Rivalry is the life of trade, and the death of the trader.
I signed up for Anakin/Ferus over at 1sentence. It’s a minor pairing, I s’pose, but I love it muchly. The rules of the community are simple: one sentence ‘stories’ (no more, no less) are written for fifty different one-word prompts (I used the Alpha list, because it was first); the point, I suppose, being that if you thought 100-word drabbles were difficult, you ain’t seen nothing yet.
This runs the gamut from angst to humor to romance and back again, though flagrant abuse of semi-colons and other ways to beef up how much one can possibly stick in front of a single period is pretty constant throughout. Contains various spoilers for the movies, as well as the Jedi Quest and Last of the Jedi book series by Jude Watson. Rated everywhere from G to a very soft R, just to be on the safe side.
*
Tableau
*
Comfort.
It’s an alien feeling, watching Anakin’s shoulders shake with suppressed tears, and part of Ferus is shocked at the younger Padawan’s vulnerability; his trademark detached concern quickly takes over, however, and he reaches out to clasp Anakin’s arm in a (hopefully) comforting gesture.
Kiss.
There’s nothing soft or gentle about Anakin’s lips mashing against his, their teeth clicking together slightly as the younger boy’s tongue seeks entrance into his mouth, but Ferus would be lying if he said it wasn’t nice, just the same.
Soft.
The fall to the cold earth is anything but soft, and Ferus mentally chides himself for his inability to foresee the battle droid maneuvering him into a corner like it did; Anakin’s hands, conversely, are gentle, almost shockingly so, as nimble fingers dress the wound on Ferus’ leg.
Pain.
As a Jedi, he knows physical pain intimately, as a means of accepting his mortality and building on his limits; but Ferus Olin does not truly understand emotional numbness or heartache - that which Anakin would speak of sometimes in hushed tones - until he leaves the Order for good.
Potatoes.
“You can stop flinging your waste onto my side of the counter,” Anakin retorts cattily as another of his potato peelings lands wetly against Ferus’ cheek; the older Padawan just sighs and bites his tongue, not wanting an extended punishment for the very reason the initial reprimand was doled out in the first place.
Rain.
Soaking with rainwater and dappled with mud from helping Obi-Wan and Siri secure suitable shelter during the storm, Anakin is delighted to see that even Ferus Olin has the ability to appear disheveled sometimes.
Chocolate.
“These are due back in a week’s time,” Ferus says in the disapproving, Masterly manner that Anakin has become far too used to with Obi-Wan; annoyed, he plucks a chocolate from the glass dish atop the circulation desk in the Archives, unwrapping it slowly, purposefully leaving both the covering and sticky fingerprints on the newly-polished surface.
Happiness.
Their Masters are near the back of the ship talking strategy and Ferus decides to stretch his legs a bit, and that’s when he stumbles upon Anakin at the helm; his face is etched with an expression of such delirious bliss that Ferus feels guilty afterwards, as if he’d trespassed on a sacred ritual.
Telephone.
Their restless trekking through murky swamplands is interrupted by the beeping of Obi-Wan’s communicator; Anakin’s eyes narrow at the translucent holoimage of Ferus, recounting his and Siri’s own progress and requesting that “you and your Padawan meets up with us, Master Kenobi”, as if he were more than just an apprentice himself.
Ears.
They bed down together, the unfamiliar surroundings too dark at night and their respective Masters too far away for either Padawan to feel comfortable moving further; the shelter was barely made for one, and they squeeze together for warmth, Ferus cursing Anakin for falling asleep, breathing loudly in his ear.
Name.
He’d always felt rather apathetic about his name, considering it an unnecessary trace to his birth family and a life he could have lived; that is, until Ferus heard Anakin utter his title for the first time, his mouth curving into a soft smirk as the syllables danced lazily off his tongue.
Sensual.
