What wonder then, fair nymph! thy hairs should feel
The conqu'ring force of unresisted steel?
Alexander Pope: The Rape of the Lock

Obi-Wan Kenobi lifted the silk bloom by its green fabric-wrapped wire stem, turning it this way and that, looking for a price. It was a finely-crafted, yellow, silken phioxellia, his mother’s favorite flower. If he could afford it, she’d love it. At least he hoped she might. He really didn’t know her all that well.

It had been ages since his last visit to his parents’ house, and it would be longer still before he saw his family again. Lately, the 20-year-old Obi-Wan and his Master, Qui-Gon Jinn, had been kept extremely busy by the Council and Senate. But a brief break in their duties had allowed them a two-day stopover in Coruscant, and he’d received permission to send a package from the Temple. Hence this quick shopping trip.

He’d already spent most of his money on various electronics his whole family would appreciate, but spotting the flower had made him unusually eager to buy a frivolous present for his mother. He was also eager to quit shopping, something he really wasn’t very good at.

He backed away slightly, looking for a price on the flower bin. Nothing. Maybe the damn thing was free. But he doubted it. Even Jedi apprentices couldn’t wheedle free stuff from Coruscant’s stingy shopkeepers.

"Excuse me, sir," he called to the thin, nervous-looking shop owner, who was paying no attention to his customers. The man stood staring through the transparisteel storefront window at the sunlit sidewalk outside. "Would you please tell me how much this is?" Obi-Wan brandished the flower, waving it back and forth in the air like a floppy yellow-and-green lightsaber.

"Huh?" The man didn’t even turn around. Whatever was going on outside was apparently more interesting than making a sale. "What is it?"

"It’s a…flower. It’s yellow." Obi-Wan’s voice was starting to show his exasperation. "If you’d just turn around, you’d--"

Further reply was cut off by a piercing shriek from outside. A tingle in the Force. Trouble. Quick as a flash, Obi-Wan vaulted a row of merchandise bins, long Padawan braid streaming behind him. He pushed past the stupidly-staring shopkeeper through the door to the outside.

His senses picked up the trouble immediately. Across the street, in front of a restaurant, a tall, thin Rodian had a woman in a headlock, and a vibro-knife at her throat. The Rodian was barking harsh orders at an elderly human man. The old fellow nervously pulled cash and credit chips from under a counter, placing them in front of the woman’s attacker. A robbery? Here? Obi-Wan was appalled.

The woman emitted small, muffled screams, obviously afraid that another insane shriek would invite a slice to her jugular.  Several passers-by stood around, mute, afraid to take action for the same reason.

Obi-Wan had no such fears. Calmly, he reached out his hand, using the Force to pull the knife from the Rodian's grip.

Shocked, the burglar watched as his only weapon flew through the air to land in pieces at the booted feet of a young, human man across the street. A man brandishing a…flower? With a bewildered look of terror and a low "Uh oh," he threw his hostage roughly onto the sidewalk and took off running.

Was the Rodian a moron? Obi-Wan wondered. He wouldn’t even have to pursue. He drew on the Force, willing it to surround the running burglar, stopping him in his tracks. The bystanders were galvanized into action. Several people grabbed the Rodian, restraining him until Coruscant Security could arrive.

Obi-Wan started across the street to see if the woman was injured. He was stopped by a yell aimed at his back.

"Hey! Where do you think you’re going with that?" The shopkeeper, standing on the sidewalk outside the store, pointed accusingly at the yellow flower still gripped in Obi-Wan’s right hand. "I gotta make a living, you know."

Obi-Wan stared down at his erstwhile weapon, nonplussed. "Oh, sorry. How much is it?"

"For you? Four credits."

Four credits? "I only have two and a half."

"Well, all right then." The thin salesman appeared to reach a grudging decision. "Protector of the peace, and all. You can have it for two and a half."

Stingy wasn’t the word for these shopkeepers. "Sold." Eager to get across the street, Obi-Wan dug inside his tunic for his near-empty credit chip and tossed it at the man.

