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The Short Fic Weekly Challenge Thread!


elliotcat

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Ereiniel, I really like how you linked your character through their companions. The story itself was wonderful; the transition from the relaxed, semi-happy atmosphere to the tension at the middle and the bittersweet end was very well done.

 

Good move on getting Corso out of the room before anything about Sith were mentioned. I can only imagine him stealing the focus away from a great family moment.

 

I really hope the two of them make up xD

 

Plus there is so little SI related stuff. It was refreshing seeing some different characters!

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Edit: Shout Outs!

 

Hoyden - Loving reading about Skari and Crae, especially how creepy (seriously, that last bit? freaking creepy) he is.

LogicLoup - Good to see Maneera messing with Corso and, of course, some time with her parents, even if it is only short :) (Can we see more? :p)

Striges - I want more Jurial, he seems so awesome and questioning and he's exactly what I would be like if I were a Jedi (I hope) and he seems so awesome...

Ereiniel - Really interesting to see a bit of Andronikus and his history, and Andrina seems wonderfully principled (and smart). Was that Corso being jealous of her half-brother, though? The things I've heard about that man...

 

 

I suck, I suck D:

 

I'm taking a break from my other-related whargle-bargle at the moment, so I can work on my writing, which only depresses me when I want it to ._.

 

Anyway, in spirit of Night of the Living Prompt (thank you guys SO much for this), I Love This Bar, which sort of turned into Worst Day Ever and Firsts:

 

Padawan Broan, aged about 16

Padawan Jothar, aged about 15

 

 

 

"Hey, Broan, hey." Jothar grabbed his shoulder shook it roughly. The other padawan had a massive grin on his face, which only meant one thing. It was Friday night. Broan sighed and pulled his shoulder free.

 

"Not interested." Broan increased the text size of his book, trying his hardest to concentrate on the words. He was genuinely enjoying this book, unlike most others he was forced to read, but it was hard to concentrate when Jothar was being so... jolly.

 

"Come on Bro, it'll be fun!" Jothar grabbed his arm and pulled him out of the seat. He over reached and pulled Broan into himself, giving the other a nose full of sweat and hormones.

 

"No, really, I have to study." Broan turned away quickly, trying to hide his blush. Jothar slung an arm over Broan's shoulders and swung him around, grinning widely.

 

"But if you don't come with me, who's going to make sure I stay safe?"

 

"We are padawans in the Jedi order, Jothar." Broan shrugged off Joathar's hand with as much disdain as he could muster. Jothar just smiled.

 

"Please?" Jothar's arms shot again, this time aiming for Broan's sides. A padawan's robes were always kept thin, as a part of the Order's measures against excess and decadence. The thinness of the fabric also meant that they were no defence against tickle attacks.

 

"If you stop - Stop! - fine." Broan sighed and rubbed his abused ribs. Jothar seemed practically elated.

 

"Great! We're going to the best bar ever!"

 

~

 

One block away from the 'best bar ever', Jothar pulled Broan aside. He produced a small plastic card and moved a few times in the light, showing the reflections.

 

"As real as fake can get," A little reluctantly, Broan had to admit he was right: the holographic foil was near perfect and the picture did look an awful lot like Jothar. Even the age was reasonable; though Jothar was only fifteen, in the right light and with enough posturing, he could pass for twenty-three. "Have one for you as well, of course."

 

A young Mirialan man looked up at him, almost the same skin tone, similar facial structure, but most importantly: no tattoos.

 

"Where did you get this?"

 

Jothar just shrugged and smiled.

 

"I just know the right people. You ready?" Broan nodded and Jothar's smile widened into that dazzling grin that could engulf almost anyone. "This is going to be great."

 

~

 

Broan sighed and look at his glass. Brightly coloured liquid glowed in the dim lighting of the club and he had no doubts that it was alcoholic. Jothar had bought him the drink before quickly settling down with a member of club's 'entertainment'. Not wanting his friend to feel alone, however, he had brought over a classically beautiful Twi'lek woman to keep Broan company.

 

They sat in awkward silence as giggles rose from the other side of the booth.

 

"Don't like your drink, cutie?" She leant across the seat, her fingers stroking lightly on Broan's shoulders and her orange skin glistening in the light. Broan stared at the table, concentrating on the scratches in the varnish.

 

"It's fine, I've just never had one before."

 

The woman made a clucking noise and pursed her lips.

 

"Do you like to try new things?" She slid across the seat and deliberately knocked a breast into Broan's arm. She faked a blush and smiled at Broan's sudden embarrassment.

 

"Uh, new things are nice but... I don't even know your name."

 

Inwardly she rolled her eyes and sighed. It was going to be one of those nights.

 

"You can call me Sian'telle, darling."

 

Broan smiled and nodded, feeling slightly more relaxed. He took a sip of the drink, feeling it burn his throat.

 

"So, um, Sian'telle, what do you do for fun?" The table rocked violently as Broan put down his drink and the giggling turned to full laughter.

 

"Well darling," She clicked her tongue again, using the pause to create a response that would not be considered snide or sarcastic or... "All girls love to dance."

 

"Do you? I mean you do, of course you do, you're a dancer..."

 

"Would you like to see me dance?" Not waiting for his reply, Sian'telle climbed onto the table, making it seem graceful despite her sky-high heels. She stepped into the centre, twirled once and started to slowly sway her hips. An easy dance for the beginners, something to entice them, but not too sexual as to scare them away; though beginners were boring, they tended to tip well.

 

Broan stared, watching the light play over her skin, the sheer fabric of her clothing creating a captivating silhouette. Jothar appeared at his elbow, his 'entertainment' for the evening apparently having vanished.

 

"Wow, she's something, ain't she?" Jothar nudged Broan in the ribs, his usual goofy grin replaced by something far more lecherous. Feeling more than a little uncomfortable, Broan threw back the rest of his drink, gasping as it burned him again. Abruptly he stood up and threw some credit sticks on the table - far more than Sien'telle was charging, or expecting in a tip.

 

"I need some air."

 

"What? Oh, wait- Bro!" Jothar jogged after his quickly retreating friend, ignoring the dancer completely. She smiled to herself and pocketed the credits.

 

Broan was already outside the club, then pounding music becoming a ringing in his ears, when Jothar caught up to him.

 

"Hey, where're you going? I thought we were having fun?"

 

Broan sighed at his friend's confusion and rubbed a hand over his forehead.

 

"No, you were 'having fun'; I was having the most uncomfortable moment of my life."

 

"What?" Jothar forced a chuckle and shrugged. "I got you a girl, she was dancing, isn't that what you wanted?"

 

"I wanted to spend time with you, alright?" Broan took two steps, coming closer to Jothar. Youth and energy overtook him and he kissed Jothar, a surprise to them both.

 

"Yeah, no," He pushed Broan away and for a second, something like disgust flashed over his face. "I'm going back to the girls. Find your own way back to the temple."

 

"Jothar..."

 

"Shut up, no-tats."

 

 

 

I'll get back to doing more Broan and Rochester cuddles soon, hopefully.

Edited by Tatile
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Awww, poor Broan :( Rejection hurts.

 

***

I feel like I'm posting more than I should, but ah well.

Night of the Living Prompt: Food

 

Lures

bh - Skari, Crae, and crew

no spoilers

 

It takes time for wild creatures to come to your hand. Time, patience, slow movements, something to peak their curiosity, and food. These are your weapons against the natural survival instinct that tells creatures to run from all strange things. They must become acustomed to your presence, familiar with your habits. Animals can become used to almost anything, even things they would normal fear. Familiarity equals comfort.

 

The doe was the first to trust. With Skari and her lover hurt, she needed stability, a sense of security. Easy to offer. Trivial really. The ship's security was a mess anyway. Skari had been taking on everything herself so they had no back-up plan. The holes were obvious; it took little to remedy the situation. Nadras had, of course, become aware of us. A new location helped. Removing the trackers he sent after us helped more. I do enjoy hunting hunters. Enlisting the doe's help in clearing our digital trail worked both to make my cat's home more secure and to bring the cub more easily to my hand. Soon she was eating what I brought her. A simple conquest.

 

The jawa was more skittish. I admired his animal instincts. He trusts easily, but not completely. Curiosity, as with many creatures, is his weakness. A short list of notes detailing what we would need for survelliance was like a piece of grass to a kitten. It lured him from his cave, gained his attention. He emerges occasionally with his inventions, but has yet to come to my hand, darting back when I get too close. But I am a patient man.

