Considering English isn't your first language, that's not so bad, but I think whatever automatic translator you used butchered some of your sentences.

What you do want to remember is to put each speaker on a new line, so as not to confuse the dialogue. Also, don't use shortened words - or text speak - in you writing. It's 'you' not 'u'.

If you create a new thread and post that story in it, I can be of more help. As it is I don't want to clutter the Challenge thread.

I can't stop writing these back stories for my companions. Little milestones and turning points in their lives. I considered doing Pierce's wedding but I thought that might be too sad. I'm trying not to focus so heavily on the men now, (as delectable as they are). So here's one about Vette:

Spoilers for Smuggler/SW companion storyline

I can't stop writing these back stories for my companions. Little milestones and turning points in their lives. I considered doing Pierce's wedding but I thought that might be too sad. I'm trying not to focus so heavily on the men now, (as delectable as they are). So here's one about Vette:

 

Spoilers for Smuggler/SW companion storyline

 

 

“It’s impossible Vette, you’re going to get killed.” Marti, a small Chagrian boy, whispered. They were standing next to a very special protocol droid. The droid wore a funny apron. In the pocket of the apron was the passcard to the pantry. The rule was, anyone who could successfully steal the passcard from the droid without tripping the alarm could eat whatever he or she wanted. If they tripped the alarm, the droid would explode. No one ever tried.

 

Vette stared up at the droid, she saw a cascade of laser beams and tiny mirrors. There was a small gap, big enough for a tiny child to insert her fingers, big enough for that child to pull the passcard out.

 

“They brought in whipped desserts and iced treats.” Vette replied ignoring what Marti said. Marti ran to the room the kids shared, afraid of being blown up with the new Twilek girl. The boss brought her in yesterday and expected the rest of the kids to tell her the rules. They told her about the droid and she had not stopped staring at it since.

 

The light to the pantry flicked on, the tiny Twilek was still gorging herself on iced treats. She blinked up at the man in the doorway, her eyes slowly adjusting to the bright lights.

 

“How did you get in here?” Nok Drayan demanded.

 

Vette grabbed the passcard off the table and handed it to Nok, it was sticky with sugary sweets. The crime boss walked to the protocol droid, someone had ripped open the apron pocket. He returned to the pantry, “You did not pick the droid’s pocket.” He stated crossing his arms.

 

“Of course not,” Vette answered grabbing a cookie. “I disarmed the bomb.”

 

Nok stared at the newest acquisition to the gang. He nodded to his bodyguard, “I like this one, show her to her new room.” A small girl no older than eight walked up to his side, she wore a sniper rifle nearly as tall as she was slung over one shoulder. Vette looked at the girl with round eyes, awed at the sight of a powerful confident girl her age.

 

“Come with me,” the girl said and grabbed her hand. They walked out of the room soberly, but once they were out of Nok Drayan’s sight, the girl giggled and started running. “My name’s Risha,” she said, “we’re going to be best friends.”

 

 

Aww, I love this!

:Rite of Passage:

Introducing my Sith Warrior, Esiri Vae (Sith Pureblood)

Author's Note: I really don't know where this came from- I guess I have been having a pretty rough week so I wrote about a character having a rough day. I was getting extra hours at work because a co-worker ended up in the hospital... and then I ended up in the hospital!

Ugh.

Anyway... I'm feeling better now, so I hope you all (enjoy?) this little piece.

:Rite of Passage:

Author's Note: I really don't know where this came from- I guess I have been having a pretty rough week so I wrote about a character having a rough day. I was getting extra hours at work because a co-worker ended up in the hospital... and then I ended up in the hospital!

 

Ugh.

 

Anyway... I'm feeling better now, so I hope you all (enjoy?) this little piece.

That was great, I couldn't stop reading, that was a bit more than a rough day. I hope you are feeling better.

:Rite of Passage:

 

Introducing my Sith Warrior, Esiri Vae (Sith Pureblood)

 

 

The first time Esiri Vae kills someone, she is eight Standard years old; terrified, hovering over the injured body of her Human mother and screaming until her throat burns.

 

She stares up imploringly at the Imperial soldier, tears brimming her startling orange-gold eyes as his large blaster rifle focuses on her prone mother’s body. Her mother, lying weakly on the floor on her side, flinches away from the weapon.

 

Esiri crawls closer to her mom, reaching out to run her small fingers over the side of Lydia Vae’s face in an attempt to calm her. Almost instinctively her mother turns her face towards her daughter’s touch, pressing the side of her face deeper into the child’s small palm.

