[ Claude is in his own chambers, getting ready for the festival when the call goes through. Nodding at the girl who's been helping him fix up his ceremonial loincloth, longer and heavier than his usual ones, and a deep shade of red, he sees her out before taking it, leaning in slightly on his elbows and raising both eyebrows with an openly entertained expression as the Jedi holds up his uniform for the day.
Claude has chosen it himself, after all. Fits his eyes. ]
The Festival of Masks is a day of finding others not by the features that are most familiar to us - [ He taps his own cheek softly to indicate his face. ] - but by the parts that make up the whole person. It's symbolic.
[ A headshake, his voice going lighter, more teasing. A slight smile. ]
While I'm sure you'll stand out regardless, Skywalker, the mask offers some anonymity.
[ Claude's... dressed, or not, ugh - for the occasion, lacking only his mask. His bare chest seems to stand out even more today, like the contrast between his skin and the deep red of his loincloth make all of it look that much more... more. Anakin swallows, aware that he's being teased and not too sure what to feel about it.
His body's definitely not opposed but considering the length of the loincloth he's been given, he hardly thinks there's any room for further deliberation on that point. Actually, he can attest that there'll be no room whatsoever. Shifting, he leans back a little and sighs. ]
You realise I'll have to carry my lightsaber beneath the loincloth. As in, right next to - [ Pause. He trails off, his cheeks heating up very slightly. ] - my - anyway. Basic lightsaber safety rules. This one comes with some pretty gnarly anecdotes.
[ He winces at the thought, shifting in his seat. ]
[ Sympathetic wincing for a second, Claude feeling that any considerations on Skywalker's cock should not in any capacity feature his lightsaber, too. As it is, he really likes the slight deepening of the colour to the other man's cheeks, though, taking the edge off the whole - gnarliness of the implied risks of the loincloth.
Yeah, Claude's going to say that reaction makes all the rest worth it. ]
I'm not sure I want to imagine, and yet here we are. [ He tilts his head, smiling. ] But I have faith in your ability not to lose a limb today, you know.
[ His tone is open, honest. He doesn't add that maybe he'd need it later, after all; Claude knows about boundaries, knows about respect. And he respects Skywalker even more than he wants him which says a great deal at this point. ]
[ Claude has a contagious smile, the kind you can't help but return and Anakin does, maybe less freely, his mechno-hand clenching into a fist. Definitely not today, he thinks, looking down at the blue fabric. At least the loincloth is long enough to - well. It's long enough. ]
I'm planning on watching from amongst the crowd beneath the podium. You're doing more than one speech today, according to the program? [ A slight smirk. ] If people wanted to listen to me half as much, my life would be so much easier.
[ Instead, he's got ten messages from Obi-Wan on his comm, all of them amounting to the same, basic sentiment: whatever you're doing, Anakin, stop doing it. At least, his old Master knows him well enough to assume there's a plan in the works. For him to have faith, though - that's a different story.
Five throughout the afternoon. We're changing locations for each, I've sent you the route through the city already.
[ He brings up the holomap of his comings and goings until the Face Reveal at midnight. Pointing to the first stop on his trip, the largest square at the heart of Paris City, he adds: ]
My bets are on the first one. [ The holomap disappears again, leaving them as much face to face as they'll be for a good while to come, Claude's mask lying off to the side, marked with stars to denote his rank.
And put a target on his back - or, in this case, his kriffing forehead. ] You get tired of being listened to, when you're nothing but a mouthpiece for other people's propaganda.
[ A shrug, not affected, but not unaffected either. ]
Speak freely, Skywalker. No one can ignore a speech that is free at length.
[ Speak freely says Claude and Anakin watches him for a moment, thinking about how easily one might take that concept for granted. To speak - walk - or live, freely? No, he's heard it before, that to be free means to choose for yourself. To be silent or to be heard.
He's heard it, yeah. ]
Not if they realise why it might matter to them.
[ He shifts, leaning forward a little, closer to the comm. They say that Anakin is fearless which is obviously a lie, propaganda, in no little way encouraged by the Chancellor and those around him. It doesn't bother him, of course, because it's nice to be perceived as strong, as unwavering and in most circumstances, at least, he is those things and more.
But people like Padmé. Like Claude. Those willing to stand in front of death, not to protect anyone in particular (not to protect their own hearts) but because of fluffy concepts, principles, empty constructs?
Though he might not understand, their bravery is indisputable. ]
[ As Skywalker leans closer to the comm, his features going sharper and more detailed, the tightness to his jaw, the line of it - he's not undressed yet, but in a way he is, right - Claude leans closer, too. ]
Why might it matter to you?
