The Alternate Universe Weekly Challenge Thread
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05.12.2013 , 01:21 PM |
Prompt: NotLP: Backfired Plans
Characters: Quinn and Vette
Alt U: NSP
Calm in the Storm of Hate
Vette was there once again, this time hovering nearby as he vomited until he was reduced to dry heaves. How he had managed to crawl out of his bunk and make it to his refresher in time, he didn’t know. Perseverance, perhaps. The desire to not make a fool out of himself. It didn’t matter, really, Vette had witnessed him at his lowest and he hated her for it. She should have kept her flapping jaw wired shut and let him die. Syla’s torture was nothing compared to this. It was nothing compared to the ache in his chest when he tried to breathe, it was nothing compared to the panic that settled over him every time he so much as thought Syla was around. It was nothing compared to the dreams. They were nightmares, really, painful, terrible nightmares. Everything that happened, everything that was said, he felt and heard it all over and over again until he finally, finally died. There was no release before death. No release until his last aching breath, his last aching plea to be let go. To die. He begged to die. He would laugh bitterly if he had any energy left, but he didn’t. He was drained of everything every night. And Vette was there, staring at him with those annoyingly wide brown eyes that were somehow curious and pitying at the same time. He hated her.
He finally found the cool surface of the refresher wall against his back and drew his knees up, resting his forearms over them and dangling his hands. It was only a matter of time before he shattered completely. And the only person that tried to keep him glued together was Vette. And he hated her.
Vette moved to the toilet and obliterated the contents with the push of a button. She closed the lid and sat down facing him, but she remained quiet. He was grateful for the reprieve, but he still hated her. It wouldn’t be long before she spoke, she always did, no matter how many times he asked her to be silent. She couldn’t stop herself. Speaking was an impulse with her. She always spoke when she was uncomfortable. He hated it. He hated her.
“I find it funny,” he said dully, staring at the tiled floor beneath him, “that the only person aboard this ship who pretends to care is the one person I hate the most.”
“It’s pretty funny, isn’t it?” Vette asked softly. “I didn’t save you because I like you. I saved you because it would’ve – Syla would have snapped, gone full dark side. I couldn’t let her do that. Not over you.”
It was good to know he wasn’t worth anything on his own. He idly wondered where his blaster was so he could end this farce of an existence. He was tired. So very tired of everything.
“If I’m worth so little, why do you still come? Why did you stay by my bed as I healed?” he asked.
“I don’t – I don’t know, Quinn. Stop asking weird questions.”
“Did you do it to make yourself feel better?”
“I’m not like you; I don’t abandon people to die because someone tells me to.”
“Does it make you feel better? Does it make you feel superior? Do you get that rush of power as you prove just how much better you are than me while not fully understanding the situation?” he asked. He raised his eyes to hers. They were as empty as his voice.
“What’s to understand? You were Baras’ lackey the entire time. He said ‘Murder’ and you jumped at the chance.”
He laughed hollowly. “Is that what you think happened?” He paused and shook his head. “No. No, I delayed Baras’ plans for months. I fought him every step of the way until I was backed into a corner.”
“You could have said something. You should have said something.”
“Yes, that would have gone over rather well,” he said numbly. “’Hello, my Lord, I’m Baras’ spy and he’s finally ordered me to kill you. Any last words or should I go ahead and flush myself out the airlock?’” he said mockingly. Finally, a bit of emotion, even it was only spite.
“You had options,” she insisted quietly.
“Option one: kill Syla and continue to live as Baras’ personal assassin until such a time I was no longer of use. Option two: die.”
“Option three: come clean and hope for the best.”
“Hope for death, you mean.”
“Syla’s pretty rational for a Sith.”
“Yes, she is, isn’t she. Instead of killing me quickly, she listened to you and spared my life. It’s a much greater torture to continue living through panic, nightmares, and genuine fear than to be killed. It gives her something to feed on, something to strengthen her. Yes, she’s very rational.”
“Look, Quinn, I –” she started.
“Shut up,” he said dismissively. He resumed his staring contest with the tiles and hoped she would take the hint and leave. After a few minutes she did leave. He waited a few more before picking himself up from the floor and shuffling back into the main part of his quarters. Where was his damned blaster?
In place of his blaster and his vibroknife he found a strange little statuette. It was obviously some sort of Twi’lek relic. He studied the little figure, flipping it this way and that as he tried to determine its exact nature. The little figure had its hands cupped into a bowl in front of it and had its head down. It wore some sort of robe that may have been ceremonial, he wasn’t sure. He tossed the confusing thing onto his bed and moved for his spare blaster only to find that too was replaced by something else. It was no bigger than a marble, whatever it was, and looked as if it would fit into the palms of the little Twi’lek.
He moved to his bunk and sat down. He grabbed the little figure and joined the two pieces. To his surprise, the little orb began to glow with a faint, pulsing blue light. It was oddly calming.
He hated her and her little figure. But, somewhere far away in his mind, he was glad someone, anyone bothered to care enough to keep him safe from himself.
Even if it was the person he hated most on the crew.
I'll probably die if you group with me, but I'll go out with both lightsabers drawn stabbing someone in the face. Probably you, but it's cool. Forever Shenanigans!!
Quick Quinn Quotes
Ninety Seven Percent
Ald, the Silly Sith Warrior