 

The Devaronian plays a deep game. It is rare to run across such a one. He trusts only so far, always checking, verifying, looking for the angle. I am wearing him down, though. Wearing him down with facts that check out and plans that are sound. He checked the meals I made for the crew dozens of time before he finally ate without fear.

 

"Said yourself there are lots of ways to administer poison, guess I'll take my chances."

 

It was the nerf steak that won him over. Seared and juicy.

 

The young Mandalorian does not like me. He glares at me from across the kitchen as I make our meal, leaning stiffly against the door frame. I have not had as much time to work on him. With his wounds healed, he spends much of the day training, regaining muscle and reflex.

 

"Come and eat," Mako calls to him from her seat at the table.

 

"Not hungry."

 

"It's really good," she says, taking a bite.

 

"Bit bland for my tastes."

 

She rolls her eyes at him. "Not everything has to be Mandalorian food."

 

He leaves. She groans, takes two more quick bites, and follows him.

 

Their pairing is unstable. Two different creatures bound together by proximity. But they have different habits, fight for different reasons, eat different food. They are not opposites to bind together. They are creatures of different elements and neither will survive long in the other's world.

 

My cat is the largest challenge, which intrigues me all the more. Her skittishness is not born of natural wariness, but of past hurts. I know that even after I gentle her to my hand, she will remain that wild creature. Her fire is a part of her, the core of who she is. Gentling her will take time. I must be patient. I must move slow, and yet keep her aware of me, curious. And the right food to lure her out...

 

Skari stepped into the kitchen cautiously but without pain. My kolto tank had healed her wounds, this time. My teeth clenched for a moment at the thought of next time. She needed someone to protect her, and she was unlikely to protect herself.

 

She sniffed the air. I smiled to myself, putting my worries aside. My lure had worked.

 

"That smells like...how did you get food from Granak's all the way out here?"

 

I walked across the small space with Rodian food in hand. "I made it."

 

Skari raised an eyebrow. "What?"

 

I smiled, "Hungry?"

 

She blushed, purple blooming lightly across her cheeks. She scowled. "No."

 

Her refusal to give in to what she obviously wants is amusing. "You sure?"

 

"I don't trust your cooking, Crae, stars know what you've put in it."

 

I took a bite of my own cooking and set the dish on the table.

 

"You should learn to trust me," I said, walking back to the stovetop, "the benefits are...delicious."

 

Oh the things I would do to her. I looked back at her to find her frozen, blinking a couple times, with that flush spreading across her face. I grinned. Apparently I am not the only one to think such thoughts. I turned back to the stove and heard her bolt from the room. I looked at the table and smiled. The Rodian street food she loved was gone.

 

All wild creatures have their weaknesses.

 

Edited by iamthehoyden
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This is the best setting and context for that conversation I've ever seen or imagined. Love.

High praise indeed. Thanks, Bright! In Andie's words -- means a lot coming from you. :)

 

Ereiniel - I love how you integrated Andronikos' backstory into your character's lives. It felt very much like it all fit together.

I'll admit I was a bit apprehensive about making one of my characters related to a companion from the other faction, but the pieces somehow managed to fall into place. I was pleasantly surprised!

 

Good move on getting Corso out of the room before anything about Sith were mentioned. I can only imagine him stealing the focus away from a great family moment.

 

I really hope the two of them make up xD

Haha, talking about Sith in front of a drunk Corso could end really, really badly. I'm glad he decided to go to the restrooms when he did. As for Andronikos and Andrina making up, I haven't thought that far ahead! But I hope so too, for both their sakes.

 

Ereiniel - Really interesting to see a bit of Andronikus and his history, and Andrina seems wonderfully principled (and smart). Was that Corso being jealous of her half-brother, though? The things I've heard about that man...

Haha! Nah, Corso was just drunk and needed to use the little farm boys' room. He's more of a lightweight than he'll admit. Andrina's got this thing about doing the right thing all the time - going against the traditional smuggler stereotype, as it were, even more so now that she's seen the direction her half-brother's decided to take.

 

Thank you, everyone! <3

 

--

 

And now, for my own shout-outs:

 

Hoyden: Oh wow. Crae's clinical observations about everyone on the ship were very astute and honestly a little creepy - like they were lab specimens it was his job to watch or something. Every time I see him in your stories, I'd like to think that he really does mean well in everything he does, but then he goes and does something creepy and weird, and I start wondering again. Skari's crew reminds me of an oddball dysfunctional family, but it works, and I couldn't imagine them any other way.

 

Tatile: Aww! I'd give Broan a hug if I could - that's so awful and I feel terrible for how that night out ended for him. I'm glad he's since been able to find happiness elsewhere. Also, I love the image of Jedi padawans trying to get into clubs with fake IDs. Guess things aren't so different elsewhere in the galaxy, huh?

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Hoyden: Oh wow. Crae's clinical observations about everyone on the ship were very astute and honestly a little creepy - like they were lab specimens it was his job to watch or something. Every time I see him in your stories, I'd like to think that he really does mean well in everything he does, but then he goes and does something creepy and weird, and I start wondering again. Skari's crew reminds me of an oddball dysfunctional family, but it works, and I couldn't imagine them any other way.

Crae is totally a creeper, lol. A creepy creeper :p But whether his intentions are good or bad...well, we'll just have to see ;)

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The chronological and prompt archive/index is up to date and some very late responses. I'm caught up now :) thanks everyone for keeping me entertained the past week while I contributed little to nothing.

 

@LogicLoup I'm glad Maneera really did find her family, I was wondering if she would show up and be disappointed or if her mother would be dead. I know a reunion doesn't suddenly make everything OK but ergh I want her to have nice things! I loved the Parenthood short. Mama and Papa bear!

Also I can't seem feel sorry Corso (well maybe a teeny tiny bit), I truly hope that scene (an SGR related scene) is something we can see in game in the future.

 

@Striges I like Xathras, he's delightfully sithy. Talk about bad influence though :D

Rixik is just wonderfully awful, I haven't seen much of Mako but she does seem to have some curious blind spots in her otherwise encyclopedic knowledge of everything.

Your portrayal of Master Yuon felt very much like what I've experienced with her and is part of the reason I deleted my Jedi on tatooine. I'll try again someday but ugh Consular is so frustrating because they're so thick headed! Jurial seems to be a very thoughtful Padawan/Jedi it's too bad they don't let us explore those questions in the game as much as they could have.

 

@iamthehoyden I sympathize with Skari over Crae, "Always the stupid with that man." But he's just so... exactly like a snake, you think slimy but really they're cool, dry, and perfectly adapted to swallowing you whole. Terrifying. :D

 

@Ereiniel Oh goodness, that was a beautiful setup for Andronikos and the SI. It gave a whole new meaning to when he tells her not to ask where he got it. <3.

 

@Tatile :( I really hurt for Broan... but Jothar is a cad a Jedi-cad at that and Broan deserves better.

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Prompt: Night of the Living Prompt!: First Impressions

Characters: Ald; Quinn

 

Quinn on Ald

 

 

 

When Baras had first informed him of a new apprentice coming to further the Darth’s plans on Balmorra, he was less than excited. So much so, he considered the task nothing, but another baby sitting job. When Quinn met Ald he was surprised for a number of reasons. One being that he was, in fact, not Vemrin, Baras’ prized apprentice and two being that this apprentice was aloof and seemingly uncaring. And his choice of partner was downright insane. Nevertheless, Quinn sent them on their way and watched with amazement as the apprentice jumped through hoops set aflame and down a cliff without regard for the danger. Not literally, of course, that would be a rather weird mission for Baras to request, but the point remained: this apprentice was different. Baras dropped the news of his new assignment before the apprentice made it to the Arms Factory. He immediately started calculating the apprentice’s strengths and weaknesses. It was, no doubt, the reason behind Baras’ choice. He would finally be free of this hellhole and all it took was this odd apprentice. How fortuitous.

 

 

 

 

Ald on Quinn

 

 

 

When Ald first met the officer who would provide mission briefings, the man was nearly frothing at the mouth as he berated some poor underling. Frustration, anger, bitterness. All emotions drifting from the man, but his face was impassive. At least it was after he was finally done screaming at that poor bastard.

 

Prim, proper, respectful, boring. Ald was very nearly bored to tears by the man. He had shown some promise with the yelling and the shouting and the emotion, but now he was all business and business was boring. Kill this. Blow up that. Stab that guy. Boring, boring, boring.

