deercountry | ( open ) do not stand on my grave and weep

Who: Obi-Wan + You
What: Obi-Wan updating to Post Revenge of the Sith
When: May 7th
Where: Around Trench + Obi-Wan's House

Content Warnings: Possible intense discussions of grief and trauma. Mentions of genocide and mutilation.

( i. awakening — closed to immediate cr + vyng )

[ he awoke in darkness.

that is what terrified him momentarily. the darkness closed in on him, on everyone and he had to warn, he had to stop it, he had to do something. the yawning abyss stretched out and obi-wan thrust his hand forward to touch . . . something soft? like the folds of a cocoon. he grasps and pulls, the force answering his cry like the tempestuous rush of the tide —

— and it breaks, light cascading into his strange prison. he pulls himself out with a gasp, dragging himself along the floor. blearily, he blinks, taking in his surroundings before he rasps out in a voice ill-used for days. ]

W — Where?

( ii. drinks on the house )

[ after (hastily) settling affairs, obi-wan drifts around the town like a ghost. his robe is pulled over his head, leaving his gaze in shadow. not that he meets anyone’s eyes for long. listlessly, he wanders until he finds himself at a bar. before, he would have called up constantine and they would have settled themselves in a corner, drinking without judgment but mindful of each other. constantine is gone. abby is gone. all the friends he used to do such things with — quinlan, shaak ti, mace, kit . . . they’re all gone. his family. his brothers and sisters, all in the force.

gone. the absence of their bonds ache like forgotten stars. he signals for a drink with a sigh. if anyone approaches him in his melancholia, he will reply as such. ]

I’m afraid I’m not much for company at the moment. You’d be better suited elsewhere.

( iii. the sword in hand )

[ in the morning, he tries to return to routine. normalcy. he shouldn’t forgo everything simply because he is changed.

oh, but everything has changed.

he performs the exercise without the use of his saber. not everything is reliant on the edge of the blade and he had other skills to hone. every day, every minute. obi-wan may dislike a number of things, but he refuses to be anything less than perfect in all his deficiencies. and there were just so many, cluttering his head and his heart.

obi-wan wrenches himself out of his thought with a jerk of his head and in a hurried motion, draws his saber and — lava and fire burns all around them, but all he can feel is cold, cold is the touch of the dark, cold is the way that withers all and not even the hatred in anakin’s eyes changed that and obi-wan is so cold, why was this happening, how did they come to this —

— he flings his saber in a burst of pain. it soars through the air before falling to the ground, landing on soft grass. it makes no sound. obi-wan can’t hear anything but the ringing in his ears. his knees sink to the ground and he bows his head while his fingers grasp at his ears.

he can’t hear anything anymore. it’s all cold. ]

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

[ obi-wan glances at it, half-conscious. ]

Mm. It'll do.

Okay.

[Vyng's brow is pinched with concern, but his voice remains calm and steady. He guides Obi-Wan over to the chair and helps ease him down.]

Why don't you cover yourself with the blanket that's around your shoulders? It's weighted...so your brain gets the benefits of a hug without the actual hugging part.

[ obi-wan sits, numb as he tugs the blanket around his shoulders. ]

I don't think I can cover myself up any more.

You've got enough on your shoulders. Here, try like this...

[Vyng slowly crouches down and attempts to re-adjust the blanket so that it's resting across Obi-Wan's front instead. He thinks it might be more secure this way, a little more like being swaddled.]

Good? Not-so-good?

[ obi-wan does his best to assess this, his mind wandering. ]

It's . . . fine. Thank you.

[Vyng, meanwhile, is doing his own assessment. "He's still in shock," he silently concludes. And no wonder. Anyone would be.

He slowly places a hand on his friend's shoulder. A gentle bid to redirect his attention to the present.]

Would you like more water?

[ obi-wan shakes his head. ]

I have enough of everything. I just need . . . to collect myself.

I understand.

Would it be alright if I stayed with you? Like you did for me that day.

[ obi-wan manages a tremulous smile through the infinite sadness. ]

Of course.

[He didn't want to assume anything based on their past experiences. Or end up crowding Obi-Wan's space, like some well-meaning hiker stopping to cuddle a fawn nestled alone in the bushes. A sweet gesture from their point of view, yes. At the same time, they're also usually stressing the poor thing out for their own gratification.

But Obi-Wan smiles. And Vyng aches for him.

So he takes a seat and rests his hand between them, palm facing upward. His fingers are loosely curled, a wordless invitation.]

[ for a moment, obi-wan does nothing. all he can feel is the sun. it is not the light, just a facsimile of warmth he is trying to absorb, to hold his brittle parts together.

and.

his fingers move to lightly brush against vyng's palm, the beat of butterfly wings against destiny. ]

[Vyng gently encloses Obi-Wan's fingers with his own, his calloused thumb tracing against his friend's skin. Not too tight, but still a connection: Reassurance that he's safe here, that he's allowed to be vulnerable. And that Vyng will stay for as long — or little — as Obi-Wan wishes.]

[ he cannot hold it. he cannot keep it. all he can do is allow this touch, this moment to exist and not break against it.

it's all he can do now. ]

[Vyng sits with the moment, like he once sat with the amethyst now residing in his chest: quiet, supportive, and without expectation. Meeting others where they're at — whether a grieving storm, a purposeless lake, or an abandoned person who's lost their home — is a core component of any meaningful connection.

It may be all Obi-Wan can do. But it is enough.]

( open ) do not stand on my grave and weep

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