Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

Checking his ‘disguise’ in the mirror one more time Obi-wan couldn’t help but fidget with the short jacket over the boat neck collared shirt. The sleeves of both were thankfully long, long enough to cover old scars that he preferred going unnoticed, and the colors were mild. At least… mild for something that Quinlan had chosen. The jacket was a deep night sky blue and the shirt was a warm orange-beige. Apparently it made his blue eyes ‘pop’ more, whatever that meant. It also helped to highlight his reddish hair and the faint freckles dusting his face. The dark brown trousers weren’t loose, but they weren’t form fitting either. Not like his leggings.

Somehow the colors felt comforting to him, although he couldn’t say exactly why. The meaning of them in Mandalorian culture did not escape him, however.

Blue for reliability, although this dark a shade it was closer to integrity, or perhaps honesty. Orange was lust for life but pale like this… it was perseverance. While the dark brown of his pants represented valor.

He wondered if Quinlan had known or if the force had guided his hand…

Turning away from the mirror he slid a blade into the top of his boot and another into the nearly invisible sheath at his wrist that Quin had bought him for his seventeenth birthday.

He made certain that his Master never found out about it. Qui-gon believed that the Force would provide but in his personal experience it always paid to be prepared.

Once he had everything he would need, including his ident stored in a secret pocket just in case, he left the fresher and stood there awkwardly.

“Well?” He asked his friend, who was wearing a similar outfit but with a black vest and dark gold, three-quarter sleeve, shirt instead.

Quinlan looked up from his datapad and smirked. “Nice, Obes!” Hopping up off the couch his closest and most irksome friend gave him a proper once over before holding something out to him. Blinking Obi-wan opened his hand and frowned at the odd accessory.

“What is this?” He tilted it this way and that but wasn’t quite sure what to make of it.

With a small tut Quinlan took it back and reached up to his hair.

“Hey!” He said as he felt a tug on his padawan braid.

“Hold still! This’ll hide your braid so you don’t get immediately spotted as a Jedi.”

Letting out a small huff he crossed his arms and waited while his friend did… something.

“Done!” Standing back and looking pleased his friend nodded toward the fresher mirror.

With a sigh and a bland look at his friend Obi-wan returned to the fresher to look at the accessory. To his surprise it was actually quite artful. The braid twisted around the clip in a flower shape that made it look as if the braid itself was actually just a part of the accessory and that he had grown his hair specifically to accommodate it. He looked back at his friend, surprised, and Quin rolled his eyes expressively.

“Obes, I’m a Shadow in training. I’d be pretty shit at my job if I couldn’t disguise a padawan braid.”

Obi-wan couldn’t help the startled snort that left him and shook his head at his best friend’s wide grin.

“Alright. Let’s get out of here before someone notices we’re up to something.” Quin said with an eyebrow wriggle.

“Stop.” Obi-wan said letting out a laugh. “You’re terrible.” Besides, he suspected that Master Tholme already knew what they were up to and if he didn’t approve he at least wouldn’t be interfering any time soon.

Master Tholme was good like that.

The two of them set off for one of the many ‘secret’ passages Quin knew and quickly found themselves in the middle of a busy street. After a year on the run, pretending to be someone he was not and drawing as little attention to himself as possible, he was able to fall in beside Quinlan no problem.

The farther they walked the more weight seemed to slough off his shoulders. A few minutes into their walk Quinlan leaned over, as if to point something out to him, and muttered; “there you are Obes. Glad to have you back.” Before actually pointing out a sign and changing directions. “Three more levels to go!” He said with a bright smile.

Obi-wan swallowed down a slight burning feeling and let his friend’s mischievous spark in the force guide him.

By the time he’d found his center they were stopped outside a walled off area with large letters carved out of a metal plaque.

Little Keldabe.

“Alright Ben, I’ve got the map and you’ve got the know-how. Let’s go on an adventure.” Quin said with a cheeky grin.

“Que, if you get us lost and I have to ask for directions- I am never going to let you live it down.” He replied primly.

“Oh ye of little faith! C’mon, let’s go find you those spices you’re craving so much!” From behind he felt hands pressing into his back and yelped as Quin shoved him forward.

As they passed through the overlapped walls that acted as a gateway into Little Keldabe Obi-wan felt his heartbeat quicken in anticipation. Already he could hear the sounds of people talking in Mando’a and smell the many strong scents that made up Mandalorian cooking. The moment they stepped past the stark, blank, walls the world erupted into a riot of colors.

Banners of all kinds hung from every lamp post as colored awnings sheltered each stall from whatever elements might come falling from above. Light glinted off of different armors and weapons as the people went about their daily business.

The fact that the sight of this made him feel more welcome than the Temple… he tried not to think about it.

“So! I don’t know what any of this stuff is, you’re gonna have to take the lead on this one Ben!” Quinlan said, wrapping an arm around his shoulders with a wide grin, though he could see some of the concern his friend was trying to hide.

“Well, how well are you able to handle your spices Que?” He asked playfully, not even attempting to dislodge his friend.

“Psh, anything you can handle I can definitely handle.” He said flippantly.

“Oh? Well, we shall see then.” Challenge accepted.

Walking down the street he tried to ignore the way the people stared at them. It was something he had become accustomed to while on Mandalore. There was just something about his red hair and blue eyes that seemed to fascinate the Mandalorians, though they had always been a little cagey when he tried to ask about it directly.

Finding the right stall he smiled as he waited for the last customer to place their order before he stepped up to the counter. “Su’cuy gar.” ‘Hello.’ He said politely. “Ni copaani t’ad skraan, gedet’ye.” ‘I would like two orders, please.’

The vendor was a tall Pantoran wearing bracers but no other armor. They brightened when they noticed him. “Su’cuy, t’ad skraan jiila.” ‘Two orders, right away.’

“O-kay, that was nifty and all but what did you say?” Quinlan asked from behind him, leaning over to try and get a good look at what the stall owner was doing.

“I ordered us both some Gi’rugam.” He said with no actual explanation.

“And that is-? Come on Ben, don’t leave me hanging.” His friend whined.

“Fine, they’re made from fish that has been finely chopped and combined with a starch. It is then rolled in flour, a binding agent like egg, and bread crumbs, before being deep fried in oil.” At least that was how it had been explained to him by Satine.

Quinlan blinked at him. “Damn, sounds better than what we usually get.” He said with a laugh.

“Gar skraan!” ‘Your food!’ The stall owner said, setting down two paper containers with steaming balls of deep fried fish and a pair of two-pronged eating sticks. Obi-wan handed them to Quinlan before turning back to the vendor.

“Vor entye. Tion’solet?” ‘Thank you. How much?’