The salesman’s nimble fingers snatched the chip out of the air. "Thanks. By the way, good job, kid. Pretty stupid of him, wasn’t it, to try and rob someone this close to the Jedi Temple?" The man shook his head and opened his store door. "But ah, well. Every neighborhood goes to hell sooner or later." With that parting shot, he pulled the door shut behind him.

Obi-Wan grimaced and shoved the flower into his already-overstuffed pants pocket. He briefly wished he’d worn his voluminous, brown Jedi robes for shopping—the pockets inside those things could hold enough parts to build a ship.

A few strides took him to the side of the woman, who’d been helped to her feet by the elderly restaurateur and several bystanders. "Are you all right, miss?" he asked, concern written on his face.

The woman turned brilliantly-glowing green eyes upon him. Obi-Wan was momentarily dumfounded. She’s ravishing, he thought, taking in her disheveled but glorious appearance. She appeared to be in her mid-twenties, and stood a few delightful inches shorter than Obi-Wan. She wore a loose, sky-blue dress that somehow did nothing to hide her petitely voluptuous form. Long strands of golden hair, escaping a knot on top of her head, framed an enchanting, doll-like face. Her full, pink lips turned up at the corners in a breathtaking smile.

The vision spoke. "Is that a flower in your pocket, or are you just happy to see me?"

"What?" Obi-Wan blurted, bewildered by her words. He’d expected tearful exclamations of gratitude.

Instead she was decidedly saucy. "I was just admiring your…choice of belt decoration. It complements your lightsaber, you know. And the way you waved it at that Rodian, it appears to be just as effective." She pulled her emerald gaze from Obi-Wan, to turn luminous, grateful eyes on the people surrounding her. "Thank you so much for your help. I’m in good hands now, I just know it. Thank you again," she breathed, unobtrusively shooing the crowd away so she could be alone with the handsome young
Jedi.

Obi-Wan was shocked into speechlessness. She was remarkably blasé for someone who’d just had a close encounter with a vibro-knife. He stared at her for a moment, mouth agape.

The woman realized it was up to her to continue the conversation. "What’s your name? I’m Janna. Thank you so much for saving me. I owe you my Very Life!" She closed her eyes and turned her head dramatically, allowing Obi-Wan a good look at her slender, elegant neck. The hand she slapped to her chest was also effective in drawing the young man’s attention to even more of her impressively feminine attributes.

"I’m Obi-Wan Kenobi. And I’m, uh, glad to be of service," he stammered, bowing, still stunned by her outrageous behavior. And by other things as well. "But I’ve got to be going. Do you need help calling a transport, or something?"

She snapped out of her Attitude at that, widening her already huge, liquid eyes at Obi-Wan. "Oh, no, you mustn’t leave now. You must let me repay you, somehow…" She grabbed his arm. "Please."

"No, thank you," he replied with quaint dignity. "I can’t accept payment. I’m just glad you’re safe."

"Well I’m glad, too. It’s not every day a girl is rescued so effectively, and by such a good-looking man." She released Obi-Wan and clasped her hands in front of her, throwing him a beseeching look. "Please, at least let me make you dinner. I was just returning from the store, you know." She gestured down at two bags sitting under a nearby table. "You can’t tell me Jedi don’t eat. You certainly don’t look starved or anything," she smirked, blatantly admiring his compact, muscled frame.

Obi-Wan, now amused, laughed back at her. What a hussy, he thought, appreciatively. Her fawning behavior would fool him no longer. But he was impressed by her show of strength after her near-death experience, and her boldness made him laugh. Plus she was gorgeous. Perhaps a little dinner wouldn’t hurt…

She seemed to know he was considering her offer. "Here, I’ll give you my address." She reached inside her shoulder pack for a card, and handed it to Obi-Wan. "Give me two hours to get pretty and get something edible prepared. Nothing fancy, mind you." She poked him in the chest flirtatiously.

Obi-Wan examined the card. Janna Ritte, Antiques, Republic Collectibles. Bought and sold, by appointment only. Underneath was an address.

He thought about it, hard, for a moment. Qui-Gon wouldn’t need him tonight. And he’d been so cooped up lately, traveling system-to-system in small ships on missions with his Master. An evening with such an amusing female promised to be diverting. He wouldn't lower himself to read her with the Force, but he was sure her request contained nothing more sinister than flirtatious gratitude.

