The Absentee - 10.298

[Abarai Loki]

It was the third time it had happened and the padawans were beginning to talk. When Loki at last enquired as to the whereabouts of Wyl Steadtler, an unnatural quiet came over the class, and in the pronounced silence, furtive glances were exchanged between students who behaved as if they had been suddenly frozen in crabonite. The third Wyl-free lesson went on regardless, although Loki, even as he instructed the padawans in a new velocity, decided it would be for the third and final time.

After an hour of clumsy swordplay, the padawans packed away their training sabers into a secure footlocker and carried it off to the quartermaster. Loki was pleased: his latest lesson had been a resounding success, which was a result determined by the number of casualties incurred over the course of the hour. He remained ambiguous as to whether or not that meant fewer or greater casualties per hour, but by the end of the morning, the tally stood at an impressive ten. So, it was with a positive outlook, Loki set off towards the dormitories and considered the challenge ahead of him.

It was an understatement to say that, when they first met, he and the boy, Steadtler, didn't get off on the right foot. Together, with his eternal sidekick, Teagan, they stole his lightsaber and forced Loki into a degrading partnership with Taataani Meorrrei to barter for his beloved Jedi weapon under the most shameful pretenses that haunted him to the day. In the interest of professionalism, it was advised that, when the time came for him to turn the youngling into something resembling a Jedi padawan, Loki should set aside his ancient grudges and act in the best interests of the Order. Some called this "taking one for the team."

Amicable was not a word he would use to describe his relationship with Wyl, or any other of his students, for that matter. However, he believed an understanding had taken shape between them both. Namely, that he was there to teach, and Wyl was there to learn. That was until recently. It was not unusual for a padawan under his charge to rise up in a brief flash of rebellion. Akasha Khan being Exhibit A, in this regard. In truth, it was to be expected, given his youth and his penchant for unbending discipline. He knew, from watching his superiors, that he was not the easiest of teachers to work with, but he also knew, from experience, that after a ruffling of feathers and a puff of the chest, the sulking padawan was soon put right again with a cool word and a trip to Miwù Shanmà. Wyl Steadtler was the exception: he never reported in, following his run, and had missed their every engagement thereafter. It was a gesture of unfathomable patience that Loki had waited so long for Wyl to see sense, but now, his patience was at an end. He buzzed the padawan's door, and waited.

[Wyl Staedtler]

The morning had been unfathomably successful. In fact, Wyl could not remember the last time such levels of productivity had been reached. That was in part due to his own recent shortcomings; some alien force had taken up residence in his bloodstream and the usual boundless energy that lapped at his heels had been put on a delay timer, rendering him nearly comatose until midmorning, when generally he blinked and found himself inexplicably in the middle of some lesson or another without recollection of just how exactly he'd managed to get there. The effort needed to drag himself from the sanctity of his quarters (and by quarters he meant, specifically, his sleepcouch) was monumentally disproportionate to the benefits of actually doing so. Logically, then, Wyl had been forced to adapt his survival methods in order to optimize his existence. Listening to the Living Force was a delicate art, but he was a dedicated student and if honing his skills meant staying in bed until the Ossian sun had clawed it's way well overhead in the heavens, then so be it. Wyl could make sacrifices.

However, some odd compulsion to forgo his most recent schedule of dedicated training had seized the boy. Or perhaps (and this was more likely, though less pleasant to consider for too long) it was simply an instinctive urge to shy away from creating space for his thoughts to swell, now in the wake of everything that was dashed and muddled. A protection, of sorts. Having Tak here again helped, for it meant that there was a legitimate purpose to Wyl's rising and staggering his way to breakfast. Over porridge dressed with Rihanna's hand-harvested honey, the two had made plans to meet later and scout out the northern border of the Jedi camp. There was already a well-detailed map of the surrounding terrain, constantly updated and streamlined by official excursions, but they preferred the tailored, intimate quality of their own assessment. The alchemy that spanned between them fed off of such quiet, familiar wanderings.

That having been arranged, Wyl'd headed to the flight hanger to pick up some spare bits of guiding cable that he'd been promised. He look the long way there. The weather was optimistically gentle, the quality of the light clearer than he'd remembered mornings generally being. As he walked, the padawan could feel some mild pressure unclasping in his chest and he took a deep breath, enjoying the tug on his lungs as they expanded. The fact that this particular route took him in the opposite direction of the 'saber classes which were meant to be ensnaring his attention had absolutely nothing to do with his route planning. Life was full of strange coincidences. One could go mad, dwelling on them.

