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"Hello, Master."
"Hello, Obi-Wan."
The lights in the living room flickered and died, plunging the room into darkness, except for the single lamp on Qui-Gon's desk. He frowned and put down his dataclip down. In the shadows of the room, he saw the dusky figure of his padawan moving in the dark, smelling faintly of smoke. "Obi-Wan?" he said sternly.
The figure halted. "Yes, Master?" Obi-Wan replied in a quiet, here-it-comes tone.
"Why did you turn out the lights?"
The figure squirmed, and reached for the control pad by the door. As the lights flared back to their previous brilliance, Qui-Gon drew back a little. Red burns littered his padawan's blushing face, and dark marks showed on his dirtied clothing and short hair. "Obi-Wan," he said sternly.
"Yes, Master..."
"Have you been fighting?"
"Yes... no... yes... uh..." Obi-Wan stammered, running a hand over his close-cropped head.
"Yes or no?" Qui-Gon pressed.
"Sort of, Master," Obi-Wan murmured, rubbing at a burn on his neck. "I was sparring with the other padawans, when Derlios... sort of... beat me."
"That's not the first time you've been beaten, Obi-Wan," Qui-Gon said, the corners of his mouth twitching uncontrollably. "Why did you have to turn out the lights in the middle of my letter if..." He sighed, and bowed his head. "All right, what did you say?"
"I didn't say anything, Master!" Obi-Wan protested, holding up his hands. "Derlios told me that he could beat me with this great new lightsaber trick he learned, and that no one else had heard of-"
"Which is something of a mystery, since if no one else knows about it he couldn't have learned it," Qui-Gon interjected pensively.
"Well, none of the padawans, anyway," Obi-Wan said with a slight flush.
"And he beat you?"
"All over the gymnasium."
Qui-Gon bit his lips and shook his head a little, as if trying to shake off strange thoughts. "And the other padawans?" he asked in an odd tone.
"Most of them are at the healers." Obi-Wan gestured at his singed face and hair with a sheepish grin. "I got off easy."
I'm not going to laugh, Qui-Gon thought strainedly, pressing his fingertips to his lips. I won't laugh. I'm not going to laugh, it would hurt his feelings. I'm not going to...
"Master?"
"Hmm," Qui-Gon said, breaking from his reverie. "Obi-Wan, what's this maneuvar of Derlios's called?"
Obi-Wan winced a little. "The Xandabo Maneuvar. It goes like this." The boy drew his lightsaber and ignited it, spinning the bright blue blade in circles. Qui-Gon watched carefully as Obi-Wan stumbled through the maneuvar, but a slow, satisfied smile crept over his face.
He held up a hand. "I've seen enough, Obi-Wan." He paused, considered, and glanced back at his rumpled padawan. "I'm curious—was Derlios... taunting any of the padawans?"
Obi-Wan's reddened face grew even redder, and his eyes fell to the floor. "Yes... sort of. I didn't want to mention it..."
Qui-Gon nodded and rose, slipping his letter into a pile of dataclips on his desk, then strode past Obi-Wan to the door, trying not to smile. Derlios was an excellent young man, but he was far too self-confident—beginning to border on arrogance. It was about time someone cut him down to size.
Derlios was almost as tall as Qui-Gon, and showed promise of impressive strength in a few years. His shock of red hair was cropped close over his pale face. He was thrusting and slicing at an invisible opponent with grace and poise. Several young children hovered nearby, watching him with wide eyes.
Qui-Gon strode onto the exercise mat, shedding his robe as he went, his blue eyes narrowing slightly as he watched Derlios finish off his exercise routine, shirt sticking to his back with the sweat of strain. "Well done," he commented, crossing his arms over his broad chest.
Derlios paused and wiped at his face, switching off his lightsaber. "Thank you—Master Jinn," he panted. There was a triumphant gleam in his bright gray eyes.
Qui-Gon casually placed one large hand on his lightsaber. "I'd like to see a particular maneuvar, by the way."
"Which one?"
"The Xandabo one."
There was a long silence. Qui-Gon fiddled with his lightsaber, as if having difficulty getting it detached from his belt. Derlios stared at him for a moment, fidgeting a little. His calloused hands twitched at the idea. "Are you sure?" he asked uncertainly.
"Oh, of course," Qui-Gon replied airily. He pulled the lightsaber from his belt and ignited it, the faint whooshing noise making Derlios jump. The young man pulled his lightsaber from his belt, and the two blades, green and gold, clashed and spun.
Qui-Gon tensed as Derlios began the odd loose spinning motions that Obi-Wan had shown Qui-Gon before. The older man felt a sudden surge of delight as he recognized the move... He struck at Derlios's arm.
"OW!" The lightsaber flew from Derlios's hand. The young man doubled over, gripping his sore wrist and wincing. A collective gasp flew from the young children, astonished at seeing the quick end to the sparring round. Behind them, in the shadows, Qui-Gon saw a battered Obi-Wan raise his hands in a silent cheer.
"Perhaps next time," he said with a small smile, "you won't be so quick to lord over those who don't know the maneuvar."
Derlios only nodded painfully, still kneeling on the mat. "Yes—sir..."
Qui-Gon switched off the lightsaber and strode over to where Obi-Wan was standing, next to a group of very awed young children. "Master," Obi-Wan said quietly. "How did you know how to defeat him, even with that maneuvar?"
"Defeat the maneuvar?" Qui-Gon asked, going slightly blank. He shrugged, as if it made no difference. "I invented that maneuvar, Obi-Wan. Didn't you know that?"