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The Short Fic Weekly Challenge Thread!


elliotcat

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Best part of the whole thing - Vierce's entrance. Loved it. :D Nalenne hitting on him - bonus!

*falls over laughing* Awesome!

 

Glad you enjoyed! Vierce suffered badly from the fact that I'm an Imperial girl.* Attendance turned out 4 Republic or heavily Repubic-friendly, 1 neutral, 8 Imp/Sith. Including my few other fic major characters and two thus-far-unmentioned game characters would've added one Jedi and four Imps (five with AU Cipher Nine)...my poor Vierce can't win, numerically speaking. At least he got out before Nalenne really got started :rolleyes:

 

* Some boys try and some boys lie but

I don't let them play

Only boys from Dromund Kaas can

Make my rainy da-ay,

'cause they are living in an Imperial world

And I am an Imperial girl

You know that we are living in an Imperial world

And I am an Imperial girl!

...

*cough* I'm done.

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'cause they are living in an Imperial world

And I am an Imperial girl

You know that we are living in an Imperial world

And I am an Imperial girl!

...

*cough* I'm done.

 

You are an evil person. This is now stuck in my head.

 

Besides, you only have that imbalance because the Republic doesn't have Sith Warriors. Well, except for Scourge, and he's an NPC so he doesn't count. :p

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Besides, you only have that imbalance because the Republic doesn't have Sith Warriors. Well, except for Scourge, and he's an NPC so he doesn't count. :p

 

And you'll note that one of the two Republic classes I have a duplicate of, and the only Republic in-game-story class I have a duplicate of, is the one that gets Lord Scourge.

 

When totalled up across prose, play, and planning, I have as many Sith Warriors as Republic characters. And as many Imperial Agents as Republic characters. And the sum of Inquisitors and Bounty Hunters is equal to or greater than the sum of any two Republic classes put together. And yes, I play favorites. Upon reflection I'm kind of amazed that Vierce got a voice at all; his genesis was "eh, I should probably have a representative of this class."

 

Admit it, Miss Bright, you like having the reminder of what good people actually look like around.

Stop pimping your brother, Kirsk.

I'm just saying. Look at all that evil he isn't upholding!

I know, I know. And he will get to stomp the Empire. He'll get to face off against an Imperial PC over in the AU thread.

Right, that one where you killed his love interest? Was that really necessary?

AU is where I go to experiment with terrible fates for my characters.

...Can I apply to be removed from that thread?

Nope. Vierce is gonna need you.

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When totalled up across prose, play, and planning, I have as many Sith Warriors as Republic characters. And as many Imperial Agents as Republic characters. And the sum of Inquisitors and Bounty Hunters is equal to or greater than the sum of any two Republic classes put together.

 

Oo Oo story problem time!

 

Let R=total Republic characters

Let E=total Imperial characters (because I looks like a 1)

E sub W=number of Sith Warriors

E sub A=number of Imperial Agents

 

Then:

 

R=E sub W

R=E sub A

Therefore E sub W= E sub A

and

{Bounty Hunters+Inquisitors}>={Sum of any two Republic classes}

 

I think I need more variables, better set notation, and an actual number or two. ;)

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When totalled up across prose, play, and planning, I have as many Sith Warriors as Republic characters. And as many Imperial Agents as Republic characters. And the sum of Inquisitors and Bounty Hunters is equal to or greater than the sum of any two Republic classes put together. And yes, I play favorites.

 

Oo Oo story problem time!

 

Let R=total Republic characters

Let E=total Imperial characters (because I looks like a 1)

E sub W=number of Sith Warriors

E sub A=number of Imperial Agents

 

Then:

 

R=E sub W

R=E sub A

Therefore E sub W= E sub A

and

{Bounty Hunters+Inquisitors}>={Sum of any two Republic classes}

 

I think I need more variables, better set notation, and an actual number or two. ;)

 

I believe that with the information given, the characters in the Legacy scene, the fact that I have two Bounty Hunters, the fact that the sum of Bounty Hunters and Inquisitors is strictly less than the number of Warriors, and the fact that I have an even number of Republic characters, is sufficient to determine all values K, C, S, T, W, I, A, and B.

 

The Legacy scene has the Knights Rho and Larr Gith, Trooper Vierce, Smugglers Nic and Kirsk, Warriors Ruth, Mellekor, Sevasht, and Nalenne, Inquisitors Ananz and Niselle, and Agents Dahlia and Wynston.

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Night of the Living Prompt: Culture Shock

Featuring: Broan.

 

 

 

Broan skimmed over the assignment - it looked like a simple comparison of two differing ideologies, but Lord Vizloch harboured hatred for one of the authors in particular. He would have to be careful when addressing those arguments, then. Lord Vizloch would not appreciate him throwing out critical analysis to simply pander to her affections. Of course, the actual research could wait until after lunch. It was almost like being a child again; greasy and over-spiced the mush he was eating should have made him feel sick. Instead, he was reminded of his mother. The diner, as greasy as the food it served, was nestled just off-centre of the heart of Kaas City. Perhaps 'nestled' was the wrong word - it was hidden under tons of concrete and glass, far from the echelons of 'polite' society, in the slum quarter. Though these quarters were little more than ghettoes for the alien and slave populations, Broan like to visit on occasion, if only to feel less out of place. He may still have been an alien, but he was one of thousands, and attracted no more attention because of it. His lightsabre was hidden in his jacket; no one here would see him as a Sith.

 

He placed the dataslide in his bag and retrieved his sketchbook. He could see another mirialan man. It was likely the man was still young, but he was worn and scarred, and sorrow clung to him like a shroud. Broan found himself most intrigued by the man's tattoos: two harsh lines that dove down his cheeks like tears and abruptly in jagged points. He wondered what these shapes meant to the man and to those on Mirial and what, if anything, they should mean to him. They were vastly different from the small tattoo his mother had when she was alive - a small diamond set just above the eyebrow on her right side. He never did find out what it meant, but she had always seemed sad when he asked. The few mirialan Jedi he had met during his time as a Padawan had been tattooed differently as well; none like his mother and certainly none with a design as harsh as this man. Perhaps it was a response to enslavement and transportation: taken away from a culture at a young age and trying to recapture it in adulthood, but only with a passing understanding. Tattoos have meaning, now each unique to the wearer. Broan caught himself staring, his sketch only half finished.

