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elliotcat

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Do the Math: Relationships (in stats, two variables may have a relationship, but sometimes new circumstances change the correlation)

 

Weak Spot

bh - Skari and Crae (and crew)

no spoilers

 

Warrens. The doe's linkages to the elderly Imperial satellites had shown the compound Akko Nadras had built in the mountains of Quisoto. His own little kingdom, swarming with his personal army - a collection of diseased predators held together by credits. The satellites had also shown a minor entrance, little more than a den hole, about five hundred feet east of the central security hub, highlighted on the power grids like the center of a spider's web. The satellites and power grid, however, showed nothing of the warren of tunnels Nadras had built underground. I touched the wall of the tunnel: damp plascrete, cool to the touch, the smell like stone with metallic undertones. Dark, lit only by the floating light droids we'd brought. It was taking extra time for our trio to reach our quarry. On the other side of the compound, the others were causing a diversion, but if we took too long they could be overrun. Too bad.

 

Nadras was proving to be formidable prey. Impressive really, given his start as a minor senator representing a tiny mining colony. Clearly, he excelled at camoflague and deception: a valuable ability for a politician, but even more important for a politician with deep reaches into the underworld. Malek had been all too skilled at finding lies. Clearly, he'd seen too far through Nadras's mask, and it had cost him his life. I'd failed him. His safety had been my responsibilty. I'd killed bullies that gave him trouble, stolen food to feed him, kept him safe, even from himself. But in the end, even after sabotaging his application to the SIS and dragging him to a quiet accounting job on Kasnee 8, I'd failed. Should have seen the danger, should have kept him safe. I could nearly taste Nadras's blood sprayed into the air, metallic and sharp. Soon, I thought, a smile spreading across my face.

 

I refocused on my cat ahead of me, loaded down with heavy armor and explosives. She moved smoothly through the dark tunnels, her attention focused, movements sure, a hunter in her natural element. Beautiful. The armor did little to disguise her figure, her curves, made for touch. My smile widened at the thought.

 

 

Light bloomed out of the darkness ahead. The tunnels were at an end - the room ahead was large, storage by the looks of it. We'd have to take out their security cameras or we'd have them on us like fleas on a dog.

 

The shuffle of footsteps and low mutter of voices hit my ears a heartbeat before Skari froze. She charged into the room, her pistols blasting at the mass of guards who were lying in wait, eyebrows drawn down, a slight sneer on her face. Damn woman was too exposed. I swore at her under my breath, rolling behind one of the crates that were piled in the corner with my sniper rifle blasting. Mako stayed in the tunnel entrance, shooting around the corner. Some of Nadras's men fled, some hid, but a pack of them ran right for my cat who didn't seem to know the meaning of cover. I gritted my teeth and shot another one in the face.

 

When Skari dropped to the ground, everything froze. One moment she was standing dead center in front of the oncoming rush, as indomitable as a rancor, and the next she was down. And then it all went too fast.

 

My heartbeat slammed into my ears, chest pounded, lungs sucked in air. Blood. On her armor. Spreading fast. Had to move faster. Muscles remembered what to do. Quick, messy. Get them down. Stand up. Get shot at. Cause that's what happens to idiots who stand in the middle of a gun battle. Rage blasted my system, hot and unfamiliar. I snarled. I was going to kill that woman. Make her promise not to do something so stupid again. Headshots. Two more down. Room clear except those two rats wedged behind the storage container. Skari's kitten was blasting her with green mist. She still hadn't moved. Focus. Sprint. Jump. Pounce. Snap. Kick. Vault the container. Land next to my cat.

 

She was still. The blaster bolt had hit a weak seam on her armor; a lucky shot. I brushed back that black lock that always fell forward on her forehead with a shaky hand, smearing a little blood on her blue skin.

 

Mako made a sound of near-panicked frustration. "I am almost out of kolto and the bleeding..." Her breath hitched.

 

"Don't you dare," I snapped at her. She gulped, but nodded. "We need more kolto and something to pack the wound," she said. I moved quickly around the room. Vibroknife silenced the moaning of the wounded. Packs had minimal supplies. I gathered what was there and brought it to this girl who was going to bring my cat back to life.

 

"I c-can't get her armor off," she gasped, pulling at the chest guard. My knife made quick work of another set of Skari's armor. "Quit staring at me and fix her," I growled. I stood. Paced. Crouched. She finally sat back on her heels, looking down at her red hands. My stomach bottomed out. "She's dead, you're dead," I breathed, unable to hear anything over the buzz in my head, reaching for my knife, blasting awareness back into the doe's wide eyes.

 

"Crae," Skari's faint voice halted my lunge, "stop threatening my crew." Her eyes were open only a slit, the tiniest bit of red visible beneath the lids. Air flooded my lungs.

 

"You stupid woman!" I roared at her, wanting to shake her so bad, "Are you trying to get killed?!?"

 

"That a bad thing?" Laughter threaded through her barely-there voice. I sat back on my heels, put one shaking hand over my eyes. What was wrong with me? I opened my eyes and looked around the room and then up at the blinking security camera.