 

He was rather delighted when the officer showed up to gloat in front of the Jedi. His ability to revel in her defeat was enjoyable and showed the man had far more depth to him than he put on. He was interesting, but he was gone now. Then, to Ald’s never ending happiness, he found the officer checking out the ship as if he was waiting for him. And he was. He prostrated himself in front of Ald, pledged his loyalty, then grabbed his ever so convenient luggage and boarded the ship. A man who owed his career to Baras suddenly being promoted and “choosing” Ald as his assignment? It was a good thing Ald wanted to peel away the layers surrounding the cold appearance of the now-Captain. He was no fool, Quinn was a plant.

 

At least he was cute.

 

 

 

Notes:

 

 

Guuh, I'm so bad, I haven't replied to any replies lately. I'll do those tomorrow. In the mean time, here's some Ald/Quinn studying the other.

 

Edited by irishfino
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I'm going to take a moment for some holiday derailment. It is not related to writing but drawing so feel free to skip.

 

 

 

I have been drawing chibis for people SW:tOR characters. I made a bunch and posted it on my tumblr.

 

All of you have entertained and inspired me so much this past year. It's encouraged me in writing, drawing, and rampant rampant fangirling over your OC's. I'd like to offer anyone who's written a shortfic in this thread up to this point a chibi drawing of one of your characters.

 

If you would like one send me a PM with a headshot of your character. Bodytype/class/species/eyecolor/name of the armor you are wearing would also be helpful. Also a quote or a funny description helps me to be more creative in creating your chibi. Please include the word chibi in the subject line.

 

This is only for people who have written in here so far, I will post the chibis in my art thread in the Fan Art subforum. I can draw 2 or 3 chibis a day without hurting myself. So depending on how many I have, it may take a while to finish. This is not exactly a request thing... I can't guaranty that I can draw what you ask for if you ask for something. It will simply be a chibi of your character and hopefully it will please you. I'll leave this offer open till the end of the year.

 

<3 all the stories thank you guys so much for writing them and please keep it up :D

 

 

 

 

That's it. Carry on.

Edited by kabeone
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Double post.

 

Night of the Living Prompt: I Love This Bar

 

Edit: JK End game spoilers

 

Scourge and Remi

 

 

The Emperor was dead or so they believed. Reports from spies within the Empire showed his power base in chaos. They returned to Coruscant and the Jedi was rewarded with a title and a ceremony that she endured attempting to hide her dislike for ceremony and succeeding only barely. Now they celebrated her ascendance to the title ‘Master’ at a cantina selected by the doctor.

 

Scourge had planned to stay on the ship, but after an hour he changed his mind despite the risk of venturing out alone. He was conspicuously out of place in the Republic and it was only a matter of time before they forgot their gratitude and allowed their fear to rule them. The corner of his lip curled contemptuously at the thought while he scanned the dimly lit establishment. He could hear the doctor’s distinctive laugh breaking through the music and murmur of voices, his voice was accompanied by the other two who had joined him in his foolery. The Jedi sat at the bar a little ways away watching them. She smiled but did not join them holding herself apart even from her closest allies.

 

A man stepped in front of him. “We don’t need your kind here, Sith.”

 

In the Empire no Force-blind would dare stand in the path of a Sith or his life would be forfeit. Here in the Republic a man could be convinced that a law written, signed, and stored in their Capitol databanks could somehow protect him. It only cemented Scourge’s opinion of this place. The people of the Republic were fools.

 

He stared at the man and allowed the darkness to slowly coalesce around him until even a Force-blind could feel it. A cold sweat broke out on the bouncer’s forehead and his hand twitched. Scourge was wondering if the man would be foolish enough to threaten him with a weapon when a hand appeared on his arm.

 

“It’s OK.” Remi said projecting calm at the bouncer, “He’s with me.”

 

Scourge looked down at her hand. It was small and pale standing out in contrast to his armor. She had never touched him in such a familiar way before, but her posture was deliberate, both claiming him as a friend and restraining him from doing harm. The bouncer nodded and stepped aside relief suffusing his features.

 

Remi took back her hand and nodded toward the bar. Scourge followed in her wake watching the crowd make room for them to pass while ignoring him. He wondered if her presence alone was enough to calm them or was she using some kind of Jedi trick. She reclaimed her seat and ordered something pink for herself and raised an eyebrow questioningly at him. He shook his head and she ordered a dark beverage for him.

 

“Alcohol has no positive effect on me.” He said not touching glass the bartender placed in front of him.

 

“It’s rude to sit at a bar and not order a drink unless you’re pretty enough for someone to buy you one.” She replied turning around on her stool to face the room ignoring her drink as well. “Let’s face it, you’re too scary and I’m too Jedi.”

 

Scourge snorted and faced the room as well.

 

“I’m glad you decided to join us.” She remarked as she watched her comrades play a drinking game.

 

“I’m not here to celebrate or make friends.” Scourge watched in disgusted fascination as the Supreme Chancellor made a speech via HoloNet.

 

“I wouldn’t expect you to.” Remi’s mouth quirked, the Chancellor had just said the word ‘together’ and everyone at the table was required to finish their beer. “What made you change your mind?”

 

Scourge pondered the question before settling on an answer. “I wish to know what your Council intends to do with me.”

 

She looked skeptical but answered, “Until they can confirm that the Emperor is dead they want you to stay.” She grinned at that, “Well they don’t want you to stay, but they know they probably need you.”

 

He snorted, “And what of you. Do you accept my presence at your Council’s behest?”

 

Her brow furrowed then she seemed to understand and her expression softened, “As long as you want a place with me, you have it.”

 

He scowled, “And here I thought you only trusted me until the completion of our mission.”

 

“I’ve learned a lot from you, you understand the Sith and the dark side, and you make me question everything I had come to simply accept.”

 

He grinned darkly, “I promise as long as I am here you will always question your Council’s precepts.”

 

She made a face then eyed him speculatively, “I also know that life can be difficult without a purpose to drive you forward, especially for someone who’s been a weapon for so long.”

 

He folded his arms and stared into a dark corner of the cantina away from the merry making of the crew. She did not push him for an answer turning back instead to watch her friends down shots at the phrase ‘bold plan.’

 

“I do not know what the future will hold for me,” he said finally, “but you are correct about being lost without a purpose.” He turned to face her, “I know what immortality allowed the Emperor to become. I do not wish to be like him.”

 

She nodded pondering his words. When she met his eyes she smiled a bit grimly and raised her otherwise untouched glass, “I promise as long as I live, you won’t.”

 

They toasted their double edged oaths each wondering how long this new partnership could last.

 

 

 

 

 

Edited by kabeone
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Apologies. Busy week, I am behind on reading and responding. I will get caught up, I promise!

 

For your consideration:

 

Prompt: As Time Goes By

 

Character: Shen/Rixik (Bounty Hunter)

 

Notes:

There are four stories here spanning a long period of time. The first takes place after Teachers. The second occurs after A Great Day on Alderaan, during Rixik’s fun weekend vacation. The third, shortly after Wisdom, Justice, and the last one after Taking out the Trash. The chronology should be clear from context, but I provided cues just in case it was not. Many, many thanks to Kabeone, Saintly Keeper of the Index!

 

Also, Rixik's Mako has customization one

 

 

Spoilers for Bounty Hunter Act One.

 

Content Warning:

Of the four vignettes comprising this piece, the first one contains potentially disturbing violence.

 

 

 

The big man pinned Shen against the wall, one broad hand on his throat. Not choking, not yet. His pinioned lekku held his head up. Pressure flashed irrelevant memories. The smell of cold, the color of gritty flakes in the sky. Icy slush on bare toes.

 

“Little thief,” growled the Zabrak, his horns sharpened to wicked points, “tryin’ to lift my blaster, eh?”

 

A blaster was one of the best things he could pinch. Not as good as an ID, but better than credsticks. Shen’s only answer was a sharp kick at the Zabrak’s groin. Which connected, sending rocket flares of pain up split toenails all the way to his spine.

 

Horns grunted then clucked his tongue in disapproval, “Not too bright, kicking a Mandy-iron codpiece.” His free hand fished for something in a utility pocket. The Twi’lek grabbed at the man’s steel arm. He might as well have been clawing at a structural support pillar.

