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The Short Fic Weekly Challenge Thread!


elliotcat

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In celebration that we've made it through the week, I give you the new prompt! :cool:

 

Week of September 27, 2019:

 

Hypocrisy: We’ve covered lying before but this time it’s a special kind of lie: putting up a virtuous front for public accolade while not actually believing in those virtues or actively violating them in private. Nearly every character (and person) engages in some hypocrisy, overlapping with those insidious little white lies told to keep the peace. Have they ever encountered some whoppers? In themselves or others? What did they do? What could they do? Who was involved? What was the outcome? Did anything change? If your character, they might be in for some soul searching assuming they want to atone. They might just as easily fight the one who uncovered them. Write about your character encountering blatant hypocrisy.

 

*Feel free to continue submitting stories for any prompt. A masterpiece missed the deadline? Don’t let it gather electronic dust, share it anyways!

 

*This week’s prompt not for you? Look for something more to your taste in the Prompt Archive. Consider all the prompts active and waiting to inspire you.

 

This week’s featured previous prompts are:

 

Superstition - Both cultures and individuals can hold superstitions, little practices and beliefs that are supposed to put some spin on reality, make good luck or ill. Then again, some people say it’s all nonsense, and some even tempt fate by crossing superstitious lines. What superstitions does your character hold to? Has any experience seemed to prove or disprove the rule?

 

Life and Death - Throughout our stories in the game, some NPCs (and some of our own OCs) died and others survived. When did a critical death - or survival - make a difference in your character’s tale?

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Hey everyone, I'm back and with another story. Hope to read more from Ka'van soon, he's fun.

 

Prompt: Hypocrisy

Title: The Plan is Working

Perspective: Roan, the Littlest Sith

Word Count: 3,788

Spoilers SW Act I Spoilers

Chronology: post Alderaan

 

 

 

Darth Baras’ body exploded into billions of blue bits as he cut the connection, leaving Vette, Quinn and me in relative gloom. Guess that’s over with, I'm going to watch Supernova Two again. I know I saw it yesterday, but that was yesterday and I want to see it again.

“My Lord,” Quinn announced, his tone matching the one he used when he had to repeat himself a few times. Huh?

“I thought it prudent not to interrupt Darth Baras. We received a recorded transmission. It is queued when you are ready.” Oh, okay. Maybe I’ll watch it after I’ve seen Supernova agai-, Quinn hit the play button… or not.

 

The holoprojector sparked up again and a woman materialised. She was a person-, No, she was a human. Vette got annoyed when I called humans people. I think she thinks that she doesn't apply as a person, which makes a weird sort of sense if she still thought of herself as a slave, but she's not, so she shouldn't be bothered by it anymore. Anyway, The woman was a young grown up, with her hair cut the same way as Kent Clarke, Supernova’s mild mannered secret identity, though hers was longer and went down to her shoulders, like mine. The really odd thing though was that she wore a white robe over a faded earthen coloured tunic, kind of like a Jedi. That had to be wrong, why would a Jedi contact me?

 

“Sith, I’m Jaesa Wilsaam.” Huh, I guess that's why. Well, now we know what she looked like. “My master, Nomen Karr has no idea I’m sending this message. Let’s be real – we both know this isn’t about us.” Well, she was right. She was a tool for No-one Cares, he was wielding her to sniff out Baras’ spies. All she had to do was stop tooling around and we wouldn’t be after her any more.

 

“Ah, the Hunted seeks the hunter,” Quinn mused aloud but mostly to himself. He did that often, wanting to say something clever even if he didn’t see the whole picture. Vette ignored him. I did too. So did Jaesa, but that might have been because she pre-recorded it. “Our masters pretend otherwise, but this is personal. You and I are only pawns in their private war, and those I care about are caught in the middle. It has to stop.” There it was, the reason she’d dared contact her pursuer.

 

“Wow, got to give it to her - she sure got guts,” Vette remarked from over my shoulder and I could hear how impressed she was in her voice. I guess that made sense, she’s always liked rooting for the underdog, seeing them triumph when everything is going wrong for them. As the overdog in this matter, I wasn’t entirely sure how to feel about that. I made a non-committal noise of reply and listened on.

