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When asked, Satine will claim it was an accident. But the simple truth is that she just couldn’t resist. Besides, it is partly Obi-Wan’s fault. If he hadn’t insisted on learning the proper form and technique for utilizing a jetpack, he wouldn’t have been so easily accessible. He’s standing on the edge of the launch platform and checking to ensure the Mandalorian apparatus is ready for flight when Satine slips up behind him with so little effort that she cannot decide if he is either too preoccupied with his preflight check to sense her approach or if he simply believes she is coming to see him off.
“Come to wish me luck, my dear?” He asks when she is directly behind him. So, he does sense her presence but does not see her as a threat. Satine smiles at his back.
“May the Force be with you, Obi,” she purrs before adding an enthusiastic, "K’oyacyi!” Technically, the phrase can mean many different things, but Obi-Wan focuses on the literal translation.
“Stay alive!?”
Before he can question her further, Satine slaps his well-formed Jedi backside. He actually jumps in response and then tumbles off the platform. Were he not attune to the Force, she might feel a bit repentant for startling him so. But Obi-Wan rallies quickly and is hovering in the air within seconds. He moves out from the platform a bit to test the jetpack and accustom himself to its controls as Bo circles him once, then comes in for a landing. She glances at Satine with a curious look.
“Sister, whatever did you do to your Jedi?”
Satine is too busy trying to suppress her amusement to immediately answer, but she takes a deep breath and manages to reply, “I don’t know what you mean.”
Bo-Katan arches an expressive brow at that and says, “I cannot say I’ve ever seen Kenobi flustered.”
“Flustered? Really?” Now Satine cannot keep the hint of laugher from her voice.
“Yes. I’ve never seen a Jedi’s face turn red before. How did you manage that?”
“My dear Bo,” Satine manages with as much stately decorum as she can muster, which isn’t much given she’s about to burst into laughter at any moment. “As Duchess of Mandalore, it is my prerogative to keep my tactics secret.”
Again, her sister studies her with a measured look. Then, “Did you pinch the man?”
Satine gives a mock look of horror. “I’ve never entertained such a thought!” But, of course, she is entertaining it now. Perhaps the next time she catches her knight unawares…. The possibilities momentarily distract her long enough that she only barely registers when Bo’s gaze shifts from her to a point somewhere over her shoulder.
“Whatever your maneuver might have been, Sister, I’ve no doubt you will soon have ample opportunity to explain yourself,” Bo is saying. “If not to me, then to your Jedi.” The words have scarcely sunk in before Satine feels a presence land directly behind her. She doesn’t have to turn around to know it’s Obi-Wan. In truth, she would not have had the chance. For, no sooner does he touch down, than he is sweeping her up into his arms and once more taking flight.
“Obi-Wan Kenobi!” She yells his name in rebuke while wrapping her arms about his neck, though there really is no need for her death grip given the man holds her securely in his strong embrace. “Put me down this instant!”
“That would be rather unwise, Duchess,” he comments as they soar higher into the air. “Your current position is precarious, to say the least. Releasing you now would be in direct violation of my principals as a Jedi. Nevermind my mandate to safeguard you from harm.”
“Ah,” she scoffs, “always the shining knight of the Republic!” Obi-Wan smirks at her sarcasm while angling to the right and changing their course of direction. She sees that they are headed for a balcony at the top of one of the nearby towers. Upon further inspection, she realizes it’s the balcony that adorns her own quarters. Satine glances back at him with a look that most would find - at the least - unsettling. “And just how did you know which balustrade to aim for, Master Jedi?”
Obi-Wan is not most people. He shows not one ounce of repentance and, instead, graces her with a somewhat sinful grin as he states, “I’ve made it my personal priority to learn every entry point one might utilize to access your chambers, my sweet. For safety reasons, of course.”
“Of course,” Satine echoes in a tone that sounds serious but cannot quite hide the teasing lilt that lies just beneath the surface. “All very proper. I’d expect nothing less from a Jedi.” A moment later, he is landing on her balcony. Satine expects him to lower her feet to the ground, but with a flick of his wrist, the glass door slides open and Obi-Wan casually strides into her quarters, carrying her over the threshold. When he still doesn’t put her down, Satine gives him a quizzical look. “Was there something you wished to discuss?”
