[ After tearing down a corrupt rule, watching his planet erupt in a minor civil war, handing power over to the rebel leader, Marc-Antoine and finally writing himself out of national archives for the time being, Claude is here. Coruscant. In many ways a place that works under the same problematic dogmas that Paris did, does, it'll take generations to restore justice there, but in even more ways completely different, completely new. For one, he isn't a prince any longer. For two, he's fully dressed.
Strangely enough, wearing trousers has been the most difficult acclimatization process of them all.
The title? He's glad to be without, kriff. He knows the new government will call on him eventually, there's been talk of changing their current senator for someone more willing to push for neutrality, but it's all in the works. Nothing's final. Nothing's there. Really, Claude feels like his entire life has been one long wait for something to settle the right way.
Tonight, he's decided to hit one of the bars on his way home from the small private collection of holobooks where he currently conducts his studies. His apartment in the upper-levels is bought for government grants, because he has turned down all royal appanages. They're the people's money, he'd said to the sound of loud cheering.
His planet has been thirsting. Well, tonight he's the thirsty one.
The bar is not high-class, but it's what you can afford when you live off other people's goodwill and what he can earn by assisting in academic projects here and there. He isn't by any means poor. He's simply adjusting from being dirty rich. Passing along the bar, he notices a tall, lanky-type man sitting hunched over a glass of water. Then, he stops. Turns. Walks over to the stool next to his, without seating himself, since he hasn't been invited. Claude isn't presumptuous, after all. ]
I think I just found you by your whole person, Skywalker.
[ No need for masks. No need for bare chests either. ]
[ Anakin will, if pressed (if there'd been anyone around to press him), admit that he's wallowing a bit. That maybe, just maybe, he should remember what his mom used to say and pull himself together to face another day, the way you do when you're glad to be alive, to have another chance, another rotation. Naturally, dwelling on his mother, however, takes him nowhere constructive and as a consequence, he's on the verge of beating his forehead against the counter in frustration at the depressive circularity of his own mood when he senses someone familiar approaching, the Force whispering look up, for once not in warning but in shivering expectation.
He blinks. Looks up, straightening a little.
In front of him, Claude stops by the stool next to his.
Anakin stares at this sudden manifestation of an actual, living, breathing person who might actually be a friend - then, finding his footing, he quickly nods at the chair in invitation and sits up straighter yet, brushing his dirty trousers down on instinct. Claude looks casual but good. Comfortable (and... nice. He looks nice). Anakin, meanwhile, has to swipe his bangs out of his face where the hair's sticking to him from sweat and dried motor oil. ]
So you did.
[ He tries to remember what he's heard of Claude since they kick-started the revolution in his homeworld. It isn't much. The Jedi Temple is a fairly closed-off world, particularly when you're kriffing grounded. ]
I see you got tired of a world without bureaucracy. [ A smile. ] Welcome to Coruscant.
[ Skywalker, Anakin - can they be on first name basis now? - looks like someone dumped him in an engine and gave him a good grinding among the gears, from the scratches down his cheek to the stains on his clothes. Not Jedi robes, though. Civilian. Undercover? Misbehaving? With him, Claude thinks, you better not guess, you better ask. Slowly, he seats himself on the stool at Anakin's invitation and has to right his seating a bit to accommodate all the stupid fabric around his legs. Finally finding a comfortable position, Claude turns towards the other man slightly, cocking his head, meeting his eyes, his smile. Welcome to Coruscant, he says, meaning - where bureaucracy was born. Multiple people have told Claude the same thing after he got here, but in differing wordings, subtle warnings. Anakin's words are a tease. Claude likes that. ]
Figured I should aim higher this time. Are you going to help me start a revolution here as well?
[ There's no note of expectation in it. Claude knows he isn't sitting before his designated weapon of choice, to be pulled out when you need things to move and to move fast. Evidently, Anakin is good for that kind of stuff, but he has his own aspirations, no doubt. Hopes, dreams. His own stories. Claude remembers. Ask me again.
This was meant as a good-natured joke in return.
He gestures at the bartender as they move past them, holding up two fingers, leaving the decision as to what they're getting up to their discretion. It'll probably be strong and expensive, then. Exactly what they need. Attention back at the Jedi - who doesn't look altogether Jedi-like tonight. ]
You look like you already fought one, though. [ And because he wants it to be clear, between them. ] If you ask me, you should fight more.