 

"Sh*t." I'd forgotten it. Reinforcements would be on the way. "Can we move her?"

 

"Uh, I think so," Mako said uncertainly, strapping the remaining kolto packs to Skari's torso with gauze, "she won't be able to walk though."

 

"Can you use this?" I tossed her my sniper rifle. She caught it, her bloodied hands didn't slip, and she checked the magazine as though she knew what she was doing. Little girl surprised me every now and then. She nodded, and I could hear her contacting the others, telling them to fall back. I went down on one knee next to my cat. "Hold on," I murmured, slipping my hands under her. Careful. Controlled movements. I set my jaw and lifted. She gasped as her torso flexed. I stood, cradling her. "You ok?"

 

"Uh huh," she said, breathing heavy.

 

I tried to ignore the vise that had clenched down around my chest. "Liar."

 

"Shut up, Crae." She wrapped her arms over her wound, air going in and out of her nose in blasts. I hated that she was in pain. Hated it. Wanted to yell at her all over again. Wanted to hold her close. Listen to her heart beat. Shake her silly. I followed Skari's cub out of the warren and considered the real possibility that I may have lost my mind.

 

Author's Note:

:o

 

Tatile - I'm worried about the next part of that conversation (oh those two have me worried in general, who am I kidding). :(

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Prompt - Do the Math: Time.

 

Class and characters: Sith Warrior and Quinn.

 

Sexual references. Nothing grotesque.

No spoilers but references to the Quinn incident. From Quinn's perspective.

 

Words: 1500ish.

 

Title: 5 o'clock Shadow

 

 

 

 

I continue to work.

 

I ignore her leaning against the doorway to the bridge, her small black nightgown crackling when she breathes. Normally, I would move to attention and give a report. But the habit and practice became void after a month of her watching me work at strange hours. And in strange attires.

 

She would just lean and watch, sometimes sit on the chair next to mine and gaze at the galaxy, a fierce glint in her eye. Other times she would try to be unseen, standing in the shadows, moving silently. But no matter how quiet she was, I am always aware of her watching. It is hard to not be aware of a Sith Lord watching you.

 

But it's not only that. I am aware of everyone on the ship. Just more so of her. I'm aware of everywhere she goes, everyone she talks to, everything she does, her every breath. Only time I am not aware of specifics is the hours she spends with each companion behind closed doors every week. This has gone beyond Darth Baras' orders. It's now a sick, disturbing obsession I can't control despite how desperately I want to.

 

'To attention, Captain.'

 

I smoothly move to attention, and she watches with a sadistic glint in her eye. She's planning something. She's always planning something.

 

'My Lord. Do you want a status report?' I ask blandly.

 

She waves my suggestion away as someone waves away a fly. 'Negative, Captain. I wish to discuss a breach of military protocol with you.'

 

I try to focus on her eyes, or her fore head, but my eyes keep wandering down. I know that she does this to me deliberately. But my pride and self control are less then my desire for her. I never thought these days would come.

'Is it about Lieutenant Pierce, my Lord?'

 

Her exquisite lips twist into beautiful smirk. 'Negative again, Captain.'

 

I notice the repetitive use of my rank and I become aware that this is once again the game a cat plays with a dying mouse; a constant baiting and prodding to see if the mouse is alive enough to defend itself and escape from its claws. And I'm the mouse.

 

I wait in attention for her to continue. I have played this game enough. And this time, I want to win. For the future, I have to believe that a mouse can escape and kill a cat. Her smirk only gets larger as she sees my move. But I have the horrible feeling that this is not even the beginning of tonight's game.

 

'It is about you, Captain Malavai Quinn.' She savours the name in her mouth like it's the last of a precious lolly that is already melting. 'I was just inspecting your quarters with Lieutenant Pierce.' She pauses again to watch my reaction. I don't even clench my fists or tighten my jaw. And I don't let the anger and outrage of this show in my eyes either. I retain a stoic indifference, despite the breach in regulations of lower officer inspecting the quarters of a superior. And I don't want to know what their idea of inspecting quarters involves.

 

A flash of annoyance passes her face. But she continues to lean casually against the door frame. 'Congratulations, Captain.' Her voice is more than a little mocking. 'Not only was your side of the quarters you share with the Lieutenant in perfect working order and spotlessly to regulation, but so was the Lieutenants. He was eager to inform that not only were you responsible for this, but you did it against his wishes and while under threat.'

 

I nod sharply. 'The Lieutenant does make some frequent complaints, my Lord. But the issue is under hand.' Only because I'm quicker on the draw.

 

She smiles happily. 'Good to hear, Captain. I am actually most impressed and not condemning your actions. Quite the contrary. However, this now almost brings us to something I have been very aware of for months which I came to speak to you of. At ease, Captain Quinn.'

 

I mildly loosen my position, but I can feel the trap closing around me as she continues to smile. 'What matter, my Lord?'

