Jump to content

The Short Fic Weekly Challenge Thread!


elliotcat

Recommended Posts

Hehehe.

 

Hehehehe.

 

I'd really like to see how their relationship evolved, if you know what I mean :p

Ideas for these two keep popping up out of no where... while my other stories wither and die. >.<

 

@irish - It's a seldom-discussed but universally-appreciated fact that uniforms can make anyone's bum look good... apparently at the expense of some comfort in the *ahem* personal area. Oh, the sacrifices we make... *snicker*

It's a sacrifice for a great cause! For the Empire. And people who like looking at bums!

Link to comment
Share on other sites

Prompt: Disguises

Characters: Captain Malavai Quinn and Ald, the super silly Warrior

 

Switching Pants

 

 

 

“This is a horrible plan, my Lord. I see numerous flaws,” the Captain said stiffly.

 

“I quite obviously have my lightsabers on my belt, Captain,” replied Ald.

 

“Yes, but people look at clothing first, not weaponry. It’s a mistake that has cost a great many lives on both sides of the coin. I beg you to reconsider.”

 

Ald simply chuckled and shook his head at the Captain. He had managed to convince the stiff man to switch outfits for the day as they were very nearly the same build. Ald had checked his bum in the mirror and was quite satisfied with how the Imperial uniform perked his bum just enough to be noticeable, but not enough to drive a wedge between the cheeks. He hated cinched unders.

 

The Captain, with the uniformed Ald in tow, made his way to the Nexus Room Cantina for what would likely prove to be a trying evening at best. As soon as they walked through the door, Quinn put the hood on the robes he had borrowed up. He really did not want to be recorded posing as a Sith Lord. It would get dicey. Well, he would get diced. With lightsabers. He shuddered faintly at the thought. Ald, on the other hand, reveled in the attention he was receiving. It was rare for a Force-blind Pureblood to live in the Empire, let alone rise to the station of Captain in the Imperial Navy. Those taking a closer look noticed his lightsabers right away. Those in-tune with the Force noticed his strength in it before he stepped into the room. The various stages of horror, interest, and boredom on the faces of those staring at the pair made Ald slightly giddy. Ald’s face broke into a silly grin as he stepped further into the Cantina and straight to an empty table. Murmurings of impropriety followed in their wake, but Ald paid them no mind and Quinn was too busy being uncomfortable in a crowded room to notice.

 

“I am not a social creature,” the Captain said stiffly as he sat down.

 

“I can tell. You need to get out more. Live a little,” Ald said with a lopsided grin.

 

“I live plenty, my Lo – Ald.”

 

Ald’s grin turned to pure teeth. “You learn fast.”

 

“You don’t survive in the Empire by being a dunce. Stupidity serves no other purpose than to weed out the weak.”

 

“You’re so Imperial,” Ald chuckled.

 

Quinn arched a brow he was sure went unseen due to him hiding his face as best he could under the hood.

 

“I have no response other than to state the obvious, Ald,” Quinn said stiffly. “And I damn sure don’t like calling you by your nickname. One I’m entirely sure you made up just to upset me.”

 

“No,” Ald laughed quietly, “I’ve had this nickname for a number of years.”

 

Their conversation was interrupted by an awfully hands on woman. Her boldness in pinching the bum of the Captain turned Sith signaled her reliance in her charm and her handle on the Force. Quinn turned an even paler shade of pale.

 

“Hello, my Lord,” the woman purred.

 

“Hello,” Quinn murmured uncomfortably.

 

“Not a big talker?”

 

“Lord Praecursator prefers action over words,” Ald supplied helpfully.

 

“Quiet, Imperial,” the woman snapped.

 

Ald frowned. The woman wasn’t hard on the eyes: tall, well dressed, brunette, green eyes, fair skin. But it was obvious to any Force sensitive that she was no Sith Lord.

 

“Don’t be rude,” Quinn admonished smoothly. “You never know just who you are insulting.”

 

“He’s an officer, it doesn’t matter,” the woman said off-handedly.

 

Quinn bristled then rose from his seat and stared down his nose at the woman.

 

“Never insult the Imperials who serve. They do so out of a sense of duty to the Empire,” he hissed. “And never forget that a Sith can be killed by a mere Imperial. It may save your pitiful life someday.”

 

His point made, he brushed past her and strode for the exit. Ald strangled back a laugh, waved to the confused woman, and ran after the quickly moving Quinn. When Ald finally caught up to Quinn, he grabbed his shoulder and whirled him around.

 

“That was amazing!” Ald said with a grin.

 

“Yes,” Quinn murmured quietly, “it truly was.”

 

“We’re doing this again next week.”

 

“As you wish, Ald,” Quinn said with a small grin and a polite bow.

 

 

 

 

Notes:

 

 

If Google English to Latin translator isn't a big fat liar "praecursator" means scout or spy. I thought it fitting. [snickers]

 

Edited by irishfino
Link to comment
Share on other sites

@Magdalane I love the idea of Magdalane playing matchmaker :D

 

@Ereiniel I have not run through the BH line but your stories make me want to, I love the backstory of your character, how odd that a bounty hunter fits so well as former Alderaanian nobility

 

@Irrissa :D Haha, justice. I was wondering when I first read this why he had to be brought in alive!

 

@Tatile I love how detailed and twisted together everyone's story is. Poor Rochester!

 

@bright_ephemera Talos Nerdlove can make even Niselle do semi-useful things. Awesome.

 

@irishfino Ehehehe more Quinns all the Quinns

 

@LogicLoup oh :( I felt so sad for everyone. *sniffles*stupid jedi and their rules *sniffles*

 

@bright_ephemera STATISTICS I love this :) thanks for doing it!

Link to comment
Share on other sites

I wasn't going to post this because i don't really like how it's turning out. But after my Sisterhood story drained all the creativity out of me I feel like I'll get out of the habit if I don't keep doing something. I'm thinking more and more about separate cohesive threads for Ipha/Brei and maybe Aurai. I just have a feeling I'll be screwing myself in the end.