“As a proper Jedi,” Obi-Wan twists her former words to his bidding, “I am obliged to seek justice.”
“Justice...and what misperceived insult might you think demands justice?” She gives him an innocent look which he meets with mock stringency.
“Come now, Duchess, surely you know I am a General of the Grand Army of the Republic,” he replies as gravely as though they were standing before her court. “Any attack upon my person is seen as a punishable offense. Retribution must be made.”
“Are not the Jedi above such standards?”
“We are obliged to respect the laws of those we assist in seeking peace, my dear,” Obi-Wan smoothly counters, though a smile twitches as the corner of his lips. “Unfortunately, I am bound by the principals of diplomacy you hold in such high regard.”
“Then, by all means, my Jedi,” Satine murmurs. “Reparations must be made.” Her gaze shifts to his mouth as she adds, “Might I atone for the assault on your rather well-toned form with a kiss?”
“You might,” he says, his own eyes sweeping her face with candid desire. Without further invitation, Satine leans into his personal space and claims his lips with her own. By virtue of her station, she knows she should be more subdued, but Satine is Mandalorian. Fierce passions are always brewing beneath the surface of her calm exterior, and Obi-Wan’s hunger rises to the challenge. He lowers her feet to the ground so that he can pull her flush against his body as the first kiss melts into another, followed by several more. And it becomes a bit of a contest as to who is guiding whom as their tongues thrust and parry, vying for the lead in their osculating dance.
In the end, it is duty that triumphs over them both as the comm unit on Obi-Wan’s vambrace begins to blink and a voice issues forth, “General Kenobi.” When there is no immediate response, the speaker adds, “General Kenobi, please come in.”
Obi-Wan relinquishes Satine’s lips with a sigh - though he keeps an arm wrapped about her waist - before responding to the communication device. “Yes, Cody, what is it?”
“Sorry, General, but we cannot find Duchess Kryze,” the clone replies. “I’m organizing search units to cover each sector. Longshot and Syg are gearing up to join you in the air, sir.”
“That won’t be necessary, Commander,” Obi-Wan informs his subordinate. “Have the men stand down. I assure you the duchess is secure.” He has the audacity to wink at her, though his tone remains serious as he adds, “She is in her quarters.”
“Very good sir.” There is no mistaking the relief in the clone’s voice. “I’ll inform her guard detail and have men stationed at her door in no more than five minutes. Cody out.” The comm goes silent and Obi-Wan lowers his arm to join the other wrapped about her waist.
“Alas, only five more minutes,” Satine bemoans the interruption.
“If I know Cody,” Obi-Wan says, “that number is grossly exaggerated. More than likely there will be troopers outside your door in only three minutes, possibly even two.”
Now, it is Satine who sighs. Then, with a mischievous grin, she asks, “Well then, tell me, Master Jedi, has compensation for your unfortunate ordeal been fully rendered?”
“If not,” he counters. “What is the Duchess of Mandalore willing to offer?”
“Really, Obi!” She pretends to be offended. “Are you a knight or a knave?”
“Some would argue both, my dear.” He favors her with a smile that somehow manages to be iniquitous yet guileless all the same. His gaze flicks to the door and, though she hears nothing, Satine knows he senses the approach of others. Then, his eyes are once more focused on her as he adds, “But, above all, I am a Jedi.” He releases his hold on her so that he can take a step back. His left hand reaches for hers and he lifts her fingers to his lips for a final kiss. “And, the one thing we value most, Duchess,” he murmurs as he starts to lower their entwined fingers, “is balance.”
There is no warning as the hand grasping hers twirls her to the side and his right palm snaps against the curve of her bottom. Satine yelps, not in pain but surprise, as the Jedi Knight gives her a smirk before retreating onto her balcony.
"Ret’ ner cyar’ika," he calls in Corescanti accented Mando’a with a quick salute. Then his jetpack is activated, and Obi-Wan is flying off into the skies.
Goodbye my darling, indeed! Satine thinks as the chime sounds, signaling that her guards have arrived. A wicked grin spreads across her lips. Well, two can play at this game. Prepare yourself, Obi-Wan Kenobi. You’ve engaged a Mandalorian. And we are unyielding. Her smile softens into something more tactfully polite as Satine turns to the door, gathering the austere of her station about her as if it were a cloak, and moves to greet her security detail. Let the games begin.