Prompt: Canned Responses/Family

Title: Relaxing Some spoilers

Author note:

Good Lord, this thread is active. Story index by character is up to date (for at least another thirty seconds, probably), with several new authors added!

Thank you for this index, b_e. I'm slowly moving through it so I can get acquainted with everyone's characters. That way I'm not just reading stories going "derp derp" trying to picture people.

This is for elliotcat to update the index page

Prompt: Canned Responses/Family

 

Title: Relaxing Some spoilers

Author note:

I wasn't exactly sure how spacechess went in terms of playing it but I thought incorperating it with Quinn and Peirce would be perfect considering their dislike for one another.

I love the idea of space chess. I know they have one for Trek but I'm not sure about Star Wars. I think the closest I've seen was the one played against Chewie (aka. let the wookie win)

Family, part 1

Words: 2,500

Reasoning: I'm stuck at the hor d'oeuvres (no, seriously)

Characters: Rochester, Broan, Benedicta, Stion'n and Amilia

 

 

"Are you packed?" Broan stood just inside the doorway, constantly opening and closing his hands. He had no idea what to do with them. He had been waiting for some time, watching Rochester in silence. He started to pace a little.

 

"Yes. Are you?" Rochester spoke over his shoulder, pushing down on the case. It had always been difficult to close and now he was wondering if had over-packed. Taking one hand off, he tried to close one of the clasps. The lid popped up.

 

"Do you need help with that?" Broan sounded a little hopeful. Without anything to do, he was starting to become very apprehensive. Rochester was kneeling on the case, which was wobbling rather precariously on the bed. The clasps finally locked into place.

 

"Thanks, but I think I'm alright," He placed the case on the floor and smiled. Broan went to smile back, but instead bit on his bottom lip. "You seem nervous," Rochester pulled him into an embrace, kissing him deeply before he could reply. Broan pulled away briefly and nodded. They kissed again, hot with passion. "I think we can fix that, don't you?"

 

Broan hummed as he started to undo the buttons of Rochester's uniform.

 

"Yes, I think we can."

 

/

 

Broan kissed the back of his neck, pulling down the collar. Rochester chuckled and playfully pulled away.

 

"I need to get dressed," Rochester turned and saw that Broan was still entirely, and gloriously, naked. "And so do you." He smiled. There was a glint in Broan's eyes. Clothes seemed to be the last thing on his mind.

 

"I'm a 'dark Lord of the Sith', remember?" Broan grinned and lay back on the bed. His green skin contrasted wonderfully with the white sheets. Rochester could not help but stare. Broan stretched; he loved it when Rochester looked at him. "I can do whatever I want."

 

"Yes, but..." Rochester trailed off, captivated by the sight. Broan continued to grin, alluring and mischievous. He reached up to pull Rochester down. He caught a quick kiss as the intercom started to beep.

 

"Ignore it." Broan put an arm around Rochester's shoulders. He pulled at the grey clothes, pressing and kissing to keep Rochester's attention. The beeping of the intercom became more urgent and at length, Rochester answered it. Broan sighed heavily and threw himself onto the bed.

 

"Lieutenant Windthorpe? Sorry to bother you, sir," Rochester leant against the door, watching Broan as they both listened to the speaker. "Your ship is prepped and ready. Lord Naught's affects have been loaded, but he is not answering his door. Perhaps you might be able to-"

 

The speaker abruptly cut off. Rochester raised an eyebrow at this; it was rare that a subordinate would suddenly stop speaking. Broan made a show of striding to the bathroom, picking up his clothes as he went.

 

Captain Gorse spoke when the next call came through.

 

"I'd tell you to have fun, but I know how these champagne balls go," He sounded chatty, meaning he assumed Lord Naught was not present. It was highly likely, Rochester mused, that Gorse had pulled the petty officer away by the scruff of the neck. The nature of Rochester and Broan's relationship was something of an open secret. "Your ship is in hanger three and is ready for departure. I suggest you hurry, if you can, another storm is brewing over Kaas City." The call ended. Rochester took the time to adjust his uniform and smooth out the wrinkles.

 

"Did you hear that, Broan?" Rochester received a grunt in reply. It seemed Broan was sulking, which was rather unusual. He had certainly taken to expressing his emotions more readily, at least around Rochester, but he had a tendency to be more positive. At length he came out of the bathroom, fully dressed. He worse a scowl fit for a Darth. "Are you ready?" Rochester tried to keep his voice free from the hesitation he felt.

 

"She's going to be there, isn't she?"

 

Rochester stopped, his hand on the lock, and though for a moment. There were a lot of women who Broan could be referring to.

 

"Lord Stion'n will be there, yes."

 

Broan shrugged his shoulders and folded his arms across his chest. He appeared disappointed, perhaps even threatened, by the notion.

 

"I can't talk you out of this, can I?"

 

"I'm not going to marry her," Rochester grabbed Broan by the waist, pulling him into an awkward hug. "Lord Stion'n is not at all interested in me - I'll never be able to give her Force Sensitive children, for a start," Broan turned his head away, avoiding Rochester's eyes. "You don't have to worry. I am not going to leave you. Besides, have you forgotten? This is my brother's stupid party, not mine." He smiled weakly as Broan sighed and agreed.

 

"I don't even know how to act at one of these things. We aren't going to be using slaves as piñatas or anything, right?"

 

"No, nothing like that," Rochester chuckled and gently kissed Broan. They would not be able to be so gentle with each other for quite a while. Broan had many expectations to live up to and many people he needed to prove wrong, no matter how right they might be. "Now put on your best 'Sith face', you have subordinates to intimidate." Broan managed a smile.

 

"And I'm not to feel embarrassed walking out of your quarters."

 

"You're a 'dark Lord of the Sith', remember?" Rochester chuckled and kissed Broan again. "You can shag anyone you want, even me."

 

/

 

A storm was brewing over Kaas City. Lieutenant Windthorpe and Lord Naught were in a private carriage. The train was speeding to the outskirts of the city, home to the larger estates of rich non-Sith. Many of the carriages were devoted to private individuals like themselves, but Rochester knew the latter carriages were filled with fresh slaves. Thankfully, Broan had not asked about the plain, windowless boxes tacked onto the end of the train. Instead, he had slipped onto the train with all the haughty arrogance of a Sith Lord. In a way, Rochester was proud of him. Leading such a double life was not easy.

 

"When will we be reaching the estate, Lieutenant?" Lord Naught did not look up as he asked the question. His eyes stayed focused on the book in his hands, his expression blank and his words clipped with the slightest hint of distaste. He was learning fast, Rochester realised; to most, he would appear a normal Sith, albeit an alien one.

 

"Within ten minutes, my Lord." Rochester inclined his head respectfully and returned to looking out the window.

 

"We will be meeting with Lord Vizloch, Lord Amilia and Lord Stion'n. You will be on your best behaviour, Lieutenant. I will not accept any," Lord Naught paused and considered Rochester for a moment. It was strange thing, to come under such callous scrutiny from a man with which he was so intimate. Even though they were alone in the carriage, appearances were to be maintained. One could never tell who was watching. "Quirks."

 

"I would never dream of such a thing, my Lord."

 

/

 

It was oddly serene sitting on the veranda, drinking fruit cordials and reading a mildly interesting book. Despite his misgivings, Broan was actually starting to enjoy himself. The rain was lashing down - "bucketing" as one of the servants had said - and the sound of it was calming. Benedicta, Rochester's sister, was standing at the railing, looking out over the gardens. This was the first time they had properly met, having briefly crossed paths aboard the Absolution. Broan was not sure what to say to her or if he should say anything at all. Thus, they waited in silence, him reading and her staring into the rain.

 

A servant replaced his empty glass. Broan had to consciously force himself not to thank her - Sith did not thank, nor appreciate. From the corner of his eye, he noticed Benedicta watching him. He sniffed and ignored the servant, concentrating on his book. After the servant left, Benedicta openly regarded him, now with her back turned to the garden.

 

"Why did you leave the Jedi Order?" Her voice was firm, commanding. Benedicta was a woman used to getting her way, it seemed. Broan did not look up and hid his surprise at the sudden question. He took a sip of his drink and carefully placed his book to one side.

 

"I needn't explain myself to you, Apprentice." Broan looked at her, meeting her defiance with his own cool arrogance.

 

"My brother is to be married; will you prevent that?" Benedicta folded her arms and leant back on the railing. She was openly mocking him now, trying to draw his ire.

 

"Rochester is mine - he belongs to me. I do not let my possessions be used by others." Broan felt sick at the thought. He was referring to Rochester as if he were an object, a slave, something to be used up and thrown away. It was the correct response, though. He could see Benedicta bristling - exactly the reaction he had been told to expect.

 

"My brother is not-" Benedicta paused. It was obvious she was controlling her reactions. Broan recognised the initial response, then the speaker's realisation and their attempt at control. He had practiced that routine in the mirror every night as a Padawan, learning to mask everything. Being a Sith was not the same as being free, in many ways it was just like being a Jedi or a slave. "Rochester was promised to Lord Stion'n by Lord Vizloch; the agreement was made with Lady Fidrocia Dimatier when my brother was five and Lord Stion'n was three. That is what you chose to fight when you chose to take my brother."

 

Broan allowed a small smile to play upon his lips.

 

"How did you know I was on top?"

 

Benedicta's mouth fell open and the colour drained from her face. Her cheeks then suddenly flushed and she stormed into the house, a knot of fury building in her chest. Broan watched her leave, slowly drinking the fruit cordial. He clasped his robe with his free hand and hopped the shaking would soon stop.

 

/

 

Stoin'n stretched out on the couch and kicked her shoes off. It felt good to get out of the high heels that hurt her feet. She wiggled her toes and sighed. She was wearing her cocktail finery, the yellow basque with long, shimmering black leggings. She arched her back, clicking it in a few places, before again relaxing. Amilia sat on the footstool next to the couch, wearing plain trousers and a simple robe. She had elected not to wear her dress just yet; she was worried about getting it dirty. Stion'n rolled her to one side, looked past the Twi'lek and smiled. Rochester was perched on the couch opposite; hands clasped his lap, looking straight ahead.