 

This is something for Aurai and Markus. A little Worlds Collide though it's really not that obvious. This takes place after Markus does the Smuggler story so there are some Smuggler story spoilers. I'm sorry I suck at Guss. It's long, 3 thousand words. Eesh. But its the start to a longer story I would like to write, if my brain ever finds inspiration again.

 

 

They hadn’t bound her ankles to the legs of chair, but they had bound her wrists behind her. Her face was bruised, lip laid open and bleeding freely and one eye was nearly swollen closed. That sweaty, meaty hand swept back across her face hard enough to tip the chair and lay her out. She spit blood and laughed.

 

'”Get her up,” the fat human said.

 

The muscle reached under her arms and lifted her and the chair back onto its legs. She made a show of wiggling in her seat as though getting comfortable then she raised her one good eye back up and cocked an eyebrow. They were situated in a spotlight in the middle of the filthy rundown warehouse, the rest of the echoing room dimly lit with emergency lights. She had thought it was rather obnoxious and theatrical and had said as much. That had earned her the first punch across the face. She had taken a few to the torso but mostly, he wanted to mess up her good looks. That didn't make her happy.

 

“Now,” Rethess muttered again, standing over her with menace. “You tell me where Ruhdil's shipment is right now, and what you did with your cut of the bribe money, and you don't have to lose one of your fingers. How does that strike you?”

 

Captain Aurai, smuggler, con artist and all around good time gal, cast the gaze of her good eye to the ground to her right, then over to her left before languidly raising her eyes back to Rethess. There was movement above his head, which no one noticed but her, and her heart thumped once. She could see, standing on the railing of the second floor, a massive Wookiee holding a blaster rifle. She didn't recognize him, not that she could really tell Wookiees apart ever. He seemed to be waiting for a signal. Rather than stare at him and give away his position, she focused her eyes on Rethess. Whether he was there to rescue her, or just wanted a piece of her himself, his inevitable grand entrance could only turn things in her favor. She grinned a tickled, bloody grin and said with a gallant sigh, “Well, I don't see any damns lying around. So I guess that means I have none to give. What else you got?”

 

Rethess grabbed her by her hair and shook her head violently. “Stupid, imbecilic woman!” He pulled his blaster off his side and stuck the barrel in her blackened eye. “I'm going to pop your eyeballs out and stick this blaster in the socket. That way when I shoot you, it will ricochet around your empty head!”

 

Aurai let out a delighted laugh at the thought which earned her an open-palmed slap across the face. She barely felt it. “I love it!” she crowed even as he wound up to smack her again. Once her face absorbed the second blow she looked back up. “Can I write that down to use for later? I'm always on the look out for witty one liners.”

 

“Jandiv, go get me my bag. This is getting very old, very quick. Time to change tactics.” Rethess let go of her hair with a sigh and straightened his creaky back.

 

Aurai knew it had to get real and very fast. She tensed, testing the restraints that held her. They were cheap, easily broken once she could rotate her position and get her arms in front of her.

 

There was muffled blaster fire which made Rethess turn only to get tackled to the floor by a roaring Wookiee. The second thug grabbed blindly for his weapon in shock but froze when a blaster rifle barrel was shoved into his spine. “Don't you move, you slime bucket,” said a voice Aurai didn't know but would have remembered for its country twang. But the chuckle that followed the statement, and the blaster that came into the light she knew. Oh yes, she knew that blaster.

 

Captain Markus Kinbridge strutted into the light, smile on his lips, murder in his eyes. He gestured with the gun and the Wookiee lifted Rethess by the scruff of the neck and held him off his feet. A second man came forward in the harsh pool of light, shoving the unarmed thug before him on the ground and stepping on his neck. The stranger was furious and kept the barrel of his blaster rifle dug into the man's temple.

 

Aurai stood off the chair, her wrists still bound behind her back. She knocked the chair away with her foot then walked around Rethess and his new Wookiee friend, her eyes on Kinbridge, her expression neutral.

 

“Markus,” she said conversationally.

 

“Aurai.” He watched her walk toward him and she saw the rage tight on his face. She must look pretty bad. “Playing your rescuer wasn't on my agenda for the day. You could have taken them.”

 

She shrugged one shoulder because the other was dislocated. “Three against one. He sent one away though. I could have taken two.”

 

“My timing is, as always, is impeccable.” Kinbridge glanced at his friend and Aurai followed his gaze briefly. The stranger's very attractive face was a mix of horror and rage as he studied her. She wondered if he was going to snap a neuron and break that thug's neck with his boot. Kinbridge turned his head and barked “Guss!” over his shoulder. From the shadows a male Mon Calamari sauntered toward them, taking his time, la la la'ing some tuneless melody.

 

The Wookiee bellowed and shook Rethess soundly, causing the otherwise stricken silent man to squeak.

 

“Huh,” Aurai mused, even as she watched the fishman approach. “You know Rethess. I like you better trussed up this way.” She turned to Kinbridge. “I approve in your choice of friends.”

 

Kinbridge's eyes softened momentarily. “Guss, get those cuffs off her and get her good enough to walk out of here.” He turned his gaze to Rethess and his face hardened again. He heard her scoff that she could walk just fine, thank you very much but chose to ignore her for the moment. “Rethess Vir. I'd like to say it's a pleasure meeting Ruhdil's top enforcer. But, under the circumstances, I think I'm just going to put a blaster bolt between your eyes.”

 

“She cheated the great Ruhdil Stetter out of his rightful cargo!” Rethess stuttered. “Bought and paid for! I had every right to find out where it is!”

 

“Actually,” Aurai said as Guss slipped the cuffs off her hands, “Zinzil Ravt scammed me out Ruhdil's cargo, three crates of rapid recharge stock rifles and 30 kay creds. F*cking toothless wonder.” She stretched her good arm out to in front of her, shaking her hand. Her useless arm flopped a little at her side, she looked at it with impatience.

 

Rethess sputtered and Kinbridge looked rather annoyed. “You let that happen? Why didn't you bother to relay that information these... nice gentlemen?”

 

“Because he,” she pointed at Rethess with her good hand, “is a pussbag and Ruhdil eats Rodian toenails for a midnight snack. I don't give a flying painted f*ck whether he ever sees his cargo or not. Out of my hands, out of my mind.”