 

The other man saw him as well. Broan smiled. The man looked at him for a moment before he crinkled up his nose in disgust. He could feel the man's contempt roll over the crowded dining hall and it hurt. He flinched and looked away. The sketch was only half-complete - the tattoos stood out, striking and prominent. He tucked the sketchbook away and left the diner. He could feel the other man's stare boring into the back of his neck. On his way to the upper levels, he bought two sticks of kohl.

 

As he walked, shapes danced in his head. Diamonds dominated and distracted his thoughts so much that he almost forgot to "re-Sith" for the checkpoint. A security official tried to stop him, but the crackle of lightning was sufficiently dissuasive. If Rochester were with him, the checkpoint would have provided no issue, but again, if Rochester were with him, they would have been a target in the alien quarters. He needed to think and to meditate. Even the slightest annoyances were rankling at him. Tension was spinning in his gut and his back was feeling taut. Rain came down in sheets as he reached the surface and cooled him. The splash of water against the pavement was calming. He listened to the drumming on the way to the taxi pad and was absorbed by it when in the cab.

 

Natural light filtered into his rooms, making everything glow with a slight grey-blue aura. He threw his bags on the bed and knelt on the floor. His breathing evened out and his head felt lighter. The tightness and tension eased, and the diamonds returned. The danced in his vision, centring on a single design: three diamonds, one on top of the other two, with a deep 'v' filling the centre. Before he was fully aware, a stick of kohl was in his hand and he sat in front of a mirror, drawing on his chin. The design took shape and Broan could only stare. No longer was his reflection some green-skinned human. He looked Mirialan. He was Mirialan. Tears ran down his face and threatened to smudge the kohl, but he did not care. He was happy and he was himself, at last.

 

 

 

I really think that this is an important part of Broan that he was always missing - a demonstration of a heritage and culture he never had the chance to experience, but feels lost without. Also, the premise here is unashamedly inspired by Striges' take, because it works so much better for removed mirialans than the conventional (or canon) approach. That and it's an awesome idea anyway.

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Night of the Living Prompt: Culture Shock

Featuring: Broan.

 

Perhaps it was a response to enslavement and transportation: taken away from a culture at a young age and trying to recapture it in adulthood, but only with a passing understanding.

I enjoyed the whole story, but this particular line stood out for me. I know Broan is thinking of the man in the diner, but this thought fits his experience almost as well. And I really liked Broan being unable to get the shapes out of his head; perhaps sharing the tattoo artist's experience without knowing it. He needed those shapes to be whole.

 

My biggest problem with the canon explanation was that it made the tattoos akin to merit badges or medals, and that everyone could read your achievements like an inked resume. They're supposed to be a spiritual people; putting a stamp on because you've reached mile fifteen didn't feel right. I also imagine that the tattoos could be anywhere on the body, according to the artist's vision. I like the direction you took it--it's not just a part of their culture. The shapes, wanting them, knowing the right pattern, is an intrinsic part of what it is to be Mirialan. As much a part of their species as a Zabrak's horns or a Twi'lek's lekku.

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@bright I already whined about the effect of your Legacy story on my poor poor relational database :D Also, Pierce Jr.'s pranking coupled with Wynston's attempt to both appease PJ's need to meddle, irritate Quinn, while not actually driving Quinn insane is always gold.

 

@Eversteam I was also disappointed with the lack of resolution for that statement on Belsavis.

Agent spoilers

 

 

In my head canon the killiks in Vector's flesh fought the microdroid swarm which is why he survived without symptoms, when I brought Lokin his rakghoul self made him immune, and when I brought Kaliyo her blood-alcohol content rendered the microdroids inoperative. :D I never take Temple anywhere.

 

 

 

@Tatile Poor Rochester. I love all the pieces with Captain Gorse. I would watch a TV show with him and his crew traveling through space trying to fulfill the Empire's edicts while trying to avoid those meddlesome Sith.

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Tatile, I really liked your take on the Mirialan tats. One of my wishes for some future customization system in game is to be able to add to the tats as you go through the game, as they're supposed to mark important events in their life. The way Broan tied the markings to his sense of self, I liked that a lot.
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Prompt: LF1M

 

Characters: Vashutarl (JK) and introducing Kughel, trooper

 

Title: It's on the Holonet so it Must be True

 

Takes place early in JK Chapter One, but no spoilers beyond who the second JK companion is, and the JK’s relationship with said companion at that time. Longish at 2700+ words.

 

 

The café door slid open at Vashutarl’s approach and she entered the restaurant. It smelled like the inside of a dessert. Vashutarl looked around, feeling dreadfully out of place. Everything was so...pastel. Music played subtly in the background, plucked strings and winds. The combination would have been comfortable if Vashutarl liked the style. A Human waitress in frilly pink bounded up, “Good afternoon!” she said, “Are you meeting someone?” she asked.

 

Vashutarl glanced past the young woman’s lacy shoulder, “Ah, yes, but I don’t see him here--”

 

The waitress smiled and nodded, “That’s quite all right. May I find you a seat? There’s a very nice booth in the corner with a view of the garden. I’ll seat your friend with you when he arrives.”

 

“I uh,” The young woman smiled wider, her eyes screwing up into little happy crescents. Vashutarl sighed. She was going to have to go through with it. She was so changing her private holonet login the minute she got back to the room she shared with Kira. “Yes, that will be fine. Thank you.”

 

The waitress giggled, “This way, please,” she said, leading the way to a pink table draped in lace. Vashutarl slipped onto the cushy rose-colored seat, her back to an overflowing floral arrangement. The waitress bowed slightly, “Your caller, what is his name?”

 

For half a moment, Vashutarl couldn’t remember. Her mind was a complete blank. She slipped the wrapped datacard out of the pocket of her rust-colored skirt and surreptitiously glanced at the name she’d printed on the label only two hours earlier, “Ian Kughel.”