 

'Isn't it part of military protocol in part 1 B, section 34 M, paragraph 4 that all military personal are to be clean shaven at all times with no exception?'

 

I nod.

 

'Why then,' she straightens in the doorway, 'do you continually, in fact almost daily, break this protocol? When your quarters, uniform, shoes, hair, behaviour and entire being is by the book, why do you have a constant five o 'clock shadow?'

 

I tighten my lips to stop a smile and my comments on the fact it is 02:00 and her Lieutenant is a constant and blatant breach of such a protocol.

 

'My Lord, present time taken into account as an excuse for this moment, there is also the matter of time, the lack of it, and the lack of appropriate equipment to fulfil this on a regular basis.'

 

When I finish, she has also finished her slow, elegant walk across the room. I look to the wall opposite, past her ear as she presses herself against me. I retain my at ease stance, keep breathing and heart rate in check and stoic expression in place. But I still betray myself. And she can feel it.

 

'I wasn't aware you were lacking in any equipment at all, Captain. In fact, I was lead to believe by the Lieutenant that all was more then accounted for.' She arches her back so her face is far away enough from mine to try and catch my gaze. Her meaning is thinly veiled. And despite everything, I want to know why she was talking about that to the Lieutenant.

 

'Then he is incorrect, my Lord.' I ignore her amused grin and arched eye brow. 'Several months ago when we left Balmorra, I indecently left my razor behind in a small oversight. The transfer was sudden and swift, if you recall. Due to this, I have been borrowing that of the Lieutenant's to fulfil protocol 1B/34M/4. As of yet, I have not found the time to buy a replacement.'

 

I ignore her lips and teeth on my ear. To flinch or mention would mean death or worse. I would lose the game. Again. And she would stop. And that is something I desperately don't want her to do. I must admit, she is a brilliant strategist and tactician. Never have I met someone who could win against me. But then I never fought against someone who used these tactics.

 

'Carry on, Captain.' Her voice is loud and commanding in my ear. But I like it more than a whisper. 'I am aware that there is a list of items to be purchased on request of the crew that is given to the droid at the end of every week. In fact, you are in charge of that list and it's execution. It would take approximately 6 seconds for you to type 'razor'.'

 

'Yes, my Lord. I am aware of this and have no excuse other than a tight schedule and more important concerns.' It's slowly getting harder to not take her here and now as her heat seeps through my clothes as she presses harder against me. 'I have also not had the time to do such a task regularly. I have considered the time taken on this and the importance of the regulation and decided time was more important. By not shaving twice a day I have saved 38 minutes every day. Shaving four times every seven days saves 190 minutes.'

 

'And what do you do with this extra 190 minutes, Captain?'

 

'Nothing structured as of yet, my Lord. Those 190 minutes are actually quite dull and empty so far. I have been waiting months for something in particular to do.' I couldn't believe my words. I had willingly and thoughtlessly spoken. Something in particular to do.

Before I finish the last word, she a step away and grinning in victory. 'If that is the case, Captain, I expect protocol 1B/34M/4 to be carried out in the mean time until you can write a formal suggestion and reason of a more worthwhile activity to be done in those 190 minutes. I have already taken the liberty of writing the necessary supplies on the datapad in your pocket. If protocol 1B/34M/4 is not carried out by the end of the week, I will file an official report.'

 

She turns sharply on her heel and walks out of the bridge. 'And get some sleep, Quinn,' she calls from the corridor.

 

I slowly sit down and groan. I was played. I thump my fist on the consol in front of me and curse. I pull out the datapad with the list from my back pocket and sneer at myself as I read the latest entry. I should have noticed what she was doing with her hands. You should always be aware of what a Sith is doing with them.

 

I sigh and lean back in the rigid chair. I won't be able to sleep tonight. I need to factor this into my calculations for later. And I need to have a very, very cold shower.

 

 

 

 

I hope that wasn't too long and was alright. :confused:

This is my first time posting on this thread and not just reading (I love every ones pieces by the way :o) so any feedback would be appreciated. I hope it adequately followed the prompt. :)

Edited by EverSteam
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Welcome to the thread, Eversteam! I've been secretly hoping for some time that you would show up here. Because I'm creepy like that. :)

 

Prompt interpretations can be as strict or as loose as anyone likes...they're meant to start us writing, not tell us where to stop.

 

 

'Isn't it part of military protocol in part 1 B, section 34 M, paragraph 4 that all military personal are to be clean shaven at all times with no exception?'

 

 

I neglected to read your story title first, and so I was taken completely off guard by this. Laughing out loud ensued.

 

To flinch or mention would mean death or worse. I would lose the game. Again. And she would stop. And that is something I desperately don't want her to do.

 

I love this. Psychology at its best.

 

 

@iamthehoyden Very nice. Crae's reaction when Skari got hit...delicious. (Because apparently Crae's distress tastes good.)

Edited by bright_ephemera
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Hoyden, it's curious to see Crae going from obsessive hunter to obsessive something else. I would definitely like to see Skari's reaction to that.