 

The Zabrak brought up a thin, shiny blade. Not even a vibroblade. A plain, sharpened piece of metal. Light flashed off its keen edge, and even the Twi’lek’s inexperienced eye saw it wasn’t a makeshift weapon or tool. It was finely crafted for one purpose—cutting flesh. “Won’t be much of a thief without eyes, will you?” he hissed.

 

Shen’s blood went cold, colder than the phantom snow on his feet. He was hyperventilating, couldn’t tear his eyes from the cold silver blade closing with his face. The last thing he would ever see. He felt it cut into his cheek and pain exploded all out of proportion to the damage inflicted. The agonizing line crept inexorably up toward his left eye.

 

“Hey, what’s going on here?” A firm, clear voice.

 

Horns’ grip lessened and he turned slightly, “Nothin’,” he said. The bright shiny blade disappeared in his hand.

 

“Drop the kid.” Shen could see part of a humanoid behind Horns’ broad back. Well behind. Customs authority uniform. His stance suggested he held a blaster.

 

“He’s a pickpocket, you oughta arrest him,” Horns accused, “caught him red-handed.” Shen writhed in his grasp. He couldn’t get out more than a gurgle, but the Zabrak’s grip was getting slippery.

 

“Pickpockets aplenty, but the only one I see red-handed is you, buddy,” Blue-Uniform insisted, “How about you both come down to the office nice and quiet-like. You want to press charges against the kid, you can.”

 

Horns glared at the Twi’lek. Deciding whether it was worth the risk to draw on Blue-Uniform. All Shen wanted was away from this crazy bastard. He jammed his heel into the Zabrak’s hip. It pushed him off-balance. Shen twisted and slithered out of his slicked fingers. He dropped to the floor. Horns cursed, Blue-Uniform shouted something, Shen sprinted toward a small open space between two shipping containers. Blaster fire pattered after his feet. He pelted through the dark narrow passage, turn after turn, random and without plan. The sounds of shouting and arguing faded into the background, hidden in the background noise of the port machinery and activity.

 

He finally stopped, deep in the labyrinth of containers, wheezing and out of breath. His legs felt like lead and pain blossomed in his face with every pounding heartbeat. He doubled over at the waist, hands on his knees. Drops of blood pattered to the ground, bright red on the bland grey duracrete. He pressed one hand to the wound. His vision went white, agony stabbed through his cheek and he yanked his hand away with a curse.

 

He covered one eye with his hand, then the other. Still working. He still had two eyes. Two. Shen slumped to the floor, shivering uncontrollably. Kelka could have made him a new one out of droid parts and a food wrapper, but Kelka was long gone. What was it now, three ships back? Four?

 

With shaking, bloodied hands he pressed a crumpled fragment of kolto mesh on the incision, but it didn't want to stick. He gave up and let it drop. What the hell difference did it make? Couldn’t hide forever like this, couldn’t sneak past the guardstations like this. Face all cut up, blood everywhere, port authority on the lookout. Might as well wear a sign ‘arrest me now.’ Karking wonderful.

 

He couldn’t stop shaking, even now, all run out. Kark this sh*t. Kark this ride. They could find someone else to lift swag off portside crazies and scout for unsecured containers. He was going to find one for himself. Sneak inside and wait to be loaded on a ship. Any ship. Didn't give a damn where it was heading. Anywhere but here.

 

Soon as his hands were steady enough to fool the lock. He dug out the butt of a spice cig and popped the element, inhaled one long drag then shut it down. Held his breath as long as possible then let the smoke drift slowly from his nostrils. Huddled against the side of the shipping container until the shakes slowed.

 

…….

 

"A duel? Really?" exclaimed the dusky-skinned Human woman. She squirmed closer to him and traced the scar on his cheek, "Was honor satisfied?" she asked.

 

Rixik wrapped an arm around her bare shoulder. The resort’s brochure touted the lounge as ‘a place for intimate conversation’. Read: dim enough for discreet hook-ups. His companion’s expensive butter yellow gown was already lower than it should be for propriety, and no one but himself and the server could tell, "Someone was, anyway," he said.

 

She giggled at the innuendo, "Would you be my champion?" she asked, "if my husband issued a challenge?"

 

"Depends. What's the going rate for champions these days?" he asked. She whispered in his ear. Rixik brushed her nose with his finger, "how much for that without being champion?" he murmured. He loved this planet.

 

"If my husband finds out, you'll have to be."

 

"So don’t tell him."

 

She giggled again, "You are disarmingly simple and direct. I like that in a man."

 

He reached for his drink and she handed him hers instead, "I'm empty," she wheedled, "buy me another?" She dragged her perfect, butter yellow painted nails down his cheek like claws. Tickling.

 

"There’s more of that back in my room if you’re interested," he said, fiddling with the laces on the dress' neckline.

 

“Which?” she asked, “Wine or scars?”

 

What the hell was is with women and scars? He ought to bottle it and sell it as an aphrodisiac. “Both, if you know where to look.”

 

.............

 

Andalar keyed the Identagraph on Rixik's distinctive facial scar. Twi’lek lekku markings were unique as fingerprints, provided they weren’t overlaid with tattoos. His tracking program, however, worked best with Humans and near-Humans. It was primed for facial features, not lekku. Ones that did all had ties back to slave trading cartels. The best, ServantTrackR, only changed its name. All the internal interfaces still labeled targets as slaves. Andalar refused to support slavers in any way, shape, or form. He used Identagraph.

 

While the program combed through recent public monitors on the planets he’d selected, Andalar glanced at the flimsiplast sheet he'd wedged above the main computer. Rixik's likeness stared back at him. He half wondered how a guy so careful about his appearance got a scar like that.

 

Identagraph chiruuped and spat out sightings amounting to the entire population of Nar Shaddaa. Andalar looked at the mountain of scan results with a sense of simmering disgust. Scars were common in Rixik’s circles. Even limiting it to near perfect matches left a daunting number of potential sightings.

 

He started limiting the results. Rixik was careful to hide his appearance when he was on the chrono, so to speak. There was almost nothing work-related. He got one hit from several years back of him terrorizing the staff at an Alderannian resort. On closer inspection, even that episode looked more like entertainment, at least from Rixik’s perspective. He didn’t stand out from the crowd unless he wanted to.

 

He’d won the Great Hunt about the same time. Andalar declined to participate. Again. It violated his number-one rule: the option to decline any job for any reason. The prestige wasn’t worth compromising his principles. His reputation was secure enough, and the kind of people he contracted with appreciated integrity.

 

After sifting through the results, he did get a sense of his quarry, despite the dearth of truly useful reports. One thing was obvious. He managed to cram a lot of vice into his off-time. Liked booze, but wasn’t a drunk. Liked spice, but wasn’t a spicehead. He preferred females to males, Humans to his own species, and the darker colored variations of humanity at that. Andalar shrugged absently. Plenty of Human males had a thing for Lethan Twi’leks. Shouldn’t be too surprised a Twi’lek might go the other way. The little slicer he ran with was just his type. So was Sha’ra’zaed’s Human disguise. Could be useful, but Sha’ra’zaed’s aid came with a price.

 

He had a hunch this job was going to be both challenging and messy. His hunches were never wrong. Word in hunter circles put Rixik as relentless and deadly as the Eidolon was in his day, but he didn't have the sense to quit while he was ahead. Initial research suggested a gigolo with a number of easy-to-exploit weak spots. So. He had a guy who made a point of looking harmless right up until he ripped your head off. Kirya’s request for carbon-freezing was an additional complication.

 

Oh well. If he’d wanted a simple job, he’d have joined the military.

 

…………

 

 

Rixik checked the biomonitor implant's transmission. Skadge was still alive. He'd injected it into the Houk's massive flank on the theory that when he got his *ss shot off, it would be by Andalar. Any trouble he got into before that shouldn't be lethal. He told Skadge it was a black-market nanotech colony. Then shot him up with a long acting local anesthetic to hide the fact that the veterinary implant was intended for animals bigger than Skadge.

 

So, on to problem number two. Andalar. Actually, Andalar comprised problems one through about seven. Rixik took threats to his continued survival seriously. No doubt he had others pursuing him, but Andalar was the only one concerning him right now. Rixik would take care of Kirya, something he should have done a while ago, or whoever Andalar was working for. If he had any sense, he'd quit once his payday dried up.

 

Rixik had a nagging feeling shaking Andalar wasn't going to be that simple. He had a rep for being thorough. And "honorable.” Not “the practical.” Not “the intelligent.” Not “the reasonable.” Honorable implied taking crazy risks for no gain. Rixik had a hard time with that idea.