It’s a disturbing enough plan as it is, four Jedi posing as space criminals in order to foil an even more nefarious plot on the planet Romin, but the biggest shock comes the first time Ferus spots his Master across the room, fully in character as she giggles flirtatiously and cradles a nobleman’s arm as if it’s a precious jewel; beside him, Anakin sniggers behind his own costume mask.
Death.
He’s not technically a Jedi when Order 66 comes to pass, is not even fully coherent of exactly what has transpired; all he knows is there’s a deep void in the Force, in his very soul, and a growing darkness that feels, somehow, strangely familiar.
Sex.
Strange, muffled noises are what draw him to the spare study carrel in the most deserted section of the Archives; Anakin makes eye contact suddenly, mockingly, and Ferus feels compelled to watch the younger boy’s face as orgasm hits.
Touch.
The hand on his shoulder is cold, and Ferus spins around defensively, his wariness edging away to annoyance when he finds Anakin grinning mischievously at him, a ball of snow packed in his fist.
Weakness.
Anakin lays silently on his stomach as Ferus swabs the wound on his lower back with bacta; he knows from experience how painful such an injury can be, but Anakin does not complain - is more frightened, perhaps, of appearing weak than of his own mortality.
Tears.
The first time and only time Ferus sees Anakin Skywalker cry, it’s aboard the rescue ship after a particularly perilous mission; Anakin sits dutifully by his injured Master’s side, both of his hands clasping one of Obi-Wan’s, his face wet with silent tears.
Speed.
Obi-Wan watches the small, two-seater ship rise quickly into the air, higher and higher before diving down with artful recklessness, and then picking itself up at the last possible moment; he smiles in spite of himself, knowing that Anakin is at the helm, and Ferus is undoubtedly grasping the safety bar above the passenger side door for dear life.
Wind.
A sandstorm punctuated by heavy gusts of wind saturates the mid-rim planet they’ve been sent to; Ferus concentrates on becoming one with the weather as they walk to find shelter, trying just as hard to release his envy at the ease with which Anakin seems accustomed to the harsh, gritty atmosphere.
Freedom.
The first thing he feels upon leaving the Jedi Order is a sense of relief, the notion that he can go anywhere and do anything without anyone’s permission or blessing; the feeling is muted when he realizes that being a civilian is an imprisonment of a different sort, full of uncertainty about just how well his Force abilities could be honed, if only he hadn’t given up.
Life.
Nearly six standard years since he’d last held a lightsaber, and it still felt like a familiar friend as it buzzed to life; and despite the heavy pallor of death that permeated everything Ferus Olin had ever known, he couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt so alive.
Jealousy.
Ferus stands resolutely in front of the Jedi Council, focusing on not letting the pride he feels at being complimented by Mace Windu go to his head; to his right, partially obscured by the slight, firm frame of Master Kenobi, Anakin, unacknowledged, frowns darkly.
Hands.
Anakin’s fingers are a blur as he tinkers with a dilapidated droid that looks as if it was found in a junk heap; through the Force, Ferus feels a humming calm, a peacefulness he never knew existed within the other boy, and allows himself to savor it.
Taste.
They’re stuck on fresher duty when Anakin presses him flush against the wall and plants one on him; his mouth is cold and tastes fresh from the water he just drank, and Ferus finds it rather easy to simply give in and kiss him back.
Devotion.
For all his doubt as to Anakin’s commitment to the Order, Ferus knows he would have to be blind, deaf and dumb not to realize that Anakin’s devotion to his Master is absolute.
Forever.
Ferus’ concept of forever changes the day he leaves the Order, his shoulder brushing Anakin’s as he exits the Council Chambers for the last time; it is not until he returns, at a time when it is no longer honorable to be a Jedi that he realizes in his heart that he never really left.
Blood.
The duel is meant to be a mere training exercise, but the longer Ferus blocks Anakin’s jabs, meeting well-placed parries and lightsaber maneuvers with his own, the more he realizes that for Anakin, this is not a game; a slice into the arm of his tunic makes him stagger a little, blood darkening his sleeve, and the younger boy smiles.