 

"That was your man out there, wasn't it?" Stion'n said at last. They had been waiting in uncomfortable silence for a while, listening only to the rain. Rochester met her gaze, nodded, but said nothing. "He's quite cute, even with his green skin. Is he any good in bed?" Her smile spread into a large grin, hoping to unnerve the man. Rochester remained silent.

 

"Are you really going to keep up this charade or will you finally let the man out of this misery?" Amilia sounded curious, albeit quite bored as well. Stion'n pouted, before suddenly sitting up. Her normal flirtatious air was gone, replaced with uncharacteristic seriousness. Rochester found he was now acutely aware of the fact that she was a Pureblood.

 

"Rochester..." Stion'n leant forward, looking him hard in the eyes. She pressed the tips of her fingers together, resting her elbows on her knees. "I don't want you." Her words were blunt and hit harder than he had expected.

 

"That is... as I expected." Rochester swallowed. Though he had dreamed of this moment his entire life, it was turning to be quite difficult. Even though he had Broan, the thought of being unwanted was crushing.

 

"You are not Force sensitive and are unlikely to provide me Force sensitive children." Two more unintended blows struck him in the chest. He knew Stion'n was trying to be diplomatic, but her mannerisms were blunt and she spoke about the things that shamed him the most.

 

"I understand."

 

"Your brother only invited us to this in the hope that we would confirm the arrangement. It is his formal engagement party, but we are expected to announce ours as well. We will not."

 

"I understand." Rochester nodded again and clasped his hands tighter. The pain was blissfully distracting. At this Stion'n picked up her shoes and walked from the room.

 

"Ta ta! I'll see you two at dinner." Stion'n waved over her shoulder as she left. Amilia watched her go, whereas Rochester concentrated on his feet.

 

"You're upset over this." Lord Amilia was just as matter-of-fact as Stion'n had been, but she also seemed to be genuinely concerned.

 

"I would not seek to trouble you with this, my Lord." His breathing was shaky; his reaction to the entire exchange confused him.

 

"Perhaps not me, but you should trouble someone," She smiled at him. It was warm and friendly; the kind of smile that Broan would give him, the kind of smile that was so rare in the Empire. "Believe me when I say this was going to be a lot more brutal. Stion'n is a woman used to getting her way, she does not care who she has to crush to get there. It took me a long time to convince her that a little tact would be more beneficial for all involved."

 

"I see, thank you, my Lord."

 

Amilia squeezed Rochester's knee before taking his hands in hers.

 

"You probably don't remember me, we probably never met. I used to work here, in one of the lesser houses belonging to the estate," She tilted her head to one side. "Look at me now: I used to be a slave, serving drinks at events like this and now I'm here, people are calling me 'Lord', they bow to me." She let go of his hands and stood, smoothing the folds from her robe.

 

"I'm not sure I quite understand, my Lord."

 

Amilia shrugged.

 

"I was defined by those around, even as I became Sith. I am an agent of others, a product not of my own making. It would seem that we are similarly cursed, though I would not presume to know the full extent of your position. I am able to make myself independent and it is a glorious feeling."

 

Rochester waited a moment, wondering if she would continue. At length, he raised an eyebrow and spoke.

 

"I'm not sure I fully understand your meaning, my Lord."

 

"Do not allow yourself to be used anymore, Rochester. Everyone deserves better than that."

 

 

 

Part 2 will be along when I can figure out how to scandalize a champagne glass.

I await Part 2 anxiously because I loved this!

and this:

ahahahaha, I love it that he's a Sith and Benedicta is just an apprentice so he can mess with her.

Prompt: Family

 

Characters: Malavai Quinn and LS!Jaesa

 

Quinn digs up a bit of his past and Jaesa publicly pries it out of his cold, angry fingers.

Welcome to the thread! I quite liked this, very unexpected...and I really don't typically like Quinn so this was a nifty changeabout. Well done!

What does it say about me that I'm having more fun reading the fics than trying to write more XD

Thanks for the incredible reads guys and gals!

I love the idea of space chess. I know they have one for Trek but I'm not sure about Star Wars. I think the closest I've seen was the one played against Chewie (aka. let the wookie win)

That's Dejarik (http://starwars.wikia.com/wiki/Dejarik). Holochess.

I think all ships except the Bounty Hunter has a table. I don't recall common room-lounge kind of area on the bounty hunter ship.

I need to get caught up on stories now.

(edit)

Tess'iri and Zenith Quesh class quest part 2, Canned Responses. Major Quest JC class quest spoilers. 2500 words.

[*] means I'm paraphrasing what was said. I did the Quesh questline a couple days before this prompt went out.

Author's Note:

So sweet. I haven't finished my JC story line, now I am going to be disappointed Zenith is not an LI.

 

 

Tess couldn't control the smile that she tried to hide with her fingers. “Would you like me to use my hand? Like this?” She covered her mask with her hand. “Nope. I can still see.” She enjoyed the easy laughter and the teasing for a moment. “No really, get it open.”

 

 

 

I laughed way too hard at that. Way.

Prompt: Discovery

Title: King and Pawn versus King

Characters: Varrel Umrahiel, Sith Marauder, Malavai Quinn

Notes. Sith Warrior Ch 3 spoilers (pretty obvious from the title):

I love the idea of space chess. I know they have one for Trek but I'm not sure about Star Wars. I think the closest I've seen was the one played against Chewie (aka. let the wookie win)

Thats what I was thinking when I was doing Space Chess. Originally I was going to do Species as the Pawns and stuff (Felucian, rodian,etc) But I thought of how Imperial Influence might shape the game and just used Imperial Ranks and Sith.

]@SveinEternity I like your version of "space chess", as opposed to (or in addition to) dejarik. Especially the names of the pieces.

Thank you. Maybe I should send it in to BW and maybe they will put it in game! But, first and foremost...Pazzak.

Prompt: Discovery

 

Title: King and Pawn versus King

 

Characters: Varrel Umrahiel, Sith Marauder, Malavai Quinn

 

Notes. Sith Warrior Ch 3 spoilers (pretty obvious from the title):

 

I wanted to examine “the incident” from my Mwarr’s position, who did not have the emotional baggage of Quinn’s romance. He has different baggage, but still faced the same situation. Varrel has fewer reasons to keep Quinn alive—there’s no sentimentality there, no emotional attachment. This is not the same as having more reasons to kill him (Fwarr wins there hands down). I still wanted to figure out a reason—beyond game mechanics—why Varrel left him alive.

 

And I get to show Varrel as a bit of a manipulative bastard. He is dark side after all.

 

Like Morgani, I don’t usually write out the actual class quests, and I paraphrased Quinn’s dialog where it is from the game.

 

 

 

 

 

Varrel followed Quinn through the frigate. The unsuspecting frigate. Her crew milled about, ants in a hill, performing their little functions. All very irregular. The crew should not have allowed them to board unopposed. If ordered down, there ought to have been some sort of official welcoming fluff. There was neither. Tension that had nothing to do with the Empire’s wartime footing thrummed in the air. Varrel felt it buzzing about the edges of his awareness like an annoying insect. Quinn’s anxiety was almost palpable. All out of proportion to his stated intent.

 

Which implied his stated intent had nothing to do with being here.

 

Which further implied he wanted Varrel here for some other purpose.

 

There could be only one reason.

 

Baras was using his last cat’s-paw.

 

At that moment the pressure doors to the chamber closed. Baras’ trap was sprung. He had no choice but to allow this little charade to play out according to Baras’ script for the time being.

 

Quinn advanced to the center of the chamber, “My lord,” he began, turning to face Umrahiel, “I regret that our paths must diverge. Out of respect, I wished to be here to witness your fate.”

 

Umrahiel halted two steps away, “And what fate have you decided, Quinn?” he asked.

 

“It pains me to say it, but this entire operation has been a ruse. There is no martial law and no transponder beacon. Darth Baras is my true master. I did not want to choose between you, but he has helped immensely over the years, and I am afraid I must side with him. He had me lure you here to be killed.”

 

Varrel’s eyes narrowed, “I suppose it’s too much to hope that Baras would be here himself.”

 

“He does not need to. After all this time observing you in battle, I have made an exhaustive study of your strengths and weaknesses,” Quinn stepped aside and a pair of collicoid-style droids stepped out of an alcove as a secondary door opened. “These droids have been programmed specifically to defeat you.”

 

Varrel evaluated the droids at a glance. They looked like ordinary anti-personnel war droids. He saw no obvious differences in their armament. Quinn must have extreme confidence in his unique programming. His usual style was the Yovshin Jar’Kai form, but he calculated he would need more power to penetrate the droids’ armor. That meant a single saber with all his strength behind it. And two opponents, armed with ranged weapons.

 

A single blade. That meant Kata forms. He saw Kata twelve: ‘Defeating bandits waiting in ambush’.

 

“You will find I am not so easily dispatched,” he said.

 

“I calculate a near one hundred percent chance of success,” replied Quinn, “And the frigate’s crew has standing orders not to permit you to escape should they fail. But I doubt they will be needed. If anything, I have underestimated the droids’ chances.”

 

Quinn’s nervousness spiked. Even Varrel could feel it. “Your confidence is misplaced. As is your fidelity,” he growled.

 

Quinn stepped back, “I regret that it has come to this, my lord,” he said. With the push of a button, the droids came to life.

 

In that split second, Varrel pulled on Quinn’s fear, opening a conduit to the dark side. His blade flashed to life even as he closed the distance to the first droid, taking the place of the proper drawing of the weapon in Kata twelve. He intercepted the droid’s blaster bolts with his saber, reflecting them to the other. A slash disabled the machine’s weapon, leaving it nearly helpless. He vaulted to the next.

