sithkabobed | IC CONTACT

Ezra had been having weird dreams the past few days, leaving him vaguely unsettled until he could shake them away. It wasn't that they were bad dreams, just... They were dreams of a very different life, and they were so real.

Real enough to feel like memories, not dreams, and that was what was so unsettling, because they couldn't be real.

Get your head straight, Ezra, he tells himself firmly after trying to clear away the latest, lingering dream - a dream of begging on the streets as a little boy and getting a jogan from Qui-Gon. That didn't happen. Not like that. He's not even al- He cuts that thought off before it can finish. That one's not something he wants to be dwelling on when he's trying to have his Jedi lessons with Qui-Gon.

With a grimace, Ezra knocks on the door of Qui-Gon's house. Hopefully the lessons today will be just the distraction he needs to bring his mind back to down to earth.

It's hard to say that Ezra's right on time for something when the boy's lessons are given at different hours on different days based entirely on whatever else is going on in their surprisingly busy lives in Verens. The recent tethering of the island to the surface hasn't helped much, either, with the hustle and bustle of people wanting to study the anomaly and the gossip flaring around the marketplace.

Still, Ezra does manage to show up like relative clockwork, only missing lessons in the middle of truly extraordinary circumstances. Qui-Gon was and is always proud of him for that dedication. However, when he opens the door to greet the young Padawan, something surges in his chest--far beyond pride.

It's the same feeling that's been arising whenever he fell asleep deep enough to dream. Jedi were always taught to treat such things with reverence, but to take them with a grain of salt. For the most part, Qui-Gon followed that thought process with due reverence. The few prophetic dreams he's had only led to ruin, and that's not an experience he wishes to relive in any capacity.

It's hard to deny himself the alluring dreams that have been cropping up lately, however. The dreams where he's sharing a small home with a small child with tousled blue-black hair, a missing tooth, and a penchant for getting into trouble that Qui-Gon, as the boy's surrogate father, had to deescalate and turn into a life lesson. No easy task, but one that was always worth it. He'd chalked it up to the wishful thinking of a man who couldn't have a family--but one who willingly refused such a life--combined with the closeness growing between himself and the local Jedi-in-training (to throw a blanket statement on all the Force-sensitive kids).

But that wouldn't account for that wave of emotion or the sudden bloom of white daisies by the door. Dreams shouldn't have that kind of power. The idea troubles him, but he puts it aside for now.

Regardless, he smiles and steps aside to invite Ezra inside.

"Welcome back."

...He'd almost said 'home'.

Ezra doesn't need a second invitation, not when they've had months-that-feel-like-years to grow comfortable with each other and their routines. He grins his own greeting as he steps around Qui-Gon to his side to give him a brief but strong hug with one arm before he even thinks about what he's doing. It's only a second later that his mind catches up, and he steps back, a little abashed.

But... it's not so strange, is it? He's hugged Qui-Gon before. It's nothing odd, nothing he needs to feel embarrassed about (well, any more than any teenager should), so he grins up at Qui-Gon again to brush it off.

"Thanks," he says, and if his tongue had almost added a second word after that, well, it didn't, so that's the end of that. He is going to push those dreams away. "So what are we doing today, d- Master Jinn?"

Whoops. Not quite as smoothly as he wants.

The hug doesn't faze Qui-Gon in the slightest, and he reciprocates with a quick ruffle of Ezra's hair and a lingering smile to match his deflecting grin. And if he notices the slip, he doesn't call any attention to it, closing the door with a serene wave of his arm and leading the two further into the house.

"We'll work more on your offense today," he responds, the events of their duel-turned-debate on the lakeside still fresh in his mind, "then we'll finish with meditation."

Qui-Gon tilts his head in direction of the kitchen, his signal to Ezra to grab whatever food he wanted to bring with him outside. Exercises wouldn't do much on an empty stomach.

For a moment, the realities fighting in Ezra's mind match together perfectly with the fingers raking briefly through his hair and the door closing with no one the wiser to the slightly frivolous, secret use of the Force. A knot of tension eases, partly just from the familiar gesture of affection, but also just from being back with his family in the comfort and safety of their home.

Qui-Gon's home, he has to remind himself, because of course he's since moved out.

