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Cal's breath is knocked out of him in a gasp as Bion's fist connects with his jaw. He tries to take is as best he can, spinning with the blow, but he's never actually been punched before. In the past, when he could still use the Force as a sixth sense without risking his life, it would've been so easy to see the attack coming and sidestep. But now here he is in a cantina on a backwater world getting punched by an angry Arcona because he'd managed to stumble into his table and upset his drink.
It isn't fair, Cal thinks hotly as pain explodes hot across his face. He's a Jedi. This is not what his life should be like.
“You going to give up that easily, human?” the surly alien says in a low voice.
Cal's own hands clench into fists, and he whirls and takes his own swing. He's tired; he's so tired of hiding and being afraid and not being able to fight back. Now, just for a moment, he's going to stop holding back.
Bion deflects Cal's first easily with a meaty arm and chortles. “That's the spirit!”
Other people in the cantina are watching now, hooting and cheering. Cal can feel himself flushing and steps back into a defensive stance, planning his next move. If I could show you my lightsaber, he thinks, even as he knows it's wrong, you wouldn't be so haughty.
Bion hunkers down dangerously and gestures Cal forward. Gritting his teeth, Cal launches himself at the alien.
He hadn't planned the move well enough. Bion reaches right under his defenses and socks him in the gut, sending Cal flying back and sliding along the sticky ground with a shocked cry.
“And stay down,” Bion huffs. He returns to the bar for another drink, the fight over as quickly as it had begun. Like Cal isn't even wort his time. The members of their audience return to their own drinks.
Cal smarts. Has he really fallen this far? Not only to have lost so badly and so quickly but to have fought at all? His master would be ashamed. Cal is ashamed of himself.
“Cal?”
He glances up to see Prauf leaning over and offering him a hand, concern creasing the Abednedo's face.
“Are you all right?”
Cal sighs and allows his friend to help him back to his feet, wincing at the pain in his jaw and gut. “No permanent damage,” he mutters.
Prauf frowns. “You shouldn't have engaged him.”
“I know. It's just...” Cal's fingers curl into fists again, clenching helplessly.
Prauf's hand lands heavily on his shoulder. “There are better ways to take out your frustration, my friend. Come. Let me buy you a drink.”
Cal sighs, deflating. Prauf has always seen too much of him. “I think I owe you one for picking me up off the floor.”
Prauf chuckles. “Take it on credit. Maybe next time it'll be Bion on the floor, and you'll be paying me back.”
Cal smiles faintly, trying to shake off the shame. Next time he's going to have more control. He hopes.