The Jedi Masters generally frowned upon frivolous socializing, but one simple dinner with a pretty girl would break no rules. It wasn’t like he was planning to attend a bacchanalian orgy or anything, he told himself. He would even discuss it with his Master, first. Reaching a decision, he turned his blue gaze on her, smiling. "So I won’t need my formal robes, then."

"Not at all. I’m a lowly antiques dealer. I live above my shop. And I’ll see you, there, in two hours, or I’ll page the Temple looking for you. Ta!" With that, she turned, grabbed her bags and bounced off, shaking her rear feminine attributes invitingly.

How could he refuse such a command?

****

Two hours later, punctual as always, Obi-Wan arrived at the address Janna had given him. He depressed the buzzer control on the gray, steel door to her shop, and waited for an answer. He breathed deeply of the early-evening air. It had been a lovely night for a walk.

When he’d told Qui-Gon about his evening plans, the older man had raised his eyebrows but hadn’t forbidden the outing. He’d only commented, dryly, that he knew Obi-Wan would have no trouble being a gentleman.

Obi-Wan had been somewhat offended at that. Surely he wasn’t such a wet blanket? Qui-Gon was the quintessential Jedi Master, calm and wise, but he could be somewhat… unconventional, when he wanted. His Master never ceased to be amused at Obi-Wan’s quaint attempts to spout Code or the wisdom of Master Yoda. But then, on the other hand, Qui-Gon was equally swift to reprimand whenever Obi-Wan made a mistake. Obi-Wan still couldn’t always figure out what his Master wanted from him, even after spending eight years with the man.

His inner reverie was broken by the appearance of Janna at the door. And what an appearance it was. Whereas he’d dressed sensibly in brown pants and a long-sleeved green tunic, she’d felt the need to show a lot of skin. Pale, creamy, skin, showing along enticingly bare shoulders and plunging down between her impressive female attributes. Her dark blue dress also revealed too much skin on two shapely legs, where slits in her skirt reached to mid-thigh.

He may be a gentleman, and a Jedi, but he wasn’t dead. Obi-Wan’s palms began to sweat. He had to force himself to keep his eyes up, on her face. It wasn’t as tough a task as he’d feared. She really was very pretty, smiling at him, displaying dimples and straight little white teeth.

"Thank you for coming, O handsome sir," she drawled, and turned to let him in. "I was half afraid you wouldn’t show up." Her long, blonde hair was swept up in the back, showing even more skin where the back of her dress was open to the waist.

Up, he told himself. "Thank you for the invitation, O lovely lady," he replied gallantly, bowing before following her in and shutting the door. "I’m a man of my word."

"As are all you Jedi." She grinned, then turned and gestured for him to follow her up a darkly-wooded staircase to a lighted room at the top. "And women of their word, of course. You do have female Jedi Knights, am I correct?" She turned a saucily questioning look on him.

Obi-Wan was grateful. Jedi were certainly a safe topic of conversation. "Yes, of course. Very powerful ones, in fact." He gaped around him as they ascended. The place looked like a museum storeroom. The building’s lower chambers were unlit, but in the shadows, he could see shelves and shelves of knicknacks. Boxes were piled everywhere. Even along the stairwell, things crowded the ledges. Old photos, pieces of equipment, glass bottles—just… things. Eyes still wandering, he continued. "I feel I must inform you, however, that I am not yet a Jedi Knight. I’m apprenticed to a Jedi Master. I don’t even live at the Temple."

She was unconcerned. "I know." She stopped at the head of the stairs and waited for him. He bumped into her, so intent was he on examining her dusty belongings. When he stopped, startled, she reached out a slender hand to grasp his Padawan braid and run it softly through her fingers. "You don’t live around here long without learning a few things," she chuckled. She released his braid and slid her hand around to the back of his head, to fondle the collar-length ponytail he'd been growing. "I also know that not all Jedi are as serious as you, Obi-Wan Kenobi."

