Chapter 25: Pranking Charlie
The lavender lace had become Charlie's entire universe.For three days, every movement was a conversation with it. Sitting in lectures required careful, incremental lowering, the delicate fabric pressing into the still-tender skin beneath. Walking through the Temple’s vast halls meant feeling the faint, abrasive whisper against the apex of his thighs with each stride. Sleeping was a slow ballet of finding a position that didn’t ignite a dull, remembered ache.It was a constant, tactile reminder, just as Shaak Ti had intended. His secret had been transformed from a thrill into a penance, and the weight of it was exhausting.It also made him jumpy. He eyed every junction in the main corridor with suspicion, scanned groups of Jedi for familiar, mischievous faces. He was a hunted animal, and he knew the hunters were still out there, likely plotting their next move.He was right.
Barriss and Ahsoka found a quiet alcove overlooking one of the smaller meditation gardens, a spot dappled with shifting green light from the transparisteel ceiling.
“His situational awareness is heightened,” Barriss observed, her voice low. She was studying a datapad that displayed nothing but Temple maintenance schedules.“Standard post-traumatic prank vigilance.He’s checking for loose tiles, scanning crowds. A direct ambush will be difficult.”
Ahsoka leaned against the wall, arms crossed, a slow grin spreading across her face.“So we don’t ambush him. We get him to ambush himself. We make him think he’s catching us.”
Barriss’s head tilted, her dark geometric tattoos catching the light.“A false-flag operation. Intriguing.The objective?”
“We need a scenario. Something that looks like we’re setting up a prank on someone else.Bultar, maybe. He walks in, sees the evidence, thinks he’s got us red-handed. He confronts us.” Ahsoka’s eyes sparkled.“Then, the twist.The other one of us arrives. He’s ranting, accusing, but the evidence suddenly looks… different. Like he was the one setting it up. He looks guilty as hell.”
“And the accuser becomes the accused,” Barriss finished, a ghost of a smile touching her lips. “The psychological reversal would be disorienting.His outrage would work against him.” She tapped her chin.“The setting must be controlled. A room with one entrance. The staging must be unambiguous yet reversible.”
“The old droid maintenance closet near the west archives,” Ahsoka said instantly. “It’s tiny, always locked, but I know a droid who owes me a favor.He can get us the code. We stage it to look like we’re rigging a bucket of powdered starplex soap above the door… for Bultar.It’s childish, believable for us. Charlie walks in, sees the bucket, the wire, me looking shifty.”
“And I arrive moments later,” Barriss picked up the thread, her tone clinical. “You claim he was the one you caught setting it up.The powder residue would be on his hands if we’re quick. His denials seem like deflection. The narrative collapses onto him.”
They looked at each other, the plan crystallizing between them with the ease of long practice.
“And then,” Ahsoka said, her grin turning wicked, “as the authorities in this little dispute, we decide on proportional justice. For falsely accusing a fellow Jedi Knight, and for the attempted prank itself…”
“A double correction,” Barriss stated.“Simultaneous. On the tushie.” She said the juvenile word with such flat, analytical seriousness that Ahsoka snorted a laugh.“Efficiency is key. He will be draped over something. We will each take a side.”
“He’s gonna hate it,” Ahsoka said, her excitement palpable.
“He’ll pretend to,” Barriss corrected softly, her own mischief now fully ignited. “Shall we procure the soap?”
---
The closet was a dim, metal-walled cube smelling of ozone and lubricant. Floating orb-light glowed feebly from the ceiling. Ahsoka, perched precariously on a stack of spare reactor casings, was tying a final, clever knot in the thin, nearly-invisible monofilament line. It ran from the handle of a brimming bucket of iridescent pink powder, across a ceiling conduit, and down to the door handle itself.
“The tension is perfect,” Barriss murmured from the doorway, acting as lookout.“A five-second delay from door movement to dump. Enough time for him to step fully inside and look up.”
“He’ll be covered head to toe,” Ahsoka whispered back, jumping down with a soft thud. She dusted her hands together, leaving a faint pink shimmer on her own fingers.“Okay, my turn to be the ‘victim’. You go hide around the corner. Wait for the shouting to start, then come in like you heard a disturbance.”