The vendor blinked then narrowed their eyes at him for a moment. “Gar… Stewjoni’ad?” ‘You’re… Stewjoni?’

Obi-wan flinched ever so slightly and could feel how Quin’s presence in the force sharpened behind him, focused on the stall owner in case he needed to intervene.

“Lek’, ni Stewjoni’ad. Tion’jor?” ‘Yes, I’m Stewjoni. Why?’ He tried to keep his demeanor as calm and unassuming as possible as he asked, feigning simple curiosity.

The stall vendor nodded to themselves and gave him a smile. “Bic mav.” ‘It’s free.’

“…me’ven?” ‘…what?’ He asked in bewilderment. “Tion’jor?” ‘Why?’ He pressed.

“Uh, Ben? Little explanation here? Is something wrong?” Quin asked behind him.

“Bic dinui. Hiibir, gedet’ye.” ‘It’s a gift. Take it, please.’ There was a mild sense of confusion and slowly growing concern in the stall vendor and he could sense others around them becoming more interested by the second.

Obi-wan put on his brightest most grateful smile. “Vor entye par dinui.” ‘Thank you for the gift.’ With that he turned and nudged Quinlan away from the stall. “Smells great, doesn’t it? I can’t wait until you try one.” He said casually.

“Obes, what the kriff just happened.” Quin whispered once they were away from the stall and in an area that was a bit more open.

“They refused my credits. When I asked them why they suddenly asked if I was Stewjoni.” He said, holding out his hand for his container of gi’rugam.

He wasn’t about to waste them just because he was a little confused.

“Do you… think they want to… ya know…” Quinlan made a sign for ‘slaver’ with his hand and Obi-wan hissed, shoving his hand down.

“No! Certainly not. Mandalorians do not deal in slavery, Que, I told you this. Saying that here, or implying it, could get us into serious trouble.” He grumbled as he stuck his eating stick into one of the fish balls and took a tentative bite. They were still hot in the center after all. Glancing at his friend he smiled when Quinlan’s eyes widened and he let out a little sound of appreciation. “Try it with the brown sauce.” He suggested.

Never one to turn down a challenge or new experience Quinlan popped the lid on the small container and dipped the snack into the sauce before shoving it into his mouth. “Woah! That’s wicked!”

Obi-wan chuckled and dipped his gi’rugam into his own brown sauce. It had an almost tangy flavor to it with a hint of bite. It was probably the mildest food they would be eating that day if Obi-wan could help it.

“But it’s a bit weird. Why does it matter that you’re Stewjoni?” His friend asked after they’d had a few bites, standing around and watching people pass by. “I know everyone stares at your hair all the time, but how’d that vendor know?”

Obi-wan shrugged slightly. “It… happened a lot when I was on… well you know.” He didn’t want to mention Mandalore or Satine while in a market for traditional Mandalorians. That was just asking for trouble. “There seems to be some connection between the two but I’ve never been able to get anyone to tell me why…” And it had been frustrating back then but he hadn’t really had the time to focus on it. Too busy guarding Satine from attempts on her life by Kyr’tsad.

“Well if they’re giving you free shit then it’s probably a good connection.” His best friend said with a shrug.

He knew that Quin was trying to put him at ease, hiding his slight concern for the situation, but he didn’t call him on it.

“This is so good.” He said as he popped another fish ball into his mouth. “Ohhh, hey! We should buy some spices to take back with us!” He said with a grin. “Then I can totally put them in, uh, Tholme’s food.” Quin’s expression turned downright mischievous. “And Jinn’s.”

Obi-wan let out a small amused huff. “No, no spiking his food with spices from Manda’yaim.” He shook his head. “After he drinks his weight’s worth in tea you know he’ll blame me. You’ll get me into trouble you gigantic pest.”

Quinlan snorted and almost lost the fish ball he was chewing on, having to bring his hand up to his mouth to not spit it out by mistake. Obi-wan gave him a small smirk.

“Brat.” Quinlan muttered when he could finally speak without wheezing.

“And yet you seem particularly difficult to get rid of.” He raised a single delicate brow and Quinlan rolled his eyes.

“Never Obi-Ben. Can’t get rid of me now.” He said with conviction.

Obi-wan felt their bond brighten with feelings of acceptance, love, and playfulness. He sent as much of that affection back as he could.

“So! Where to next?”

Obi-wan smirked.

Chapter Text

Pulling his friend along he searched the stalls critically, making a plan of attack that would end with his friend tapping out and admitting he had been wrong about how much spice he could handle. After all- one did not know spice until they had tried the infamous Mando red sauce. Spying something interesting a mischievous look came over him that had Quinlan giving him a narrowed side-eye.

“How about we change it up a little?” He asked with feigned mildness. “Spice isn’t the only thing I was craving.” He said motioning toward a stand where sticks of layered rings were sitting innocuously.

“Whatever you want Ben, this is all about you today.” Quinlan gave him a smile that was somehow both a mischievous grin and a look of caring concern that had a lump forming in Obi-wan’s throat.

Turning back to the stalls he changed their direction and headed towards the vendor he had chosen. Something about them in the Force called to him and he had learned to listen to his instincts in these matters. 

Sidling up to the vendor he was pleased to find the last customers walking away just as they arrived. Smiling brightly he approached. “Su’cuy gar.” ‘Hello.’ He said politely. “Ni copaani t’ad, gedet’ye.” ‘I would like two, please.’

The mando’ad at the stall, who had turned away to check a bubbling pot, looked over at them. As they did so there was a faint shine across their yellow-amber eyes, like those of a predator. It was brief but he could feel Quinlan stiffen slightly behind him in surprise. After all the mando’ad looked almost completely human, with a dusky skin tone and dark curly hair. Although they had been raised to never judge such things at face value as Jedi.

“Su…” they spied Quinlan and a small frown crossed their face before the smile returned. “Su’cuy gar.” 'Hello.' It almost sounded as if they had meant to say something else… their accent was a little odd. Somehow too gruff and soft all at once. “Gaanader t’ad.” ‘Pick two.’ They said motioning towards the long sticks.

Obi-wan nodded and reached over to pick two skewers that looked the most yellow. Handing them over to the vendor he grinned mischievously. “Majycir ori’shya uj’ayl par ner burc’ya, gedet’ye. Kaysh draar nu’ganar draluram.” ‘Add more sweet syrup for my friend, please. They’ve never had intense flavor before.’

The vendor gave him a matching mischievous grin, flashing some impressively sharp canines for a near-human. “Lek.” ‘Yes.’ They then dipped a ladle into the bubbling liquid and drizzled it over the first skewer, handing it back to him. “Gar.” ‘Yours.’ He took the skewer then snickered as they drizzled twice as much on the second skewer and held it out to him. All around them the force was practically giddy with amusement. “Gar burc’ya.” ‘Your friend’s.’