With his belly full and his hardware retrieved, Wyl had returned to his quarters with the swagger of an accomplished man. He considered taking a nap to reward himself but there was a loose, frenetic curl of desire buzzing through him, a restlessness that seemed to throb beneath the delicate skin of his wrists and curl his hands toward action. The same mysterious momentum that had set him going was still running strong and so the boy kicked off his standard-issue boots, rolled up his sleeves and folded himself cross-legged onto his bed. The cables that had been rescued were carefully lain out and Wyl began the careful work of picking away the protective cover and exposing the twisted connective points beneath; those were what he was after.

Although it was easy to get lost in detailed work like this, he hadn't been at things long when the jarring tone of the wallcomm unit sounded. Wyl sighed. The skin between his eyebrows pinched together and he wondered what would happen if he just ignored Teagan - they'd made an appointment for a reason - and kept on going. It certainly wouldn't be in his best interests.

"Just a second," Wyl called. Careful to push aside the cables that still needed unraveling from those who were already finished, the boy stood up and stretched his legs, loping towards the door. "You know, if you were this eager to get going, we could have just started out right af - oh."

Never before had such disappointment been contained in a single syllable. Wyl blinked at Loki, his mouth twisting reluctantly. "I thought you were someone else."

[Abarai Loki]

"Indeed."

There was something wonderfully non-committal about that word that Loki liked very much. He used it often on padawans when he wanted to betray to them nothing and watch their response. The only clue he afforded Wyl was a slight inquisitive arch of his eyebrow, under which he at once studied the boy, and noted, with some disappointment, that he didn't appear half as ashamed as he ought to be. Fingers interlaced at his waist, he proceeded onto the matter at hand with typical dispassion.

"Padawan Staedtler, you were absent from today's lightsaber instruction."

[Wyl Staedtler]

Conversations with Loki were lessons in and of themselves in strategic warfare. The Knight had really missed his calling, there. A whole slew of future diplomats were going to be lost because of his failure to channel his particularly brand of earnest, self-importance into the educational rotation. While the entertainment factor of such interactions was something that Wyl privately enjoyed, today he simply wasn't in the mood to conjure up the necessary fortitude to engage in such battle. He hadn't had enough carbs at breakfast.

"Indeed." Wyl agreed cheerily, crossing his arms over his chest as he leaned against the doorframe. He waited expectantly. When it seemed as though nothing more would be immediately forthcoming, the boy nodded. "Well, this was nice. Thanks for checking in on me."

[Abarai Loki]

"You were absent from your two previous lessons as well."

If Loki had heard Wyl speak, he didn't show it. Of course he had heard him, but the moment the boy had actually tried to dismiss the Jedi from his presence, his words were scattered as far and wide as the stars, such were their significance. He fixed the padawan with a piercing look, his expression could well have been sculpted from durasteel.

"I am here for an explanation, padawan."

[Wyl Staedtler]

Of course you are, Wyl thought wearily. It had occurred to him each and every time he'd skipped lessons (each and every time had been purposeful, so he supposed he had no room to complain) that eventually this would happen. Everything cost credits. The goal in racking up charges was to make sure that your account had enough on register to pay the toll without being stretched too thin. Wyl had the nagging feeling, if the intent glow to Loki's gaze was a reliable indicator, that he'd just been selected by border control for a full cargo search.

He glanced over his shoulder at the carefully organized chaos strewn across his bed. When he turned back to face the Knight, there was nothing but a casual honesty stretched across the bridge of his nose and clinging to the half-moon spaces beneath his eyes.

"I've been pretty busy," Wyl said. There was still a half-stripped length of cable in his hand and he held it up helpfully. "Soldering project. I'm still in the initial phases, clearly, but it's rewarding work."

[Abarai Loki]

"Do not bore me with talk of your trivial pursuits."

Loki spoke over his last words. He didn't move. Only his eyes ticked from the cabling in Wyl's hands, to his scrapyard of a room, and back to him at last. There was an expression for what he was doing: playing dumb. Others had tried it on with him in the past, too, with varying degrees of success. Loki was a grizzled veteren when it came to dealing with cunning youths with active imaginations; Wyl, or Pilot, as he'd once called himself, had been his Battle of Geonosis, long ago. The boy wasn't stupid, and yet there he stood, testing him nonetheless. It was a whole new level of intrigue.