 

Guss interrupted with a hearty chuckle but looked at Kinbridge. “Shoulder's dislocated. But I take care of that like this.” Before Aurai or anyone else had a chance to react, Guss grabbed her upper arm and popped her shoulder back into its socket. Aurai grunted like she had been kicked in the crotch, her head falling forward even as she took a deep, slow breath through her nose. After a moment, she picked her head back up but let it loll back, looking up into the air. Despite being Mirialan, Kinbridge could tell she was looking a little green.

 

“You going to boot?” he asked casually.

 

She turned an incredulous eye on him. “I'm a lady. That sh*t doesn't go down in public.”

 

“Should a lady be using all those cuss words?” the handsome stranger next to Kinbridge asked. Even though his tone was a little jovial, his foot was still leaving marks in the nameless thug's neck and the barrel of his rifle was almost through his temple.

 

Aurai grinned. “He's cute,” she laughed to Kinbridge. “You got a name, handsome?”

 

“Name's Corso Riggs, ma'am. Wish we met under better circumstances.”

 

“Yeah,” Aurai muttered as Guss stuck her in the arm with a kolto injection. The ache in her shoulder faded away in to the background. “How messed up is my face?”

 

“You... really don't want to look at yourself right now,” Kinbridge said. “Speaking of which, what should we do with this piglizard, Corso?”

 

The Wookiee cut in with a wail, shaking Rethess again. Corso's handsome face darkened. “I agree. Real men don't tie up and beat on a lady. Therefore, he's just a waste of breathable air.”

 

Aurai widened her one good eye, looked at Kinbridge and jerked her thumb at Corso. “Is he for real?”

 

“Oh yeah,” Kinbridge answered. He looked at Rethess who was alternately babbling threats and begging for his life. The seasoned smuggler looked the chief thug in the eye and without a word, pulled the trigger. The blaster bolt left a neat hole in the man's forehead. Corso shot the nameless thug under his boot as the Wookiee tossed Rethess's body away.

 

“Harsh, but fair,” Aurai said, looking at his corpse. Something dark and ugly untied in her chest; the fear that she wouldn't have made it out of there alive. She'd been taking too many chances lately.

 

“He'll never lay a hand on a woman again,” Corso said gravely.

 

Aurai's eyebrows nearly met her hairline but Guss stepped into her field of vision. “Other than looking ugly as a rancor in heat, she's fine. But if you want her to get prettied up again, we better get her to the ship so I can put some kolto packs on the swelling.”

 

Kinbridge reached out to Aurai and put his arm around her back as she came to him. She rested her head briefly on his shoulder, an acknowledgment of his worry. “So.... not that I'm unappreciative or anything, but how did you know I was here, Markus?” she asked as he lead her away.

 

“You aren't exactly below the radar. Word was that you were going to make a meet with Bracker and his crew on planet. When we found him in the cantina he said you were late, which we both knew was odd. One of his boys came back and said he'd seen you get hustled off by Rethess and you had been disarmed. Its no secret that Ruhdil owns this decrepit warehouse and since there was a shiny speeder with blood in the back hatch outside, I figured you were wiling away your evening here.”

 

“Your deduction powers. They amaze me.” Aurai chuckled, winced when her cut lip stung and shrugged her good shoulder at him. Kinbridge smiled and would have hugged her if she wasn't so messed up.

 

 

Safely aboard Kinbridge's ship, Guss diverted Aurai to a disorganized med bay while Kinbridge went to find Risha. He holoed Akaavi on the way, whom he had ordered to sit on Aurai's ship in case anyone came sniffing around. Apparently three shady fellows had each tried their hand at breaking into the Carnivale. Akaavi had broken their necks instead and shoved them in a cargo container. He told the violent Zabrak to put a field generator on the door. If it was disturbed, he'd know, then to come back in.

 

He found Risha in the communications room, looking at a screen on the console. She blackened it when he approached and turned to him. “Where's your friend?” she asked casually.

 

“With Guss getting her face put back on,” Kinbridge answered.

 

“Delightful. Bracker holo'd. He wants you to contact him as soon as you have your Captain friend. He wants what's in her hold and he's got the payment ready to wire her. He's got other business blah blah blah.” She smiled tightly at him and put her arms around his neck. “I told him you'd get to him when you got to him.”

 

Kinbridge nodded. “When she can open both eyes and talk without bleeding on herself, he'll get his cargo.”

 

Corso stepped in, saw Kinbridge and Risha standing together and waited at the door. “Guss says she presentable and she's asking about her ship.”

 

Kinbridge smiled grimly. “Thanks, Corso,” he said as he headed out the door. “This is probably going to be a hoot. You might want to come watch.”

 

Corso and Risha exchanged a glance and followed Kinbridge without a word.

 

Guss had done a good job on her. There was still discoloration around her eye and on her cheeks. The puffiness in her lower lip was gone, and all that was left was a ragged red line that was already knitted back together. Both eyes were open and focused and she'd washed the blood off her face and out of her hair. There was no denying now that she was a stunning beauty, and always had been. He looked at her wistfully for a moment and remembered Tsarren.

 

Aurai sat on a cluttered med table, a glass in her hand. She'd wanted whiskey. She'd gotten water. When Kinbridge walked in with his entourage, she gave them all a sunny smile. “Markus. Beautiful ship. Not as pretty as the Carnivale, but she's got her curves. So, I meant to ask earlier but my head was a little rattled. I'm good now so I wanted to ask actually a couple of things.” She stood and set the glass down then fixed him with a daring stare. “Where's my ship and why, exactly, were you looking for me in the first place?”

 

Kinbridge smiled. Even on his ship, surrounded by his haphazard crew, if he gave her answers she didn't like, or tried to trap her in, she'd fight him. She'd fight them all. That's what made her Aurai. He put both hands up to placate her, gesturing for Corso and Risha to stay behind him.

 

“Your ship's at the space port where you left her. Had a friend watching her in fact. She's giving her the okay and she'll be fine 'til you get back to her.”

 

“Huh,” Aurai said thoughtfully, her mouth staying open for a moment before she snapped it shut. He'd always found her quirks and tics adorable and had to remind himself that he was in a relationship now. A steady, permanent one. “Good to know. And you were looking for me why?”