She was very close, shoulder-high, and her warm body radiated sensuality. He could feel her breath hot against his skin, where his shirt opened at the neck. Perhaps this had been a mistake. She was very…distracting . Obi-Wan struggled for something to say. "Oh?" was the best he could come up with.

She played with his hair for a moment. "Such an intense young man." Then, with a quiet laugh, she backed off and grasped his wrist, pulling him into the room across from the stairs. It was a softly-lit dining room. Definitely a mistake. "Please excuse the mess. I only had two hours to clean up, you understand."

"It’s fine," he choked, almost reluctant to follow her. She released his arm and gestured for him to sit at a small table situated in the chamber’s center. He sat down heavily, grateful to be away from her overwhelming femininity for a moment.

He took a look around the tiny, intimate room. A small window in the far wall opened into the night, allowing a soft breeze and muted sounds of the city to blow into the room. Bowls of vegetables, bread and other delicious-looking dishes covered the blue tablecloth. The standard look of her utilitarian metal plates and utensils was offset by an elegant, sunny flower arrangement gracing the center of the table. "Phioxellias?" he asked, gesturing at the ornate decoration.

"Yes, they’re my favorite flowers." She picked up a corkscrew and proceeded to open a bottle of wine sitting behind the centerpiece. Her slender fingers were deft, sure, as she caressed the neck of the bottle and twisted off the top. Sweat ran in rivulets down the sides of the dark, smooth glass. Her golden ringlets, and other things, bounced entrancingly with her efforts. Watching her, Obi-Wan started to feel suspiciously warm. She continued, as if unaware of the seductiveness of her actions.   "Isn’t it an amazing coincidence, that you just happened to be wielding a phioxellia when you rescued me this afternoon?"

"Well, I don’t know about that," he squeaked, trying desperately to look anywhere but at her. Where was his vaunted Jedi control, dammit? He hadn’t endured nineteen years of training and meditation for it to desert him, now. "Uh, no wine for me, please. Do you have any water, perhaps?" Cold water?

"Of course. But I shall indulge, first." She tilted her head back and raised the bottle to her mouth, taking a generous swig of the wine. She watched Obi-Wan as she swallowed it, licking her pink lips suggestively. "I'll be right back." She then bounced, literally, out of room.

Obi-Wan breathed a momentary sigh of relief. He was definitely starting to think he shouldn’t have come. It had been a long time since he’d been alone with a woman-- one who wasn’t a Jedi, that is. And it wasn’t like he had a lot of experience with this sort of thing, anyway. Jedi training didn’t allow a lot of time for socializing.

Janna was just a nice girl, a very nice girl, who was fixing him dinner. She couldn’t help being attractive, he told himself, and was only naturally flirtatious. He was the one with the problem, the raging libido. He sought the Force, its calming influence, to allay his feverish state.

His temperature was very nearly back to normal when Janna re-entered the room, bearing a wineglass full of ice water. He took it from her gratefully. "Thank you."

"No problem. Here, have some bread. Dig in." She plopped down next to him. Of course she jiggled delightfully as she sat. "Paurra?" she asked, picking up a bowl of vegetables. At his nod, she leaned over and spooned a few of the red slices onto his plate, affording him a view of her navel.

Which I shouldn’t be looking at, he told himself. Surely she wasn’t doing it on purpose. Was she? The mere possibility doubled his body temperature yet again. He couldn’t help stealing another glance down her invitingly open dress, then back up at her face.

To his surprise she leered at him, wickedly. She returned the bowl to the table, and slowly rose to stand before him. Her belly pressed up against his shoulder, and her eyes never left his face. Those green depths were alive with desire, with possibility… His already inflamed hormones kicked into hyperdrive.

No. He had to get away, escape her stifling closeness. He jumped up, intending to move to the open window.

Janna grabbed his braid as he started to turn, pulling him back towards her, against her. "We can always eat later, Obi-Wan Kenobi," she breathed, seductively. Slowly, she raised the end of his braid to her shining lips. She opened her mouth and slid out a pink tongue, wrapping the strands of his hair around it with a soft moan.

Well, thought Obi-Wan, breathing hard. Here was the moment of decision. She couldn't have been more obvious if she'd been wearing a sign.