Not that that stops him from helping himself to a piece of fruit on the counter. And that's definitely not strange in either reality, either, that Qui-Gon is fully stocked and prepared with Ezra's favorite food. Ezra takes a quick first bite, relishing the taste of the sweet juice, before he follows Qui-Gon out of the house and into their backyard.

"Where'd you get these pears?" he asks, because this one's particularly good. Maybe he can pick some up himself once their lesson is done.

It's a cue that Ezra's never missed, and the familiarity of that custom keeps Qui-Gon grounded in reality.

Which reality is the question. The uncomfortable question that needs to be addressed, but should be done so privately. No need to alarm Ezra with his personal concerns.

He meets Ezra's question with a carefree response with the air of a cat that just subtly ate a canary.

"I provided some help at a stand that I frequent. The woman that runs it is too short to reach some of her stock, and I offered my assistance. She was grateful enough that she offered me first pick of her latest shipment."

It has nothing to do with his habitual lowkey flirting, honest.

There's a knowing glint in Ezra's eyes when Qui-Gon gives that explanation. He knows full well about his dad's penchant for flirting, and the results it tends to have.

"Do I need to start worrying about cleaning the house for visitors?" he asks, somewhat cheekily, without stopping to think that he hasn't ever actually teased Qui-Gon about his flirting before. It's just so easy to respond without thinking at all when the words come so naturally.

The shift comes so smoothly that even someone as present in the 'now' as Qui-Gon falls into it, too. He matches that familiar glint with a continued smile and a hand on Ezra's shoulder. He gives it a squeeze and pulls Ezra in just a bit in a half hug similar to what the boy used in greeting earlier.

"The house should always be clean," he teases, knowing full well that the two combined tend to leave a bit of a mess, "Why else do I keep you around?"

"Hey, I keep your pantry clean. That counts!" He chomps into the last bit of his pear and chews with relish, just to emphasize that point. Snack finished, he flicks the core of the pear into the part of the garden devoted to compost. Once upon a time he would have eaten everything but the seeds, but it's been years now since he was that desperate for food.

How many years is another question entirely, but he's not thinking that deeply here.

"And I thought you kept me around to help keep you in shape." He takes out his lightsaber and holds it up, though not yet lit. He hasn't forgotten why they came out here.

"That you do," Qui-Gon responds, the good-natured teasing fading into a genuine softness. Ezra's grown so much over the years since they've been together, no doubt thanks to the fact that Qui-Gon never let him go hungry.

Looking at him now, though, he seems a bit shorter than he should be, and in a startling moment, Qui-Gon realizes that no, it hasn't been years since they've been together but months, and although Ezra has grown, it was an inch or two over the course of that short amount of time.

He briefly considers calling off their training session, but decides against it. Nothing about this interaction feels wrong, and he can't sense any danger outside of a dream's impact on his thoughts. Why ruin a good thing?

Qui-Gon takes his place across from Ezra and dips his shoulders before bringing his lightsaber up in the appropriate salute. He knows the boy will do the same without falter.

Edited 2017-08-12 22:21 (UTC)

There's something wrong with the banter, something just a little off. Ezra almost pauses when something whispers through his mind with when have I talked about keeping him in shape? He doesn't have time for more than a slightly furrowed brow, though, before the thought vanishes in the face of that salute. Swiftly, Ezra shifts his own stances to the proper one, a ready grin on his face as he salutes in turn.

And then there really is no more time to think, because practicing his offense means it's his first strike, fully expecting to be met, again and again, but still willing to test and press and flow from one attack into the next. This is a dance he knows, all the way through his bones. Not that that means he thinks he has no chance - just the opposite! - but he's long since learned not to let himself get frustrated when Qui-Gon outmaneuvers him.

Not immediately, at least. Even years of practice and experience with this can't completely curb a teen's impatience.

He's not at that point yet, though. There's still time to push and see if Qui-Gon quite expects him to duck and pivot and try a new combination of the drills they've so often repeated.

Edited 2017-08-12 23:01 (UTC)

A Jedi Master and Padawan in the midst of battle are often compared to a duet in a graceful, deadly dance. Every movement flows effortlessly into the next, a coordinated routine that is as natural as breathing. Ezra's strong opening movements catch Qui-Gon by surprise, and he nearly stumbles, but it only takes a few moments to fall into a steady rhythm. As if they've been sparring together for years.