 

Moving on to lower priorities. Gault. Gault’s sense of self-preservation rivaled his own. Better, maybe. Gault begged him for a job rather than get killed; Rixik would never make or accept such an offer from Andalar. He had no intention of being anyone’s servant or slave ever again. Gault, on the other hand, would desert him faster than kreetles leaving a ship approaching a singularity if he thought he was going down.

 

Farther down the list, Mako was making marriage noises again; he’d have to deal with that soon. And without pissing her off overmuch. Mako was still useful. Much better slicer than he was, he knew when he was outclassed. Which meant she could cause him all kinds of trouble if the relationship collapsed at the wrong time. Like now, for example.

 

So, no trouble. Maintain a confident front for Gault’s benefit, keep Mako in the dark about his old marriage, take care of not-yet-ex-wife, track down Andalar’s employer if it’s not said wife, get rid of Andalar, find another contract since he was blowing through his contingency funds quickly with all the other problems.

 

What was the old saying about juggling activated vibroswords? Easy to start, tricky to stop?

 

It made him think of a certain non-vibroblade. Rixik stroked the old scar on his cheek. Funny. The crazy Zabrak must have carved out a nerve or something. As much as it hurt when it was new, how long it took to finally heal, he didn't feel a thing anymore. Not a damn thing.

 

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First prompts. Then a few story responses!

 

I'm sorry if the prompts seem a little disjointed this week. I do wish to continue the NotLP, and then I wanted to cross-pollinate with the SFC thread to help assure that prompts I keep intuitively writing for on one thread weren't actually only posted on the other. The actual original prompt this week is iamthehoyden's.

 

Week of 12/14/2012:

First Day on the Job: Some of our characters have very long, very colorful employment histories. Others picked a job or had it picked for them when they were very young. Pick one of the jobs your character has held and describe the day they came to it.

From the AU thread, Loyalty and Betrayal: Two loaded words that can have major impacts on a person's life. Which characters of yours always follow orders? Which never compromise in loyalty to their friends or cause? How do your companions (not just that one) deal with challenges to their loyalties?

 

Night of the Living Prompt: Keep on using any prompt you like! Check out the list at http://www.swtor.com/community/showpost.php?p=5223753&postcount=1675 .

 

 

@iamthehoyden, your Gault intrigues me. So much. I like what you do with him. And I sympathize with Skari's horror at the webs Crae has been busy weaving.

 

@Tatile, well done. I was assuming that he was just uncomfortable because, well, Jedi, conservative, inexperienced, guilty about being there in the first place. And then it turned into something wrenching :(

 

@irishfino, you wrote someone calling Quinn boring. Color me astonished. :p

 

@kabeone, the Saresh drinking game stopped me cold with laughter for a solid thirty seconds. Thirty seconds in which that Taris speech played in my head, again. Together.

 

@Striges, ouch, the idea of missing Rixik stories is the strongest motivator to date for me maybe getting off my *** and playing through the BH.

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@Ereiniel - Both of the Andies are so wonderful, and the interaction between them was so wonderful... until it wasn't. And of course they're both so entirely convinced that the other isn't seeing the situation properly... *facepalm*

 

@hoyden - Wow. Just when I'm thinking Crae can't possibly be a bigger creeper, he stops being overtly creepy and BANG! much more disconcerting.

 

LogicLoup - Good to see Maneera messing with Corso and, of course, some time with her parents, even if it is only short :) (Can we see more? :p)

Absolutely! Maneera's evolving relationship with the rest of her family is definitely something I want to explore. :)

 

@Tatile - Oh... poor Broan. Jothar just... argh. Urge to sucker-punch... rising.

 

@irishfino - I like that Ald goes into this realising fully that Quinn is a plant, but decides to play the game through just to see what's underneath.

 

@kabe - The Governor Saresh Drinking Game! Guaranteed to separate the men from... wait, no. The cyborgs from those without enhanced livers! :D

 

@Striges - Rixik is always a skeevy joy to read (that sounded much less like faint praise in my head, honest), but

What the hell was it with women and scars? He ought to bottle it and sell it as an aphrodisiac.

takes all the prizes.

Edited by LogicLoup
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@Tatile, well done. I was assuming that he was just uncomfortable because, well, Jedi, conservative, inexperienced, guilty about being there in the first place. And then it turned into something wrenching :(

 

I was late, I couldn't do something nice :p

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Night of the Living Prompt: What’s In A Name?

 

As if there weren’t already enough of these, but I just had to. Introducing Catheryn (Eryn), Sith warrior and eldest of the four Girard sisters. With everyone’s favorite whipping boy/lust object – you know who I’m talking about – and Vette. Some spoilers for the end of SW Balmorra. 900 words.

 

--

 

Captain Hot Pants

 

“Your last target is the Balmorran Arms Factory,” Lieutenant Quinn was saying. Eryn tried not to let her mind – or her eyes – wander. She nodded, trying hard to make it look like she was actually listening. He’s got a nice voice to go with that nice face.

 

Quinn glanced up from his datapad, nonplussed – both at Lord Baras’ apprentice for not paying attention to his debriefing, and at himself for getting distracted while on the job. Her midriff-baring top was thoroughly unsuitable for field combat and most likely against regulation. The Sith were, of course, beyond the purview of Imperial military rules, but he made a mental note to bring up the idea of regulating Sith attire with Lord Baras. For their safety, and for the good of the Empire, of course.

 

He looked back down at the datapad and saw that he had covered everything. He switched off the datapad screen and said to her bare stomach, “I’m excited by the prospect of you laying waste to that place.”

 

Eryn bit her lower lip to suppress a growing smile. She had caught him stealing glances on more than one occasion, and he’d just done it again. She took a step forward, closing the space between them. “So, I excite you, do I?”

 

Quinn’s eyes snapped up and he fixed his gaze on her forehead, carefully avoiding eye contact. “Well … what I meant was … when I imagine all the ways you will shape the galaxy, I get very excited, yes.”

 

“Very well, Lieutenant,” said Eryn, raising an eyebrow at him suggestively. “I don’t want to keep you waiting. Keep your hot pants right here and keep me apprised of any developments, while I go and lay waste to the Balmorran Arms Factory and shape the galaxy in my image.”

 

Quinn’s eyes widened and he froze. He opened and closed his mouth a few times, utterly speechless. “… My lord?”

 

Eryn arranged her face into the most innocent expression she could muster. “You have something to say, Lieutenant?”

 

Quinn looked down at his uniform trousers and tugged at one of the pockets. “Ah, um, well. They are a bit warm, yes, my lord. I am most grateful for your concern for my well-being.”

 

Eryn barely suppressed a laugh and pointedly did not look at Vette. “Of course I care, Lieutenant. I would never want you to be uncomfortable.”

 

Quinn stood, unmoving, in front of her, except for the occasional blink. He tried to formulate a clever answer, but he couldn’t – she really had a knack for taking him by surprise. He gritted his teeth, frustrated with himself. He knew he had a job to do, but she was being intentionally distracting. Hot pants. He frowned.

 

Eryn looked him up and down with an amused expression, then turned to leave. “See you soon, Lieutenant,” she called over her shoulder.

 

* * *

 

As Eryn and Vette exited the Balmorran Arms Factory’s administrative wing, Eryn’s holocom beeped. She ducked behind a corner so she could take the call, motioning to Vette to keep an eye out for any passing resistance. Quinn’s stiff blue-grey image appeared.

 

“Well, hello, Lieutenant Hot Pants. What do you have for me?”

 

“My lord, I … ah … hot pants?” was all Quinn could say. He felt the back of his neck get hot.

 

“Well, it certainly has a nicer ring to it than Lieutenant Warm Pants, wouldn’t you agree?” Eryn asked, a subtle playful note in her voice.

 

“Uh, yes, my lord, I suppose it does.” Quinn was immensely glad that his blushes would not transfer to the holoimage she was receiving. “I have been tracking the investigator, and I would like to caution you that she is carrying a lightsaber.”

 

“A long, glowing lightsaber? Humming with barely contained Force energy?” Eryn asked. Beside her, Vette giggled.

 

“I did not make note of that, my lord,” Quinn replied, looking down at the datapad in his hand to confirm. “I just saw her with one is all.”

 

“Was she holding it with a nice, firm grip?”