[ Claude orders something from the bartender, holding up two fingers so presumably, Anakin's drinking alcohol tonight. He doesn't, not with any kind of regularity, but he can hold his liquor if he paces himself. Good thing he isn't small or scrawny (he'll never get to watch Ahsoka get herself smashed, for example as a celebration of Knighthood, but he's fairly certain she would be all over the place, drunk, his little sister). At Claude's initial question, he huffs out a breath and leans back a little, stretching out his legs. He accidentally brushes Claude's shoe with his boot and shifts, withdrawing, trying to ignore the way that brief contact made him feel noticeably warmer all over. ]
You'd think so, wouldn't you. It's what I'm good at.
[ Said with a shrug, no traces of bitterness. He's not ashamed to be good in a fight - someone has to be, surely. ]
Apparently, starting revolutions on other planets doesn't make you popular in the Jedi Order.
[ He sips his water again, taking care not to chug it down needlessly. Anakin has never wasted water and never will. ]
I think laying low's my best bet at the moment so - [ He nudges Claude's foot with his own. Just. Briefly. Just because. It doesn't mean anything. ] - you're on your own if you wanna rebel. Doesn't mean I wouldn't like to see it.
[ Their feet touch, briefly, accidentally - Claude consciously leaving himself open and approachable, not drawing away, not pulling back, staying where he might be reached if reaching out is what Anakin wants to do. Listening to the other man explain about the Jedi Order's reproach of his actions on Paris, he senses the moment approaching, then the Jedi shifts and nudges Claude's foot again with his own, completely deliberately this time. It could be friendly, sure. It could be something else, he doesn't read anything into it that isn't there - and leaves it up to Anakin to clarify in his own time.
You're on your own if you wanna rebel. Doesn't mean I wouldn't like to see it.
Smiling, a slightly loopsided not-quite-grin, he shakes his head and accepts the drinks the bartender puts down in front of them; Abrax Cognac, vintage judging by the smell. The blue liquid catches the flashing neon lights very prettily. Wrapping his fingers around the tumbler, he feels the weight of it, the bartender hasn't been a miser about it either which will no doubt cost him. All right, then. He raises both eyebrows in Anakin's general direction. ]
I'll be as popular as you are with your Order, if the new people's government decides to make me senator.
[ A slow look up and down Anakin's front, face, clothes, indicating all of it. Indicating approval. He nudges him back, playfully. ]
And I'll probably lie low in much the same way, definitely with the same results.
[ He sniffs the drink, the scent of alcohol obvious without being off-putting. Glancing at the bright blue liquid briefly, he looks back at Claude and nudges him back, like they're just trading touches now, one after one. There's something about it that feels final - they've settled something that's been otherwise up in the air. Spine tingling, he ducks his head, sipping the drink carefully. It tastes strong, a little sharp. Not bad at all. ]
You, uh.
[ He pauses, wetting his lips. He's never been particularly good or strategic with words, he's got a more... direct approach, as he's often been reminded by Obi-Wan. He's no politician. No Negotiator. But something about the mental image of Claude, walking the huge halls of the Senate building, disappearing amongst the crowd like he's one in thousands, just another fancy cloak... it unsettles him. He looks at the other man, metal fingers tapping against the counter.
They've had frank discussions before, haven't they? ]
Do you really want to do that? Be a senator?
[ He thinks about Padmé, Padmé who seems to want a lot with the world though even when she goes all the way for her cause, it only barely disturbs the status quo. It's not just because of her, because of the way she goes about it. The system is broken. Until the Chancellor finds a way to fix it - and he says he will so it goes to reason that he will - it will remain that way. A waste of resources. ]
[ There goes his fingers, tapping against the counter, Claude watching the way they move, the metallic thud of their tips on wood. A part of him is weirdly aroused at the way Anakin questions him, the way he is asking him to bring his best game, not for anyone else's sake but for his. Like he's being met by a challenge that he might not succeed with, because winning isn't the point here. Impacting is. Impacting's the point. He frowns, leans in and folds his palm softly over the back of Anakin's hand, stopping his fingers' movement. ]
You're thinking, the system is broken, what's the use, right?
[ The other man's a soldier before all else, he'd know, he's symptomatic. Keeper of the peace? When there's a war raging, the system only knows one way to keep the peace and that's more shows of force, more blood, more so-called victories. Well, Claude is a fighter too, even if he'd never pick up a weapon. Rainier once told him, you keep daggers in your mouth, Your Highness.
