Private All Due Respect

[Centin Tillo]

Risen

The padawan strolled through the halls leisurely, silently reviewing the instructions he had received from a holo-memo earlier that morning. Another new instructor. He internally groaned at the thought, loathing the idea of having to repeat the over familiar song and dance of meeting a new teacher. It’s always the same. We’ll greet each other, they’ll ask far too many personal questions, and we’ll already be off on the wrong foot. This new assignment was well over his dozenth, his previous instructors having all quit sooner or later. Let’s just hope this one gives up as quickly as the others. Centin’s reputation of being difficult to train was widespread among the Masters, a reputation he enjoyed playing into. Normally this attitude was born out of laziness and an unwillingness to work harder than the bare minimum. This time, however, his combative nature came from a place of pointed focus. The sooner we’re done the sooner I can get back to my own training regiment.

He sauntered into the training room a few minutes after the scheduled meeting time, despite having arrived outside the room early. They hate it when I make them wait. He grinned at the thought, delighted at any chance to annoy and inconvenience his superiors. The room was empty, save for the imposing figure near the end of the room. Centin eyed the stranger curiously, a Jedi Knight that he was wholly unfamiliar with.

“Master Rathe I presume? Sorry I’m late, I hope you didn’t have to wait too long.”

 

[Risen]

Centin Tillo

This was as difficult an order as Risen had received.

He paced the training room, wan-shen twirling between his fingers, across his shoulders or his neck. Not a nervous habit — Beshav had beaten those out of him a long time ago. But the movement helped him think.

He’d never had an apprentice before. Never wanted one. Still didn’t want one. He didn’t begrudge the padawan, exactly. There were always going to be upstart trainees who bit off more than they could chew. Lucky the boy was still alive to learn from it.

You have to teach him. The point of his spear struck the ground. Risen sighed.

Who was this kid, anyway? No one was willing to tell him. The padawan joined while he was offworld, and had already faced two Sith. Risen hoped that it would be easy, that this boy was just looking for an extra sparring partner while he licked his wounds. But then, why did his spine tingle? A cold sweat prickling his legs? It was the feeling he had just before an ambush.

Risen inspected his surroundings. An empty room, a single weapons rack on the wall. Steps leading to a depression in the center. That’d help: rare was the battle where elevation didn’t play a role. Otherwise, it was bare. That was… good? Free from distraction, maybe?

You trained on mountaintops, in running rivers.

Well, the Jedi had their own way of doing things. He wasn’t about to cause a stir. Maybe training in a featureless white room was actually better, somehow. He could hear his blood pounding. He could hear footsteps approaching. Risen fell into parade rest, wan-shen held behind.

“Master Rathe I presume? Sorry I’m late, I hope you didn’t have to wait too long.”

Blast, was the kid late? He hadn’t noticed. Probably wasn’t a good sign though. He’d have to break that habit if he was ever going to make a knight out of…

He’d forgotten the padawan’s name. Great.

“Name and rank, boy. And none of that ‘master’ stuff. ‘Sir’ is fine.” Is that how Beshav had sounded? “Um. That’s an order.”

 

[Centin Tillo]

Risen

“Name and rank, boy. And none of that ‘master’ stuff. ‘Sir’ is fine. Um. That’s an order.”

Hesitantly authoritarian? Definitely enjoys hierarchies, Centin thought, slowly beginning to assemble a profile of his new instructor. The um. Unusual. Lazy? Possible. Unconfident? Maybe. Unprepared? The most likely.

“Centin Tillo, Padawan sir. Do we actually have to do the ‘sir’ thing sir? Doesn’t that seem a bit outdated sir?” He prodded gently at first, trying haphazardly to see which of Risen’s buttons he could push. Without leaving the Knight time to respond Centin continued his probe. “Plus, sir, the use of sir in every sentence is cumbersome, sir. What about if I call you Rathe, sir. That is your last name, correct sir?”

Let’s see if that’s enough to set him off.

The padawan waited patiently for the knight’s response while pacing slowly at the edge of the room. Stay near the door, just in case. Never know if you might have another Master Wafai situation on your hands. He clasped his hands behind his back, mimicking the military posture of the man. Definitely a soldier at some point, looks well-trained. I've never heard about the guy so he must not be around often. Well, no point in beating around the bush.