"Lessons are not optional. What makes you think the rules do not apply to you?"

[Wyl Staedtler]

That was not only unfair, it was offensive. Wyl's pursuits were hardly trivial. True, they weren't on any official syllabus but neither was brushing one's teeth or keeping up to date with the mandatory health checks from the clinic and those served just as much purpose - maybe even less - than his projects. Currently Wyl was manipulating the workings of a broken tracking droid and modifying it to autonomously record thermal data from various terrain points on Ossus. It was a thrifty, practical use of time and not only was he contributing something to the here and now, the boy was developing skills that would serve him well later on in life. He was problem solving. There was nothing trivial about that.

Wyl frowned and loosened his grip on the sample bit of cable. He kept it suspended between them with the Force for a few seconds and then with a distracted wave of his hand, cast the twisted wires back toward the bed.

"There's always an option," Wyl replied plainly. He jerked his shoulders up in a shrug. "I go to lessons. Just not yours. I'm exercising the right to explore pacifism."

[Abarai Loki]

"You are a Jedi Padawan. You have no such right."

What began as some deformed form of diplomatic passive-aggression was quickly mutating into overt insubordination. In his latest farrago of nonsense, Wyl betrayed an unhealthy attitude towards his studies that, it seemed to Loki, was a front for a more elusive and worrisome issue. Not for a second did he believe the padawan truly wished to cherry-pick his Jedi education, or indeed, that he had any real objection to combat training at all. Nevertheless, he would play along and call him on his bluff, if it helped get to the heart of the real problem.

"And if you will not conform to the training expected of you, Wyl Staedtler, then what business have you being here?"

[Wyl Staedtler]

Irritation scrabbled up the milky sides of his stomach and began to claw it's way towards the air. It didn't quite make it. The narrow passage of his windpipe was too tight a place to squeeze through and the entire jumbled mess of the youth's self-righteous exasperation got caught halfway there, like angler's thread diverted by a cross wind, and tangled into an awkward knot in his chest. Wyl could feel the mass of it as he swallowed, hefty and igneous. The inconvenience of it was stifling. Whatever counter-arguments he could have made to distract the conversation and bring it back to neutral, easy ground were only brief considerations, little sparks that flickered upwards and onwards before they were fully formed.

There was a nagging edge of guilt trying to wedge it's way in beside the weight in Wyl's breast. A shadow passed through the boy's eyes, still fixed ever so on Loki, shifting and uncertain - and then once more galled, as if he were terribly affronted by the fact that such inconsistency should even be present within the scope of his stance on this.

"I've always been here," Wyl said bluntly. It was clear that he didn't mean that literally, nor was the brief wave of his hand (lonesome now, without it's cabled security blanket) meant to encompass Ossus and the walls that now surrounded them. Wyl's arms wove together across his chest. "This is home now. So I've missed a few classes, so what? It doesn't mean anything, except that maybe I'm not just - you know, some dumb kid willing to tagalong willy-nilly. There's nothing wrong with having a mind and growing a pair."

[Abarai Loki]

"It doesn't mean anything?"

One by one, the words trickled off the tip of his tongue, pregnant with import. It was the first time Wyl had said something that Loki believed, and the few telling words pierced the veil of fiction he'd drawn around himself with sharp resonating clarity. The cool dispassion in his eyes ignited and he lanced the boy with a damning glare.

"Wyl Staedtler, you are training to become a Jedi Knight. It means everything!"

[Wyl Staedtler]

"Why?"

The word was accompanied by a low curl of noise high at the back of Wyl's throat, a tirelessly impatient lick of sound. A fleeting thought that this was perhaps not the best place to be having this conversation (the line of dormitories was not an empty place, nor was the corridor untraveled; judging by the tenor of noise, it was approaching the lunch hour) crossed his mind, but it was banished immediately.

Wyl leaned forward a fraction, his eyebrows stitching together as he hissed furiously, "Everything is a grand word, with a long reach. It's," he struggled for a minute to come up with the right turn of phrase, grasping at nothing before he gave in and fell back on a simple, worn favourite, "stupid to assign it to one facet of a life, especially a facet that turned up on it's own. Why should this one endeavor be the sum of all others? That's boring!"