Sickness.
It is not possible, Ferus thinks, for so many Jedi to have died at the hands of the newly-crowned Sith Emperor, for such hatred and mistrust of the Order to have spread across the galaxy like a plague; and then he meets the Emperor’s henchman, the hulking black monstrosity swirling with Force energy, and his worst fears are confirmed.
Melody.
Ferus’s gasps are like sweet music, his sighs and moans a melody of lust and yearning and sheer, animalistic need, and Anakin decides he will do anything to keep the song pouring forth.
Star.
It is never difficult to seek Anakin out through the Force; even though all senior Padawans are adept at shielding themselves when the situation warrants, and despite the fact that Ferus has never known the other boy particularly well, Anakin’s aura is bursting and bright, a comet streaking through a sky full of stars.
Home.
“I don’t like this place, Master Obi-Wan - it’s cold and weird and doesn’t feel like home” a small, petulant voice simpers; Ferus stares at the retreating back of Anakin Skywalker, and wonders how someone so utterly young could possibly be the Chosen One.
Confusion.
If it confuses Ferus the first time Anakin uses his close proximity during a heated argument to shove their mouths together and his hand down the older boy’s pants, it outright bewilders him that he doesn’t immediately take the rational high-ground as per usual and push him away.
Fear.
Obi-Wan is felled by a stray blast during an inconsequential battle during a joint mission; he slides heavily to the ground clutching his side, and Ferus sees real fear on Anakin’s face for the first time.
Thunder & Lightning.
Ferus has always secretly likened Anakin to weather on the turbulent planet Mavin - a thunderous temper, with lightsaber skills as sleek and murderously quiet as streaks of lightning in the constantly stormy Mavarian sky.
Bonds.
The small army of droidekas take the team of Padawans by surprise, and they find themselves quickly overpowered; Ferus stares at Anakin’s tense back muscles and bound hands as they’re marched single-file down a lengthy corridor, and tells himself to stay calm.
Market.
The apples at the small market fruit stand are red and delicious looking, especially to someone subsisting on energy bars for the past three days; instead of a fistful of fruit, however, Ferus startles to feel his hand close around Anakin’s retreating wrist.
Technology.
Ferus is used to being in top form in all of his classes, a simple acknowledgment that he feels neither pride nor shame about; but it’s envy that sideswipes him, a bout of jealousy that Anakin’s technological know-how far surpasses his, and try as he might, he can’t quite release the strange emotion into the Force like all the rest.
Gift.
Ferus is collecting a spare part for a droid from the Temple’s metal shop when he comes upon ten-year-old Anakin Skywalker, tinkering with his own droid; “it’s a present for my Master,” Anakin tells him, and Ferus thinks he seems extraordinarily lonely when he says this.
Smile.
Ferus rarely sees Anakin genuinely smile, is unsure that the younger boy is even capable of doing so; then he overhears Master Kenobi mention briefly a recent correspondence with Naboo, a mid-rim world that the Jedi apparently aided during a period of political unrest, and the grin on Anakin’s face could stretch across two galaxies.
Innocence.
Darra’s first official mission is Ferus’ ninth or tenth; he takes stock of her wide eyes, eager and naïve and not yet jaded by the reality of their calling, and when he meets Anakin’s gaze briefly, he knows they are thinking the same thing.
Completion.
“C’mon, Ferus,” Anakin says, a mischievous smirk plastered across his face as he strokes the other boy to completion; “come for me.”
Clouds.
Ferus is as curious as any other Padawan about the nature of Anakin Skywalker’s mysterious arrival at the Temple, and in spite of himself, is eager to hear what he has to say; “it’s like a city built in the clouds!” the young boy exclaims when prompted by a classmate about his first impression of Coruscant, and Ferus laughs lightly along with everyone else.