Barriss nodded.“I will count to thirty after you enter. Begin the sequence.”
Ahsoka slipped out, giving Barriss a thumbs-up. Barriss melted into the shadows of the archives corridor, her breathing quiet.This was the delicate part. They’d leaked a hint to a droid chatterbox they knew Charlie occasionally talked to: ‘Heard Barriss and Ahsoka are setting something up for Bultar in the west wing…’ It was a slim hook, but Charlie’s paranoid state made him bite.He did.
Ahsoka had only been feigning nervous adjustment of the wire for ten seconds when the door hissed open. Charlie stood in the doorway, his expression a triumphant mix of suspicion and vindication. His eyes went from Ahsoka, to the bucket, to the wire leading to the door in his hand.
“Aha!” he announced, the sound loud in the small space. He stepped in, letting the door shut behind him.“I knew it!Still at it, huh? Can’t leave well enough alone.”
Ahsoka put on a mask of shocked guilt.“Charlie! It’s not what it looks like!”
“It looks like you’re about to give Master Swan a pink makeover!” He pointed an accusing finger.“You’re caught. Admit it.”
This was his mistake. In his glee, he took two more steps inward, now directly beneath the bucket.His focus was entirely on Ahsoka’s演技.The door hissed open again.
Barriss stood there, a picture of serene inquiry.“I heard raised voices. Is everything—” Her eyes swept the scene: Charlie, standing under the suspended bucket, Ahsoka against the far wall looking distressed. Barriss’s gaze narrowed, analytically taking in the powder on Ahsoka’s hands, then on the doorknob Charlie had just touched. “Charlie,” she said, her voice dropping with disappointment. “What is this?”
“She was setting a prank!” Charlie insisted, thumbing at Ahsoka.
Ahsoka let her face crumple into one of hurt innocence.“Barriss!He just walked in and started yelling at me! I think… I think he was setting this up! Look, the wire’s attached to the door he just came through!”
The reversal was instantaneous and brutal. Charlie’s triumph evaporated, replaced by sputtering confusion.“What?No!That’s—she’s lying! You saw her!”
“I saw you standing under the apparatus,” Barriss stated coolly, stepping inside. The door closed, sealing the three of them in.“I see powder transfer on the primary contact points. Ahsoka’s hands are clean.” This was a lie—Ahsoka’s hands were faintly pink, but Barriss’s firm delivery sold it. “The evidence suggests you were engaged in preparing an unsanctioned humorous deployment, and when discovered, attempted to falsely implicate Knight Tano.”
The walls of the closet seemed to press in on Charlie. The narrative had been stolen, twisted, and wrapped around his throat.“That’s insane!You’re both in on this! This is a set-up!”
“Accusing us of conspiracy now?” Ahsoka said, shaking her head with feigned sadness.“That’s even worse.”
Barriss folded her hands. “The situation requires remediation.Two infractions: attempted pranking, and false accusation. A joint disciplinary action is the most efficient solution.” She looked at Ahsoka. “Do you concur, Knight Tano?”
“I do, Knight Offee. For harmony.”
Charlie backpedaled until his back hit a shelving unit.“No.No way. You can’t.”
“We can,” Ahsoka said, her sympathetic act vanishing into pure, playful determination.“Over the coolant tank. Now.”
It was shockingly swift.They moved as one. Ahsoka grabbed his left arm, Barriss his right. A gentle but unyielding Force push guided him forward until he was bent at the waist over the low, cylindrical tank. His hands flattened on the cool metal on the other side.
“This is for your own good,” Barriss whispered, though her voice held a gleam of humor.“Count,” Ahsoka instructed.“And thank us.Each of us. For every one.”
The first strikes came in tandem, a perfectly synchronized pair. Smack-Smack.The sharp, twin impacts lit up his backside through the fabric of his trousers. The lavender lace, that constant reminder beneath, was suddenly a very thin barrier against a very present reality.
“One!” he gasped, the breath forced from his lungs.“Thank you, Ahsoka! Thank you, Barriss!”
“Learning?” Ahsoka prompted, her hand resting on the heat she’d just planted.“Things aren’t what they seem!” he yelped.