 

The waitress tittered again, “And he’ll be asking for...” she trailed off, waiting for Vashutarl to complete her sentence.

 

“Vashutarl. Vashutarl Umrahiel,” she filled in. What a mess. No more late-night conversations with her padawan. And she was banning Kira from accessing the holonet until the galactic center collapsed on itself in fiery death.

 

The waitress nodded and bowed again before bouncing off to greet the next arrival. Vashutarl looked out at the garden. Polysilicate windows walled the small plot off from the interior space. Formal clipped hedges traced a regular pattern around the perimeter and a larger, pink-flowered shrub filled each corner. A carved stone fountain stood in the middle spraying water in perfect arcs. It was a nice view, though Vasutarl wished there were some fallen leaves or petals or something to break up the relentless symmetry. She turned her attention to the flowery teapot that had appeared on the table. Matching cups, matching saucers, a secondary small pitcher and a little lidded bowl with a filigreed silver spoon handle peeking out from under the cover. Like the music and the garden, it was like her homeworld, but not quite. The same letters spelling foreign words. Vashutarl shifted on her seat. Maybe she’d get lucky and he wouldn’t show up.

 

No such luck. Her curly-haired waitress was making her way back toward her table with a very tall man in tow. He wore the light grey non-combat uniform of the Republic military, the remains of an extensive injury and its cybernetic replacement hiding in the shadow of his cap. She stood as he approached, smoothing her skirt. His face was fine in his picture, and his communication hadn’t mentioned he was in the military. Of course, her profile used a picture from a perfume advertisement and she hadn’t mentioned being a Jedi, either. Could this date possibly get worse?

 

The young woman swept back to the table and stood aside, “Miss Vashutarl Umrahiel, I’d like to introduce Sergeant Ian Kughel. Sergeant Kughel, this is Miss Vasutarl Umrahiel.” She bowed again and gestured toward the table, “Please, be seated, I’ll be back in a moment.” She bounced away, off to retrieve a stand of little cakes and treats like the ones Vashutarl saw on the other occupied tables.

 

Vashutarl looked up and up at Kughel. Belatedly she put out her hand, “Pleased to meet you, Sergeant Kughel,” she said.

 

His enormous mitt swallowed it whole, “Just Kughel, or Ian, Miss Umrahiel,” he said, letting go, “I’m not on duty. You’re ah, wearing yellow, just like you said,” he said with a nervous laugh.

 

Vashutarl glanced down at her soft yellow blouse, “Oh, ah, yes. And you’ve got your grey hat,” she said.

 

“Can’t miss the hat,” he said, pointing, “Not when it’s that high in the air. Shall we?” he asked, indicating the table. Vashutarl slipped into the booth and Kughel took the seat next to her, the damaged side of his face toward the aisle. “You haven’t been waiting long, I hope, Miss Umrahiel?”

 

“Oh, no, I just got here,” Vashutarl replied, “and Vashutarl, please. No need to be so formal in an, ah...” she looked around. What did you call this kind of restaurant? It wasn’t like any tea house she’d been in.

 

“Tearoom?” Kughel prompted.

 

Tea room, then, “Tea room.” she continued. Could she sound like a bigger idiot? “So, you’re in the Republic military?” Vashutarl winced inwardly. She wasn’t improving things.

 

“Yep. Five years now,” Kughel replied, “And you’re a Jedi?”

 

Vashutarl’s gaze snapped to meet his one remaining golden brown eye, “How did you know?” She hadn’t worn the standard-issue robe. They were too confining for her style anyway.

 

Kughel smiled, and his face lit up with amusement, “Your belt has one of those hooks for a lightsaber.”

 

Her hand slipped to the incriminating belt. Of course. She’d slipped the saber into a voluminous pocket so it wasn’t obvious, but hadn’t thought about the belt. “Oh,” she said. Was there a hole to crawl into somewhere?

 

Fortunately the waitress picked that moment to return with the tiers of snacks. She poured them each a cup of tea then left with a knowing wink at their silence. Kughel gingerly picked up his cup and took an experimental sniff of the tea’s bouquet. He made a face and went for the sugar bowl. Then the cream pitcher.

 

Vashutarl held the warm cup. It had a strong fragrance. Weirdly citrusy, the plain tea scent lost in some bright, almost floral additive. Not unpleasant, exactly, just unfamiliar. She’d hoped for a nice, simple, cup of plain tea. Oh well. She sipped. It was alright. The tea itself was fine if the aroma was unusual. She tried a sweet, a miniature rectangular one dusted with powdered sugar. It was a nutty cookie. She expected a chewy fruit candy.

 

She glanced back at Kughel, towering over her at the pastel table. How could she have a conversation with this person? They had nothing in common. He’d picked a tea room to meet her because she mentioned tea in the profile. Probably the only truthful thing in it. But he didn’t like tea. He was trying to be nice and she couldn’t think of anything to say. “So, ah, I imagine you’ve met a lot of Jedi, being in the Republic military,” Vashutarl said. Hadn’t Master Dentiri said Jedi were leading the military?

 

Kughel stirred his opaque tea, “One. Once. He was a medic.”

 

“Oh.” Silence. So much for light conversation. Vashutarl half wished a surprise orbital strike would obliterate the tea room and spare them both further embarrassment.

 

He sighed, “You can ask, if you want. Get it out of the way. I don’t mind, Vashutarl.”

 

Vashutarl flushed and looked away. She didn’t think she’d been staring. “I’m sorry, I wasn’t trying to be rude.”

 

“I stand out. Can’t help it. Before, I was just really tall,” he said, taking a sip of his tea and grimacing, “I’m pretty well used to it by now.”

 

Vashutral took another sip of tea. Well, this awkward moment couldn’t possibly get much worse, “Alderaan? Or Balmorra?”