“Vor entye. Tion’solet?” ‘Thank you. How much?’ It was a question he would be repeating quite a lot today, he had a feeling.

“Dar’baati bic. Gar nuhur ibi'tuur.” ‘Don’t worry about it. You have fun today.’ They said with an almost indulgent smile.

Around them the force softened, even as something began to warm in his chest. Whatever it was it burned bright and felt like gold. He wanted to resist, to open his mouth and insist that he pay, yet something stopped him. Instead he just gave them a grateful smile and a half bow before pushing Quinlan towards an open area with sets of tables and chairs that had been set up nearby. “Vor’e vod.” ‘Thank you, comrade.’

Grabbing a seat he held out Quinlan’s stick, watching the thick dark syrup slide down and color the paper that had been wrapped around it to protect the fingers from becoming sticky. “Be careful, it’s still a bit hot.”

Quinlan eyed it as if he were looking over battle plans before shrugging and taking it from him. Obi-wan smiled as serenely as he could and tugged the first ring of fruit off the stick. Intense sweetness burst over his tongue and he let out a small groan of appreciation. While the refectory back at the Temple did have sweets there was nothing quite like uj’ayl. Like all flavors favored by Mandalorians it was intense, bright, and woke up the senses.

“Augh! What the kark, Obi-Ben?” The moment his friend had gotten a taste, no doubt expecting something spicy, he began to cough at the overwhelming sweetness.

Obi-wan couldn’t help it, he practically cackled in delight at the confused and disgusted look on Quinlan’s face. While his friend did enjoy sweets he was surprisingly moderate, preferring things like rich dark chocolate.

“I’m not sorry. You said you could keep up with me.” He said, reminding his friend of the boast he’d made earlier.

“That was for spice and you know it!” He said, coughing in between his words and holding the stick away from himself as if it would come to life and attack him.

Nearby a group of warriors looked over at them before laughing and returning to their own conversations.

Glancing around he found what he was looking for and stood, holding out his stick to his friend. “Alright, fine, clearly you can’t handle something this sweet. Just hold on to that and I’ll be right back.”

Quinlan grumbled about it but did hold onto his snack for him.

Making his way over to what looked like a more permanent shop, rather than a vendor, he smiled and held up two fingers. “Ne’tra shig, gedet’ye.” ‘Two black teas, please.’ The warrior behind the counter took one look at him and brightened in the Force. It was the most common reaction to his appearance.

“Jiila!” ‘Right away.’ They said as they pulled out two large mugs and began to fill them from one of the taps. When they were finished they set the mugs down in front of him with a nod.

Obi-wan was about to ask how much they were when a group of warriors came to wait behind him. Glancing over his shoulder he saw two of them were in full black armor and his heart froze in his chest. He searched their armor for the Death Watch symbol and heaved a sigh of relief when he didn’t find any sign of them.

Black wasn’t an uncommon armor color, meaning Justice, but he could feel a prickle of discomfort climbing up his spine.

“Me’vaar, Jaksha?” ‘What’s new with you, Jaksha?’ One of them called out to the drinks vendor.

They looked over Obi-wan’s shoulder and grinned. “Baasta, ner vod’ika! Naas! Me’vaar?” ‘Baasta, my younger sibling! Nothing’s new! What’s new with you?’ As they were talking the vendor waved Obi-wan away, giving him a small apologetic smile, before turning back to the group.

Picking up the two mugs carefully he nodded to the drinks vendor politely and hurried back to Quinlan. He couldn’t have stayed there another moment, not without doing something that was quite distinctly Jedi.

Setting the mugs full of dark brown liquid down on the table he noted how Quin’s eyes widened. Then his friend’s lips split in a wicked grin. He narrowed his eyes at his friend in confusion as he slid the second mug over to him. In exchange he took the stick of fruit with more syrup on it, as a kind of apology to his friend. Besides, Obi-wan had experienced hunger multiple times in his life now. He disliked the idea of wasting food, especially when it had been so freely given.

Right when Obi-wan was about to take a sip, feeling calm now that he was with his friend, Quinlan finally spoke. “Ben! Did you just grab us booze? You’re not even of age!”

Almost spitting out his drink in surprise he wiped at his face with a napkin and glowered at his best friend. “There’s no alcohol in this, Que. It’s a type of cold tea that uses grains as a base.” When Quin opened his mouth to retort he huffed and rolled his eyes. “Non-fermented grains!” He said in exasperation.

From the seat behind him a mando’ad with a complexion similar to his friend, but no facial markings that indicated a Kiffar Clan, leaned over with a playful smile. “Besides, verd’ika, you’re in Kih’keldabe! The drinking age for mando’ade is fourteen.” They chuckled before turning back to their own group, fluidly re-joining the conversation in mando’a.

Quinlan’s brows rose in surprise as he lifted the drink to his nose to take a cautious sniff. “Fourteen, really?” He asked quietly. There was a sense of ill ease around his friend that belied his usual ‘bend the rules’ nature. He was probably thinking about the ways such a thing could be abused.

Obi-wan gave him a reassuring smile. “From what I’ve seen it’s more like having a very small amount on special occasions to celebrate with your clan. You aren’t allowed to really drink without supervision until you are sixteen.” While Coruscant’s age of majority was legally eighteen for humans and most near-humans it really did depend on what planet of origin you came from. Most families followed their own traditions in the safety of their homes. In the temple they were taught laws and cultural norms from around the galaxy so it shouldn’t have been so surprising to his friend. Perhaps he was just being cautious because the Mandalorians were considered one of their ancient enemies historically.

The two of them sat with their sweet fruit and tea, his friend giving an appreciative hum at the bitterness.

When they were finished Obi-wan returned the mugs with thanks. The vendor waved him off, feeling very pleased in the Force.

“Hey Ben, want to go check out some actual shops while we wait for everything to settle?” Quinlan asked as he put an arm over his shoulder and motioned towards some shops down a side street.

Obi-wan could feel the Force swirling around them, urging them to go explore, and he smiled. “Alright, but if you get into trouble I’m not bailing you out.”

Quinlan scoffed and rolled his eyes. “You say that, but you always bail me out anyways. I’m calling your bluff.”

“We’ll see.” He said with a sharp grin that was perhaps a little more feral than was polite.

Making their way down the side street Quinlan tugged on his hand when he spied a shop that caught his attention. Obi-wan almost wanted to roll his eyes when he realized it was a jewellers store.

Going inside Obi-wan looked around with a disinterested air. He wasn’t particularly interested in jewellery, except to marvel at the beautiful detailing some master artisans could create. But that was more an appreciation for the art than any desire to own a piece for himself.