[ I care, it means.
He could talk about persuasion. He could talk about winning people over through speech or through war, how one is right and one is wrong. Unblinkingly, he stares at Skywalker, thinking about his mother who'd say 'not through violence, Claude, not in blood' and he agrees, he does agree, but sometimes there is a way and sometimes there just isn't. Skywalker is a way.
Another way.
Three-four outdrawn moments and he blinks himself back to the present, licking his lips and smiling, a bit hesitantly. ]
If you don't want to answer, ask about my mask, I have it right here.
[ In case his care isn't welcome. You're never forced to accept an extended hand. ]
[ He freezes at the question, eyes narrowing, anger surging through him. Personal questions - questions that are hard to answer because of all the things he can't even attempt to explain or describe - are generally not welcome and he'd snap something back at Claude, a way to change the subject, when the other man gets there first. So he blinks, confused; Claude not only acknowledges that he might not want to answer, he offers a way out of it, clearly fully aware of what he's doing.
It's... very considerate of him, really.
Since the wars began - perhaps even before that - all Anakin remembers is going forwards, carving a path through his opposition if necessary. And it always is and it's never enough. He thinks, briefly, about Padmé, settling down next to him on the ground in the workroom on the Lars homestead, so close and yet, so oddly far away; if he'd tried to touch her then, his fingers would've gone right through her. He's certain of it. The desert is like that, isn't it. You have something, something precious and rare, until you realise how thirsty you are, that you're dying from the heat and hallucinating as a consequence.
Hoping to disappear.
Gaze open, he says, voice low, almost hushed: ]
Ask me again later. [ He tilts his chin slightly to the side, nodding. ] Is it like mine?
[ Just a nod. He hadn't as such expected it, he isn't going to expect anything from Skywalker; he thinks the man could do everything and nothing and it would be enough. Creation and collapse, like a star.
He reaches for his mask and pulls it up to his face, not slipping it on, but showing it off, how it'll look. Placement. Outline. ]
Different colour scheme. [ In contrast to Skywalker's blue notes, Claude's is red and black. ] But same basic design.
[ He had stars painted onto Skywalker's mask as well, although it's customary that only the royals wear them. Sometimes people use star-shaped designs anyway and no one will look twice at Skywalker, no, not for the stars. Probably for everything else.
Ask me again later, he had replied, voice hushed, like secrets spilling. Claude's breath catches in his throat a little. Later. You don't get later's with a lot of people, especially not people who are practically strangers. But Claude takes everything he can get. He wants too much, he knows. He's been told. He wants too much for the world, he wants too much for himself.
He wants a lot for Skywalker, too. ]
I'm distinguishable by my three stars, the biggest one right between the eyes. You've got one at each temple. Don't want people to believe you're me.
[ The mask cuts Claude's face in half, leaving the bottom half exposed along with his eyes. It enhances him, somehow, despite how much it takes away. Anakin, mostly without thinking, picks up his own and slips it on as well, feeling an urge to mirror, to match, that he can't place. Smiling at the other man's comment - he's got a dry sense of humour, Claude, distinctively quirky, as he's come to expect from intelligent people - Anakin inclines his head a little. ]
Oh, they will be able to tell the difference.
[ Spoken with a bit of heat, something hard and unyielding in his voice. He feels his saber by his hip, the comforting, familiar weight of it. Someone is definitely going to feel it - the practical consequence of harassing a man who knows what he wants, where he's going and how. Anakin's just the means.
Adorned with stars, this time, and just a little better for it. ]
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no subject
Claude has chosen it himself, after all. Fits his eyes. ]
The Festival of Masks is a day of finding others not by the features that are most familiar to us - [ He taps his own cheek softly to indicate his face. ] - but by the parts that make up the whole person. It's symbolic.
[ A headshake, his voice going lighter, more teasing. A slight smile. ]
While I'm sure you'll stand out regardless, Skywalker, the mask offers some anonymity.
no subject
His body's definitely not opposed but considering the length of the loincloth he's been given, he hardly thinks there's any room for further deliberation on that point. Actually, he can attest that there'll be no room whatsoever. Shifting, he leans back a little and sighs. ]
You realise I'll have to carry my lightsaber beneath the loincloth. As in, right next to - [ Pause. He trails off, his cheeks heating up very slightly. ] - my - anyway. Basic lightsaber safety rules. This one comes with some pretty gnarly anecdotes.
[ He winces at the thought, shifting in his seat. ]
no subject
Yeah, Claude's going to say that reaction makes all the rest worth it. ]
I'm not sure I want to imagine, and yet here we are. [ He tilts his head, smiling. ] But I have faith in your ability not to lose a limb today, you know.
