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"Whining? You think this is whining?" Hal replied, spreading his arms. "Tell me to go sweep the driveway, then you'll hear some whining! This is nothing!"
Throwing his paws in the air, Hal called out, "I'm not crazy. This is crazy! All of this. This ship, this empire thingy, the running and hiding, none of this is normal!" He then couldn't help but laugh.
"But you're so used to it, you've accepted the insanity, and think I'm the one that's nuts! It's not supposed to be like this, kid!"
"Take a shuttle to Coruscant. Return to the Jedi Temple. Reject this insanity. The council will be eager to hear of your findings."
Loki's arms were folded, a last line of defense against the banal ramblings of his boisterous counterpart. The problem was obvious, whatever Halajiin's issues were, beyond the need for an audience with the council, there was no practical solution. If he wasn't mentally ill, a debatable matter in the boy's eyes, then his difficulty in coming to terms with the dramatic changes in his life was purely that, a difficulty, and one he had to overcome alone. Instead, he insisted on inflicting his woes upon Loki like he was some sort of psychological sounding board. It would not do to muddle the important matters at hand.
"You cannot be so blind to think our existance here is a choice. And furthermore, my name is Abarai Loki."
"And my name's Hal, Abarai Loki, but that doesn't seem to matter to you, much, now does it?" Hal shot back.
Placing his paws on his hips, Hal snorted, "And maybe I will go to Coruscant. After all, it's been a hundred years, everyone probably thinks I'm dead. Should be able to get in easy, then use this," he pulled out his lightsaber hilt again, "to rout the place of these Empire goons once I get there. Sounds better than hiding forever. Might even send you a postcard."
In his heart, Hal knew it was wrong, but his passion to see things corrected to the way he knew was strong, and it radiated off of him in waves through the Force. Loki was right, it would take time for him to come to terms with all that had happened, and Hal was being foolish for treating him in such a manner, but Hal had never been one to just roll over and take things quietly.
Well, at least not outside of the bedroom, and even in it, "quietly" wasn't a big part of his repertoire.
"Your name is Halajiin Rabeak. Hal..." he managed, with some distaste, "Is an affectionate abbreviation. A nickname between friends. I extend that courtesy only to one man."
Loki was forever baffled by the way in which people strived for a sense of familiarity and intimacy amongst each other, the constant need for contact and affection. It was a sentiment he made abundantly clear when he raised Halajiin a curious eyebrow, and concluded, "We are not friends, Halajiin Rabeak."
Hal clapped his paws - one still holding his lightsaber hilt - to the sides of his face and gave a melodramatic gasp. "No! Really? I'd have never guessed!"
Dropping his paws, Hal just shook his head. This had to be the absolutely most boring teenager he'd ever met, and he dearly hoped the rest of the folks Loki's age aboard the Whaladon weren't similarly afflicted, because then he'd have no one to goof around and make mischief with. While he did attempt to keep up a level of decorum on the grounds of the old Temple, Hal had been a favorite among the younglings for his willingness to play their games and overall just plain be entertaining to be around. Loki seemed about as exciting as a biochemistry lecture.
"We have reached an understanding, then," Loki said, filtering Halajiin's sarcasm.
It appeared, blissfully, that they had nothing else to discuss. Loki pressed on down the corridor, thankful for sudden drought in conversation, and in no time at all found himself standing outside the doors to the council chamber. A cursory glance over his pristine clothes and he ventured inside... or at least he would've done, had the door opened. Loki retreated a step, and gave the stubborn door a frown.
"Abarai Loki to bridge," he said, tapping the wall-mounted comm panel, "I must speak with a member of the Jedi council."
"Daria Nytherciria left for the Challenger moments ago, I am assured she will return within a matter of hours."
"Understood," he replied, turning stiffly to face Halajiin, "It appears we have... time to kill."
Urge... to snark... rising!
Resist, man!
But... but the opportunity is too ripe! Must... snark!
If you do, I'll punish you with Jawa porn!
You wouldn'!
It'd hurt me, too, but I'll do it if I have to.
You are truly a ruthless opponent, lower functions. I will yield. This time.
"That it does," Hal admitted, looking at the doors, then back to Loki.
While the young Jedi had rubbed him the wrong way, Hal held no actual ill will against him, but it was not in the Nehantite's nature to back down when he felt he was being looked down on. Flipping his saber hilt over in his paw, he sighed and let his long tail flick idly.