As his swings become more instinctual and his consciousness melts into his body's movements, Qui-Gon finds himself believing that's true.

He uses his bulk to try and strong arm his Padawan, pushing with strength meant for someone a bit bigger and stronger than the boy in front of him.

Ezra's heart races as their lightsabers clash, not with any fear, but with exhilaration. He's matching Qui-Gon blow for blow, more easily than he's ever-

-no, maybe with a little more difficulty than normal, he realizes, as the last vestiges of the dreams he's been having finally fall away. His dad, his Master is pushing him harder than he usually does, as though he can tell that Ezra needed something to force him to focus on this. Grunting with the effort of keeping that brilliant green lightsaber at bay, the boy finally has to give up his advance to take a step back, then another, never mind that he's supposed to be on the offense. He pants, but refuses to give up just yet.

Qui-Gon's pushing him for a reason, wants him to rise to the challenge.

I won't disappoint you, dad, he promises, twisting to the left as his blade deflects Qui-Gon's to the right.

Qui-Gon's countenance remains stoic throughout their duel, any hints of pride completely absent from his face. But he has to work hard to keep it that way. Ezra's excitement is contagious, and, more importantly, present. His resolve is as palpable as always and their shared eagerness to learn can be felt in every flourish of their blades.

Then again, what else could Qui-Gon expect from his adopted son?

He's thrown off by Ezra's agility (his skills have been sharpening exponentially with each lesson) and has to rely on the Force to augment his movements' speed to counter his Padawan's twist. He has no choice but to return to a defensive stance, shoulders hunched to keep his blade low and to hide the taxation this spar is having on his body.

A lesser teacher would worry about a potential bruising for their ego, but Qui-Gon couldn't be prouder.

A thrill of triumph surges through Ezra's heart when he manages to put Qui-Gon back on the defensive. Maybe he can't see how the fight is wearing down his father, but that alone tells him all he needs to know about how well he's doing here. Eager to keep it up, to show Qui-Gon how much he's improved, Ezra lunges forward with a quick series of strikes aimed to drive the older Jedi's blade up and into a position where he can't defend as well.

Except he's not as tall as he thinks he is. His arms aren't quite as long. He underestimates his reach and the angle he needs to swing his lightsaber. Confusion barely has time to register as, eyes wide, he tries to compensate, only to stumble as he overextends.

That's one way to cut a fight short.

Qui-Gon doesn't bother to arc his finishing blow. Instead, he sheathes his lightsaber and places a hand on Ezra's back as a signal that they're pausing.

"What happened there?"

His tone isn't stern or accusatory, but founded in confusion and some concern. Ezra hasn't made a mistake like that in years, and his expression was far too raw to be part of some kind of feint or crafty maneuver.

"I... I don't know," Ezra answers uncertainly, staring down at his hand. "I wasn't reaching far enough, even though I thought I was, and..." He trails off, unsure how exactly to explain.

Easier, maybe, to just repeat the moves he'd made, though facing away from Qui-Gon now. Maybe he'll be able to see what he did wrong, or maybe Qui-Gon's practiced eye will spot the flaw in his form, just as he has so many times before in the years they've been training together.

So he steps forward again, striking the air, quick and sure as his original attack had been. But- no, that's wrong again. Qui-Gon's taller than that. Ezra's brow furrows in confused frustration. Why is he still aiming too low?

Edited 2017-08-14 13:04 (UTC)

Qui-Gon stands back and crosses his arms, examining Ezra's movements with a discerning eye. There's nothing wrong with the boy's technique. The footwork is perfect and his swing is quick--what's lacking is his conviction. The confusion etched on his face and in his words proves that further.

"Walk me through your thought process, Padawan."

That way they can uncover the problem together--just like master and apprentice.

Just like father and son.

He'd been hoping Qui-Gon would be able to see what was wrong just with that one repetition. Still, he's not going to let disappointment keep him from doing as his master directs. Maybe it's too subtle to pinpoint that easily. Or maybe Qui-Gon is turning this into a teaching moment. It certainly wouldn't be the first time he has.