 

Sometimes at night when her mother appeared too weary to sleep, Esiri would crawl in beside her and hold her close. Her mother would then be able to fall asleep eventually if Esiri caressed her face- as if reassured her daughter was still with her.

 

Lydia turns her warm brown eyes to her daughter’s and gives her a shaky smile as if to say, Don’t cry, Little Esi. Have no tears and be brave.

Esiri would take comfort in that, if not for a thin trickle of blood slipping from between her mother’s lips, making Esi’s chest churn wildly as if something dark and ugly is trying to get out. She would take comfort in her mother’s presence if the other Imperial Soldiers and the tall man in black were not crowding around them so threateningly in their own home.

 

Esi turns her gaze to them, narrowing her eyes in anger, hurt and confusion all rolled into one. Why must these strangers be so cruel to them?

 

Esiri has never done anything to these strangers- she and her mother are good people who mind their own business. They are simple farmers and keep to themselves whenever they find a new planet to call home. Sure they move around a lot; but that’s because Esiri’s skin is vibrant red and she can sometimes do things no one else she knows can.

 

Esi’s mom has never told the Youngling she’s the reason why they never stay in one place too long- but Esi is sometimes able to sense things that people like to keep quiet. She has noticed the looks others give her whenever they land at crowded starship ports, before her mother rushes her away to the promise of safe solitude and blessed seclusion.

 

Or the way fear and an aching sadness would cloud her mom’s face whenever Esiri tries to impress her with the strange tricks she can do; like moving objects without even touching them, or sometimes even making the native animals do as she asks.

 

This time, they managed to stay almost a full year on this small, nearly isolated farming colony before everything went sour. A distant neighbor reported them to the authorities, and before Lydia could pack her and her daughter’s meager belongings to leave the planet, the Imperial military had come for them.

 

Now, her sweet mother is hurt, and the tall, scary man in black is speaking strange words about Esiri rightfully belonging to an Emperor and being taken to live at some old, ancient school that helps special children like her.

 

As if she will ever choose to willingly leave her mom and go with these mean people.

 

She doesn’t understand really everything he is explaining- she is too busy cradling her mother’s head gently in her lap and running her fingers over and over her mother’s soft, satin skin to pay close attention. Lydia’s hair- the same silky inky black that Esiri has inherited -spills over onto the floor like a cascade, and Esi clamps her lips tightly close to hold back a sob.

 

Wishing with all her might that the Imperials would leave and she and her mom can be alone again, she tries to focus on the feel of her mom’s soothing skin against her fingers instead of the man’s cruel voice.

 

Her mother’s skin is rapidly turning clammy and cold under her touch.

 

It scares Esi, and she finds breathing is a little hard to do now, and her ears are becoming filled with a rushing sound in her panic.

 

No- her mother cannot leave her here! She’d be alone with these strangers, and they are so scary and mean.

 

“You only prolong the inevitable, child,” the tall man sneers, his voice cold as a slab of ice. His eyes are a blood-rimmed yellow despite him being a Human like her mom, and his fair skin flirts with the pale, sickly color of death itself.

 

Even from the distance between them, Esiri can feel there is something different about this man compared to the Imperial soldiers next to him, and even to her mother. There is a presence about him that seems to fill up the room, even though she cannot see it, and the presence is heavy, dark and makes her skin crawl.

 

She flinches when he speaks, and he gives her a predatory smile as if knowing she can sense that strangeness about him and she is trying to shy away from it.

 

“You belong with us. It is time you put this behind you- the Emperor’s will is to never be questioned. Your mother was insane enough to try- if you wish to follow her example I assure you it will end the same. ” The man warns when he holds his hand out to Esi and she stubbornly shakes her head at him.

 

“I don’t care about some stinkin’ Emperor!” Esiri says boldly, even though inside she is quaking with fear and uncertainty. The man’s face darkens and something brushes against Esi’s neck like an invisible hand threatening to squeeze.

 

A whimper escapes the child’s throat, before she haunches in on herself and bends forward over her mother’s upper body. Her arms cradle her mother a little more tightly, as if to shield her mother’s prone form with her petite one.

 

Let them hurt her or take her away; after all they are here because she’s different and her skin is red- but her mother hasn’t done anything! Her mother is the nicest person in the galaxy, and when she smiles Esi knows the day is going to be good.

 

Why won’t these strangers have goodness in them like her mom?