 

“I apologize, my lord, but being born Force-blind, I have not been educated in lightsaber combat techniques.” Quinn put the datapad carefully back in his pocket. “I believe the investigator is a Jedi Knight. That is all I wished to warn you about. I’ll be right here if needed, my lord.”

 

The holo went blank before Eryn had a chance to respond. She frowned.

 

“Oh, don’t worry about it,” Vette said lightly. “Just excuse him while he rewrites his report …”

 

* * *

 

Darth Baras’ holoimage looked appraisingly down at his apprentice and the Imperial. “So, Catheryn, how would you evaluate Lieutenant Quinn’s contribution?”

 

Eryn sneaked a sidelong glance at Quinn and smiled inwardly. “Lieutenant Quinn is an exceptional officer. His contribution was invaluable. I couldn’t have done it without him.”

 

“Thank you, my lord,” Quinn murmured, somehow finding himself staring at Eryn’s midriff again, “you are most kind. It has truly been an honor to serve you.”

 

“High praise indeed,” Darth Baras said, smiling behind his mask. “Quinn, I believe you have sufficiently repaid the debt owed to me. I will be recommending you for a captaincy, in whatever posting you choose, anywhere you like.” With a curt nod, his image flickered and disappeared.

 

“Congratulations,” Eryn said with a smile. “Does this mean I have to call you Captain Hot Pants now?”

 

Quinn shifted uneasily from one foot to the other. “Thank you, my lord. It’s certainly your prerogative to call me what you like, but Quinn, Captain Quinn is best.”

 

Eryn grinned mischievously. “Mm. I’ll remember you said that.”

 

Author's Notes:

 

This is the story behind my personal nickname for Quinn. He’s the only companion I don’t refer to by his actual name. While tormenting him with my advances on Balmorra, I gave him the most embarrassing pet nickname I could think of, one that would make him want to sink through the floor every time he was addressed as such – and it stuck. So to this day, whenever I make reference to “Pants” in my guild, they know exactly who I’m talking about.

 

The regulation-violating midriff-baring top in question is the Hammer Initiate’s Tunic.

 

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@ Irissa: Fun screenshots/stories. I like how you put together a story around the event.

 

On a related note, anyone here active on The Harbinger server? I know I’m one of the few left-coasties here, but my husband is trying the game again so we’re looking for a guild.

 

@ Tatile: Poor Broan, on the most awkward double-date ever. I felt so bad for him, both for the uncomfortable venue and Jothar’s coldness at the end.

 

@ Ereiniel: I liked how your character is related to the others we met in game. There’s no reason they can’t be related across faction lines. And Captain Hot Pants—oh dear. Quinn would be mortified.

 

@ Irishfino: Interesting first impressions, especially given how their story goes later.

 

@ Hoyden: I’m reading through Crae’s analysis, waiting for the almost-inevitable ‘and then I killed them all’ ending. Seriously, even when he might be being nice, he’s scary. Totally with Skari here.

 

Andalar not participating in the Great Hunt is mostly character, partly practical. He wouldn’t have gone for the last target in Act 1. Andalar’s player said as much at the time, though obviously in-game you don’t get that option. But for fic purposes Rixik and Andalar can’t both be the “canon” Bounty Hunter from the game story. I have to decide who did what, and work around continuity corners I painted myself into. See: House Rist.

 

@ Kabeone: Scourge and Remi are great under any circumstances. Scourge adrift—waking up one day and realizing your life’s purpose is fulfilled. It does make you wonder what he would do.

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@ Hoyden: I’m reading through Crae’s analysis, waiting for the almost-inevitable ‘and then I killed them all’ ending. Seriously, even when he might be being nice, he’s scary. Totally with Skari here.

Yeah, Crae's never easy on the nerves. Guy may look human but his brain doesn't quite work that way lol.

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Prompt: Night of the Living Prompt: Bad Memories

 

Characters: Xerxes (Human Sith Warrior) and Vette

 

 

It was a long shuttle ride to Dromund Kaas, even without the detour of intercepting a Republic transport and capturing a traitor. Truthfully, Xerxes was exhausted. He had not slept in two days with the Trials on Korriban and his first battle with the Republic occurring simultaneously and he knew that when he reported to Darth Baras on Dromund Kaas, he would be put straight to work. Thus, he was meditating, regaining his strength and channeling his passions.

 

"Hey, Sith. I'm curious," came a cheerful voice near him and Xerxes glanced in the direction of a Ruthian Twi'lek, Vette. Darth Baras' "gift" to him. She was.... a welcome distraction to tell the truth. He had removed her slave collar when they arrived at Vaikan Spacedock as a reward for her services on Korriban. Unlike many Sith, Xerxes disliked slavery. How could a Sith, who sought ultimate liberation through the power of the Force according to the Sith Code enslave others. He knew better than to voice this. To show weakness was to invite death. Currently, she was lounging on the bed meant for him while he sat cross-legged on the floor.

 

"What is it, Vette?" he asked.

 

"You must have had parents, right? Big Daddy Sith and Mommy Sith hooking up a power coupling and making you. Where are they now? How do they feel about you working for Baras?" she asked curiously.

 

Xerxes' first instinct was to raise his hand and grip her neck with the Force, but he refrained from it. There was no honor in that. Instead, he spoke calmly.

 

"They are not at a liberty to say anything. They are dead."

 

"Oh... I'm sorry.... What happened?" she asked awkwardly.

 

"My Mother learned that my Father was planning on casting her aside to marry a Pureblood Sith and breed a stronger heir. Naturally, she sent me to kill him since he would not expect myself to be a threat."

 

"That's... messed up. What happened?"

 

"I hesitated and my father found out just as my mother entered the room. She called me useless and they dueled. I grew upset and unleashed a wave of Force energy at the climax of the battle. They were both killed and I was found amidst the rubble. I was then sent to the Dromund Kaas Sith Academy. I was five at the time."

 

"I'm sorry..."

 

"Don't be," he said, waving his hand, "The emotional turmoil gave me strength. The anger and grief fueled me and I dominated my age group. It also taught me a valuable lesson. People would use you for their own ends."

 

"So you lived with the anger and grief?" she asked. Her violet eyes met his blue ones. She was looking at him strangely. He felt... pity.

 

"Don't be sorry for me!" he snarled, "Anger and hate are the only way. Domination is the way of the Sith."

 

"You freed me," she told him. She refused to break his gaze and he snorted.

 

"You'd be more useful a grateful servant than a frightened slave."

 

"No. There is good in you. You uncollared me and you spared the captain. You took the Imperial defector alive," she stated. His face was close to hers now, but she stood her ground. He clenched his fists.

 

"The captain had the capacity to question orders that would lead to a waste of lives and resources. The defector had valuable information," he stated coldly.

 

"You valued people's lives. Your past doesn't have to define you."

 

"I gain strength through my anger..."

 

"What about love?" she interrupted him.

 

"What about it? It's weak. It weakened me as a child. Passion fuels the Force. You wouldn't understand," he told her angrily.

 

"Hey! I'm no Sith, but I remember my mother. She loved me and my sister. And that allowed her to keep us alive for years when she could have just sold us both for her benefit," Vette challenged. Xerxes clenched his fists.

 

"That's different..."

 

"It's not. You said people use others, but my mom gave me and my sister everything. Tell me she should have sold us." she told him. She refused to look away and he resisted the urge to. He stared at her for a full minute before, finally, he stood up.

 

"We've landed. Come," he said shortly. They both stood up and she followed him as he moved to exit the room and it seemed like the discussion was over.

 

"I'm sorry. For your loss. You were good to me. I don't want you reliving that every time we have to fight."

 

He said nothing. He sensed the truth in her words, but he didn't want to acknowledge it. As they walked, he felt a wetness slide down his tattooed cheek. It was sweat, he decided. He had long since trained himself never to cry again.

 

 

 

What did you think? I always wondered why the Sith Warrior, who is presumably of a long noble Sith bloodline, never mentioned or interacted with any family. I hope Vette isn't OOC. It seemed to me that once she was on a subject, she wouldn't let up on it. I think that was implied in-game when Quinn mentions her annoying him.

 

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Prompt: First Day on the Job

 

Character: Jurial (JC)

 

Title: Sink or Swim

 

Spoilers for Esseles flashpoint, mention of Jedi Consular Tython story, as well as general mission on Tython.

 

Notes:

Jurial wants to be written in first person. I’ve tried dodging it using journal entries or other approaches, but with this entry I succumb to the inevitable.