"By the way, I was wondering... what's your deal? Why haven't I heard of you at some point?"

 

[Risen]

Centin Tillo

Centin, that’s right. One sentence in and he’d already given up ground to the youth, who seemed to be testing his defenses. Risen cringed. I can’t possibly have failed already, right?

Well, he’d lost some ground. Best not lose anymore.

“If you need a name, call me Risen. But you will address me properly.”

The padawan stayed far away, unsure. He watched the exits. So the kid’s got some survival instinct then. You wouldn’t know it from the tardiness, the easy posture. That pacing would have to go. Not to mention cracking wise at a man from Dathomir. How could someone be so cocky after losing twice?

He took up a soldier’s stance. Though ill-suited to the kid’s smug expression, the form was decent. Of course. This wasn’t some youngling twirling tree branches. He’d have some training. Sky above, he’d battled for his life. Risen couldn’t afford to dismiss Centin. As much as, in this moment, he wanted to.

“Bodyguard duty. Offworld.” It was a few year stint, likely a way for the Jedi to size him up. Risen had grown impatient. He wanted a real challenge.

They’d given him one, by the looks of it.

 

[Centin Tillo]

Risen

Bodyguard? Now that’s interesting.

“Who’d you guard then? And where?” Centin began his inquiry with a shallow line of questions, genuine curiosity breaking slightly through his arrogant facade. He also deliberately chose to ignore what Risen had said about addressing him “properly”.

He took a few steps closer into the room and awaited the Dathomirian’s response. “Were you any good at it? What happened to them?” he asked, continuing his interrogation.

The padawan strolled to the edge of the steps and sat down, legs dangling off the stair’s edge. He placed his hands against the ground behind him and leaned back in a relaxed pose. The boy closed his eyes for a moment, lounging on the stairway shamelessly before his new instructor. He remained like that for a moment before his eyes reopened and his gaze locked with the knight’s. He couldn’t help but wonder what had landed the warrior back at the Silver Rest.

“And of course, I’ve got to know. Why are you here? How badly did you screw up to find yourself here with me?” he asked, the last question dripping with sarcasm.

He rose from his seated position, stretching his arms before him as a yawn escaped. The young Jedi caught a glimpse of the chrono on his wrist and noticed the time. Blast it. I could’ve been back asleep by now. Or at the very least I could be anywhere else.

“Well let’s not waste anymore time, I’ve got places to be. I know you’ve got some questions about me.” He looked down at the collar of his tunic and began to adjust it, entirely dismissive of Risen’s presence. The padawan didn’t look up as he added, “Ask away then.”

 

[Risen]

Centin Tillo

“Someone who could afford Jedi attention. Near Darkwire space.”

“What happened to them?” Risen had prepared for this question.

“Dead.” His failure on Antar was a matter of public record: death was a part of the job, as much as lightsabers and starships were. The sooner Centin got used to that, the better. Though he had warned the fool…

Risen noticed the lack of address. Apparently he couldn’t just expect his orders to be followed. Not here, not on Antar. Funny how he had never even considered disobeying Beshav. The man just had a bearing, a way of speech and manner. It said, Do as I say, and we’ll be legends together. Trust me. Well, legends may not exist, but that training did. It turned a boy from the backwoods into a warrior. But as much as Risen searched those memories, shifted his weight, his pitch… Blast, why wasn’t it working?

Focus. Push the old man out of your head. Wait for your moment. Risen exhaled. It’s not like you were expecting to be good at this.

That’s when Risen realized, as the padawan dropped his soldier’s form and fell to lazing upon the steps… Was Centin mocking him? Fresh frustration came upon Risen like headrush, hidden behind his stoic mask with monumental effort.

“How badly did you screw up to find yourself here with me?”

Oh, I am going to teach this kid respect. And this interrogation is over. “Funny, I was thinking the same thing. Looks like the Jedi want to break you of a certain habit.”

The boy yawned, checked his watch. Said something about wasting time. Risen forced his anger down, walking with slow, even steps towards the weapons rack. He wasn’t about to satisfy the ego of an insubordinate padawan.

Risen snorted. “Not really,” he said, and began inspecting weapons.