 

“Me and my mom didn’t do nothing to anyone! You go away from here and leave us alone!” Esi tries to make her words come out in a demand, but they only rush out of her throat in a desperate plea.

 

The man laughs, before waving his hand breezily at her. The Imperial Officer next to him takes it as some kind of sign, because he moves forward and reaches down to grab her mom’s shoulder harshly.

 

At Lydia’s weak cry, something deep and fierce inside Esiri explodes before the child knows what is happening. A powerful, invisible force tears the Imperial officer brutally away from her mother, sending him flying and crashing into the far wall.

 

He hits the wall so hard at an awkward angle that a loud snap fills the air, and when his body crumbles to the floor it doesn’t move again. The place where he hit the wall is cracked heavily from his body’s impact.

 

Esi stares, horror filling her eyes.

 

Did she… did she do that?

 

“Enough of this,” the man snarls, reaching forward to grip Esi’s hair like a vice.

 

With a savage yank, he pulls the little girl to her stumbling feet, and away from her dying mother. The movement causes Lydia’s head to fall onto the floor hard, and Esi sobs at the spike of pain that races down her neck and sparks in her skull at the man’s unforgivable grasp of her hair.

 

She reaches up to try and pull his fingers open and free her- he rewards her effort by pulling her head back and lowering his head close to her fear shrouded face.

 

“What you just did, child, is only a taste of the power you will learn to control,” he sneers. Tears slip down Esi’s face freely, and he eyes them with contempt.

 

A moment later, a gleeful smile full of malice splits his lips and Esi fights the urge to wet herself at the sight. She never knew a smile could hold such evil.

 

“Consider this your right of passage into the Sith Order,” he tells her, moving forward to press his cold, hard lips softly against her cheek, mocking a kiss of affection.

 

Eyes shutting tight at the feel of his lips upon her skin, revulsion rolls Esi’s stomach and she is briefly glad her stomach is empty. Otherwise she might have lost her meal right then and there at the man’s feet.

 

He pulls back, and Esi opens and turns her eyes in the direction of her mother just in time to see one of the other Imperial Officer’s raise a vibroknife above her.

 

“N-no… please,” Esi begs, looking up at the man in black. He regards her with a look of bored indifference. “I’ll go with you- I’ll do whatever you want. Please,” her voice is small and heavy with her tears.

 

They cannot do this. That’s her mom!

 

“Just… let’s leave, okay?” Esi tries to bargain, lowering her hands and stepping closer to her captor. She glances at her mother, who is regarding her with impossibly kind eyes even as her execution draws closer, and tries to steel her resolve. She turns back to the man and reaches up to place her small hands on his cloaked arm, almost in a sign of surrendered acceptance.

 

Staring into his eyes, she tries to bargain for her mother’s life, even as the thought of leaving with these people make her knees weak and her heart ache heavily with fear.

 

“Let’s go right now- I’ll stay at this school and your Emperor will be happy. I won’t fight or anything and won’t try to run away. Right? Can we go now? P-please?”

 

The man stares slightly at her for a moment, a thoughtful look in his eyes.

 

Hope flares in Esi’s chest--

 

--only to quickly turn to black horror as he says coldly to the Officer, “Kill her.”

 

Esi turns, and even though her vision swims under the tears, it cannot erase the sight of a slash of sliver, so much blood and her mother’s brown eyes turning dark and cold with death.

 

A scream tears from Esi’s throat, and it feels as if she will be screaming forever.

 

 

Author's Note: I really don't know where this came from- I guess I have been having a pretty rough week so I wrote about a character having a rough day. I was getting extra hours at work because a co-worker ended up in the hospital... and then I ended up in the hospital!

 

Ugh.

 

Anyway... I'm feeling better now, so I hope you all (enjoy?) this little piece.

"Enjoy" is far too happy a word, but you certainly kept me hooked. I really, sincerely hope your week starts improving soon.

"Enjoy" is far too happy a word, but you certainly kept me hooked. I really, sincerely hope your week starts improving soon.

Haha, thank you. And don't worry- my week's taking a turn for the better. I got to keep my OT hours, and I feel fine now.

It's been an exhausting week - send me your prompt ideas! I haven't come up with anything yet.

Maybe something to do with health? I have an interesting piece if you do that one!

It's been an exhausting week - send me your prompt ideas! I haven't come up with anything yet.

howabout a lighter tone... like "when they think nobody is looking" or communication mistakes

It's been an exhausting week - send me your prompt ideas! I haven't come up with anything yet.

