The Short Fic Weekly Challenge Thread!
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03.14.2013 , 07:51 PM |
Quick drive-by posting, short piece.
: Sha’ra’zaed (IA) and Vector.
No spoilers beyond the identity of the IA’s designated LI. Occurs prior to
The piece of music I had in mind was
Vector peeked into her room, their room. Their room when Sha’ra’zaed wished it. She sat at the little table, the one with the computer, the mind of the hive. Working, like the hive. Never sleeping. Her mind never slept, even when she was sleeping.
But now she sat there studying. The light from the screen falling on her face incidental. The light was in her aura. Pretty lights. Her usual thought patterns hidden for once beneath something else. Something happy. Something...complex. These were rhythmic images and sensations, like, like...
Like the hive’s song. There was the individual, the person, deep within. Always there, always part of the whole. One note, one voice, one part in harmony with the rest. Above it all, the song of the universe, all voices together in a chorus none could create alone. Part of something greater. One part of many.
Vector stood there for a while, observing the subtle changes. At last she looked up and removed a set of tiny speakers from her ears, “I’m sorry, Vector, I didn’t know you were there. Do you need something?”
The overpattern ceased. Her thoughts swirled to the surface. Familiar, chaotic, as were all isolated beings. Beautiful in its own way if without rhythm, without the guidance of the hive's multitude. From her discarded headset he heard the faint sound of
multitude. Voices raised in song. The sound of a people he did not know singing in a language he did not speak. But he knew the song regardless, from its impression on her aura. Peaceful, contentment, happiness, belonging. A memory of times past.
"What are you listening to?" he asked. He wished now she had not spotted him. Her unguarded aura was lovely and he felt sad for having stolen it.
Caution billowed, filled with bits of doubt but punctuated with bright stars. "Dialect lessons. Corellian Basic," she said.
Another falsehood. Evasion. Something private she was not ready to discuss. Always circuitous, always guarded. "We understand," he said. Someday perhaps she would share the song of her universe. But not today.
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