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Obi-Wan groaned as another day of soaking rain dawned; he almost wished for the sands of the Sundari desert compared to the mud he found himself wearing the mast month and a half. He and Satine got separated from Qui-Gon Jinn when they’d been attacked by Kyr'tsad near a small outpost called Northstand.
It was near-ish to Enerci where he and Satine found themselves that day; water logged and just plain annoyed at each other. The fact that Satine just would not shut up was annoying Obi-Wan to no end, it was like having a younger Padawan around who didn’t know the rules.
He held back a sigh, of course she didn’t understand the rules, she wasn’t a Jedi. and even when he tried to explain them to her, she wouldn’t karking listen.
She had exposed them the last three times they had made it to some type of civilization. If it weren’t for the fact that they were both fifteen and sixteen respectively, the farmer’s family wouldn’t have helped them out the last time, but, apparently even older teens got babies on Mandalore.
“Let’s work on your pronunciations.” Satine said after she got done telling about the first time she and her family had gone fishing, which, depending on one's standards, was an interesting story.
“How about we don’t but say we do.” he replied.
“Obi…”
“And you have to call me Ben.” the younger teen frowned. He tried not to sound too annoyed; “and no one speaks New Mandalorian.” he groused. Okay, he definitley frowned then for Satine’s eyebrows drew up as she started to fume back at him.
“Stop being such a Di’kut.” she huffed. “You’re accent is appalling.”
“I dropped the core accent what more do you want from me?” he asked in a rather convincing outrim accent if he did say so himself. At least Quinlan - who had helped him to study the accent was convinced.
“It’s a horrible accent, you should sound as if you’re from Concordia.”
“But you don’t even sound as if you’re from Concordia, and they don’t sound any different from Braslin.” Obi-Wan rolled his eyes to the sky, this was the third-hundredth time they had this little squabble.
The clouds were steele grey above, the sunlight was dim and their boots squelched in the mud as they moved towards the backwater town that Obi-Wan had been nearing for a few clicks now.
“And besides, everyone looks at you weirdly.”
“I wonder why.” Obi-Wan replied sarcastically. “At age thirteen the children are adults and get their armour. They hve probably trained with all styles of blasters by then, and gone on hunts and whatever whatever.” he waved a hand at her. “Even the girls, you and I are not wearing armour, we avoid fights like the plague and your bolstering comes off as juvenile fronting while everyone else has something to back their claims up.”
He took a breath and continued on before she could interrupt; “I can’t even use my lightsaber, and the only blaster skills I picked up was when I was eleven fighting with other child soldiers when my Master decided that was the perfect time to be a selfish prick. So, please excuse me, if I don’t really give a kark right now.”
And then he turned his back to her and walked faster towards the small town; he needed new clothes and a bed and kark whatever Master Qui-Gon thought about splurging their coin.
&*&*&*&*
The next day, it was raining, again. Obi-Wan sighed because it was market day and they needed supplies, but their other clothing wasn’t even dry yet, even with the sonic dryers the Inn hosted; At least Satine decided to cover her hair, just to keep from getting too wet, or more wet? He didn’t know the difference while the locals seemed to think that there was one.
They kept getting stared at, Satine being the oldest of the two bossed him around, he rolled his eyes at her and took it. Where most siblings would fight each other in the mud. Neither wore armour, of course, because it went against Satine’s vows as future Duchess of Mandalore.
“I hate it that they’re always looking at us.” she muttered in her high Concordia/Coruscanti accent. She didn’t even know she had some of it. Obi-Wan pursed his lips.
“Someone is going to recognize you if you don’t shut up.” Obi-Wan tried, again. But the glower he got from Satine shut him up. They stepped out of the Inn’s doorway when the rain finally seemed to let up.
Walking through the mud, again, they soon came across a market. Thankful awnings had been set up to keep some of the dirt road from getting too rained on as sentients shopped. Most wearing Beskar. And turning to watch them as they stepped through. Not looking at the more expensive stalls.
Obi-Wan sighed, he needed to find new boots for Satine. Her’s were just falling apart, having been bought at a boutique on Coruscant before she left for Mandalore to properly do something about “their horrid” civilization. He could tell they had been a knock off of a sherka skin boot he had actually seen Bail Organa wore one time at a function he simply had to drag Obi-Wan to attend.
Intent on that bit of footwear, he carried on past the blasters and the swords….though he would have liked one and finally came across a regular clothing stall.
“Excuse me…” he said to get the armour Mandalorian’s attention. They wore a light blue armour with green detailing. “I’m looking for a pair of boots for my sister.” he turned to Satine, her scarf was no longer covering her very distinctive looking hair. Mandalorians on the planet proper rarely had such sunlight hair.
“Of course, and how much do you wish to spend?” the Mando asked.
“I have a hundred and thirty.” Obi-Wan replied, it was a paltry sum back on Coruscant. Even his own Bantha hide boots cost the Quartermaster more. Not that they were told how much the boots cost in the first place. He had ran into a rather enthusiastic cobbler.
“That might get you something decent.” the sentient replied. “What size?”
Obi-Wan turned to Satine who had finally found the stall he had stopped at, they had lost each other for a bare moment back in the crowds braving the rain.
“I’m a size seven.” Satine replied. The stall owner turned to find something that would fit their budget and came back with a pair of dark, bantha skinned boots. “Try these on.”
Satine did, the stall owner made a grunting noise when they saw how horrible her boots actually were. The new boots fit perfectly; the stall owner took the old ones and threw them into the nearby trash pile. They didn’t even want to try and refurbish them.
Obi-Wan paid and they continued down the damp road; “Put your scarf up, we don’t want you to be recognized.” he mumbled at her.
“Oh, no one here is gonna know a thing…” Satine started. Then stumbled as Obi-Wan put a hand out and pushed her into a puddle of mudd; it was not under an awning and so Satine was wetter than she’d ever been before.
Thankfully some of the mudd had splashed up onto her face; and with that she lost that high born accent and started to yell at him in proper Mando’a even. Her accent is thick.
“Meg te haran vaabir gar mirdir gar're doing, gar ori shit kov'nyn!!!!”
Obi-Wan pursed his lips at her as everyone turned stare at them; “Gar cuyir such a aaray….” he muttered.