Anakin, panting with the glorious exertion of a duel heartily and decisively concluded, can hardly contain his glee as Ferus Olin deactivates his saber, bows, and offers Anakin a friendly handshake in defeat, before he crosses the burn-etched floor in a beeline for the showers.

Serves you right, you uppity, self-righteous, know-it-all peedunkey.

Though it probably would be easier to resent him if he weren't so damned gracious about everything, losing included.

Trotting out of the practice ring toward the small knot of observing Masters, Anakin sees a scowling Siri Tachi slap something down into Obi-Wan's hand before striding out the door in a flourish of robes, presumably to wait for her defeated Padawan. Obi-Wan, at Anakin's approach, slips the unidentified bundle into his cloak, looking a touch more self-satisfied than usual.

"What is that, master?" Anakin asks, drawing up alongside him.

Obi-Wan claps a light hand onto his shoulder, turning them both toward the exit from the salles. "A free dinner for me – and you, if you behave." They saunter toward the door, Anakin easily keeping pace with his mentor, whose height he has already begun to outstrip.

"It's always a free dinner in the refectory, master."

"So it is," Obi-Wan says agreeably. "I am thinking that perhaps this evening we shall venture out into the wider world." He withdraws a hand from his robes and flashes a sizeable credit chit at Anakin.

Remembering the surreptitious exchange he had witnessed not a moment ago between Obi-Wan and Siri, Anakin narrows his eyes, suddenly suspicious. "You - did you place a bet on me?" he exclaims.

"The more appropriate question, Anakin," Obi-Wan says, pitching his voice slightly louder as they pass Master Tachi, "is why a fellow Jedi Master, especially one of such infinite wisdom, would agree to such an obviously ill-advised wager." Siri glares daggers at him, but Obi-Wan's expression remains nonchalant. "Though I suppose it would be bad form to bet against one's own apprentice."

Anakin has not quite gotten past the indignity of the original revelation. "You bet on me?"

"I expressed confidence in your abilities and was challenged. I didn't think you would want your honor impugned."

"Master! I earned you 20 dataries?"

"Today, yes."

"Toda - what do you mean, today; how much have you made off me?"

Obi-Wan is dangerous when he's in this good of a mood. He waves away Anakin's scandalized tone with a good-natured, almost imperceptible roll of the eyes. "Oh, my unbearably naïve apprentice. As if I never made a datarie for any of my instructors."

"Master Qui-Gon didn't bet on you," Anakin huffs, his offended indignation on behalf of his beloved childhood idol almost endearing.

"Why on earth should you think that? He bet on you."

Anakin's mouth drops open a half inch.

"Let's go," Obi-Wan says breezily, as if nothing had transpired. "I've winnings to spend."

Anakin, recovering from his momentary stunned state, jogs to catch up with him. "I'm going to need to see some proof," he demands.

Obi-Wan shrugs without slowing. "I have none. I'm afraid you'll have to take my word for it."

Anakin opens his mouth to retort, but Obi-Wan holds up a finger, forestalling further argument.

"Some truths can only be perceived, not proven, young one. The crux of the matter here is, are you able, in this moment, to disregard your dinted pride and take advantage of a sudden windfall – " he waves the credits at Anakin, " – or will you allow the stubborn desire to stew in past offenses committed against your person to condemn you to the unenviable fate of fenti beans and, stars forbid, white milk tonight?"

Anakin's rueful, acquiescing smile is slow, as if it is being dragged out of him on a chain, but it is there.

"Better," Obi-Wan says. "Now come. It's nearly evening meal, and we're not going anywhere until you've cleaned up."

"Yes, master." He trots alongside Obi-Wan obediently as they approach the lift to the residential sector. "Master?"

"Mm."

He can't help it. "How much money did you make on me, though?"

Obi-Wan's smile is appropriately refrained, Jedi-constrained, but Anakin can feel the Force leaping around him in a positively wicked dance. "Enough to keep you in blue milk for the rest of your apprenticeship, I think."

As if Ferus needs another reason to dislike him. Anakin suppresses a groan, knowing such a visible disturbance would earn him looks of disapprobation from the serene Jedi traversing the corridor on either side of them. Stepping into the lift behind Obi-Wan, he wheels on his master.

"How much on you?"

Obi-Wan shrugs, deftly sidestepping the question. "I've no idea."

The lift shoots upward, carrying them towards the dormitories. Anakin scrutinizes the white lift wall in front of him. "It was a lot," he declares finally.

Obi-Wan's gaze slides over to him, brows raised. "Can you prove it?"

"I perceive it," Anakin quips back.

Obi-Wan actually smirks. It's quick, blink-and-you-miss-it, but unmistakable for someone as accustomed to reading him as his apprentice is.

Said apprentice rocks back on his heels, pleased despite the sweaty mess that is his tunic and the rankling indignity of being bet upon by foolish Jedi masters with little else to occupy their time. He loves Obi-Wan in these moods. Already anticipating a happy retort, he pushes, needling, at his master's irreverent good humor. "So I can expect to find blue milk in the conservator tomorrow, right?"

The lift doors slide open, smoothly, and Obi-Wan gives Anakin a firm push out into the hall. "Hope springs eternal, Padawan."