His expression darkers for a moment and he strokes Anakin's hand once, then pulls back. Sips his cognac and looks straight ahead for a moment, before continuing in an even tone: ]
We don't change the system by abandoning it to the mercy of the people who benefit from it staying like it is. We go in, we seize it and only then can we tear it down.
[ Another sip, longer. He puts his glass down and turns towards Anakin with a raise of his chin, arrogance probably, pride, things that don't belong with him, but while he keeps daggers in his mouth, he's still only human. He also fights for feminism for his own sake. As much as for his mother's and every other female in the galaxy. Every subject of a corrupt sovereign. Every slave. ]
I know the volume of my own voice and, at this point, my own example. I have a responsibility to present both the tough questions and the tough answers to those whose futures are on the line, the marginalised of every known world. I don't care about the Galactic Senate, honestly, Anakin, but it's a platform to reach those who will benefit from the necessary change.
[ Okay, a moment to breathe. He takes a couple of deep breaths, running one hand through his hair shakily. He doesn't talk himself into these kinds of dazes with anyone else, not since... He was a lot younger, now he has no excuses. ]
In the end, maybe they can do what I can't and rebuild the house.
[ It's Claude's touch, more so than his words, that stills him. Though the sensors in his mechno-hand could be better, he's refined them to the point where they're decent enough and Claude's touch translates as warmth, trailing up his underarm, into his flesh. It's been a while, he thinks, since anyone bothered to put some weight on him that didn't make him challenge himself. He sips his own drink, mirroring Claude, trying to wrap his mind around the implications of his words. The marginalised again, yes, and the idea of helping those who actually need to benefit. That's all him, that's how he's come to know the man and the most spectacular thing is, he seems to actually mean it.
He's heard Padmé make her points about the economy, about trade regulations and corruption in the banking clan. She holds strong opinions about the war, about Naboo and her people's rights to be free. He respects her for that, of course.
But whenever she speaks about democracy, all he hears are fantasies about how it ought to be and not what it's like, what it isn't. He rarely contradicts her so long as they stay off certain subjects. He doesn't think there's any true point to it; she can't see. She was born on a Core World, she didn't even know that slavery existed in the galaxy for half of her life - her eyes are simply too different from his and that's fine. That's what it is.
He frowns. Takes a deep breath and decides to test the waters. ]
It's a flawed platform. Sometimes - [ He watches Claude carefully now. ] - I think its reach is an illusion.
[ After a moment, mirroring him, once more mirroring him, Anakin brings out his own beliefs and Claude embraces them without question, raising both eyebrows slightly and gesturing softly with one hand, half a shoulder. His chest isn't bare any longer, but the shirt fits so tightly that the movement of shoulderblade and upper arm translates perfectly. Not a shrug, he isn't dismissing him. ]
It's not that I disagree.
[ The distribution of wealth and power is like an unevenly measured pair of scales, the weight falls on some, not on others. Until that has been righted, there will be no grand rebuildings of grand galactic senates and perhaps all the better for it.
Maybe they need simpler structures, for transparancy. And they definitely need different people to delegate. Claude runs his eyes up over Anakin's face, the strong features, the scrapes and the bruises. He's been out causing problems tonight, no doubt about it. Sometimes people smash at things they don't even know what is and Claude thinks, Anakin is smashing at the old ways without recognising his own destruction.
Claude likes it. That willingness to act again, for what feels right, not what looks right. Looks deceive, after all. ]
[ Anakin's eyes briefly follow the movement of Claude's muscles as he moves, the tight shirt stretching across his chest and making him remember what he looks like without it. Wearing very little, as it were. It makes him feel just slightly heated and he picks at his own sleeve, briefly, just to do something with his body. Something physical. The thrill of racing has long since abated.
Are you going to tell me Claude asks, not because he can't guess - the other man has told him many times that he isn't blind to the way the galaxy works, that there is oppression and carelessness and corruption within the established system, as a direct consequence of it. At best, it's accidental neglicence. At worst, it's selfishness.
Or rather, a combination of both.
