#i think its a good idea tho. the sound of moving beads around in an organizer? or the sound of thread being pulled through aida??

[h0ney8ee]

i want to do an etsy shop or a tiktok or something just to bring in some money on the side but literally just dealing with people would not be worth the money :/

[spectral-musette]

A scene set during the year Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan spent protecting Satine Kryze: a morning that the padawan and the young duchess spend alone together does not go quite as planned.

(warning for unpleasant parasitic space-bugs)

~2000 words

... 

         Satine found a seat on a boulder on the grassy hilltop.

           Obi-Wan was fairly far along through his lightsaber practice, bright blue blade humming as he moved as though defending against an invisible opponent. The morning was cool, overcast, but he’d still stripped off his tunics and boots, his bare feet occasionally visible through the tall grass. It was a while before he noticed her, focused as he was on his saber play. He paused, disengaging the glowing blade and walking towards her, chest heaving as he caught his breath.

           “Did you want me?” he asked.

           She felt her cheeks flush and her pulse quicken. Did she want him, oh ancestors forgive, did she want him?

           But his expression was all innocence, even as a glittering bead of sweat rolled through the fine dark hair over his heart and along its narrow path down his lean belly. She’d seen him in this state of undress before, but fleetingly, changing tunics in close quarters. This extended view was allowing fascinating insight for her as a student of medicine. And art. She swallowed hard.

           “I came to tell you that Qui-Gon left, walked down to the village to barter for supplies,” she replied, surprised by how smooth and tranquil her voice sounded. “He said to tell you there’s a storm coming in.”

           He nodded, still breathing fast, and bent to retrieve his boots, belt, and neatly folded pile of clothing, shifting the rock he’d placed on top of them to keep the wind from taking them.

           “You don’t have to stop. I don’t think the rain will start for a little while yet.”

           “I’m not really accustomed to having an audience,” he demurred, tucking the folded tunics under one arm and draping his boots and stockings over the other as he started down the hill. She stood to follow, brushing off the back of the long cardigan she’d pulled on over her sleeveless tunic.

           “That can’t be true. Qui-Gon said, at home in your Temple, many Jedi gather to watch others at saber practice.” She caught up with his long stride in a few quick steps.

           “That’s… different,” he countered.

           “Because I’m an outsider? I didn’t mean to intrude.”

           Unless he meant the lustful taint she brought to spectatorship, but surely he’d experienced that before as well - his fellow young Jedi couldn’t be wholly immune to the effects of his beauty and grace, especially if he made a habit of practicing without his tunics.

           “You didn’t do anything wrong,” he hastened to assure her. “It’s just different.” He favored her with a self-deprecating smile, a dimple appearing in his smooth cheek. “It’s embarrassing to admit, but I’m tempted to show off a bit when you’re watching.”

           She bit her lip to fight back a grin. “And you don’t show off for your friends at home?”

           “Sometimes,” he conceded. “But they know I’m doing it.”

           “And you think I didn’t?”

           “Well, you definitely do now.”

           “What if I said I didn’t mind that you want to show off for me?”

           “Well, it’s complicated,” he replied, thoughtful. “I don’t want you to think that I’m overly impressed with myself.”

           “I don’t think that. Even if you do swagger,” she teased.

           “I’m walking the only way I know how,” he defended against the familiar accusation.

           “Please. I’m a Mandalorian. I know a swagger when I see one.”

           “Will you be happier when it’s a limp? Because I think I just stepped on a thorn.” He paused, lifting his left foot gingerly.

           “You could’ve gotten dressed!”

           He shook his head. “Not until I wash up.”

           “Or put your boots on at least.”

           “Hindsight,” he sighed, dropping his clothes and boots on the grass and taking hold of his foot to examine it.

           “Is it a thorn?”

           He nodded, braid dangling over his bare chest as he attended to his injury. “I think so. But I can’t get a hold of it.”

           “Let me.”

