Title: The Poisoning
Category: Old Republic
Summary: Is it one to many drinks for an unsuspecting young Obi-Wan Kenobi or something else?
Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by Lucasfilm, Ltd. No money is being made and no infringement is intended.
Star Wars: Old Republic
It had been a long day for seventeen-year-old Obi-Wan Kenobi as he and his Jedi Master; Qui-Gon Jinn exited the stuffy conference center in Ghan City on the beautiful planet of Falycin.
The negotiations between the wealthy class Citizens and the commoners called the Forresters had gone better today, than the entire week they'd been there. The Citizens had requested the presence of the Jedi during this particular negotiation, due to the fact that the Forresters had no intention of merging with the higher classes.
They were a clan of people that made their living off the forests of Falycin; they needed nothing from the Citizens. They needed not the Citizens electricity, nor their growing high-rises. They were common folk that lived off the essences of what God had given to them and made it clear to the Citizens, they were not about to change.
Every year the Citizens and the Forresters made a point to come into negotiations to see if the two territories could merge; as of yet they had not ever done so, and this had brought on some bloodshed between the two.
"You would think they could just get along, Master." Obi-Wan said with a low voice once they were out of earshot and headed towards their quarters.
Qui-Gon smiled, "seems so easy to you, Obi-Wan?"
Obi-Wan said nothing, his Master was testing him.
"Suppose it came about that the Sith were to be housed in the same Temple as the Jedi, would negotiations be so simple?" Qui-Gon asked as they walked down the busy street.
"That's completely different, Master." Obi-Wan said evenly.
Qui-Gon stopped and looked at his young Padawan. "Is it really, Obi-Wan? I don't think the Forresters or the Citizens would believe so. That's why we're here, come now."
Obi-Wan remained silent and followed his master, he couldn't hardly fathom another twelve or thirteen hour day in that conference center, listening to these people bicker back and forth.
Once back in their quarters in the Grand Hall, at the Royal Palace of Viceroy; Omar Taggothy, Obi-Wan stretched out on the sofa.
Qui-Gon removed his Jedi robes and glanced at his Padawan. "Dinner begins in an hour, Obi-Wan and we mustn't be late."
Ugh! Obi-Wan thought, another useless meal with all the bigwigs of this utterly boring place, where everyone stares at us!
"Obi-Wan." Qui-Gon said again, this time his voice a bit more stern.
"Yes, Master." He answered and stood, then trudged towards his room.
Dressed in fresh Jedi apparel and clean showered the two of them quietly made their way to the Royal Dining Hall. As normal it was brimming with the Viceroy's closest friends and governing assistants.
Omar Taggothy, a dark-skinned man, much like Jedi Master Mace Windu, but years younger noticed the Jedi enter and greeted them accordingly. "Ah, Master Jedi and Apprentice, glad to have you still among us. I believe, we made some headway with the Forresters, thanks to your help."
Qui-Gon smiled slightly, but said nothing as Omar lead him and Obi-Wan to his own table.
Oh, no! Here it comes! Obi-Wan thought sickly.
Once they were at the table, Omar lifted his wineglass and began tapping it loudly. The roar of the room quieted down to nearly nothing.
"May I please have everyone's attention?" Omar began. "Our grateful Jedi have arrived and now with our honored guests, we may eat! Enjoy!"
The room applauded and sat down; Obi-Wan felt his face suddenly get hot and wanted to crawl under the table. He hated that!
A plateful of food was sat in front of the Master and apprentice, as well as all the others. Obi-Wan picked about his food, while his Master was in deep conversation with the Viceroy.
When the evening meal ended the plates were cleared and the music began. Several of the younger females, obviously daughters of the wealthy that attended, peered at Obi-Wan.
As much as he would've liked to meet them and perhaps even dance, he kept his mind on his duties. He merely ignored the stares and drank the last of his punch. The sweetness tasted good as he swallowed the last drop, it was after all his third glass. He noticed his Masters drink was empty as well and offered to get him more.
Qui-Gon merely nodded in his direction.
Obi-Wan stood and took both glasses to be refilled. On his way back as he sipped on his own drink, a man nearly the same height ran right into him and spilled red punch all over Obi-Wan's chin and tunic. Obi-Wan had luckily saved his Master's glass.
"Oh, pardon me," the man stated with a strange accent, Obi-Wan had never heard. "Allow me to get you another glass."
He handed Obi-Wan a napkin and tried to help him dry the spilled punch off his tunic.
"It's all right, it's all right. I'll get it, although I could use another drink." Obi-Wan muttered as he wiped at his tunic, it was now a nice stain of red. He'd have to change.
"Here," the man stated as he handed him the glass he was carrying.
Obi-Wan pursed his lips as he wondered how this man managed to keep from spI'lling his own, but took the proffered glass and gruffly walked away.
"What happened to you?" Qui-Gon asked, his face tight as he attempted not to laugh.
"Don't ask." Obi-Wan grunted as he sat his Master's glass down and in one gulp finished the new glass he was given. "I'm going to go change. I'll be back shortly, Master."
"Take your time, Obi-Wan."
Obi-Wan didn't glance back, as he knew his Master was about to bust.
After taking a quick shower to rinse off the dried punch and changing into yet another fresh Jedi tunic and pants, he made his way back to the dining hall.
Qui-Gon was once more in another deep conversation with another of Omar's representatives.
Obi-Wan sighed and went for another drink. He lingered around for a while until a young girl named Ara asked him to dance, he politely accepted. Out on the dance floor with Ara, the time seemed at a standstill for this young Padawan. She asked him about his life and what it was like to be training to be a Jedi. It wasn't until the music stopped had he realized he felt rather woozy.
"I need some air, Ara. Excuse me." He told her and left the dance floor. He thought she was about to follow, but someone else caught her arm. The Padawan thought it was her father.
Out on the balcony, more of Omar's friends stood. Some looked at him as he passed by. He managed a weak smile and went on. On the far side of the balcony, Obi-Wan stood alone and leaned against the railing. His stomach began to twist and turn, and he really began to feel rather poorly. He calmed his mind and tried to ease his stomach with some Jedi techniques, but it wasn't helping very much.
"Obi-Wan?" his Master's voice asked from behind him.
Oh, no! He thought and closed his eyes. 'Yes, Master?" He asked quietly, but refused to turn to face him.
"Are you alright?" Qui-Gon asked gently as he placed a hand on his shoulder and turned Obi-Wan to face him. The apprentice nearly fell into him.
"Have you had a bit too much punch?" He asked.
Obi-Wan's breath quicken slightly as he gained his footing. "Appears so, Master."
"We are here on a mission, Obi-Wan, you must remain clear-headed. Now, go back to our quarters and go to bed. We'll discuss this more in the morning."
Obi-Wan nodded, as he turned around. "Yes, Master, right away." He answered and swayed slightly. The strong Jedi master caught his arm to steady him. "Are you going to make it, or should I go with you?" His voice was more than disproving.
The teen shook his already aching head, in shame. "No, Master, I'll be fine."
Qui-Gon let him go with a deep sigh, and Obi-Wan continued on.
He had to stop a time or two to attempt to clear the fuzziness in his head and his stomach was beginning to feel much worse. What was in that punch? He wondered as he finally made it to their quarters. That was the last thing he remembered.