“Adequate,” Barriss judged, before her hand fell again in time with Ahsoka’s.
The rhythm was different from Shaak Ti’s methodical lesson. This was a rapid, staccato punishment, one-two, one-two, from opposite sides, creating a confusing, all-encompassing fire.They didn’t spare his sit-spots or the tender undercurve. It was a thorough, democratic coverage.By the sixth pair, Charlie had stopped trying to justify anything. The tears were back, hot and frustrated. The dual sensation was overwhelming, a melting pot of shame and a strange, grudging submission to their united front.“Twelve!Thank you, Ahsoka! Thank you, Barriss!” he choked out, after the final, resounding twin cracks echoed in the metal room.They let him breathe for a moment, hunched over the tank, his shoulders shaking. Then Ahsoka patted his back. “Up you get.”
He pushed himself upright, wincing fiercely, his hands going immediately to soothe the blazing ache. His face was a mess of tears and lingering indignation.Barriss was looking at him, her head tilted. Then her eyes flicked down to his hips, where the waistband of his trousers had ridden down slightly from his struggle.A strip of familiar lavender lace peeked out.
A slow, knowing smile spread across her face.She glanced at Ahsoka and nudged her chin toward the spot.
Ahsoka looked.Her own expression shifted from post-prank satisfaction to wide-eyed delight. “No way,” she breathed. She took a step closer, hooking a finger into the back of Charlie’s trousers before he could react, and gave a slight tug downward, confirming the sight.
Charlie froze, a fresh wave of humiliation drowning him.Barriss’s deadpan voice cut through the silence. “It appears Master Ti’s inspection was indeed thorough. And her prescription… ongoing.”
Ahsoka started to giggle, a low, helpless sound that bubbled up into full laughter. She leaned against Barriss, who allowed herself a soft, breathy chuckle, her analytical composure breaking into pure, amused warmth.
“He’s still wearing it!” Ahsoka managed to get out, wiping a tear from her eye.
Charlie, standing there with his pants tugged down slightly in the back, his face flushed, and his backside burning from a fresh double spanking, could only glare at the two of them as they laughed together.The secret was out, again. But this time, in the shared, breathless laughter of his friends, the weight of the lace felt a fraction lighter. It was still a penance, but now, it was also a punchline.
He pulled his trousers up with a huff, trying to salvage some dignity. “Are you two quite finished?”
Ahsoka straightened, composing herself, though her eyes still danced. “For now,” she said, grinning. “But Barriss, make a note: the subject’s prescribed wardrobe appears to be a compounding variable. May require further… study.”
Barriss gave a solemn nod, her own smile lingering.“Duly noted. The experiment continues.” And with a final shared look of perfect understanding, they left him in the closet, standing amidst the pink powder and the echoes of their laughter, alone with his thoughts and his very colorful, very persistent consequences.
The laughter faded down the corridor, leaving Charlie in a silence that felt heavier than before. He brushed the pink powder from his shoulders, the gritty texture an insult. His backside throbbed a hot, rhythmic reminder of their united front, and beneath his trousers, the lace seemed to pulse in time with the ache. A raw, restless energy crackled in his chest—a need to not just absorb humiliation, but to redirect it.
He slipped from the closet, moving with a predator’s quiet grace he usually reserved for training. The Temple’s calm was a facade he wanted to crack. He found his opportunity near the archway to the eastern refectory. Rey Skywalker stood there, her back to him, engaged in earnest conversation with Master Luminara Unduli and Knight Aayla Secura. Luminara’s serene posture was a pillar of calm, while Aayla’s lekku twitched with attentive amusement at something Rey was saying. It was a perfect tableau of Jedi decorum.
Charlie hovered behind a decorative column, the cool stone against his palm. His focus narrowed to the back of Rey’s practical trousers. This was a risk, a big one, but the simmering need to be the agent of chaos, not its victim, overrode caution. He reached out with the Force, not with a shove, but with a precise, sudden yank.
The fabric of Rey’s trousers snapped down to her knees with a sharp, crisp sound.
A high-pitched, utterly undignified squeal shattered the hallway’s peace. Rey stumbled, her hands flying back to clutch at the exposed, shocking pink fabric of her underwear—a pair of briefs adorned with the cheerful, cartoonish faces of Porgs. Her face flushed a spectacular scarlet as she frantically tried to haul her trousers up, fumbling with the clasp. “Oh, stars—!”