 

Everstream, if you're torturing Quinn, you'll fit right in :)

 

 

Also, Bright, Broan's referencing what was said during this conversation, specifically: "You're Sith: you have every right to me and to do what you want" - Sith have almost total dominion in the Empire; Moffs and Generals tend to stay pretty tight-lipped unless they're talking war strategies. You take that level of free action and put it into a sexual context and you get... yeah :/

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So, I was feeling silly this morning, and decided to whip together a tiny thing for Home Ec. This is an excerpt from A'tro's personal datapad, from the year 13 ATC. Contains no class story spoilers. Does contain cuteness. At least I thought it was cute.

 

...anyway, on to the story. :rolleyes:

 

 

 

Situation: The Alecto is due for a resupply. This means logistics. This means planning.

 

THE PLAN

Take inventory of supplies. Determine what we need and how to go about obtaining it in the most logical and cost-effective manner. Obtain supplies; store supplies neatly and in accordance with pre-established organizational scheme.

 

...no, no, that's far too much work.

 

PLAN B

Tell Quinn to take inventory of supplies, determine what we need and how to go about obtaining etc, etc.

 

But do I really want to order him around? I don't want him to think I don't value his contributions...

 

PLAN C

Sweet-talk Quinn into taking inventory of supplies, etc, etc. Persuasive techniques should include high concentration of kissing for maximum effectiveness.

 

NOTE: Find + replace all mention of Quinn with "Malavai;" we're married now, dammit! Well, not dammit, more like "this is the best thing that's ever happened to me." Ever.

 

Hmm... This plan still doesn't seem quite right.

DILEMMA

Take inventory of supplies, or spend day bothering Malavai, which will inevitably lead to intimacy? On the one hand, we do need to resupply. On the other hand...

 

Resupply can wait.

 

PLAN D

Locate Malavai. Accost Malavai. Make up for subsequent loss of productivity with...activities that lead to further loss of productivity.

 

...there's no way to win, here. Oh, well.

 

We may not get an official honeymoon, but I'm sure as hell going to enjoy myself.

 

 

Note:

A glimpse into A'tro's organized mind! :D This is totally how I imagine her going about things, very organized and such. No wonder she and Quinn get along so well...

 

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Ves, that was awesome.

 

=/= Means Not Equal, a rage piece that is, um, barely qualifying as fanfic. It involves one of my least favorite SWTOR typos/misunderstandings, and is told through Star Wars characters. That's like being relevant. Not equal to being relevant, but it's at least similar.

 

Spoilers for the first six-ish minutes of the original Star Wars, A New Hope.

 

 

 

SCENE: The Tantive IV. DARTH VADER is grasping CAPTAIN ANTILLES by the neck while several IMPERIAL TROOPS look on.

DARTH VADER: If this is a counselor ship, where -

CAPTAIN ANTILLES, with some difficulty, as he's being choked: Consular.

DARTH VADER: What?

CAPTAIN ANTILLES: Consular. A consular ship.

DARTH VADER: No. Counselor.

CAPTAIN ANTILLES: This isn't a counselor ship.

DARTH VADER: You said it was yourself.

CAPTAIN ANTILLES: No, I didn't.

DARTH VADER: Yes, you did. You were on a diplomatic mission.

CAPTAIN ANTILLES: Well, yes. That's what consuls do.

DARTH VADER: Counselors can do diplomatic missions. Diplomatic is their whole schtick.

CAPTAIN ANTILLES: No. No. Wrong.

DARTH VADER: 'Consular' doesn't even sound like a word.

CAPTAIN ANTILLES: Well, it is.

DARTH VADER holds very still, presumably staring at CAPTAIN ANTILLES. CAPTAIN ANTILLES stares back in heroic defiance.

DARTH VADER, slyly: I should probably consult with an expert on that one.

CAPTAIN ANTILLES: They'll agree that this is a consular ship.

DARTH VADER: Wrong. Counselor. But if it's any consolation, I think all your rebel friends are wrong with you.

CAPTAIN ANTILLES: They're all correct with me! They have consulars, too!

DARTH VADER, smugly: ...

CAPTAIN ANTILLES, hurriedly: If I had rebel friends. Which I don't.

DARTH VADER: So good to hear. Now, as I was saying, if this is a counselor ship –

CAPTAIN ANTILLES: CONSULAR! This a consular's ship! If you want a freaking counselor on your freaking ship to do freaking diplomatic things, go watch Star Trek!

DARTH VADER: – if this is a counselor ship, where is the ambassador?

CAPTAIN ANTILLES, obstinately: I don't know. Maybe she's on Star Trek, too.

DARTH VADER snaps CAPTAIN ANTILLES' neck. Then he turns to an IMPERIAL OFFICER.

DARTH VADER: Commander, tear this ship apart until you've found those plans. And bring me the Ambassador or whatever they're calling her. I want her alive!