 

Kughel set down his dainty cup, “Exercise. Squad was coming in on a dropship. Pretty rough trip. The pilot is jinking all over. It was supposed to be training for a drop into a hostile zone, so he probably wasn’t goofing off trying to make everyone sick. Military dropships are pretty sparse; any extra weight goes for armor or munitions, not seat padding or interior walls. All the conduits run right through the main compartments. My seat was right by the engine coolant exchange pipe.”

 

His words weren’t spontaneous, she could hear it in his voice. He must have to relate this story to nearly everyone he met. It sounded like he was reading from cards. “Oh no,” Vahsutarl said.

 

“Yeah. Cracked. Sprayed coolant everywhere. Stuff’s alkaline, so it wanted to cling as well as burn. Real mess. I don’t honestly remember too much. I know the ship went down something like eighty kilometers outside of the exercise area, took a while for the evac ship to come in. They brought the Jedi; wish I’d had a chance to thank him. Spent quite a while in a kolto tank, then cybernetics and physical therapy.”

 

“I’m sorry.”

 

“Don’t be,” Kughel said, “Can’t change it. Can’t possibly miss it, so I figured I might as well talk about it. Mind if I ask about yours?”

 

Vashutarl touched her cheek, the irregular tracery following electrical patterns beneath her skin. She did mind. It was ugly. Made her ugly. She looked up at Kughel. His was so much more extensive. And he didn’t seem embarrassed. “Sith. Force lighting.”

 

“Ouch. Now I’m sorry,” Kughel said, “I’ve never even been under real enemy fire before.”

 

“It’s...done,” she said. Long done, and she didn’t regret her decision. Even if it meant she’d never see her family again. “Oh, that reminds me.” She fished in her pocket for the datacard and gave it to Kughel, “Back...home, it’s traditional to exchange gifts when meeting someone. This is Five Steps, a classic book of strategy on my homeworld. I didn’t realize how appropriate it would be, under the circumstances.”

 

He took the wrapped datacard, turning it over in his hands, “This is really thoughtful,” he said, “I didn’t bring anything for you, Vashutarl.”

 

Vashutarl shrugged, “It’s all right.” She hadn’t expected anything.

 

“Well, wait a minute,” Kughel said, “You mind if I open this now?”

 

Usually people unwrapped gifts in the privacy of their own home, but customs were different everywhere. “Not at all,” Vashutarl said.

 

“Thanks.” He carefully removed the yellow flimsi wrapper, moved his tiny plate aside and smoothed the square sheet on the table. He checked both sides, set the brighter side down and began folding. “Givin Flat-Plane Multidimensional Object Modeling,” he said, concentrating on the flimsi shape growing beneath his big hands, “Or flimsi-folding, to the rest of us. Therapist had me learn to improve fine motor control.” He kept folding, quick precise motions building a complicated object. “Voilá!” he said, presenting Vashutarl with a flower of yellow flimsi, “Four Planes of Matter Flowing Simultaneously into a Gravity Well. Or what it looks like to me, a lily.”

 

Vashutarl giggled and took the flower. The lighter side of the paper formed a line along the inside of the flimsi petal, tracing the shape into the throat of the flower. She’d seen real lilies just like it. “It’s beautiful, Ian, thank you.”

 

“You’re welcome,” he said, “and thanks for this. I will read it,” he said, slipping the datacard into his shirt pocket.

 

Vashutarl spun the flower slowly between her fingers. Making a flower out of flimsi. How unusual. It was so delicate, so unlike the big man sharing the table. “You’re not what I expected,” she confessed.

 

“Well, you’re not exactly the statuesque blonde in your profile either,” Kughel said.

 

Vashutarl grimaced, “There wasn’t supposed to be a profile. We, ah...” she scratched at the back of her neck. Might as well come clean about the whole wretched episode, “Look, I have a student, a padawan, Kira. We’re almost the same age, so she’s less like a student and more like a sister. We were talking about how no one ever tells the truth on the holonet. Things got a bit silly, Kira put up that ridiculous profile with my name...it was only up for maybe a day,” she shrugged, “I was taking it down, but you’d already sent a contact request...”

 

Kughel rubbed his nose, “I didn’t think Jedi were allowed to be silly.”

 

“They’re not supposed to be. I haven’t been a Jedi for very long,” Vashutarl apologized, “I am so sorry, Ian, I never thought anyone would actually respond. Certainly not that fast. It didn’t seem right to just flat out refuse.” She shrugged, “after all, I did post it on a dating site. I felt obligated to at least meet you since you did reply.”

 

“Ah,” Kughel replied, staring at his tea, “see, technically, I didn’t.”

 

Vashutarl blinked, “You didn’t? But I got your request.”

 

“Yeah, about that,” Kughel rubbed his nose again, “I haven’t really dated since,” he waved in the direction of his cybernetics, “Its been the squad’s standing joke. I had a profile on the site from way back, but I inactivated it. Well, one of the wags found it and set me up with the most ridiculous woman he could find. I was about to retract the contact request, but you’d already responded.” He studied the bottom of his cup, “I figured I at least owed you tea for being such a jerk.”

 

“You’re not a jerk. It’s my fault for putting up a fake profile.”

 

“Well, we have something in common after all. Crazy friends,” Kughel said with a grin, “Do you even like tea?” he asked.

 

“I do, actually,” Vashutarl said, “but the tea I like is a little different.”

 

“Stimcaf, personally. Or beer,” Kughel admitted, “I feel like I’m eating the pretend food in my little sister’s dollhouse,” he said, picking up a tiny sandwich topped with a fragment of ferny frond.

 

Vashutral laughed. “I think this is a dollhouse,” she said, “do you want to leave?”

 

Kughel looked relieved, “Could we?”

 

“I don’t belong here either, Ian,” Vashutarl said, standing. They had more in common than crazy friends. And that was...nice.

 

Kughel followed her example, “I’ll take care of this,” he said.

 

Vashutarl waited outside the tea room’s pink brocade door. Kughel emerged shortly with a pearlescent box tied with a rose colored ribbon. He held it as though it was an armed grenade. “She insisted I take the desserts,” he said apologetically and scuffed a boot on the durasteel, “Well, I guess this is the part where I’m supposed to ask ‘your place or mine?’”