 

Varrel Umrahiel was in his element now. His connection to the Force was kinetic. He was most in tune with it in combat. And it directed his movements with deadly choreography. He’d had little talent for more subtle applications of his power, but in this he was supreme.

 

He directed a ski cut to the second droid’s head, where a humanoid opponent’s throat would be. The blade burned through the servos and he pulled it out vertically, bifurcating the verbobrain. A doh strike sliced across the droid’s midsection. The top half slumped to the floor with the scream of abused metal. A third hit severed the connections to its wildly firing lasers and it fell silent.

 

Umrahiel turned his attention to the crippled first droid. He dodged its pummeling arms and beheaded it, putting a second hole through its lower servobrain. The tripod legs screeched to a halt.

 

“No!” Quinn cried, backing against the far wall, “My programming was flawless.”

 

Varrel spun on his heel and advanced on Quinn with murder in his eye, “Obviously not,” he snarled.

 

Varrel seized his former captain with the Force and flung him against the wall. Then again, across the space, the impact hard enough to crack bones. Bright stars of Quinn’s pain sparkled in the fog of his fear. Varrel inhaled the emotions as he might a heady perfume. Darkness surged within him like a living thing. He reached out with it and lifted the traitor, holding him suspended in an invisible fist. His hand mimed the gesture. He could almost feel Quinn’s fragile body within his grip, writhing against the pressure.

 

“You think I couldn’t figure out where your loyalties lay? Who you truly called lord all this time?” Varrel snarled, “The little reports. Communications. Monthly blood tests to monitor the crew’s health? Tell me, Quinn, what would you have done had you discovered Jaesa was with child? Would Baras have known before me?”

 

“My lord,” Quinn gasped.

 

“And Baras’ orders to the frigate’s crew. On the off chance you failed. Oh, you’ve been very thorough, Quinn,” Varrel continued.

 

“Please, my lord—“

 

“Don’t snivel, it hardly becomes you,” Varrel said, “I did trust you, though. There is a special place in hell for treacherous advisors,” he said, tightening his grip.

 

Quinn’s hands flew to his throat as Varrel squeezed it closed. His gagging cut off in silence. Feet kicked more from reflex than conscious thought.

 

A flash of memory. Overseer Tremmel. Who’d brought Varrel to Korriban ahead of the other novices. Regret. ‘Either you kill me, or he forces me to destroy my own creation. A master stroke.’ Tremmel’s words. A master stroke.

 

Quinn’s blue face replaced Tremmel’s visage. His eyes rolled back in his head. His hands still clawed weakly at the empty air. Uselessly. Varrel was in Tremmel’s place. Quinn failed to kill him. Baras must have known he was unlikely to succeed. Umrahiel, therefore, would destroy him. And lose a skilled tactician, thus weakening his own position.

 

A master stroke, indeed.

 

Lord Varrel Umrahiel would not play into Baras’ hands. The traitor did have his uses. Varrel could sever Quinn’s ties to Baras and transfer that loyalty to himself. Truly, this time. And stealing Baras’ pawn, only to return it to play against him had a delicious sense of poetic justice. A calculating expression played across Varrel’s features. Quinn himself had already shown him how to do just that.

 

He released Quinn from his hold and let him fall to the deck in a boneless heap. He lay still for a moment, coughing and wheezing. Varrel approached him on cat’s feet. The only sound in the room was Quinn’s agonized gasping for air. He struggled to push himself up with one elbow. Varrel smacked him flat down on the deck with the Force. Quinn grunted, the wind knocked out of him.

 

Varrel crouched down beside him, maintaining pressure, “You didn’t really believe you could defeat me, Quinn,” he hissed, “This was a fool’s errand, and you’re no fool.”

 

Quinn twisted in Varrel’s inexorable grip. His eyes were screwed shut against the onslaught. “You were a perfect mole,” said Varrel, “perfectly placed. You could tell your master everything that occurred on board the Lemures. From whom I met in confidence to what kind of ****ography Pierce keeps under his bunk. So I ask you: why would Baras throw away such a valuable resource?” Quinn’s struggles slowed. He still gasped for air, but Varrel could almost hear the wheels turning in his clever, clever mind.

 

He kept up the pressure, “What kind of man sends his undetected, well-placed spy to certain doom? What kind of master accepts the destruction of so many Imperial personnel as collateral damage taking out a rival? In wartime? And not an enemy rival. Not a Republic rival. Another Sith. Is this the act of a rational man, Quinn?”

 

Quinn had gone very still. He opened his eyes. Blood filled the sclera of the right one, courtesy of a burst vessel. Varrel felt Quinn’s fear damping down as he pondered the problem. Worked through the implications. He tasted Quinn’s melancholy building behind a dam of denial.

 

“He struck at me first, remember?” Varrel said, his voice almost a whisper, “I’d serve him still if not for that. I did not turn from him, Quinn, he forced me out. I would have remained his right hand.” A bit of a lie, but Varrel gambled Quinn was too preoccupied to question it. “But he decided I was a threat, and for no reason I could ever determine. Is this the act of a rational man, Quinn? Or a paranoid one?”

 

Varrel eased off a fraction of a foot-pound and stood. Quinn lay still on the floor. “Desperate…” he wheezed.

 

“I did not start this feud, Quinn. But I will finish it,” Varrel said. “Despite your divided loyalties, you’ve served me well. I would take no pleasure in destroying you,” also a bit of a lie at the moment. Varrel would very much like to squash his traitorous captain like a beetle. But he had a longer game in play. He released Quinn, turned on his heel, and walked away.

 

Quinn coughed. Varrel stopped walking as he heard Quinn push himself off the floor. Not fully. Not to his feet. No click of bootheels, just the rustle of cloth. “You—“ his hoarse voice cracked and he coughed again before continuing, “you know I could countermand the order,” he rasped.

 

Varrel did not turn about. He left his back exposed to Quinn, “As if it matters. Consider, Quinn, what sort of tale Baras would spin out of your defeat. Do you believe he would be kind to the memory of a dead man? A dead man who failed him? Furthermore, in the unlikely event you succeed in your mission, how long do you think Baras will let you live? The Force-blind Imperial officer who killed a Sith?”

 

“You’d kill me,” Quinn gasped, “as soon as you were safe.”

 

Varrel glanced over his shoulder. Quinn knelt on the floor holding one arm tight against his side, either unwilling or unable to stand. “Now what do I gain from that?” he asked

 

“Revenge,” said Quinn.

 

Varrel took a step sideways, revealing only a narrow profile, “My quarrel is with Baras, not you. Pointless revenge is a waste of time. I prefer to win.” Time to turn the conversation and Quinn’s attention back to Baras’ motives, “You’re a clever man, Quinn, a valuable asset to the Empire. And to me. Don’t go to your grave out of misplaced loyalty. And don’t take other good Imperial soldiers with you. The people on this frigate don’t deserve to die for Baras’ folly.”

 

Quinn’s stiff military posture slipped in defeat, “…Unforgivable,” he whispered.

 

“That depends greatly on whom you choose to serve, Captain,” said Varrel.

 

“Darth Baras would kill me,” said Quinn.

 

“Eventually,” said Varrel.

 

Quinn winced. He raised his eyes to meet Varrel’s, “Is there any chance you would allow me to remain your captain?”

 

Varrel cocked one eyebrow, “Trust you again?” he asked. He kept his face a mask. Inward, he rejoiced, “A long road, I think.”

 

“I—“ Quinn’s voice cut off in a coughing fit. There were flecks of blood on his sleeve when it passed, “I will dedicate myself to earning it back, my lord. You will never have cause to doubt me again, I swear it.”

 

“See that I don’t,” said Varrel. “Rescind Baras’ orders. This ship belongs to the Hand now.”

 

“Of course, my lord,” Quinn said. He struggled to his feet and limped across the space to the intercom by the blast doors. He cleared his throat and triggered another coughing fit. At last he opened a channel, “Captain Thackery, this is Quinn. Your marines will not be needed.”

 

“It is done, then?” came a harsh soprano voice.

 

“The matter is settled,” answered Quinn, “I take full responsibility for the outcome.”

 

“Damn well better,” groused Thackery, “I don’t want my people suffering the repercussions. Are we clear?”

 

“Absolutely, Captain Thackery,” he replied. He glanced over his shoulder at Varrel, “An agent of the Emperor will contact you shortly after we disembark.”

 

There was silence on the open channel. Then the captain’s terse reply, “Understood. Thackery out.”

 

Quinn and Varrel retreated to the airlock. The frigate’s marines and other personnel scuttled out of the way, disappearing down corridors and around bends at their approach. They met no opposition. In fact, they met no one at all. The path to the docking bay was clear.

 

They paused at the pressure door leading to the Lemures. “My lord, if I may,” Quinn began, “do you plan to tell the others about what happened here?”

 

“It would undermine your command, with Pierce especially,” replied Varrel.

 

Quinn nodded in relief, “Thank you, my lord,” he said.

 

“Go on. Prepare for departure,” Varrel prompted, indicating the airlock. Quinn entered first, preceding Varrel to the Lemures. Varrel allowed himself a small smile. A promise of loyalty, and hooks to make it stick. A pawn converted to a higher-value piece. This side trip was not a complete waste of time after all.

 

 

That was great! I love how you incorperated the quote from Overseer Tremel and the other parts you added. Just fantastic! I also love the reasoning behind your character's choice. That was great.

Tess'iri and Zenith Quesh class quest part 2, Canned Responses. Major Quest JC class quest spoilers. 2500 words.

 

 

Tess was pleasantly surprised to find conversation with Zenith was easy and natural. They chatted while the Defender rocketed toward Quesh. She answered questions and asked them, being honest with him and a little frustrated when she ran up against the wall of his paranoia. But she found herself liking him despite some of the ways he thought. He let her in on his desire to hold political office on Balmorra and she broached giving him advice. He listened to her, and she could tell he genuinely considered what she had to say before making his own decisions.