 

 

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A very short bit for Do the Math

 

 

Do the Math

 

Randall sat as his desk, fingers templed in front of him. He was thinking about the body count from his last assignment. He realized it wasn't a matter of adding up how many, it was a matter of multiplication. Each encounter included five, ten, twenty deaths. A blur of bodies and blood. And each one was stain on his soul,one more step towards the dark side.

 

He felt he should worry that it didn't bother him. But he didn't.

 

 

Eversteam so glad you joined us here.

 

Forgive me for not individualizing my comments - very long week, but everything has been great. and helped me keep my sanity this last week. Thank you writers.

 

I wish my brain was working but I think Fino stole my thoughts. She did say I could have my BH ones back lol. I will have to get back to updating Cielle's story

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@ Irishinfo, calculating is a work I would readily associate with Quinn, so your short was a perfect example.

Why thank you. Characterizing Quinn with his mannerisms gets a bit more fun as I keep writing about him. He would be good with numbers, but I'm terrible so... not many number dealings for him, lol.

 

@Fino: Quinn. Calculations. Models. Bizarrely, this mindset is one of the times when I sympathize most with him. (Yes the math prompt was my idea.)

Oh, I know the math prompt was your idea you evil, evil creature. You got me to write about math. Is this revenge for the whole Quinn/Wyn thing? Because it was brilliant. <3

 

@irishfino I like Ald's moods on a graph. Nobody wants sad Ald.

Sad Ald is a sad thing to behold. I foresee many sads when I get to writing about his childhood and apprenticeship with Inusitus.

 

Thanks everyone. :D

Edited by irishfino
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Double-post of doom!

 

Prompt: Home Ec

Characters: Ald, Vette, and Quinn

 

Cooking on the Fury

 

 

 

“This is perfectly adequate, my Lord,” Quinn answered stiffly.

 

“A ration bar may be adequate, but it is not flavorful, Captain,” Aldrdinar replied lightly. “Come, I have made enough for all of us to eat.”

 

Aldrdinar left the bridge without another word. Quinn didn’t bother to stare after him, he was too busy staring at the half-eaten bar in his hand. His stomach rumbled in protest. It had had quite enough of the ration bars for now, especially with that tantalizing scent of meat and roughage wafting through the air. He folded the foil over the remaining bits of ration bar and pocketed it. If Aldrdinar was offering him dinner then it would be more than appropriate to take the time out of his work schedule to eat. If he worked what Aldrdinar had said enough, it could be an order. Yes, an order to go eat dinner.

 

He entered the conference room and was greeted by the sights and smells of food and company. Vette inched her chair a tad closer to Aldridinar, but the Sith either didn’t notice or didn’t care. Not that it mattered to Quinn, but it was amusing to see the Twi’lek try to edge him out of the loop. He hadn’t been part of the crew long, but even he could see the admiration in Vette’s eyes whenever Aldrdinar was around or even mentioned in conversation. He shook his head slightly and took the seat to the left of Aldrdinar. Perhaps he had purposely sat in the middle of the table to accommodate them both or perhaps it was habit. Either way, it eliminated the fighting between Quinn and Vette if they sat near each other for far too long. Unfortunately, five seconds was often far too long. Quinn moved to serve himself, only to have Aldrdinar take over and serve him up a plate of roast and potatoes.

 

“I can serve myself, my Lord,” Quinn groused.

 

“I’m sure you can, Captain, but I prefer to serve my guests. It’s called manners,” Aldrdinar said lightly.

 

Vette snickered quietly on the other side of Aldrdinar, but Quinn paid her no mind. His stomach was too busy begging him to eat the food in front of him. He obliged its grumbling growl. He cut a bite sized chunk and put it into his mouth. It very nearly melted under the gentle pressure of his mouth closing. He made a pleased noise in the back of his throat. Lightly seasoned, tender, moist. Delicious.

 

“I take it you’re enjoying the meal,” Aldrdinar chuckled.

 

Quinn swallowed his bite and replied, “This is astounding, my Lord. You made this yourself?”

 

“Yes, I did. It’s a recipe my Master, Lord Inusitus, passed down to me. He said it was good for a warrior to know how to make a satisfying and delicious meal while out in the field furthering the Empire’s goals.”

 

“Sound advice if you have the time and materials.”

 

“That is true, which is why I always carry a small pouch of spices on me.”

 

“Interesting.”

 

Ald nodded and smiled at Quinn. The normally stiff officer was a bit more relaxed with a hot meal in his stomach. He’d have to cook more often, perhaps the officer would loosen up further. An insistent tug on his arm turned his attention to Vette, but the officer was never far from his mind. Not when he was this close. Not when he was enjoying Ald’s meat.

 

Oh, stars.

 

Edited by irishfino
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Okay okay, I'm not a Quinn fangirl (don't kill me!) but that last sentence.. /swoon

 

Swoon indeed! It's a well known fact that the way to a man's heart is through his stomach; and Ald carrying around his own spices? Now that's a Sith I'd like to meet :D

 

Trade recipes, watch cooking shows. Om nom nom.

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@Magdalane - Miriah being, and allowing herself to be, absolutely silly in-love with Corso is sweet all by itself, but even more so considering all it took for them to get to that point.