First Impressions

First Impressions

 

Oooh, seconded.

Rite of Passage, Submission 2

Title: Entrance Exam

Character: Varrel Umrahiel, Sith Marauder.

No spoilers.

Yeah, yeah I'm late, I know. Dusted this off and finally finished it. Interesting how many other submissions for this prompt were also Sith Warrior and/or Imperial stories. Ironically, it fits for the suggested new prompt as well (which sounds good to me, by the way!)

Rite of Passage, Submission 2

 

Title: Entrance Exam

 

Character: Varrel Umrahiel, Sith Marauder.

 

No spoilers.

 

Yeah, yeah I'm late, I know. Dusted this off and finally finished it. Interesting how many other submissions for this prompt were also Sith Warrior and/or Imperial stories. Ironically, it fits for the suggested new prompt as well (which sounds good to me, by the way!)

 

 

Varrel’s right hand gripped the odd vibrosword’s hilt near the guard. His thumb activated it. The blade hummed a more treble note than he was accustomed to. He made a few practice passes, getting the feel for the new weapon. “It is not the proper length for me. The balance is wrong,” he said, “I do not care for this blade.”

 

His would-be opponent, Gelren, a tall human not even half Varrel’s age, rolled his eyes, “There’s nothing wrong with it,” he groused, “Come on, I haven’t got all day.” He dropped into a defensive position. He held his weapon with two hands, as opposed to Varrel’s single-handed grip. But his guard was low, and he was too open right.

 

Varrel Umrahiel brought the droning blade to a salute. In a quick, single slash, he executed a perfect kote cut through his sparring partner’s right wrist. The vibroblade sliced through flesh and bone, amputating the hand as neatly as a surgeon’s scalpel. For a fraction of a second, the severed limb hung suspended, still holding the hilt of the sword. Then Gelren screamed, dropped his weapon to the floor and seized the spurting stump of his right arm.

 

“Kill him!” he shrieked. He stared at his injury in disbelief. The guards raised their rifles. The unmistakable sound of safeties clicking off echoed in the bare room.

 

Varrel stepped back from the grisly scene. A knot formed in his stomach. He still held a guard position. He’d not asked to fight this man. And it was not his fault his opponent was sloppy. He’d understood this was a practice weapon. If these ‘Sith’ chose live weapons instead, they would have to accept the accompanying injuries. He turned to the armed observers, “Your man needs medical attention. Get a droid now,” he ordered. It occurred to him, belatedly, that Gelren must have known both weapons were lethal.

 

His opponent’s tight grip on his own wrist slowed the flow, but bright blood still dripped to the floor. The sharp metallic scent of it filled the air. Varrel couldn’t see the guard’s faces behind their helmets. After what felt like an eternity one nodded to the other, and he sprinted from the salle.

 

Varrel’s maimed adversary snarled at the remaining guard, “Kill him! That’s an order!”

 

“I’m sorry, sir, I cannot comply,” came the answer, the guard’s voice rasping with electronic modulation.

 

“Son of a—“ the man wavered on his feet, “I’ll have you both executed!”

 

“You will do nothing of the kind, Gelren,” said a well-modulated voice from the entrance to the salle. Umrahiel adjusted his stance, keeping all the potential enemies in view. The newcomer was a handsome woman in early middle age. Her hair was arranged in elegant rosewood ringlets around her face. Dark robes accented her athletic figure. She was unlike the Sith Oracles who’d visited Varrel’s homeworld. Wizened, shrouded creatures, they were. Only her face betrayed her nature. Her eyes shone an unnatural color, and veins showed beneath her pale skin in a way that had nothing to do with age.

 

“Master Lyt,” gasped Gelren.

 

“Explain to me how you lost a hand, my apprentice,” she purred. Her hands traced strange patterns in the air, and purple tendrils of smoke enveloped Gelren’s wounded arm. He winced and grunted as though in pain, but the bleeding stopped. There was a sensation on Varrel’s skin like the air before a lightning strike.

 

“I—I was not ready, master,” he lied.

 

Master Lyt’s right eyebrow rose in amusement, “I see. You were not ready. You were armed,” she tittered, hiding her laugh behind her hand like an ingenue, “how callous of me. You were holding a weapon. How is it then that you were not ready?” she asked.

 

“I…” Gelren shot a withering glance at Varrel, “He struck before I called to start.”