He had to be truthful with himself. She'd been wearing a sign from the moment he met her. He just hadn't chosen to read it. There was only one reason for him to be there, right now, and it wasn't a very good one.

But at this point, he really didn't care.



****

A couple of sweaty hours later, Obi-Wan, exhausted but happy, lay stretched out on his stomach on the rumpled bed. He grinned at Janna, who sat on the wooden floor making inroads on their now-cold dinner. She had grabbed a sheet from the bed for modesty’s sake, but she hardly bothered to cover herself with it.

Obi-Wan lounged comfortably, all his earlier nervousness gone. It was hard to remain shy in light of such energetic intimacies as they’d shared earlier.

"How old are you, anyway?" She asked the question, bringing her wineglass to her mouth and taking a healthy swallow. Obi-Wan watched in delight as several drops escaped her lips to fall upon her magnificent bosoms.

"Twenty," he answered dreamily.

"Huh. I would have guessed you a couple years younger, perhaps."

"Hmph." His baby-face was the bane of his existence. "You must prefer your men very young, then."

She giggled. "Not at all. Just sexy." She crawled over next to the bed, reaching out once again to finger the rope of hair hanging from his shoulder. "And do you realize just how sexy this braid is?" She asked, then released his hair after an extended moment.

What was it with his hair, anyway? "Well, it'll be gone the instant I pass the trials. Snip!" He made a scissors motion with his fingers.

"And when will that be?"

Obi-Wan reached out to a plate on the floor and broke into a piece of bread, shoving it into his mouth. "Not too long. Five years, perhaps."

"Mmmm. I'll be gone by then. So I'll miss your victory celebration." She waved a hand expansively around the room, indicating with one sweep the piles of knicknacks. "Us antique dealers. Always on the move. I've packed and unpacked this room three times in the last ten years, at least."

"What exactly do you sell, anyway?" Obi-Wan looked around the cluttered bedchamber, chewing. "This stuff all looks like junk."

"Junk?" She pouted prettily in mock offense, and eyed her belongings fondly. "Downstairs, perhaps. But everything in here belongs to my private collection. Except you. However, based on what I’ve seen so far," here she eyed him lasciviously, "I’m prepared to make you a generous offer."

He pretended to consider it for a moment. "Tempting. But my Master would disapprove."

"Perhaps I’ll make him an offer, too," she teased. "My collection is already legendary. Would you like to see some of it?" Animatedly, she stood up, leaving the sheet pooled on the floor. "I even have a few rare… Jedi collectibles."

"Jedi collectibles?" There was no such thing. "Sure, I’ll have a look." How could he refuse when she looked so charming?

She bounced to the corner, bits of her jiggling all the way. She bent over for a moment and returned bearing a brass-bound wooden box. She blithely shoved plates away with her bare foot, making room on the floor in front of Obi-Wan.

Obi-Wan was surprised to see that the old-fashioned box bore a modern, electronic lockpad. Entering a code, Janna opened it and reached inside for a sheaf of papers. "Have a look at these," she stated proudly, proferring the stack to Obi-Wan. "Be careful. They’re very old."

He took the documents and examined them for a moment, shuffling through them. No, it couldn’t be. They were written in ancient Corellian, not one of Obi-Wan’s stronger languages. From what he could read, though, they appeared to be a peace treaty between Corellia and the Barail system, signed by legendary Jedi Master Tan-El Keneb. "These can’t be real. They’re copies, aren’t they?" he asked her. But peeling, gold foil seals adorned each of the yellowed pages, seemingly confirming their validity.

"Of course not. I’m no amateur. They’re real." She grinned at him smugly. "Can’t you tell?" She reached out for them, only trusting him so far with her treasure.

Strangely enough he could. He could feel the ancient Force imprint on them, distant but distinct. He handed them back, respectfully. "These must be over a thousand years old. How can they be in such good condition?"

"They used good paper in those days. And preservatives. Here, look at this." She passed him a small, silver dagger, embedded with jewels. "That, my handsome young friend, is from the Guruul Dynasty."