[Abarai Loki]

"You are not here to be entertained, Padawan Staedtler!" Loki snapped.

The edge in his voice cut through the homely murmur like a blade and the dormitory fell silent. Down the length of the corridor, padawans peeked through open doors like a colony of startled chitliks surfacing from their holes. Suddenly aware of his surroundings and the climbing volume of his own voice, Loki decided it was time to change the venue of their rather heated conversation. There was an indignant fire in Wyl's eyes and it would not do to berate the boy in front of his peers. He took a long breath and reconsidered his approach.

"Put something on your feet. We're going for a walk."

[Wyl Staedtler]

Wyl wanted to refuse just for the bullish satisfaction it would bring. Rocks and brambles be damned, he would make his feet impermeable through the sheer bloody power of his mind. That would... well, not prove anything, really. But it would feel smug and wonderful and sometimes the only comfort in the galaxy was taking the coward's temporary refuge in willful ignorance.

The urge was made more powerful by the sensation of being backed into a corner. Though it was convenient to pin the burden of blame on Loki's shoulders, Wyl knew it had very little to do with the Knight. He just happened to be drawing attention to a fine papercut whose sting had been pushed aside until now.

After a few seconds of relishing the notion, the boy gave in to practicalities. There was no graceful way to refuse to accompany the Knight and if he had to go, it would be in his best interests to be equipped. He'd be the one dealing with tender feet later if he wasn't and anyway, considering his current company it was no safe bet that they - and by 'they', Wyl actually meant himself - wouldn't end up with another bleak death run on the schedule. Nostrils flaring with a short, frustrated breath, Wyl retreated into his room. After a bit of digging he found his shoes, half hidden beneath a pile of old starcharts and a few rogue socks. The padawan shoved his feet in and then bent over to thumb the backs over his heels. The expression on his face as he turned and sloped back toward the door wasn't sour. It was grim and cool, a sort of sweltering calm that felt faintly sticky like the still humidity that clung to everything before a swift and heavy rain.

Wyl edged his way out and passed his palm over the sensor. The door slid shut with a soft whoosh of displaced air.

[Abarai Loki]

They left together in silence. Padawans, who had already heard too much, pretended not to watch. Once out of the cool gloom, the Ossus morning welcomed them with an embrace of oppressive heat. It was approaching noon and the twin suns were approaching the apex of their ascent into the cloudless sky, scorching the red earth below, and painting the metal bulks of ships, speeders and droids with white hot streaks. Younglings climbed the hill towards them, burdened with datapads and flimsi piles like a procession of monkish school children, heads bowed, and voices low in a dirge of dates and places and names. That meant one of two things: either Rev Solomon had unleashed a new history assignment upon his students, or they were all reeling from another one of his pop quizzes. They shook off their stupified expressions long enough to put on a burst of speed and take evaisive action, and in a mad scramble to escape reprimand or chore, they scattered before him like autumn leaves. There was once a time when Loki was oblivious to the effect his presence had upon the subordinates, but now, whenever there was a solemn drop in sound and a nervous shuffling of feet, he felt a sense of satisfaction at a job well done.

Then there was Wyl, the abberation; the pothole in an otherwise perfectly laid path to discipline and order. The path he and the padawan presently walked was leading them away from the bustle of the settlement and towards the wall of trees that rose out of the hilltop like the ramparts of some mighty fort. While it was peaceful, the silence between them was developing a weight of its own, and as the teacher, it was alone his burden to bear. Then, without offering his companion the slightest glance, he spoke.

"Why are you here, Wyl?"

[Wyl Staedtler]

There was a very specific force to the concentrated silence that followed them out of the residential hall. Being casual and trying to be casual were two very different frequencies, and the latter had an oppressive intensity to it that completely undermined it's purpose. His fellow learners were going above and beyond to act as if there was absolutely nothing out of the ordinary transpiring in their midst, even though their relief at having personally escaped such attention was so palpable that it could have choked a man. Their eyes skirted away and their throats cleared awkwardly and it was so, so much worse for it's desperate attempt at camouflage.