He worries his bottom lip for a second, feeling weirdly young all of a sudden. When he first came to Coruscant, he'd known next to nothing of the world he'd come to and seen everything through the lenses he'd been born with, the views he'd been brought up to survive by. Though the Chancellor had never made him feel stupid (as opposed to Obi-Wan who still, regularly, indulges in that little joy), he'd known that his views were... limited. The world is much, much bigger than they'd ever tell you, Anakin, Palpatine used to say when Anakin would come to him, angry and stubborn (and sad) about yet another thing he hadn't known how to know, for not being able to read or write, for bothering Obi-Wan with his ignorance. It's no fault of yours, the Chancellor would add, always kindly. All you have to do is keep listening and your base of knowledge will right itself.
Hard to say whether that ever truly happened but if the Chancellor sees too much in him, one can hardly blame him. It's just the way he is. ]
If there'd been any true power behind the Republic as it is, they would have ended the Hutt Clans long ago.
[ It comes out harshly, his words clipped. Catching himself, he takes a deep breath and continues. ]
They're criminals. Murderers - slavers. And we have an army now, we have fire power and means. But all we do is fight droids and I get that it's important, that we mustn't give even an inch to the Separatists. Even so.
[ He trails off. Runs his fingers through his hair idly, restlessly. ]
[ While he listens to Anakin, it dawns on him that the other man isn't speaking from an ideological point of view. He is speaking from experience, and what a difference that makes. While Paris has suffered under oppression for generations, it has been of another kind, there has not been a societal acceptance of crime or murder or, indeed, slavery. No matter what you might say of everyone being slaves of the system, it is not those people who are owned and branded by others.
It saddens him. Not for his own sake, not for anyone's sake but Anakin's. His eyes are drawn in by the way Anakin runs his fingers through his hair, the half-long strands of it falling around his face. Claude would embrace him if he had been given any invitation to do so, as it is his hand clenches into a fist next to his half-empty cognac glass. The only sympathy he can offer, really.
As individuals they are all but powerless in these matters. It is a systemic problem to solve. Because the systemic structure relies on the status quo to exist and on the dismantling of the status quo to not. ]
You're right, it is. [ It's not a difficult admittance to make. ] It's not just wrong as a matter of oversight either, its wrongness is consciously being ignored, because as long as we support that kind of injustice, the moneyflow will uphold everyone's living standards. Everyone except those who suffer under it.
[ With a frown, Claude turns towards Anakin fully, twisting on his stool, his knees bumping the other man's leg gently. ]
It isn't meant to be like that, it isn't meant to be a division between everything and nothing. We're all supposed to own enough to be comfortable, not more and not less. Least of all, we're all supposed to own ourselves, Anakin.
[ The last sentence comes out soft and empathetic, to emphasize that Claude is going to guess at why this matters to him, why he isn't blind to this shortcoming of the system, although Anakin's evidently willing to overlook a lot of other ones. There are many problems in regards to the established system, of course, some greater and some minor, and unfortunately sometimes it's the resolution of the minor ones that will in the end lead to a current that can resolve the great ones. You should think it was the other way around, right?
Feminism works on several levels at once, it must. Claude looks at the other man directly while taking another drink of his Abrax. ]
By principle, I should probably tell you the only way to solve this is through political channels, but there are transgressions so grave and belief systems so skewed that diplomacy can't fix it. We have a saying on Paris that translates to something like "you can't reason with a violent madman, you must first knock him down and once he lies still, you can reason". I think it applies here, too.
[ Claude bumps his knee and tells him that it isn't meant to be like this, not because the ideology is right and the people are wrong - but because the system itself isn't based on freedom for everyone. Slavery isn't meant to be abolished, by that logic. Anakin hates it.
And he's known for years, though he'd never be able to put it as concisely as Claude just did.
Drink mostly forgotten, he leans in a little, gaze roaming across Claude's features - familiar at this point, pronounced cheekbones, almond-shaped eyes, full lips - and thinking, how does he understand? but he does, finally, someone who does. When he was younger, he'd talk to as many people as he could in the Temple, trying to find someone who'd be willing to help him, to go with him to Tatooine and get his mother, their people. It speaks volumes, really, that he's here today, fighting somebody else's war, while his mother has become one with the sands. Diplomacy can't fix it says Claude and that's the problem, in a nutshell.
Winning the war is up the Jedi, to the soldiers, to those who take up arms. Ending slavery is no different.
For a long, long moment, he just looks at Claude, his own gaze unflinching as he takes him in, imprints. ]
I'm glad you know these things. That someone does.