 

She was appreciative of that and when he nodded solemnly and said “Jedi speak. Always useful,” she turned her head away and smiled. She found her reaction a little strange but had no time to explore it. The Defender's engines powered down and they came out of hyperspace and glided into Quesh's upper atmosphere.

 

“We'll need to dock at the orbital station and take a shuttle down to the planet. The Republic base isn't large enough to land a ship even this size,” she informed Zenith. “You ready?”

 

“Armed and waiting,” he answered.

 

They were greeted at the shuttle bay and inoculated against the planet's poisoned atmosphere. As long as they kept their visit short, breathing apparatuses would not be necessary. Tess'iri thanked them and headed for the shuttle, making herself comfortable for the short trip down. Zenith chose the seat beside her, even though most of the shuttle was empty. He kept his rifle on his lap and his eyes cast about restlessly in the confines. Tess found herself wanting to smooth away the set lines on his face. Battles weren't always over.

 

The shuttle made a jerky landing and Zenith made her wait until the three other officers debarked before going out himself, checking the landing pad and surrounding area before he allowed her to step out herself. He took a breath and his head jerked, immediately he covered his nose and mouth with his hand.

 

“Know that smell. Biological weapons. Why are we here again?” he growled.

 

Tess touched his arm, bringing his attention to her. “The Sith have scientists trapped in the factory Nadia's people built for the Republic. Yes, they build weapons, but they're developing medical treatments too. In all things, there must be balance.”

 

Zenith slowly dropped his hand and Tess realized she was still touching him. “Your people have no eyes.”

 

It was less a question than it was a statement. “No. We're born without them. The Force is our sight.”

 

Zenith nodded. “You see much. Explains a lot. Let's go, Jedi.”

 

Tess nodded but found herself wondering if he had just put up a barrier between them.

 

 

There was no sign of Nadia as they approached the factory. She had taken a shuttle less than an hour before them and should have been awaiting them around the factory's exterior. Tess and Zenith walked quietly through a haze the color of puke, their boots making slight squishing sounds as they sank into the boggy earth.

 

“This place is worse than Taris,” Tess said with distaste as cast her Force Sight about them.

 

“You draw attention to us, it's your problem,” Zenith said tersely.

 

“There's no one here,” Tess answered patiently.

 

Zenith took a shallow breath and slowly nodded in agreement, but held tight to his weapon. “I wasn't planning on letting my guard down yet.”

“I'm not asking you to. But thank you for watching my back. Here and at the base. And on the shuttle.” She smiled.

 

He paused and looked at her. “What do you see?” he asked suddenly.

 

“See? Ah... I see the walls of factory. The entrance is 5 meters or so behind you.” A thought struck her and she turned to face him directly. “I see you. You're holding a sniper rifle with both hands. You're wearing the armor and jacket I gave you on Balmorra. Your lekku are behind your shoulders.”

 

“What color are my eyes?”

 

Her head jerked slightly and she concentrated. The filmy color that permeated her world bled in brighter, more distinct. “Violet,” she said. “I can see, Zenith. And I can see you just fine. Why are you questioning this?”

 

“Fascinating,” he murmured, taking a step toward her. She thought he was going to reach out to her, but he seemed to catch himself and turned back to the factory. “But pointless. Let's go.”

 

She didn't argue with him though she wanted an answer to her question. But she felt that barrier, that wall firmly back in place. There were places other than the battlefield in which to apply a gentle knock, or a battering ram. They couldn't be distracted here.

 

The emergency doors were down all over the factory and the control plate wasn't responding to her commands. Tess took a step back and calmly contemplated other options, and Zenith had the same on his mind.

 

“Could blow it open with some detonite. If you don't mind a landslide.”*

 

“That's... not how I really want to do this. But I'll keep it in mind.”

 

“Maybe one stick?”

 

“Did you blow up a lot of things in the resistance?”

 

“I think the resistance is out of my system,” he answered with all seriousness.

 

“I'm worried about Nadia, but we need to get in there. Can you control the blast?”

 

“Is a rancor ugly?”

 

Tess conceded the point. She backed up as Zenith knelt to set up. She watched him work, liking the strength in his hands. She felt unsettled by the attraction and turned inward to the Force but his voice got her attention.

 

“Cover your eyes.” Zenith froze as he realized his gaffe and he turned slowly to look at her. “Didn't mean... you laughing?”

 

Tess couldn't control the smile that she tried to hide with her fingers. “Would you like me to use my hand? Like this?” She covered her mask with her hand. “Nope. I can still see.” She enjoyed the easy laughter and the teasing for a moment. “No really, get it open.”

 

“I'm here! Wait, I'm here!” Nadia ran in from the swamp. “Sorry, there were Imperials everywhere so I hid for a while until it was clear.”

 

“The emergency doors are down,” Tess said. “We need to get them open.”

 

“I can do that. There's a manual release in the controls. We built them in just in case. Now where...” Nadia reached into the panel and felt around. “Ah there it is.”* The door slid open.

 

“Stay here,” Tess commanded. Nadia began to argue but Tess put up her hand. “I mean it, Nadia.”

 

Nadia fell back into the shadows and Tess knew it wasn't over. Willful girl. But where had she dealt with that before?

 

The factory floor was expansive and littered with bodies. Tess put a hand on Zenith's arm, knowing he wanted to check them for breath. She wanted to as well, but through the Force she could see that there was nothing they could do for them.

 

A small huddle of scientists were toward the back of factory, a group of Sith and Imperial soldiers mocking and tormenting them before killing them one by one. Disgust flowed into Tess's throat. Her hand clenched onto Zenith's wrist. Gently he pried her off. Tess looked at him sheepishly and centered her fury into the Force, finding calm and serenity.

 

They didn't use words. He flanked her as she approached the Sith, he took out the soldiers as the Force users converged on her. He ran out of enemies long before she did and he turned to watch, to take open shots and to admire her as she moved, her green lightsaber spinning and random things found around the factory sailing over head.

 

He was slightly alarmed when the last Sith Force pushed her violently, catching her body and tossing it through the air like a rag doll. She steadied herself, getting her feet under her mid air and landing gracefully on her feet, knees bending nearly to the ground, her arms out to the sides, chin tucked to her chest. The Sith snarled with fury and came at her doubly hard and Tess wove her saber through the air as she defended herself. Zenith could see that she was giving ground with every swing.

 

He was beginning to worry. Every shot that he had taken had been deflected easily, despite the Sith's attention being taken up by Tess. This wasn't someone's lackey. This Sith was running the show here.

 

He watched her get backhanded across the face. A lashing out of the frustrated Sith as they had fought to a deadlock. Her mask skipped along the ground and bumped against his foot and Zenith bent to pick it up. To protect it from further damage.

 

“Really?” he heard her taunt the Sith. “Is that where this is going?”

 

She was like no Jedi he'd ever met. Not that he had dealt with many.

 

“Your eyes,” the Sith said. “Hideous.”

 

“Please. I could draw blood from the veins in your face. You wouldn't win any beauty contests either looking like that.”

 

Zenith knelt and leveled his sniper rifle. He couldn't stand by and watch this any longer without trying to help. He watched Tess leap gracefully into the air and Force push the Sith back. While the Sith stumbled, Zenith took his opening. He didn't wait to see what would get deflected. He continued firing until something hit. When his body was lifted and smashed into the wall, he wondered how he got there. As he picked himself up off the floor, Tess's lightsaber shot straight through the Sith's chest.

 

“Hands off my crew,” she growled into his ear as he sank to his knees.

 

Zenith crossed to her, her mask between his hands. She replaced her lightsaber at her side and turned her face to him. He ran his fingers over the bone colored planes, knowing a knife had whittled its shape and contours. Red gems hung on either side and shined like blood.

 

“Lovely,” he said as he handed it back to her. As she reached for it he held on, so they were face to face. She had no eye sockets, no tear ducts; simple smooth skin was unmarred from her cheekbones to her eyebrows. The skin was pale as it was usually covered from the sun and elements.

 

“Qyzen made it for me,” she said, giving the mask a little yank. He didn't let go. “From one of our earlier hunts.”

 

“This the bone of some beast?” he asked, surprised.

 

“Yes, can I have it back?”

 

“You don't have to hide your face from me.”

 

Tess cocked her head. “You're one of the few who feel that way. But thank you.”

 

“Jedi, I've found the other scientists, but there are more Sith heading for them. You have to stop them!” Nadia was breathless as she ran up. Zenith dropped the mask like he'd been caught doing something shady.

 

“Nadia. Out.” Tess said, but then saw what Nadia had been running from. Three Imperial soldiers flanked her, weapons drawn. Tess refitted her mask and readied for another fight.

 

“Go!” Nadia cried, turning to face the Imperials. “I won't let this be like the ship. It won't be. I won't let it.” She looked over her shoulder at Tess imploringly. “Please, go save them. I can take care of this.”

 

“Nadia,” Tess said sharply. But words faltered as Nadia Force leapt at the Imperials, knocking them to the floor and stunning them.

 

Zenith grabbed Tess's arm and pulled her away. “Figure it out later,” he said as he moved.

 

“You saw that too right? How did I not know she was Force sensitive?”

 

“Later,” Zenith snapped.

 

They reached the scientists mere seconds after the Sith did. Tess leapt to battle without hesitation. The scientists cowered as tables and chairs flew over their heads. Tess kept the Sith off balance while Zenith kept his attention with his rifle. When it was over, the scientists shrank back from her and anger surged in Zenith's chest. They had just saved their lives, the Jedi was owed some thanks.

 

“I'm not going to hurt you,” Tess said with reassurance. “It's over now.”

 

One scientists got a hold of himself quickly and gave a slight bow at the waist. “Thank you, Master Jedi. The rest of the factory, is it...?”