 

“It's been a long time.”

 

She kept her face expressionless but her eyes flicked over his shoulder. She was looking at Risha. Then she turned away to find her jacket, looking casual. “I've been busy. You've been killing some of the greatest gangsters in the galaxy. Sorry I didn't write.”

 

His brow winged up. “You heard about that?”

 

“I think you should be asking who hasn't heard about that.” She gave him a friendly smile. “Yet, still not an answer to my question.”

 

Kinbridge shifted. This might turn ugly. “You have something I need. Something that I gave to Tsarren a long time ago. He was keeping it for me.” He heard her quiet gasp but she schooled her face quickly.

 

“The house is gone, Markus. The creditors took it a few years ago. Most of... of his things are gone too. I couldn't, just couldn't keep them.”

 

“I know you kept this. Because I can see it on you now.” He came to her as she watched him warily. With gentle fingers he stroked her cheek then plucked at the thin silver chain she wore about her neck. He pulled it and a pendent spilled out of her shirt and into his hand.

 

Aurai looked down then back up into his face. He saw anger there. “Tsarren gave this to me on our first wedding anniversary. You want to tell me now that it's yours?”

 

“Its a map,” he said. “A treasure map.”

 

Aurai's golden eyes narrowed. “Did you fall asleep watching a kid's vid?”

 

Kinbridge held his hand out and Risha put a long, thin rod with an ornate handle into it. He inserted the thinnest part into the pendent, twisted and the pendant bloomed. Its boxy shape spread and a picture appeared. Aurai stared in wonder. “Not done yet,” Kinbridge murmured. He activated an unseen part of the pendent and the engraved picture on the inside became a shimmering holo floating above the base.

 

“I don't even...” Aurai trailed off. “I've had this a long time, Markus.”

 

“Thank you for keeping it safe for me, Rai.”

 

“Did... did he know?” Her eyes burned suddenly.

 

“Some of it. I'm sorry. I need to take this from you.”

 

Aurai bit her bottom lip but pulled the chain off her neck. It was the last thing she had left of Tsarren. “Is that it? Are you done with me?”

 

Kinbridge felt it, that pull he'd had for her since he met her. His world narrowed down to her and her sad face, even Risha forgotten for a moment. “Come with me,” he whispered.

 

Aurai sighed. “You going to cut me into the profits?”

 

The mention of money broke his thoughts. “O-of course,” he stammered.

 

She looked over his shoulder again. Her eyes met Risha's who was glaring daggers. She looked back at Markus. “Why did you give this Tsarren?”

 

He rubbed the back of his neck. “We were going to look for this together. I had the key and he kept the map. Kept us honest. But, he met you and things changed for him. But now, it's just time.”

 

“If you were going to take Tsarren then you're going to take me. I'll do this for him, he would have wanted to see how big of a fool you make of yourself.”

 

Kinbridge blinked at the sudden venom in her voice. At a loss for words he backed away from her and deactivated the map. “Right then.”

 

 

 

Notes:

 

This is after Firsts, where Aurai meets up with Ipha. Why do I have a compulsion to bring my male and female classes together? It has to be a sickness.

 

Link to comment
Share on other sites

Mags, I neglected to mention that your lovely Magdalane-being-adorably-protective story marks the 500th story in this thread! I crunched some numbers for you all to enjoy :D

Oooooooo STATS!!!! I love stats!!! Thank you for all the numerical goodness!! I'm half tempted to go run a JC just to boost the numbers lol.

Link to comment
Share on other sites

Doublepost...I have to say, the voice acting on the male Consular is numbingly bland. I guess if he meant to hit serenity he succeeded, but yech. I gave up at level 11 purely because the boredom of hearing him talk had finally given way to profound annoyance. Honestly I would recommend playing female for tolerable voice acting, then headcanoning/writing anything you like.

 

The irony here is that I had a F!Counsular. I gave up somewhere around level fifteen or so (starting Taris) for several reasons, disliking her voice being a major one. Not that it was bad, just...dull I guess. Haven't tried a male yet, but this is not encouraging. :(

Link to comment
Share on other sites

Disguises

Question of When

 

 

 

"You... did..." Words failed him and Broan's mouth just hung open. Betrayal and rage surged through his stomach, but it was sorrow that built in his throat. He stood there, hands balled into fists by his sides, looking down at a man he once thought he knew.

 

"I'm sorry."

 

He reacted. Simple and primal, the rush of emotion over took his body and he could only watch. The creak of his black leather gloves as they curled around the collar of the man's uniform, the look of terror and acceptance on his face and then the crunch as flesh and bone met with the floor. Broan straddled the man, pinning him to the floor, their faces inches apart. It was only then that he realised he was screaming and the man beneath him was sobbing.

 

"Why?!"

 

"It was my duty. I didn't..."

 

"Want to," Broan rage subsided, but he could still feel it simmering away inside. He sat back and looked Rochester in the eyes. His face was flushed red with tears. Rochester flinched away from his touch and in that moment, Broan hated himself. "Get out."

 

Rochester stood, smoothed out the crumples in his uniform and wiped his tear stained face. He did not look at Broan and said nothing as he left the room. His composure and his uniform were immaculate.

 

Broan lent heavily on his table after Rochester had left, taking the time to breathe and regain control of his emotions. There was a clear path laid out before him. He wished it did not have to end this way. He wished it did not have to end at all.

 

 

Link to comment
Share on other sites

Disguises

Question of When

 

 

 

"You... did..." Words failed him and Broan's mouth just hung open. Betrayal and rage surged through his stomach, but it was sorrow that built in his throat. He stood there, hands balled into fists by his sides, looking down at a man he once thought he knew.

 

"I'm sorry."

 

He reacted. Simple and primal, the rush of emotion over took his body and he could only watch. The creak of his black leather gloves as they curled around the collar of the man's uniform, the look of terror and acceptance on his face and then the crunch as flesh and bone met with the floor. Broan straddled the man, pinning him to the floor, their faces inches apart. It was only then that he realised he was screaming and the man beneath him was sobbing.

