Chapter Text
“Why,” Sar leaned a bit towards his current patrol partner “is there a Mandalorian with a death wish in front of our gates?”
The other one leaned in, ever so slightly whispering back. “You’re asking me??”
“JO! I’VE COME TO RETURN THE JOURNALS YOU SENT ME, BUT THEY WON’T LET ME IN! JO? DO YOU HEAR ME??”
A pained expression crossed over Sar’s face. Not that anyone would have seen that, mask and all, but still. He’d rather not be there to witness the inevitable murder of the Mandalorian when Head Archivist Nu got wind of what was transpiring here. The last person foolish enough to even call her by her full first name was still missing…
“He does realize that the walls here are several meters thick, right?” His partner asked incredulously. The only thing Sal could do was shrug.
“JO! COME OUT I DON’T HAVE ALL DAY! WHO KNOWS WHAT JANGO AND MYLES ARE DOING RIGHT NOW, I CAN’T RISK A POLITICAL INCIDENT HERE!”
The slight shift in his partner’s posture drew his attention away from the screaming Mandalorian. He inclined his head in a silent question. The other’s gaze lingered on the scene below them for a minute, then they turned also towards Sal, posture hesitant. “Does-… Doesn’t he seem somewhat familiar? I swear I have seen that armour somewhere before…” Yon frowned. ”What, you mean like here? In the temple?”
The other shook their head.
“Maybe a security briefing? If he was known to pester Madame Nu before, maybe we have a file on him?” They seemed pensive. “Maybe. But I have a feeling tha-“
The two Temple Guards flinched simultaneously at the bubble of annoyance that rushed along the walls beneath them.
They both watched helplessly as Madame Nu dropped down onto the Mando like a shriek-hawk on a piece of fresh meat.
…
Jaster went down with a very manly yelp. Very mandokarla.
Especially if his children would never hear about it.
The bottom end of a very familiar rifle slammed down millimeters from his visor. He went completely still.
“What.” His riduur hissed “Are. You. Doing. Here.”
“Enjoying the view” The sarcasm of that statement seeped into the pavement beneath him.
A soft click and the following hum of energy informed him that the rifle was now activated. Cursing he tried to wiggle away from Jocasta, but she held him where he was. Probably by using that thrice-damned monk magic of hers.
“Stop the squirming! We wouldn’t want you to lose something important after all, right?”
He snickered into the ground. “You wouldn’t dare, Yan would be so terribly disappointed…”
Jocasta groaned and whacked him on the back of his buy’ce.
“What?! It’s true, if you cut off one of my legs or something sparring will be tedious.”, managing to turn slightly, he peered up to meet her gaze out of the corner of his eye, “what, did you think I meant something else? Please, get your mind out of the gutter.” Something dangerous was glittering in her eyes now. Jaster flailed some more. “No, please, really. If I loose a limb here I’ll never hear the end of it. Moreover, Tolruc wouldn’t let me see the light of day for weeks! No, months!”
The jedi sitting on his back simply snorted and rolled her eyes.
“You warriors. Always acting all high and mighty until you have to meet with a medic.” She scoffed and then Jaster felt the weight disappear from his back. He rolled over and held out a hand, expectantly. With another grand eyeroll Jocasta grabbed him and tugged him onto his feet.
“If you can’t even stand up in the thing, maybe don’t put it on all the time.” The “thing” was Jaster’s beskar’gam and Jo had made it into a tradition to nag him about it. Tugging off his buy’ce he quipped back with the standard answer. “It seems you have no problem with the weight, maybe think about investing in some actual clothes. I could recommend several armourers who would be happy to equip you and your Order with more than straps of linen.” With a soft snort Jo slung her rifle over her back and grabbed the bag with the journals Jaster had brought with him. “No thanks, the vembraces you gave to Yan and me already put Grand Master Yoda into a fit of righteous lectures about attachments. I fear for the Order, should we someday come back with a full set.”
