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The Short Fic Weekly Challenge Thread!


elliotcat

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Here's one for the wishes prompt

 

Soturi'el Sith (Dark Side) Pureblood Warrior

 

 

Bosthirda's sun breached over the mountains. The valley of Lord Veri was admired for its beauty, but Veri knew the envy that laid behind his neighbor's honeyed words. His father's ancestors had followed the path of return towards Ziost and spotted its potential. The vast grain fields ripening to blue sagged with their oil bounty. The ships would come, and fat and fiber would go all the way to Drommund Kaas, returning with both luxuries and the technologies that guarded the valley, and even sometimes expanded his reach. The war had been good for that, with many away and many more slaves, but peace had returned.

 

It was the first day of the week, he walked the fields as was his tradition since his ascendancy. Today was a good day, his third was old enough to accompany him and regard his instructions for safety. A threat here to Soturi'el was unlikely - there were four more siblings, but one did not get five children by being careless.

 

All of Veri's brood so far - Jaari was still in swaddling - had shown power, the grace of good breeding. Soon, his third would head to training, and Veri needed to make the most of the remaining time.

 

He stopped, and grabbed his son's shoulder, firmly into place, and pointed at one of the slaves - Twi'lek, older, hoeing at some weeds. "What do you see?" he asked. The slave, hearing the powerful voice of a Sith, stopped and came to attention. Veri motioned and the man returned to his work.

 

"A worker, a slave from the collar, ours from the colors" Soturi'el replied dutifully, "Am I to have one?" His eyes lit, eager.

 

"No, son," Veri answered, amused at the drop in light in his son's eyes. "The academies allow no students or acolytes to have them."

 

"But they are for Sith, and we always have slaves," Soturi'el said.

 

"I always have slaves, yes," Veri said, "But your brother and sister did not when they left."

 

"Why, my lord?" Soturi'el asked, puzzled, fists clenching. Veri did not nod, but noted with approval the frustration at the exposure of a weakness.

 

"Because the acadamies are where Lords are made," Veri said, "Blood is very important. You come from fighters, and survivors. I believe you will be one yourself, but every chance for weakness must be tested and destroyed. Poor offspring are a possibility that cannot be allowed to continue. Even a father's poor position can rise back to greatness, so all must be equally tested."

 

Soturi'el countered, still frustratred, "But not everyone makes Lord. And our family is sworn to Darth Vowrawn."

 

"We are in a position of great power," Veri acknowledged, "Though not the greatest below our Emperor, I am at an age where I am quite comfortable with what I have, and know, while your father is very clever, Darth Vowrawn is far more so. You may go farther - we do not know your limits. You must test them but do not destroy yourself exceeding them."

 

"Will I have a lightsaber?" Soturi'el asked. "May I see it again? Antar said he'd have it some day and he wouldn't let me see it."

 

"No, not yet. That must you earn, or learn to construct. And Antar will not have it if he keeps insisting on such poor poisons. The second -" Veri acquiesed, pulling his compact hilt into his hand and igniting the red blade. The slave did not flinch at the hiss. Soturi'el oohed as Veri performed a basic pattern and put it away.

 

"Now, the slave," Veri said, and Soturi'el settled as the saber returned to the Sith's belt. "He has a collar, and he works alone - he knows the plants, clearly, and though the hoe is heavy in his hands, he strikes with confidence at the weeds. He sees us but we have not called for him, so he does the duties our Imperials assigned."

 

"The other slaves have overseers," Soturi'el noted, "So he knows his place." Veri nodded and led them out of earshot.

 

"Yes, he has a useful function and performs it for the betterment of ourselves. We need not exert our power, it is known, and his talents are put to use. He may be frustrated at his position - no one enjoys being a slave. Anyone who tells you that is lying and selling inferior stock, but he channels those frustrations to a uesful end through the hoe."

 

"You have power, son. The Sith Empire demands that for fighting, and will induct you in the ways of the Sith. If you have talent, you may one day be called to lead, and knowing that power is not a Sith trait alone, but one our bloodline carries. Anger is not merely for bending the Force - others can use it as well. If you can recognize the talents in the Forceblind, you will find your own strength growing, and giving you more time for your own projects over your leader's"

 

"Thank you, my lord," Soturi'el said dutifully. His instructors had done well.

 

Veri opened his mouth to continue, but was interrupted by a shout. Puzzled, but intrigued, he turned to the direction.

 

One of the younger overseers - human, sandy-haired, no trace of the blood, was coming through the fields. His slaves had stopped at his departure, looking around. The man had his blaster out. "Lord Veri, apologies, my Lord - I saw the lightsaber ignite."

 

Veri did not speak, but pointed at the plants - which oozed green where once-valuable berries had fallen. They still sparkled a bit, as the sun rose, but would never see market. The man turned, and swallowed, throat moving visibly.

 

"You are new, and have provided a useful opportunity, so I will explain. Overseer, your slaves do not work," Veri said, "You cost crop, and think one blaster would win against an invisible threat I could not defeat. You think me weak, or valuing flash over diligence," Veri felt the anger rise and used it, driving the man to his knees before he could answer. The slaves, hearing the gasps, went back to work."

 

"Soturi'el, we are Sith. It is our job to rule. When you find talent, you may let it administrate so you can enjoy the fruits. But beware those who go beyond themselves, even in your name," Veri instructed.

 

The boy's eyes were alight, "May I father?"

 

Veri's first burst of anger was fading. "Yes, this is something I can give you. But do not break him completely - oftentimes, a simple reminder of why the Sith handle things is enough."

 

"Yes, my lord!" Soturi'el said with excitement reaching his hands out. Veri nodded his approval at the man's gasps. His third was unformed, but had talent. Veri had just seen he had desire, enough for a morning's lesson and to carry through the critical next few years.

 

Perhaps even past Antar, which was Veri's wish. This clumsy opportunity to gain favor really showed his oldest son wasn't buying the best assassins. His son could rule, but he'd rather he learn diplomacy before taking the estate. He'd just have to duel the boy and thrash him down.

 

Veri's lips twitched into a smile. If Antar was as indolent with his training as his assassins, maybe he could let Soturi'el hold the lightsaber after all.

 

 

And just a few minor author notes. :)

 

 

Soturi'el's name contains the Finnish for warrior. Given the emphasis on bloodlines, the word for blood made sense for dear old Dad. Sith having bloodlines leads to the terrifying possibility of Sith child-rearing. Frankly, my mind shies from what the playroom looks like.

 

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This week’s SFWC prompt:

 

Week of January 18, 2019:

 

To Sleep: perchance to dream? Humans spend, on average, one third of their lives asleep. We have rooms, furniture, phrases and clothing all dedicated to this biological necessity. What does your character do to sleep? Do they have special rituals? Do they need a sleep mask and soothing music or can they fall asleep anywhere, anytime? Do they prefer near silence and darkness? White noise and a night light? Are they always uncomfortable in a strange place? Does having a familiar object–pillow, blanket, childhood teddy bear–make it better? Pets? What about snoring or tossing and turning? Do they have a bedmate (or housemate) to annoy, or who annoys them? Maybe their sleep schedule is at odds with the rest of the world for some reason. Maybe they don’t have a sleep schedule–their days are too erratic. Perhaps they don’t require sleep themselves but find it an interesting trait in their companions.

 

This week’s prompt not for you? Look for something more to your taste in the Prompt Archive. Consider all the prompts active and waiting to inspire you.

 

This week’s featured previous prompts are:

 

In Hell: The Perfect Punishment–Poetic justice, punishment for sins, karma, call it what you will, the concept is as old as humankind. How would fate visit retribution on your more ignoble characters? What would be appropriate? During life or in an afterlife? Feel free to take this prompt as literally or figuratively as you like.

 

The right way the wrong way and my way: It’s said there are three ways to approach a task. What does your character think? Do they follow the rules, willingly break them, or choose their own path? Maybe all three at different times in their story? What about teaching someone else? Are they as inflexible as the saying suggests or will they entertain new solutions?

 

****

 

Note: This will be the last prompt I've cross-posted for some time.

My sub will be running out today.

I still love this game, yet I seldom find the time to play atm.

I may be back after a few months of vacation :)

 

I'll be lurking and reading your stories *waves*

Edited by frauzet
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Evening everyone! :) *waves*

 

I am going to attempt to post the prompts every Friday, now that Frauzet is taking a break. I hope she returns soon.

Unfortunately I do not have time for comments, just a fast posting.

 

Here is the prompt for this week.

Week of January 25, 2019:

 

Loyalty: True loyalty is a complex subject. Essentially, someone puts your character’s well-being equal to or exceeding their own. It doesn’t mean agreeing with everything your character says or does, but offering a different perspective when warranted. It contains elements of being a friend and a lover, without necessarily sharing the more intimate or personal components of those relationships. Though, one hopes that friends and lovers are also loyal. Perhaps this is why betrayal hurts so much; the one who had your character’s back had a knife all along. Other times we mistake a loyal character leaving for betrayal, when in fact they can no longer bear to watch someone they care about self destruct. Consider who’s loyal to your character this week, to whom your character owes loyalty, why, and what might happen to change those dynamics.

 

Feel free to continue submitting stories for any prompt. A masterpiece missed the deadline? Don’t let it gather electronic dust. Submit it anyway and Short Fiction Weekly Challenge will publish it.

 

This week’s prompt not for you? Look for something more to your taste in the Prompt Archive. Consider all the prompts active and waiting to inspire you.

 

This week’s featured previous prompts are:

 

And Now, the Bad News: Something happened, and your character’s not pleased about it. Did they lose a promotion or sale to a rival? Is a local landmark shutting or being torn down? Is a plant or animal they’re particularly fond of in decline? Does an event confirm their pessimistic outlook, or crush their optimism? How did they find out? Are they shocked or resigned? No good news to soften the blow this time. Write about your character dealing with bad news.

 

Frustration: Sometimes events (aka the writer) conspire to thwart your character. It might be a series of minor things–the coffee machine broke, the bus was late (so they caught it but were late anyway), and to top it off all the good donuts were gone at the meeting…where the project no one else wanted ended up in their lap. Yay. Maybe it’s a repeated error: the food stall never gets their order right, the clerk always mispronounces your character’s name. This week write about someone or something getting on your character’s last nerve.

 

Got an idea for a prompt? Submit it here.

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This week’s SFWC prompt:

 

Week of February 1, 2019:

 

You’re Not the One I Was Looking For: It’s fun to set your character up with the perfect match. The One They’ve Been Dreaming of. Hold that thought–what about someone else? Someone close, maybe overlooked. Someone who’s right for your character in all the ways that matter, but not necessarily the ones your character thinks are important. Maybe they catch your character on the rebound; maybe they’ve been there all along but never thought about your character in a romantic way. Maybe a casual hookup turns into something more. This week, consider your character finding, not the one they were looking for, but The One just the same.

 

This week’s prompt not for you? Look for something more to your taste in the Prompt Archive. Consider all the prompts active and waiting to inspire you.

 

This week’s featured previous prompts are:

 

Head of the Class - Our characters have been to academies, universities, boot camps, and the universal school of hard knocks: as students, as teachers, or maybe as maintenance, assistant, or thief. Write about your character’s education.

 

Flirting With Disaster: Even the most risk-averse character gets into sticky situations, or they should if you’re doing your job as a writer. Then there are others who live their entire lives on the edge. This week, write about a time when things were so, so close to going wrong. When the table shook beneath the house of cards but didn’t quite fall. Or maybe it did.

Got an idea for a prompt? Submit it here.

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Sorry I am late guys n gals, it's been a hectic week.

 

This week’s SFWC prompt:

 

Week of February 8, 2019:

 

Bus Stop: How did your character meet their Love Interest? Blind date? Friend-of-a-friend? Co-worker? Professional matchmaker? Your world’s equivalent of a dating app? Chance meeting at a bus stop? This week, tell the story of how they met.

 

This week’s prompt not for you? Look for something more to your taste in thePrompt Archive. Consider all the prompts active and waiting to inspire you.

 

This week’s featured previous prompts are:

 

Plants/Gardening–It’s hard to avoid plant life, even on a spaceship. In low-tech societies plants are recognized as sources of food and medicine. In more high-tech ones they provide breathable air as well as beauty. Whether your character has a green thumb or can’t tell a cabbage from a kitten, write some plants into their story this week.

 

Curve Ball–as writers we plan our character’s encounters. This week, throw them into something new. Something they didn’t expect. Something they never saw coming. Who panics? Who takes it in stride? Who stumbles but runs with it?