 

“I see,” replied Master Lyt. Her voice hardened, “Pathetic. Lies and performance both. I have holorecordings of the bout. We will discuss this further,” she turned to one of the guards, “Escort my apprentice to the infirmary and keep him there. Leave the hand,” she said. The guard stepped forward to comply. Gelren refused his aid, twisting away from him and making his own way to the door. He gave Varrel one last baleful look before exiting the salle.

 

Master Lyt turned her attention to Varrel. Curls bounced with the movement of her head. She smiled at him, and he thought of the deepwater lure-eels of his homeworld with their mouths full of sharp teeth. “And you. Why does my apprentice still live?” she asked.

 

“Excuse me?” asked Varrel.

 

Master Lyt gave an exaggerated sigh and folded her arms akimbo, “He was helpless. You could have killed him easily. So why did you spare him?” she asked, “It’s a simple enough question.”

 

All sharp teeth and gaping smile. Varrel pushed the image from his mind, “This was a training exercise,” he said hesitantly, “a test of skills.”

 

“A test, yes,” she said, “of course it was. You passed. You may deactivate the blade.”

 

“I think I’d rather not,” replied Varrel.

 

A hint of real approval passed over her face, “Well, you do have some sense at least,” she said, “if it is a bit misplaced at the moment.” She consulted a compact datapad, “Tell me, Varrel Umrahiel, why do you think you are here?”

 

Unwary fish, swimming by, snatched and devoured…Varrel buried the picture of a hunting lure-eel deep, “Your oracles claimed I had a gift—“

 

Her pleased expression evaporated, “Not why you’re on Dromund Kaas. Don’t be dense. Why are you here, in this room,” she asked.

 

Varrel despised this kind of pedantic questioning. She already had a specific answer in mind, and knew he could not supply it. Her inquiry was nothing more than a veiled insult. “Your apprentice said only it was a test of skills, Master Lyt,” he snapped, “perhaps you’d like to correct his error?”

 

Lyt’s unnatural eyes narrowed, almost amused, “He has teeth, how delightful. You may have a chance after all.” She consulted the datapad again, “Your file says your former occupation was a…teacher,” she raised her head, ringlets shifting, and fixed him with a stare, “pray tell, what did you teach?”

 

Her question made no sense. Varrel’s grey eyebrows drew together, “The art of Yovshin swordplay,” he replied.

 

“Hmm, I have not heard of it,” she said, “though it does explain your ability. And what did you do with a student who was underperforming?”

 

“I don’t see the relevance—“

 

“Just answer the question, Varrel Umrahiel, former teacher of ‘Yovshin Swordplay,” she prompted.

 

Varrel bristled, “He would be held back with students of similar skill until he mastered the techniques required to advance to the next daan. Perhaps some additional instruction or time—“

 

“I see,” said Master Lyt, “What an interesting philosophy. The Empire, however, does not waste resources. Neither an unlikely resource with potential, nor with propping up the weak. Now do you understand?” she asked.

 

His frown deepened, “Of course not, Master Lyt,” he said, his voice dripping with sarcasm, “please enlighten me.”

 

Master Lyt tittered, “Teeth and pride both,” she giggled, “Very well, I shall explain. All students at every Sith academy perform to the utmost limit of their potential. Bar none.”

 

Varrel shook his head in disagreement, “Unlikely—“

 

Master Lyt cut him off with a slash of her hand, “Do not interrupt, Varrel Umrahiel, former teacher of ‘Yovshin Swordplay,” she stalked forward, pacing carefully around the puddle of blood and her apprentice’s severed limb lying within, “All students perform thus, because if they do otherwise they will die. The Empire—the Sith—have no use for the weak. Students either rise to the challenge, or are devoured.”

 

Varrel’s grip on the still-thrumming vibrosword tightened, “You…kill your own students?” he asked. Yet even as he asked the question, he knew her inevitable answer.

 

Master Lyt stopped mid-stride, “Only when necessary. Most often there is no need. The students thin their own ranks. It takes quite a performance to attract the eye of a well-connected master, and competition is fierce. That, in fact, is the reason you are here, Varrel Umrahiel, former teacher of ‘Yoshvin Swordplay.”

 

The knot in Varrel’s stomach tightened, “A test of skills,” he said, almost under his breath.

 

“Just so,” agreed Master Lyt, “It is an honor to have a Force-sensitive child, and Imperial children begin their schooling early. But on worlds with no such tradition, the oracles find potential Sith of all ages and abilities. But throwing them together was chaos. The most adept became lazy with so many easy prey. My own apprentice is a perfect illustration. He finds this task beneath him,” Master Lyt smiled again, “and so loses a hand.” Her glance flicked to the disembodied hand on the floor, “It might just as easily been his life. He will not soon forget his lesson,” her attention returned to Varrel, “nor will he soon forget you.”