“Su’cuy gar!” ‘Hello!’ The shop keeper said with a bright smile. They were a female presenting twi’lek with a very cheery green skin tone and a bubbliness in the Force that made him want to smile. It was obvious that this being loved their job and was excited to have more customers explore their shop.

“Su’cuy gar.” ‘Hello.’ He replied in turn. “Please excuse me, but do you happen to speak Basic? My friend here does not know Mando’a. If not I can always translate, it’s no bother.”

The twi’lek blinked at him for a moment before smiling. “No, I speak Basic just fine.” There was a faint accent to their voice but their words were easily understood.

“So, I noticed from outside, but these pieces are all weapons aren’t they?” Quinlan asked with no preamble, lifting up a hair piece and sliding a thin dagger from out of the design as if it were obvious.

The shop keeper gave them both a wicked grin. “You have a good eye. We pride ourselves on making discreet weaponry for personal protection. Everything in this shop is deadly, in the right hands.” She assured them. “Are you looking for something specific?”

Coming around the counter they looked at the piece in Quinlan’s hands and smiled. “That one was a custom job but the customer suddenly changed their mind so we’re selling it at a slightly reduced price.”

Quinlan slipped the knife back into the piece and set it carefully back on the pedestal. “I have a… friend. She’ll be starting a dangerous job soon and I want to find something nice and discreet that she can hide on her person. What would you recommend?”

The shop keeper quickly took Quinlan to a section where the more practical looking jewellery was kept, leaving Obi-wan to wander the store at his leisure.

As he was holding a delicate piece that reminded him painfully of Satine, the friend he had left behind, he heard a small chime as the door to the shop opened. In stepped a larger being with full beskar’gam, their colors deep purple and a striking red.

Looking at their armor he had the feeling they were not wearing purple to mean luck but a mix between reliability and power. The red was a shade he thought meant honouring a parent but he couldn’t be sure from where he was standing.

“Pare sol!” ‘Wait a moment!’ The shop keep said, looking over their shoulder and taking in the new customer with a critical eye before turning back to Quinlan.

Mandalorians were not known to be thieves. In fact it was exceptionally rare to find a mando’ad who would even think of taking something they had not earned. So the shop keeper’s reaction was pretty normal. They had identified the customer as someone they could trust to be honorable and left them to wander while they waited.

Setting down the piece that reminded him of Satine he moved on to a flowery looking necklace that, when he picked it up to examine it, had a long thin spike of what had to be beskar as part of the centre. It was obviously used for stabbing and he had to wonder what kind of being would wear such a thing.

“Mesh’la.” ‘Beautiful.’ A deep rumbling voice said from behind him. Turning around, clutching the necklace in his hands, he looked up at the tall mando’ad- who had somehow snuck up behind him. “Su’cuy Kenobi’ad, me’vaar?” ‘Hello child of Kenobi, what’s new?’ There was an almost pleased rumble in their voice that caught him off guard.

Obi-wan froze in place. How did they know he was named Kenobi? Wait… they had said ‘Child of Kenobi’ did that mean they somehow knew his birth parents? If so then how had he recognized Obi-wan specifically? “Meg?” ‘What/How?’

The mando’ad reached out and brushed their gloved fingers against the edge of his navy blue jacket. “Tion Kenobi sale? Serim?” ‘Kenobi colors? Right?’

He felt a shiver of that golden warmth through him, an acknowledgment, before he shoved it to the back of his mind and reached for Quinlan’s force presence.

“Hey, back up, there! Didn’t anyone teach you about personal space?” Suddenly Quinlan was there, pushing the mando’ad’s hand away from Obi-wan’s person.

He let out a shuddery breath and hid behind his friend, wanting a moment to think about what had just happened.

The mando’ad’s entire posture shifted from something that was inviting and careful to something far more deadly.

“Are you kaysh sar’cabur?” ‘Are you their flower protector?’ The warrior asked firmly.

Obi-wan frowned in confusion at the term. He had never heard it used before and had no idea what it could mean. His confusion was obvious to Quinlan who scoffed.

“I don’t speak Mando’a, I’ve got no idea what what means. But Obi-Ben is my friend.”

“Woah, alright there, I need you all to not start a fight inside my shop, alright? You can all take it outside.” The shop keep said, coming between them all. “Since your friend looks a bit too spooked to translate, the word sar’cabur means chaperone in Basic.”

Chaperone? Really? Why would he need a chaperone?

“Kenobi put a flower in their hair." The mando’ad said to the shop keep. “Ra vaabir gar sur’haiise nu’borarir?” ‘Or do your eyes not work?’

What? What did having a flower in his hair have to do with anything? He shared a look with Quinlan, who was looking a bit sheepishly at the ornament he’d put in Obi-wan’s hair that morning.

“If they and their chaperone both deny you then you will respect their decision. Gar kar'taylir ori’koor.” ‘You know the great contract.’

The mando’ad let out a huff. “…gar serim. Ni kar’taylir.” ‘…you’re right. I know.’ The mando’ad looked back at Obi-wan and lifted their hand to their chest plate, pressing it against where, presumably, their heart lay. “Ni ceta, Kenobi’ad.” ‘I kneel, child of Kenobi- a rare and almost groveling apology.’

His mouth felt dry but he could feel the sincerity swirling around the warrior in the force. Gently he placed his hand on Quin’s back and stepped in front of him so he could speak to the mando’ad face to face, so to speak. “Ni vorer.” ‘I accept.’ He said with a small nod.

Both the mando’ad and the shop keep relaxed, but Obi-wan still felt uncomfortable. So he nudged Quinlan in the Force, sending him a sense of urgency.

“Now that we know where we stand, I did want to buy that bracelet.” Quin said with a bright grin at the shop keeper. “My friend is going to go nuts over it.”

Following behind his friend he watched him buy a wide banded bracelet, curious as to what weapon could be hid inside it.

After thanking the shop keeper they made their way outside and he could feel when Quinlan’s eyes began to bore into his back. “I think I’m going to need an explanation for that one.” He said with a frown. “The free food was weird, but that mando hitting on you was just… what the kriff?”

Obi-wan flushed slightly, fidgeting in place. “I don’t know.” He admitted quietly. “There are a few things here that have me quite confused.” He sighed. “Like how you apparently picked out the exact colors for the Kenobi Clan, although why mando’ade know about a clan from Stewjon I have no idea. Or how this flower you placed in my hair is some kind of invitation, for what I am not quite sure.”

Quinlan winced and sent out a wave of apology in the force. “Well at least we know one thing.” He said as he rubbed the back of his neck. “I’m apparently your chaperone and that means that I can tell anyone who approaches you to kark off.” He looked down before looking back up into Obi-wan’s eyes. “Do you want to go home?” He asked, feeling concerned.