 

[Centin Tillo]

Risen

“Someone who could afford Jedi attention. Near Darkwire space.”

Not one for many words, I see. The observation was only further nailed home with Risen’s next reply.

“Dead.”

Right. Seems like that’s all I’m getting. Centin mulled over this information, or lack thereof, trying to imagine what exactly could’ve happened.

“So you failed then, that’s it? And as punishment they stick you with everyone’s favorite problem child?” he asked jokingly. His tone changed rapidly as his smile dropped and was replaced with a more serious expression. “Look, I’ve got a solution that works best for both of us. Just head back and tell them I’m too difficult to work with, maybe throw in something about me being disrespectful. It’s a story as old as time, they’ll buy it. Then they’ll shift you to an assignment you actually enjoy and I can go back to roaming freely. It’s a win-win.”

His proposal cut through all the pretense regarding their situation. “There’s someone out there who took something of mine and I need to earn it back. And they’re already stronger than I am.” The admission was painful for him, like touching an open wound. “Any more time I stand here talking to you is time I could be training instead. Surely a warrior type like you can understand that,” he said, hoping the appeal would strike a sympathetic chord in the knight.

He watched as Risen approached the weapon rack, seemingly examining its contents. “So, what do you say? Are we in agreement?”

 

[Risen]

Centin Tillo

Risen listened to the offer, nodding. He tossed Centin a training saber.

“Weakness is tough to admit,” he said, “tougher to accept. But we must, or weakness will be our teacher.” The words of his master floated to mind. Risen didn’t even know why he was saying them. They just felt right. He stepped into the training pit, holding his wan-shen at his side, point down. It was taller than he was, the cortosis haft extending several inches above his head. Long ago, he had spent months holding the unwieldy weapon, never setting it down. It was a part of him. With it, he had confidence.

“But I’ll make you a deal. Beat me, and I’ll do what you say. I’ll even tell the Masters that you’ve got your training under control. How’s that?”

It was a gamble. He’d never seen this kid fight, had next to no idea of his capabilities. But that was beside the point. They’d never get anywhere just by talking, and it was clear that Centin could run circles around him in a battle of wits. Risen had to force the issue. His weapon was something he could bet on.

The kid cocked an eyebrow, considering, and then shrugged. “Alright, I’ll accept your deal,” he said. “Your move, sir.”

Risen nodded curtly. He drew his knife, secured to the shaft of the wan-shen, and tossed it aside. It hung in mid-air, suspended by the Force. “When that hits the ground, you come at me with all you’ve got.”

Centin took a fencer’s stance, with one hand held behind and the saber out front. Risen took his own stance: feet wide, blade low with the shaft held next to his head. The knife wobbled.

He put away the teacher. He needed the soldier. If Risen was ever going to earn this boy’s respect, then a simple victory wouldn’t do. He had to show this kid the difference experience could make, leave no room for doubt. He had to dominate.

Crouch low, with your weight on the back foot. Feel the Force. Contain it until the last moment. And then…

 

[Centin Tillo]

Risen

Centin looked down, feeling the tip of a blade pressed against his throat as he heard the echoes of the knife clattering against the floor.

What… what just happened?

It was only moments ago that he had accepted Risen’s challenge and readied his stance for their duel. He had waited for the knife to drop, the signal to fight, but by the time he heard it land he had already lost. There hadn’t even been enough time for him to move.

It all happened so fast. He threw the dagger, crouched low and then… he was here.

The padawan looked at the man before him in surprise and slight awe. The knight seemed calm despite the intensity of his movements.

He’s quick. Maybe the quickest person I’ve ever seen.

Centin tried to replay what he had seen in his head, the events seemingly impossible.

No, it must’ve been an illusion of some sort. That’s it.

The pair disengaged as the boy stepped back, his feet never having left his starting position. “That’s not fair. You used some sort of trick,” he stated, leveling the accusation at Risen. “I thought you would at least fight honorably."

"I demand a rematch!"

 

[Risen]

Centin Tillo

Risen walked away, spinning his wan-shen in slow circles to the raving of the padawan. Now wasn’t the time to question if he’d been too harsh. He let a smile cross his lips before turning back, stone-faced.