 

Jurial speaks in first person. And present tense.

 

 

(edit)Jurial's Picture.

 

 

“Master Jedi?” the trooper asks.

 

“Herald?” Qyzen asks.

 

I hesitate. I know what lies beyond the door. I’ve felt him for some time now. I don’t know his name. But he rages, seethes, and beneath it all, fears. Fears to face me, fears to fall, fears still more failing but being spared, then facing his master’s wrath. He will cover it with bravado when the time comes. Try to plant his fear in others and feed on the bitter harvest.

 

And me? Do I fear?

 

Yes.

 

I am a scholar. Leading people, choosing the fate of so many, I…I do not feel ready for this burden. It is too soon. I need more time. But there is no more time. The Force has led me here, and I will do my best for these people who look to me for hope and inspiration.

 

Emotion, yet peace.

 

These are the older words, and I prefer them. I fear, yet I have faith in the Force. Whatever comes. I have peace.

 

“Open it, sergeant,” I say.

 

The Dark Side rolls in like a suffocating fog. He is a young man, a Human, or was once. I cannot help but wonder what he might have been if he had followed a different path. He tosses aside the soldiers who followed me, broken toys before an angry child.

 

“Leave them be,” I command. He listens, and drops them. The Twi’lek ambassador crawls away—I do not think this Sith recognized her.

 

“A Jedi,” he says, and his voice is frozen oil. Slippery and cold. “It is the way of the Sith to challenge themselves against powerful opponents. I sense little challenge here.”

 

Qyzen steps in front of me before I can stop him, “This is the Scorekeeper’s Herald, dark, soft thing. I will protect him,” he hisses.

 

The Sith snorts, “Muzzle your growling pet. I am Vokk, son of the Lord Ozur and apprenticed to Sith Master Tuur!” He ignites his sabers, and their red glow gives his face its only warmth, “When I carve your heart from your body, Jedi, your master will feel it, as will mine, and know my victory.”

 

“You will not have victory here, Vokk,” I say, “If you withdraw, you may keep your life.” I ignite my own saber. Its blade is gold. I have used it only once before. My task was done. There has been enough death here today, and I still feel the lives lost as voids in the Force’s fabric. But I know he will not accept my offer, just as he knows I must make it.

 

“Ha,” he laughs, “you are mistaken, Jedi. The Dark Side is the ultimate power, and it is mine to command.” I feel the gathering of power before he unleashes it. Combat begins with violet lightning: a rent in the Force that only we can perceive.

 

In truth, the battle is a blur to me. I will unravel it later. Now is not the time. I let the Force direct me, supporting my allies or attacking the Sith as appropriate. As needed. It is not an easy fight. We bring down the Sith, but at such pain. My soldiers are slain or injured, Qyzen is hurt, I am overwhelmed. All to bring about one death. One more death, one more void.

 

“Come on,” the ambassador says, “we must go!”

 

I know what the new Captain wishes, but he is wrong. “Bring our dead,” I command. There are few. We were few to begin with. They were brave. It will comfort the survivors, and they deserve better than to be vented to space like so much garbage.

 

I expect resistance, but she acquiesces without comment. Qyzen carries the body of the sergeant, the trooper, a Mirialan like myself. A female with bright red hair and a pair of diamonds beneath her eyes like dark tears. I wonder what they meant to her. She will never be able to tell me.

 

Qyzen pilots the shuttle back to the Esseles. I keep busy tending to our injured. They need kolto tanks and more professional medical attention than I can give. But I can ease their pain, and it helps to keep my mind off my own.

 

My command of the Force is insufficient. I could not have defeated Vokk without aid. The Dark Side may not be stronger overall, but it is stronger than I am today.

 

Somewhere between the ships I realize this is not so. Vokk was strong in the Force, but he was alone. I look at the young man whose wounds I heal, who followed me because I am Jedi. The Force is in him too, even if he cannot feel it like I do. My presence gave him strength and courage to do the impossible. And with his aid, I did.

 

 

 

Later. We are back on route to Coruscant, with no sign of pursuit. The acting Captain grants my request for an audience.

 

“Master Jedi,” he says, indicating a chair at the small desk. He still resides in the first officer’s quarters, and has no separate space to meet. “I can only reiterate my congratulations. You saved this ship and the ambassador. I didn’t think it was possible.”

 

I stay silent for a moment. His quarters are clean, neat, regulation, impersonal. Except for his rank insignia. He is not the Captain. I smile at him and say, “Three days.”

 

Captain Haken blinks. “I’m sorry? Three days what, Master Jedi?”

 

I pace. This is a bad habit, and I must break it, but not now. “You were thinking, Captain, that as I am a Jedi, I have dealt with these kinds of situations my whole life. That it was nothing to pick up and do the impossible, because that is what Jedi do.” I make myself stop and face him, “It is the fifteenth. I have been a Jedi for three days.”

 

“It’s the sixteenth,” he replies.

 

“My apologies, then,” I say, “four days. I lost track of time.”

 

Captain Haken sinks into the seat I declined, “Four…days,” he mutters.

 

“Five days ago I was a student on Tython. A padawan learner,” I say, “I studied philosophy and ancient history, if that helps.”

 

“A student,” he repeats.

 

“Today I am a Jedi,” I continue, “In the crisis you looked to me for leadership.”

 

“That’s because I didn’t know you were barely a Jedi,” he replies, and there is bitterness in his voice.

 

“Does it matter?”

 

“Yes!” he slams on fist on the table. Small objects jump.

 

“Why?”

 

“Because—“ he pauses.

 

I remain silent for a moment again and do not interrupt his thoughts. His insights. “Your crew needs you to be Captain, and it does not matter if your time in that office measures in minutes or years. Be Captain, Haken, and let their faith in you make it so.”

 

“It’s not that simple,” he objects.

 

“On the contrary, it is that simple,” I reply, “Would you feel more ready if you passed an exam? Had someone tell you that you were officially qualified to be Captain?”

 

“That’s different,” he says, “that’s how it’s supposed to happen.”

 

“Whose faith in your abilities is more important?” I ask, “A proctor filing away your exam record, or that of the crew who follows you and your own in yourself?” I resume pacing. I cannot be still. “You know what they expect. You expected it from your Captain.” I take the two steps to the door, “No one is ever ready, Captain Haken. Be the leader they expect you to be. I think you will find you already are.”

 

I see Captain Haken later. He wears the proper insignia. I acknowledge him, but that is all. I think perhaps this is why the Force brought me here, to this ship, at this moment. All these events were long in play. If I had not been here, another would have taken my place and dealt with the situation. Perhaps the same way, perhaps another. But this man needed me. This new Captain needed my words. I have no doubt the Republic will need him in the future.

 

I return to my stateroom. After my unplanned trials, I tried to return to Rajivari’s ghost, but the Council had sealed off his chamber. For safety, they said. I am not yet ready to meditate on the battle with Vokk. Nor contemplate Kilran’s actions beyond what I already know: if he wanted the ambassador dead, he would have simply destroyed the Esseles.

 

I open my datapad to the works of Avamarivash the Warrior-Poet. I have much to think about.

 

Edited by Striges
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I need to do shout-outs! I'm terrible at talking to people, but never fear, I will do so!

Edit: I think I've covered most people. If I've missed you, slap me.

 

Kabe: It says a lot about the Chancellor and his speeches that people can get drunk to them. Also, coupling this short with the Seasons one, Scourge's immortality becomes ever more a looming shadow over his happiness. That, even if he could remove the restraints on his ability to feel, he would still have an everlasting numbness.

 

Striges: Is it vanity or arrogance that makes Rixik keep that scar? I imagine that in the Star Wars universe there would be ways and means of removing or replacing such obvious identifiers, either way it's an interesting thought. Might I also say that it warms my heart to see that even Rixik holds Skadge in contempt, even if it is for entirely different reasons? :)

- I love Jurial. Your use of the first person really allows a much deeper insight into his mind and philosophies than could have been achieved using the third person, or at least not quite as naturally. His analysis of his position in the universe and the Force is a perfect example of a more fundamental difference between Jedi and Sith than which side of the Force they use.

 

Ereiniel: Quinn would want to enforce a dress code for Sith, but I do agree with him about the impracticalities of wearing a midriff showing garment, regardless of one's attunement to the Force.