           “It’s fine, you don’t have to…”

           “Oh just sit down, will you?”

           He obeyed, folding up his legs in a meditative posture that gave her a good view of his grass-stained foot. There was indeed a thorn right in the arch, so small that it was no wonder his close-trimmed nails couldn’t grip it. She pulled it free, a droplet of blood welling up from the tiny wound.

           “Blast,” he breathed. “My foot’s gone numb. I don’t think it’s actually a tho-“

           It shuddered between Satine’s fingers, jerking free and burying itself in her palm.

           She swore softly in Mando’a, reaching to pull it out again, but Obi-Wan stilled her hand with his. “Leave it for now, and get back to camp quickly. I’ll be right behind you.”

           Something in his tone kept her from arguing. She did as he ordered, glancing back over her shoulder to watch him limping along after her.

           Back in the shelter of the unassuming cabin built from old shipping crates that served as the Republic safe house, he stumbled in to retrieve the med kid and set it on counter of the kitchen unit, pulling out a bottle of antiseptic.

           “What is it?”

           “Bore-tick. They’re an invasive species, I had no idea they had a foothold here. They’re generally just a nuisance, but they can swarm if they smell enough blood.”

           “Charming,” she replied with a shudder. “So what are you doing?” she prompted as he opened the bottle.

           “They don’t release the toxin that makes you feel numb until they pull out. I’m hoping the antiseptic will kill it while it’s in there and deactivate the toxin.”

           “Hoping?”

           “Well it should be a short lived effect, anyway. Some species use them as a local anesthetic in traditional medicine.”

           He poured a splash of cold antiseptic into her palm, and she held the liquid, watching a tiny bubble form over the tick.

           Obi-Wan took a delicate pair of forceps from the kit, doused the ends in antiseptic, and tugged the long insect out of the wound on her hand.

           “Ouch!” she complained at the antiseptic sting.

           “So not numb, then?”

           “I wish.” She dropped the extra antiseptic into the sink and shook her hand dry.

           “You didn’t pick up any more when you were kneeling in the grass, did you?” he asked.

           She looked down, brushing at the knees of her trousers. “I don’t see any. You?”

           “I have an inkling,” he said with a pained expression.

           “Do you want me to check?” she asked, starting to step behind him.

           “Not really.” He turned, putting his back against the wall.

           She put her hand on her hip. “I’m a trained medic. I’ve pulled jetpack shrapnel out of more backsides than you can even imagine. Some of them were even as pretty as yours.”

           “Satine,” he complained.

           “I will be impeccably professional, I promise. Now, turn around.”

           She caught a quick glimpse of his flushed face before he faced the wall.

           “You’re in luck,” she told him, catching the twitching insect between the forceps and tugging it out of the fabric of the seat of his trousers. “You might’ve felt a pinch, but it didn’t make it through the layers.”

           “Good.”

           “I don’t see any on your back or your arms, either.” She examined him quickly, trying to ignore the appeal of his defined musculature, as she’d promised.

           “I don’t think they move very fast.”

           “Small blessings.”

           He took the forceps from her and returned to the counter, pouring the antiseptic over the tick.

           It seemed his hand was a little unsteady as the liquid continued to slosh out of the bottle. She put her hand on his, guiding the bottle back to the counter.

           “Not to be negative,” she said, “but your foot is looking… wrong.” It was swelling, purpling and blotchy.

           “Yes, well,” he replied, voice a bit strained, “reactions can vary.”

           Satine helped him over to one of the bunks before he lost his balance, then lunged for the pile of clothing he’d dropped by the door, looking for his commlink.

           “Qui-Gon,” she called into it.

           “Satine?” His voice sounded mildly surprised. “What’s wrong?”

           “Obi-Wan had a bore-tick in his foot. It’s turning purple and he’s …”

           “Get him in the fresher,” Qui-Gon ordered briskly. “Warm water, not too hot. The toxin will drop his body temperature, so you need to keep him warm. And keep him awake. I’ll be there as soon as I can with the antitoxin. Did you…”

           “In my hand, but I’m not having a reaction yet.”