“The only trick is training, boy,” he said. “Now, I told you to come at me.”

Centin advanced. He held the duelist’s form through a flurry of testing blows. The kid had a strong grasp of Makashi, but never varied. Risen lay in wait. He batted the saber aside with his spear shaft, then with the blade as Centin carried through with momentum. Risen wasn’t going to end the fight — but he wasn’t going to let Centin land a hit either.

It was the feeling of battle, a feeling he craved. You, your weapon, your enemy. Night could take the blue bloods, the gentry and their pleasure cruises. Give him the fight. Idle though it was.

At last Centin went for the killing blow. He struck air. Risen shot forward under his saber arm, tripping him with a sweep of the polearm. He continued to walk past.

“Was it some trick when the Sith beat you? When they stole your-”

The padawan was already on his feet, trying to catch Risen off guard with a bullrush. Tenacious. He summoned the knife back to his hand and parried Centin’s wild blow. The training saber sparked and fizzled out: cortosis ore was handy that way. He stepped forward and drove a heavy shoulder into Centin’s chest.

Risen leapt up to the weapon's rack and tossed a training saber to the boy. It slid across the ground at his feet. "Again."

 

[Centin Tillo]

Risen

Sweat dripped off his forehead as his shoulders rose and fell rapidly. Each breath he took was shallow and labored.

I don’t believe it. There’s no way.

Centin stared across the room at the warrior holding his spear, seemingly unscathed by their bouts.

How can he keep going like this? He looked down at the chrono on his wrist and his frustration only grew more. It’s been nearly three hours! There’s no way he can be this unfazed!

The pair had dueled continuously throughout the afternoon, though Centin was still yet to land a strike on the knight.

“Another round?” he asked, secretly hoping there was a chance Risen would offer to concede.

The knight cocked an eyebrow and eyed him silently.

Guess I’ll take that as a yes.

Centin readied his training saber once again, his arms shaking as he raised it. The weapon no longer felt nearly weightless in his grasp. Rather, it felt as though it had grown a hundred times heavier.

He advanced on Risen and conjured up the best Djem So combination he could still muster. The blade twirled in his hand as he spun the saber around himself in a defensive matrix. He pushed forward slowly, trying to use the flourish as a distraction for his real attacks. His mental fortitude continued to diminish as Centin watched the blade be continually knocked aside by the knight, each attempt at mounting an offensive halted before it even started.

The boy then lunged hastily in a half-cocked feint and once again missed his mark. His efforts were rewarded instantly as his feet once again left the ground. The wan-shen’s long haft carried him upward before gravity returned him to the floor as he crashed onto his back. He let out a pained groan as he rested from his new perspective

“Fine. I can’t beat you. I get it now,” he said through gritted teeth. “So where does that leave us?”

 

[Risen]

Centin Tillo

Sky above. The kid just kept going.

Risen parried his tired blows, knocking him off his feet once more. He’d expected, after Centin’s earlier reluctance, that he would give up sooner. Hours had passed since then. If Risen had continued to underestimate the boy — if the breathing techniques and conditioning of the Matukai had not been driven into his bones, but even then — he was getting tired.

“Fine.” The call for surrender finally came. Risen suppressed a sigh of relief, exiting his stance. He’d won the day. Satisfaction lingered for a moment, but was colored by dismay: the last three hours, hundred duels, thousand blows, had all been for the privilege of starting the real test. “So where does that leave us?” Centin asked. It was a question he had already asked himself.

“Rest,” Risen said, walking slow circles around the padawan. The clarity of battle had given him an idea. “But the deal still stands, boy. Beat me, and I’ll step down as your master. Choose your weapon, your arena, your moment. I’ll let the other Jedi know it’s not some new outburst.” He mounted the stairs to the exit. “Until then, you’ll come to training.”

The kid was no novice. And though it couldn’t be relied on, luck always played a role in battle. Maybe this was a bad idea. Maybe Centin wasn’t even listening. But, Risen noticed, his own steps were surer than before. He couldn’t teach like Beshav, not right now anyway. Nor could he heal like the witches did, or offer wisdom like the other Jedi. But a fight? A fight he could do.

He stopped in the doorway as the padawan’s answer came. “Yes,” Centin grumbled, “sir.”