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“You want me to throw you out a window?”
“Well, I don’t think you’d be comfortable being thrown out a window during your first year. So I put your name down for the Yeeter.”
Once a year, the temple gathered around the Tranquility Spire for the annual Defenestration Festival. Rumors had it that the festival started during a council meeting that had gone too long, and a too-frustrated Councilor hurling another one out the window during an argument. Other rumors held that a Jedi had fallen during a too-intense spar, Force pushed out the window. Some rumors even said that it was a Senate meeting gone wrong. Only Master Yoda had any hint of how the festival started, and he remained tight-lipped about it, giggling and snickering when asked.
The process was simple. Two Jedi stood at the top of the Tranquility Spire. One stood at the edge, and the other stood at the middle. At a signal, the Yeeter in the middle gathered the Force and threw the Yeetee off the edge. The Yeetee then somersaulted and flipped their way down to the bottom, landing safely with some handy application of the Force. Judges at the bottom awarded points for creativity and skill.
There were, of course, many different categories of competition. The Younglings competed by throwing Master Yoda and some other Council Members off the tower, competing for Best Yeeting awards. Masters and Padawans entered together, competing to determine the best Pair. Knights often paired with other Knights, or roped their Masters into participating with them.
Obi-Wan had signed them up for the Master-and-Padawan division, with Anakin’s name for the Yeeter, and his under Yeetee. Anakin, after all, was new to the Temple, and no doubt would find falling from a very tall height while performing flips and somersaults exciting to watch, but a little nerve-wracking to perform so soon after starting Jedi training.
“You want me to throw you out a window?” Anakin repeated, from their spot at the bottom of the spire. At the top, a tiny Rodian initiate raised her two hands and, with a great hurl, tossed Master Yoda off. Master Yoda performed a triple pike, double tuck, and landed with his arms flung out and a bright cackle.
Around them, Jedi ooh’d and clapped their hands.
“Good throw, that was!” Master Yoda chortled, as he toddled his way to Master Windu, who—with a long-despairing sigh—bent down to let Master Yoda clamber onto his shoulder.
“What?” Anakin said, again.
“It’s the Defenestration Festival,” Quinlan said, peering up as a little Togruta prepared to yeet Master Plo. “You yeet, or you get yeeted.”
“That doesn’t make any sense,” Anakin protested.
Aayla said, “That’s just because you haven’t yeeted yet.”
Anakin frowned, with a furious little pinch between his brows, like he wasn’t sure that the whole festival was a joke the Temple had gotten together to play on him.
“Don’t worry,” Obi-Wan said. “You’ll enjoy it.”
And Anakin did. Eight yeets later, and victory in the Master-Padawan division of the Defenestration Festival, Anakin was cheering and laughing with the rest of them.
Cody said, “You want me to throw you off the tower.”
It was the inaugural competition of the Clone-Jedi division of the Defenestration Festival, and Obi-Wan was standing at the top of the Tranquility spire, hands tucked into his robe, mild smile on his face. “It’s called a Yeet.”
Cody raised a brow back. “Is that what General Skywalker was doing to his men all throughout the war?”
Obi-Wan sighed, just a little. “I told him that he should get consent before every yeet, but Anakin’s always been impulsive.”
Cody looked very deliberately down the side of the spire—it was a very far distance to the ground—and then back at Obi-Wan, still with that expression on his face.
Obi-Wan said, “We’ve had Defenestration Festivals annually for centuries. At least before the war started. It’s a tradition. We’ve just added the Clone-Jedi division this year, now that we’re at peace, and you’ve all joined us in the temple. It doesn’t seem fair that you don’t get a chance to participate.”
“General—”
“Obi-Wan.”
“—Obi-Wan.” Cody said. “I have spent this entire war trying to keep you from death, and you want me to throw—”
“yeet—”
“—yeet you off a tower.”
“Yes?” Obi-Wan blinked. “I have the Force, there’s no danger at all. You saw Master Yoda and the younglings earlier.”
And yes, but Master Yoda wasn’t his Jedi, who had spent a war running beside and fighting with. Master Yoda was old and wizened and experienced, but Cody didn’t know his weaknesses like he knew his Jedi’s, Cody hadn’t seen the best and worst of Master Yoda the way he’d seen all of Obi-Wan’s secrets laid bare. Seeing Master Yoda fall off a tower had been shocking, but the shock had been easily overcome. Throwing Obi-Wan…
Obi-Wan cocked his head at him, frowning. “Cody, if you don’t feel comfortable, we don’t have to do this at all, of course.”
Cody opened his mouth to agree.
“DOUBLE YEET!” Rex roared as he hurled—Anakin in one hand, Ahsoka in the other—off the side of the tower.
“Rex? What are you… I thought Anakin and Ahsoka left the order?”
Rex snorted. “Oh, I asked them to come back. A chance to yeet them the way Anakin yeeted me throughout the war? Easiest decision of my life. Not to mention that we’ve gotten so much practice from the war that we’re winning first prize for sure.”
Cody opened his mouth, and closed it. “There are prizes?” he asked Obi-Wan.
“I believe first place is a very nice flamethrower that fits on a vambrace,” Obi-Wan offered. “We got Dex to provide the prizes.”
“Hm,” Cody said.
“Cody, if you don’t want to do this, we can go down. It’s perfectly fine—”
“No,” Cody said, grabbing a fistful of Obi-Wan’s robes. “We should do it. After all, we can’t lose to Rex and Skywalker.”
And with a tremendous hurl, he yeeted Obi-Wan out the tower.