe the place and the person/people. Enambris has opened her doors to me at any time, and nine nights in ten I share her bed in Ul’dah. But sometimes I like to get out. Maybe find a nice inn in a small town no-one has heard of and play my lute for bed and supper. 6.What is your occupation? That’s an interesting question. Easiest job I’ve found to do is working as a line cook. It’s how I usually get by on the road. That, or providing entertainment. Money isn’t usually my goal, just exchanging duties for what I need and moving on. Why play a song for a silver piece to then give to the innkeep for a pint when I can just get the room directly for the show? 7.Write a full physical description of yourself.  You might want to consider factors such as: height, weight, race, hair and eye color, style of dress, and any tattoos, scars, or distinguishing marks. Well, I don’t usually like to brag… much, but I’d say I’m a fairly attractive man. Don’t get me wrong, I don’t go shouting that to the heavens, but I try to be as self-aware as possible, even if I’m being aware of something rather self-congratulatory. I have silver hair that flirts with shades of stormy blue, and I keep it fairly short and swept back… though that style isn’t so much by design as it is from doing nothing more than running my fingers once through my hair in the morning by way of hair styling. Blue eyes, some freckles, caramel skin and a scar on my cheek from hitting a sharp rock in the water after jumping off a cliff to escape a warband of Ixali who I may or may not have angered by attempting to steal their store of haze weed on behalf of a local merchant… Anyway, I have a motley of other scars, but that’s the one people usually notice first. I also have a traditional Galeborne tattoo across my left side that my older brother, Krysis had commissioned for me for my coming-of-age nameday. 8.To which social class do you belong? Well isn’t that a loaded question. I came from nobility, and we’re all still on the best of terms, so I suppose I could call on enough funds to bring myself to the upper class if I truly wanted to, but I left home for a reason. I wanted to live as the world and wind willed it. I’ve been a vagabond, a cabin boy, a mercenary captain, and a pirate, just to name a few points on my social class graph. Now? I find myself by the side of someone involved in a very important cause, and that seems to have taken me in a sidelong direction on the social scale. 9.Do you have any allergies, diseases, or other physical weaknesses? I came down with a bad lung disease when I was younger and it damaged them permanently. Not in terms of capacity or strength or any such thing, but breathing in acrid fumes - like sulfur or coal or some perfumes - will give me a nasty, wheezing cough for a while. It’s more like opening an old wound rather than a diminishment of function. I also have a wretched short-term memory and an attention span about the length of a eunuch’s cock. 10. Are you right- or left-handed? Right! I tried to make myself ambidextrous for a little while, but got sick of it and decided to just stick with what works. 11. What does your voice sound like? Some flit back and forth through octaves, but I’m told my voice is pretty firmly situated in the baritone range. Low and smooth, just how I like my… shit, coffee doesn’t have a height. 12. What words and/or phrases do you use very frequently? “Bloody hell.” It just rolls right off the tongue. Something unpleasant and somewhere unpleasant. Just the right blend for a curse. 13. What do you have in your pockets? Some coin from no fewer than three different regions (never know where you’ll need to travel, eh?), a deck of cards and some dice, a flask, a feather and a talisman my father gave me before I left. Oh, and my old eyepatch. 14. Do you have any quirks, strange mannerisms, annoying habits, or other defining characteristics? There hasn’t been a time in my life when my profound lack of attention span hasn’t bothered someone. I used to wander away from home for days just because the horizon looked pretty that morning. Even now with Enambris I’ll still go off at random, though for her I like to at least leave a note saying I’m leaving. We work because she accepts that about me. Someone told me once that I’m wildly irresponsible, but I think that’s very constricting. Throwing myself in the middle of a hostile theocratic encampment in hopes I can learn their style of swordfighting is irresponsible? No, I call that living.