Obi-wan thought about it for a moment but eventually shook his head. “I’m not going to let this oddity make me run back home before I’m ready. You’ll just have to play the big scary bodyguard if someone tries to approach me for whatever reason.” He said with a small grin, brushing away his friend’s apology with affection.

Quinlan’s eyes hardened and he grinned. “Oh that’s all? Don’t sweat it then, I can do that.” He laughed brightly and pointed towards another shop. “So, want to give it another go before we wander back over to the food?”

Obi-wan smiled and nodded, before he saw the shop his friend had pointed to and gave Quinlan a disgruntled look.

The joyful laugh he received was more than worth it.

Chapter Text

Entering the next shop he was nearly floored by the beautiful fabrics that hung overhead. It was a veritable explosion of vibrant dyes in an array of patterns that drew the eyes yet were subtle enough not to cause any strain. The signage was entirely in Mando’a with some interesting variations to the characters he had never seen before. Something about them prickled the back of his mind but as Quinlan started wandering the aisles of pre-made clothing he had to turn his focus back to his surroundings.

“Look, Ben, they have some browns over here!” His best friend said cheerfully, a playful glint in his eyes.

Obi-wan rolled his eyes and let out a small sigh. He knew what his crechemates thought of his ‘traditional’ clothing choices. “Brown is a very distinguished and noble color and I won’t hear you saying anything to the contrary.” He quipped as he came over to look at the Mandalorian styled tunics. Unlike Jedi tunics which folded across the center of the chest most Mandalorian tunics were either pulled over the head and belted at the waist or were held together at the left. Either with buttons or an adhesive strip.

“You’re so boring, Ben.” Quin said with a laugh. “Why not live a little while you’re here? No harm done. You might even find an appreciation for fashion you never know you had.”

“My fashion sense is impeccable, thank you, it’s not my fault I never get to show it off.” He quipped back as a lush dark green vest caught his attention. Looking closer he could see a lighter shade of green stitching in a delicate leaf pattern along the edges, small blue flowers here and there making it look as if it had a far more simple dotted line pattern from a distance. Odd, he had been fairly certain Mandalore didn’t have that kind of stitchery. From what he remembered Mandalorians preferred to weave subtle patterns into their fabrics, rather than spend time stitching intricate patterns onto them.

Then again this was Kih’keldabe, not Mandalore. There were sure to be subtle differences in culture. Especially since Coruscant had a much wider range of resources than Mandalore.

“Ooo, Ben! Look at this!” Pulling out a cream colored tunic, the kind that was pulled over the head and belted at the waist, Quinlan held it up so he could see the pattern painstakingly woven into the fabric. From where he was standing he could barely make out the white threads as they interlocked in an intricate design that brought bones to mind. While the dark red around the collar, sleeves, and hem somehow felt ancient.

Ancient and familiar.

“That is… beautiful, Que.” He breathed as he stepped up next to his friend to examine the fabric more closely. “I wonder how it was made.” The pattern itself was clearly the work of a master artisan. Reaching out he gently ran his fingers over the subtle bone pattern and shivered at an echo of feeling from the fabric. Something that was not the Force.

Quinlan looked him in the eye and pulled the garment away in a manner that appeared to be natural. “Same! I bet it took forever. You can tell that it’s hand-made. But I don’t think it’d look good on your pasty ass.”

Letting out a faux sound of offense he swatted at his friend’s shoulder, even as he sent warmth down their bond. Others might assume Quinlan was tactless, thoughtless, and too carefree for his own good, but Obi-wan knew that it was a front for just how deeply Quin could feel others pain. He was a very empathic and kind person.

Walking down the aisle further he spotted a rich dark purple amongst a colorful array of hanging waist sashes. Reaching out he let the soft fabric slide over his hand, enjoying the fruit and drink glass pattern woven into it with an even darker purple that was nearly black.

“I see you’ve found some of our shops treasures.” A voice came from behind him and he stiffened in surprise. Turning he looked down at an elderly Lannik. They smiled kindly up at him, their long ears twitching slightly. “They’re from the Sasar’bur’viin region of the southern continent.”

Obi-wan smiled in return, if only because the Lannik elder’s excitement and good cheer felt so contagious. “Oh? And what about this one?” He held up a pale orange that made him think of a quiet sunrise, the weave patterned to look like waves reminiscent of water or sand.

The Lannik eyed him carefully. “Perseverance, a good color. It comes from the Obe’shuusad region.” Their tone was light but their eyes bore into him curiously. “Vaii gar teh? Ste’wouni me’suum?” ‘Where are you from? Planet Stewjon?’ The word used for his planet of birth was one he’d heard before. It seemed to be some kind of slight dialect shift yet no matter where he looked he could not figure out why Mando’a would have a different word for his planet. Coruscant was just Coruscanta no matter which dialect. The same with Corellia, Alderaan, and other worlds. Yet there were two ways to say Stewjon.

It was very curious.

“Lek, ni’cuy Stewjoni’ad.” ‘Yes, I am Stewjoni.’ He said honestly.

The Lannik elder’s ears twitched and a small frown came to their face. They had a similar feeling of concern for him that the gi’rugam stall owner had yet Obi-wan couldn’t understand why. “Ne ru’tion.” ‘That is not what I asked.’

Before he could ask for clarification the door to the shop opened and someone in black armor walked inside, helmet on a swivel as they looked around. “Ruug’la Siri Belle, ru’vaabir susulur?” ‘Old Siri Belle, did you hear?’ They asked in a low growl through their vocoder.

As they walked closer, or maybe ‘stalked’ would be a better word for it, he could see that their armor wasn’t actually black. It was made up of multiple dark blues yet because of the disruptive pattern it came across as the warrior blending in with the slight shadows around them. Their large stature and broad chest made them very imposing yet the force only bubbled with amusement.

“Ne ruug’la, mir’sheb! Susulur meg?” ‘I’m not old, smartass! Hear what?’ The elder Lannik called back.

The mando’ad came further into the shop, chuckling. “Obi’ad cuyir olar. Val’cuy Obe’kaya.” ‘A child of Obi is here. They’re a…’  The last word was lost on him entirely. But that was probably because of the sheer panic that jolted through his body at hearing his own name repeated once more by a random mando’ad.

Once could be explained by coincidence, like the mando’ad being particularly interested in Stewjoni clan colors. Twice was a concern, since it meant that there was some significance to his name and appearance.

As he was listening to the Lannik and the warrior talk he felt Quinlan inching closer behind him. His force presence reached out and enveloped Obi-wan, making him feel a slight chill as he was pulled into Quinlan’s shadows. Calmly he backed away from the mando’ad and the shop keeper.