           “Get in with him too, just in case.”

           “Will he be all right?”

           “I expect so, but do as I say.”

           Satine dropped the commlink and hurried to tug Obi-Wan unsteadily back to his feet.

           “Funny,” he mused, “Qui-Gon is usually telling me to take cold showers, lately.”

           “This isn’t the time for jokes.”

           “Who’s joking?”

           The water in the fresher warmed up quickly, and Satine stuffed Obi-Wan into the stall and climbed in after.  His knees started to buckle, but Satine propped him in the corner, draping one of his arms over her shoulder. She’d thought about taking off her cardigan before stepping into the water stream, but, upon further reflection, maybe it was for the best that at least one of them was wearing clothes.

           This was not exactly how she’d imagined sharing a fresher with him.

           She banished that thought quickly, directing the flow of water from the nozzle towards him. It might’ve been her imagination, but his skin did seem cool under her hands.

           “Fantastic job I’m doing of protecting you.”

           “Do you hear me complaining?” she inquired, nudging her forehead against his chest. His heartbeat felt strong, at least.

           “Satine.” He rested his chin on the top of her head. “I’m sorry.”

           “You’re ridiculous. This isn’t your fault.”

           “Nor is it exactly how I planned our morning together,” he confided, chagrined.

           “Let me just ask,” she said, shifting to look up into his unfocused eyes. “Bore-ticks cause partial paralysis, lethargy, hypothermia, and swarm when they smell blood, but you classify them as a nuisance? What would you call dangerous?”

           “Venom-mites,” he replied, with just a hint of a dimple. “How’s your hand?” he asked, changing the subject.

           She shifted to a one-armed hold around his middle so she could get a look at it. “Bleeding a little. Feels like it has a hole in it.”

           “No swelling or discoloration?”

           “No. Do you think it used up all its toxin on you?”

           “Possibly. Or the antiseptic worked. Or your industrious ancestors cultivated immunity to the toxins of a wide variety of venomous creatures and included that in your childhood inoculations.”

           “That doesn’t sound unlikely. I’m rarely grateful for the questionable hobbies of my forebears, but I’ll make an exception this time.”

           “As will I.” He leaned his head back and closed his eyes.

           “What did you plan?” she asked, tightening both arms around his chest again.

           “Hm?” He screwed his eyes more tightly closed.

           “For our morning together. Come on, Qui-Gon said you shouldn’t sleep. If you do, you’ll probably slip and I’ll drop you.”

           “Is that a threat?”

           “A prediction. Tell me what you planned,” she insisted.

           “I was going to invite you for a walk on the shore and ask if you liked Noorian epic poetry.”

           “I’m not familiar with any Noorian epic poetry. Do you think I’ll like it?”

           “I hope you will.”

           “Recite some.”

           “What makes you think I have anything memorized?”

           She raised her eyebrows. “Go on. Maybe it’ll keep you awake.”

           He took a deep breath, and she was temporarily transfixed by the rivulet of water tracing along his collarbone and down his chest.

           “For Thou art my lady

           And I swear all myself to thee:

           My arm to defend

           My hands to lift thee up

           My feet to carry me at thy bidding

           My ears to hear thy commands

           My eyes to watch over and adore thee

           My voice to counsel, comfort, and sing thy praise.

           My honor is thine by right

           And my soul for thy asking…”

           His voice faded to a murmur as he rested his cheek against her wet hair.

           “Does she ask?” she whispered.

           “Not at first.”

           “Don’t tell me. Tomorrow we’ll go to the shore, and you can read it to me.”

           “I think I’ll leave my boots on, though.”

           She smiled, looking up at him. He was a little pale beneath his faint spray of freckles, droplets of water from the nozzle spray glistening in his short hair. He smiled back, and he was so beautiful that it took her a moment to catch her breath.  “Me too.”