Master Luminara’s composed expression did not change, but her eyes hardened into chips of jade. She observed Rey’s frantic dance with a profound, weary disappointment. “Rey,” she intoned, her voice like a door sliding shut. “Such garments are beneath the dignity of a Jedi. And to be so… unprepared for an attack on your composure.”
Aayla Secura’s pink lips quirked into a smirk. Her bright blue eyes, however, didn’t linger on Rey’s embarrassment. They scanned the vicinity with a hunter’s instinct, passing over pillars and archways. They locked onto Charlie’s half-hidden form. She saw the concentrated look on his face, the slight tremor in his outstretched hand. Her smirk deepened. She gave him a slow, deliberate wink.
Then, her own presence in the Force shifted. It wasn’t an accusation. It was a collaboration. Charlie felt a sudden, insistent pressure on the back of his own trousers. Aayla’s telekinetic grip seized the fabric and yanked it upwards with brutal, surgical efficiency, lodging it deep in the cleft of his still-smarting backside. The lavender lace, already a torment, was crushed against him.
The force of the pull lifted him onto his tiptoes. A sharp gasp caught in his throat. He bit his bottom lip hard, the coppery taste of blood blooming as he fought back a whine. His eyes watered. Aayla held him there, suspended on that agonizing, precarious fulcrum. She brought a single blue finger to her lips, her gaze holding his. The message was clear: Take it. Quietly. Or you expose us both.
He endured. Teeth gritted, body trembling, he rode the wave of sharp, cramping discomfort as Luminara continued her lecture. “A Jedi’s mind must be on the higher things, not on… novelty undergarments. This is a distraction you have allowed into your life.”
“I’m sorry, Master, they were a gift, I just—” Rey stammered, still clutching her waistband.
“They are a liability,” Luminara stated, finality in her tone. “You will surrender them. Now. Consider it a lesson in prioritizing the essential over the frivolous.” Rey’s shoulders slumped in utter defeat. With mortified tears in her eyes, she stepped out of her trousers entirely, handing the bundled fabric, with the offending Porg panties inside, to Luminara. She was left standing in her tunic, boots, and the cartoonish briefs, a portrait of abject humiliation.
As soon as Luminara took the bundle, Aayla’s Force grip vanished. Charlie dropped back onto his heels, a suppressed groan escaping as the fabric unclenched. He quickly, awkwardly adjusted himself, the relief instantaneous but the memory of the strain vivid. Aayla gave him an approving, almost impressed nod. She’d felt his resistance, his silence.
Smoothing his robes, Charlie stepped out from behind the column, affecting an expression of wide-eyed, innocent shock. He rounded the corner as if just arriving. His gaze landed on Rey, half-dressed and flushed. “Whoa,” he breathed, the picture of scandalized surprise. “Rey, what in the stars happened?”
Aayla turned her head, pressing her lips together. A faint, choked sound escaped her—a laugh perfectly stifled, her shoulders shaking once in silent mirth. Her blue eyes met Charlie’s over Rey’s head, sparkling with shared, treacherous knowledge.
Rey’s mortification was a live wire in the air, crackling between her choked sobs. Her hands kept fluttering to cover the cheerful Porgs grinning from her hips. Luminara stood like a statue of judgment, the bundled trousers in her hand feeling like a condemned man’s possessions.
Charlie’s own discomfort was a sharp, private counterpoint. The deep ache in his backside from the double spanking was now overlaid with the specific, stinging reminder of Aayla’s retaliatory wedgie. The lavender lace chafed. He forced his face to remain a mask of sympathetic confusion.
“Someone… someone used the Force,” Rey managed, her voice thick with unshed tears. She glared at the empty air around her as if the culprit might materialize.
Luminara’s gaze, cool and penetrating, swept over Charlie. It lingered for a heartbeat too long on his face, which he hoped displayed only innocent concern. “A juvenile use of energy,” she stated, her tone leaving frost on the stones. “The act of a mind preoccupied with trivialities, not the Force.” Her eyes narrowed slightly. “You look unwell, Padawan Charlie. Are you alright?”