By the time they were outside Quinlan was looking concerned and Obi-wan was ready to move on.

Placing a hand on his back Quinlan spoke quietly next to him. “Obes, what happened? Things were going fine then you suddenly panicked.”

He shook his head. “I don’t know. I… can we just go back to the food stalls? We can grab a couple more things and my spices then return to the- home. Return home.”

Quinlan’s eyes narrowed slightly even as his force presence slowly receded. He knew that there was something Obi-wan wasn’t telling him but he could tell it was a sensitive topic and didn’t want to pry. “Okay, Obes. But if something else happens we’re retreating. We don’t have any back up down here if something goes sideways.”

Obi-wan smiled at his friend. Mischievous prankster and rule-breaker he might be, but he was also well trained and responsible under all that false cockiness. “We’ll just grab the food and spices then be off. I promise. If something else happens we’ll leave immediately. Or… or call Tholme for help.”

Quinlan grimaced but nodded in understanding. If they got into trouble they couldn’t get out of on their own they would call his master. “So! Where to next? So far you’ve made me eat some deep fried fish and that abomination made of syrup. I thought this was supposed to be a spice challenge?”

Obi-wan grinned. “Oh, I’ll give you a challenge.”

Moving back to the food vendors Obi-wan stood there with his hands on his hips as he eyed the rest of the stalls. Delicious smells wafted on the mild breeze and he quickly made his decision. Striding over to a stall with a fairly long line he gave his friend an amused grin. “Are you sure you still want to try authentic Mando food and spices? Last chance to back out. Because after this the gloves are off.”

Quin snorted at him and crossed his arms over his chest, which pulled at his sleeves and showed a faint outline of the knife sheath on his upper arm. Obi-wan could see the mando’ad behind them eyeing the faint outline with interest, nudging the being next to them. “There’s no way I’m backing out now, Ben.”

Obi-wan smirked. “You’re going to eat those words.” He warned ominously, ignoring how the mando’ad’s attention shifted towards him and the flower accessory in his hair.

When the line moved and they made it to the stall owner he quickly made his order, and ignored how uncomfortable it was once again to have someone hand him things for free. But he just smiled, thanked the vendor, and quickly nudged Quinlan to go stand beside a nearby fountain with him.

“So what’re these? At least tell me what I’m about to shove into my mouth.” Quin said with a mischievous grin.

Obi-wan shook his head, sighing fondly at his friend. The paper tray he held up was filled with small lumps of brown and dark green beneath a thick layer of cheese. “Haili vorpan’oye. The translation is closer to ‘filled vegetation’ but the meaning is ‘stuffed vegetables.’ These in particular appear to be mushroom caps and peppers.” Picking one up of the mushrooms with the eating stick he blew on it gently before popping the whole thing in his mouth.

It was a riot of color. There were small pieces of chili amongst the grains and well cooked pieces of shatual meat. The cheese added a refreshingly mild sour tang to the whole thing. Eating one of the peppers next he closed his eyes and just let himself enjoy the mix of pepper, spice, and cheese.

Next to him Quinlan let out a small cough. Opening his eyes he glanced at his friend and noticed that there was a faint flush to his darker skin.

“Are you alright, Que? You’re looking a little overwhelmed over there.” He said with a chuckle.

“M’fine, Obes. Just wasn’t expecting the…” he struggled momentarily for the word, “peppery-ness to be so strong.”

Obi-wan snorted. “That’s not even a word, Que.”

Quinlan shrugged unrepentantly. “Who cares as long as it works?” He said with a winning smile and a spark of amusement in the force.

He rolled his eyes and popped another mushroom in his mouth. Standing near the fountain he listened to the sounds around him and felt a sudden sense of homesickness. He wasn’t quite sure where the feeling came from but he knew it had to do with the smells and sounds around him. Even during the mission to Mandalore there had been a sense of deja vu. He could swear there was something at the edges of his mind just waiting to click into place and force everything to make sense.

But the more he focused on it, the more of a headache he got. And his meditation on it had always been interrupted. So he usually just let it go into the force, though the echo left behind always felt a little sad.

“You okay, Ben?”

Snapping out of his musing he smiled at his best friend. “Yes, just lost in thought I suppose.”

Quinlan eyed him for a moment before nodding, his voice dropping low. “Yeah, I felt that…” His friend quieted for a moment, a feeling of hard determination swelling in the force around them. “Let’s make sure this is the best visit. And if you ever need to come here again you just let me know. Or you point out what stuff you like and I’ll come here and get it for you myself. You can keep it in my room too, that way your- Jinn won’t find out.”

Some of the unease he was feeling evaporated with the declaration of support and he smiled brightly. “Thank you, Que.” He looked down at their trays and snorted. “But that doesn’t mean I’m not going to gloat if you can’t finish that tray. This isn’t even considered spicy by Mandalorian standards.”

Quinlan let out a huff and shoved another pepper in his mouth. “Whoo, that stuff really clears out the sinuses.”

Obi-wan laughed. “You haven’t tried anything yet. Just wait until it singes the hairs in your nose off.”

Quinlan chuckled, until he realized that Obi-wan was being entirely serious. “Wait… you’re joking, right Ben?”

Obi-wan just cackled as he walked over to drop his disposable tray and eating utensil into the garbage bin nearby.

Chapter Text

Time for another "Why did you stop writing that fanfic?" This time it's Olarom Yaim.

Why did I stop writing it?

You can only be called a Racist so many times before you give the fuck up.

"Why were you called a Racist?"

Because this fanfic features Mandalorians being nice to Obi-wan, who speaks Mando'a and is recognized as one of them. But are wary of Quinlan, who cannot speak Mando'a and is walking around with Obi-wan. And also has hidden weapons on his person.

In this series Stewjonians are considered a part of the Mandalorian Empire. A protected group that any Mandalorian Warrior would want to help and watch over. On top of that Obi-wan is wearing the colors of a Scion of House Kenobi, who are well known and well respected.

I was giving Quinlan the respect he deserves as someone competent and dangerous. If a Mandalorian considers you Dangerous, then they are giving you a Compliment. They are a Warrior Culture. Quinlan is also very obviously not a Stewjonian or a Mandalorian. Something they can sense through the Manda or the Force.

But Quinlan has dark skin so this immediately makes me a Racist, according to some people.

Ignoring that a lot of Mandalorians also have darker skin, including a lot of my own personal OCs. And ignoring that in canon Quinlan was such a badass he survived both Falling to the darkside and the Clone Wars. Or the fact that I personally write him as Obi-wan's older brother figure who has a mutual relationship of care, affection, and respect.