[ His tone is open, honest. He doesn't add that maybe he'd need it later, after all; Claude knows about boundaries, knows about respect. And he respects Skywalker even more than he wants him which says a great deal at this point. ]
no subject
I'm planning on watching from amongst the crowd beneath the podium. You're doing more than one speech today, according to the program? [ A slight smirk. ] If people wanted to listen to me half as much, my life would be so much easier.
[ Instead, he's got ten messages from Obi-Wan on his comm, all of them amounting to the same, basic sentiment: whatever you're doing, Anakin, stop doing it. At least, his old Master knows him well enough to assume there's a plan in the works. For him to have faith, though - that's a different story.
He straightens a little, raises his chin.
Claude will be just fine. ]
no subject
[ He brings up the holomap of his comings and goings until the Face Reveal at midnight. Pointing to the first stop on his trip, the largest square at the heart of Paris City, he adds: ]
My bets are on the first one. [ The holomap disappears again, leaving them as much face to face as they'll be for a good while to come, Claude's mask lying off to the side, marked with stars to denote his rank.
And put a target on his back - or, in this case, his kriffing forehead. ] You get tired of being listened to, when you're nothing but a mouthpiece for other people's propaganda.
[ A shrug, not affected, but not unaffected either. ]
Speak freely, Skywalker. No one can ignore a speech that is free at length.
no subject
He's heard it, yeah. ]
Not if they realise why it might matter to them.
[ He shifts, leaning forward a little, closer to the comm. They say that Anakin is fearless which is obviously a lie, propaganda, in no little way encouraged by the Chancellor and those around him. It doesn't bother him, of course, because it's nice to be perceived as strong, as unwavering and in most circumstances, at least, he is those things and more.
But people like Padmé. Like Claude. Those willing to stand in front of death, not to protect anyone in particular (not to protect their own hearts) but because of fluffy concepts, principles, empty constructs?
Though he might not understand, their bravery is indisputable. ]
no subject
Why might it matter to you?
[ I care, it means.
He could talk about persuasion. He could talk about winning people over through speech or through war, how one is right and one is wrong. Unblinkingly, he stares at Skywalker, thinking about his mother who'd say 'not through violence, Claude, not in blood' and he agrees, he does agree, but sometimes there is a way and sometimes there just isn't. Skywalker is a way.
Another way.
Three-four outdrawn moments and he blinks himself back to the present, licking his lips and smiling, a bit hesitantly. ]
If you don't want to answer, ask about my mask, I have it right here.
[ In case his care isn't welcome. You're never forced to accept an extended hand. ]
no subject
It's... very considerate of him, really.
Since the wars began - perhaps even before that - all Anakin remembers is going forwards, carving a path through his opposition if necessary. And it always is and it's never enough. He thinks, briefly, about Padmé, settling down next to him on the ground in the workroom on the Lars homestead, so close and yet, so oddly far away; if he'd tried to touch her then, his fingers would've gone right through her. He's certain of it. The desert is like that, isn't it. You have something, something precious and rare, until you realise how thirsty you are, that you're dying from the heat and hallucinating as a consequence.
Hoping to disappear.
Gaze open, he says, voice low, almost hushed: ]
Ask me again later. [ He tilts his chin slightly to the side, nodding. ] Is it like mine?
no subject
He reaches for his mask and pulls it up to his face, not slipping it on, but showing it off, how it'll look. Placement. Outline. ]
Different colour scheme. [ In contrast to Skywalker's blue notes, Claude's is red and black. ] But same basic design.
[ He had stars painted onto Skywalker's mask as well, although it's customary that only the royals wear them. Sometimes people use star-shaped designs anyway and no one will look twice at Skywalker, no, not for the stars. Probably for everything else.
Ask me again later, he had replied, voice hushed, like secrets spilling. Claude's breath catches in his throat a little. Later. You don't get later's with a lot of people, especially not people who are practically strangers. But Claude takes everything he can get. He wants too much, he knows. He's been told. He wants too much for the world, he wants too much for himself.
He wants a lot for Skywalker, too. ]
I'm distinguishable by my three stars, the biggest one right between the eyes. You've got one at each temple. Don't want people to believe you're me.
no subject
Oh, they will be able to tell the difference.
[ Spoken with a bit of heat, something hard and unyielding in his voice. He feels his saber by his hip, the comforting, familiar weight of it. Someone is definitely going to feel it - the practical consequence of harassing a man who knows what he wants, where he's going and how. Anakin's just the means.
Adorned with stars, this time, and just a little better for it. ]