The question was a trap disguised as concern. He could feel Aayla’s playful attention like a spotlight. “Just… surprised, Master,” he stammered, shifting his weight and immediately regretting it as a fresh twinge lit up his nerves. “It’s a shocking breach of decorum.”
“Indeed,” Luminara said, the word final. She turned back to Rey, her demeanor softening a fraction, but only a fraction. “You will return to your quarters and reflect. Proper attire will be delivered. We will discuss focus, and the cultivation of internal shields, tomorrow at first light.”
Rey nodded miserably, unable to meet anyone’s eyes. She shuffled away, her boots whispering on the stone, her steps awkward without the weight of her trousers. The sight of her retreating back, clad only in that ridiculous pink fabric, should have felt like a victory. Instead, it tasted like ash.
As soon as Luminara glided away in the opposite direction, her own robes whispering a quiet judgment, the atmosphere shifted. Aayla let out a soft, musical chuckle. She stepped closer to Charlie, her lekku twitching with amusement.
“Quick hands,” she murmured, her blue eyes dancing. “A little obvious, maybe. But bold.” She leaned in, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “The retaliation was proportional, don’t you think? A lesson in cause and effect.”
Charlie finally allowed himself to wince, his hand drifting back to subtly adjust the fabric still lodged in an uncomfortable position. “Proportional? Felt like overkill.”
“Consider it a friendly warning,” Aayla said, her smile widening. “Play with fire, you get a wedgie. Or in your case…” Her eyes flicked meaningfully downward. “...you keep wearing your interesting… lessons. I assume that’s Master Ti’s doing?”
Heat flooded Charlie’s cheeks that had nothing to do with physical pain. He nodded once, sharply. The shared secret of the lavender lace was spreading, becoming a communal truth among the women he knew. It was humiliation, but it was also a bizarre, twisted form of intimacy.
“She has her methods,” he mumbled.
“She does,” Aayla agreed, her expression turning thoughtful, almost impressed. “And you took yours today. I respect that. Even if it was sloppy.” She gave his shoulder a light, companionable shove that made him stumble. “Just remember, kid. The game has layers. You’re not the only one who can set a trap.”
With a final, unreadable smirk, she turned and walked away, her hips swaying, leaving him alone in the corridor. The silence was sudden and complete, broken only by the distant hum of the Temple. The ache in his body was a complex map: the deep, throbbing aftermath of Barriss and Ahsoka’s discipline, the sharp, lingering pinch from Aayla, and the constant, whispering presence of the lace—a punishment, a punchline, and now, apparently, a badge of dubious honor.
He needed to move. The static energy of the confrontation was dissipating, leaving a hollow, restless feeling. He walked without destination, the cool air of the less-traveled archive wings soothing on his heated face.
He found himself at the entrance to the Room of a Thousand Fountains. The mist kissed his skin. The gentle roar of water covered the sound of his own ragged sigh. He slumped onto a smooth, sun-warmed rock near a bubbling cascade, the solidity of it a relief. He closed his eyes, letting the white noise fill his head.
“Figured I’d find you moping somewhere damp.”
Ahsoka’s voice came from his left. He didn’t open his eyes. “I’m not moping. I’m… hydrating my shame.”
She plopped down on the rock beside him, their shoulders almost touching. Barriss appeared on his right a moment later, settling with her usual precise grace. They sat in silence for a long moment, the three of them watching the water weave through ancient stone.
“Rey’s crying in the ‘fresher near the sparring rings,” Ahsoka said finally, her tone devoid of its usual teasing. “Really crying. Not just frustrated. She thinks everyone’s laughing at her.”
Guilt, cold and slick, coiled in Charlie’s gut. The image of her clutching those stupid Porg underwear flashed behind his eyelids. “I didn’t think she’d…” He trailed off. He hadn’t thought at all. That was the problem.
“You acted on impulse,” Barriss stated, not as an accusation, but as data. “A direct response to our earlier intervention. Your emotional state was elevated, your judgment impaired. A predictable, if regrettable, chain of causality.”
“Thanks for the analysis,” Charlie muttered, picking at a loose thread on his robe.
