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"Language," Qui-Gon gently chides, doing his best to hide a chuckle.

He easily steps behind Ezra and takes the stubborn hair tie, placing it on the table until it needs to be used. He first focuses on smoothing out the boy's frazzled hair, his long fingers combing through the tiny knots that managed to pop up from otherwise silky strands. Quite a few moments pass as Qui-Gon tames that black-blue mop, first from the boy's crown, then the sides (taking particular care in not brushing against the impromptu beginnings of a Padawan braid), and finally up from the nape of Ezra's neck. Like clockwork, he keeps a hold of the ponytail with one hand and gathers hair with the other, pulling everything taut and exact. He doesn't bother to ask if he's tugging too hard or if Ezra is in any pain--he's sure the boy will let him know (and that he'll adjust accordingly. Maybe.).

Tying it all together doesn't take much time or effort. Qui-Gon's deft fingers quickly slide the leather strip underneath the small ponytail while still holding it tight. He then wraps it around itself a few times, ending with a simple knot hidden against the back of Ezra's head.

"And done. Go ahead and take a look."

He'll wait patiently. It doesn't help that there's only one, maybe two, mirrors in the Jedi household.

Edited 2017-07-09 21:43 (UTC)

The sensation of someone's hands in his hair is almost entirely foreign. A few times that Hera's smoothed it back, a rare playful ruffle from Kanan, or a rough noogie from Zeb, but for the most part people don't really touch his head. Not since... not since his parents...

Ezra falls quiet, and not because he'd been chastised (really, Qui-Gon, that curse had been mild). More because he's unsure, almost lost, because he has nothing to compare this with, nothing to tell him what to do, except for dusty memories of loving family, and that... Qui-Gon isn't... Qui-Gon is...

Caught in the uncertainty, Ezra holds himself still. It doesn't take long, though still long enough for the rhythmic motions of combing and taming his hair to almost... start to feel soothing. And then all too soon it's over, leaving Ezra blinking and still unsure how to even respond to it.

Well, other than doing what Qui-Gon just said. He looks up at the Master, one self-conscious hand going to his hair, before a tentative smile finds its way on his face.

"I- Thanks. I'll be right back."

It'll only take him a minute. He knows where the nearest mirror is.

Well, no, make that two minutes. Just a few seconds to get to the mirror, but the rest of the time spent looking at his reflection and letting the sheer difference try to sink in.

As Ezra left, Qui-Gon nudged him along with a gentle push against the boy's shoulder out of the kitchen, followed by a soft smile that slowly curled the edges of his lips.

While Ezra takes his time absorbing the drastic change something as simple as a new hairstyle can make, Qui-Gon contemplates his own brush (pun intended) with his new official haircut that symbolized his status as a Padawan. Granted, the situation is somewhat different for Ezra--Kanan isn't here to tie his braid, after all--but it's hard to imagine that the boy isn't going through a similar sense of realization.

He is all the closer to becoming a Jedi.

So Qui-Gon awaits his return patiently.... outside of sneaking himself one of far too many leftover cupcakes.

Edited 2017-07-11 00:44 (UTC)

Ezra's never been vain, never worried about his appearance. That kind of thing was better left to people with the money to afford to care. He only ever bothered to fuss with his hair whenever it grew long enough to get in his way, at which point he usually found a pair of scissors to cut it himself. This, though...

With one hand coming up to finger the little tuft behind his ear, now fully visible with his hair pulled back, he'd be lying if said he didn't care this time. It's not a braid, not yet, but someday... Someday it will be, and until then, people can still see his intent.

I'm a Padawan. I have a Master. And I will see him again someday. And somehow, that feels like an even bolder declaration than holding his lightsaber fully ignited.

When he finally emerges, the smile on his face has grown. "I think I look older," he says, because he doesn't know how to articulate how proud he feels to be able to identify what he is openly like this.

"Well, you have grown quite a bit, Padawan," Qui-Gon agrees as he reaches out one more time to make sure Ezra's hair stays smoothed out with a quick, rough brush of his fingers. Something about his tone indicates that he's not just talking about the boy's height (although there has definitely been some improvement there, as well). He steps back and glances at the young Padawan in front of him with a discerning eye, as if searching for something intangible.

Qui-Gon's noticed something else; a change in Ezra's personality. He's matured and, despite remaining a typical teenager at his core, has adopted qualities befitting a Padawan. The discipline, the humility, the openness... they were all qualities present at the start, but over the past few months, they've blossomed.

For a moment, Qui-Gon swears he can see young Obi-Wan standing tall, ready to take on the next challenge life has in store.

"Kanan will be proud."

Something warm spreads through all of Ezra's chest, pleased at the comment about his height, yes, but more touched by the sentiment conveyed by the affectionate brush of his hair. He can tell, without words, what Qui-Gon's really saying.

And it's only cemented by that final declaration.

For a moment, it feels like everything's lighter, everything's brighter in the world (and for a moment, it literally is, with sunlight glinting off of every surface and a few objects even floating an inch or two in the air). Ezra beams up at Qui-Gon - because no matter how much he's grown, he's still much, much shorter than that giant of a man.

"Thank you, Master Jinn. I hope- I can't wait until I can see him again."

It's okay, Ezra. Most people are with you on the whole 'getting towered over by Qui-Gon' thing. Enough so that he doesn't say a word about him having to look up, nor does he mention the various floating items and the shimmers of light. Instead, Qui-Gon's hand comes to a rest on Ezra's shoulder as he guides the teenager towards the table.

"Until that day arrives, let us enjoy the now."

That's always been Qui-Gon's philosophy. There's no point in trying to discern the hypothetical future, just as there's no point in thinking about the cemented past. All they are guaranteed are the moments ticking by, filled with mirth, filled with sadness, filled with laughter, and filled with tears. There's a beauty in the ability to appreciate each precious second of 'now' and what they bring.

'Now' brings a tray of sweets with their names on it.

'Now' brings the animated conversation that awaits them, birthday related and otherwise.

'Now' brings the trail of amaryllis flowers twisting along the ground around Qui-Gon's feet, their petals opening to greet yet another day to be savored as a gift like no other.

'Now' is what he and Ezra have, and 'now' is what Qui-Gon will let himself fall into as the two enjoy everything it carries.

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