[ He shifts forward, their knees not just brushing but pressing together, feeling the hardness of the other man, bone and muscle and skin and above that, heat. For some reason, he remembers the flash of lights passing by as he'd flown through the lower level streets, spinning and dodging completely by instinct, his own body a continuation of the speeder, of its circuits and switches and the fuel, burning to nothing too fast.
He thinks about that and then, carefully, he puts his flesh hand over Claude's and rests it there, fingers curling slightly around the shape of it. ]
[ They draw closer proportionally, Anakin turning towards him, their knees pushing over each other, bone and flesh and heat and blood ready to spill, and Claude stays calm beneath the other man's gaze, because it weighs on him, like lead, like metal, like heatwaves. He doesn't imagine the Jedi Temple has been a welcoming home in regards to these particular views, not any more than his own Council welcomed his views back on Paris. So, they've been shouting into abysses, the both of them.
Now they're shouting at each other and if nothing else, there are willing ears on the other end of the sound, travelling.
Anakin's flesh hand is lighter and warmer, but also somehow gentler than what Claude has felt of his mechno one. It wraps around the back of his own, like initiative, but also like bridging. Claude sits like that for a long moment, lets Anakin tell him that he's never met anyone like him before which, honestly, likewise, Anakin Skywalker, before he twists his hand in the other man's grip, turns his palm upwards, catches his fingers and interlaces them with his own. A slight smile, not amused, not teasing, just there. His most genuine response.
It feels nice, close. He feels visible for the first time in many years. Like a ghost seeing its own reflection in a mirror, impossible but they say that about a lot of things that you only need the right measures for.
Claude leans in a bit, bringing their faces closer together, hair brushing, foreheads almost, too. ]
Means we've both been too alone, I guess.
[ He bumps their foreheads, then, smile widening. ]
If you don't want to go back tonight, you can sleep at my place.
[ Claude doesn't pull away and though Anakin hadn't exactly expected him to - mostly because he doesn't usually concern himself with what-ifs or hypothetical failures - there's still a part of him that settles, feeling Claude staying beneath his hand before he turns his palm upwards and entwines their fingers. His smile is sweet. Anakin watches it, feeling hungry for something he can't entirely understand and when the other man leans in, he follows suit, mirrors him, until their foreheads press together. ]
I do. [ He pauses. Re-thinks the words quickly, then adds, feeling like he's stumbling over himself a little now, the way he used to do around Padmé when he was eighteen, devoid of experience: ] I mean, I want to. Come home with you.
[ Right now, he can't imagine doing anything else - going back to the Temple to be by himself some more, to meditate? Going back to the lower levels to drag his wrecked speeder away, knowing that it'll take him months to fix it? All of that sounds like he can't afford the time it'll take, like it's too long and it'll leave him with less than when he started, the way it's been ever since he left Tatooine. Losses. Less and less.
Meanwhile, Claude's smile makes his heart beat faster.
Smiling slightly, he tightens his grip on the other man and holds on. He knows where he wants to go and Claude... Claude is leading the way. ]
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no subject
Strangely enough, wearing trousers has been the most difficult acclimatization process of them all.
The title? He's glad to be without, kriff. He knows the new government will call on him eventually, there's been talk of changing their current senator for someone more willing to push for neutrality, but it's all in the works. Nothing's final. Nothing's there. Really, Claude feels like his entire life has been one long wait for something to settle the right way.
Tonight, he's decided to hit one of the bars on his way home from the small private collection of holobooks where he currently conducts his studies. His apartment in the upper-levels is bought for government grants, because he has turned down all royal appanages. They're the people's money, he'd said to the sound of loud cheering.
His planet has been thirsting. Well, tonight he's the thirsty one.
The bar is not high-class, but it's what you can afford when you live off other people's goodwill and what he can earn by assisting in academic projects here and there. He isn't by any means poor. He's simply adjusting from being dirty rich. Passing along the bar, he notices a tall, lanky-type man sitting hunched over a glass of water. Then, he stops. Turns. Walks over to the stool next to his, without seating himself, since he hasn't been invited. Claude isn't presumptuous, after all. ]
I think I just found you by your whole person, Skywalker.
[ No need for masks. No need for bare chests either. ]
no subject
He blinks. Looks up, straightening a little.
In front of him, Claude stops by the stool next to his.