Jaster scowled offendedly at his riduur, which made her laugh.
Good for her. But he still thought that at least for dangerous missions, armour would be preferable. No matter if it would “send the wrong signals”. You know what would send wrong signals? The riduure of the Mand’alor dying because they didn’t want to wear armour when going into a battle zone.
Thus, an openly scowling Mandalorian was dragged inside by Head Archivist Nu.
The Temple Guards had long learned to not question certain things. It came with the job.
…
“Jo, I really only came to give you these reports back. I cant stay for this long, who kno-“ He got cut off by a dismissive gesture.
“Yes, yes. Jango and Myles. I heard. We all heard.” She shot him a annoyed glance from where she was sorting the reports back into the shelves. “But since your yelling quite rudely interrupted my story time with the Bear Clan younglings, you will make up for it. I am sure Jango and Myles will behave.”
Something about his facial expression must have given away how strongly he doubted that.
Jocasta sighed. “Okay, tell me where they are then and I’ll send a knight to go fetch them. Is that better?” With a reluctant nod, Jaster threw a small device over for her to catch. She frowned when she realized what it was. “A tracking device? Jaster Mereel, did you chip your son?”
He gave her a noncommittal shrug.
“What?” He countered her unbelieving glare. “After that disaster on Nar Shaddaa I’m not leaving them alone without having a way to find them again. I don’t always have a Jetii with magic tracking senses conveniently nearby. Also, the tracker is in his blaster, so don’t get all puffed up.”
She looked like she really wanted to say some more words, but at that moment a small head poked out behind one of the towering shelves.
“Master Nu? Is everything all right?”
Jaster slightly cocked his head to the side as Jo shot him another sharp glance that seemed to say “look what you have done now”, turned to the youngling and squatted down a bit. “It’s nothing, Obi-Wan,” she calmed the boy who still was eyeing Jaster cautiously. “Just my husband being an idiot.” The boy’s (Obi-Wan’s?) eyes grew bigger. “Your hu- husband? But Master Yoda said-“ Jo snorted and tousled his hair. “Master Yoda doesn’t know everything. Several Jedi I know have spouses and are doing perfectly fine.” With an encouraging nod she lured the boy to come out of hiding from behind his shelf. “This is Jaster, he is a Mandalorian, that’s why he is wearing this absurd amount of steel plates on his body. But don’t worry, I can take him anytime, so you don’t have to be scared at all.” She told the staring boy with a wink.
Jaster did his best to look outraged.
He loved to indulge his riduur in these things. Also, she probably could wipe the floor with his ass.
“Now, Obi-Wan, why don’t you show your assignment on the nubian megafauna to Jaster while I quickly go search for someone to collect some misplaced mandalorian teenagers?” And she shooed the awkward looking boy towards the Mand'alor before disappearing deeper into the Archives.
“Jango is 22!”, he managed to shout after her, feeling the need to correct her.
“Anyone under the age of 30 is still a child!”, she yelled back.
Sighing, he shot a quick glance to the scrawny boy who was still staring at him with big eyes, clutching some kind of datapad. That was probably where he had that assignment on… nubian megafauna.
“And how old are you, adika?”
“I’m twelve… ”, Obi-Wan answered, looking down on the floor and fidgeting with the hem of his tunic.
Jaster scrutinized the boy. He seemed young enough to maybe not yet have learned that starsforsaken stubbornness that seemed prevalent in all the adult Jettiise. It certainly was worth a try. “Obi-Wan,” he asked as inconspicuously as possible, “what do you think of armour?” Maybe he could at least instruct the younger generation of magic monks how to dress appropriately for certain situations.
The boy blinked at him confusedly.
“Armour.” Jaster knocked on his own breastplate. “Stuff like this. Generally made from metals, though I’ve seen some pieces made from wood or bone before as well. It seems like your teachers all have a very misplaced dislike for it. What do you think?”