Wow. At least three thousand years old. And still extremely sharp, with a deadly cutting edge. This item was Force-sensitive, too, sending a thrilling tingle up his arm. A powerful Jedi must have carried this ornamental weapon. He handed it back, more and more impressed. "What else do you have?"

"Mmm. How about this?" Setting the dagger on the floor, she pulled out a cylindrical, metallic object.

It was made of a compound unfamiliar to Obi-Wan, but its identity was unmistakable. An ancient lightsaber. Holding it out, he depressed the button. Nothing happened. Opening it cautiously, he could see the focusing crystal was absent. A real treasure, nonetheless. "Very nice." He handed it back reluctantly. "Can you possibly top that?"

"Nope," she answered cheerfully. "I have other things, but they’re gimcracks and geegaws, mostly. Sentimental value only, you understand."

He looked at her with a new respect. "Not quite. How did you acquire these things? And have you taken them to the Temple? We have some archivists who would kill to get their hands on those."

She grinned at him cunningly. "I’m not revealing any sources. And no, I haven’t taken them to the Temple. As I said, these belong to my private collection." She closed the box and rose to replace it in the corner.

"Why do you collect Jedi artifacts?"

"Childhood fascination, I guess. Plus, I’m good at it." She pouted at him charmingly. "Which reminds me. You seem more impressed with my antiques than you do with me. I shall have to try harder, I see." So saying, she jumped up and pranced over to climb on the bed and straddle Obi-Wan’s bottom. She reached out with soft fingers and slid them languidly up his back to play with his hair once again.

She felt great sitting there. Obi-Wan almost relaxed under her warm touch. But something felt wrong, out of place. What was it? He felt a tiny tug, at his braid…

"Hey!" Suddenly, he knew. He flipped over, sending Janna flying off his back to tumble off the side of the bed, giggling. Obviously, she wasn’t hurt.

But his head felt suspiciously lighter. He reached up a hand to feel his hair. "You didn’t!"

"Nope. I missed. But I got this!" She pulled herself up on the edge of the bed, smiling wickedly. She held several inches of light brown hair, along with the silver dagger, in her raised fingers.

He could feel, thankfully, that his braid was still in place. But something was missing. He reached around, and felt only a tuft of ragged hair where his ponytail had been. "Why in the world did you do that?" he demanded, upset. "Give it back!"

"Too late. You can’t reattach it."

"You were after my braid, weren’t you? That’s very important to me! All of it is important," he snapped at her, accusingly. "Are you insane?"

Far from being offended, she merely laughed at his outraged expression. "You sounded so much like you wanted to be rid of it. Snip!" she said, mimicking his earlier action.

"I’m not a part of your collection."

"You are now."

"You are insane. I’m leaving." So saying, he jumped off the bed. Keeping his distance from her, he tried to collect his clothing. Boots…boots…where were they… Ah, the dining room. He pulled on his pants as he made for the other room.

"Don’t be upset," she called after him, laughing. "It’ll grow back. And you don’t have to leave. I promise to be good…"

"Right," he snapped, aggravated. "Who knows what you’ll try to cut off next." Donning his boots, he started down the stairs. "I appreciate the dinner, I really do. But I’m not prepared to lose anything else. Goodbye!" he called up to her, huffily, as he opened the door.

"No, thank you, Obi-Wan Kenobi, for the delightful memento!" she yelled down at him. "I shall treasure it always!" She then broke into another fit of the giggles.

But he was already gone.

****

Obi-Wan sulkily entered the chamber he shared with Qui-Gon. His master, dressed for bed, was stretched out on a chair, reading a datapad. He glanced up idly as his fuming apprentice stalked past him without a word.

"And how was your evening, young Padawan?" he asked in an amused tone.

"Don’t ask, Master. Please." Obi-Wan made for the mirror in the refresher room, to get a look at the extent of the damage. This would teach him not to run around with strange women, he berated himself.

"All right, then." Strange. "Well, I’m glad you’re back. You need to get some rest. The Council wishes to speak with us tomorrow morning." Qui-Gon shot a curious glance after Obi-Wan. "By the way, didn’t you used to have more hair?"

Obi-Wan turned to the older man with a speaking glare. "Master, please--"

"Let me guess. Don’t ask."

"Right."