 

I am in a massive hurry but I promise I will come back and edit in the link for prompt suggestions :)

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Hey again, another fly-by posting as I finally wrote something new (well, completed something, anyway).

 

Vale Frauzet, hope we'll see you again in the future (though i fully understand if we don't. Life moves on and all)

 

Prompt: Curveball

Title: Escape from Organa Part I

Perspective: Roan, the littlest Sith

Word Count 2,579

Spoilers: SW Alderaan storyline

 

 

 

I fell, the wind whistling all around me. Turning a flip in the air, I landed on a nearby building, the Force splaying around me to cushion my landing. Even with it, I hit the ground hard enough to send me smashing into and through an exhaust vent. Pain slapped me all over in one big swipe. Lying on the roof, I watched the ship fly away, smiling at its retreating form. They were all free: my work here is done. Maybe I could get out and re-join with Vette and the Wilsaams. They probably haven’t gotten that far. Taking a moment, I pushed the pain away, drawing on my will to stop the bruises. While I did so, I sought out Vette. I couldn’t sense her anywhere in the compound. That probably meant they were safely out, flying back to Thul. I’d have to find my own way back.

 

A slew of Organa soldiers burst out of the roof access point. With the familiar speed only rehearsal brings, they spread out in an arc around me, rifles all pointed at my chest. I slowly hauled myself up and smiled at the soon to be dead men. Casually, I brushed my robe-coat to the side, showing off the lightsaber on my hip. Idly, I reached down, wondering why they weren’t opening fire. Once I drew my blade, they were as good as dead: they had to know that. My fingers brushed the cotton of my trousers directly under my belt hook. Huh, where’s my spare-, I’d broken it on the Paladin’s armour this morning. Uh, that’s not good.

 

“Surrender and you’ll be given a fair trial,” one of the soldiers called out. Glancing up at her, I noted she was in the centre of the Organa arc and she had a differently shaped helmet. I guess she’s their leader.

 

I send out a lure of frustration and the force fell into my trap. Power rushed into me, cascading down into the well my lure had compelled. I made the force’s presence manifest. The soldiers staggered forwards, fighting sudden gales. Slipping into a cocoon of Power, I darted off, out of their kill-zone and down the stairs. I could have swept them off the rooftop, but I didn’t know how many I would face on my way out of the palace. Wasting Power was silly: while I can get more, it’s tiring, and I’ve been doing it all day already. I’m not going to take a nap here.

 

I reached the door and leapt down the stairwell. Corridors blurred past and I took turns largely at random until I was sure they weren’t following. Slowing to a walk, I wondered where I was. In my haste, I got myself lost. Worse yet, they would know who I am and still be on high alert: I couldn’t wander up to a servant, look scared and ask them which way was out. They would happily and helpfully direct me to the nearest guard station. No, I had to find a way back up, to survey the area. Either that or find the way out and wander the streets. Maybe I could get lost in a crowd? I’m not tall when compared to grown-ups.

 

I reached the end of the corridor and wandered down a stairway. Statues lined the walls, with head and shoulder ones popping out of every other alcove. Idly, I wondered if they were similar to the ones back home: showing the favoured acolytes of their masters, immortalised as ideals of servile virtue. I reached the end of the stairs and crossed the floor. I had the sense that I was on the ground level, mainly because they had used some sparkly rock as the floor.

 

I curved around a corner. Two armoured men were there, with blasters so big they had to dangle them between their legs. Their guns started to whirr, the barrels spinning up to blast a bajillion bolts at me. I didn’t know Organa troops wore white: they must be Republic. Even if they weren’t, this wasn’t the moment to wonder about it: it was time to go! I tried to turn and run back, but I fell over. Organa’s slaves had recently oiled and polished the stone floor, so it was as slippy as it was shiny.

 

Lashing out with my will, I snatched at a big heavy statue. With it, I could pull myself back around the corner. The statue came loose in huge chunks, slamming down all around me: not good. I pushed those that would’ve hit me away. The hugest block slammed below me, and the spatter of blaster fire pattered on the far side. Okay, that works too.

 

Lashing out with my will, I punched the block towards the troopers. My stony shield rumbled on, scratching up the polished floor beneath. I skidded on the scuffed floor, the ridges poking my bottom through my trousers. Flicking up to my feet, I found I could grip the ground again. The block was as big as a Hutt, and as wide too. It blocked a clean sweep towards them but could be a way over. Running after the slab, I hopped up and landed on top of it.

 

Out of the corners of my eye, I saw the two troopers duck behind the column-ey doorframe, their cannons pointed skywards. The fuzzy one glared at me with frustrated impotence. If only he was a bit faster, he could’ve got me. The other one just dropped his blaster and drew his pistol. Then I was past them.

 

The room beyond them was a square tower, with a guard-railed wooden stairway running around the inside. There were one, three, five, no-six floors, the walls lined by grumpy men statues. Behind me, I heard the whine of a charging pistol. Up, Up and Away!

 

I leapt from the block, the force surging up with me. One, two, three floors passed by as the ‘Pyow’ of a blaster filled the air. A crunchy crash overwhelmed the blaster sounds. Turning a somersault, I saw my block had hit the wall beneath me, sending a statue of a stern fat man toppling towards the troopers. The fuzzy one leapt, tackling his partner away from the falling statue. Then I was over the rail-wall thingy and out of sight. I hit the stairway, rolled and came up, both hands pressed to the far wall. I huffed a relieved sigh. That had been close: it hurts hitting your nose. Then I noticed the tromping of troopers at the base of the tower. They were coming up.

 

Pushing off, I darted up the stairs, the clap-clap-clap of my boots hammering the wood underfoot. There were doors leading off at every corner, but I didn’t take them. I wanted to get to the top, not lost in Organa’s ornate labyrinth. I moved with long bouncing strides up the stairs, more floating than running, until I reached the top platform. There was a door in the middle of it, flanked by statues. Why so many statues? Did they all do great things or was it a ritual thing, like the two thousand Sith needed for-, doesn’t matter. I threw open the door.

 

A big freaky lizard was on the far side with a nasty-looking vibrosword in its scaly hand. I moved without thinking, throwing myself forwards to its left. Diving under its free arm, I continued on. The floor was again slippy polished stone, but this time it helped me. I hit the ground, shoulder first and rolled. Coming up, I glided across the floor, submerging myself in power, using tendrils of will to propel me across the shiny floor. That alone saved my life.

 

I sensed something ripple through the force in front of me, another working of will. It hit my mental defences. I saw myself on the bridge of a flagship, my flagship. A blue sun rupturing before us, bathing an opposing fleet with cleansing atomic fire. No, I was not there: it was a mind trap.

 

Had I the time, I would have laughed. It was a sucker punch: a mental dagger that would have wormed its way into my memories, distracting me for a few seconds. Such a move would have been dangerous enough in a war of wills, but in this chase, with the lizard thing a few metres away? Any delay was kinda fatal. I had to clear the area. That had been a mental dagger, a short-range assault. At most, the caster would have been ten metres away, which raised the other problem. I knew it wasn’t from the lizard thing -it wasn’t force sensitive- but I couldn’t see or sense anyone else around me. Furthermore, I should keep going, but those mind traps can be cast indefinitely without tiring the force user. I needed to clear their immediate area, but I did not know which way.

 

I burst forwards, the force cocooning around me even as it hurtled me forwards in a spin. There was a shadow in the force before me. It must have been the mystery Jedi. Too late to change direction now. I staggered and went with it, diving into a slide. Knowing I had seen through her cloak, the Jedi revealed herself. She was green, had a long lightsaber clipped to her belt and despite being a grown-up, she was tiny. That didn’t matter, I could slip between her wide, open stance and neither of us could have stopped me. Then I noticed she wore skirts: ah.

 

I walloped into the lashaa silks, the fabric silencing my coughing gasp. Above me, I heard the woman cry a short whoomphing retch. I felt something warm press over the top of my head. She was engulfing me with a silky-smooth cloth trap thingy! I cast out my lure of fear and Power rushed into me. Washing it out in an invisible wave, I sent her flying upwards. It wasn’t a strong pulse, but it was enough to clear us. I scrabbled to my feet even as I lashed tendrils of will out. Wrapping them around the statues and corridor arches, I started skate-sprinting away.

 

Behind, I heard the swish of soft-soled shoes on stone. How was she-, no: run now, query later! She was behind me, but I didn’t know how far away. I didn’t look back to find out. I didn’t have the time or presence, not on this slippy floor. The force told me she was about fifteen metres away, but slowly closing: good servant. The last door came up on my right but as I realised that, I hurtled past it.

 

I’d missed the last exit. Now there was just a statue at the dead end of the corridor: no matter. I jumped and kicked the balls of my feet at the statue. One, two, three steps straight up, then leap. I sailed over her, came down in a roll, flowed back up and ran. Behind me, I heard her cough and the crunch of fabric and flesh striking the statue, then the whisper of silk on stone. She was behind me, but further back than last time. I didn’t slow down, half-sliding, half force-swinging through the slippy corridor.

 

I turned the corner and saw the lizard thing halfway down the hall. Its clawed feet had left scritches all over the stone and it looked miserable. I could practically feel its desire to catch me and go back outside as an inferno emanating from the beast. Too bad: I’m no prize to be stalked. I surged straight for it, pushed off six metres away. I sailed over the thing and gave it a force push. It rumbled something in a weird language as it hit the Jedi head on. The two sprawled in a mess of skirts and scales. I smirked as I carried on. Silly Jedi, thinking they can catch me?

 

“Gotcha,” someone growled from right in front of me. I snapped my gaze back and saw the troopers, blasters loaded over their shoulders. The smaller one, the fuzzy trooper was right before me. Everything slowed down: the force’s doing, no doubt. The fuzzy one lunged for me, arms outstretched, trying to grapple me to the glide-y ground. I, in all my force enhanced majesty, slipped and skidded under him. Lashing out a tendril of Power, I righted myself enough get my legs under me and see the area.

 

The door was about five metres away. Through it, the tromping of running footsteps on wood came to me. The other trooper had made his way up the stairs. I wasn’t going back down that way, and the Jedi and her pet thing would be right behind me. That left me with few options… Good thing I’m Sith.

 

With one fluid motion, I hopped up and over the balcony. I turned as I leapt over the railing and saw the fuzzy trooper’s frustrated, anguished look. Yes, they’d run all the way up only for him to miss, and now he got to run all the way back down. His partner took it harder: he jumped over the balcony too. Uh, wow! You know I’m Sith, right? I can use the force to guide my fall, to steal my momentum and turn it into speed. You uh, you can’t do that. You’re going to go splat.

 

Then he grabbed my ankle and I got it. He was going to try and hold me, use his weight to make me go splat. Nope, not going to work. I kicked his fingers with my other foot, while slugging him with my will. Biting down on a word he shouldn’t say around anyone my age, he flew sideways, into the balcony guardrail thingy. Now, all I have to do is slow my fall. I glanced down at the oncoming ground: or not.

 

I was maybe five metres away, too close for a nice easy will-working. More than that, my push had shifted my fall, putting me closer to the archway the troopers had hidden. Any working of Power would have to be lopsided, and I couldn’t manage that in the time I had. I didn’t even bother to try.

 

Instead, I arched my back and reached out with my right hand. My fingers caught the lip of the keystone, arcing me around and sending me tumbling into the corridor. I turned a back somersault or two, twisting in the air to try and balance my fall. At this speed, it would hurt if I didn’t.

 

I landed on the scuffed floor, staggered a bit to play out my excess speed, and then shot off. So maybe I couldn’t find a vantage point to look around from, but I am Sith. I have bound the force to my will and like any good servant; it serves me well. I reached out with my will, allowing the force to lead me through this palace. All I needed was one of their Thingie nests. Unlike speeders, I can dominate the winged fishies and fly away.

 

I sensed something, a presence I’ve not felt since… I slipped, skated and sprawled into a heap. The presence wasn’t strong, barely greater than the last time I had sensed it. That wasn’t the problem. She was dead. The force whispered that there were Thrantas nearby. The exit was off ahead, but I’m not going that way. I’m not letting you die again!

 

 

 

Prompt: Family, Curveball, language

Title: Escape from Organa Part II

Perspective: Lucida, Sith Jedi

Word Count 2,217

Spoilers: JK Alderaan storyline, general information about the second Jedi Knight companion

 

 

 

A platoon of Organa troops escorted us. All around, I could sense their fear and resignation war with grim determination and hope. Fear of the Sith monster they faced, resignation over how it was beyond them all, grim determination that they would face it anyway, and hope for the Jedi who walked with them. So, no pressure or anything.