 

Vashutarl giggled again, “I’m living in a Jedi hostel with dozen other Jedi, along with padawans and a more advanced master. I think my place would be a little awkward.”

 

Kughel handed her the box with an amused grin, “No worse than mine. Barracks with the rest of the company isn’t exactly romantic.”

 

“Not really,” Vashutarl conceded with a smile. She held the box only slightly more casually than Kughel had, “How about sharing a taxi home?”

 

“I can do that,” Kughel said. They meandered to the cabstand and he engaged a droid taxi. When they pulled up outside the hostel Vashutarl tried to hand the treat box back but Kughel refused, “Go ahead and keep those. I’d never hear the end of it if I came back with a frou-frou box filled with doll-sized sandwiches.”

 

Vashutarl tucked the box under her arm and slipped the yellow lily into a loop of the ribbon, “May I keep your holofrequency?” she asked.

 

Kughel watched her get out of the cab, “Only if you promise to message me at least once,” he said, leaning toward the open door, “and I get to keep yours.”

 

Vashutral looked back, “Of course,” she said, “but you have to answer.”

 

“Deal.” Kughel grinned as she turned and crossed to the hostel’s door and disappeared within. He directed the droid to take him to the base and the taxi lifted off into traffic. He fished the datacard out of his pocket and slipped it into the taxi’s rental dataport. A plain page opened on the reader’s screen. No flashy animation, no glowing graphics, nothing but a soft tan background with dark grey text. Five Steps. Kughel checked the publication date, but the chronology didn’t seem to match galactic standard. Kind of like Vashutarl’s not-quite-standard-accented Basic. And the author: Valjann Umrahiel. A relative?

 

Kughel flipped to the first page and began to read. By the time the cab stopped at Base Fifteen housing, he was through the first chapter. He’d wait until tomorrow to message her. Sooner might come across as desperate. In the meantime, he wanted to read the rest of the book.

 

 

Notes:

Ah, Kughel, you were a throwaway character I made in beta. Then I remade you as a trooper to play occasionally with friends, because I found your name amusing. When did you get a first name? You weren’t supposed to have a backstory, let alone any fic. But you liked this prompt and insisted on telling your story.

 

Edited by Striges
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Hi everyone! I had writers' block, went on vacation, and then I got sick. Not great for the creative process but I finally managed to finish a story. So I tell myself no more Ennaly stuff for a while, then my mind says ok but you have three half finished Ennaly stories, finish them then you can get back to your psychopaths. Sometimes the creative process sucks :p 1430 words, kinda long sorry.

Prompt: NotLP Health

Characters: Ennaly(mirialan gunslinger), and introducing Anda'lynyth(zabrak sorcerer)

Title: What Could Possibly Go Wrong

 

 

“Hey guys! I found some not illegal work!” Ennaly was glad that she had found some work that probably wouldn’t result in someone declaring unending revenge on her, the crew, and her family for generations to come. “I’m going alone this time since it’s just going to be signing things. I wouldn’t want to bore you.”

 

“Captain, at least let me come. There might be trouble,” Corso was worried that she was leaving the ship alone.

 

“I’m just signing papers Corso, what could possibly go wrong?” Ennaly gave a cheerful smile to her crew and walked out the door.

 

She arrived at the hospital where they were sending out a new disease to a specialist place to create a vaccine. The people who hired Ennaly didn’t tell her much more than that. She was led to a back room and was told to wait while the shipment was checked. This is so boring. Why couldn’t I have brought Corso, Akaavi, or Guss? Just someone to talk to while they make sure everything is fine with their precious disease.

“Captain, would you like to check the shipment that is going on your ship?” The head doctor asked. She was a petite red zabrak with short dark hair who introduced herself as Anda’lynyth.

 

“Ok doctor, I do like making sure any deadly diseases going onto my ship don’t leak out,” Ennaly said lightly trying to get the serious doctor to smile. It didn’t work. There’s something about her I don’t like. I’m going to have to keep an eye on her while I’m here.

“Yes captain we would not like our shipment disrupted,” something flashed in Anda’lynyth’s eyes, but disappeared before Ennaly could tell what it was.

 

Ennaly walked into the room that contained the cargo. The containers were all marked with fragile stickers. When she made it to the last three boxes the door slammed shut behind her with enough force to knock one of the topmost boxes down. It shattered when it hit the floor, filling the room with toxic red smoke.

 

Ennaly started coughing as the gas entered her lungs; it felt like she was trying to cough up shards of glass. She made it to the viewing window, and listened to the doctors as they were discussing when it would be safe to open the door.

 

“There aren’t any force sensitives here so the doors can be opened as soon as the gas recedes,” The doctor was trying to reassure everyone in the room that it would be ok.

 

“The disease only targets force sensitives right?” Anda’lynyth asked. She wanted to make sure her plan would continue uninterrupted.

 

“Ah hem,” Ennaly was banging on the glass of the viewing window. “Did you say the disease targets force sensitives?”

 

“Yes captain that is what I said. You should be fine. We’ll let you out as soon as the smoke clears,” the doctor smiled as if he had just delivered good news.

 

“Call the ship please; I want them to hear my last words. The first of which are these; how stupid are you people exactly? This is a disease that targets ONLY force users and you manage to hire one of the only FORCE SENSITIVE smugglers in the ENTIRE GALAXY to move your PRECIOUS disease!” Ennaly was still coughing and it was getting more painful to breath. “On a more depressing, but less angry note what exactly can I look forward to experiencing in my last moments?”

 

“Well Captain,” Anda’lynyth was smiling now, cruelly. “After the excruciating pain I’m sure you must be feeling is gone, which could be anywhere from five more minutes to three more hours, you will begin to hallucinate, after which you will go into a delirious state, which could last up to two days. Lastly you will slip into a coma and die.” Anda’lynyth was no longer hiding her Imperial accent. “Your existence was a distraction to Etonya and I need her focused. When she’s focused, Zash’s attention is focused on her and not me. I have plans that require me to be able to move without a Darth hovering. Your death is nothing personal, it’s just business.” Anda’lynyth was walking to the exit. The people were waking up from the lighting that the sorcerer released. Anda’lynyth ignited her lightsabre, and with a combination of lightning and martial prowess, slaughtered the occupants of the room. “Enjoy your death!” Anda’lynyth got on a speeder that was apparently being manned by a large monster and sped off.

