He has the new armour, the pauldron he wouldn’t wear, the new blaster — it’s none of the bright oranges of a new day, none of the heavy weight of the DC-15s that are carefully cradled in his steady hands.
But Obi-Wan knows him, all the same.
The familiarity of Cody’s presence is a burning furnace against the back of his mind, a reminder of how he walks and talks and commands the troopers of their battalion; and even if the Empire has sharpened him to become what they want him to be, to be the hilt of their crimes, Obi-Wan can feel the oozing warmth of his existence, smothered and buried and shackled in their cage.
Even blind, even with Death’s scythe against his throat—
Obi-Wanknowshim.
He doesn’t move, the weapon aimed at him doesn’t waver, and the helmet’s visor doesn’t look away.
Obi-Wan merely gazes back at him.
Cody, still as the air above their heads, doesn’t shoot.
He has the new armour, the pauldron he wouldn’t wear, the new blaster — it’s none of the bright oranges of a new day, none of the heavy weight of the DC-15s that are carefully cradled in his steady hands.
But Obi-Wan knows him, all the same.
The familiarity of Cody’s presence is a burning furnace against the back of his mind, a reminder of how he walks and talks and commands the troopers of their battalion; and even if the Empire has sharpened him to become what they want him to be, to be the hilt of their crimes, Obi-Wan can feel the oozing warmth of his existence, smothered and buried and shackled in their cage.
Even blind, even with Death’s scythe against his throat—
Obi-Wanknowshim.
He doesn’t move, the weapon aimed at him doesn’t waver, and the helmet’s visor doesn’t look away.
Obi-Wan merely gazes back at him.
Cody, still as the air above their heads, doesn’t shoot.