Sky.
The night sky darkens the view through the Temple’s clear vaulted ceilings, setting everything in a soft blue haze; Ferus spots Anakin perched on a ledge on the Room of a Thousand Fountains, and wonders how often it is that he can’t sleep.
Heaven.
He knows he should be indignant at having been drugged, controlled, but Anakin finds that when he’s in the Zone, all the anger and pain and sheer emotion he’s used to feeling is alleviated, all worry about Ferus or the Council or Master Obi-Wan’s opinion gone; this, he decides, is Heaven.
Hell.
Consciousness returns with a flurry of images: memories of his friends, his mother; an insignificant squabble with Ferus, talking about ship mechanics with Tru; fighting with Obi-Wan, on numerous occasions; Padme; then he hears the machine on his chest breathe for him for the first time, and he knows that this is Hell.
Sun.
The first vestiges of dawn cause Ferus to stir, his joints popping slightly as he pushes himself into a sitting position against the unforgiving ground of the cave; he’s startled to see that Anakin is already awake, streaks of sunlight illuminating his face in an almost angelic glow.
Moon.
The game is initially a corral of vaguely embarrassing testimonies and confessions, but then Anakin gets dared to moon Master Windu, and things really begin to heat up; “Olin,” he says with a smirk, “truth or dare?”
Waves.
The oceans of Owana are large crystalline affairs, small waves cresting slowly against the shore; Ferus watches Anakin wade in up to his thighs, and wonders idly how the Tatooine-born boy ever learned to swim.
Hair.
Anakin is sleeping soundly before Ferus even works up the nerve to stroke his hair; the top is bristly to the touch, cut in the traditional style of a Padawan learner, and the braid trails idly down his arm, decorated with beads signifying his various accomplishments; Ferus wonders absently if Anakin will ever let it grow out.
Supernova.
He’s sitting in prison, waiting to be brilliantly rescued or, more likely, for Malorum to return and sentence him to death, when the truth hits him like a supernova: Anakin Skywalker is Darth Vader; something inside of him explodes, and then the cell door opens.
*
Cross-posted to 1sentence. Feedback welcome!
This runs the gamut from angst to humor to romance and back again, though flagrant abuse of semi-colons and other ways to beef up how much one can possibly stick in front of a single period is pretty constant throughout. Contains various spoilers for the movies, as well as the Jedi Quest and Last of the Jedi book series by Jude Watson. Rated everywhere from G to a very soft R, just to be on the safe side.
*
Tableau
*
Comfort.
It’s an alien feeling, watching Anakin’s shoulders shake with suppressed tears, and part of Ferus is shocked at the younger Padawan’s vulnerability; his trademark detached concern quickly takes over, however, and he reaches out to clasp Anakin’s arm in a (hopefully) comforting gesture.
Kiss.
There’s nothing soft or gentle about Anakin’s lips mashing against his, their teeth clicking together slightly as the younger boy’s tongue seeks entrance into his mouth, but Ferus would be lying if he said it wasn’t nice, just the same.
Soft.
The fall to the cold earth is anything but soft, and Ferus mentally chides himself for his inability to foresee the battle droid maneuvering him into a corner like it did; Anakin’s hands, conversely, are gentle, almost shockingly so, as nimble fingers dress the wound on Ferus’ leg.
Pain.
As a Jedi, he knows physical pain intimately, as a means of accepting his mortality and building on his limits; but Ferus Olin does not truly understand emotional numbness or heartache - that which Anakin would speak of sometimes in hushed tones - until he leaves the Order for good.
Potatoes.
“You can stop flinging your waste onto my side of the counter,” Anakin retorts cattily as another of his potato peelings lands wetly against Ferus’ cheek; the older Padawan just sighs and bites his tongue, not wanting an extended punishment for the very reason the initial reprimand was doled out in the first place.
Rain.