 

Ennaly was barely breathing through the pain when it vanished and the small room was filled with neon green womp rats and flashing purple wompas. The staff managed to get a call out to her crew before the sith’s onslaught, and when they arrived they found a room full of dead bodies and Ennaly locked in a smaller room apparently talking to herself.

 

“So you see chieftain,” Ennaly turned to the largest wompa. “The womp rat delegation will respect the boundaries if your people stop stealing their food.” Ennaly was trying to negotiate peace between the warring groups. All logical thoughts were rapidly fleeing and the disease was not even a memory in her fevered mind. “Now then king womp rat will you accept those terms as agreed.”

 

Corso, Akaavi, and Bowdaar were trying to break open the door. Corso threw his hands up in disgust, grabbed his rifle and blasted through the door. He ran in and picked up Ennaly.

 

“Good bye, I hope you find peace with each other. The handsome prince is here to rescue me from my evil step sisters,” Ennaly smiled and waved at the two tribes as they danced around the blue and brown flames.

 

“Don’t worry Captain; I’ll get you to a hospital quickly. You’ll be fine, you’ll be fine,” Corso kept repeating those words, more to himself than to her as the crew ran to the speeders that were parked outside. They admitted Ennaly into the hospital. Akaavi memorized the name of the disease that was in the crates and got a sample. The doctors were synthing up an antidote.

 

One of the doctors walked up to them. “We are working on an antidote as I speak and as long as no one who is force sensitive goes in there, she can have visitors.”

 

Corso almost left skid marks on the kind doctor as he ran to Ennaly’s room. She had made it through hallucinations and was now delirious.

 

“Hey, hey, I know you, don’t I?” Ennaly was smiling in Corso’s direction, kind of. The swirly things that floated were making it hard to concentrate on anything. “You’re Corso Riggs, right? You’re my farm boy. I looooooove you,” Ennaly was slipping into unconsciousness. There was something she needed to tell them. I need to tell them about… about… about something. The sith! I need to tell them, but I’m so tired. I’ll tell them when I wake up.

“Sir? Sir?” The doctor from before was trying to get Corso’s attention. “This is the last phase. The antidote is almost ready, but if she keeps moving this quickly through the disease, it will be very close.”

 

Ennaly was opening her eyes. As she looked around, she noticed two things. One: this was not her quarters on her ship. Two: Corso was sleeping in the chair next to her bed. After she noticed that she began to remember what happened, the disease, the sith, all of it. Corso woke up when Ennaly started trying to remove her hand from his grasp.

 

“How long have I been here? How long was I unconscious?”

 

“It’s been two days, eight hours, and twenty-three minutes Captain,” Corso gave her a sunny smile.

 

“Why are you smiling? Someone decided to put a full drum set in my head,” Corso started laughing. “It’s not funny! Why are you laughing?”

 

“You’re ok; you’re not going to die today. That’s why I’m laughing En.”

 

“Did you just call me En?” Ennaly started smiling.

 

“No,” Corso drew out the word. “I said Captain; I definitely said Captain.”

 

“Right, and it was my stunning lack of attention that led me to miss the first four letters?”

 

“Uh, um, that’s not what I meant Captain; I think you’re extraordinarily observant.”

 

Ennaly smiled at Corso. “I know, I’m just teasing you. Do you think you could get me some chocolate and butterscotch pudding, if you’re going to the cafeteria? I’m kinda munchy,” Ennaly smiled nervously.

 

“Chocolate and butterscotch pudding… got it,” Corso walked to the door.

 

“Thanks Corso!” Ennaly waved at him as he left.

 

Edited by Isoviel
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“Ok doctor, I do like making sure any deadly diseases going onto my ship don’t leak out,” Ennaly said lightly trying to get the serious doctor to smile. It didn’t work. There’s something about her I don’t like. I’m going to have to keep an eye on her while I’m here.

The switching between third and first person perspective throughout the piece (illustrated in the quote) was a little bit jarring to me. That said, the part with Ennally making peace with the warring womp rats and wampas was pretty funny. And Corso is just adorable.

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Ok, thanks Striges for saying something I would have been totally oblivious otherwise.:rolleyes: Her thoughts were supposed to be in italics but the forums don't like the italics in Word apparently. It should be easier to read now.

 

It is far less than elegant, but when drafting in Word I usually type out the full tags - e.g.

 

[.i]Seriously?[./i] he thought. [.i]Penguins?[./i]

 

(except take out the periods because I'm only using those to prevent the forums from italicizing it.) So in Word I type out the tags *and* italicize the word, so when I copy to the forums the tags to their job, and when I want to format for printing or whatever I just search-and-replace all the open-italics and close-italics tags with nothing.

 

In any case, Corso and Ennaly are freaking adorable. :)

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It is far less than elegant, but when drafting in Word I usually type out the full tags - e.g.

 

[.i]Seriously?[./i] he thought. [.i]Penguins?[./i]

 

(except take out the periods because I'm only using those to prevent the forums from italicizing it.) So in Word I type out the tags *and* italicize the word, so when I copy to the forums the tags to their job, and when I want to format for printing or whatever I just search-and-replace all the open-italics and close-italics tags with nothing.

 

In any case, Corso and Ennaly are freaking adorable. :)

 

I do something similar, after having to search my copied document in the forum editor and manually italicize every single non-basic word (thank you, drunken Rixik) and the forums went down for maintenance before I finished. I italicize/bold in the text like normal, then make a duplicate copy and go through it and put in the [bracketed] commands around the non-standard text. That's also when I add any intros and spoiler tags. I end up with one clean copy and one to copy for posting. It also means I can keep story-only things together by character and/or AU version or thread, and posts organized separately. Because I'm OCD that way, and I'm not really limited on data storage.