 

Not only was there the Death Mark Laser hanging over everyone’s heads, but a Sith was hacking their way through the Organa Palace. You know, just once, I’d like it if there was another Jedi they could call in, like Master Orgus or something. Apparently, he’s lost his comlink.

 

One of these days, I’m going to get him blackout drunk and have a MedTech surgically implant one in his earlobe. Hopefully, I’ll get to lock in a nice comm-tone beforehand: something he’ll love, like the Kashyyk Life Day Choir. An altogether unpleasant smirk crossed my face as I imagined his face the following morning. Mother of all hangovers, meet Mallatobuck: mezzo-soprano.

 

A tremor flickered through the force, stealing my smirk. I slowed our advance, holding up my fist: intergalactic symbol for ‘stop’. The soldiers following came to a halt in two columns, wordlessly. It would’ve been a little creepy if I couldn’t see the worry in their faces. As it was, their nervousness just played into my own. A quiet rumble echoed down the hall, making the soldiers sway in formation.

 

“You sense it too?” Kira asked, quietly. That alone creeped me out more than if Angral himself came storming around the corner wearing nothing but a sneer and a thong. I’d only once seen her like this, back on that asteroid when she thought her world was about to fall apart.

 

“<Family?>” I asked, quietly switching to Huttese. The Organa are our allies, but a spy here has already burnt us and there was no gain to be had in broadcasting her heritage across the place. At best, it’ll piss off our allies. At worst… it could cost us Alderaan. Yeah, cheery thought: let’s keep it to ourselves. She nodded slowly, her expression distant, almost as if she was tracking something. Then her eyes grew eight sizes as she gasped.

 

“He’s coming right at us!” It’s go time!

“Everyone, fan out and take defensive positions, I’ll take the centre. Kira, off to the side and be ready to strike once they engage.”

 

The platoon obeyed, taking positions in a wide arc, with a few lining up behind columns. I frowned at them: Sith don’t use blasters, so taking cover was at best pointless. Worse, it limited their escape routes. I was going to mention it to them, but the force screamed away my attention. On instinct, I subsumed myself in its crisp embrace. That alone saved my life.

 

Something flashed past me. Kira wheezed off to my left. Then, the world exploded.

 

It all happened so fast, less than a second, but the adrenaline that hit my system stretched it out for half a millennium. The attack came through the force, and it felt more like a bow wave than an attack, and about as yielding as the tide. It swept through the corridor, ripping busts, artwork and columns from the walls in its wake. Around me, I saw the Organa force struck down by the extravagant missiles or simply swept away. There was nothing I could do to help them. It was almost beyond my ability to help myself.

 

I leapt and spun, dodged and wove, and the fragments only clipped me once. It was just a pebble but that alone was enough to send me clattering away. I smacked the marble floor and slid, my spin turning into a rolling bounce. I used it to get back to my feet.

 

My body shook from the blows and it took a moment longer to stop my head from spinning. If the Sith was here, he’d take the opportunity to cut my head off, and there wasn’t a damn thing I could do about it. No decapitating strike, or any strike for that matter, came. My head now back together, I glanced around, surveying the carnage. Dust filled the air, wreathing everything with a smoky haze.

 

Soldiers lay strewn across the corridor, their bodies crushed beneath the two colossal pillars, odd limbs poking out at awkward angles. The place was eerily silent, no moaning or weeping of the maimed. They were all dead: It just didn’t make sense: why go after them and not finish me off?

 

I don’t mean to brag, but I’m the biggest target here. A redeemed pureblood who’s an upcoming member of the Jedi Order just standing there, momentarily stunned: that should have been irresistible. I’m like a personal insult to the Emperor. What Sith would pass that up? I mean, the only other target worth anywhere near that much was… A nasty feeling gripped at my guts: where was Kira?

 

I flicked my gaze about, casting my senses out into the force. I found her, lying against the far wall, her skirts splayed out before her. The Sith was atop her, head half buried in her chest. A flash of memory flared crimson in my mind, and the heady warmth of the dark side came rushing up unbidden. I beat it down: I don’t use that anymore. Sabers already in hand, I was halfway down the ruined hall when the Sith came up for air.

 

“<Big Sister, Big Sister! They said you were dead in the tombs, but I couldn’t find you and now you’re not!>” he chirped happily in Ancient High Sith, crushing her once more, smacking his forehead against her bosom. Then he snorted disgustedly, recoiling as if struck.

 

“<These are wrong,>” he complained, glaring at her chest like a petulant… what my eyes had been telling me finally broke through my bloodthirst haze. Kira’s ‘brother’ was her junior by a good decade. I – I had been about to murder a child. Stars above! Eight years of hard work almost undone by a damn memory flash. I sheathed my sabers, clipping them back to my belt as the two continued.

 

“<My breasts are wrong?>” Kira asked, a wry smile stretching languidly across her face. Whatever apprehension she had before was gone, or at least very well hidden.

“<Yes. You didn’t use to have them. Get rid of them, they’re all flumphy and wrong and I can’t feel your heart.>” he insisted, shaking his head wild enough that his every move sent ginger locks sprawling.

 

“<C’mon Tenny, it’s just part of getting older: I got breasts, you’ll get tall. You know this,” she cooed, not that it stopped him. His hair brushed her bare collarbone as he shook his head vigorously.

 

“All right fine, I’ll carve them off, just to make you happy,>” she acceded sarcastically. He shrugged away from her, looking up into her eyes and made this cute little frustrated whimper. He shuffled down her and crushed his face against her stomach. He made a satisfied ‘humph’ and squished her in his hug. Kira sucked in a ragged breath, wincing as his robe-hidden arms cut her off at the diaphragm.

“This is okay too, I guess. I can almost feel your heart.” Patting him awkwardly on the head, she looked up, finally noticing my confusion.

 

“Uh, Master, this is-,” Kira started, but stopped when I held up my hand.

“Your younger brother?” I finished for her. The worried uncertainty dropped from her features. We’d been over this, after the ambush on the asteroid. Kira was a child of the Emperor. She pursed her lips and nodded, though she didn’t have to. The dark side practically bubbled off him. There was no way someone that young could have that kind of power without something weird going on.

“Uh yeah. Master, this is Te-,”

“Roan,” he interrupted, tilting his head back so he could see her face between her hated bosom.

 

“Rho-,” she started, mind running circles trying to get some obscure reference, “<Isn’t that what that twi’lek called you?>”

“<I like Roan,>” he interjected, pouting.

“<All right,>” she glanced back up at me, “Master, this is Roan.”

“Don’t suppose he’s from your mother’s side?” Well, they are both redheads. She shook her head. Huh, so either it’s a coincidence, or the Emperor’s a carrot-top: pretty sure there’s a soulless ginger joke in there somewhere. Still, I wonder what that would do for Republic propaganda knowing the Emperor’s a fire-crotch. I’ll have to mention it to Var Suthra, once we’re done dealing with the Death mark.

 

“<You should find a better one, I can barely sense the dark side on her and her eyes aren’t even yellow,>” he grumbled into her navel. You can barely sense the dark side in me? Really, what did you expect from a Jed-, oh. Oh. The cred-chit dropped. He last saw Kira on Korriban and I’m a Pureblood. We were heading towards the detention centre surrounded by armed guards. He hadn’t figured it out: he thought we were captured Sith. This was a rescue!

 

I felt it rising from deep within and couldn’t stop it. Laughter bubbled out of me, wracking my body with its terrible grip. After all that drek my Sith master pulled, years of glares, closed doors and at one point staring down a literal lynch mob, I finally made a Jedi of myself. Now, this kid was trying to save me from it. It was just too much. I clutched at my side, howling psychotically amid a ruined corridor, full of slain soldiers.

 

I don’t really know how long it took to get myself under control, but when I finally did, the last few chuckles still slipping out, I saw him standing by Kira. She still sat slumped against the statue. He looked sheepish, like he’d been caught out in something. Yes, of course I can speak High Sith. I was taught it as soon as I could talk, same as you, I’d wager. He glanced away, back down the ruined corridor, avoiding my gaze.

 

“<Uh, we should go now, there will be more of them coming after us. The way out is back that way, then right then forwards. We’ll find some um>”, he paused, thinking on something before giving up, “flappy, flying fish-thingies. We can dominate them and fly away.” He finished, in basic. Again, he tugged on her sleeve, trying to pull her up.

 

“Uh, so where are we going?” He stopped hauling on her sleeve, half-twisted around and looked right at her.

“House Thul, the minion. Where else would we go?” he answered, with the deliberate slowness normally reserved for animals and the slow. I shot Kira a significant glance. She took her eyes off her brother long enough to return it. Duke Organa had pulled us off our vital mission to stop the Sith: we still had to reach Duke Thul and warn him about the Death’s Head laser. Seeing the head of a hostile house was going to be tough, but if Kira’s brother could literally get us in through the front door, it’d make things a lot simpler.

 

“Ooh, you can meet Vette and Mako and Elana and the others!” He squeaked excitedly, hauling on his sister’s sleeve. Slowly, Kira heaved herself up before he ripped her top. Shaking his hands off, she stretched her arms up overhead before rubbing her lower back.

“How’s about next time, maybe a bit of warning before you sweep someone off their…” she trailed off, eyes glued to the carnage surrounding us.

 

“Oh, wow. you really did a number on these guys, didn’t you?” she murmured, eyes hollowing as it dawned on her that her cute little brother brutally slaughtered everyone.

“Huh,” he glanced back, “Oh, yeah. They deserved it.”

“They… deserved it?” I asked, again swatting the oncoming rush of the Dark side away. Righteous anger was fine and good, so long as you don’t let it control you.

 

“Yes, they’re bad people who turn executions into entertainment for the slaves and lower castes. They would’ve done it to Kira, so they die.” He insisted with way too much certainty in his eyes. Of course; for a moment there I almost forgot that I was dealing with a Sith. It doesn’t matter how many people you murder, so long as you’re justified in it, right? Never mind that the Empire does so much worse to its prisoners.

 

Kira flashed me a worried look, like I was about to explode into full Darthdom. Yeah, I get it, he’s your little brother, but he’s still a Child of the Emperor. He’s a threat, we’ll have to deal with him sooner or later… but I suppose we can do it later. I closed my eyes and allowed the little Sith to guide us to the Thranta nest.

 

There was nothing I could do for the dead soldiers but avenge them and vengeance isn’t the Jedi way. If getting to Duke Thul fast enough to save his life was enough to stop the civil war from escalating further, then maybe people might argue that their sacrifice was worth it. Yeah, I doubt it too but what could I do? Sometimes, the force works in mysterious ways, and other times, it’s a b***h.

 

 

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Hey everyone, sorry this is late.

 

This week’s SFWC prompt:

 

Week of February 15, 2019:

 

Kiss The Girl: or guy, or nonbinary person; whoever or whatever it is that your character is falling for (and, we hope, is falling for them as well) this is it. The Kiss. The Moment you’ve been waiting to write. So write it! Make it the end after a slow burn, or start with the Kiss and move forward.

 

This week’s prompt not for you? Look for something more to your taste in the Prompt Archive. Consider all the prompts active and waiting to inspire you.

 

This week’s featured previous prompts are:

 

The Droids You’re Looking For - One of the hallmarks of the Star Wars universe is the presence of droids: astromech, protocol, combat, and more. Write about the droids that support (or hinder) your characters.

 

Forgotten Places–A ghost town, an ancient ruin, a hidden valley, an island settlement, now abandoned. Places where people were, but no longer are. What does your character think about them? When has your character encountered one? Did they stumble on it? Seek it out? Read or hear a tale about it? Does it, like El Dorado, exist only in stories?

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  • 2 weeks later...

So this is frustrating. I tried to post the prompts earlier today and I guess the Forums' ate the reply. :(

 

Second try!

 

I am sorry for the tardiness in updating the prompt. My life has been really hectic this past couple weeks and I really hope things will calm down in the week to come. On the upside it is a two for one!

 

Prompt for the

Week of February 22, 2019:

 

Storybook Love: After it all, the meeting, the spark, and the kiss, how does the story go? What happens after? Or during? How does your character’s love become part of the rest of their story? Maybe their love is the whole story, the prime mover of the plot, but what else happens around them? How does their relationship affect the other characters and the larger story of their lives? Write some of the book around their storybook love

 

This week’s prompt not for you? Look for something more to your taste in the Prompt Archive. Consider all the prompts active and waiting to inspire you.