Anakin stares at this sudden manifestation of an actual, living, breathing person who might actually be a friend - then, finding his footing, he quickly nods at the chair in invitation and sits up straighter yet, brushing his dirty trousers down on instinct. Claude looks casual but good. Comfortable (and... nice. He looks nice). Anakin, meanwhile, has to swipe his bangs out of his face where the hair's sticking to him from sweat and dried motor oil. ]
So you did.
[ He tries to remember what he's heard of Claude since they kick-started the revolution in his homeworld. It isn't much. The Jedi Temple is a fairly closed-off world, particularly when you're kriffing grounded. ]
I see you got tired of a world without bureaucracy. [ A smile. ] Welcome to Coruscant.
no subject
Figured I should aim higher this time. Are you going to help me start a revolution here as well?
[ There's no note of expectation in it. Claude knows he isn't sitting before his designated weapon of choice, to be pulled out when you need things to move and to move fast. Evidently, Anakin is good for that kind of stuff, but he has his own aspirations, no doubt. Hopes, dreams. His own stories. Claude remembers. Ask me again.
This was meant as a good-natured joke in return.
He gestures at the bartender as they move past them, holding up two fingers, leaving the decision as to what they're getting up to their discretion. It'll probably be strong and expensive, then. Exactly what they need. Attention back at the Jedi - who doesn't look altogether Jedi-like tonight. ]
You look like you already fought one, though. [ And because he wants it to be clear, between them. ] If you ask me, you should fight more.
no subject
You'd think so, wouldn't you. It's what I'm good at.
[ Said with a shrug, no traces of bitterness. He's not ashamed to be good in a fight - someone has to be, surely. ]
Apparently, starting revolutions on other planets doesn't make you popular in the Jedi Order.
[ He sips his water again, taking care not to chug it down needlessly. Anakin has never wasted water and never will. ]
I think laying low's my best bet at the moment so - [ He nudges Claude's foot with his own. Just. Briefly. Just because. It doesn't mean anything. ] - you're on your own if you wanna rebel. Doesn't mean I wouldn't like to see it.
no subject
You're on your own if you wanna rebel. Doesn't mean I wouldn't like to see it.
Smiling, a slightly loopsided not-quite-grin, he shakes his head and accepts the drinks the bartender puts down in front of them; Abrax Cognac, vintage judging by the smell. The blue liquid catches the flashing neon lights very prettily. Wrapping his fingers around the tumbler, he feels the weight of it, the bartender hasn't been a miser about it either which will no doubt cost him. All right, then. He raises both eyebrows in Anakin's general direction. ]
I'll be as popular as you are with your Order, if the new people's government decides to make me senator.
[ A slow look up and down Anakin's front, face, clothes, indicating all of it. Indicating approval. He nudges him back, playfully. ]
And I'll probably lie low in much the same way, definitely with the same results.
no subject
You, uh.
[ He pauses, wetting his lips. He's never been particularly good or strategic with words, he's got a more... direct approach, as he's often been reminded by Obi-Wan. He's no politician. No Negotiator. But something about the mental image of Claude, walking the huge halls of the Senate building, disappearing amongst the crowd like he's one in thousands, just another fancy cloak... it unsettles him. He looks at the other man, metal fingers tapping against the counter.
They've had frank discussions before, haven't they? ]
Do you really want to do that? Be a senator?
[ He thinks about Padmé, Padmé who seems to want a lot with the world though even when she goes all the way for her cause, it only barely disturbs the status quo. It's not just because of her, because of the way she goes about it. The system is broken. Until the Chancellor finds a way to fix it - and he says he will so it goes to reason that he will - it will remain that way. A waste of resources. ]
no subject
You're thinking, the system is broken, what's the use, right?
[ The other man's a soldier before all else, he'd know, he's symptomatic. Keeper of the peace? When there's a war raging, the system only knows one way to keep the peace and that's more shows of force, more blood, more so-called victories. Well, Claude is a fighter too, even if he'd never pick up a weapon. Rainier once told him, you keep daggers in your mouth, Your Highness.
His expression darkers for a moment and he strokes Anakin's hand once, then pulls back. Sips his cognac and looks straight ahead for a moment, before continuing in an even tone: ]
We don't change the system by abandoning it to the mercy of the people who benefit from it staying like it is. We go in, we seize it and only then can we tear it down.