 

Also, "preview post" is your friend. I catch a lot of mistakes with it (hello, profanity filter).

 

Also, so glad you liked Kughel. Here's to hilarious blind dates that actually work out okay. And he's not supposed to be my canon trooper, because I know I won't be playing him much. He's in "Rancor Squad", a republic Infantry unit and quit it! You are not supposed to be a character, I didn't even take a screenshot of you for my summary! Stop writing stories! Argh! :p

Edited by Striges
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A little bit of crack for Brei'yu and Adris. This takes place a little after Uninvited Guest and not too long before the Sisterhood epic saga. First is What's in a Name? 900 words.

 

And yes, I stole some C2 lines for 2V-R8.

 

 

Adris and Vector came into the Phantom flithy, bloody, but in good spirits. Brei'yu came out of the cargo hold upon hearing Adris singing some Hutta cantina song at the top of his lungs. He wasn't half bad, but he would sound better when drunk.

 

Brei came around the corner and leaned on the wall as Twovee threw up his hands in the approximation of what droids display as horror.

 

“Master! Master, are you injured? Oh, every day I thank the Maker I'm not not equipped for combat. Just look at you!”

 

Adris brushed Twovee off with a dismissive wave. “None of it's ours, Twovee. Go find something else to do.”

 

“I suppose I could paint your quarters a fresher shade of white...” Twovee pondered as he walked away.

 

“Do the Gamoreans properly fear the might of the Empire now?” Brei'yu asked, schooling her features into the paragon of seriousness.

 

“Indeed. Word will spread of my daring exploits, and Darth Sylin will transfer a frigate load of credits into my account. Maybe I'll buy you something nice.”

 

Brei'yu rolled her eyes. “You give the worst gifts.” As Adris' mouth fell open in disbelief she raised a finger and pushed on. “I can say it now. Your gifts suck. Do you remember what you got me for my birthday our first year? Do you?”

 

Adris opened his mouth to answer then shut it again.

 

“Smart,” Brei'yu said and raised an eyebrow. “A stocking cleaner. That's what you got me. A hand held device to clean delicates. Because... I don't know why. I had droids.”

 

“Next subject!” Adris called. “What's that in your hand?”

 

Brei'yu glanced at the datapad in her hand and then hid it behind her back.

 

Vector stepped away, sensing either danger or hilarity was about to ensue. “If you will excuse us, we need a shower and fresh clothing.”

 

“Wait five minutes,” Brei'yu teased with a warm smile. “I'll join you.”

 

Vector froze in confusion, his normally placid features pinked slightly. “We... ah. We can...” He looked to Adris, at a loss.

 

“Sorry man. I can't tell if she's kidding or not either.”

 

Vector looked back to Brei'yu. “We will take a shower. Please feel free to join us after.”

 

Brei'yu smiled and nodded, clamping down on a giggle. Vector departed and Adris turned to her. “That was mean,” he said with a shake of his head.

 

“Maybe a little. Jealous?”

 

“Like you wouldn't believe. Now really, what's in your hand?”

 

Brei'yu looked at the datapad again. “I was playing around... because.” She cleared her throat when he looked hard at her. “We're not going to talk about why or what I was looking for.”

 

“Yeah, that won't happen.”

 

Brei'yu shook her head. “Really, not important.”

 

Adris matched her head shake. “That doesn't fly on my ship. What were you poking around for?”

 

She passed the datapad from hand to hand. “Family,” she mumbled.

 

“Fami- Yours?” Adris' brows winged up.

 

“My sister, specifically. Ipha. She's in the military. I was looking to see if Intelligence had anything on her. Anything... I was just wondering if she was safe. From... you know.”

 

“Ah.” Adris rubbed the back of his neck. “And?”

 

“There's eyes on her. Looks like they have for some time. I found reports from Corellia and she's stationed with the Republic's flagship squad called Havoc.”

 

“Havoc,” Adris said. “Yeah, there are black dossiers on known members. Not many of the current members, I thought just their leader was known.”

 

Brei grinned. “Well, when you nearly break out of an Imperial prison single-handedly, I guess the Empire wants to keep close tabs.”

 

“You going to do anything about that dossier she has?” Adris crossed his arms and gave her a neutral expression.

 

“If I do, it won't be from your ship.”

 

“Good woman. Now...” he gestured at her hand.

 

“Oh, right. So, I'm poking around and you get a message from your mother.”

 

Adris blinked. “You read my mail?” His voice was almost dangerous.

 

“Stars, no. I value my life. But, I did notice that it was addressed to an A'dris Westan.” Brei'yu held the datapad out then yanked it out of reach when he went to take it. “I've known you how long? Why did I never know how you really spell your name?”

 

“Because it's clunky and unattractive looking,” Adris said, nearly pouting.

 

“Unattractive? You're a handsome man and you're worried about the attractiveness of your name?”

 

Adris shrugged. “I find it unnecessary. My mother thought apostrophes look dignified. My brother has one in his name too. I find it cumbersome, so I dropped it.”

 

“You can do that?” Brei'yu looked thoughtful.

 

“You were an Imperial agent. You can do and be whoever you want.”

 

Brei'yu considered for a moment. “Hm, it may make things easier on the Empire.” She shook her head and handed over the datapad. “Nah, I don't want to make anything easy on the Empire.”

 

With a wave she headed towards Vector's bunk. Adris smiled, and murmured “That's my girl,” as she strutted off.

 

 

 

 

And, there is this little bit for Brei and Vector. Warning: Sappy and a little stupid. Ends abruptly because I could have gone on forever and swung into not-safe-for-forums territory. Culture Shock 700 words

 

 

Brei'yu knocked gently on Vector's open door and unabashedly admired his bare back before he slipped clean robes on. She'd caught him nearly, but not quite, ready. His hair was wet and messy and his robes still unfastened. He looked at her over his shoulder and she met his eyes and blushed.

 

“You are welcome, be we thought we would have more time,” Vector said and it took Brei'yu a moment to realize he was teasing her.