 

“It has been reclaimed. You have nothing left to fear.”

 

“The attack has taken a toll on this place,” the scientist said sadly. “For the time being, we'll only have the power resources to continue one of our important projects. I think you should choose which, being that you saved us.”

 

“That is kind, however I don't feel I'm qualified for that kind of decision,” Tess said.

 

Zenith laid a hand on her arm. “Hear them out.”

 

“We have been experimenting in weaponry using The Quesh venom,” the head scientists explained and Tess felt Zenith tense at her side. “And we have made great strides in medicine. I could go into detail on both programs if that is needed?”

 

“It won't be necessary, I'd love to find out what kind of medical advances this venom can do,” Tess said quickly, hardly needing to consider at all.

 

 

She wanted to find Nadia as soon as she got back on board her ship. There were things that they needed to discuss. Zenith had left her side as soon as they boarded and he wasn't in the meeting room like she expected. She'd really wanted him there when she spoke to Nadia and her father about what Nadia could do. The girl's Force abilities were dependent on her emotions and that was the worst possible way to control the Force. Something would been to be done quickly.

 

She stopped by her quarters before hunting down Nadia and Delegate Grell and she sensed his presence before she cleared the threshold. The lower level was quiet with Qyzen and Tharan both gone. Tess paused at the door and turned her face to him.

 

“Been saving this,” he said before she could speak. He held his arm out to her, a single flower, pressed and dried between his thumb and forefinger. She recognized it by shape though not by name.

 

“I saw these dotting the plains on Balmorra,” she said. “Thank you.”

 

“Planet's flower, officially now that Cordon's in office.”

 

Tess turned the flower over in her hand. “It's lovely. Thank you, really.” She looked up to find him watching her closely. “Did you need to talk about something?”

 

“Actually,” he murmured, closing the gap between them. “Let's not talk.”

 

Tess had a moment to realize what was going on and then a moment more to figure out what she was feeling. As he pressed his lips to hers she tensed, and when no Force lightning came from heaven to strike her down, she relaxed and took her time exploring this.

 

 

[*] means I'm paraphrasing what was said. I did the Quesh questline a couple days before this prompt went out.

 

Author's Note:

 

 

This is total wish fulfillment and my interpretation of the things Zenith says to the JC. I apologize for the poor quality. I've found that taking Bioware's story and incorporating it into my words makes for poor story telling on my part. I think that's why I tend to stay away from retelling the class quest lines and make my fics about what happens between the scenes. But this was fun to think about.

Sorry for the multiple posts in a row btw. Great story Morgani! I thought it was pretty good quality as well and I too haven't gotten to Balmora on my JC but now I really want to see Zenith.

Tess'iri and Zenith Quesh class quest part 2, Canned Responses. Major Quest JC class quest spoilers. 2500 words.

 

 

Tess was pleasantly surprised to find conversation with Zenith was easy and natural. They chatted while the Defender rocketed toward Quesh. She answered questions and asked them, being honest with him and a little frustrated when she ran up against the wall of his paranoia. But she found herself liking him despite some of the ways he thought. He let her in on his desire to hold political office on Balmorra and she broached giving him advice. He listened to her, and she could tell he genuinely considered what she had to say before making his own decisions.

 

She was appreciative of that and when he nodded solemnly and said “Jedi speak. Always useful,” she turned her head away and smiled. She found her reaction a little strange but had no time to explore it. The Defender's engines powered down and they came out of hyperspace and glided into Quesh's upper atmosphere.

 

“We'll need to dock at the orbital station and take a shuttle down to the planet. The Republic base isn't large enough to land a ship even this size,” she informed Zenith. “You ready?”

 

“Armed and waiting,” he answered.

 

They were greeted at the shuttle bay and inoculated against the planet's poisoned atmosphere. As long as they kept their visit short, breathing apparatuses would not be necessary. Tess'iri thanked them and headed for the shuttle, making herself comfortable for the short trip down. Zenith chose the seat beside her, even though most of the shuttle was empty. He kept his rifle on his lap and his eyes cast about restlessly in the confines. Tess found herself wanting to smooth away the set lines on his face. Battles weren't always over.

 

The shuttle made a jerky landing and Zenith made her wait until the three other officers debarked before going out himself, checking the landing pad and surrounding area before he allowed her to step out herself. He took a breath and his head jerked, immediately he covered his nose and mouth with his hand.

 

“Know that smell. Biological weapons. Why are we here again?” he growled.

 

Tess touched his arm, bringing his attention to her. “The Sith have scientists trapped in the factory Nadia's people built for the Republic. Yes, they build weapons, but they're developing medical treatments too. In all things, there must be balance.”

 

Zenith slowly dropped his hand and Tess realized she was still touching him. “Your people have no eyes.”

 

It was less a question than it was a statement. “No. We're born without them. The Force is our sight.”

 

Zenith nodded. “You see much. Explains a lot. Let's go, Jedi.”

 

Tess nodded but found herself wondering if he had just put up a barrier between them.

 

 

There was no sign of Nadia as they approached the factory. She had taken a shuttle less than an hour before them and should have been awaiting them around the factory's exterior. Tess and Zenith walked quietly through a haze the color of puke, their boots making slight squishing sounds as they sank into the boggy earth.

 

“This place is worse than Taris,” Tess said with distaste as cast her Force Sight about them.

 

“You draw attention to us, it's your problem,” Zenith said tersely.

 

“There's no one here,” Tess answered patiently.

 

Zenith took a shallow breath and slowly nodded in agreement, but held tight to his weapon. “I wasn't planning on letting my guard down yet.”

“I'm not asking you to. But thank you for watching my back. Here and at the base. And on the shuttle.” She smiled.

 

He paused and looked at her. “What do you see?” he asked suddenly.

 

“See? Ah... I see the walls of factory. The entrance is 5 meters or so behind you.” A thought struck her and she turned to face him directly. “I see you. You're holding a sniper rifle with both hands. You're wearing the armor and jacket I gave you on Balmorra. Your lekku are behind your shoulders.”

 

“What color are my eyes?”

 

Her head jerked slightly and she concentrated. The filmy color that permeated her world bled in brighter, more distinct. “Violet,” she said. “I can see, Zenith. And I can see you just fine. Why are you questioning this?”

 

“Fascinating,” he murmured, taking a step toward her. She thought he was going to reach out to her, but he seemed to catch himself and turned back to the factory. “But pointless. Let's go.”

 

She didn't argue with him though she wanted an answer to her question. But she felt that barrier, that wall firmly back in place. There were places other than the battlefield in which to apply a gentle knock, or a battering ram. They couldn't be distracted here.

 

The emergency doors were down all over the factory and the control plate wasn't responding to her commands. Tess took a step back and calmly contemplated other options, and Zenith had the same on his mind.

 

“Could blow it open with some detonite. If you don't mind a landslide.”*

 

“That's... not how I really want to do this. But I'll keep it in mind.”

 

“Maybe one stick?”

 

“Did you blow up a lot of things in the resistance?”

 

“I think the resistance is out of my system,” he answered with all seriousness.

 

“I'm worried about Nadia, but we need to get in there. Can you control the blast?”

 

“Is a rancor ugly?”

 

Tess conceded the point. She backed up as Zenith knelt to set up. She watched him work, liking the strength in his hands. She felt unsettled by the attraction and turned inward to the Force but his voice got her attention.

 

“Cover your eyes.” Zenith froze as he realized his gaffe and he turned slowly to look at her. “Didn't mean... you laughing?”

 

Tess couldn't control the smile that she tried to hide with her fingers. “Would you like me to use my hand? Like this?” She covered her mask with her hand. “Nope. I can still see.” She enjoyed the easy laughter and the teasing for a moment. “No really, get it open.”

 

“I'm here! Wait, I'm here!” Nadia ran in from the swamp. “Sorry, there were Imperials everywhere so I hid for a while until it was clear.”

 

“The emergency doors are down,” Tess said. “We need to get them open.”

 

“I can do that. There's a manual release in the controls. We built them in just in case. Now where...” Nadia reached into the panel and felt around. “Ah there it is.”* The door slid open.

 

“Stay here,” Tess commanded. Nadia began to argue but Tess put up her hand. “I mean it, Nadia.”

 

Nadia fell back into the shadows and Tess knew it wasn't over. Willful girl. But where had she dealt with that before?

 

The factory floor was expansive and littered with bodies. Tess put a hand on Zenith's arm, knowing he wanted to check them for breath. She wanted to as well, but through the Force she could see that there was nothing they could do for them.

 

A small huddle of scientists were toward the back of factory, a group of Sith and Imperial soldiers mocking and tormenting them before killing them one by one. Disgust flowed into Tess's throat. Her hand clenched onto Zenith's wrist. Gently he pried her off. Tess looked at him sheepishly and centered her fury into the Force, finding calm and serenity.

 

They didn't use words. He flanked her as she approached the Sith, he took out the soldiers as the Force users converged on her. He ran out of enemies long before she did and he turned to watch, to take open shots and to admire her as she moved, her green lightsaber spinning and random things found around the factory sailing over head.

 

He was slightly alarmed when the last Sith Force pushed her violently, catching her body and tossing it through the air like a rag doll. She steadied herself, getting her feet under her mid air and landing gracefully on her feet, knees bending nearly to the ground, her arms out to the sides, chin tucked to her chest. The Sith snarled with fury and came at her doubly hard and Tess wove her saber through the air as she defended herself. Zenith could see that she was giving ground with every swing.

 

He was beginning to worry. Every shot that he had taken had been deflected easily, despite the Sith's attention being taken up by Tess. This wasn't someone's lackey. This Sith was running the show here.

 

He watched her get backhanded across the face. A lashing out of the frustrated Sith as they had fought to a deadlock. Her mask skipped along the ground and bumped against his foot and Zenith bent to pick it up. To protect it from further damage.

