[ Cal wakes up with a jolt, his heart racing. In the dark, it takes him a moment to orient himself—this isn't the stark space of his Guild housing on Bracca, and there's no rattling hum of the Mantis in hyperspace—and steady his breathing with deep inhales and exhales in a practiced rhythm. There's faint, pre-dawn light filtering in through the window, and though it's a little earlier than he would normally get up, he already knows he's not going back to sleep.
Instead, he pulls on his clothes, sparing a brief glance to BD-1, still powered down next to his bed, before heading to the kitchen as quietly as possible, so as not to disturb his housemates.
But Obi-Wan is already up, as he can see through the window—for a second, he considers going out there too, to speak with the other man, to... just to speak with him, maybe, but he can tell that Obi-Wan is occupied and doesn't want to interrupt. In the meantime, he makes a cup of caf, rubbing sleep from his eyes and weighing old memories.
Old nightmares. Back on Bracca, he would often dream of Master Tapal, with all of his sternness but none of his warmth, stalking the halls of the Albedo Brave, scolding him for his failure, his weakness, his unworthiness. The dream has changed since then, but it still lingers with him uneasily—he wonders if it'll ever go away, or if his dreams will keep morphing and returning to remind him of that day for the rest of his life.
When he looks out the window again, Obi-Wan has straightened, limned by the soft daybreak light, and Cal makes up his mind. After dumping the dregs of his caf, he pulls on his boots and heads outside. ]
no subject
Instead, he pulls on his clothes, sparing a brief glance to BD-1, still powered down next to his bed, before heading to the kitchen as quietly as possible, so as not to disturb his housemates.
But Obi-Wan is already up, as he can see through the window—for a second, he considers going out there too, to speak with the other man, to... just to speak with him, maybe, but he can tell that Obi-Wan is occupied and doesn't want to interrupt. In the meantime, he makes a cup of caf, rubbing sleep from his eyes and weighing old memories.
Old nightmares. Back on Bracca, he would often dream of Master Tapal, with all of his sternness but none of his warmth, stalking the halls of the Albedo Brave, scolding him for his failure, his weakness, his unworthiness. The dream has changed since then, but it still lingers with him uneasily—he wonders if it'll ever go away, or if his dreams will keep morphing and returning to remind him of that day for the rest of his life.
When he looks out the window again, Obi-Wan has straightened, limned by the soft daybreak light, and Cal makes up his mind. After dumping the dregs of his caf, he pulls on his boots and heads outside. ]
Good morning, Master Kenobi.