"So... what do you usually do around here for fun?"
Fun? You seriously think this kid actually has fun?
Every kid has fun, somehow. Right? Yeah, he's got to have something hidden up his sleeve.
He probably makes sure every deck of sabbac cards is perfectly trimmed, for fun.
Hey, I on'y did that once, okay? There was seriously nothing to do, that day.
And what a long day it was, indeed...
"When I am not conducting lessons or performing my duties, I am either training, studying, eating, or resting. Socialising does not rate on my list of priorities, Halajiin Rabeak, our predicament is purely a matter of circumstance."
The gleam of lightsaber metal captured Loki's attention while he spoke, hungry eyes flitting between Halajiin and the weapon dancing in his hand. There was an eager tension in his muscles he hadn't noticed before, his palm absently brushed his Jedi weapon, comforted by its cold touch. He swallowed hard, inwardly wondering if he was about to deeply regret his next words:
"In the pursuit of... fun, Halajiin Rabeak, I shall defer to your expertise."
Hal's head cocked in curiosity as he looked down at Loki.
"My what?" he asked, not following in the least, as even his tail stopped swaying while he devoted all his faculties to trying to figure out what he must have just missed.
"It is recreation you seek," Loki elaborated promptly, eager to be done with the matter, "A spectator sport, in my experience, and I am therefore leaving the choice of recreational pursuit with you."
Man, this little punk is just asking for it. Like I know what there is to do on this ship that he wouldn't get arrested for doing as well!
Yeah, and I kinda doubt he'd really let you go find a bar before seeing the Council anyway. Actually, no he might, just to sabotage you.
I'd have to teach him a lesson, if he ever tried something like that.
Hmm, actually, that might not be a bad idea.
What?
Teaching him a lesson. You're no slouch with a saber, you know.
Oooh, I like where you're going with this!
Hal's fingers toyed over the surface of his lightsaber hilt, and he pursed his lips before bringing it up. "Well, it's been a while since I've sparred with anyone. Think you'd be up for it?"
You know, when we beat him, it's going to look like we're picking on a little kid.
Don't care, he'll have deserved it.
"You may show me the extent of your skill," said Loki, a fire kindled in his eyes, "I will judge whether or not we shall call it a spar."
Not missing a beat, Loki marched past Halajiin with a renewed spirit in his step. The first creeping tingle of adrenaline sped from his belly to his fingertips, hands clenching reflexively at his sides. In a matter of moments, the pair were weaving amongst a group of younglings as they spilled out of the expansive cargo bay. Once inside, Loki thrilled at the familiar echo of his footsteps, and the inherent electricity in the air.
"Tell me about the last time you crossed blades in battle, Halajiin Rabeak."
"I will judge whether or not we shall call it a spar," his higher functions repeated in a high, whiney voice.
Garfife, I could just slap him.
Not with these younglings around, you won't.
No, but I still want to.
Save it for the spar.
Hal surveyed the cargo bay with a much different mindset than Loki. Instead of looking forward to an honorable match to be a true test of skills, Hal looked for high ground, places to hide, and anything at all that he could use to his advantage, even if unfairly so. After all, it wasn't cheating - it was creative combat ingenuity. And maybe some cheating.
"Last time I crossed blades in battle, huh?" Hal echoed the question. "Well, technically that's not a very fair question, as we don't often face off against an opponent who uses a saber. Usually it's blasters or something. Last real blade on blade was..."
He scratched at his head, then brightened up. "Darth Lekotus. That was it. Rooftop chase, in the rain, steam coming off our sabers the whole time. Slippery fella, and fast with his saber. Nearly took my arm off before I shot him."
Proud and statuesque, Loki absorbed the dramatic tale in reverent silence, enraptured senses tricking him into hearing the faint crackle and hiss of sabers clashing in the rain. And then Halajiin reached the end of his story.
"WHAT!?" Loki barked, suddenly wild with outrage.
Hal blinked, taken aback by Loki's reaction. "What?" he asked with a shrug. "It was in the head, perfect shot."
His left paw made a childish imitation of a blaster pistol firing, his index finger substituted for the barrel.
"It- you- a perfect shot!?"
Loki's cry echoed in the cavernous reaches of the cargo hold, each word staggering out under a great weight of exasperation, which crystallised in a web of taught dramatic lines attempting to pull his face into a point. He paced to shake the leaden feeling in his limbs, and his sharpshooter gaze zeroed in on Halajiin and his brazen finger blaster. Disbelief escaped on the wave of a ragged tortured sigh.