 

"Why?!"

 

"It was my duty. I didn't..."

 

"Want to," Broan rage subsided, but he could still feel it simmering away inside. He sat back and looked Rochester in the eyes. His face was flushed red with tears. Rochester flinched away from his touch and in that moment, Broan hated himself. "Get out."

 

Rochester stood, smoothed out the crumples in his uniform and wiped his tear stained face. He did not look at Broan and said nothing as he left the room. His composure and his uniform were immaculate.

 

Broan lent heavily on his table after Rochester had left, taking the time to breathe and regain control of his emotions. There was a clear path laid out before him. He wished it did not have to end this way. He wished it did not have to end at all.

 

 

Ohohohohohohoh nooooooooooooo!

Link to comment
Share on other sites

Disguses

 

The Den

bh - Skari and crew and Solomon Crae

no spoilers

 

Everyone wears a mask. Some of us hide it better than others, but we're creatures of instincts, habits, needs. Funny how people think they're more than the beasts I hunted so often as a child. They bleed the same. Eat, fight, rut, die. We're all just animals under our clothes.

 

I could tell the bounty hunter who had killed my brother was getting tense when we got closer to her hanger. Reminded me of the way birds get when you wander close to their nests. Or a manka cat near her den. Her muscles bunched in her shoulders under the thin white shift she'd been gifted. Definitely a manka cat. She whirled around, unfazed by the vibroknife I'd palmed. I raised an eyebrow, curious to see what my cat would do.

 

"Look," she said grimly, "I want to see this through, but you and I both know your reputation isn't the best when it comes to being trustworthy. Touch any of my crew, and I will hunt you down if it's the last thing I f**king do."

 

A small smile tugged at my lips. "What's the matter, sweetheart, don't trust me?" Last person who trusted me has probably been eaten by scavengers by now. Just sayin.

 

She stalked over, jabbed me in the chest with one finger, and glared up at me. "I don't f**k around when it comes to my crew, Crae. Hurt them and die."

 

"Guarding your cubs," I said, enjoying her ferocity, "it's almost cute."

 

"You're really weird, Crae, you know that?" she said shaking her head as she turned around to unseal the airlock. Mankas are one of my very favorite predators. I've killed lots.

 

***

 

"*Boss is back! Hi Boss!*"

 

My bounty hunter waved to a bouncing Jawa on the medbay landing. I'd seen the Jawa around the ship, checking it over, making repairs. Was half tempted to crouch down and see if he'd come to me for a few treats.

 

A slim dark haired girl ran down the steps from the upper level. "Where were you?!? We were so worried!" I met her eyes briefly. Wide, doe-like. Easy prey. Not even a challenge there, I thought as I flipped my vibroknife in my hand. A Devaronian sauntered out of the medbay and leaned against a wall. "You were worried, I was...concerned. Briefly. Don't look at me like that." He met my eyes directly, his gaze sharp, assessing. This one would be a challenge. Snakes are hard to catch in the shadows. I should know. What's kept me alive so long.

 

A broad-shouldered young man followed the doe down the stairs, his eyes assessing as he looked at me. Direct, but without the cunning of his horned crewmate. "Glad you made it back." His words went to my cat, but his eyes never wavered from mine. How do you kill a bull? By not being in front of him. I slid my eyes away, intrigued by my cat's crew, her cubs.

 

I looked around the ship. Was older than I'd have figured, not meant for luxury. I could feel Skari's eyes on me, concerned, wary. She is no fool, her interest in honor notwithstanding.

 

"What happened to your face?!?" the young female gasped, grabbing Skari's chin and yanking it to the side so she could look at the damage.

 

"I cut her," I said casually, curious to see what they'd do.

 

"You did what?" the girl yelled. The bull took a step towards me. I shifted my feet, prepared to move out of the way of his charge.

 

"It's fine, Mako," Skari said, jerking her chin out of her hand and meeting the young man's eyes directly, "Torian, I'm fine."

 

No one seemed convinced.

 

"And what happened to your armor?" Mako asked suspiciously.

 

"I cut that too." It was too easy to spook this one. Without her mama around, easy pickings.

 

"Shut up, you're making this worse," Skari muttered at me. I raised an eyebrow and smiled a little, ignoring the death glares I was getting from all the crew members.

 

"Guys, this is Solomon Crae. He's going to be joining us while we work on a new job."

 

Skari watched the group; I watched Skari. There was enough suspicion around to float a battlecruiser. More fun than a hunt in Voss's Nightmare Lands.

 

"Can I talk to you?" Mako demanded, pulling Skari towards the medbay. I could hear her moving around the room getting kolto pulled together while Skari stood in the doorway, watching me. Torian and the Devaronian had taken up positions with their backs to walls, carefully keeping the me in sight. The Jawa was crouched behind some boxes, ready to leap. The handle of the knife landed solidly in my hand after every flip. Pack dynamics were always fascinating to me. This would keep me entertained for quite some time.

 

I could hear the doe muttering something to Skari as she applied kolto gel to the slashes I had made. I liked the cuts. They followed her old scars. Three long lines down her face. I haven't decided if I'm killing her or not. She intrigues me, but my brother is a corpse rotting under the ground. The cuts are a downpayment.

 

"It's complicated," Skari said, meeting my eyes across the space. It's not. Not really. Not for me. She turned her head, and I heard something about the Tabrel Sector.

 

The doe's response was high pitched. Scared. Does were sensible creatures, I'd always thought. They recognized danger, ran the other way, fast. Course, some predators are faster.

 

Skari responded. Calm. Steady.

 

I heard something drop on the floor. "And you brought him back with you?!?!"

 

Everyone in the cargo area looked up at that outburst. I stayed relaxed. Didn't change my knife flipping. No point provoking them. Not yet anyway.

 

"Crae, lets get you settled in," Skari said, walking towards me with a scowl on her face, the cuts glistening with greenish goo. "Not sure where you're going to sleep, we're packed in here tight anyway."

 

"Some space on the floor is all I need." The ship would provide shelter, heat, interesting creatures to observe. Almost everything I needed. I followed her up the stairs, appreciating the view. Almost. The sounds of angry conversation below continued as she led the way up the stairs.