 

“Sorry. I wasn't getting into any kind of trouble today so no lecture was needed.”

 

“We are glad to hear that.” Vector picked up a brush and slicked his wet hair back, wondering for the first time what he looked like through Brei'yu's eyes.

 

She watched him with interest and he found no embarrassment going through his grooming routine in front of her. She sat casually on the side of his bunk as he used product in his hair and carefully removed a five o'clock shadow.

 

“Your aura tastes of citrus. You are content?” he asked when he was finished shaving.

 

“Is that normal? Happiness tastes like oranges?” Brei'yu smiled broadly and crossed her legs at the ankles.

 

Vector tilted his head and regarded her with warmth. “Your happiness does. We enjoy it. We remember the orchards on Alderaan, and the mountains.”

 

Brei'yu nodded. “I do too. But what do mountains have to do with oranges?”

 

“Your arousal tastes like the frozen mountain air,” Vector answered simply.

 

“Oh. Wow.” Brei'yu blushed again. She shifted and put her legs down, pressing her feet to floor as though to rise.

 

Vector moved in front of her. “We apologize. That was not an appropriate thing to say. We didn't think.”

 

Brei cleared her throat. She was amused and embarrassed, and even more amused and embarrassed to know that Vector could probably taste or smell or whatever how she was feeling. She'd never known a man who could tap into her that deep and didn't have to be looking at her. “Just something I'll have to get used to I guess.”

 

Vector hesitated then sat beside her. “When we were in the diplomatic corps, we knew how to read people. But since our Joining with the Killiks, that has gotten harder. So, we must be direct.” He paused, sorting out the words. “We are... more than... Are we more... Is our relationship unprofessional?”

 

Brei'yu thought back to the brief kiss they shared. “Do you want it to be?” she asked. “Because yeah, we're getting to the more than part.”

 

“In the Nest, every Joiner and every Killik knows how all the others feel at all times. Our thoughts are one. Our intentions are clear and known as soon as they are thought. There is no doubt, nothing to conceal. You are a novelty. We cannot read you as clearly. And we like your mystery.”

 

“So you know how I'm feeling by taste, but I still offer a mystery?” Brei asked, puzzling it out and trying to understand.

 

“We know your feelings, because we know you. You have shared the Nest, and we carry a part of you with us.”

 

Brei considered his words. “I think I like that. I have an idea of how things are done in the Nest, but out here, with me, it's going to take some time.”

 

“We understand. And we will enjoy every note of your Song.”

 

Brei'yu laid a hand over his and laughed companionably. “You really know how to sweet talk a girl.”

 

“It is not talking that interests us right now.”

 

She smiled and kissed him gently and briefly. “I think talking is exactly what we should be doing.”

 

“One more,” Vector said quietly. “Then you may ask us anything you like.”

 

Her stomach jumped at his words. “Are you negotiating now?” But she leaned into him before he could answer.

 

 

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Also, so glad you liked Kughel. Here's to hilarious blind dates that actually work out okay. And he's not supposed to be my canon trooper, because I know I won't be playing him much. He's in "Rancor Squad", a republic Infantry unit and quit it! You are not supposed to be a character, I didn't even take a screenshot of you for my summary! Stop writing stories! Argh! :p

 

Nonsense. He's adorable and I want to see more of him, especially if it involves Vashutarl and Kira.

 

D'aww, Morgani, Brei'yu and Vector are wonderful together. It's nice to see them again.

Edited by Tatile
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@Striges I love Vashutarl and Kughel. I'm shipping them already! It must be a Valentines thing, I'm going with that and not just that I'm a hopeless sap. Also, I can't stand eating something that does not taste like what I expected, especially sweets.

 

@Morgani More Vector and Brei love. I can't get enough of them. <3

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I finally got around to starting this. I'll warn you that I am sick and that this is silly and nonsensical. The best kind.

 

 

Prompt: NotLP: Companion Sayings (or something like that...)

Uni: Ald the Silly Sith Warrior

Characters: Ald and Quinn

 

 

Ald’s Responses to Quinn’s Quotes alternatively S**t My Companion Says

 

 

 

"The fight is upon us!"

 

“I noticed, Captain Obvious!”

 

***

 

“Fire at will!”

 

“I have lightsabers!”

 

***

 

“I thought dying would hurt more!”

 

Ald, naturally, Force Charges to whatever to beating the hell out of Quinn and murders them.

 

***

 

“Didn’t lose you.”

 

Ald, naturally, melts into a puddle of gooey Sith.

 

***

 

“I am ready.”

 

“Take your pants off.”

 

***

 

“I will finish shortly.”

 

“Things not to say in bed?”

 

“Hilarious.”

 

***

 

“Your success is my reward.”

 

“Things to say in bed?”

 

Quinn, naturally, face palms.

 

***

 

“You will not win this day.”

 

“Does anyone win a day?”

 

Quinn sighs.

 

***

 

“Engaging the enemy!”

 

“You’re going to marry them!? They’re the enemy!”

 

Quinn pulls the trigger on his gun a little harder than necessary.

 

***

 

“For the Empire!”

 

“For my life! And also the Empire!”

 

Quinn wishes he could face palm.

 

***

 

“I expected that to be a difficult fight.”

 

“They were woefully unprepared and I am the epitome of an awesome Sith.”

 

“…Ald…”

 

“Quinn.”

 

Quinn wanders off toward their objective, his shoulders slightly slumped.

 

***

 

“I want a pony.”

 

“Whatever you wish, my Lord.”

 

“We can’t have a pony on the ship.”

 

“Then stop clicking me, the responses are random.”

 

“What?”

 

“Nothing.”

 

 

Edited by irishfino
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Eee. Brei'yu and Adris and Vector, Oh my <3. Very sweet. I liked Vector's not-exactly-innocent interpretation of auras.

 

Also "frigate load of credits". *snicker*

 

Shipping? Go for it, I think I already did :). I'll have to see what happens when I get Doc. From what I've read, I doubt Vashutarl will go for him and he seems to be the official LI. Someone correct me if I'm wrong.

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