Soaking with rainwater and dappled with mud from helping Obi-Wan and Siri secure suitable shelter during the storm, Anakin is delighted to see that even Ferus Olin has the ability to appear disheveled sometimes.
Chocolate.
“These are due back in a week’s time,” Ferus says in the disapproving, Masterly manner that Anakin has become far too used to with Obi-Wan; annoyed, he plucks a chocolate from the glass dish atop the circulation desk in the Archives, unwrapping it slowly, purposefully leaving both the covering and sticky fingerprints on the newly-polished surface.
Happiness.
Their Masters are near the back of the ship talking strategy and Ferus decides to stretch his legs a bit, and that’s when he stumbles upon Anakin at the helm; his face is etched with an expression of such delirious bliss that Ferus feels guilty afterwards, as if he’d trespassed on a sacred ritual.
Telephone.
Their restless trekking through murky swamplands is interrupted by the beeping of Obi-Wan’s communicator; Anakin’s eyes narrow at the translucent holoimage of Ferus, recounting his and Siri’s own progress and requesting that “you and your Padawan meets up with us, Master Kenobi”, as if he were more than just an apprentice himself.
Ears.
They bed down together, the unfamiliar surroundings too dark at night and their respective Masters too far away for either Padawan to feel comfortable moving further; the shelter was barely made for one, and they squeeze together for warmth, Ferus cursing Anakin for falling asleep, breathing loudly in his ear.
Name.
He’d always felt rather apathetic about his name, considering it an unnecessary trace to his birth family and a life he could have lived; that is, until Ferus heard Anakin utter his title for the first time, his mouth curving into a soft smirk as the syllables danced lazily off his tongue.
Sensual.
It’s a disturbing enough plan as it is, four Jedi posing as space criminals in order to foil an even more nefarious plot on the planet Romin, but the biggest shock comes the first time Ferus spots his Master across the room, fully in character as she giggles flirtatiously and cradles a nobleman’s arm as if it’s a precious jewel; beside him, Anakin sniggers behind his own costume mask.
Death.
He’s not technically a Jedi when Order 66 comes to pass, is not even fully coherent of exactly what has transpired; all he knows is there’s a deep void in the Force, in his very soul, and a growing darkness that feels, somehow, strangely familiar.
Sex.
Strange, muffled noises are what draw him to the spare study carrel in the most deserted section of the Archives; Anakin makes eye contact suddenly, mockingly, and Ferus feels compelled to watch the younger boy’s face as orgasm hits.
Touch.
The hand on his shoulder is cold, and Ferus spins around defensively, his wariness edging away to annoyance when he finds Anakin grinning mischievously at him, a ball of snow packed in his fist.
Weakness.
Anakin lays silently on his stomach as Ferus swabs the wound on his lower back with bacta; he knows from experience how painful such an injury can be, but Anakin does not complain - is more frightened, perhaps, of appearing weak than of his own mortality.
Tears.
The first time and only time Ferus sees Anakin Skywalker cry, it’s aboard the rescue ship after a particularly perilous mission; Anakin sits dutifully by his injured Master’s side, both of his hands clasping one of Obi-Wan’s, his face wet with silent tears.
Speed.
Obi-Wan watches the small, two-seater ship rise quickly into the air, higher and higher before diving down with artful recklessness, and then picking itself up at the last possible moment; he smiles in spite of himself, knowing that Anakin is at the helm, and Ferus is undoubtedly grasping the safety bar above the passenger side door for dear life.
Wind.
A sandstorm punctuated by heavy gusts of wind saturates the mid-rim planet they’ve been sent to; Ferus concentrates on becoming one with the weather as they walk to find shelter, trying just as hard to release his envy at the ease with which Anakin seems accustomed to the harsh, gritty atmosphere.
Freedom.