 

Varrel swallowed once. He could not switch off the sword nor relax his position. His body refused to obey. He’d come here with some of his own students. And his granddaughter. He’d assured them all would be well. “Do…all recruits undergo the same test?” he asked, fearing the answer.

 

“All?” repeated Master Lyt, “No, not all. Only the least likely to succeed. The elderly, like yourself, among other criteria.”

 

“And how many pass?” he whispered.

 

Master Lyt’s lure-eel grin widened, “Not many,” she said, “Few, in fact. Very, very few. But come now, you have earned your place, Varrel Umrahiel, Sith Novice.”

I have to say, your SW is one of THE most complex and interesting characters I've come across. I mean, so much going on in his head and you fit it together beautifully. I'm always a little sad when I read these because he's caught in such a tight place, but man, well done!

What's klondike?

A kind of ice cream treat, had a long-running ad campaign in the US with the tagline "What would you do for a Klondike bar?" - http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Klondike_bar#Popular_culture

lol @ the Klondike bar. Those new mint ones look so good! Wish I could eat dairy.

I'll put up two this time since folks had ideas for two of them. I like yours too Crez, I'll use it next week.

6/29/12

Health - Jet-setting around the galaxy means exposing yourself to a ton of different viruses, bacteria, and parasites. Let's go, biology nerds!

First Impressions - Our characters meet tons of people on their journeys. What are their first impressions of each other like? Are they accurate, or did someone put up a front? Write about it!

First Impressions

Be Careful What You Ask For

Trooper (minor end-game non-trooper spoiler)

Author's Note:

Health - Jet-setting around the galaxy means exposing yourself to a ton of different viruses, bacteria, and parasites. Let's go, biology nerds!

Featuring my JK Eleya Shevani (Miraluka)

Author's Note: Yeah... this was something silly sitting in the back of my mind gathering dust and spider webs. Hope you like!

It kind of depends on the options you pick in conversations, but he's not terribly shy. He'll follow your lead if you're aggressive, but if you're not he makes up for it. And it's jealousy on Nar Shadaa; if you check out how he reacts to the male trooper hooking up with Jaxo there's not nearly the level of pissed off there. Nope, it's all jealous protective stuff. So much fun!

I never got any gifts from him except for the love letter gifts, I basically was super aggressive in flirting with him and told him I wanted his bod. But yeah, he IS a jealous goober. Not as bad as Corso though.

In my head cannon, Jorgan has 10 years on my Trooper, he's been seriously in love at least once before, he has experience, but it's been a while, and he keeps his private life, private, but he thought it was absolutly criminal that Mitka had never been kissed. My Trooper up until this point looked up to him, like a mentor, she secretly needed his approval, she might have the rank, but he was still that hard *** lieutenant from Ord Mantell in her eyes. She never expected this, mind you she never expected ANY kind of male attention. Her head is spinning hard right now. Need to wrap up Force of Wills so Mitka can grow up.

Same-ish. I see Jorgan as being late 30s, early 40s and my Trooper is about 18 when she's on Ord Mantel. So he's got 12-20 years on her. And he was her first. (I'm lucky I got to take pics of them actually kissing and not nose kissies either. *sighs in a girly way*)

Rites of family or The sixth semi-annual Westan gathering where gathers only three

 

Adris Westan, my sniper

Vol'vikis Westan, my male mara

Ellivian Westan, my female jugg

Malavai Quinn

 

Minor mention of the Incident but probably not enough to be spoilery, I hope. I apologize up front if i don't have Quinn quite down. I'm only in Chapter one of the Warrior story so I'm going off of what I've seen other people talk about, especially Eanelinea. I hope maybe you squee a little, If not, sorry! Single mention of the Wrath as well. Its a little long, I had a lot of fun writing it and it got away from me. But i adore Adris and I'm starting to really like his little sister too.

 

 

“My lord, the shuttle is ready and your sister is... impatient,” Malavai Quinn said quietly. Everything was said quietly when Vol'vikis was in this kind of mood. Quinn was also thanking every star that his mouth had cooperated and the word beautiful hadn't snuck out over the word impatient. He was relatively sure that that would earn him a lightsaber through the gut. But he still nearly jumped out of his skin and let his insides melt into a pile of goo when she danced up behind him and leaned into his back to speak to her brother over his shoulder.