Being harassed got very old very quickly. I even had to leave an entire Discord Server because I was being stalked and harried in every single conversation. I was given no recourse, no moment to catch my breath, no moment to explain that this was clearly a misunderstanding.

So now the fic, that was meant to be a fun exploration of Mandalorian culture headcanons with Obi-wan and Quinlan, sits here. 2-3 chapters away from being finished. And I refuse to even look at it right now because of the anxiety it brings me.

I am thinking of bringing this back in the New Year. But we'll have to see where my stress levels are at in a month or two.

Thank you all for reading and enjoying this series with me. This fic isn't quite abandoned, but I just can't work on it yet. Stay safe out there and I hope you all have a good New Year.

Chapter Text

Walking further into the organized chaos of the food stalls Obi-wan let his nose lead him to their next target. The stall was set up with a flat grill and a Zabrak, with dark tan skin and golden blonde hair that was pulled back into a braid, stood behind it. Some of it had come loose and was curled around their horns, sticky due to the heat of the grill. Wielding two spatulas they quickly flicked their wrists to turn over a bunch of chopped meat, ensuring that it didn’t burn. Setting a domed lid over top of it they turned to give him and Quinlan a wide smile.

“Olarom! Mayen gar copaani!” ‘Welcome! Anything you want!’ The offer was as obvious as it was sincere and it made Obi-wan once more question how anyone could think all Mando’ade were greedy brutes who only wanted credits and to do violence. He’d always found them to be generous and kind, in their own gruff way.

Reading the small sign the vendor had hanging behind them he looked over the options and quickly spied what he wanted. “Solus ori’skraan, nerf bal vorpan’oye bat nadi’shun. Majyc draluram, gedet’ye.” ‘One large order with nerf and vegetables over noodles. Extra flavor, please.’

The Zabrak glanced at Quinlan, who was leaning over his shoulder watching their hands, and grinned. “Pare sol!” ‘Wait a moment.’

“So… what’s this then?” Quin asked, seeming fascinated by how quickly and cleanly the mando’ad was able to scoop up the cooked meat and deposit it on a plate with plain grains. They topped it with a dark reddish brown sauce before hitting a bell on the counter.

“Shatual bat neral!” 'Shatual on grains!' They called out, nearly startling Quin with how their voice traveled over the din of the market. Dropping the spatulas into a small machine on their way to another counter the Zabrak pulled out a new knife. Chopping up some vegetables separately they sprinkled a little salt over them before grabbing a bottle and pouring a pale brown liquid onto the grill. Using a metal brush they quickly scraped the flat top before switching to a very thick looking cloth. With a couple swift wipes of the cloth the black gunk that had been on the grill was gone. The mando’ad wiped most of the gunk off into a trash bin before tossing the cloth into a separate washing machine.

“Ben!” Quin poked him in the side to catch his attention and he flinched. “So what is this then?”

Obi-wan let out an amused huff. “It’s handmade flour noodles with meat and vegetables, topped with a flavorful sweet and spicy sauce. I ordered us some nerf. The vegetables include cabbage, peppers, spinach, carrot, onion, and mushrooms. The sauce tends to have garlic, sugar, toasted seeds, and fermented soy paste, along with whichever spices their personal Clan uses for such recipes.” He explained simply.

“So… depending on who you buy it from you might get a completely different flavor?” Quin asked as the Zabrak started cooking the vegetables separately. “Wouldn’t it be faster to cook those together?”

The Zabrak laughed. “Could do, if y’were being lazy. But the taste’d be wrong.” While the vegetables were cooking they oiled the flat top once more and tossed the nerf on the grill.

“There you go. A recipe just for you, lazybones.” He teased, grinning at his friend.

“Psh, not having the time to do something doesn’t make you lazy. Just busy!” Quin retorted, grinning back at him.

The Zabrak chuckled. “Or a poor planner! If y’don’t have the time it means y’didn’t plan well enough!” They poured something over the nerf meat and dropped the dome on top to let it simmer. Then they moved over to a stove nearby and dropped a dried ball of noodles into a boiling pot of liquid. It was discolored so Obi-wan assumed it was a broth, rather than just water. It didn’t take any time at all for the noodles to be pulled out, strained, and arranged in a shallow bowl-like dish. On top went the vegetables and a moment later the nerf meat. With a quick drizzle of sauce the meal was done and being set down on the counter.

“Vor’entye par skraan.” ‘Thank you for the food.’ He said cheerfully to the vendor as he grabbed two sets of eating sticks.

“Just be sure t’bring back the dish, lek?” 'Yeah?' The vendor said with a smile.

“Elek.” ‘Yes.’ Picking up the dish he and Quinlan found a bench nearby.

Taking his eating sticks Quinlan looked around in interest. “I noticed that there are a lot of places to sit down, but there’s not a lot of beings actually using the seats.” It was an interesting observation. One that Obi-wan wouldn’t have noted since he was already partially immersed in the culture.

“Oh, the seats are often rest spots for the elderly, those with small children, or those with injuries. It’s not rude to use them for a while, but it is very rude to not offer your seat if you see someone else who needs it. Most adult verde, warriors, will either eat while walking or standing. Some even feel more comfortable eating while standing guard over the seated areas, to ensure that anyone who needs help will have it.” He paused, thinking about it for a moment. “I don’t think it’s a duty given to any one being, so much as a collective choice to safeguard the more vulnerable of the Mando’ade. Mando’ade love children fiercely and deeply respect their elders. They are also very accepting and understanding of those who have injuries or who were born with difficulties. They may seem aggressive to outsiders, but when you are inside their circle it feels… warm. Safe.”

Quinlan watched him quietly for a moment, a familiar feeling of affection and care echoing down the bond between them. “I think I get what you mean. It’s like… whenever one of us gets in trouble with some Bigwig,” he gave Obi-wan a pointed look, “and the Elders,” another look, “make sure that we won’t be badly affected by it. They’re always looking out for us, even if they are all stiff shirts most of the time.”

Obi-wan was in the middle of taking a bite of noodles when he laughed unexpectedly and began to choke. “Que!” He coughed, wincing slightly when Quinlan slapped his back a few times to help him clear his airways. When he could finally breathe again he glared at his friend before letting out an amused huff. “You have terrible timing. Stiff shirts indeed.”

Quinlan grinned at him, even under the glare, until finally Obi-wan broke and chuckled in response. “Now that I’ve made myself look like I can’t handle spices, thanks to you, I want to see what you think. The vendor is watching to see your reaction.” Or they might be watching Obi-wan, he’d felt a small spark of concern from the beings around the bench he and Quin were sitting on. But no one had come over to bother them. Whatever etiquette surrounded this whole courtship thing might have included not bothering him when he was having a meal. At least, that’s what he’d observed so far.