 

“Really?” he heard her taunt the Sith. “Is that where this is going?”

 

She was like no Jedi he'd ever met. Not that he had dealt with many.

 

“Your eyes,” the Sith said. “Hideous.”

 

“Please. I could draw blood from the veins in your face. You wouldn't win any beauty contests either looking like that.”

 

Zenith knelt and leveled his sniper rifle. He couldn't stand by and watch this any longer without trying to help. He watched Tess leap gracefully into the air and Force push the Sith back. While the Sith stumbled, Zenith took his opening. He didn't wait to see what would get deflected. He continued firing until something hit. When his body was lifted and smashed into the wall, he wondered how he got there. As he picked himself up off the floor, Tess's lightsaber shot straight through the Sith's chest.

 

“Hands off my crew,” she growled into his ear as he sank to his knees.

 

Zenith crossed to her, her mask between his hands. She replaced her lightsaber at her side and turned her face to him. He ran his fingers over the bone colored planes, knowing a knife had whittled its shape and contours. Red gems hung on either side and shined like blood.

 

“Lovely,” he said as he handed it back to her. As she reached for it he held on, so they were face to face. She had no eye sockets, no tear ducts; simple smooth skin was unmarred from her cheekbones to her eyebrows. The skin was pale as it was usually covered from the sun and elements.

 

“Qyzen made it for me,” she said, giving the mask a little yank. He didn't let go. “From one of our earlier hunts.”

 

“This the bone of some beast?” he asked, surprised.

 

“Yes, can I have it back?”

 

“You don't have to hide your face from me.”

 

Tess cocked her head. “You're one of the few who feel that way. But thank you.”

 

“Jedi, I've found the other scientists, but there are more Sith heading for them. You have to stop them!” Nadia was breathless as she ran up. Zenith dropped the mask like he'd been caught doing something shady.

 

“Nadia. Out.” Tess said, but then saw what Nadia had been running from. Three Imperial soldiers flanked her, weapons drawn. Tess refitted her mask and readied for another fight.

 

“Go!” Nadia cried, turning to face the Imperials. “I won't let this be like the ship. It won't be. I won't let it.” She looked over her shoulder at Tess imploringly. “Please, go save them. I can take care of this.”

 

“Nadia,” Tess said sharply. But words faltered as Nadia Force leapt at the Imperials, knocking them to the floor and stunning them.

 

Zenith grabbed Tess's arm and pulled her away. “Figure it out later,” he said as he moved.

 

“You saw that too right? How did I not know she was Force sensitive?”

 

“Later,” Zenith snapped.

 

They reached the scientists mere seconds after the Sith did. Tess leapt to battle without hesitation. The scientists cowered as tables and chairs flew over their heads. Tess kept the Sith off balance while Zenith kept his attention with his rifle. When it was over, the scientists shrank back from her and anger surged in Zenith's chest. They had just saved their lives, the Jedi was owed some thanks.

 

“I'm not going to hurt you,” Tess said with reassurance. “It's over now.”

 

One scientists got a hold of himself quickly and gave a slight bow at the waist. “Thank you, Master Jedi. The rest of the factory, is it...?”

 

“It has been reclaimed. You have nothing left to fear.”

 

“The attack has taken a toll on this place,” the scientist said sadly. “For the time being, we'll only have the power resources to continue one of our important projects. I think you should choose which, being that you saved us.”

 

“That is kind, however I don't feel I'm qualified for that kind of decision,” Tess said.

 

Zenith laid a hand on her arm. “Hear them out.”

 

“We have been experimenting in weaponry using The Quesh venom,” the head scientists explained and Tess felt Zenith tense at her side. “And we have made great strides in medicine. I could go into detail on both programs if that is needed?”

 

“It won't be necessary, I'd love to find out what kind of medical advances this venom can do,” Tess said quickly, hardly needing to consider at all.

 

 

She wanted to find Nadia as soon as she got back on board her ship. There were things that they needed to discuss. Zenith had left her side as soon as they boarded and he wasn't in the meeting room like she expected. She'd really wanted him there when she spoke to Nadia and her father about what Nadia could do. The girl's Force abilities were dependent on her emotions and that was the worst possible way to control the Force. Something would been to be done quickly.

 

She stopped by her quarters before hunting down Nadia and Delegate Grell and she sensed his presence before she cleared the threshold. The lower level was quiet with Qyzen and Tharan both gone. Tess paused at the door and turned her face to him.

 

“Been saving this,” he said before she could speak. He held his arm out to her, a single flower, pressed and dried between his thumb and forefinger. She recognized it by shape though not by name.

 

“I saw these dotting the plains on Balmorra,” she said. “Thank you.”

 

“Planet's flower, officially now that Cordon's in office.”

 

Tess turned the flower over in her hand. “It's lovely. Thank you, really.” She looked up to find him watching her closely. “Did you need to talk about something?”

 

“Actually,” he murmured, closing the gap between them. “Let's not talk.”

 

Tess had a moment to realize what was going on and then a moment more to figure out what she was feeling. As he pressed his lips to hers she tensed, and when no Force lightning came from heaven to strike her down, she relaxed and took her time exploring this.

 

 

[*] means I'm paraphrasing what was said. I did the Quesh questline a couple days before this prompt went out.

 

Author's Note:

 

 

This is total wish fulfillment and my interpretation of the things Zenith says to the JC. I apologize for the poor quality. I've found that taking Bioware's story and incorporating it into my words makes for poor story telling on my part. I think that's why I tend to stay away from retelling the class quest lines and make my fics about what happens between the scenes. But this was fun to think about.

Stupid grin. On my face.

Canned response.

Jedi Knight Kianna, post Chapter 2.

Prompt: Discovery

 

Title: King and Pawn versus King

 

Characters: Varrel Umrahiel, Sith Marauder, Malavai Quinn

 

Notes. Sith Warrior Ch 3 spoilers (pretty obvious from the title):

 

I wanted to examine “the incident” from my Mwarr’s position, who did not have the emotional baggage of Quinn’s romance. He has different baggage, but still faced the same situation. Varrel has fewer reasons to keep Quinn alive—there’s no sentimentality there, no emotional attachment. This is not the same as having more reasons to kill him (Fwarr wins there hands down). I still wanted to figure out a reason—beyond game mechanics—why Varrel left him alive.

 

And I get to show Varrel as a bit of a manipulative bastard. He is dark side after all.

 

Like Morgani, I don’t usually write out the actual class quests, and I paraphrased Quinn’s dialog where it is from the game.

 

 

 

 

 

Varrel followed Quinn through the frigate. The unsuspecting frigate. Her crew milled about, ants in a hill, performing their little functions. All very irregular. The crew should not have allowed them to board unopposed. If ordered down, there ought to have been some sort of official welcoming fluff. There was neither. Tension that had nothing to do with the Empire’s wartime footing thrummed in the air. Varrel felt it buzzing about the edges of his awareness like an annoying insect. Quinn’s anxiety was almost palpable. All out of proportion to his stated intent.

 

Which implied his stated intent had nothing to do with being here.

 

Which further implied he wanted Varrel here for some other purpose.

 

There could be only one reason.

 

Baras was using his last cat’s-paw.

 

At that moment the pressure doors to the chamber closed. Baras’ trap was sprung. He had no choice but to allow this little charade to play out according to Baras’ script for the time being.

 

Quinn advanced to the center of the chamber, “My lord,” he began, turning to face Umrahiel, “I regret that our paths must diverge. Out of respect, I wished to be here to witness your fate.”

 

Umrahiel halted two steps away, “And what fate have you decided, Quinn?” he asked.

 

“It pains me to say it, but this entire operation has been a ruse. There is no martial law and no transponder beacon. Darth Baras is my true master. I did not want to choose between you, but he has helped immensely over the years, and I am afraid I must side with him. He had me lure you here to be killed.”

 

Varrel’s eyes narrowed, “I suppose it’s too much to hope that Baras would be here himself.”

 

“He does not need to. After all this time observing you in battle, I have made an exhaustive study of your strengths and weaknesses,” Quinn stepped aside and a pair of collicoid-style droids stepped out of an alcove as a secondary door opened. “These droids have been programmed specifically to defeat you.”

 

Varrel evaluated the droids at a glance. They looked like ordinary anti-personnel war droids. He saw no obvious differences in their armament. Quinn must have extreme confidence in his unique programming. His usual style was the Yovshin Jar’Kai form, but he calculated he would need more power to penetrate the droids’ armor. That meant a single saber with all his strength behind it. And two opponents, armed with ranged weapons.

 

A single blade. That meant Kata forms. He saw Kata twelve: ‘Defeating bandits waiting in ambush’.

 

“You will find I am not so easily dispatched,” he said.

 

“I calculate a near one hundred percent chance of success,” replied Quinn, “And the frigate’s crew has standing orders not to permit you to escape should they fail. But I doubt they will be needed. If anything, I have underestimated the droids’ chances.”

 

Quinn’s nervousness spiked. Even Varrel could feel it. “Your confidence is misplaced. As is your fidelity,” he growled.

 

Quinn stepped back, “I regret that it has come to this, my lord,” he said. With the push of a button, the droids came to life.

 

In that split second, Varrel pulled on Quinn’s fear, opening a conduit to the dark side. His blade flashed to life even as he closed the distance to the first droid, taking the place of the proper drawing of the weapon in Kata twelve. He intercepted the droid’s blaster bolts with his saber, reflecting them to the other. A slash disabled the machine’s weapon, leaving it nearly helpless. He vaulted to the next.

 

Varrel Umrahiel was in his element now. His connection to the Force was kinetic. He was most in tune with it in combat. And it directed his movements with deadly choreography. He’d had little talent for more subtle applications of his power, but in this he was supreme.

 

He directed a ski cut to the second droid’s head, where a humanoid opponent’s throat would be. The blade burned through the servos and he pulled it out vertically, bifurcating the verbobrain. A doh strike sliced across the droid’s midsection. The top half slumped to the floor with the scream of abused metal. A third hit severed the connections to its wildly firing lasers and it fell silent.