So Ezra raises his lightsaber into position again and starts to speak as he moves. "I was attacking. You were defending. I knew your form was too strong for me to break with strength, so I had to try something else. Agility is where I'm stronger, though, so-" Step, strike, strike, strike in slow motion. "-I wasn't trying to land a hit here, just throw you off by trying to keep up with my speed. And you're older. It's a little harder for you to twist and turn like I can, so-" He deflects an imaginary lightsaber, then twists sharply, just like he did before. "-and that should have given me an opening on your side here, but only if I aimed it just right. But I know how tall you are. I know how you hold your arms. I know if I swing my lightsaber like this-" His blade comes around and halts in midair.

Too low again, by a couple inches. Ezra scowls intently, as though he can make his lightsaber give him the answers for why it seems bound and determined to head toward where Qui-Gon could have caught and deflected it.

"It's almost like you're taller somehow. Are you wearing different shoes?"

If so, he doesn't need to be. Qui-Gon, you're already tall enough!

"I can't say I am."

And it's not possible for Qui-Gon to have grown any taller--he's done with growing, much to the relief of other humans he'd grown close with over the decades, and if anything, people at his age start shrinking. Again, that would probably come to the relief of many other humans, save for those who take advantage of his larger than average stature like the occasional fruit merchant with too-high shelves and too-big boxes.

So that left only one other explanation, considering Ezra's meticulous reconstruction of the last left of their duel.

"You've gotten shorter."

Looking at him now, Ezra does look smaller than he should be, and after marking the boy's growth over the years with ticks on a door frame he's pretty certain that he's allowed commentary on the matter. To confirm it, Qui-Gon steps forward, well into Ezra's personal space--a factor long since irrelevant since their makeshift family came together--and stands in front of him, placing the edge of his hand on his chest, right where Ezra should reach, using himself as an impromptu measuring stick.

"What?" Jedi-raised or not, if there's any surefire way to offend a teenager, it's to tell them that they're getting shorter. "That's not possible!" Never mind that the evidence is literally right in his face. "People don't shrink unless they're old!"

Or, you know, unless they lose body parts. But all of Ezra's limbs are still firmly attached, so that's clearly not the case.

Huffing, Ezra turns and presses up close enough to Qui-Gon's chest so that he can get his own second measurement. Personal space really doesn't mean much between them, not after all these years. Then he holds his hand to the top of his head so that the edge can mark where he stands. Steps back, looks up.

And it's definitely short by some inches from where it's supposed to be. Ezra's brow furrows in baffled frustration. "I don't understand!"

"Perhaps you're an anomaly. Or this is a sign that your soul is too old for your body."

Ezra is very much a teenager in attitude and personality, and no amount of training would lessen that. It's a trait that Qui-Gon's learned to accept and embrace--both in reality and in the false memories rapidly overtaking his mind. He reaches out with a hand and places it on the boy's head. It's a calming gesture if nothing else, and one meant to show solidarity, especially with the gentle pull Qui-Gon gives as an invitation for Ezra to come closer if he wanted. Despite the quip, it is something to take seriously.

"It could also be a side effect of this world. We can speak to a healer in town, if you'd like."

That's enough to get Ezra to pause, momentarily jarred out of his worry, because really, Qui-Gon? Really? Dad jokes now?

Ezra is giving him such a look.

"If my soul's that old, wouldn't that make me your dad?"

That familiar gesture, though, and the comfort that comes with it, helps at least to leech out a little of Ezra's tension. Maybe he doesn't know what's going on, and maybe Qui-Gon doesn't either, but he's not facing it alone. That helps.

"Maybe we better. I mean, this can't be normal." Or healthy. Ezra stares at his arms, trying to figure out if they're just a little thinner because he's smaller, or if he's actually a little scrawny too.

Edited 2017-09-01 03:14 (UTC)

"With your attitude, I would place you closer to a grandfather. We should go before you get even crankier."

Qui-Gon's hand makes its way to Ezra's shoulder so he can guide the boy back into the house. If they left through the front, then they could make it into town and (hopefully) get a better idea of what was going on--including any issues regarding that scrawniness.

He's not too worried, however. Ezra's personality is intact and outside of his height loss, he's perfectly healthy and energetic. There has to be a logical explanation despite the overall whimsical nature of their surroundings. And whatever that issue, they'll be sure to tackle it together like the family they are.

IC CONTACT

8/14 - [in person]

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