 

"Do you have a galley on this ship?" I asked, stowing my bag in the corner where I'd be sleeping, palming the canister of Denovian tea in my hand. Might as well take advantage of the creature comforts while I decided whether I'd kill her.

 

"Yeah, it's back this way." She pointed me towards the small space. I could feel her eyes on me as I walked down the passageway. Worried eyes. I do so love intelligent creatures.

 

I could hear the Devaronian speaking to her, his voice sour and sarcastic. "Well isn't that special. You brought home a pyschopath."

 

We're all just animals. I just rarely put on my mask.

 

Author's Note:

First person. Something different. And a male point of view. Which I'm completely not confident in. Ah well :o

 

Edited by iamthehoyden
Link to comment
Share on other sites

Disguses

 

The Den

bh - Skari and crew and Solomon Crae

no spoilers

 

Everyone wears a mask. Some of us hide it better than others, but we're creatures of instincts, habits, needs. Funny how people think they're more than the beasts I hunted so often as a child. They bleed the same. Eat, fight, rut, die. We're all just animals under our clothes.

 

<snip>

 

We're all just animals. I just rarely put on my mask.

 

This voice. Crae's voice. Chilling but brilliantly written. Wow. The arrogance that runs through it all as he lays his opinion of himself alongside that fascinating and consistent-in-imagery assessment of everything around him. This is fantastic.

Link to comment
Share on other sites

Imperial officers. Don't ever write them seriously. Don't ever get attached. Plus I just finished up BH Balmorra this evening with the bonus of being an alien. Boy, do those people have respect, class, and humanity...oh wait they don't.

 

I had hesitated to timeskip on Vierce, but I guess I already jumped ahead to show major events. So this is an instance of Worlds Colliding on or near Balmorra. 700ish words, no game spoilers.

 

 

 

I finished up some gaming on the console in my quarters and found M1-4X, Jorgan, and Dorne in the holo room. They were relaxing after the day's mission, getting along fine.

 

And then before they noticed me I actually heard what Dorne was saying in the laughing voice that suggested she thought she was telling a funny story.

 

"I was assigned alongside this captain under a nightmare by the name of Moff Brannick, who – "

 

I stepped in and cut her off. "Brannick? You worked for Moff Brannick?"

 

The room went silent. She seemed to shrink a little when I advanced on her. I got just close enough to counter anything she might try, because that's the instinct that kicked in. "Yes, sir," she said tensely.

 

My throat was tight and scratchy. "When you said you'd heard of Kegled II. Did you serve there? Under him?"

 

"No, sir."

 

"Good." I backed off a step. "Never say his name. Never talk about what he’s done. Never, ever tell me what you did under him. Is that clear?"

 

“Yes, sir.”

 

By the time my vision cleared I was already in the corner of the cargo hold with the punching bag. I did a bare-minimum handwrap and got going, trying not to think. Thoughts came anyway. Jab, jab, right hook. Moff Brannick had presided over three years of terror with a smiling hands-on touch. Jab, left hook, over and over. Lin Deggins, matronly, tough as nails, innocent of the charges they hung on her. Jab, jab, right hook. Senelyana Potts, plain in features, absolutely beautiful in motion. Jab, left hook. Eddan Reysel, the rangy sniper and killer chef. Jab, jab, right hook. The lucky ones died in the field rather than going back to Brannick's prisons. Jab, left hook. I don't forget.

 

 

 

 

 

At some point Jorgan came in. "You knew him."

 

"He was military governor of Kegled II from when I was fourteen to when I was sixteen." Jab, jab, hard hook. Enough to break bones, if only the old would-be masters were there to hit. "He was a monster and he liked it."

 

"She didn’t–"

 

"He looked for people who were also monsters and liked it. One day serving under that man is one day more than I can forgive."

 

Silence. I knew he was still standing there.

 

I swung a few more times. Hard. Then I stopped, rested my head against the bag. "Jorgan, I can't do this anymore. I've tried. I know, I know she's earned her place in Havoc Squad but I can't be her commander." Without really meaning to, I slid down to my knees. I was too tired to do anything else. I was furious, but deadly tired. "I don't know what else to do. I should apply for a transfer."

 

"Sir, you can't. We're in the middle of something critical, there's too much riding on the mission for you to back out now."

 

"Me snapping under fire will wreck the mission anyway."

 

Jorgan spoke in a low hard serious voice. "You've been doing fine, Savins. Just back off, sleep on it, and we know not to talk about it any more."

 

"You don't know. You will never know." My voice was tearing itself to shreds. "It's not – it isn't – maybe she somehow walked through it all clean, but that past, the places, the names, the orders, they're all there and she didn't stop him."

 

"There was no way she could have."

 

"Dammit, I know that. It doesn't help. Maybe I know she's been all right with us – " I pointed to my head – "but I don't know it." I pointed to my gut. "Just…" I didn't want to cry in front of Jorgan. "Just get out of here."

 

I passed through the ship much later on the way to my quarters. I heard her banging around in medbay, arranging supplies or whatever. Being who she was, whatever that meant. I hid in my room, wrapped up my bleeding hands with supplies from the first-aid kit there, and quickly prepped something on the console to submit to HQ. The minute that was done I went to sleep.

 

The nightmares went on and on.

 

 

 

 

I have scenes written immediately after this, but it's hard. And feels forced. I hope that's simply because the people involved feel they have to force themselves.

 

Link to comment
Share on other sites

Bright, I can feel Vierce's pain and the slight nagging uncertainty in this. As always, excellent job.

 

Morgani, always love Aurai stories, and the introduction of the pendant/key was masterful. Really enjoyed this!

Edited by Magdalane
Link to comment
Share on other sites

Prompt: Disguises

 

Characters: Varrel Umrahiel (SW), Vette.

 

Title: Larvae

 

Late entry. Spoilers for late Vette companion quests and SW Act 3, though just as background.

 

Notes:

Title here is intended in the Roman mythology/Venetian Carnivale mask sense, meaning "Ghost" or "Mask". Have to edit for chronology, sorry. And comment. So far behind!