[ Another sip, longer. He puts his glass down and turns towards Anakin with a raise of his chin, arrogance probably, pride, things that don't belong with him, but while he keeps daggers in his mouth, he's still only human. He also fights for feminism for his own sake. As much as for his mother's and every other female in the galaxy. Every subject of a corrupt sovereign. Every slave. ]
I know the volume of my own voice and, at this point, my own example. I have a responsibility to present both the tough questions and the tough answers to those whose futures are on the line, the marginalised of every known world. I don't care about the Galactic Senate, honestly, Anakin, but it's a platform to reach those who will benefit from the necessary change.
[ Okay, a moment to breathe. He takes a couple of deep breaths, running one hand through his hair shakily. He doesn't talk himself into these kinds of dazes with anyone else, not since... He was a lot younger, now he has no excuses. ]
In the end, maybe they can do what I can't and rebuild the house.
no subject
He's heard Padmé make her points about the economy, about trade regulations and corruption in the banking clan. She holds strong opinions about the war, about Naboo and her people's rights to be free. He respects her for that, of course.
But whenever she speaks about democracy, all he hears are fantasies about how it ought to be and not what it's like, what it isn't. He rarely contradicts her so long as they stay off certain subjects. He doesn't think there's any true point to it; she can't see. She was born on a Core World, she didn't even know that slavery existed in the galaxy for half of her life - her eyes are simply too different from his and that's fine. That's what it is.
He frowns. Takes a deep breath and decides to test the waters. ]
It's a flawed platform. Sometimes - [ He watches Claude carefully now. ] - I think its reach is an illusion.
[ Accordingly, it needs to be dismantled. ]
no subject
It's not that I disagree.
[ The distribution of wealth and power is like an unevenly measured pair of scales, the weight falls on some, not on others. Until that has been righted, there will be no grand rebuildings of grand galactic senates and perhaps all the better for it.
Maybe they need simpler structures, for transparancy. And they definitely need different people to delegate. Claude runs his eyes up over Anakin's face, the strong features, the scrapes and the bruises. He's been out causing problems tonight, no doubt about it. Sometimes people smash at things they don't even know what is and Claude thinks, Anakin is smashing at the old ways without recognising his own destruction.
Claude likes it. That willingness to act again, for what feels right, not what looks right. Looks deceive, after all. ]
Are you going to tell me what it doesn't reach?
[ Ask me again, he had said. ]
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Are you going to tell me Claude asks, not because he can't guess - the other man has told him many times that he isn't blind to the way the galaxy works, that there is oppression and carelessness and corruption within the established system, as a direct consequence of it. At best, it's accidental neglicence. At worst, it's selfishness.
Or rather, a combination of both.
He worries his bottom lip for a second, feeling weirdly young all of a sudden. When he first came to Coruscant, he'd known next to nothing of the world he'd come to and seen everything through the lenses he'd been born with, the views he'd been brought up to survive by. Though the Chancellor had never made him feel stupid (as opposed to Obi-Wan who still, regularly, indulges in that little joy), he'd known that his views were... limited. The world is much, much bigger than they'd ever tell you, Anakin, Palpatine used to say when Anakin would come to him, angry and stubborn (and sad) about yet another thing he hadn't known how to know, for not being able to read or write, for bothering Obi-Wan with his ignorance. It's no fault of yours, the Chancellor would add, always kindly. All you have to do is keep listening and your base of knowledge will right itself.
Hard to say whether that ever truly happened but if the Chancellor sees too much in him, one can hardly blame him. It's just the way he is. ]
If there'd been any true power behind the Republic as it is, they would have ended the Hutt Clans long ago.
[ It comes out harshly, his words clipped. Catching himself, he takes a deep breath and continues. ]
They're criminals. Murderers - slavers. And we have an army now, we have fire power and means. But all we do is fight droids and I get that it's important, that we mustn't give even an inch to the Separatists. Even so.
[ He trails off. Runs his fingers through his hair idly, restlessly. ]
I just think the balance is off.
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It saddens him. Not for his own sake, not for anyone's sake but Anakin's. His eyes are drawn in by the way Anakin runs his fingers through his hair, the half-long strands of it falling around his face. Claude would embrace him if he had been given any invitation to do so, as it is his hand clenches into a fist next to his half-empty cognac glass. The only sympathy he can offer, really.
As individuals they are all but powerless in these matters. It is a systemic problem to solve. Because the systemic structure relies on the status quo to exist and on the dismantling of the status quo to not. ]
You're right, it is. [ It's not a difficult admittance to make. ] It's not just wrong as a matter of oversight either, its wrongness is consciously being ignored, because as long as we support that kind of injustice, the moneyflow will uphold everyone's living standards. Everyone except those who suffer under it.
