Mutual Feelings

A News Conference, followed by a re-union

Stepping out of the requisitioned speeder bus that had brought them from the landing strip where they'd crashed the Invisible Hand to the main landing area of the Senate tower, the two Jedi were confronted by the two things that they most wanted to avoid: the media, with a three rank phalanx of cameras, reporters and assorted boom microphones, and a formation of the great and good of the Senate tower. Ahsoka, as the junior team member, simply raised her hood, disappearing as much as she could into the shadows of her robe, spluttering slightly from the smell of smoke that infused every item of clothing they were wearing. Anakin, whose robes lacked any form of hood, had no option to do so, and, as the senior member of the team, had the responsibility of facing the cameras anyway, regardless of his personal interest in doing so.

"A parade." Ahsoka muttered, quietly. "We save one politician and they give us a parade in front of the media."

"I know, Snips." Anakin replied, softly. "Now start smiling at the cameras, before they decide you're the next sith apprentice."

Reluctantly, Ahsoka started to grin a little under her hood, drawing on her memories of winning a podrace, what seemed like a whole lifetime before, and imaging she was on the flat ground of the winner's enclosure. Anakin drew on his own experiences, managing to put up a facade of being happy in front of the cameras.

"Jedi Skywalker?" He heard. It was a war reporter from HNN, which was one of the few sources of news and opinion that he actually trusted. "Huw Griffiths, HNN. There are reports that count Dooku has been killed in the battle above Coruscant. Can you give any information about his presumed death?"

"Huw, I can say that the current status of Count Dooku is presumed dead." Anakin replied. "Until we recover his body, assuming that it hasn't burnt up during an uncontrolled re-entry, I cannot confirm his death." I know I killed him. It doesn't mean he is dead. He felt a little guilty over dropping into spokesbeingese, but it was the best option under the circumstances.

"General Skywalker?" He heard. It was a lethan twi'lek reporter, wearing the tabard of Coruscant Hourly News. Most of what they reported was celebrity gossip and entertainment news, rather than actual news, in his opinion. "Did you kill Count Dooku?"

"I was present at his presumed death." Anakin replied.

"You say presumed," she replied. "Why is the death of such a significant individual only being presumed?"

"Miss Cjl'hilm," he said, reading her name off of her nametag. "Standard military procedure is not to confirm the death of any combatant until the body of said combatant is in the possession of the military force. Until we have recovered the body, I can give no further information."

She looked a bit frustrated, and he felt few compunctions about his next action. "You want to go and file your story." He said, waving his hand, and using the standard mind-trick tone. I know I shouldn't have done that on galactic holovision, but... He grinned slightly.

"Kalisha Jilini, west rim news!" He heard. When he turned towards the insistent voice, he saw that the speaker was a particularly well-known reporter who was liable to walk into a lit lightsaber in an alleyway. "General, what is your reaction to the suggestion that you have been sleeping with your Padawan since she was assigned to you three years ago, primarily as a sexual slave?"

Anakin looked at her. Suddenly, her hands rose to her throat and she started to make gurgling noises. Forcing down the surge of anger he felt, he lowered his hand, and unclenched his fist at his side. He hadn't even realised that he was using one of the classic sith attacks in his outrage.

There were screams of horror, a few chuckles, and even what sounded like a couple of claps from the assembled pressbeings, as the human reporter clambered to her feet.