 

This week’s featured previous prompts are:

 

Stomping Grounds - Our characters all have favorite places. Somewhere they grew up, somewhere they spent a lot of time, someplace that feels like home or might as well be. Someplace they’d rather be any day of the week. Somewhere they dream of when things go wrong. Tell us about your character’s favorite stomping ground.

 

Hero Worship: Who does your character think of when they hear the word “hero”? Is it a specific person? A type of person, or a person in a specific occupation? Have they ever met their hero(es)? Who sees your character as a hero–no matter how venal they really are? How do they show it, and how does your character deal with it?

 

And Prompt for

Week of March 1, 2019:

 

When I’m Sixty-Four: What happens when the infatuation wears off? When the rush of novelty and discovery fades? What do your characters still love about each other? Why do they choose to stay together? It is a choice, after all, and they could decide otherwise. Perhaps they do. That’s a story, too.

 

This week’s prompt not for you? Look for something more to your taste in the Prompt Archive. Consider all the prompts active and waiting to inspire you.

 

This week’s featured previous prompts are:

 

Paying the Piper - There might be a couple different meanings to this, but in the end nothing comes for free, and one’s choices have costs and consequences. Write about a time your character had to pony up the payment…or end up on the receiving end. (Prompt courtesy of Kitar.)

 

Serenity - Stories aren’t all about conflict. Characters have to find peace, too. What things calm your character down, make them happy, save their sanity? Do they have a literal happy place? Is it a song or noise or a kind of music? A food or drink? A favorite book or comfortable sweater? Even the hardest character has a softer side, and some are more in touch with it than others. This week, share the things that bring your character serenity.

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It's been way too long, but I'm back (with Zeran Kraktus)...

Inspired by the hook “Hero Worship: Who does your character think of when they hear the word “hero”? Is it a specific person? A type of person, or a person in a specific occupation? Have they ever met their hero(es)? Who sees your character as a hero–no matter how venal they really are? How do they show it, and how does your character deal with it?”

 

Note: you can see Zeran's other stories at

http://www.swtor.com/community/showpost.php?p=9616873&postcount=6100

and

http://www.swtor.com/community/showpost.php?p=9644609&postcount=6161

 

So many drinking establishments have mirrors behind the bar; maybe it's to create an illusion of space, maybe it's tradition, maybe it's just cheaper than paying for decoration that's going to be hidden behind bottles. It wasn't Zeran's main reason for hanging around in this particular joint, but it was definitely a plus: choose the right place to sit, and you could watch the entrance without looking like you were watching the entrance. Not that he expected any danger, it was just a habit he'd acquired over years of service on backwater worlds. This was just a quiet little bar in a quiet little neighborhood in a quiet little sector. Nobody really had a reason to cause trouble here: there were more interesting and important places for that just a quick speeder trip away.

 

Even if Zeran hadn't been gazing vaguely at the mirror, it would have been hard to miss the guy when he walked in: he filled the doorway and with barely a pause to adjust to the dim light, moved with a steady gait that wasn't exactly threatening, but left no doubt that you did not want to get in his way. His shirt – so new it still had store-shelf creases – didn't conceal the well-toned muscles surging under his skin. Obviously a fighter, thought Zeran, a real one, not a poser. The guy had the confident stride of a proven warrior not the strut of a thug, and he didn't waste any moves. He walked right up to the bar with barely a glance around the room. Short hair, trooper cut, no hat, this guy was a Republic shellback for sure, active or former – most street toughs liked to wear helmets or hats even when they weren't working. The guy walked up to Garsh, the broken-down Zabrak behind the bar, asked a quick, quiet question, and laid down a credchip that disappeared under the languid sweep of the bartender's towel. Garsh nodded briefly toward Zeran before returning to his endless polishing of glasses.

 

By then Zeran realized who the big guy was, blinking in surprise. There weren't many who sported that much scar tissue on the face, and only one that Zeran had ever seen in a news holo. Murmurs around the bar showed others recognized him too. Zeran watched him approach and settle into the chair across the table. The chair, little more than reinforced plasboard, creaked painfully under his weight.

 

“Have a seat, Captain,” opened Zeran drily, “or what are you now? A general? Or are you Supreme Commander yet?”

 

The other twisted his scarred face into something that looked like a smile. “Forget that. Right now I'm just Jace. Out of uniform, off the clock. What are you drinking, Colonel?”

 

Zeran glanced at the brown sludge remaining in his glass. “I dunno – some abomination from Huttspace,” he shrugged. “And I'm retired, so don't 'Colonel' me, either. What in the stars brings you to this hole?”

 

“You do. Colonel Zeran Kraktus, commander of the 844th Arid-Environment Reconnaissance Group-”

 

“Former commander. The 844th was-”

 

“Disbanded. After earning the Conspicuous Service Star, as a unit!”

 

Zeran made a face. “And then losing 85% of our force in transit...”

 

Jace nodded. “That's on the Fleet. Should have had a better escort.” He took a deep breath and paused. Zeran saw a kind of hesitation in his eyes.

 

“So what's the Republic's latest big damn hero doing here? Shouldn't you be out selling war bonds or something? You might get a few credits out of the folks here, but not much.”

 

Jace shook his head. “Looking for you. We – I – want you back.”

 

“Me?” Zeran's eyebrows shot up in surprise, “Washed-up old desert fighter? Is the Republic that desperate?”

 

“Uh-uh, don't give me that! I know you've applied for reactivation. I reviewed your record – though I already knew most of it – and had to see for myself.” Jace leaned forward, causing his chair to groan and wobble. “Did you know your Tatooine operations have become training material? I use them myself when teaching new officers in asymmetric warfare. Some of your ideas have had a big impact on how we do special ops. Even the Academy professors are putting you on the recommended reading list.”

 

“Are you serious? I'm no military genius, I just did what made sense at the time...” Zeran scratched his beard to conceal a surge of long-buried pride. “Heh. Too bad I can't sue for copyright fees.”

 

“I'm not going to beat around the bush. We're rebuilding, but we're still in bad shape. I know you've been out of it for a few years, with some kind of medical condition.” Jace held up his hand to ward off an expected objection, “I don't know the details, but you look fine to me, and if you're willing, I'd be honored to bring you back into the fold.” He winked, an unsettling writhing of his scarred face. “If you were a younger man, I'd suggest a place in Havoc Squad – but with your experience, we can find a better fit for you.”

 

Zeran opened his mouth to speak, but no sound came out. He hoped that in the dim light, Jace couldn't tell he was blushing with surprise and eagerness.

 

Jace took his silence for hesitation. “I can't make guarantees, but I will recommend full restoration of rank, and an independent field command. You might even be able to recommission the 844th if you want, but that's up to you. We're going to hit the Sith back, hit them hard, and we're going to do it right this time – but we need people who know what they're doing. And we don't have anyone who can do quite what you do. What do you say?” Jace sat back to wait a reply.

 

There was a long silence, during which Zeran finally remembered to close his mouth. He'd figured it would take at least several months for his application to work through the bottomless bureaucracy of Republic Command – but here was Jace Malcom himself, rising star of the Army, offering everything on a silver platter. And a promised chance to kill Sith. He rose to his feet and extended his hand. “It will be my honor and pleasure,” he intoned solemnly.

 

Jace stood and wrapped Zeran's hand in his meaty grasp. “The honor is mine, Colonel. Welcome back to the fight!”

 

Edited by Lord_Thorne
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Hey everyone. I know I am late, but, at least it is still the weekend!

 

This week’s SFWC prompt:

 

Week of March 8, 2019:

 

Forbidden Fruit: Something forbidden is often that much more desirable, a focus of obsession. What is something your character can’t have? Not something they’re not likely to get. Something they could have, or an activity they could engage in, but chose not to. What is it and why must they avoid it? What are the consequences if they indulge? Are they physical, social, or something else? Do they think about the forbidden thing constantly, desiring it even though they know they shouldn’t? Do they really not care about the thing? Have they tried it and discovered it wasn’t as good, as interesting, or as exciting as they thought it would be? Was it better than they ever imagined?

 

This week’s prompt not for you? Look for something more to your taste in the Prompt Archive. Consider all the prompts active and waiting to inspire you.

 

This week’s featured previous prompts are:

 

Words, Words, Words - It’s a big galaxy, and the big galaxy hosts a lot of languages. Some people are polyglots, switching among languages easily; some have enough trouble mastering one. Sometimes whole conversations go on in a foreign language, and sometimes only critical words that resist translation are used. Write about a time that certain words proved critical for your character.

 

Irritating Habits–Everyone has them. What about your character or one of their companions? Gum-chewing, whistling, smoking, a preference for odiferous delicacies? Who annoys who and how? Consider too that what’s rude, irritating, or just plain gross in one culture may be perfectly acceptable or even polite in another. The converse is true as well.

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So I am late again in posting. But. I do hope everyone had a great St. Patty's day and no one got pinched!

 

Here is the prompty prompt :)

 

This week’s SFWC prompt:

 

Week of March 15, 2019:

 

Insulting: Our characters often get into physical altercations, but what about verbal ones? When was a well-delivered quip or challenge just right to take down an opponent? Who did they insult and why? What was the response? Your character might have disrespected an authority figure who’s so far removed as to neither know nor care–though in some societies they might care very much and deal with it harshly. Maybe your character was the one insulted. Was it deserved? How do they react? Most of all: What did they say?

 

This week’s prompt not for you? Look for something more to your taste in the Prompt Archive. Consider all the prompts active and waiting to inspire you.

 

This week’s featured previous prompts are:

 

Signed, Sealed, and Delivered - Our universes see a lot of contracts made, whether verbal gentlemen’s agreements, electronic documents, or witnessed formal pacts. Sometimes contracts are entered into willingly; sometimes they’re coerced. Sometimes they’re broken; sometimes they’re protected against outside challenges. Sometimes old agreements come back at an unexpected time. Write about a contract your character made or avoided.

 

Competition - Life is full of competitions, formal and informal, friendly and unfriendly. Whether it’s with siblings, neighbors, colleagues, or strangers met at the intergalactic traffic light, it’s human (sentient?) nature to find something to try to be better at. Sometimes there’s a clear goal, sometimes there’s not. Sometimes there are rules, sometimes there aren’t, sometimes there are but nobody follows them. Sometimes there’s a prize at the end, and sometimes it’s just about bragging rights. Write about a competition your character has participated in – or tried to avoid. Prompt courtesy of @alaurin101.

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This week’s SFWC prompt:

 

Week of March 22, 2019:

 

Injury: Since our characters do often get into physical altercations, what injuries have they suffered? In a cinematic world it might be limited to minor scrapes, or serious wounds that heal in no time and without a scar. More realistic stories may have more lasting repercussions. How are their injuries treated? Technology, magic, herbs and other ‘traditional’ remedies? Some of everything? How long is their recovery? How complete? Does it make a difference if they received aid right away or if it took time before they could do so? Do they avoid doctors? What are the doctors like in your world? Think about a time your character was physically hurt and the medical help they received.

 

This week’s prompt not for you? Look for something more to your taste in the Prompt Archive. Consider all the prompts active and waiting to inspire you.

 

This week’s featured previous prompts are:

 

Out of the Limelight - this is the flip side of Fame. Through the course of their stories, our characters become famous. Household names, even. Would they have prefered to stay anonymous? What things are easier when no one knows your face? How do they deal with the need for privacy? Do they ever wish they hadn’t become heroes? What made them take the plunge instead of staying safely in the background?

 

Embarrassment: Everyone has that moment they’d rather forget. The time when every eye was on them, but not in a good way. What about your character? When has the glaring spotlight of public embarrassment shone on them and why? Is it a story they’ll never tell? Is it the hilarious tale told for laughs well after the fact? Or is it one of those things that slips out after too many intoxicants?

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  • 3 weeks later...

So. I totally dropped the ball again. I do apologize. I will eventually get my act together. I thought I was behind on last weeks prompt. I realized I forgot to post the last prompt in March. I'm so sorry you guys n gals.

 

Here is the last one for March,

 

 

This week’s SFWC prompt:

 

Week of March 29, 2019:

 

Lasting Repercussions: Every battle leaves a mark, every injury a scar. They might not be visible, due to magic or high tech medicine. They might be psychological, but no less real or damaging. They might be social: new enemies or a change in class or status. The entire world may have changed. All your character’s conflicts, verbal or physical, have repercussions. Write about one.