 

@kabe - The large-scale divergences in Remi's and Scourge's outfitting of their respective safehouses worked well to highlight the points where their plans did mirror each other. And the pairs of cups at the end... beautifully done.

 

@Tatile - As heartbreaking as it is, it's a talk that needed to be had, I think, and I appreciate that Broan doesn't just take for granted that everything's okay now.

 

@hoyden - That last line... for someone usually so calculating and self-aware, I can see how the sudden realisation that he's allowed someone else to matter so deeply to him must seem like losing it.

 

@Eversteam - Welcome aboard! Wow... Quinn is just whole big frustrated bundle of fight-or-flight here.

I should have noticed what she was doing with her hands. You should always be aware of what a Sith is doing with them.

Favourite line, and so very very true for Quinn.

 

@Vesaniae - A'tro's stream of consciousness here is fantastic :)

 

@Irrissa - Short but very, very poignant.

 

@irishfino - Aside from the obligatory spit-take — enjoying Ald's meat, indeed! :D — I love the way so many of your Ald pieces have had these little moments that are light and cute on their own — here, Vette crushing on Ald — that turn around and become heartbreakingly tragic in light of later plot.

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I'm going to tentatively place new-prompt day as Friday. OFFICIALLY AND HENCEFORTH FOR ALL...UM...UNTIL SOMEBODY DECIDES OTHERWISE.

 

 

Week of 11/30/12

I Love This Bar - We all do our time in the watering holes of the galaxy. What's your character's favorite memory of things seen, heard, done, purchased, insinuated, shot, kissed, imbibed, discombobulated, or otherwise rendered memorable in a cantina?

Night of the Living Prompt - Remember all those ideas or half-finished scraps you had for earlier prompts? You know how it feels way too late to post it now? Resurrect your favorite prompt - let us know which it is! - and give us a story! (Kudos to kabeone for maintaining the master prompt list!)

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Okay okay, I'm not a Quinn fangirl (don't kill me!) but that last sentence.. /swoon

I won't kill you because you swooned. Your swoon saved you. :p

 

Swoon indeed! It's a well known fact that the way to a man's heart is through his stomach; and Ald carrying around his own spices? Now that's a Sith I'd like to meet :D

 

Trade recipes, watch cooking shows. Om nom nom.

Ald carries a lot of things most Sith wouldn't bother with... the implications are numerous. :3

 

@irishfino - Aside from the obligatory spit-take — enjoying Ald's meat, indeed! :D — I love the way so many of your Ald pieces have had these little moments that are light and cute on their own — here, Vette crushing on Ald — that turn around and become heartbreakingly tragic in light of later plot.

Thank you! I love sweet and bitter moments and sweet moments that lead to bitterness and bitter moments that lead to sweetness... I like angst, lol.

 

 

Thanks for reading!

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Serial Double Poster

Prompt: Night of the Living Prompt!: Turning Point

Characters: Ald, Quinn, Vette, Pierce, Jaesa, and Broonmark

 

Subtle Shift

 

 

 

There was no defining the moment when things clicked back into place. Perhaps it was inevitable that things would come together. Perhaps there was effort involved. Perhaps it was both. The good Captain chose not to question it. They were finally in sync again after so long, no point in fussing over the tiny details.

 

“Hey, Captain Cowlick, Ald fixed dinner,” Vette announced over the com on the bridge.

 

He rolled his eyes and pressed a button to reply. “Thank you, Vette,” he said stiffly. “I will be there momentarily.”

 

The link clicked off. He finished up a few last minute calculations and sent off three missives. His duty completed for now, he headed to the conference room for dinner.

 

Ald was sitting at the head of the table. Vette sat closest to him then Pierce and Jaesa. Broonmark rounded up the other end of the table leaving Quinn three seats to choose from. Well, one seat. It seems his food was already served – how like Ald to serve his guests – and waiting for him across from Vette. He nodded politely to those gathered at the table as he took his seat. Pierce struck up a conversation about their last operation. It had been rather hairy. Three Jedi Masters and their Padawans versus the Wrath, his Apprentice, a very angry ball of murder with a sword, a wily dual-wielding Twi’lek, a bomb happy giant, and a medic with a deadly shot. Outnumbered and out-Forced, they first took care of the Padawans. Two of them went down rather easily with a few well-placed shots and concussive grenades. The last one was obviously close to becoming a full-fledged Knight. With Ald, Jaesa, and Broonmark busy fighting the three Masters, it was left to Vette, Quinn, and Pierce to take care of the last Padawan.

 

“That one went down hard, yeah?” Pierce grumbled between bites.

 

“Yeah he did,” Vette agreed. She took a long swig from her glass. “He deflected that grenade late on purpose, too.”

 

“Jedi are jerks,” Pierce chuckled.

 

“Nearly took a grenade to the face, but thanks to the good Captain here,” Vette gestured with her fork toward Quinn, “I made it out alive.”

 

“I was doing my duty,” Quinn said stiffly.