Shrugging Quinlan gathered up some noodles, a little bit of the nerf meat, and some vegetables. It wasn’t a large bite, but he wasn’t skimping either. His friend may had been a prankster but he always took their dares seriously. He never did the bare minimum, it went against his strange sort of honor code.

Taking the bite he began to chew and immediately frowned. But not in anger or frustration, more as if he was thinking about the textures and flavor mingling in his mouth. A moment later his eyes shot wide and he swallowed. “Force!” He breathed out. “I think I can literally feel the heat as it’s going down my throat!” He coughed slightly. “It shouldn’t have a flavor, just burning, but it’s really good?” He sounded pleasantly surprised.

“A lot of Mando cuisine is an acquired taste, but once you’re used to it there is a depth of flavor to it that is unforgettable.” Obi-wan said with a bright smile. Taking another bite he sat with the flavors for a moment, letting the spice mingle on his tongue before chewing. The texture of the noodles was firm and springy, the vegetables were lightly crisped on the edges but cooked through in the center, while the nerf meat was juicy and easy to bite through. The mix of bitter, smoky, nutty, and sweet were a great counterpoint to the sharp pungent heat of the spices.

“Unforgettable is right. I think I’m going to have to bill you for my visit with Bant later.” He joked, avoiding any mention of the Halls of Healing in the temple.

“Don’t be ridiculous, Que, she wouldn’t bill you. She would just report you to the Chief Medic and have you put on a bland diet of ‘healthy’ foods.” He said with an innocent smile.

“Ugh, don’t even!” Quin flapped a hand at him playfully. “That look doesn’t work on me, you know!” Taking another bite of the noodles he seemed to be doing better the second time around, now that he knew what to expect.

“What look? This one?” Widening his eyes he stuck out his lip slightly, tilting his chin down and looking at Quinlan through his lashes.

“No! No, not the sad tooka look! C’mon, Obi, that’s just cheating!” He said with a laugh, pretending to put his hand in front of his face so he didn’t have to see it.

Obi-wan dropped the look with a chuckle and took another bite of the noodles. “Manda, I’ve missed these.” He said, feeling a little nostalgic without understanding why. “I wonder what clan kaysh are from?” Something about the spice mix was vaguely familiar.

“Hey Ben, you realize you’re slipping into Mando’a a lot more?” Quin said with a curious look, grabbing more noodles that hadn’t been touched by sauce. Oh well, more flavor for Obi-wan to enjoy.

“I… hadn’t. But to be fair it’s difficult not to. I can hear it all around us and it just feels… right.” Something warm inside his chest was whispering to him, telling him that he belonged here. Amongst the warriors in their iron-skin and their star bright souls. With the sounds of laughter, rowdy arguments, and parents calling for their children. Surrounded by the scent of spices and the colorful banners swaying in the wind caused by many passersby.

Sucking in a breath Quinaln watched him, barely daring to move, as he seemed to look into him, rather than at him. “I… think I can kind of feel that. But it’s not… you know.” Whatever it was, it wasn’t the Force.

And that was what scared him.

There was a nudge against their minds from somewhere around them and both of them startled slightly. Someone nearby was feeling them out in the Force! Quickly both of them pulled their presence inward and shored up their shields, like they had been taught. After a moment the probing presence vanished, seemingly content that they were not a threat.

“That was-”

“Weird, yeah.” Shaking his head Quin poked at the noodles again. “I think I’m done, for now. You sure you can finish all that?”

“Yes.” Even if he couldn’t he wouldn't have said no. After going without food on missions before he’d learned to never waste anything given to him. Even if he maybe pushed his system a little harder than usual trying to digest it faster than he should. Thankfully there were only a couple bites left and he didn’t feel like finishing it would be too much to handle.

A few bites later and the two of them were heading back to the vendor.

“So, what did you think, ad?” The Zabrak asked, looking directly at Quin with an amused twinkle in their eye.

“It was great! Really strong flavor profile.” He said with a grin as he set the shallow bowl in a rack beside the vendor’s booth. It looked like it fed directly into the dishwasher so the vendor didn’t have to worry about cleaning as much.

That was exactly the right kind of compliment to endear Quin to any Mando’ad chef. As much as he gave his friend grief for sticking his foot in his mouth occasionally, he was actually very observant and tactful. When he wanted to be.

“Hah, trying to get yourself picked up by a clan? Mird’ad.” ‘Clever kid.’ They said with a chuckle. “Bal gar Ste’wouni’ad? Ru’jate? Draluram?” ‘And you Stewjonian? Was it good? Flavorful?’

“Ori’draluarm.” ‘Very flavorful.’ He agreed, smiling. “Meg cuy gar aliit?” ‘Who is your clan?’

The vendor looked surprised for a moment before frowning slightly. “Kar’ang.” They motioned toward the banner hanging from the stall as if he should have recognized it.

“Oh! Yes, I remember! No wonder the spices tasted so familiar!” He smiled. “The Kar’ang were very kind to me when I was traveling. They offered to share their hearth and their meal with us.” It was a fond memory. The elder Zabrak and Twi’lek couple had taken one look at the two exhausted teenagers trudging past their farm and immediately invited them inside. It had been the first break they’d had in months. “Vercopa jate waadas par gar aliit!” ‘I wish good fortune for your clan.’ He said earnestly.

The Zabrak vendor looked stunned for a moment before giving him a reassuring smile. “Vor’entye, Ste’wouni’ad. Manda ven ja'haili gar.” ‘Thank you, Stewjonian. Manda watch over you.'

“Bal gar.” ‘And you.’

Nudging Quinlan, who had gone quiet during the exchange, he pointed down the street a ways before setting off. His friend followed closely at his side, eyes on everything around them while Obi-wan took a moment to get his emotions under control. While he was grateful for the vendor’s words, and the reminder of the kind couple, it also brought back feelings of desperation and helplessness.

“Obi, we should head back soon.” Quinlan warned, sounding firm but also bleeding concern into the Force.

“Just… one moment.” He asked quietly. Taking some deep breaths to quell the panic he brought himself back to a calm center before opening his eyes. He hadn’t even realized he’d closed them. “I’m alright, Que. Thank you.” Looking down the street he saw a shop and brightened. “Only a couple more stops, then I promise we’ll return home.” He pointed at the sign which had a mortar and pestle on it. “But not before I get my spices.”

Quin snorted. “Fine, have it your way. But one more ‘incident’ and I’m dragging you out of here. No ifs, ands, or buts.”

Obi-wan smiled as if butter wouldn’t melt on his tongue. “Of course.”

Quinlan snorted. “Smartass.”

Looking at each other for a moment they both burst into laughter. Snickering and shoving each other playfully they headed toward the shop that boasted a variety of off-world spices.