"You mean to tell me that in the midst of a duel- locked in the ancient art of lighsatber combat, you... drew your blaster and... shot your opponent?"
The Nehantite's face creased with worry. Loki seemed to be taking offense at his re-telling of the tale, and for the life of him Hal couldn't figure out why.
"Yeah," he nodded. "I did. But I didn't use a blaster, it was a slug I shot him with. Like you wouldn't do the same if the opportunity arose." Hal gave a hopeful smile in an honest attempt to break Loki out of whatever nonsensical shock he'd worked himself into.
"Don't you presume to know me, Halajiin Rabeak," Loki snapped, "I will not have my name disgraced in such a way. I would sooner fall on my blade, than-"
His voice faltered, becoming faint. Wide blazing eyes searched thin air, grasping for an answer, an explanation, anything. This was beyond his comprehension. The sanctity of lightsaber combat; it was a universal law of physics, of nature, it was as vital to the Jedi way as blood and oxygen to life. The shock from which he reeled could not have been greater had scientists discovered the galaxy was made from chocolate. In the end, he regarded the Nehantite with a long sideways glance, slumped under the burden of such a crushing revelation.
"Halajiin Rabeak," he began, in a low troubled voice, "Have you no shame?"
"Which would you rather I had: shame or a heartbeat, kid?" Hal answered back.
So Loki was one of that sort. The kind who clung to the romance and legend of the knights of old, the divine chivalry of it all. Trevarius had started on that path, and Hal could see where it had apparently led.
Maybe that's why the Order fell.
Huh? What do you mean?
If they were all too worried about being proper instead of surviving, no wonder the Order could have been taken out. This never would have happened if we'd been there.
We would have been an old man, by then, if we weren't dead already.
Still maybe we could have done something to have helped prevent it. Maybe if you'd taken on pupils...
We both know the Council wasn't going to trust me with that, yet. Besides, a padawan would cramp my style.
Maybe you should worry less about your style and more about helping turn this... mess around. Maybe there's a reason in the Force that you were frozen all this time. Maybe you're supposed to lead this group back to glory.
They'd make statues of me.
And a holofilm, too, I'm sure.
Ooo, I could be a holomovie star!
Yeah, but that comes later. He asked if we had shame. I think he needs a dose of reality to put out the fire of his pride.
Taking a step up to Loki, Hal spread his arms wide. "Look at me," Hal said. "I know what you see. You see a bum, a rag-tag good-for-nothing low-life that you look down on. You don't think I'm worthy of my title, or of my skills. If it were up to you, I'd probably be on the next transport out of here. But guess what? If it wasn't for me, Trevarius would have been dead long before your mentor was ever even born, I'd wager.
"You ask if I have shame? No. No, I can't afford shame. The cost for that is way, way too high, you got me? Yeah, I'm not a model Jedi, but I get things done, and I know my heart is in the right place. We're both Jedi knights, so that makes us equal whether you like it or not. We get in a fight to the death, we make sure we're the one who lives. You want to hide behind a facade of honor and glory, go for it, but if I see a way to end the fight before others get put in danger, I'll take it. Because if I'm alive, I can keep doing good out there and keep helping maintain order and protecting the weak.
"Tell me, which would you rather: that I shot him dead, or that he might have killed me and gone on to kill others? I don't question my decision, and that's how I sleep at night."
The Nehantite's tone was harsh and authoritative, and for that minute he seemed like an entirely different man than the jovial mongoose he'd been just moments before.
"You don't understand," Loki muttered, eyes lowered in disappointment.
It was a stalemate, that much he knew. There was no disputing the logic behind Halajiin's words, it was a pragmatic account of a Jedi performing his duty to terminate what was a threat to those he was sworn to protect. Somewhere on Coruscant there was a computer or a datapad containing the report, a commendation of bravery and skill in cold abstract words, but for Loki, there was more to being a Jedi than blind duty. There was honour. Slowly, during his time amongst the other Jedi, he was beginning to realise that his views placed him in a lonely minority. Here, Halajiin wasn't an exception to the rule, he was the rule.
"What I want is irrelevant. This is about principle, Halajiin Rabeak. It is about you. A Jedi blade is tempered with honour and pride, the language of the lightsaber is the language of respect, even for our enemies. It is what separates us from squabbling beasts. In the end, what is victory worth when the cost is too great?"