[ With a frown, Claude turns towards Anakin fully, twisting on his stool, his knees bumping the other man's leg gently. ]
It isn't meant to be like that, it isn't meant to be a division between everything and nothing. We're all supposed to own enough to be comfortable, not more and not less. Least of all, we're all supposed to own ourselves, Anakin.
[ The last sentence comes out soft and empathetic, to emphasize that Claude is going to guess at why this matters to him, why he isn't blind to this shortcoming of the system, although Anakin's evidently willing to overlook a lot of other ones. There are many problems in regards to the established system, of course, some greater and some minor, and unfortunately sometimes it's the resolution of the minor ones that will in the end lead to a current that can resolve the great ones. You should think it was the other way around, right?
Feminism works on several levels at once, it must. Claude looks at the other man directly while taking another drink of his Abrax. ]
By principle, I should probably tell you the only way to solve this is through political channels, but there are transgressions so grave and belief systems so skewed that diplomacy can't fix it. We have a saying on Paris that translates to something like "you can't reason with a violent madman, you must first knock him down and once he lies still, you can reason". I think it applies here, too.
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And he's known for years, though he'd never be able to put it as concisely as Claude just did.
Drink mostly forgotten, he leans in a little, gaze roaming across Claude's features - familiar at this point, pronounced cheekbones, almond-shaped eyes, full lips - and thinking, how does he understand? but he does, finally, someone who does. When he was younger, he'd talk to as many people as he could in the Temple, trying to find someone who'd be willing to help him, to go with him to Tatooine and get his mother, their people. It speaks volumes, really, that he's here today, fighting somebody else's war, while his mother has become one with the sands. Diplomacy can't fix it says Claude and that's the problem, in a nutshell.
Winning the war is up the Jedi, to the soldiers, to those who take up arms. Ending slavery is no different.
For a long, long moment, he just looks at Claude, his own gaze unflinching as he takes him in, imprints. ]
I'm glad you know these things. That someone does.
[ He shifts forward, their knees not just brushing but pressing together, feeling the hardness of the other man, bone and muscle and skin and above that, heat. For some reason, he remembers the flash of lights passing by as he'd flown through the lower level streets, spinning and dodging completely by instinct, his own body a continuation of the speeder, of its circuits and switches and the fuel, burning to nothing too fast.
He thinks about that and then, carefully, he puts his flesh hand over Claude's and rests it there, fingers curling slightly around the shape of it. ]
I've never met anyone like you before.
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Now they're shouting at each other and if nothing else, there are willing ears on the other end of the sound, travelling.
Anakin's flesh hand is lighter and warmer, but also somehow gentler than what Claude has felt of his mechno one. It wraps around the back of his own, like initiative, but also like bridging. Claude sits like that for a long moment, lets Anakin tell him that he's never met anyone like him before which, honestly, likewise, Anakin Skywalker, before he twists his hand in the other man's grip, turns his palm upwards, catches his fingers and interlaces them with his own. A slight smile, not amused, not teasing, just there. His most genuine response.
It feels nice, close. He feels visible for the first time in many years. Like a ghost seeing its own reflection in a mirror, impossible but they say that about a lot of things that you only need the right measures for.
Claude leans in a bit, bringing their faces closer together, hair brushing, foreheads almost, too. ]
Means we've both been too alone, I guess.
[ He bumps their foreheads, then, smile widening. ]
If you don't want to go back tonight, you can sleep at my place.
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I do. [ He pauses. Re-thinks the words quickly, then adds, feeling like he's stumbling over himself a little now, the way he used to do around Padmé when he was eighteen, devoid of experience: ] I mean, I want to. Come home with you.
[ Right now, he can't imagine doing anything else - going back to the Temple to be by himself some more, to meditate? Going back to the lower levels to drag his wrecked speeder away, knowing that it'll take him months to fix it? All of that sounds like he can't afford the time it'll take, like it's too long and it'll leave him with less than when he started, the way it's been ever since he left Tatooine. Losses. Less and less.
Meanwhile, Claude's smile makes his heart beat faster.
Smiling slightly, he tightens his grip on the other man and holds on. He knows where he wants to go and Claude... Claude is leading the way. ]