@ Irrissa: I liked the contrast in approaches: Dashing out into the middle versus thoughtful preparation. And how one of the Padawans got captured. I will not play through there the same way again. Nice.
@ Magdalane: Loved Corso torn between biology and brain, and his cold shower being mental overview of weapon schematics. So very Corso, both aspects.
@ Bright: Stats glorious stats! *Cue Broadway musical dance scene* Varrel’s story for
Pride was weak; I didn’t do a good job showing his internal state and thoughts. It ended up illustrating the proverb ‘Old age and treachery will beat youth and skill’…except it played out more at old age, treachery, and skill will beat youth and arrogance. Which was still fun, but not quite what I wanted. Oh well.
So hey, late again, I’ll submit this one. I take too long in editing.
Varrel Umrahiel (SW) and DS Jaesa, Lust.
(What do you expect from the writer/player of one of the more promiscuous characters, and the only person in the entire thread thus far to imply a threesome?)
Chronology: Closest match is from the “What If?” prompt,
The New Wrath. This short occurs before the canon version of the Quesh incident, during Hoth, though I have no other Varrel stories set in that timeframe yet. Spoilers for DS Jaesa companion quests. Sort of. Hard to miss with that title. 830 words. This was
supposed to be short.
So, with
Lust as the prompt, and DS Jaesa involved, I don’t know that it's necessary to have a content warning, but here it is:
contains illustration/implication of Stockholm Syndrome, which might be troublesome to some readers.
Jaesa deactivated her saberstaff, the exercise complete, “Master, the other Sith. On Taris?”
Varrel did the same, “Thana Vesh? What about her?”
Jaesa licked her lips, “Did you like her, Master?”
Varrel put up both his weapons, “No,” he replied. Jaesa was improving. Her technique was unrefined by his standards, but that meant he had more to teach. He enjoyed teaching. It had been long since he had a student.
She looked crestfallen, “Oh. I thought she was the perfect Sith. Rage and wrath, a force of pure emotion. Like the first line of the true code: Peace is a lie, there is only passion.” Jaesa’s disappointment was a sudden chill in the air.
Varrel felt the change, “She was a scattergun set on wide choke. She had no control.”
Jaesa stepped close, “I thought being Sith was all about emotion, unrestrained and free.”
Varrel touched her hair. Warmth radiated from her again. “Being Sith is about power, Jaesa. Emotions are a source of power. Not an end of themselves.”
“But emotions are strength, and strength is power,” Jaesa countered.
“You’ve indulged those emotions and passions for a while now,” Varrel said. To the point where the spacedock cantina owner had politely requested a warning when he planned to stay, “Have you gained what you want?”
A complex wave of feelings rolled outward from her, “No, Master.”
He noticed her perfume. Sweet and earthy, woodland flowers after rain. Not all of it was real; it was a sensory overlay on his Force perception. A pleasant distraction, under the circumstances, “And what is it that you want, Jaesa?”
Another wave, perfume and heat, sharp desire punctuated with longing, and he knew her answer before she spoke, “You, Master,” she said.
“Me?’ he asked. Surely she thought him too old for her. The sensations rippling through the Force said otherwise. Her fingertips traced his eyebrow, the edge of his ear. It had been a long time since a woman looked at him that way. A long time since he returned such a look. Smoke and heat, an autumn bonfire surrounded by bright violas.
“I felt you through the Force,” Jaesa continued. “You pursued me. Like a noble knight seeking his princess. Overcoming all obstacles. Nothing would stand in your way. Even before I knew you, I knew you were the one,” she continued, her words a spring flood flowing into the desert, “When we met, you showed me the Truth behind the Jedi, their lies and deception. The dark soul of the universe. You are my destiny, Master, and I am yours,” Jaesa wrapped her arms around Varrel’s shoulders and closed with his lips.
Varrel’s recollection of those events was different. And her wanton behavior after becoming his apprentice put a lie to her words. He turned his head slightly, rebuffing her kiss, “And all the others? You’ve grown tired of them?”
Jaesa tightened her embrace, “There were no others, Master. They were nothing and I gave them nothing. I wanted to make you jealous. So you would pursue me again. Fight for me. Win me away.”
Sparks snapped, rose into the air above the bonfire. The air was full of the scent of wood and flowers. Varrel’s arm encircled her waist, “Jealousy is a dangerous emotion, pet. Suppose I chose instead to destroy you and not my rivals?”
“Then I would know your feelings for me were true,” she said.
She reached again for his lips, and this time he let her have them. But her kiss was amateurish and inexperienced. Her hands caressed, teased, held him close. There was nothing to breathe but air filled with their shared desire. A feedback loop, building on itself. Even for Varrel this was a new sensation. He’d loved his first wife, been satisfied with her, but she was not Force-sensitive and the difference was shocking. He ended their kiss, “You would have died, your desire unfulfilled.”
“Only the physical, my love,” she said, meeting his eyes, “I would be forever yours, only yours, no other.”
Crystalline flowers, shattering in heat, “Only mine, pet? Surely not.”
Jaesa licked her lips, “I have never been with a man before, my love,” she said. There was no fear in her voice, but anticipation, “The Jedi forbade it. And after, there was no one else worthy. No one but you.”
Varrel stroked her bare lower back. He’d disapproved of her clothing preferences at first, then accepted them. Now his fingers drew electric patterns on her skin, ripples in a field of violas. “They are mistaken in that as in so many things,” he said, “shall I show you their error?” he asked.
Jaesa’s only answer was another kiss, needy and hungry. Varrel held her tight, one hand still on the small of her back, the other bunched in her dark hair. He enjoyed teaching, and it had been long since he’d had a student.
Spring flowers burned purple in a bonfire of fallen leaves.