 

This week’s prompt not for you? Look for something more to your taste in the Prompt Archive. Consider all the prompts active and waiting to inspire you.

 

This week’s featured previous prompts are:

 

Looking Back: Whether it’s with fondness or relief, everyone thinks about their past sometimes. Something that held them back, or something that propelled them forward. They might consider time with a mentor, a formative event, or just a memorable vacation. Write about your character reminiscing.

 

Soulmates - Fandoms sail on ships. Does your character have a soulmate? It need not be a designated love interest. A soulmate doesn’t have to be romantic, though they often are. It’s someone with whom your character shares a special bond, an almost inexplicable affinity. How did they meet, discover their shared interests? Are they in the discovery process? Do they deny the attraction? Or is your character convinced they’ll never meet anyone?

 

And the one from last week.

 

Week of April 5, 2019:

 

Evil Twin: A subset of mistaken identity. Suppose there was another character, related or no, who looked so much like your character that everyone assumes they are the same person? Further suppose that this doppelganger has the opposite personality of your character. What happens? Do people trust them when they shouldn’t, or get surprised when they’re generous? How much trouble do they make for your character? Does your character even know they exist? Do they figure it out? What happens?

 

This week’s prompt not for you? Look for something more to your taste in the Prompt Archive. Consider all the prompts active and waiting to inspire you.

 

This week’s featured previous prompts are:

 

Interrogation– Question-and-answer, a classic back and forth dialogue. While the word suggests police procedurals, spies, or war, it can be far more broad than that. Interrogation encompasses a doctor trying to make sense of a patient’s symptoms, a job interview, and a parent trying to figure out what happened on the field trip. Consider a character who gives way more information than required, or an interviewer who never manages to ask the right question.

 

LF1M - Dating site profiles are full of the good, the bad, and the ugly. If your character got lonely and tired of his/her designated love interest, what profile would you write for them to submit to the HoloNet’s matchmaking services?

 

I pinkie swear I will try to not drop the ball again.

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I dunno, a pinky-swear is pretty serious!

 

Inspired by: Soulmates - Fandoms sail on ships. Does your character have a soulmate? It need not be a designated love interest. A soulmate doesn’t have to be romantic, though they often are. It’s someone with whom your character shares a special bond, an almost inexplicable affinity. How did they meet, discover their shared interests? Are they in the discovery process? Do they deny the attraction? Or is your character convinced they’ll never meet anyone?

 

Photin smiled in spite of her weariness when the holopic materialized. The image of tiny off-white fungal shelves, huddled in the shady crevice of a fallen tree, gave no indication of the days she had combed the deep forest of Zamael; nor, of course, did it show how tired and mud-encrusted she had been when she took the holo. But it did refresh her memory of that day: the moist, warm air, the rain-soaked ground soft under a thick layer of fallen leaves and needles, the ancient, even musty odors of a rain forest undisturbed by sentient traffic or industry. She indulged the memory for just a minute, however, before turning back to the wall of text on the flatscreen before her with a sigh. The Circle of Healers was expecting her full report to be transmitted within the next two days, and it wasn't ready – she'd barely begun to format the footnotes, and the “Conclusions” section was a mess. She left the holopic open as she focused on composing the report.

 

Suddenly – minutes or hours later, she didn't know at first – she realized there was someone else there. When she'd last looked up, the library had been empty and dark, save for the circle of lamplight around her desk; everyone else had retired for the night. It was still dark, but she was no longer alone. She could hear the rhythmic scuff of soft shoes on the smooth floor, approaching and entering the open archway, where they paused. She did not look up or make any gesture to show that she noticed. Perhaps this interloper would notice that she was working and leave her be, maybe even find somewhere else to do whatever they came to do. The chrono up in the corner of her computer screen showed it was still early morning; she'd been submerged in the minutiae of mycology for more than two hours.

 

The footsteps did not retreat, but advanced, slowly and quietly as if sneaking up on her. Not that she sensed any hostile intent; through the Force she could tell it was one of the students or staff here, someone with some ability and training in the Force. Nevertheless, she tried to focus on her work and hoped whoever it was would have the courtesy not to interrupt. The footsteps kept on until they were less than two meters behind her and paused again. After a long moment, during which Photin rearranged a few sentences in a footnote about local fungivores, she finally turned to face the intruder.

 

“Can I help you?” she asked, in a tone a little sharper than she intended. The young man, dressed in brown Jedi robes much like her own, gave a start and backed up a step.

 

“Oh, um, no, I'm sorry, didn't mean to bother you...” he stammered. His eyes flicked between Photin and the image of the fungi. “I, ah, I just wanted to get a better look at the picture.” Only a little taller than Photin, and younger (though not by much), he held a stack of data cards in one hand, which he raised in front of him as if it was a warding talisman. “I just...” Photin's silent regard intimidated him, and he continued backing away. “I was just returning these to the shelves...I'll, um, I'll go do that...” He took one last curious look at the holo, then scuttled away to the storage shelves.

 

Photin watched him retreat, feeling a pang of quickly-suppressed guilt. She didn't mean to seem so cross, but there was still so much to do and she'd hoped to have a little more time before the morning influx of students turned the place into a stream of traffic. Without a word, she turned back to her report. The young man went silently about his business, shelving some discs, pulling others out, according to some list on his datapad which he consulted frequently. It was not until he spoke again that she realized he had approached and stood behind her again.

 

“Um, excuse me, but what's that in the holo?”

 

Snapped out of her working reverie, Photin breathed a short sigh. “Fungus. It's a fungal growth I found in the wild, and I”m writing a research report about it.” And you should go away and let me finish, she wanted to add. But the man didn't move; rather, he leaned closer to examine the holo in detail. Tapping the “save” button, Photin watched him curiously. He seemed genuinely interested, or at least faked it well. Let's see what you've got, she thought. “As you can see, it's one of the basidiomycota, a rare one...”

 

He interrupted before she could rattle off her jargon-filled spiel, a tinge of awe in his voice. “Is this...whitefoil? You found whitefoil??”

 

Photin blinked, mouth frozen in mid-word. Even among Healers, there were few who knew or cared much about fungi, even ones with medicinal properties; their training was almost entirely about modern, manufactured or mass-farmed drugs. “Uh..yeah, it is,” she admitted, “how did you-”

 

“In the wild? Nobody's seen whitefoil in the wild for centuries! There's just a few samples left, in special gardens – I haven't had a chance to see any myself, but-” he glanced at Photin and saw her look of surprise. His rapid, enthusiastic gush crashed in mid-sentence and he blushed. “I- I'm sorry, it's rather a hobby of mine, studying fungi, especially the Dikarya. Ever since I was a youngling. Did you really find it? Oh, I wish I'd been there!”

 

“I sure did,” she replied, feeling a rush of pride. “It took a while, sorting through so many old records. I've been studying it for weeks now, to see if it has the healing properties like the old stories say. I've even managed to keep it growing-”

 

“You have some? Alive? Where? Can I see it?” His enthusiasm was infectious; seeing how his eyes lit up refreshed Photin's own sense of wonder and delight. The report could wait just a little while; the Circle was only interested in results and data, but to meet someone who took such pleasure in the thing itself was rare – no, unique. She stood as she shut the document. “It's in my private collection,” she said, “I can show you now if you'd like.” She took one step and paused. “I'm Photin, by the way.”

 

The man smiled and made ready to follow. “I'm Sintos,” he said with a nod in lieu of a bow, “So what's the climate parameters? Temperature, humidity, pH – tell me everything!”

 

Edited by Lord_Thorne
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Look at this almost on time!

 

Here is this week's prompt. Enjoy.

 

SFWC Played for Laughs prompt:

 

Week of April 12, 2019:

 

Idiot Helpers: your character has companions, friends, and underlings. No doubt most of them are competent, but even the most reliable companion messes up. Some of them might be constantly messing up, misinterpreting your character’s instructions, and running ridiculous (or even contradictory) side schemes of their own. How does this complicate your character’s life? How do they deal with that companion they can’t get rid of or can’t bear to part with, but who is laughably incompetent? What kind of harebrained schemes are they getting into and how do they complicate your character’s life?

 

This week’s prompt not for you? Look for something more to your taste in the Prompt Archive. Consider all the prompts active and waiting to inspire you.

 

This week’s featured previous prompts are:

 

Collections - This wide galaxy is a great place for hoarders…or definitely not hoarders, I don’t know what you’re talking about. Where would your character put all the random things you can accumulate, all the speeders, random pets, the copious crafting mats, countless outfits, armor sets, saber hilts…. or does your character only collect one thing in particular, a couple of things, or nothing at all? Prompt courtesy of Kitar on the Star Wars, the Old Republic forums.

 

Navigation - Our characters often find themselves navigating toward a goal by means of maps, tracking signals, advisors, or instinct. Write about some guidance that pointed the way.

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  • 2 weeks later...

Pinkies swears are serious and I am late again. I was at my brother's place in another state and time zone if that matters :o

 

Here is the prompt :)

 

 

 

This week’s SFWC Played for Laughs prompt:

 

Week of April 19, 2019:

 

Devil Boss: Our characters aren’t always independent. Sometime they have to take orders. And sometimes those orders, the one giving them, or both, are impossible. How does your character deal with a ridiculous situation? One they maybe aren’t meant to survive, complete, or would have to be insane to attempt? Suppose the orders they get are incompatible or in direct opposition. Maybe the orders aren’t so bad but their boss is just a pain to deal with. This week, imagine your character dealing with their boss, or at least someone around whom they should tread carefully, but who isn’t at all obliged to do the same.

 

This week’s prompt not for you? Look for something more to your taste in the Prompt Archive. Consider all the prompts active and waiting to inspire you.

 

This week’s featured previous prompts are:

 

Fitness - Let’s face it, the jobs and adventures our characters go through are physically punishing. How do your characters hold up? Do they specifically work out and train, or do they rely on natural prowess? Do they ever fall out of practice? How do they compare to others, or do they go out of their way to avoid comparison? Prompt courtesy of Kitar.

 

Backfired Plans - No good deed goes unpunished, and sometimes blessings come in disguise. What if something meant for good had bad effects, or vice versa?

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It is still the weekend!!

 

Here be the last prompt for April :)

 

Week of April 26, 2019:

 

Seemed Like a Good Idea at the Time: Think Han Solo turning the corner into the stormtrooper barracks. When has your character done something that made the situation worse? Tried to roll with the situation, but ended up in hotter water instead? Stuck with the original plan even when events changed so as to render it useless? Maybe things didn’t get worse, but definitely didn’t improve at all and now there’s a different crisis. Write about an idea that seemed like a good one at the time, but turned out less so.

 

This week’s prompt not for you? Look for something more to your taste in the Prompt Archive. Consider all the prompts active and waiting to inspire you.

 

This week’s featured previous prompts are:

 

Enemies, Rivals, and Nemeses - Everyone has them. Each class story hands you a number of them, and we create more in our Legacies. So, how does your character deal with his or her enemies–quick death, public humiliation, something else? What about rivals, professional or otherwise? Does your character dream of destroying them or use them as motivation to exceed? Is there a nemesis lurking in the wings somewhere? Tell us about it!

 

Climate - Our characters visit a dazzling array of planets, moons, and extremely large ships with a wide variety of climates and weather conditions. Write about a time when your character had reason to notice.

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Just a quick new chapter in the Pansey story. I still enjoy writing these, but I just hate dealing with the email authentication in order to get onto the forums.

 

 

 

 

"I told you this was a bad idea!" Guss panicked, firing off his blaster pistol wildly down the dark corridor. Each flash of the blaster briefly illuminated the caves, casting a momentary glimpse of the haunting image of hundred's of grey skinned monstrosities that at one time were people. "Why would we go into a cave? When has anything good ever happened in a cave?"

 

Pansey went back to back with her boyfriend, somersaulting over him and landing a few feet in front of him where she deftly began deflecting Guss's inept blaster fire, redirecting the shots so that they downed the nearest of targets on either side of them. "There are plenty of good caves," Pansey insisted, "You can't decide you just hate all caves."

 

"Why not?" Guss insisted, spinning around as one of the bloodthirsty rakghouls reached him from behind, unloading a burst from his blaster directly into it's face, just as it clamped it's hands on his shoulders and leaned forward to bite him. Guss's eyes were always large, so his face didn't betray exactly how terrified he was. Which was good, since he still had Pansey convinced that he was actually a powerful Sith Lord.