 

“Vik! Vikis! Let's go, let's go. Adris said if he beat us there I was going to have to buy the first three rounds of his choosing. I don't want to drink what he chooses, Vik. Please don't make me.” Her golden eyes were shining, her cybernetics were polished and she was wearing a flouncy shirt that let Quinn see, from his angle when she leaned around him, straight down the front of it. He looked away quickly and fixed his eyes on Vol'vikis, not allowing any sign of discomfort or desire to show outwardly.

 

Ellivian let out a gusty breath of impatience in Quinn's ear and shook him in her frustration, even if it was directed at her brother who stared coldly and silently at them. “I will go alone and... I'll be taking Quinn with me then,” she said. “It just won't be the same without you!”

 

“My lord,” Quinn began uncomfortably, but silenced himself when Vol'vikis fixed that single eye on him. There was an appraisal in the Sith Lord's gaze that Quinn wasn't sure he was comfortable with. But then, when Ellivian was anywhere within twenty meters, he was usually uncomfortable is some way.

 

Finally, Vol'vikis rose from his chair. He handed a slim datapad to Quinn and looked the other man hard in the eye. “You don't open this, you don't let this out of your sight. While I am gone, you guard this. And when we reach Hoth, you will deliver it.”

 

“My lord, you honor me with your trust,” Quinn started to bow at the waist but realized that would push his back end into Ellivian, who was still practically pressed against his back. He held the datapad tightly and with some reluctance, moved aside so his lord could exit.

 

“And we're out!” Ellivian cheered. She blew Quinn a playful kiss as she dragged her brother toward the shuttle. “What was on that pad, anyway?” she asked as they set course for Dromand Kaas.

 

“Correspondence to a contact on Hoth. Quinn needs something to feel important. The ship and that datapad couldn't be safer with him guarding it.”

 

Ellivian laughed. “I thought you were going to say it was the grocery list.”

 

 

 

Kaas City was always as it always was. Ellivian ignored the sights and sounds of people; dignitaries, Sith apprentices, law droids, and merchants meandered, stalked, or owned the streets. She and Vol'vikis navigated their way directly to the Nexus Room Cantina mid city where Ellivian paused at the door and surveyed every face in the room.

 

“He's not here!” she crowed and gave a little jump of victory. “Rounds on him and it's whatever I want! What are we going to have?” She began to wander toward the bar but Vol'vikis grabbed her arm and pulled her back to him.

 

“Stay close to me,” he commanded.

 

Ellivian rolled her eyes. “I'm Sith too,” she said. “I'm just as capable of dismembering people with my lightsaber as you are.” She eyed his blood red tunic and pants, the shiny black boots. His cybernetics were black alloy with red lights, his right eye completely replaced with the machine. “Though I'm going to guess I don't look anything near as scary as you.”

 

“Nothing is as scary as me,” Vikis said absently as he scanned the room with both his eye and his Eye.

 

“I hear that. Table. Over there. Go get it, I-” she squealed with laughter as she was lifted off her feet from behind and crushed against the thin chest that could only be her other older brother.

 

Vikis spun, his lighsaber out in hand but not activated and he looked into his twin's eyes and scowled darkly. “Adris, you idiot.”

 

“What?” Adris Westan asked, still holding Ellivian to him, her feet dangling as she giggled like a six year old. “I can't say hi to my little sister?” He shifted her slightly so her legs swung.

 

“Put her down. She's a Sith Warrior in service to the Emperor, not some cantina dancer. Show her some respect,” Vikis snarled.

 

“She's always going to be my little sister and you, dear brother, are always going to be an insufferable prat.” But Adris put Ellivian back on her feet. “Table, there. Let's go.”

 

As they settled and Adris paid for the first round of girly Corellian Sunsets Ellivian wanted, the talk flowed easily between older brother and younger sister, with Vol'vikis sitting in defiant silence.

 

“You know, and I should have thought of this, but you shouldn't really be here, Adris. Considering you told Imperial Intelligence to go shove it,” Ellivian said in a low voice.

 

Adris shrugged his slender shoulders, sending the thin cybernetics on his face winking. “I may not exactly be welcome but I am freelance now. And my older brother is the Emperor's Wrath. What exactly are they going to do to me?”

 

Vikis sniffed derisively.

