[He wants to ask why all of these details are in the past tense. Or why Obi-Wan Kenobi is openly admitting he's a great pilot--and he is, thank you--when all he ever hears are endless lectures to the contrary, however pedantic. He wants to press upon the most important point that the Clone Wars aren't over, and sometimes it feels like they never will be, but...
Suddenly it's nowhere near the most important or pressing question on his mind.
For a long moment, he simply stares at the feed, blinking in disbelief, like he's trying to play back a holo in his mind that shouldn't exist. The shocking sort that reveals too much too quickly, and settles uncomfortably in the stomach until nothing is settled at all. Then follows the several half starts at a question, some kind of rebuttal--hells, he'd settle for a response at all, if the words would form.]
Skywalker.
[His own name has never felt so strange rolling off of his tongue; it's as if he's learning how to say it all over again. It's not a common name. He knows it isn't. His mother never talked of other family, only giving him pained glances when he'd asked on the two whole occasions he'd postured it (the first time had been unthinking, and she'd looked so sad that it took years to even try broaching it again). But she had always been adamant on the name. She could have taken it for herself--an act not uncommon for people of their former station--and he wouldn't have known better.
As far as he's ever known, there have been two.
Padmé is a distant consideration first, until the implication clicks, and it's then that Anakin actually gapes. She would have told him. Said something. They'd agreed to hide their relationship from the galaxy, but never from one another.
"Impossible" now sounds so much closer to logical.]
...How?
[It's the only other word he can find. The only one that makes sense to ask when the implication facing him makes...honestly less sense than an anomaly in the stars that keeps them all from finding their way back home.]
no subject
Suddenly it's nowhere near the most important or pressing question on his mind.
For a long moment, he simply stares at the feed, blinking in disbelief, like he's trying to play back a holo in his mind that shouldn't exist. The shocking sort that reveals too much too quickly, and settles uncomfortably in the stomach until nothing is settled at all. Then follows the several half starts at a question, some kind of rebuttal--hells, he'd settle for a response at all, if the words would form.]
Skywalker.
[His own name has never felt so strange rolling off of his tongue; it's as if he's learning how to say it all over again. It's not a common name. He knows it isn't. His mother never talked of other family, only giving him pained glances when he'd asked on the two whole occasions he'd postured it (the first time had been unthinking, and she'd looked so sad that it took years to even try broaching it again). But she had always been adamant on the name. She could have taken it for herself--an act not uncommon for people of their former station--and he wouldn't have known better.
As far as he's ever known, there have been two.
Padmé is a distant consideration first, until the implication clicks, and it's then that Anakin actually gapes. She would have told him. Said something. They'd agreed to hide their relationship from the galaxy, but never from one another.
"Impossible" now sounds so much closer to logical.]
...How?
[It's the only other word he can find. The only one that makes sense to ask when the implication facing him makes...honestly less sense than an anomaly in the stars that keeps them all from finding their way back home.]