 

"I don't know," Pansey stammered for a moment, a broad, arcing swing of her pink shoto lightsaber clipping away rakghoul hands and heads, "It's, like, racist or something. You can't judge all caves the same."

 

Guss desperately shoved the double-deceased headless corpse backward, accidentally sending it crashing into another wave and causing the infected husks to topple like dominos. Pansey pivoted in mid-swing just in time to see him in an act that strongly resembled fighting off at least twenty of the creatures. "I'm not a cave racist," Guss insisted, "But seriously, name one cave where anything good happened."

 

Pansey flipped over Guss's head, landing on the opposite side of the pack of rakghouls, slamming her fist to the ground as she landed and sending a ripple of lightning fanning out in all directions, shocking and stunning the waves of mindless infected. "There was that cave on Tattooine," Pansey reminded him, "Do you know how hot it gets there? Tell me it wasn't nice to get some shade."

 

A legless rakghoul that had once been some poor Rodian crawled forward, gripping Guss around the legs. Guss tripped backwards, kicking it in the face to force it backward, his lightsaber falling from his belt in the process and clattering across the stone. "Wasn't that were that Sand Demon tried to eat you?" Guss reminded her.

 

"Oh yeah," Pansey laughed, shouldering herself forward into the pack of rakghouls, a flourishing swoop of her lightsaber clipping back arms and legs, "But there was still that cave on Quesh. I swear, that was the one place on the whole planet that didn't smell like Taun Taun guts."

 

"That was where Darth Baras betrayed you and tried to bury you alive!" Guss exclaimed, frantically kicking at the rakghoul while flailing his arm out behind him, trying to reach for his lost lightsaber.

 

"Well how about Voss, huh?" Pansey tried, finding herself in a genuinely awkward situation of realization that she couldn't recall a single positive cave experience, "When I met the real Voice of the Emperor. I mean, how cool was that?" Pansey thrust her hand forward, a wave of force energy knocking backward the never-ending throngs of rakghouls.

 

"You mean the Dark Heart!" Guss says flabbergasted, "In the Plague Lands! Where some million year old ghost tried to kill you!" Even Pansey had to admit that Voss had been a terrible experience. Guss struggled against the severed-half rakghoul as it dragged it's torso up over his body, pinning him to the cave floor. Frantically Guss scrambled and strained, his fingers just inches shy of his lost lightsaber, before he remembered that his work with Pansey had developed his force talents just slightly above the Youngling levels he had been discouraged by on Tython. Guss used the force to pull his lightsaber the six inches he needed to move it in order to return it to his palm, and with a backwards slash, he removed an arm from the already legless rakghoul. It did not seem amused.

 

Pansey, on the other hand, skirted over the mob of mindless creatures, skipping along with her feet dancing across the tops of their heads until she made her way to the far side of the pack, finding at last what she had hoped for. "Over here, Lord Struction!" she called to her boyfriend, using his duplicitous false identity, "I found a way out!"

 

They were hopelessly outnumbered, and despite the great power and skill of the Alliance Commander, Guss knew that if they didn't escape soon, they would be overwhelmed. With an awkward turn of his lightsaber, he finished off the only rakghoul he could take full credit for killing, and then rolled back to his feet, his black robes fluttering out around him. He felt the ripple on his disguise, and he realized what was about to come, but there was nothing he could do to stop it, so he simply closed his eyes and went along for the ride. As Pansey channeled the force to pull Guss wildly through the air, over the tops of the rakghoul pack and land him beside her, the fishy Sith impersonator could do nothing more than let out a raccous laugh. "Weeeeeeeeeeeee!" he exclaimed, soaring through the air.

 

"This way!" Pansey pointed with her lightsaber, turning towards a narrow opening in the cave wall. It was pitch black ahead.

 

"That's not a way out!" Guss panicked, "You said you found a way out. That is not a way out. That's a cave. It's another cave. It's.. it's like a cave inside of a cave. You cannot DOUBLE CAVE us!"

 

"There's no such thing as a double cave!" Pansey insisted, hugging one arm around Guss and leaping ahead into the darkness, bounding over a rocky outcropping and putting distance between the throngs of rakghouls and the two most unlikely of Sith Lords.

 

Guss scrambled frantically at his belt, removing a thermal detonator and tossing it behind them, it's muffled explosion collapsing the cave behind them, trapping them inside the large, cavernous room. Guss pointed around at their surroundings. "Double cave," he insisted.

 

The enormous, hulking figure of a beast from his worst nightmares then rose to it's full height, shambling forward in pursuit of the explosion's sound, it's face Eyeless but it's senses still keen. Pansey put a finger to her lips, shushing her silly boyfriend.

 

"I told you nothing good ever happens in a cave," Guss whispered at her in frustration, "Why would you Double Cave us?"

 

The Eyeless twitched at the faint sound of Guss's whispers, roaring and barreling rapidly towards them. Pansey sighed, igniting her pink lightsaber again. "Sorry, Lord Struction," she apologized, "It seemed like a good idea at the time."

 

 

 

 

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Howdy drug_cartel :) Sorry that the forums keep giving you trouble. That has to be aggravating. :/

 

NOt quite Friday but two Sundays in a row! I am getting better!

 

This week’s SFWC prompt:

 

Week of May 3, 2019:

 

Compromise: insisting on having everything their way all the time is a sure way for your character to lose friends and alienate allies. When have they had to compromise? Accept less than everything in order to get some of it? Negotiate a deal where everyone wins and no one really loses? It could be any kind of situation–from sharing a meal to deciding how to run a government. There’s bound to be some things they can’t bend on and others they may, and they have to negotiate similar stances with others. Write about a time your character needed to compromise and did, or didn’t, and what happened.

 

This week’s prompt not for you? Look for something more to your taste in the Prompt Archive. Consider all the prompts active and waiting to inspire you.

 

This week’s featured previous prompts are:

 

NO PANTS! Relaxing at home. Nothing planned, nothing going on, nothing pending, no crises. No pants. What’s that mean for your character? Is there any place or time when they can truly relax? Do they fantasize about relaxation while dashing between disasters? Are they stuck in the doldrums, praying for something–anything–to happen? Or do they take “no pants” more literally?

 

Titles–Queen, Lord, Baron, Senator, President, Minister, Director, Sir or Madam. A title might be formal, bestowed in a ceremony. It might be a basic term of respect or polite discourse. Or it might be earned by appearance, action, or affiliation: Erik the Red, Catherine the Great, Jabba the Hutt. What titles does your character have?

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Happy Mother's Day to all you Moms' out there! :)

Sorry I am late, I had quite the week and my folks were in town which was nice.

 

So here is your prompt!

 

Week of May 10, 2019:

 

Going Camping! Camp is everywhere this week. In its broadest definition, Camp is something so over-the-top, in poor taste, or ostentatiously awful it’s enjoyed as ridiculous or ironic. Ideally both at the same time. To say camp has no standards is to misunderstand its true nature: it’s not mainstream, doesn’t want to be, and is quite happy as it is thank you very much. This week’s challenge is to incorporate camp in your writing. Introduce (or bring back) a campy character. Include a campy setting. Tell a campy story. Write something campy!

 

This week’s prompt not for you? Look for something more to your taste in the Prompt Archive. Consider all the prompts active and waiting to inspire you.

 

 

This week’s featured previous prompts are:

 

Gifts - Gifts serve a multitude of functions, from hospitality, diplomacy, housewarming, affection, celebration, to manipulation or poison. They can be big or small, expensive or free, expected or surprising, public or private. Write about a gift your character has given or received.

 

Myths, Legends, and Heroes - Everyone grows up with stories. Stories of fantastic people doing amazing things and having wondrous adventures. Our characters are well on their way to becoming heroes to the following generation. So who did your character look at as a role model? Whose footsteps did they want to follow? Whose stories did they read? Whose adventures did they follow on cheesy serialized animated holoprograms? Why are they so special to your character?

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Look who is actually on time!!

 

Have a new Prompt!

Week of May 17, 2019:

 

What is your Quest: A staple of video games and stories alike. In the most epic versions your character must retrieve/destroy an incredible artefact, thus demonstrating their worth and saving the world. A more mundane quest might be to get herbs from the neighbor’s garden…who happens to be a witch. Perhaps enough pig livers to make a pie…strangely, not every pig has a liver. This week, send your character on a quest. What are they doing and how will they get there? A quest can be an entire book or only one small part. Likewise, your story could detail the full quest, beginning to end, or one small but significant event during it.

 

This week’s prompt not for you? Look for something more to your taste in the Prompt Archive. Consider all the prompts active and waiting to inspire you.

 

This week’s featured previous prompts are:

 

Folk Tales: All cultures have folk tales–the stories people tell each other. The ones everyone knows, or knows a version of. They may be written down, or they may only be told around the campfire, the coffee pot, or in the chatroom. They may be cautionary tales, stories of heroism, or horror. Modern urban legends fall in this category. What ones does your character know? Where did they hear them? Which ones do they share and why? Let your character be the storyteller this week.

 

Technology - One of the great things about sci-fi is the futuristic technology. Star Wars boasts all kinds of innovations, from droids, tracking beacons, tractor beams, super lasers, lightsabers, blasters, and omnipresent (or not?) links to the Holonet. Some technologies date from ancient races, and their secrets are forgotten; some new technologies are just in the prototyping and testing stage; some are deployed on every street corner. Write about your character’s’ experiences with the tech of Star Wars.

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  • 2 weeks later...

Prompt: What is your quest?, Family

Title Pride & Petulance

Perspective: Roan, The Littlest Sith

Word Count: 1,292

Chronology: set immediately before these two stories

 

 

Quinn stopped the speeder at the little camp on top of the Juran mountains. It was tiny, a couple of slightly sloped prefab buildings surrounded by permacrete walls with walkways letting people run up to the roofs. One of the wing-fish thingies hovered over a grassy nest beside a wind shield. A white-faced amateur who’d let the dark side suffuse him scowled at everything, idly tossing bits of meat up at the fish’s mouth. There was a noble here too. You could tell by the jacket. He was old and craggy faced, with brown hair cut the same way as Quinn’s. He leant over a large table with a flatscreen holo-viewer built into it. I ignored him and went straight for the Sith.

 

“Do you know agent Wheezy? Because he thought you might want this.” I started, hopping onto the raised ledge of the roof to even out our heights. The Sith, wait, Wheezy said his name… Urdunn! Urdunn curled his head around his neck to glare at me, black Sithspots spreading over his cheeks.

 

“It’s the Republic’s proof of our local allies being…,” I paused for effect, “Thul-ish.” I got nothing. Quinn’s face didn’t move at all and the Sith just glowered a bit. Oh come on! That was funny. Vette would’ve found it funny. Well, she would’ve made that stretched grimace-smile and patted my head. Urdunn’s glower exploded with dawning understanding and he practically lunged at the datacron. I flicked it up over his head and it dropped into Quinn’s hands. Ut uh: not so fast! Now we haggle and get something fun out of it, like ice cream. Wait, no better than ice cream: I want to ride the big flappy-fishy thing! It has a harnesses and is big enough and everything! Besides, Vette’s off riding one, and I want to too.

 

Quinn handed him the holocron. What? But the flappy fish!

“Jedi made, gatekeeper intact, even predates House Thul’s exile from Alderaan. Perfect. The Jedi were fools to hide these secrets from the Sith. Thanks to you they now belong to the Empire.” Figures, Quinn betrayed me for the vague ‘Empire’. Weird how helping random Sith or officer with stuff helps ‘The Empire’, as if the dark council would care about Thul’s secrets, or Thul for that matter. They’re pawns to be discarded when no longer convenient.

“Greetings, My Lord. We don’t often see Sith on Alderaan.” Someone behind me remarked. I glanced over my shoulder and saw the noble. He hadn’t moved away from the table and just stood there, holding his hands in front of him, fingers twitching. If I didn’t know better, I’d have said he looked like he wanted to sell me something.

 

The flappy-fishy let out a loud baying wail and wind slapped me. I spun back around and saw it fly away, Urdunn on its back. Oh, and Quinn was holding a small circle in his outstretched palm. he’d given Quinn a credit chit. Credits? We give you the means to control house Thul and you gave us credits. Why would we even need credits?