 

 

 

 

The simpering human led the bounty hunter through the dim halls of the Hutt’s ‘palace’. Dungeon was more like it. Thick walls helped regulate temperature in most Tatooine houses. Whuddle buried himself in a hole like a profogg. The bent human disengaged the lock on the final door, “What did you say your name was?” he asked.

 

“Larvae,” replied the masked hunter.

 

The escort nodded as the door opened on an oblong chamber lit by a few scattered wall sconces and a handful of overhead lights. They did little to push away the gloom. A thin miasma of spice smoke drifted through the room. Whuddle the Hutt lounged on a raised dais in the center, surrounded by slaves and servants, puffing contentedly on an oversized hookah.

 

“The bounty hunter, Larvae,” announced the grungy human.

 

Whuddle snorted and shoved a battered protocol droid to the front. He gurgled in annoyance. “The illustrious Whuddle the Hutt has no need for bounty hunters,” translated the dinged protocol droid, “He has more than enough enforcers already.”

 

The hunter stepped forward into the light. He was a small man, his armor mismatched shades of grey, much scratched and much repaired. An ordinary blaster hung from a belt full of tools of the trade, and no doubt more than a few tricks. Nothing special, one of a thousand guns for hire. The notable things about him were the pair of vibroswords slung on his back, and the mask over his face. Some hunters carried vibroswords, but it was hardly common. Most hunters wore masks as a natural part of their armor, but his was a plain oval of ivory with only a vague, shadowy suggestion of humanoid features.

 

“I am not looking for a contract,” the hunter said, “I have one. For one of your slaves.”

 

The Hutt laughed and burbled in his ugly language. The protocol droid translated, “Whuddle the prosperous has many slaves. He expects to be well-compensated for the loss.”

 

“My employer is willing to pay a reasonable price for the slave,” the hunter said. The dark eye spaces in the ivory mask stayed fixed on the corpulent Hutt.

 

Whuddle laughed again, gesturing magnanimously toward his grimy entourage, “Which slave has caught your employer’s eye?” the droid said, “The exacting Whuddle has many beautiful slaves. Many different faces. Many different prices.”

 

The hunter shifted his weight, “Diida.”

 

For a change, Whuddle said nothing. Then he engaged an underling in conversation. Then another. One sprinted from the room, only to return breathless in a few minutes with a datapad. Whuddle examined the datapad, then croaked at his interpreter. “Whuddle the generous says he has no slave by that name. Perhaps there is another your employer would like better?”

 

“A shame, that,” the hunter said, “I am only interested in Diida. I would have paid well for her.”

 

More chitchat between the droid and the slug, none of it friendly, judging by the tone. Finally the droid turned back to the hunter, “The sympathetic Whuddle the Hutt says that his records show she was very old and had been in his service for many years. To his great sorrow, Diida tragically passed away only recently. Being a favored slave, she was interred at his expense. If the hunter would recompense Whuddle for his costs, the hunter could have her body.”

 

“That will not be necessary,” the hunter said. In the blink of an eye he closed the distance to the Hutt’s dais, drawing and activating both vibroswords on the move. He paused, the humming blades poised at a shocked Whuddle’s blubbery neck, “I’ll take yours instead.”

 

 

 

Varrel Umrahiel returned to the Lemures that evening. Vette bounded up from her card array on the dejarik table and approached him, “Hey, I just wanted to say thanks,” she said.

 

“Oh?” Varrel asked.

 

“For saving my life,” she continued.

 

Varrel stroked the side of her face, “And how did I do that? Or is this for something long ago that you’ve only now remembered?”

 

Vette scuffed one foot on the carpet, “No, it’s about the Hutt. I’m glad you talked me out of going and killing him like Tivva wanted.”

 

“Oh?” Varrel repeated, “I thought it caused quite the rift between you. For that I am sorry, she is your sister.”

 

“No, no, Tivva always had a temper,” Vette said, “she’ll be fine once she calms down. She probably has already. I meant that if I had gone, I might have died in there, but even if I didn’t, I wouldn’t have come back the same. That rotten Hutt might be dead, but part of me would have died too. Mother still wouldn’t be alive. Everyone would have lost,” she took Varrel’s hand in something between a handshake and an embrace, “So thanks for saving me.”

 

Varrel squeezed her hand, “Let me be the Sith, Wrath of the Emperor,” he said, “and you go on being Vette.” He released her, “Have you other business here on Tatooine? If not I’ll have Quinn lift off.”

 

“None, my lord.”

 

“Go on then,” Varrel concluded. Vette hesitated for a moment, as though she wished something more, but then she settled and returned to her pazaak solitaire game.

 

Varrel continued on to his stateroom. The door slid shut behind him. Kneeling, he removed a long wooden case from its tansu beneath the bed. He ran his hand over the oiled blonde wood, appreciating the grain and glow of the natural material. He unfastened the catch at the front, an old-fashioned one of delicate silvery metal. Opening it, he replaced the paired Yovshin dueling blades in their places.

 

The mask, being nothing more than a cheap souvenir from a street vendor sandblasted to whiteness, he’d already discarded.

 

Edited by Striges
Link to comment
Share on other sites

Bright - Vierce - wow, and ouch and ouch again

Edit:

Imperial officers. Don't ever write them seriously. Don't ever get attached. Plus I just finished up BH Balmorra this evening with the bonus of being an alien. Boy, do those people have respect, class, and humanity...oh wait they don't.

Aren't they just precious? Going through the bh story as an alien is a lesson in never being allowed to forget how much scorn is possible to be infused in a voice.

 

Striges - Varrell - ALWAYS an interesting character, just fascinating

Edited by iamthehoyden
Link to comment
Share on other sites

@irishfino Ehehehe more Quinns all the Quinns

I can't seem to stop writing about the lovable bastard. [sighs and puts on her Malavai Quinn Apologist shirt]

 

@irish - Everything was so light and silly and fun, with prissy Quinn and prankster Ald and snobby Miss Grabbyhands, but then...

 

“And never forget that a Sith can be killed by a mere Imperial. It may save your pitiful life someday.”