Wyl's cheeks burned with embarrassment. The high flush that stained his skin, riding the line of his cheekbones, was contrasted nicely by the pale ring of furious white that circled his tightly clamped lips. This was the polar opposite of cool, that tremulous height that all boys his age aspired to in their own clumsy way. Wyl had never been particularly concerned with what his own peer group thought of him (he'd been too much in the company of adults as a child to put much stock in the opinions of adolescence) but that didn't mean he'd cast the verdict off completely. For a moment Wyl wanted nothing more than for the ground to open up and swallow him, but he couldn't let his eyes flick downwards or his chin drop low without appearing as if he were ashamed. Which he very vehemently was not.,

He was glad for the reprieve of an open sky. The broad stretching-out of land seemed to loosen some of the tension that had begun to knit his ribs together, and the boy let out a breath he hadn't known he'd been holding as they walked along in a stiff quietness. With so much space, the urge to simply volley in an opposing direction and get gone was strong. Wyl batted aside the urge crossly; it rankled his pride, but limits were only fun to push to so far a point and his sense of preservation ran a hell of a lot deeper than his amour propre.

When finally Loki punctured the bloated silence, it was the use of his name rather than the question itself which tripped Wyl towards surprise.

He raised his eyebrows. There was something disarming about Loki addressing him so informally. If it hadn't been so weird, it would have been hilarious. Possibly terrifying.

"Because you told me to come and you used your Very Serious voice," Wyl snapped. A pause, and then - no, he couldn't manage it through. The padawan huffed a soft, apologetic breath that rolled out of him like a misshapen laugh. He shook his head. "Sorry," he mumbled. Wyl drew his breath in and squinted toward the treeline before he shrugged. "The same reason anyone's here. To become a Jedi."

[Abarai Loki]

When Wyl first spoke, Loki held his tongue. The outburst was carried away on the air much like the jet of steam that it was. Once, Loki would've retaliated in full to such a questionable statement. These days, however, he saw it for what it was, or more accurately, what it most closely resembled: a glitch. And, true enough, the young padawan righted his error with a timely apology and trudged towards the only real answer he could offer.

"In Alliance space, Ossus is not the only world that is both habitable and sparsely populated. There were other planets and moons perfectly suited to accomodate this... new Jedi Order. But we chose Ossus, and, I think, it is plain to see why."

Upon cresting the hill, they saw the Great Jedi Library dominating the horion with its monolithic towers and fractured domes glistening in the sunlight. Sanctuary One receded behind an orange haze of dust and shimmering heat, and at that distance, the bustle of traffic and people did not reach their ears. But the ancient library, still so far away, stood unaltered and imposing, watching over the little settlement that was rising up about its feet.

"Ossus became our home because it has a deep and ancient history with the Jedi and, in a galaxy from which we were almost entirely purged, establishing that kind of bond again was important. Some would, perhaps correctly, call this nostalgia. But, to many, this matters."

His eyes were studying the approaching treeline, when he said, "What is important to you, Wyl?"

[Wyl Staedtler]

It was strange, this. Generally, Wyl kept Loki categorized beneath an adversarial label . To be fair, it was a very benign and pleasantly intended designation that sprang from long-ended games of pretend, though certainly there was nothing forgiving about the title either. It was uncomfortable now to sacrifice the safety of childhood conclusions and step out from behind them, clear a space for objectivity to set down roots. The boy shifted his weight from foot to foot, the dust-covered toe of a boot rucking from the loose earth a small and jagged chuck of rock. Though he hadn't turned to look at Loki directly (taking a page from the Knight's book), he could sense the shape of the youth beside him; he felt a million parsecs away.

Without being prompted, the boy's eyes sought out the great, sweeping lines of the Jedi landmark before them. In fact, it was difficult to find something else to look upon from this vantage point, the surrounding wilds surrendering their interest to the looming architectural wonder.

Wyl felt dwarfed by the conversation, too. There was a broadness to it that he hadn't been expecting and he found his shoulders itching to shrug out from under it, a yawn clamouring in his tendons as he rolled the question cautiously over in his mind.

What was important to him? Lots of things. However, rifling off a list of mildly meaningful attachments wasn't really what hey were here for and Wyl knew somehow that, as exhausting as this felt, avoiding the topic would simply delaying it's inevitable return.

A rough exhale sloped reluctantly out of him. Wyl frowned. "I - people," he said. "The ones who've stuck. Like Tak."