 

I cast out my will, ready to crush the fleeing Urdunn and his stupid holocron, but something disrupted my summon. The force was already agitated, practically roiling around me. No, it wasn’t around me, it was around the Thul noble. I released the tatter I’d grabbed, turned around fully and looked at him properly. He was older, closer to Quinn than Vette, but had crinkles over his face like Ragate. What really struck out though was the fear: he reeked of it, metaphysically. No wonder the Dark Side was all screwy. He was buckling it before I could.

 

“I trust you’re here to find out what happened to the Imperial Inspection Team?” he said, even though he was really asking it, as if giving the idea more weight would persuade me to do it.

“No, not really”

 

“Oh,” the tattery façade collapsed and I felt his fear sluice out all over the camp, “I- I didn’t mean to presume, I just thought - Let me start over.” He was a noble, and he was scared, terrified even, of me? None of the nobles I’d seen, including creepy Kendoh, had been scared of me, or noticed I was Sith, not until I did something.

 

“I’m Stanel Thul, General of the Thul forces in this region. We recently had a large Imperial contingent arrive from Dromund Kaas to inspect our mines for lathinide deposits, but in the middle of their inspection, the entire place was overrun by killiks. We’ve had no communication for days. Moff Sarek wants the inspection team rescued fast. Apparently some of them hold serious rank offworld.” He offered, a hint of desperation twinging in his tone.

 

“Our orders come from Darth Baras: Moff Sarek’s desires do not factor into his command.” Quinn refused, crossing his arms. Oh, now you want to negotiate with the locals. Stanel Thul’s eyes popped open. I looked at him, his emotions were all wrong. When Quinn or imperial officers don’t get their orders followed, they get all pouty and try to hide it. He looked like he was about to drop to his knees and beg us to help him. I get the whole ‘terrify the locals into obedience’ thing, but he wasn’t scared of me. Something got to him long before that.

 

“Why is this so important to you?” Quinn turned to look at me, his face all frowny. I know you don’t care and want to carry on, but I’m curious and I’m the Sith here. I let you talk to people, but you don’t decide where I use my power. You just waste it.

“I- I don’t want you to think I ‘m asking for personal reasons, but my daughter was leading the inspection team.” Oh. He wasn’t just a noble wanting more stuff. He wanted his daughter back.

“If you can find her, find our advisers, free them if they’re prisoners. I promise you a reward that will leave me bankrupt.” I’m getting her. Quinn can figure out what he means by ‘bang corrupt’ later.

 

“My Lord, we already have a mission that cannot be delayed.” Quinn reminded me, but I couldn’t hear much protest in his voice. Besides, he was wrong: it can be delayed. We just need to get information from Renata Alde. The Alde house isn’t going anywhere, so why would she?

“Quinn, they stole his daughter and it helps the Empire. Aren’t you normally trying to get me to that?”

 

“My Lord, it is not a matter of willingness but one of practicality. The local fauna emit a pheromone that can influence and even outright dominate sentients. Risking a Sith on such an endeavour is highly inadvisable, especially for such a paltry reward.” Quinn said, as if any of that explained anything. I don’t know what power the local faunae pheromones have over the locals, but I am Sith. I am not afraid of an entity trying to compel my mind: I have broken the Dark Side to my will and I will break theirs just the same. I will get his daughter back. He was trying to be there for his daughter, even when it would be easy to abandon her, which was better than mi- than most. Besides, as Ragate says, ‘true loyalty should be rewarded, if only to encourage it in underlings’.

 

“You stay here if the fauns bother you so much, but I’m going!” I commanded Quinn, and then ran down the hill before he could say anything. It wasn’t Baras’ mission, he wasn’t coming: fine. He just slows me down anyway. Besides, if I can’t get a flappy-fish ride, then he can’t get his mission done today.

 

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Howdy Feldraeth :)

 

I do apologuise, I honestly thought I did this one on Friday. :o

 

Sorry for being late this week.

Here is the new prompt.

 

 

 

This week’s SFWC prompt:

 

Week of May 24, 2019:

 

Under My Skin: Something latches on to your character and won’t let go. What is it? An idea they can’t stop thinking about? An offhand comment by another they keep mulling over? A slight, real or imagined, that wont quit ruining their day? A person who fascinates them–or drives them crazy? A literal parasite they picked up and really ought to have looked at?

 

This week’s prompt not for you? Look for something more to your taste in the Prompt Archive. Consider all the prompts active and waiting to inspire you.

 

This week’s featured previous prompts are:

 

The Story So Far - Step back for a moment to consider our universes. Write a summary for your characters, storyline, or entire universe as you would introduce them to a beginner.

 

What Goes Around Comes Around: If the Golden Rule is “treat others how you wish to be treated” then this is what happens when you don’t. Cheaters will be cheated, liars lied to, and bullies bullied. Write about a time when your character’s behavior came back to bite them, or when they had an opportunity to visit retribution on someone who wronged them.

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Howdy everyone,

 

If I do remember correctly this is the thread's 6th birthday. Well yesterday was, so happy birthday!

 

I have remembered to post the prompt before heading down to catch a ball game for my kiddo's b-day :)

 

This week’s SFWC prompt:

 

Week of May 31, 2019:

 

Games: Cards? Dice? Board? Ball? Video? Games of chance, games of skill, physical games as individuals or teams. Quiet pastime games, crowd-entertainment spectacles. Coliseums, pitches, dining room tables. Games for all ages, games for children, games for adults. Sentient species everywhere play all kinds of games and for various reasons. There could be no lasting repercussions, or it could be deadly. This week, make a game or its outcome important in your story.

 

This week’s prompt not for you? Look for something more to your taste in the Prompt Archive. Consider all the prompts active and waiting to inspire you.

 

This week’s featured previous prompts are:

 

Fashion - Most of our characters wear clothes. Do they follow fashion? Set it? Actively offend it? Are they more collars and cuffs or sweats and monkey-lizard slippers? What’s their favorite thing to wear, what have they saved for years even if they don’t fit into it, and what would they love to wear if they could just find the occasion for it? Write about your character’s clothing and how they relate to it.

 

Recurring Nightmares: An actual nightmare, one that isn’t real? Or a real nightmare situation occurring over and over? Write your character in a recurring nightmare this week. Or a recurring dream, if you’d prefer. Interpret the prompt as literally or loosely as you like.

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Hey Kitar and everyone,

 

After realising that the last story i posted has already been posted, i've sat down & written two more from new ideas.

 

Prompt: Fashion, Shopapalooza

Title: The New Look

Perspective: Lucida, Jedi Pureblood

Word Count: 2041

Spoilers: JK Coruscant storyline, general information about the third area of Coruscant

 

 

I’d left Tee-seven back at the Senate tower with Kira’s SIS login and a remit to find as much information about the Justicars as possible. Kira and I were busy preparing for our incursion, garnering whatever supplies we’d need to invade the sector. We couldn’t rely on Republic security or our masters, only the two of us against an army of authoritarian fascists. It only looked like two ladies out shopping because we didn’t want to scare the locals.

 

“Uh, Master… not that I don’t mind shopping for clothes and all, but don’t we have a Sith to catch?” Kira asked as we walked into a clothes shop. She had a point of course: we couldn’t delay for long.

“The Justicars are ex-military and judging from what the General told us, pretty intolerant. Do you think they’ll just let a Korribani Pureblood wander about their district?” Kira glanced back at me, her mouth open for the barest of moments before a smirk stretched across her features.

 

“You really that scared of a few bully-boys with blasters?” she offered, throwing a look at the doors, “we just throw down a couple mind tricks and we’re through. C’mon, the Sith might be firing up the Planet Prison as we speak.” She started for the entrance. I didn’t follow and she halted her retreat, a look of pique on her face. Good, an attitude like that just shows how far she has to go before becoming a Jedi.

 

Aside from the whole issue of casually abrogating another’s free will,” I pointed out, putting more emphasis into my voice than strictly necessary, “that only works if they’re open to suggestion and willing to talk. If they see me, freak out and start blasting from the far side of a busy street, who knows how many’ll get caught in the crossfire? We’re not here to start a sector war.”

 

She pursed her lips, frowning. It didn’t take a Jedi’s wisdom to know her thoughts, that there as a sector war raging already in all but name. Still, I probably should have the same expression, concerned over her fondness for using the force to solve her problems, but I was distracted. We were looking at a pair of Lashaa Silk cloaks, both thick enough to hide my features under their embroidered cowls.

 

“You really think hiding your face would be enough to deter these guys,” she asked. I winced and shook my head.

“It’s the best I can do on short notice,” I admitted, reaching for the two cloaks “Now, which do you think suits me better, the red or the blue?” She gave me the ‘really’ look, and then disdainfully flicked her eyes at the cloaks.

 

“The red is better, it’ll tone down your complexion but it won’t help. People see hooded cloaks and think that person’s trying to hide something, which you are. What you want is a top that makes you look normal, and maybe draws their eyes elsewhere. C’mon, I know just the thing,” she decided as she grabbed my arm and pulled my away. We were at the back of the store, having passed most of their stock to find the cloaks. I let her lead me to the women’s section, to a rack of tops.

 

“What about this one,” she offered, tilting a shimmering, sleeveless sequinned top with a plunging V-line towards me, “I can guarantee no-one’ll be looking at your face.” Yeah, no. I’m not going into combat looking like a prostitute and especially not a cheap one. I eyed Kira suspiciously, trying to figure whether she was being serious or making fun of me. All I learnt from those big, innocent eyes was to never play sabaac with her.

 

“They’ll see my sternal ridge and then it’s just a quick glimpse up to these,” I rebuffed, flicking my fingers over my jaw and brow ridges. My family had been renowned for their purity, even among the elite, and I’d inherited most of my mother’s distinctive features. I’d be quite the catch in Pureblood circles, were it not for the whole Jedi thing. Even then, good genes trump politics for more than a few... and those guys get to stay a lightsaber’s length away from me at all times.

“Okay, how about this then?” she offered me a white blouse.

“and how does that help me hide my ridges?” My borrowed padawan sighed and looked at me as if I were a slow child. Yep, definitely seeing how much she has to learn away from her master.

 

“Simple, you aren’t hiding them, that’ll draw attention. Instead, you leave them on display but wear normal clothes. Everyone knows Sith wear robes and spiked armour. If you’re obviously not, then who’s to say you’re not a Zeltron or a Devaronian or something. Wasn’t there a whole bunch of Devaronians who conned their way to power on backwards rim worlds by pretending to be Sith?” I’d heard that rumour as well, though never found any truth behind it, not that I’d ever really looked. Besides…

“Only male Devaronians have horns, but I get your point.”

“Hey, I didn’t know that and I’m more worldly than most people you’ll met.” I eyed her sceptically. She may be worldly among the idylls of Tython, but here in the Galactic Capitol? Well, I guess there’s thousands of species out there, with more being discovered every day. It could work, and it’s a better idea than any of mine.

 

“I suppose so, but to wear this I’ll need to swing by the underwear section.” She tilted her head slightly to the side, a lot like my old mentor’s razorwolf.

“Why, what’s wrong with what you’ve got on right now?”

“My current top doubles up as support, but you should know that. It’s typical Jedi training gear.”

 

“Uh, Master Kiwiks always insists I train in this ugly beige ensemble with a wrap for support,” she admitted, waving her hand down over her robe, “It’s supposed to be traditional or something. Take it you’ve never had to deal with that.” I quirked my eyebrow at her. Congrats on not seeing my race and all, but you really don’t know anything about the Sith, do you? Tradition is everything to them.

 

“Traditions interfering with training? Oh, all the time but not as a Jedi,” I admitted, giving her an altogether unpleasant, lupine smile. Kira’s eyes widened, only for a moment but I saw it. Yeah, she could guess where I learnt most of the basics, and some of the more advanced stuff too.

“Uh, so you’ll still need to get something for, um… under, right?” she noted, her cheeks almost matching her hair. I nodded and she darted off. You know, for someone I pretty much had to drag in here, she sure was being helpful all of a sudden. I wonder why? Now briefly free from my Padawan, I walked into the underwear section and picked out the first white sports bra that matched my measurements. It was then that Kira caught my attention once more.

 

“C’mon, I’ve found the fitting rooms so let’s get out of here,” she called from a few aisles over. I glanced around and saw the sign nearby. Heading over, I slipped into the closest cubicle, briefly holding the garment up long enough for the server droid to note. Closing the curtain behind me, I sat on their little futon and stripped off my hooded training top and picked up the brassiere.

Holding the cups against my breasts, I checked they fitted comfortably before I slipped the straps on on and guided the force to do up the tabs behind my back. One good thing about the Sith Academy’s acolyte dormitories was that you learnt to get dressed quickly, quietly and can do it in very small places.