“Uuh…” The boy hesitated. “It seems… bulky? And also like it would restrict ones movement while doing katas…”
Jaster wanted to weep. So it wasn’t just the adults. Even the children were corrupted!
“Sorry! Did I say something wrong?”, the boy seemed to crumple into himself. Stars, Jaster could have smacked himself. Jetii’ad. He’d probably picked up on his thoughts or something. Yan once had mentioned that the children often were even more perceptive than adults. Sweet lords, if he made the boy cry, he probably wouldn’t even have enough time left to write his will until Jo came and committed Mand’aloricide.
“Nonono, you didn’t, you didn’t.” He squatted down to be on eye-level with Obi-Wan. “Sorry. It’s just very frustrating for me to see that your whole Order seems to collectively launch their bodily integrity into the next sun. But that frustration certainly wasn’t aimed at you, Ob’ika.”
The boy hesitantly nodded, and just as Jaster wanted to give him some more words of encouragement, a muted gong resounded through the halls of the archives. Immediately Obi-Wan looked up with big eyes.
“Oh! I gotta go now!” He looked over apologetically. “I have lessons now… It was nice getting to know you Mister Jaster!” And he gave him a little wave over the shoulder as he hurried towards the exit.
Feeling slightly sad Jaster stood up again. The boy had reminded him of the times when Jango and Myles first got their respective armours. He sighed, oh those good old days, back when he had at least been relatively sure where his son was and what he and his friends were plotting. Moreover, if he had had a bit more time, maybe he actually could have convinced the boy of the benefits of a good and solid set of beskar’gam…
He was ripped from his musings very suddenly, as a hand fell down heavily on his shoulder.
“Karking-“, he whipped around cursing, “Jo! Don’t do that, you know I hate it when you’re being all sneaky!”
His riduur only grinned maliciously, that damned woman.
“I found someone to go after Jango and Myles. Depa Billaba,” she explained halfheartedly, more focussed on looking around, as if searching for someone, “she’s the padawan of a councillor, so she should have enough authority to bail them out of most situations they could have gotten themselves in.” Turning back to him, she tilted her head slightly. “Where is Obi-Wan? Didi you already scare him away?”
Jaster scowled at her. “Out of the two of us, who is the one known for scaring small children? And no, he had lessons apparently, I don’t know where he went.”
“Listen, that was one time-!”, she harrumphed and crossed her arms. Then she sighed. “Ah, I wanted to talk with Obi-Wan a bit, a pity that I missed him.” A frosty glance hit Jaster. “But I guess a certain intruding Mand’alor has to suffice.”
So that’s how it was. Jaster was being replaced by a child.
Fair enough.
Jocasta turned around, slowly meandering down the archives, rearranging some datapads and collecting some other stray holocrons and reports that had been left behind after people had used them. “I wanted to know if there had been any progress in him finding a Master.” Another sigh. “He’s been coming more and more down here in the last half year and lately most of his reading was about farming, which… it would be a shame if they sent him to the Agricorps. He is a bright mind, but he seems to dislike the idea. Honestly, they should send him to the Educorps, if any.”
Jaster frowned. “Why would they… send him away?”
“He is almost thirteen. If he hasn’t gotten a Master by his birthday, he has officially aged out. The corps are the secondary options aged-out initiates have, apart from leaving the order. The Agricorps, which, if you believe the rumours, Obi-Wan will be sent to, is the corps tasked with helping restoring destroyed farmlands and growing crops for people after natural disasters or wars.”
“So they are farmers? What’s wrong with being a farmer? It’s an essential and honourable job to do.” Jaster crossed his arms defiantly.
His riduur rolled her eyes. “Oh, please. I am not saying that there is anything wrong with being a farmer. Just that it doesn’t seem right to apparently force a child wo clearly hopes for something else into the job… And I am by no means the only one with these concerns.”
Frowning, he just stood there for a moment. That certainly wasn’t ideal.
“Then… he’s looking for a teacher, right? Then why don’t you or Yan take him in?”