 

Ellivian tossed her angry brother a look which he ignored. It was one of the mysteries of the universe why Adris and Vol'vikis had turned out so differently. Vikis was eldest by three minutes and had always had a surly demeanor and been attuned to the Force. His Sithyness had been nurtured by their mother and right before he had been sent to Korriban, their dignitary father had granted him, and by reluctant extension his non Force sensitive twin, their first cybernetics.

 

Adris had been content with his life despite being practically ignored by his mother for not being Sith. Their father had had a larger role to play in his life, even though it hadn't been a happy one. He had joined the Intelligence Program young but had impressioned himself enough on his younger sister that she turned out more like him, despite her Force affinity.

 

Ellivian was often the bridge between brothers who she idolized and loved dearly. Adris wasn't stingy with his affection the way Vol'vikis was. And she knew she had a standing invitation to join Adris and his rag tag crew. But it was Vikis who needed her. He had been erratic after his promotion, dark and merciless. She knew most of it was just how Vik was, but she had brought her sunny disposition and total nonchalance of carnage to his ship to help even him out. So far, it was working.

 

Adris considered his little sister as they talked. Vol'vikis had taken right to the Sith line of nurturing hate and anger to gain power. Ellivian had been fed that line as well, but she chose to nurture passion. Whether it was a hateful passion or one born of love, Livvy had managed to stay quirky like he had known her in childhood. He was sure it was what was holding her back.

 

Adris worried about his Sith sister, who chose to smile over gutting an enemy like a fish. Not that he wanted her to change exactly, but he wanted her to live. Which is why he didn't quarrel when she went to Vol'vikis. His twin would die to protect her, as he would.

 

So deep were his thoughts that he missed what Vikis grumbled to him entirely. “Sorry, what was that?”

 

“I said,” Vikis said unhappily, raising his voice a notch, “Do you still have that crazy agent girl on your ship? The one you were on assignment with on Alderaan?”

 

“I assume you mean Brei'yu,” Adris said. “That assignment was a long time ago and yes, she's still with my crew.”

 

“Really,” Ellivian said, her eyes taking on a shine that Adris could only laugh at.

 

“It's not like that. In fact, I'm actually.. well, never mind. Let's just say there's a better candidate than me on board.”

 

“That's a shame. You should have someone in your life.”

 

Adris thought of Raina and smiled. “I'm working on it.” Another round was set on the table and Adris poked Ellivian's arm. “And you? Are you beating men off with your saber?”

 

“With him around?” Livvy jerked her thumb at Vikis. “Please. They pee themselves in terror and I never see them again.”

 

“If you would stop teasing my Captain and either drop it or do something about it maybe I wouldn't need to do something about anything,” Vikis said with a pointed look. The alcohol was loosening him.

 

Ellivian fought the blush that spread on her cheeks. “Quinn? Oh, he's adorable when he gets all uncomfortable. But there was that whole, yeah. With the droids that one time and... whatever. I'm not really looking anyway.”

 

Adris and Vol'vikis shared a look. “And you Vik? How's that going?”

 

Vikis looked into his glass. “It's complicated,” he said with finality.

 

Adris turned to Livvy. “It's complicated, trust me.”

 

The conversation ran all evening, never sputtering or stalling. And when it came time for family to part there were hugs all around and a promise that in six months, it would happen again.

 

“What would Mom and Dad think if they saw us now?” Ellivian wondered as Vol'vikis docked the shuttle.

 

“They would think nothing because they were heartless and distant.”

 

“Maybe,” Ellivian said as she poured herself out of the shuttle and up the ramp to the ship. Quinn was waiting for them at the hatch and she tripped into his arms.

 

“Had a wonderful time, Malavai” she said with drunken glee and a giggle. “Now help me to bed.”

 

Quinn looked helplessly at his lord, who only gestured like 'Duh go help her' and watched them stumble off. He did love his family.

Sorry I didn't feedback sooner, been sooo busy. But my love for Quinn is hardcore. ^_^ I really enjoyed this. I loved how helpless he looked when she was drunk and told him to take her to bed (even if put down to sleep). Very good. We need MORE! MOREMOREMORE! Especially your Vector and Quinn. *nods hard*

He was most Quinn-y. For the most part, Quinn is very prim and proper around his Lords, but not to the point of being an ex-Etonian punching bag. It's an endearing quality that makes one wonder what he is like in private (which I believe has been explored in this thread.)

In private? My SW's Quinn is soooo aggressive, she gets rug burns from a metal deck.

In public? The Quinn you see is the Quinn she gets.