 

I shucked the blouse on, pulling my braid out from the back as I did up the buttons one-handed. Glancing in the mirror, I saw one small problem. The blouse fit everywhere except for the third and fourth buttons down, where it suddenly became very tight.

“Uh, is there a larger one?”

“Hang on, let’s see” Kira called from the far side of the curtain.

 

I started to undo the buttons once more when the curtain hissed open. Something shook the thin divider wall. My lightsaber was in hand before I saw Kira’s bulging eyes and open, gasping mouth. Staring at her, I realised she was pressed against the wall, my hand clamped around her throat. Gently, I released her from my death grip.

“Uh, sorry about that,” I offered, knowing it wasn’t much. She coughed, rubbing at her throat.

 

“Okay, I get it. I’ll knock first, geez,” she wheezed, sending a stab of guild through my chest. Great job, less than twenty minutes together and you’ve throttled her: This master-apprentice thing was going just great. Hesitantly, I swished the curtain back and continued undoing the buttons. A minute later, a larger version of the same shirt swung over the curtain rail. I took a moment putting it on before sliding the curtain back. Kira flicked her gaze off the fitting instructions on the wall and all over me before giving me a big thumbs up.

“Looks nice, and no-one’ll think twice about all that,” she enthused, waving a hand over her face. Then I spotted her eyes spying my discarded top lying on the footstool.

 

“Uh, so you won’t be needing that, right?” Kira mused, looking hopeful, “Can I try it?” I eyed her dubiously. Sorry Kira, but we’re not even close in size. You’d have to wear something under the top for it to fit and the inner cups will press on them. It’ll just be uncomfortable, especially while running around. Besides, don’t we have a planet prison to stop?

Kira picked the top up and holding it up in front of her, before fixing me with another hesitant, almost hopeful look. Even I had to admit, she looked adorable.

“Oh, very well. Yes, you can wear my top, but just until this evening and then I’ll want it back.” Kira flashed me the biggest grin I’ve seen this side of a nexu and darted into the cubicle, her dress already over her head. I slid the curtain closed, before she got us kicked out. It swished back open a minute later.

 

“Hey, look at that,” Kira purred, twirling around and thrusting her chest out at me, “It fits perfectly. Guess we must be the same size.” I glanced at her, and was pleasantly surprised. She was clutching it at the sides, tightening the top enough so that it mostly fit. Guess all she needed was a few pins and she had a perfectly serviceable top that wasn’t in dreaded beige.

 

“Well, I guess that’s everything then, let’s head out.” Kira’s beaming grin almost fractured.

“Uhm, not to be a dampener on things but did Master Orgus give you an expense account, cause Master Kiwiks hasn’t let me touch a credit since the whole Teriyaki incident.” I glanced at her. He hadn’t, neither of us had thought that far ahead. I was planning to use my own money for it, but I suppose it was a valid ‘saving the galaxy’ expense: no idea who you’d bill that too though.

“I think I’ve got enough to cover it,” I hedged, flipping the price tags to get a rough idea. Uh, thirteen for the bra plus twenty-five for the trousers plus thirty-five for the shirt plus fifteen for the bandoleer plus ninety: yikes. I gingerly put the overcoat back, grabbing the much cheaper plush waistcoat with external pockets. Uh, twenty five for the waistcoat made a hundred and fifteen credits for the whole outfit. Except it wasn’t: the Republic had this dumb tradition of not including taxes in their prices, so it was about a hundred and thirty three credits. I had a small allowance from my years helping out on the farm, which should cover things for the moment, but it wasn’t bottomless. So long as trips like this were rare, I should be all right.

 

We headed over to the cashier droid, paid for it all and headed out. We had a Sith to stop, a planet prison to procure and we were going to look good doing it.

 

 

I've delayed posting this next one for about a week, given the nature of it. Well, I've fiddled with it enough, so here goes.

 

Prompt: Under Your Skin, Recurring Nightmares

Title: To Share A Nightmare

Perspective: Vette, Twi’lek Adventurer

Word Count: 1,791

Chronology: set in transit to Balmorra

 

Warning: this piece contains partial and total nudity, mild sexual peril, and gore

 

 

 

It was cold on Kafane. The first snows had fallen last week and even inside the camp, the temperature was in single digits. Everyone else was bundled up in at least two layers and wore thermal synthweave regulators. I’d have been happy with either, but my master didn’t let me wear people clothes.

 

My master had permitted me to weave a thin mesh of silvery chains around my legs looking not too far off from a pair of fishnets. They stretched down, melding seamlessly into my anklets. A pair of thin chains wrapped my feet, crossing under the arch to meet at the toe ring. The chains weren’t tights: they didn’t have a crotch. Instead, a small, silvery, cloth pennant barely hid my bits, loosely held in place by three rings, two at the front, one at the back. It was uncomfortable and cold, but my master doesn’t let me wear things for my comfort: I am a status symbol and must look the part.

 

My master sat on the throne behind me. The heavy, durasteel chain welded to my collar bound me to him. No more escape attempts, not that I could dream of freedom anymore. This was my place, chained at my master’s feet.

 

He brayed a command in Gran, ending the court session. When I was little, I used to call him three-eyes behind his back. Now I’m not so little, I know my place. Advocates, petitioners and even his entourage cleared the throne room, leaving me alone with him. Some of them looked at my master jealously, others at me with naked hunger. My master had me dance to entertain them earlier. It’s something I’d never do given the choice, but I don’t have a choice. My place is to serve.

 

As soon as the last left, he reached down, cupping my breast in his clawed hands. I sucked in a breath as his hand kneaded my flesh through their chainmail mesh support, his clawed thumb fiddling with my chained piercing.

 

Pain shot up and down tchun, phantom shards stabbing their way down my left arm spine and foot. He always did that when he wanted me to look at him. Obediently, I looked up and over my shoulder, and saw the leer on his muzzle. I knew what he wanted me to do, what I had to do: I didn’t want to, but I had no choice. I turned around, taking care not to bind myself with the collar to throne chain any more than I was already. Not letting him see my disgust, I reached up and started undoing his pants. Then it happened.

 

My master’s leer dropped from his snout and his three eyestalks swivelled to see something behind me. I felt whatever it was too. Cold lashed my back, as if winter winds had thrown the door open, except we were deep in the main camp building. There were a dozen doors between us and the outside. It wasn’t like a winter night or even as bad as the Juran Mountains. This was more like the cold you get off a mass grave: not that I’ve ever been to a mass grave or anything. I haven’t left the camp since my master bought me off the Hutt. Hesitantly, I turned my head to see what it was.

 

The audience chamber was empty, and the lights had gone out everywhere except around his throne. Even with my eyes attuned for low-light, I couldn’t see anything through the murk, and yet I knew there was something hostile in the shadows.

 

Something moved, and the way the darkness shifted gave me an awful idea. I flicked one of the light switches built into the throne, one of the ones for the lights by the door. There was no change, the lights were on: the darkness was the thing. Then, as if waiting for my burgeoning terror to peak with that realisation, it revealed itself.

 

Just looking at it gave me the creeps, but I couldn’t tear my eyes off the thing. It was tall, thin and kinda humanoid if you squinted hard enough. It wasn’t really something you could describe, but if I had to, I guess I’d say it looked like a pitch-black human shadow that’d come to life. Except, shadows normally aren’t wrapped in a bajillion writhing tentacles, and they don’t eat light either.

 

The thing didn’t walk towards us so much as flicker through reality, appearing metres closer than it had been moments before without all the pesky stuff like travelling through the intervening space. Those oily black tendrils squirmed all around it, latching onto like wingless mynocks, except mynocks don’t inject ink into the walls when they grab onto something.

 

I just sat there, pressed as close to my master’s throne as I could get. Every part of me screamed to run, to get away from the thing, but my legs couldn’t move. The thing reached the bottom of the throne’s steps, and I could feel the chill gales of its gaze scour my very spirit. Its stare left my body, and the groaning squeak from my master told me that its gale just became a blizzard. Then the thing raised what would’ve been a left hand on a humanoid.

 

Inky tendrils unfurled from behind its hand, slowly stretching towards my master. He babbled something in Huttese, that he would give him anything he wanted. The tentacles didn’t slow their advance, latching onto his skin and Eugh! Little sub-tendrils spread out along the tentacles, and more from them, and them. My master’s gibbering sputtered out as. Then the thing spread its hand.

 

Orangey-brown blood splattered across the throne as the thing tore jagged welts across his body. My master brayed a shriek as the tendrils flexed, their writhing flensing his flesh. Just like in those really gory films I used to watch with plasmajack, the creature ripped him apart. The thick coppery smell of blood flooded the room as my master was emptied out all over his throne.

 

The shadow turned, and I could feel its soulless gaze wash over me. It loomed before me, towering over me. I tried to stagger to my feet, tried to run. The chain around my neck snapped taut. I gasped as it choked me, stealing my legs from under me. The blackness shifted, tilting its head-mass in a birdlike stoop. It extended a black hand, and thousands of tiny tendrils swarmed over me. It ignored my pleas, reaching for my attire. I’ve seen enough Sullustian holovids to know what happens next.

 

I felt it more than anything: hundreds of little pops across my legs and feet and then the hushed slither of the thousands of disintegrating silvery links. I felt a twinge in both n1pples as the chain that held them taut scattered. My neck and collarbone suddenly felt a lot lighter as the collar slid off, the silver manacle marred by millions of scratches. I went from dressed to serve on a Hutt pleasure cruise to butt naked in maybe a second. I tried to scrabble away from the thing, but the tentacles wrapped around under my arms, crossing between my lekku and back. I felt it take my weight and slowly, almost gently, the chill tendrils lifted me to my bare feet. Then the thing broke the silence.

 

“Your chains are broken,” it -I don’t know- growled maybe, that dry, sibilant voice sounded more like durasteel wool scr@ped over broken glass than anything else. The cold got -well- colder as it flickered closer. I considered turning and running, but the tendrils still wrapped around my back. There was something else too; a voice in my head that told me that was a bad idea. It closed in on me and everything went black

 

* * *

 

My eyes flicked open as I gasped myself awake. It was dark on the Fury, shadows cast by the red running lights giving everything a menacing edge. I was in my cot, the blankets loosely covering most of me, not that I could move them. I had the kid lying on me, using my chest as a pillow. Okay, I’m pretty sure I tucked him into his bed last night, so why’s he here?

 

Carefully, I freed my arm from under him and gently gave him a shake. He shifted, made this cute little snuffling sound before craning his head up. His green eyes blearily focussed on me.

“Hey, what are you doing here?” I asked him as sweetly as I could manage.

 

“Blech, your breath smells,” he snuffled into my duvet, holding it up to his face like a bandana. I huffed over him. He sniffed disdainfully.

“Well, that won’t be a problem if you slept in your own bed next time.”

 

“I was. Your creepy dream woke me up.” Creepy dream? Does he mean I was having a nightmare? Oh, yeah. I vaguely recalled some shadowy monster looming over me and then woke up to find the kid had crawled onto my bed. Don’t need to ask Taunt to know what that means.

 

“Well, I’m not having it anymore. Go back to bed,” I coaxed

“You’re not going to have another bad dream, are you?” he asked, pinching his pointy face up at me. Geez, it’s not like I was having nightmares before you came along.

 

“I’ll be fine, promise. I’ll watch something on the holonet and dream about that, kay?” I offered to appease his protective streak. He looked at me sceptically, but eventually rolled off my chest. I heard the whispers of his footfalls and the hiss of the door. the faint red running lights cast the quarters corridor with its menacing afterglow.

 

“Remember, you promised,” he petulantly reminded me, and then stalked out. Yeah, that wouldn’t be a problem if he wasn’t all Sithing it up around me. Even his ship was creepy, what with the hellish-red running-lights, the almost-silent, chanting hum of the engines and the faint, oily smell from the atmospheric scrubber. I huffed and rolled over, tucking t’chun up over my head. Y’know, maybe all this was getting to me. It’s not like I’ve had a break from all this. Snuggling up in my blanket, I closed my eyes and tried to doze back off. Still, even though I was swaddled in thermal blankets in heart of a heated starship, I still felt that lump of ice beneath my breast where the kid had lain his head. Reaching under my tank top, I rubbed the area. I felt as warm as usual: must be my imagination playing tricks on me. I lay my arm down, started taking slow deep breaths and counted down from ten. I was asleep before I hit three.

 

 

Edited by Feldraeth
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