suitably_heroic | MCA #4, Monday Evening

Current Music: 'The Good Life', Anouk

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MCA #4, Monday Evening

Atton had woken up that morning with only a passable idea of what had happened the previous night; there'd been five full bottles of juma in his fridge, no food anywhere, and an overly enthusiastic message from Skywalker confirming drinking plans Atton had no memory of proposing to the guy. He'd decided the wise thing to do was to get back into bed and maybe not get out of it until he stopped feeling completely miserable on every level.

By five PM, he'd given up on that, and ordered pizza.

By eight PM, he'd opened the second bottle of juma and he was waiting, patiently, for the inevitable dramatic knock/sweep into the room combo that generally heralded Skywalker arriving just about anywhere.

[[ expecting anakin, but open before he arrives! ]]

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"Hey, I've never tried to feed the wildlife drunk," Atton said, and then added, because he was drunk and also because he was an asshole, "Were you trying to screw the tauntaun, too?"

Anakin shuddered. "Echuta. No."

Atton snickered. "Just checking."

"Getting a little worried about what your Sith were up to if you jump immediately to animal fucking," Anakin said.

Atton rolled his eyes.

"My Sith weren't going around wasting good whiskey on animals. I don't know how low yours went."

"It was a way to show how utterly insignificant the people around us were," Anakin said with a shrug. "Palpatine was big into power-plays."

Atton rolled his eyes. "You'd never catch Revan ordering anything like that," he said, "He was smart. Your Palpatine mostly sounds like an egomaniac."

"Oh, absolutely," Anakin said, nodding. "Total asshole, which Obi-Wan had kind of guessed from way early but I ignored."

"You should probably apologize for that one," Atton mused. "'Sorry I was a dumbass who ignored your advice'."

Anakin snorted. "I think he already knows."

Translation: death before apologies. Always.

"You're hopeless," Atton muttered.

He took a long sip from the bottle.

"Here's the problem with the whole dark side, light side thing, though," he mused. "I mean, by Jedi doctrine, Revan and your guy? Basically the same. Sure, Revan gets some brownie points for going back to fly for the Jedi again, but he was still this eeeeeevil Sith Lord."

He was doing a finger wiggle. It was late.

"They forget what the Mandalorian Wars were like. The state the Republic was in back then, it was useless. Combine that with Revan finding out about this threat looming on the horizon, you can't blame him for trying to come up with a plan." He slanted a look towards Anakin. "Did you know he left the infrastructure intact wherever we attacked? We had orders. Things didn't start getting genuinely wrecked until that idiot Malak took over."

Anakin nodded. "There are infinite shades of gray," he agreed. "It's just...difficult to teach them."

"Your guy, on the other hand, sounds like a slightly less incompetent, more malevolent Malak," Atton said, and pulled a face.

"Well, he started out as a politician," Anakin said with a "what can you do" shrug.

"A profession in which shades of grey usually go out the window," Atton said.

"Oh, absolutely," Anakin said. "I was married to a Senator. I know."

Atton peered sadly down the bottle at the tiny bit of whiskey left at the bottom. "I once had to march in front of one for HoloNews," he offered.

"Did they catcall?" Anakin asked. "The Neimoidians in particular are kind of jerks."

"Actually, someone tried to kill him, it turned into a whole thing, now I can't walk into a single tapcaf in Coruscant without someone yelling 'it's that Jedi!' at me," Atton muttered.

Anakin snorted. "Seriously? I'm sorry. Maybe you should grow tragic facial hair to disguise yourself."

"I tried a beard, but Mira kept cracking lumberjack jokes," Atton complained.

"How rude," Anakin declared. "I mean, my mental image makes you look pretty stoopa but that's not proof..."

"Yeah, I'm not going to you for fashion advice. Ever."

"People wish they could rock a robe like I do," Anakin proclaimed.

"People wish they could take your robe and shoot it straight up into Mustafar," Atton retorted.

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