 

Insane: I think you have Vette down pat: she's outspoken, but empathic. She believes in an amount of openness and truth between family (and the Sith Warrior is family, even my Dark Warrior treated Vette like a sister), but understands there are lines and things you don't press, even if she does have a tendency to accidentally tread on them. Your Warrior's background also demonstrates further the problems with the Sith's (and in some ways Imperial) will to power and how it blinds and destroys them (even if his father had reproduced with the Pureblood woman, there's not a 100% guarantee that the child would be Force Sensitive.)

 

Loyalty

 

 

 

Broan leant against the countertop, slowly sipping at his tea. He watched as Rochester slowly sorted the box of his possessions; there were few items, and most were mere trinkets. A book of poetry followed a cracked mug, a pair of socks, which had holes in the toes and a pair of boxers he had bought but never worn. His stomach churned as the items mounted up, their pointlessness adding insurmountable meaning.

 

"Rochester..."

 

Rochester paused and looked over his shoulder, a sketch of a flower in his hand.

 

"Is your tea cold?"

 

"No, it's not that," Broan breathed over the cup, blowing the steam away from him. "I was just wondering," He took another sip and calmed his nerves. "Will you always treat me like I'm Sith?"

 

Rochester placed the sketch down and went back to the box.

 

"I... I don't want you to be him when you're around me," Rochester's shoulders dropped when he said this. Broan stared at the back of his head, waiting for him to continue. "I'm sorry, I know it's stupid-"

 

"It's not stupid. I don't want to be him either," He smiled and Rochester smiled back. An oversized t-shirt came out of the box, one that Broan used to wear to bed. "But, I don't know..." He sipped at the tea again.

 

"What is it?"

 

"Well..." Broan moved his fingers over the cup, feeling the surface quickly move from cold to warm. "I'm... I'm not human, am I? What if I become just another alien to you?"

 

Rochester threw the puzzle cube back into the box and stood. The room was tiny and he crossed the distance between them quickly, placing his hands over Broan's, both of them encircling the cup.

 

"I don't care if you're an alien."

 

"You're an Imperial, though, haven't you been raised to think of non-humans as inferior?"

 

"Yeah, I guess, but..." Rochester shrugged. "It doesn't seem to matter, I never really cared about that."

 

"Like Tala?"

 

"Tala was..." His voice became soft and he looked away from Broan's voice to the worn carpet at their feet. "Tala was youth and arrogance. I wanted to get away from the Empire and I thought Tala was everything the Empire wasn't. I was right, but that was not a good place I found."

 

Broan moved his hand out from under Rochester's and reached up to stroke his cheek. His fingers brushed against the metal struts, ghosting over the tiny microphones.

 

"You really don't care if my skin is green?"

 

Rochester smiled and leant into the hand.

 

"I hear we have blue-skinned people working with the Empire, not that I've ever seen one though," He kissed Broan's thumb. "You don't care that I'm a weird peach colour?"

 

Broan laughed and set the tea aside.

 

"No, you're my weird peach man."

 

 

 

Note:

I have a terrible habit of ending these shorts on speech. Also, this is stupid and sappy and I absolutely had to get that flower in there and I don't know why D:

Edited by Tatile
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Hi guys! This is my first time posting here (I was directed here by the lovely Tatile) and I think this thread is wonderful.

 

Before the game's launch, I had started writing a fanfic about the characters I would play and how they would interact with each other. This was to tide me over while I was dying of anticipation. Unfortunately, it never really went anywhere, though the characters were still in my head. I'm glad I found this thread, as it got me motivated to write again!

 

Prompt

Night of the Living: I Love This Bar

Characters: Kaaste (Sith Marauder), Briel (Imperial Operative)

No spoilers, but it is rather long, so be warned!

 

 

Nar Shadaa was once described to Kaaste as the Armpit of the Galaxy. Nowhere was this more apparent to him than in the many bars that dotted the city. They were home to gangsters, spice-heads, smugglers, gamblers, prostitutes, and the worst scum known in the galaxy. Nevertheless, he still preferred them to the rest of the moon. Which was home to gangsters, spice-heads, smugglers, gamblers, prostitutes, and the worst scum known in the galaxy. So it actually broke about even.

 

He ordered a Huttese Sunrise (something a friend had recommended) and waited for his contact, a man named Briel. By the time he showed, Kaaste had nearly finished his drink.

 

The man was dressed as a smuggler, but his stance, his walk told the Sith everything he needed to know. Sure, he walked like a scoundrel, but his eyes darted around the room, gauging threats and escape routes in the way only an Imperial agent could.

 

He quietly took a seat next to Kaaste and slid a datachip across the table as inconspicuously as he could. "My Lord, I have the data you requested." His voice was low, so he could barely make it out. He was also positioned in such a way that the dim lighting made it difficult to distinguish most of his features. This man was a professional.

 

Kaaste carefully hid it within his utility belt, while simultaneously raising his glass in a toast. "To the Empire." The data the chip contained would make it child's play to hunt down a number of Jedi Knights that were a particular pain in his master's side.

 

It was only when the agent turned to face him that the Sith could get a good look at his face. Neat blond hair, calculating blue eyes, and well-defined features. In other words, rather striking. "To the Empire," he had repeated.

 

It was at that instant that the bartender came around, snapping him out of his gaze. The agent was about to order, but Kaaste spoke up first. "I want you to get this man a mug of your finest!"

 

The agent's expression was one of surprise. Sith were not known for their generosity.

 

Noticing his hesitation, Kaaste gave him a pat on the back. The force of which knocked the wind out of him. "I insist!"

 

The agent gulped, but quickly regained his composure. "Of course." It would not be wise to refuse a Sith's beneficence.

 

The bartender retrieved two glasses, and made a point of opening the bottle in front of them before pouring it out.

 

##

 

Once they had finished the first round of drinks, Kaaste led the agent to a booth where they could talk without being overheard.

 

Briel pursed his lips before opening them to speak. "If I might ask, m'lord. . ." He tried to think of the right way to phrase what he was about to say. ". . .why'd you come here?"

 

He blinked. "Excuse me?"

 

The agent gestured around them. "Not very Sith-y. To go out drinking, I mean." He grabbed a drink of the tray of a server that walked past. "'specially with someone like me."

 

Kaaste propped his feet up on the table. "'We're both servants of th'Empire. Brothers-in-arms, y'know?" It was difficult for him to form coherent words, but he continued nonetheless. "I'm a patriot. But most Sith're too busy comparing ***** to give a **** about what's good for th'Empire or its people."

 

"I. . ." Briel hesitated while he tried to hide his bemusement. ". . . I can't say I've ever heard someone say that before."

 

He shrugged. "Feel free t'quote me i'the future,"

 

Briel wisely kept his tongue in check, but gave a nod.

 

The Sith had a lot of interesting things to say over the course of the next hour or so, even if they were a bit difficult to make out through the drunken slurring. It made him realize that Sith too were men, not gods (aside from the Emperor, of course). With this in mind, he began to loosen up and enjoy himself. The two of them started swapping stories and learned a great deal about each other.

 

". . . you should have seen Red Blade's face!"

 

The Sith laughed. "A bounty hunter's no match for th'Empire's finest!"

 

Briel took another sip of his drink, the taste of which was repulsive, but he felt compelled to at least nurse it. "I wouldn't've been put on the job if they didn't think I could've handled it, milord."

 

"True," Kaaste replied, patting the him on the back again. "But only th'best o'th'best get chosen."

 

The agent's cheeks reddened a little, though it was hard to tell if from the alcohol or flattery. "You honor me, milord."

 

The Sith put his hands on the table in an attempt to pull himself up. "I'll get more drinks fo'th'occasion." He then took a few steps in the direction of the bar. Briel rushed over to offer assistance, and caught him as he fell toward the ground.

 

"I don't think that's such a good idea, milord."

 

"Nonsense!" He pulled on the strength of the force to stand back up. "I am Sith!" However, it could only sustain him for a few steps before he fell back into the arms of the agent.

 

Briel chuckled at the man now using him as a crutch. "Yes, but you're also drunk." He began dragging him to the door, despite protests. "Don't worry, I'll call a cab."

 

 

 

Author's Note

 

It took me a while to write it, as I had to keep going back to add flavor. Kaaste's and Briel's have developed a lot from when I started, and I'm pretty pleased with how they turned out. Also, the idea of a drunk Sith is pretty entertaining in its own right :D Any criticisms, comments, or advice are greatly appreciated!

 

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