The first thing he feels upon leaving the Jedi Order is a sense of relief, the notion that he can go anywhere and do anything without anyone’s permission or blessing; the feeling is muted when he realizes that being a civilian is an imprisonment of a different sort, full of uncertainty about just how well his Force abilities could be honed, if only he hadn’t given up.
Life.
Nearly six standard years since he’d last held a lightsaber, and it still felt like a familiar friend as it buzzed to life; and despite the heavy pallor of death that permeated everything Ferus Olin had ever known, he couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt so alive.
Jealousy.
Ferus stands resolutely in front of the Jedi Council, focusing on not letting the pride he feels at being complimented by Mace Windu go to his head; to his right, partially obscured by the slight, firm frame of Master Kenobi, Anakin, unacknowledged, frowns darkly.
Hands.
Anakin’s fingers are a blur as he tinkers with a dilapidated droid that looks as if it was found in a junk heap; through the Force, Ferus feels a humming calm, a peacefulness he never knew existed within the other boy, and allows himself to savor it.
Taste.
They’re stuck on fresher duty when Anakin presses him flush against the wall and plants one on him; his mouth is cold and tastes fresh from the water he just drank, and Ferus finds it rather easy to simply give in and kiss him back.
Devotion.
For all his doubt as to Anakin’s commitment to the Order, Ferus knows he would have to be blind, deaf and dumb not to realize that Anakin’s devotion to his Master is absolute.
Forever.
Ferus’ concept of forever changes the day he leaves the Order, his shoulder brushing Anakin’s as he exits the Council Chambers for the last time; it is not until he returns, at a time when it is no longer honorable to be a Jedi that he realizes in his heart that he never really left.
Blood.
The duel is meant to be a mere training exercise, but the longer Ferus blocks Anakin’s jabs, meeting well-placed parries and lightsaber maneuvers with his own, the more he realizes that for Anakin, this is not a game; a slice into the arm of his tunic makes him stagger a little, blood darkening his sleeve, and the younger boy smiles.
Sickness.
It is not possible, Ferus thinks, for so many Jedi to have died at the hands of the newly-crowned Sith Emperor, for such hatred and mistrust of the Order to have spread across the galaxy like a plague; and then he meets the Emperor’s henchman, the hulking black monstrosity swirling with Force energy, and his worst fears are confirmed.
Melody.
Ferus’s gasps are like sweet music, his sighs and moans a melody of lust and yearning and sheer, animalistic need, and Anakin decides he will do anything to keep the song pouring forth.
Star.
It is never difficult to seek Anakin out through the Force; even though all senior Padawans are adept at shielding themselves when the situation warrants, and despite the fact that Ferus has never known the other boy particularly well, Anakin’s aura is bursting and bright, a comet streaking through a sky full of stars.
Home.
“I don’t like this place, Master Obi-Wan - it’s cold and weird and doesn’t feel like home” a small, petulant voice simpers; Ferus stares at the retreating back of Anakin Skywalker, and wonders how someone so utterly young could possibly be the Chosen One.
Confusion.
If it confuses Ferus the first time Anakin uses his close proximity during a heated argument to shove their mouths together and his hand down the older boy’s pants, it outright bewilders him that he doesn’t immediately take the rational high-ground as per usual and push him away.
Fear.
Obi-Wan is felled by a stray blast during an inconsequential battle during a joint mission; he slides heavily to the ground clutching his side, and Ferus sees real fear on Anakin’s face for the first time.
Thunder & Lightning.
Ferus has always secretly likened Anakin to weather on the turbulent planet Mavin - a thunderous temper, with lightsaber skills as sleek and murderously quiet as streaks of lightning in the constantly stormy Mavarian sky.
Bonds.
The small army of droidekas take the team of Padawans by surprise, and they find themselves quickly overpowered; Ferus stares at Anakin’s tense back muscles and bound hands as they’re marched single-file down a lengthy corridor, and tells himself to stay calm.
Market.