 

“Yeah, well, my booty thanks you for doing your duty,” Vette said with a grin.

 

Quinn nodded and returned his attention back to his meal. He was never one for conversation over meals. One would starve in the military if they stopped to chat. Vette tsked, but turned her attention elsewhere. He wasn’t sure when it happened or even why, but he decided not to sweat the small details. They were finally back in sync after the fallout and that meant she and Ald were on speaking terms again. And that thought pleased him more than anything else.

 

 

 

Notes:

 

 

Tried for a different prompt entirely and it ended... well... naughty. Naughty as heck. So here's this plot point instead! Enjoy!

 

Edited by irishfino
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“Jedi are jerks,” Pierce chuckled.

I am formally holding you responsible for sending tea through my nasal passages and out onto my keyboard- ew but :p not sure why this line cracked me up the way it did. It just seems so Pierce-like :)

 

General question: is it at all possible for a SFWCT newb to ever catch up and be able to comment/praise more than one author at a time? How do y'all do it ('y'all'? meh, forget crying over spilled tea- I need some serious coffee)?:confused:

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I am formally holding you responsible for sending tea through my nasal passages and out onto my keyboard- ew but :p not sure why this line cracked me up the way it did. It just seems so Pierce-like :)

 

General question: is it at all possible for a SFWCT newb to ever catch up and be able to comment/praise more than one author at a time? How do y'all do it ('y'all'? meh, forget crying over spilled tea- I need some serious coffee)?:confused:

Personally, I spend much too much time on the boards :p (The one advantage of my relatively boring job.) Also, I make notes as I go on Notepad and use spoiler tags when I get to ridiculous lengths. Don't worry though, this thread is fricking huge, we're just glad to see new stories (MOAR STORIES!)

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I Love This Bar

 

Sharks

trp - Sana, Aric

no spoilers

It was one of those cantinas out on the edge of town. The type where the lights didn't reach to the corners, the chairs and tables were dinged, dented, and occasionally held together by binding tape, and the clientel all knew each other. Aric grinned as he and Sana walked through the door and eyes turned in their direction - his kind of place.

 

"Go find us a table," he murmered to Sana, enjoying being out with her without needing to wear forty pounds of durasteel, "I'll get us some drinks." She nodded, kissed his cheek, and walked back through the cantina. He watched her go, a slight smile lifting his lips. All these years together and the sight of her in those skin-tight pants still made him grin. He spotted a couple other sets of eyes enjoying the sight as well, and his eyes narrowed. Drunks weren't the brightest, and some of them had no sense of self-preservation. One of them got up, his eyes fixed on the green-skinned beauty walking through the crowd. He hitched his belt and then slammed back into his seat, propelled by a firm hand on his upper arm.

 

"You just have a seat, son," Aric growled in his ear.

 

 

"Hey, mister, you can't..." his friend's protest was cut off by the death glare Cathars were so good at. Aric let him go, went to the bar, and ordered two drinks. Glasses in hand, he walked back to the back of the room through the watchful crowd. Most of them were decent enough. Working people who needed to blow off some steam, forget their troubles for awhile. He frowned as he spotted one guy, holding his arm like it was in pain and glaring at Sana who stood, leaning against the back wall, watching a game of pool. He walked over and handed her the beer.

 

"What's with him?" he asked, nodding towards the injured man.

 

Sana shrugged, "He seems to have had an accident." Aric raised an eyebrow. "Might have been caused by wandering hands." Aric glared over at the guy who gulped and left the table, cradling his arm.

 

"You got a table?" he asked her.

 

"We're next up against these two," she said, nodding to the game going on at the table in front of her, a pile of credits on the corner.

 

One of the regulars watching the game snorted, "Morrisant and Crowden own that table, nobody's beat them in months. Not since Morrisant missed that ten against Pl'nak."

 

The tall young twi'lek in the brown coat at the table scowled, "That didn't count. They were bombing the hell out of the spaceport, ground kept shaking."

 

Morrisant's partner, a human with some serious cybernetics for eyes, snorted and finished the last three shots in quick succession. His opponent grinned, shook his head, and took a seat. The cyborg ran through the set-up ritual: alternating the positions, turning all the numbers, rolling the balls tight in their frame. He lifted off the frame and nodded to his partner. The twi'lek lined up and took a smooth shot, sending the balls scattering over the table. And the game began.

 

Aric kept an eye on the crowd as Sana began to run the table, dropping shot after shot. They were the center of attention for tonight, strangers invading territory.

 

"Aw, come on!"

 

Aric glanced back at the table to see Sana calmly examining her next shot while the tall twi'lek glared at her. She glanced over at her husband, grinned a little. She lined up. "Seven. Right side pocket." She hit the cue ball high and to the right, sending the the target spinning off the rail, avoiding a high ball in its path, dropping smoothly into the right side pocket. She glared a little as the cue ball headed at a bit too much speed for the left side pocket. It dropped in, and Crowden plucked it back out triumphantly.