 

OUCH. :(

Quinn would never pass up the opportunity to put someone in their place if he appeared to have the power to. It's also another sneaky hint about events down the line. :D

 

 

I've only just realized I've forgotten to actually thank people for reading and responding to my keyboard flailings! Thank you! Thank you all!

Edited by irishfino
Link to comment
Share on other sites

@hoyden - Solomon's voice is fantastic. I love the detached, predatory assessment of Skari's crew. There's no personal malice, just cold, brutal instinct — the snake imagery as Solomon is sizing up Gault is perfect.

 

@bright - It's heart-wrenching just how terribly alone Vierce is, even surrounded by comrades-in-arms. And the one person who might be able to understand, who has anything even approaching his knowledge of the Empire's atrocities, is the one person he can't bring himself (yet) to deal with, because Dorne's understanding comes from the wrong side of the line.

 

@Striges - Varrel's protection of Vette here, her spiritual well-being as well as physical, reminds me of his realization that she is his Fool back in Only Men Dance. As much as he wants her to stay Vette for her own sake, he needs her as she is to keep him grounded and human. The closing image of Varrel putting away his swords and his decency for safekeeping is beautifully "happy for deep people."

Link to comment
Share on other sites

Varrel has style. I like.

 

 

Umm, I know I'm kind of all over the place this week...brain is all wonky :( but a Disguise for Vierce came up. From an earlier and different time; this is set between 1.5 and 2 years before Vierce leaves his home planet. 800 words.

 

 

 

5 ATC

 

 

I was stretched out on my stomach, letting my feet kick idly while I switched between reading the textbook on my datapad and staring out across the river. It was a nice day.

 

"Vierce!"

 

I rolled and twisted just enough to see Illyris bounding up the hill towards me, that fine white-gold hair streaming behind her. She was dressed as a nerf wrangler, complete with lasso, baggy chaps, and one of those brilliantly colored neckerchiefs they only sell in tourist shops nowadays. She was also carrying a big colorful bag.

 

"Vierce, you haven't even started getting ready for the Carnivale party!"

 

"I wasn't planning on going." I would've gotten up, but she flopped down beside me, then wrapped an arm around me and gave me a quick spark of a kiss.

 

"You should," she told me. "I can't be a nerf wrangler without a nerf."

 

"I'm not going to be a nerf."

 

She grabbed a handful of my brown hair. "Already halfway there."

 

"Am not! If you want me to cut it, you could just say so."

 

"Please come?"

 

I freed up a hand to play with her hair. "I would love to."

 

She perked up.

 

"Without a costume."

 

She pouted.

 

"But, this," I nodded down at the datapad, "it's killing me. I have to clear this lesson by the end of the week."

 

"Says who?"

 

"Says me." I'd been delaying this chapter for weeks; things kept coming up that needed handling. Turns out it's tough to keep any kind of school schedule when you're too much wanted by the police to attend school as such; since I'd finished regular levels with a tutor last year, the university-grade stuff was all me. Me and whatever time I had.

 

Illyris made a face. "Your demands on your students are unreasonable, professor. If I were you I would complain."

 

"You don't even have to be me. You're you and you're complaining."

 

"I'll stop if you promise to come."

 

"I'm learning here. You should be happy."

 

"Put it off 'til tomorrow. Then you could learn by helping me study." She was in the real university, after all.

 

"That doesn't work."

 

"No," she giggled, "but it's fun."

 

"Not listening." I stuck out my tongue at her, then kissed her, then ignored her.

 

She tensed up and pounced on me, straddling my back while she did something or other. I continued ignoring her. When you have a brother like Kirsk, you get to be an expert in ignoring up-close annoyances.

 

But then she started doing things that felt suspiciously like pinning stuff.

 

"Lyr?"

 

Illyris giggled and kept going.

 

"Lyr. Lyr, what are you doing. Illyris? Whatever you just did, undo it." I struggled on for another textbook sentence or two before I felt her wriggling down to continue her nefarious scheme. "I'm not being a nerf for Carnivale."

 

"You'll be the handsomest nerf there," she said without stopping.

 

"I'm not a nerf!"

 

"Come oooonnnnn."

 

"If I go will you get rid of whatever costume you just pinned to me?"

 

She leaned low over me and to one side so I could see her glaring. "Do you even understand how holidays work?"

 

"They work," I grumbled, "by me loving you enough to abandon my responsibilities and go do stupid things."

 

She squealed. "Yes!"

 

She scrambled aside to let me up; I stood and dusted myself off. I pulled a couple of long shaggy fake-fur strips and a cloth saddle off my back, as well. "I'm going, but I won't be a nerf."

 

We took the usual route downtown; the streets were packed with colorfully costumed people in varying states of drunkenness. Illyris kept a tight grip on my hand the whole way. I counted myself lucky she wasn't using the lasso.

 

It was a good time. It always was with that crowd, the Ridgeside core and a number of other young adults who had since come to the area. Everyone seemed really delighted to see us. We were in good spirits. And as always, Illyris with her sparkling laughter was the brightest of all.

 

Late in the evening Kirsk swung by, his new cybernetic implant nearly lost in a mass of flexiplast war-droid accessories. "Hey, nerf-boy!" he called happily. "Nice tail!"

 

Everyone in earshot seemed to quiet down a little bit.

 

I checked.

 

I had a tail.

 

Illyris's face was a round freckled study in mischief.

 

I tugged the cloth nerf tail off and brandished it as threateningly as one can brandish a cloth nerf tail. "Dammit, woman. I am going to feed you to your stupid nerfs. As soon as I find some."

 

"Ha. I know how to deal with them." She danced around and swung herself up onto my back, her arms around my neck, her legs around my waist. "To the drinks table! Giddyup!" she giggled.

 

I sighed loudly, but I giddyup'd. A man's got to know when he's beaten.

 

 

 

 

 

I'm looking forward to Vierce's first encounter with the Ridgeside core within the game timeline - it'd be in the Act 1/Act 2 intermission. But I'll write that after Tatooine and Alderaan.

 

Illyris was also smart, bad*ss, and very businesslike when she needed to be. But some days are for being silly.

 

Edited by bright_ephemera
Link to comment
Share on other sites

×
×
  • Create New...