 

Umrahiel turned his attention to the crippled first droid. He dodged its pummeling arms and beheaded it, putting a second hole through its lower servobrain. The tripod legs screeched to a halt.

 

“No!” Quinn cried, backing against the far wall, “My programming was flawless.”

 

Varrel spun on his heel and advanced on Quinn with murder in his eye, “Obviously not,” he snarled.

 

Varrel seized his former captain with the Force and flung him against the wall. Then again, across the space, the impact hard enough to crack bones. Bright stars of Quinn’s pain sparkled in the fog of his fear. Varrel inhaled the emotions as he might a heady perfume. Darkness surged within him like a living thing. He reached out with it and lifted the traitor, holding him suspended in an invisible fist. His hand mimed the gesture. He could almost feel Quinn’s fragile body within his grip, writhing against the pressure.

 

“You think I couldn’t figure out where your loyalties lay? Who you truly called lord all this time?” Varrel snarled, “The little reports. Communications. Monthly blood tests to monitor the crew’s health? Tell me, Quinn, what would you have done had you discovered Jaesa was with child? Would Baras have known before me?”

 

“My lord,” Quinn gasped.

 

“And Baras’ orders to the frigate’s crew. On the off chance you failed. Oh, you’ve been very thorough, Quinn,” Varrel continued.

 

“Please, my lord—“

 

“Don’t snivel, it hardly becomes you,” Varrel said, “I did trust you, though. There is a special place in hell for treacherous advisors,” he said, tightening his grip.

 

Quinn’s hands flew to his throat as Varrel squeezed it closed. His gagging cut off in silence. Feet kicked more from reflex than conscious thought.

 

A flash of memory. Overseer Tremmel. Who’d brought Varrel to Korriban ahead of the other novices. Regret. ‘Either you kill me, or he forces me to destroy my own creation. A master stroke.’ Tremmel’s words. A master stroke.

 

Quinn’s blue face replaced Tremmel’s visage. His eyes rolled back in his head. His hands still clawed weakly at the empty air. Uselessly. Varrel was in Tremmel’s place. Quinn failed to kill him. Baras must have known he was unlikely to succeed. Umrahiel, therefore, would destroy him. And lose a skilled tactician, thus weakening his own position.

 

A master stroke, indeed.

 

Lord Varrel Umrahiel would not play into Baras’ hands. The traitor did have his uses. Varrel could sever Quinn’s ties to Baras and transfer that loyalty to himself. Truly, this time. And stealing Baras’ pawn, only to return it to play against him had a delicious sense of poetic justice. A calculating expression played across Varrel’s features. Quinn himself had already shown him how to do just that.

 

He released Quinn from his hold and let him fall to the deck in a boneless heap. He lay still for a moment, coughing and wheezing. Varrel approached him on cat’s feet. The only sound in the room was Quinn’s agonized gasping for air. He struggled to push himself up with one elbow. Varrel smacked him flat down on the deck with the Force. Quinn grunted, the wind knocked out of him.

 

Varrel crouched down beside him, maintaining pressure, “You didn’t really believe you could defeat me, Quinn,” he hissed, “This was a fool’s errand, and you’re no fool.”

 

Quinn twisted in Varrel’s inexorable grip. His eyes were screwed shut against the onslaught. “You were a perfect mole,” said Varrel, “perfectly placed. You could tell your master everything that occurred on board the Lemures. From whom I met in confidence to what kind of ****ography Pierce keeps under his bunk. So I ask you: why would Baras throw away such a valuable resource?” Quinn’s struggles slowed. He still gasped for air, but Varrel could almost hear the wheels turning in his clever, clever mind.

 

He kept up the pressure, “What kind of man sends his undetected, well-placed spy to certain doom? What kind of master accepts the destruction of so many Imperial personnel as collateral damage taking out a rival? In wartime? And not an enemy rival. Not a Republic rival. Another Sith. Is this the act of a rational man, Quinn?”

 

Quinn had gone very still. He opened his eyes. Blood filled the sclera of the right one, courtesy of a burst vessel. Varrel felt Quinn’s fear damping down as he pondered the problem. Worked through the implications. He tasted Quinn’s melancholy building behind a dam of denial.

 

“He struck at me first, remember?” Varrel said, his voice almost a whisper, “I’d serve him still if not for that. I did not turn from him, Quinn, he forced me out. I would have remained his right hand.” A bit of a lie, but Varrel gambled Quinn was too preoccupied to question it. “But he decided I was a threat, and for no reason I could ever determine. Is this the act of a rational man, Quinn? Or a paranoid one?”

 

Varrel eased off a fraction of a foot-pound and stood. Quinn lay still on the floor. “Desperate…” he wheezed.

 

“I did not start this feud, Quinn. But I will finish it,” Varrel said. “Despite your divided loyalties, you’ve served me well. I would take no pleasure in destroying you,” also a bit of a lie at the moment. Varrel would very much like to squash his traitorous captain like a beetle. But he had a longer game in play. He released Quinn, turned on his heel, and walked away.

 

Quinn coughed. Varrel stopped walking as he heard Quinn push himself off the floor. Not fully. Not to his feet. No click of bootheels, just the rustle of cloth. “You—“ his hoarse voice cracked and he coughed again before continuing, “you know I could countermand the order,” he rasped.

 

Varrel did not turn about. He left his back exposed to Quinn, “As if it matters. Consider, Quinn, what sort of tale Baras would spin out of your defeat. Do you believe he would be kind to the memory of a dead man? A dead man who failed him? Furthermore, in the unlikely event you succeed in your mission, how long do you think Baras will let you live? The Force-blind Imperial officer who killed a Sith?”

 

“You’d kill me,” Quinn gasped, “as soon as you were safe.”

 

Varrel glanced over his shoulder. Quinn knelt on the floor holding one arm tight against his side, either unwilling or unable to stand. “Now what do I gain from that?” he asked

 

“Revenge,” said Quinn.

 

Varrel took a step sideways, revealing only a narrow profile, “My quarrel is with Baras, not you. Pointless revenge is a waste of time. I prefer to win.” Time to turn the conversation and Quinn’s attention back to Baras’ motives, “You’re a clever man, Quinn, a valuable asset to the Empire. And to me. Don’t go to your grave out of misplaced loyalty. And don’t take other good Imperial soldiers with you. The people on this frigate don’t deserve to die for Baras’ folly.”

 

Quinn’s stiff military posture slipped in defeat, “…Unforgivable,” he whispered.

 

“That depends greatly on whom you choose to serve, Captain,” said Varrel.

 

“Darth Baras would kill me,” said Quinn.

 

“Eventually,” said Varrel.

 

Quinn winced. He raised his eyes to meet Varrel’s, “Is there any chance you would allow me to remain your captain?”

 

Varrel cocked one eyebrow, “Trust you again?” he asked. He kept his face a mask. Inward, he rejoiced, “A long road, I think.”

 

“I—“ Quinn’s voice cut off in a coughing fit. There were flecks of blood on his sleeve when it passed, “I will dedicate myself to earning it back, my lord. You will never have cause to doubt me again, I swear it.”

 

“See that I don’t,” said Varrel. “Rescind Baras’ orders. This ship belongs to the Hand now.”

 

“Of course, my lord,” Quinn said. He struggled to his feet and limped across the space to the intercom by the blast doors. He cleared his throat and triggered another coughing fit. At last he opened a channel, “Captain Thackery, this is Quinn. Your marines will not be needed.”

 

“It is done, then?” came a harsh soprano voice.

 

“The matter is settled,” answered Quinn, “I take full responsibility for the outcome.”

 

“Damn well better,” groused Thackery, “I don’t want my people suffering the repercussions. Are we clear?”

 

“Absolutely, Captain Thackery,” he replied. He glanced over his shoulder at Varrel, “An agent of the Emperor will contact you shortly after we disembark.”

 

There was silence on the open channel. Then the captain’s terse reply, “Understood. Thackery out.”

 

Quinn and Varrel retreated to the airlock. The frigate’s marines and other personnel scuttled out of the way, disappearing down corridors and around bends at their approach. They met no opposition. In fact, they met no one at all. The path to the docking bay was clear.

 

They paused at the pressure door leading to the Lemures. “My lord, if I may,” Quinn began, “do you plan to tell the others about what happened here?”

 

“It would undermine your command, with Pierce especially,” replied Varrel.

 

Quinn nodded in relief, “Thank you, my lord,” he said.

 

“Go on. Prepare for departure,” Varrel prompted, indicating the airlock. Quinn entered first, preceding Varrel to the Lemures. Varrel allowed himself a small smile. A promise of loyalty, and hooks to make it stick. A pawn converted to a higher-value piece. This side trip was not a complete waste of time after all.

 

 

Fantastic. Almost what my MWarr had in mind. Vikis is less manipulative than he is heavy handed with that lightsaber. He respected Quinn for thinking he could come up against him, but respect doesn't mean he automatically got to live. More of a 'now on to the next phase of my plan' kind of moment. Varrel was brilliant, almost doesn't need Quinn around if he can think like that. Bravo.

I've also finally caught up. I don't know what I'm going to do after a week long vacation?! I just wanted to add my welcome to the new writers! So far I've loved everything and am really enjoying the new voices and characters!

Morgani, I LOVE your take on Zenith, he was my favorite Consular companion, and I was also disappointed when he wasn't a LI.

Striges, anything with your Warrior makes me happy. Really loved your Agent as well.

Tatile, I am anxiously awaiting part 2!

Bright, More Ruth!! (Love that you started a thread dedicated to her, cause she's awesome.)

Svein, Lovely work again, anything that puts Quinn and Pierce in the same room always makes me happy.

If I missed anyone, know that I probably loved it, (As a rule, I end up loving everything I read on this thread), but I'm a scatter brain trying to pack for vacation.