 

The crowd around them had started to gather. Four shots later, Aric was up. He examined the table, the angles, the possibilities, executing one shot, then another. Sana sat on a stool next to him, grinning as she leaned on her stick. Murmurs began to grow. Clean shots, perfectly lined up. One after another, finishing with the eight. Grumbles and laughter echoed through the room. The cyborg shook his head, glaring at them as Sana walked over and counted up the credits.

 

"You got some nerve, coming in here and clearing us out," he growled.

 

Sana raised an eyebrow, "Don't play if you can't afford it."

 

"Why you....!"

 

Aric was in his face in a second. "Watch how you speak to my wife," he growled. He met the man, gold-green eye to gleaming red optics, until the cyborg stepped back. "My mistake," he said shortly.

 

"Now," Sana said, "I've got an evening off, and I'm in the mood to play some pool. You want a chance at winning this back?"

 

Morrisant looked at her, "You serious?"

 

She grinned.

 

"Alright, you're on!" he said, grabbing his stick.

***

Later that night, Sana tucked herself into Aric's arms, snuggling into bed. "I saw that, by the way," she said.

 

"Hm?"

 

"You dropped the cue ball with the eight on the last shot."

 

"Everyone makes mistakes," he said, frowning.

 

She lifted her head and raised both her eyebrows.

 

He slid his eyes away and shrugged. "We didn't need the credits. Those boys aren't exactly raking it in on those farms out there."

 

She grinned at him and kissed him. "I love you." Aric hugged her tight and slipped off to sleep.

Author's Note:

My brother in law would be so ashamed of me. I actually had to go check and make sure I was remembering league rules correctly. My poor pool stick is gathering dust in its case :(

 

And if anyone is wondering where Aric got his pool skills - team of snipers with a portable pool table. Need I say more?

 

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iamthehoyden, I loved this. I have this bizarre visceral sinking feeling to even hear about dropping the cue along with the eight ball...but in this case it's all for a good cause :p

 

Irrissa, I really like Randall's last two sentences. To be aware of what one isn't supposed to do, and to be aware that one doesn't care abut doing it, can be merely interesting or very scary depending on exactly what one wasn't supposed to do.

 

Fino, aw. Ald being domestic.

 

thatghost, like iamthehoyden I keep Wordpad open to take notes as I'm reading so I have comments in place by the time I'm caught up.

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@Hoyden, I haven't played pool in about fifteen years; you kicked up some terrific memories. Reading, I was in that cantina. Thanks for letting us follow Aric and Sana in for an interesting night out- on a Saturday afternoon :)

 

@Bright: I write in Wordpad but Notepad, on the other hand, great idea, I'm trying it. I could spew out a Yoda quote but no :D I'm pathetic at multitasking so "do" is but a fond daydream much of the time.

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Night of the Living Prompt: Allies - When something huge is going down, or just when you need a hand, who can you call that you know is going to have your back? Whether it's someone completely unlikely or exactly what you'd expect, who can you ultimately always rely on?

 

Redirection

bh - Crae, Skari, and Mako

no spoilers

I sat next to her bed in the sparse medical bay. Ship needed a kolto tank. There was a supplier on Coruscant who was sloppy with security. All I needed was a cargo hauler and some fake paperwork and we could have one here in a few days. I leaned forward in my chair, my hands clasped together, elbows on my knees. Wouldn't be soon enough, but it would be here for next time. Next time. My chest tightened. I sat back, looked up at the riveted ceiling.

 

This wasn't lust. I knew my hungers for food, women, fighting. This was something different. Oh I wanted her. No doubt there. But she was vulnerable here, at my mercy. I should have been either finishing the job those mercs had started or walking out, making my plans for finishing off Nadras. Here I was, unable to leave. Hating the pain that etched her face, wanting to fix it, somehow, someway. Raging because I knew that she'd do it again. Some other day, some other time, she was going to do the same blasted thing. I stood up, the chair slamming in to the wall behind me. I paced back and forth, running a hand over my scalp.

 

I caught movement out of the corner of my eye and looked over. Mako was standing in the door. "What are you doing?" she asked suspiciously.

 

Skari struggled back to consciousness, ripping my attention back to her, "Mako...where's the others?"

 

"We haven't heard from them," Mako said, worry in her voice, walking over to check the bandages.

 

"Have to...find them..." Skari tried to pull herself up. I pushed her back down carefully, pulled the blanket up over her body, rested a hand on her cheek. My cat's face is beautiful. Slightly tilted eyes, high cheekbones. Refined aggression in blue. I ran a thumb down her scars.

 

"Sleep, mama, I'll save your cubs."

 

She slipped back under, and I stood, walked to the door. "Take care of her," I growled at Mako.

 

"Wait, what are you...." I ignored the doe's sounds as I stepped out of the room. My chest ached. I rubbed at it. Why couldn't I walk away? I should. But Skari waking up to find her cubs gone hurt something inside. I walked down the corridor to get my gear, shaking my head.

Author's Note:

Poor Crae, he's so confuzzled mwuahaha

 

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