It is unusual, and therefore highly disconcerting, when the diligent men and woman of the Coruscant Weather Control fail to, well, control the weather.

The city planet continually keeps strict control over many inconvenient occurrences such as electrical storms, rain, and, Coruscant forbid, unscheduled wind.

But alas, just as with any highly automated and computerized system, it demands constant maintenance and occasional repairs to keep running. However, when maintenance is delayed for three months the computerized system may decide to suddenly go haywire causing a large enough electrical storm that can smother half of the Senate district, the Entertainment district and the Jedi Temple in complete darkness. When such improbable catastrophes occur, things may get a bit challenging. Especially when droids responsible for correcting these errors are already occupied extinguishing fires on the first fifty six floors of said weather control building, and thus cannot reach the actual system responsible. This type of unusual and oft skipped scenario in training, was the case tonight.

All in all and in simple terms, it is going to be a while before systems are back on board. Earlier the Holo-Net advised all Coruscanti residents and visitors to stay indoors as much as possible, just before bleeping out to quiet, unsettling darkness.

Matching much of the rest of the bewildered and stupified local area currently. With the exception of quiet, however.

Among those experiencing the effects of the recent disarray, are disappointed Balosars attempting to make credits off gullible visitors and the occasional Dug in search of some late night company. Further, in the pristine halls of the Senate buildings, humdrum voices arguing over elections and superfluous declarations are becoming noticeably less amiable when communications continually cut, only to resume again. The pristine holo images continue to waver, if just a tad.

The City Planet would be out of business and out of the Core if it cannot continue negotiations fifty light years away due to some inconveniently timed 'storm'.

But away from the night life, and hidden in the spirals and behind the histories of thousands of years and battles, stands one plain and unadorned building. Safe behind tall Sentinels suspended forever in a position of peace and protection, the Jedi Temple sits quiet and calm. Peace flowing down the halls as serene and fluid as the Force itself.

Unlike the rest of Coruscants citizens, who are either panicking, irritated or far too occupied to even notice the small blip, a certain Jedi Master is serenely enjoying the change of weather.

Hands loosely resting over thighs and legs tucked up underneath, Qui-Gon Jinn is the ideal image of Jedi serenity.

Much to the council's dismay, however, that usually does turn out to be nothing more then an image.

In the present moment, there are no distracts, no bustling vehicle on a near head on collision with the tall buildings, no ships in-coming or out-going. All that is distinguishable is the pit patter of the droplets lightly playing a tune along the ledge of the Temples roof.

Qui-Gon takes another deep breath and slowly releases it.

But of course nothing does lasts forever, and certainly not peace.

A pricking feeling lightly swells around his heart and stomach.


It is fear, that he knows, mixing with faint uncertainty. But it's origins do not trace to him.

Exploring this feeling further, it is unsurprisingly obvious that the actual owner shares the same quarters. Wrapped in fear and shaking with each falling crescendo of lightning, his fourteen year old apprentice sits wide awake in the next room.

Between Etti IV, Delrakkin and a brief stop on the constant miserable, rainy planet of Kamino, the Jedi Master finds storms to be nothing more then displays of the wonder of life. Lightning, a gorgeous bright representation of the power of simple static and rain as lovely liquid notes playing a soothing melody.

Storms sing to him. The Living Force is conducting an orchestra of crashing symbols, beating drums, light twinkling triangles, and a stready violin heavy and powerful, but leading all down the same winding path.

However, he realizes a fourteen year old who has lived his entire life never experiencing anything other then programmed weather, probably does not share these same views.

He fills his lungs with one last slow breath and releases it. He opens his eyes to the true darkness of the room he has chosen to settle in the center of.

It is an elated feeling coming out of such a deep meditation, he takes a few moments. Gathering his equilibrium and allowing his mental awareness to catch up. He determines he will not waver on his feet, and stands.

He takes a few long strides and reaches his apprentices pneumatic door, it slides open with a hiss. He it greeted by another dimly lit room. The natural light that radiates off the city planet just lightly touches the room through an open window.

The room is still and quiet, but the Master can feel the anguish and discomfort radiating off the small area in waves.

A slight movement and a stifled sob draws his attention to a dark figure curled in on its self on the bed.


Slowly, so as not to alarm or startle the boy further, he makes his way to the small bed. Setting himself down on the edge he again tries to encourage any reaction from the still form.

"Obi-Wan, it's alright."

Amid the dark bundle of covers and light sleep tunics come watery blue eyes and glistening, tear stained cheeks.

"Master?" The honorific is nothing more then a whisper.

"Yes. Are you alright?"

A quick nod. Too quick.

He throws Jedi decorum to the wind, for more then the first time, he scoots further back onto the small bed. His back supported against the wall, he turns his attention back to the student.

Slowly the warm and protective covers lower. Revealing crumbled tunics and knuckles white with tension.

The Master smiles. Fear of the storm and the blackout all but dissolved, he feels new uncertainty taking its place now.

The Jedi Master relaxes himself further, he lays loose hands in his lap and stretches his legs across the bed. He fights hard to keep his expression blank, his Padawan staring at him as if he has lost his mind.

It is not a new look, but it's always humorous.

A deep line forms between Obi-Wans eyebrows as he looks over the infamous rogue.

"Join me." He asks, patting the fabric near him.

With reluctance and mild confusion, the Padawan crawls the short distance and sits next to him. His legs do not quite reach as far as the teachers do.

Qui-Gon stretches an arm over the back of his students shoulders and leans back against the wall. The room is still and peaceful, all fear melting away without words in a mingling of trust and security the boy has in the Master.

It is not long before the weight leaning against him grows heavier, and finally turns into a boneless and exhausted heap.

Carefully using the Force, the Master calls the blankets Obi-Wan was protectively curled into earlier, over to him. Splaying it out over both of them.

He allows himself to follow his Padawan into the unconscious world. Outside the the conscious world still fights with the insistent droids on level fifty six, but that does not matter now.

It is going to be a long night before they will be able to stop the inconvenient rain, but he is happy to spend it here, happy and content.