The apples at the small market fruit stand are red and delicious looking, especially to someone subsisting on energy bars for the past three days; instead of a fistful of fruit, however, Ferus startles to feel his hand close around Anakin’s retreating wrist.
Technology.
Ferus is used to being in top form in all of his classes, a simple acknowledgment that he feels neither pride nor shame about; but it’s envy that sideswipes him, a bout of jealousy that Anakin’s technological know-how far surpasses his, and try as he might, he can’t quite release the strange emotion into the Force like all the rest.
Gift.
Ferus is collecting a spare part for a droid from the Temple’s metal shop when he comes upon ten-year-old Anakin Skywalker, tinkering with his own droid; “it’s a present for my Master,” Anakin tells him, and Ferus thinks he seems extraordinarily lonely when he says this.
Smile.
Ferus rarely sees Anakin genuinely smile, is unsure that the younger boy is even capable of doing so; then he overhears Master Kenobi mention briefly a recent correspondence with Naboo, a mid-rim world that the Jedi apparently aided during a period of political unrest, and the grin on Anakin’s face could stretch across two galaxies.
Innocence.
Darra’s first official mission is Ferus’ ninth or tenth; he takes stock of her wide eyes, eager and naïve and not yet jaded by the reality of their calling, and when he meets Anakin’s gaze briefly, he knows they are thinking the same thing.
Completion.
“C’mon, Ferus,” Anakin says, a mischievous smirk plastered across his face as he strokes the other boy to completion; “come for me.”
Clouds.
Ferus is as curious as any other Padawan about the nature of Anakin Skywalker’s mysterious arrival at the Temple, and in spite of himself, is eager to hear what he has to say; “it’s like a city built in the clouds!” the young boy exclaims when prompted by a classmate about his first impression of Coruscant, and Ferus laughs lightly along with everyone else.
Sky.
The night sky darkens the view through the Temple’s clear vaulted ceilings, setting everything in a soft blue haze; Ferus spots Anakin perched on a ledge on the Room of a Thousand Fountains, and wonders how often it is that he can’t sleep.
Heaven.
He knows he should be indignant at having been drugged, controlled, but Anakin finds that when he’s in the Zone, all the anger and pain and sheer emotion he’s used to feeling is alleviated, all worry about Ferus or the Council or Master Obi-Wan’s opinion gone; this, he decides, is Heaven.
Hell.
Consciousness returns with a flurry of images: memories of his friends, his mother; an insignificant squabble with Ferus, talking about ship mechanics with Tru; fighting with Obi-Wan, on numerous occasions; Padme; then he hears the machine on his chest breathe for him for the first time, and he knows that this is Hell.
Sun.
The first vestiges of dawn cause Ferus to stir, his joints popping slightly as he pushes himself into a sitting position against the unforgiving ground of the cave; he’s startled to see that Anakin is already awake, streaks of sunlight illuminating his face in an almost angelic glow.
Moon.
The game is initially a corral of vaguely embarrassing testimonies and confessions, but then Anakin gets dared to moon Master Windu, and things really begin to heat up; “Olin,” he says with a smirk, “truth or dare?”
Waves.
The oceans of Owana are large crystalline affairs, small waves cresting slowly against the shore; Ferus watches Anakin wade in up to his thighs, and wonders idly how the Tatooine-born boy ever learned to swim.
Hair.
Anakin is sleeping soundly before Ferus even works up the nerve to stroke his hair; the top is bristly to the touch, cut in the traditional style of a Padawan learner, and the braid trails idly down his arm, decorated with beads signifying his various accomplishments; Ferus wonders absently if Anakin will ever let it grow out.
Supernova.
He’s sitting in prison, waiting to be brilliantly rescued or, more likely, for Malorum to return and sentence him to death, when the truth hits him like a supernova: Anakin Skywalker is Darth Vader; something inside of him explodes, and then the cell door opens.
*
Cross-posted to 1sentence. Feedback welcome!