Discovery

Title: Cipher 0 Part 1 of 2 Some Major Spoilers from the Act 3 Agent storyline, and some Act 3 Bounty Hunter.

Author Note:

Discovery

 

Title: Cipher 0 Part 1 of 2 Some Major Spoilers from the Act 3 Agent storyline, and some Act 3 Bounty Hunter.

 

 

“So, why are we going to Imperial Intelligence again”, asked Mako curiously.

 

It was a cold rainy night on Dromund Kass and the Citadel was once again bustling with activity. Azra and Mako had come to Dromund Kass seeking information about an agent named Cipher 0. It had been about a month of the agent sending encrypted messages to her warning her about a danger before it occurred. She had been saved many times by the agent through the messages, but wanted to know; who was Cipher 0?

 

Azra shook her head and replied,” I already told you that they are the only ones who can help me find Cipher 0 and right now that creep may already be watching us”.

 

“And you think that they are just going to hand that information over to you willingly”.

 

“I have some favors to pull”, replied Azra.

 

Mako sighed and looked out the speeder window admiring the bright lights of the city. Azra stared dreadfully at the Citadel remembering her Sith training and the horrors she experienced in the halls of the Sith Sanctum. Azra hoped the Sith weren’t interfering with Intelligence.

 

Azra shook away the thoughts and parked her speeder by Imperial Intelligence Headquarters. The building looked different, calmer than usual. It had been some time since she had been inside or had seen her former fiancé, Ardon, but she knew not that much could have changed.

 

Azra and Mako went into the building remembering the security measures that Intelligence had. If anyone asked Azra what she was doing she would simply pull out her former lightsaber and walk past. Azra and Mako continued down the corridor looking for a receptionist, but something disturbing occurred to her.

 

The halls of Intelligence were empty.

 

“This place looks abandoned”, said Mako confused.

 

“Why”, asked Azra continuing down the corridor.

 

Azra and Mako delved deeper into the former headquarters and then stumbled upon a closed room, the sounds of voices could be heard on the other side.

 

“Put Watcher 3 down”, echoed a voice defiantly.

 

Azra was surprised to hear Ardon’s voice through the wall. She continued to listen intently.

 

“The Cipher agent. You defeated the traitor Jadus and the fools in the SIS my masters acknowledge your service,” said a voice that sounded Kellesh,” But, you serve Intelligence no longer. By order of the Dark Council Intelligence is dissolved and you will be assigned to a war time unit or deserving Sith Lords.”

 

“With all due respect Operations is needed not more than ever”, said Ardon tension slight in his voice.

 

“The war does not go well, whatever the official word. The Ministry of War must have resources and Intelligence fails to do its part”, said the Kellesh,” We have heard rumors of corruption, agents chasing conspiracy theories, a brain dead Keeper…. We must butcher the beast for its meat”, exclaimed the Kellesh.

 

Ardon replied inquisitively,” You said deserving Sith Lords”.

 

“Intelligence has served Baras and Sangus before and they will now”, said the Kellesh.

 

Suddenly the buzzing of the holocommunicator went off and the voice of a trooper echoed,” We found the alien outside a cantina my lord, bringing her in now”.

 

“I was on a break. What’s the deal”, asked a voice.

 

Azra could tell it was Kaliyo Djanis talking. Ardon had told her once he had recruited her into Intelligence.

 

“Intelligence may overlook her past…But, she is an anarchist and traitor to the Empire”, said the Kellesh almost delightfully,” She will be interrogated and judged”.

 

Kaliyo burst into an uncontrollable rage,” I will kill you, you get me. I will kill you!”

 

Ardon protested even toned though Azra knew that he was burning with hatred,” Kaliyo’s work has been exemplary and we have put far worse on the pay roll”.

 

“The decision was not mine, “replied the Kellesh,” Unless you plan to slaughter the entire Citadel…Don’t test me”.

 

Finally, Ardon let his defiance and his anger become obvious in his voice,” You and I know what this is about. You want my team at half strength so be it. But, if you so much lay a finger on Kaliyo I will make sure you pay, Lord Razor.”

Lord Razor replied slightly surprised by Ardon’s outburst,” You have no one I want”.

 

Then there were only footsteps, the sound of boots clapping the floor. Suddenly, Kaliyo burst into another outburst and the sound of more footsteps echoed through the room.

 

After a moment of silence the Lord Razor spoke,” The rest of your team may remain intact. You will be transferred to my command by special request to Corellia. Together we will drown the Republic in blood”.

 

Azra and Mako looked at each other in surprise and swiftly moved away from the door. Out came a Sith Lord wearing red clad armor with a long d****** cape. He was indeed a Kellesh.

 

“Sort of like us and Tormen”, said Mako silently.

 

Azra answered,” I hate Sith”.

 

“You’re not the only one”, replied Mako.

 

One by one people exited the room along with Watcher 3 who was clutching his side. Only Ardon never came out. Azra and Mako entered the room to find Ardon standing in the middle of it alone.

 

“Hey”, said Azra taking off her helmet.

 

“Azra”, asked Ardon curiously,” What are you doing here”.

 

“I came for information”, said Azra,” But, looks like they took it all”.

 

“I suppose they did”, replied Ardon.

 

“Maybe I can get something up still”, said Mako heading to a nearby computer.

 

Azra and Ardon stood awkwardly in the center of the abandoned room waiting for someone to say something.

 

“I’m sorry about what happened Ardon”, said Azra sympathetically.

 

“Ardon”, muttered Ardon,” I haven’t been called that in a long time”.

 

“Oh yeah. Designations”, said Azra shyly,” Should I start calling you Cipher 9”.

 

“No”, answered Ardon,”That was my job description not my identity”.

 

Azra nodded looking into Ardon’s deep brown eyes. It had been a long time since Azra had broken up with Ardon and a longer time since they had a conversation like this one. It reminded her that deep inside she loved Ardon but allegiances denied that to her.

 

“So, what was the information you wanted”, asked Ardon curiously.

 

Azra asked,” Do you know who Cipher 0 is?”

 

“No I don’t”, said Ardon thoughtful,” But, I have heard the designation before. A rouge agent I think. Have you encountered him?”

 

“No not exactly”, answered Azra,” But, I want to”.

 

Suddenly, Azra’s holocommunicator beeped and she picked it up to answer the call.

 

“Is this Azra Eternity”, asked a voice. The figure in the holo looked heavily built wearing thick black armor and a hood and mask. Azra knew that it was Cipher 0 though.

 

“Where are you? Actually, more importantly who are you?”

 

“Meet me on the top floor of Headquarters”, said Cipher 0 shortly.

 

Azra was about to ask another question but Cipher 0 hung up.

 

“Looks like you have a meeting to get to”, said Ardon turning away from Azra.

 

“Finally,” said Azra heading towards the exit,” Mako let’s go.”

 

Mako scurried over to Azra not bothering to shut off the computer.

 

Azra looked back at Ardon who was looking back at her with a quiet sadness in his eyes.

 

“Be careful out there Azra”, said Ardon sadly,” I hope I see you again”.

 

Azra replied a little embarrassed for leaving him so soon,” I hope so too Ardon”.

 

Then Ardon said something that cut through Azra like a knife, “I love you”.

 

Azra turned around to face the door, hesitating to move forward. Only then did she realize she was crying and she wiped the tears silently away making sure he didn’t see them.

 

“We should go now”, whispered Mako leading Azra out the door.

 

Azra and Mako stood outside the room silent for a moment. Mako broke the silence saying,” I’ve never seen you cry before. You must have really had something for him”.

 

“I guess”, replied Azra wiping another tear,” Let’s go Mako.”

 

With that Azra and Mako headed towards the turbolifts silent the whole ride up.

 

 

 

Author Note:

It was a little difficult writing about the class scene for agent without giving description about what each character looked like because Azra and Mako were just listening in. This was taking place right before Corellia and Cipher 0 had been helping Azra with Belsavis and Voss. The next part will be much more quality.

I like it, though when someone on the outside romances the Agent I can only think that it's doomed.

Every time someone writes about a BH I want to go level one. Maybe I'll just play one vicariously through all of you folks

Family

This is a new character he is a smuggler of sorts though not THE smuggler from the class storyline (that guy exists but he's someone else). He does not have a name but for the other thread I'm writing his name is, Aiden Lanic.

He's my experiment in writing a male character and writing in first person (when I'm writing from his perspective). This is his 'origin story'.

Shiv

Note:

Sorry it's a bit late...this week has been crazy. Our apartment building had a fire and then our area was declared a natural disaster because of the drought, so it has not been pleasant. Anyway, here are new prompts. I still have one coming that I want to post tomorrow for last week, so...feel free if you still have ideas.

8/4/12

Celebration - There are many things to celebrate in life: from weddings to birthdays to holidays. Write about a celebration your character has been a part of. Prompt suggested by SveinEternity.

Guilty Pleasures - We all have them. Does your bounty hunter love The Bachelor (or whatever the SW equivalent is)? Or your Jedi Consular love romance novels? What secret thing do they love - and would be mortified if anyone knew it?

Sorry it's a bit late...this week has been crazy. Our apartment building had a fire and then our area was declared a natural disaster because of the drought, so it has not been pleasant. Anyway, here are new prompts. I still have one coming that I want to post tomorrow for last week, so...feel free if you still have ideas.

 

8/4/12

Celebration - There are many things to celebrate in life: from weddings to birthdays to holidays. Write about a celebration your character has been a part of. Prompt suggested by SveinEternity.

 

Guilty Pleasures - We all have them. Does your bounty hunter love The Bachelor (or whatever the SW equivalent is)? Or your Jedi Consular love romance novels? What secret thing do they love - and would be mortified if anyone knew it?

I'm so weird, I couldn't leave without getting the prompts first....now I can leave for my vacation in peace! can't wait to see what everyone comes up with!