Obi-Wan sat in his chair in the Council chamber, practicing his waking meditation--it was the only way he could stay awake while Councilor Tiin pontificated. Obi-Wan was sure it was important, but he gotten home from a three-month tour only eight hours before, and he'd had only three hours of that to himself and that he had to dedicate to readying himself for this meeting--
Anakin was right. He should have reported to the healers when they got in--yes, they would have insisted he stay in the wing and would probably hook him up to all sorts of drips and machines the way they had the last time he had gone to the hall this tired--
But he would be able to *sleep*
He only closed his eyes for a moment, he would swear, but when he opened them again he had the suspicion they were closed for longer than he would have liked.
It was the only explanation as to why there was a strange woman standing in the middle of the room. The other councilors seemed unaware of her presence, but she was staring at them as if she had found herself in some strange dream. When she noticed Obi-Wan watching her she gave a soft “oh!” And covered her mouth with her hands.
It was enough to draw the attention of the room to her, and she stared back from over her hands. Her eyes were partially hidden behind a pair of blue rimmed eye-glasses, it Obi-Wan could see that they were very wide and pale blue.
“Miss, this meeting is restricted,” Mace said. “How did you get in here?”
The woman stared at him, but gave no sign that she actually understood. Yoga tapped his stick. “Answer him, you will,” he said, but the woman only made a high-pitched, strangled noise.
Obi-Wan frowned. She was dressed strangely; barefoot and wearing soft grey pants that bore the image of a Correlian freighter. Her shirt was a simple tunic with the image of some kind of clone trooper? The all-black armor looked designed to frighten rather than simply protect. He was behind some drum set up, and was using--well, red lightsabers to play them. Obi-Wan frowned. Why would she be wearing the image of a Sith trooper playing the drums?
“My dear, are you well?” Ki Adi asked, and the woman looked at him, staring at his head before forcing her eyes away.
“I don't think she understands us,” Obi-Wan said. “But she knows who we are.”
“You try talking to her then, Negotiator,” Mace muttered, and Obi-Wan rolled his eyes. Mace probably got less sleep than he did.
So he tied, greeting her in every language he knew. She cocked her head when he spoke Huttese, but didn't respond. Finally, Obi-Wan sat back with a sigh. “Well I simply don't know. We need a protocol droid. Senator Amidala’s droid is incredibly well versed in languages.”
“It couldn't hurt,” Plo said.
“Very well,” Mace said. “Bring him in.”
Obi-Wan nodded and pulled out his com.
“Obi-Wan!” Padme said, pleasantly surprised. “How can I help you?”
“We have found ourselves in need of ‘Threepio’s services. Would it be possible to send him sling to the Council?”
There was a muffled exchange, and then, “Of course. Knight Skywalker will bring him along now.”
“Thank you, Padme,” Obi-Wan said. He turned back to the woman. “We’ll soon get this sorted. Threepio is fussy, but he's good at what he does.”
The woman blinked at him, and Obi-Wan wondered if they shouldn't be treating her for shock. “Threepio,” she said, accented but recognizable. What she said next did not translate, but Obi-Wan recognized a despondent “fuck me,” when he heard one.