“She’s going to come for you, you know,” Ahsoka said, nudging him with her elbow. “Not like us. Rey doesn’t do elegant setups or psychological reversals. She’s a scavenger. She’s going to find the one thing you don’t want messed with, and she’s going to smash it.”
Charlie thought of his few treasures: a tool kit from a mechanic he admired, a pressed flower from a planet he couldn’t name, the data chip with all his personal logs. A cold dread settled over him. Rey was fiercely loyal, but her upbringing had forged a practical, ruthless streak when crossed.
“I should apologize,” he said, the words tasting foreign.
“Yes,” Barriss agreed simply.
“But,” Ahsoka interjected, a slow grin returning to her face, “maybe not right away. Let her stew for a bit. Let the anticipation build. Makes the apology mean more.”
“Or it makes her revenge worse,” Charlie countered.
“Also a possibility,” Barriss nodded.
They lapsed into silence again. The water flowed. Charlie’s body slowly unclenched, the sharpest pains fading into a general, bruised awareness. The presence of the two of them, flanking him without demanding anything, was an unexpected comfort. They had put him over a coolant tank hours ago, and now they were sharing his rock, his guilt.
“The lace is a good look, by the way,” Ahsoka said casually, staring straight ahead at the waterfall. “Bold color. Really… hugs the curves.”
Barriss made a soft, approving hum. “The aesthetic continuity is notable. A seven-day prescription implies a significant lesson was imparted. We merely provided a… supplementary review.”
Charlie couldn’t help it. A short, surprised laugh barked out of him. It was tired and a little sore, but it was real. “You two are the worst.”
“We know,” Ahsoka said, leaning her head on his shoulder for a second. “But we’re your worst.”
A shadow fell over them, tall and familiar. Charlie looked up, his breath catching. Shaak Ti stood there, her montrals cutting a silhouette against the luminous ceiling. Her expression was unreadable, but her gaze took in the trio on the rock with a knowing depth.
“Padawan,” she said, her voice blending with the water. “A word.”
Ahsoka and Barriss immediately stood, offering respectful nods before melting away into the mist-shrouded greenery without a sound. Charlie got to his feet, his muscles protesting.
Shaak Ti didn’t speak until they were alone. She looked at him, really looked, her eyes missing nothing: the residual redness around his own, the subtle, careful way he held himself.
“The reports of today’s disturbances have been… colorful,” she began, her tone conversational. “A pulled pantsing in the west corridor. A stolen garment in the east wing. A great deal of emotional turbulence.” She took a step closer. The scent of her, incense and something sharp like ozone, washed over him. “You have been a busy center of gravity.”
Charlie looked at his boots. “Master, I—”
She held up a hand, silencing him. “I did not ask for an explanation. I observe the results.” Her finger lifted his chin, forcing him to meet her eyes. “Your penance has become a provocation. A symbol you wear, but have not yet understood inwardly. You are using its existence as a catalyst for more chaos.”
He wanted to deny it, but the truth was a stone in his throat. He nodded.
“The final four days of your prescribed wear,” she said, her voice dropping to a murmur meant only for him and the water, “will now include a new condition. You will report to me each evening, before meditation. You will stand in the center of my quarters, and you will describe, in exacting detail, one instance where you felt the lace that day. Not the physical sensation. The emotional one. The memory it triggered. The shame, the anger, the amusement. You will articulate it.”
The assignment was terrifying in its intimacy. It demanded a scrutiny he wasn’t sure he could bear.
“You will learn to sit with the consequence, Charlie,” she said, her thumb stroking his cheek once, a fleeting gesture that felt like both a blessing and a brand. “Not just wear it.” She turned to go, then paused. “And clean the pink powder out of your hair. It clashes with your complexion.”
She disappeared into the mist, leaving him standing alone. The water roared on, endless and indifferent. He raised a hand to his hair, his fingers coming away dusted with faint, iridescent pink. He let out a long, slow breath. The game had layers, Aayla had said. Shaak Ti had just peeled back another one, revealing a deeper, more vulnerable level beneath.
He started the walk back to his quarters. Every shift of the lace against his skin was no longer just a reminder of a spanking. It was a question. And tomorrow, he would have to find an answer.