 

“I appreciate directness and as merciful as your actions have been, its time you stopped this passive-aggressive campaign.” Passive? There’s nothing passive about what we’ve been doing. We’ve been actively hunting down information about you from everyone you knew. If anything, you’re the passive one, hiding and letting us slaughter our way to Yonlach and your parents. If you had taken to the field to stop us, most if not all of those people would be alive right now. We could have met and talked and you could have chosen to swap to a different master, leave the Jedi, or fight me and die. But you didn’t, so they’re dead now. Weren’t Jedi supposed to protect the innocent, not use them as human shields?

“This message contains co-ordinates where I’ll be waiting in my ship. Let’s discuss this face to face, just you and me. No more nonsense.” She disintegrated into millions of motes as the message ended.

 

Oh, so now that they’re all dead, you come out to talk. I mean you and Cares have had my ship watched from at least since we left Nar Shaddaa. You could have called at any time, but you pick now, when we’re… Oh. I get it now.

We’ve gone after everyone close to you outside active members of the Jedi order. If you stayed hidden, we’d go for our next link, No-one Cares. Funny how you’d protect your Jedi master but not your parents or people. Guess you really have taken the Jedi principles of apathy and detachment to heart. Still, I could be wrong.

 

“Thoughts?” I mused, glancing at Quinn. I know that I’m going to this meeting, it was the culmination of the last month’s work. I just didn’t want to charge in blind.

“It could be a trap, my Lord. Nomen Karr may have put her up to it,” Quinn advised, his voice off somehow, missing that usual almost lyrical lilt behind his words. Actually, now that I looked at him, he wasn’t standing straight like a good Imperial. He was sort of hunched, almost leaning against the comm as if standing was painful to him. Hmm, if you’re in pain Quinn, we do have a kolto tank. I know we haven’t really used it, but it probably works and everything. TooVee could operate it while you heal.

 

“Hey, don’t listen to Captain Paranoid here. I don’t think it’s a trap. I trust her,” Vette offered helpfully. Uh, I actually meant Quinn but I value your thoughts too. In this case though, I don’t think you’re right. Jedi normally claim they want peace and harmony but only on their terms, which is usually genocide of any force user who doesn’t bend knee to their dogmatic, sanctimonious hubris. They preach peace, but seek power, just like us Sith. The only difference is we don’t pretend we’re doing it for your own good. Still, there had to be something missing. I knew the when and why but why the where?

 

“In any case,” Quinn interjected, earning a scowl from Vette, “the co-ordinates plot to deep space near the dead centre of the Mektrun sector, a desolate system in the outer rim two days away from our present position. We can rendezvous with her ship whenever you give the word.” Ah, it was in the middle of nowhere. Was she trying to lure me out of position so that No-one Cares could move whoever we're after next away from where we could find them, or would we find a cruiser at the coordinates? I nodded to him, and he marched off, doing his best to hide his stagger.

 

“Oh, and Quinn,” I called, waiting for him to turn around before I carried on, “once we’re in hyperspace, go use the kolto tank. You’re limping.” He nodded in obeyance and then not-limped into the cockpit. Well, time for Supernova, then meditation, then Supernova again and Ooh! Maybe Vette wants to watch it too, with her secret bang-corn. She was nowhere to be seen. Oh, well I guess she’s off doing whatever she wants to do. I went to watch Supernova II again.

 

* * *

 

Well, it wasn’t a cruiser. It wasn’t one of those squat, red and white Jedi ships either. It seems that Jaesa Wilsaam had chartered a cargo freighter to get here, and one that looked like it was falling apart. Either that, or there were no living crew on board to care about its aesthetics… unless it was a big shiny target to serve as a distraction.

“Anything on long-range sensors?”

 

“Nope,” Vette called out, shifting her boots to reveal the clear screen. She lounged in the co-pilot’s chair, where she’d sat since the arrival alarm went off. Even with Zul's lessons, she could barely fly, and nowhere near as well as Quinn. That didn’t stop her from watching Quinn, learning what he pressed and why. I would’ve too but Quinn thought it ‘improper’ for me to learn to fly when my feet couldn’t reach the floor while seated. I could’ve made him, but it wasn’t that important. Sith don’t fly themselves, they use servants for that.

 

“That simply means there are none in our immediate sensor range. Remember, they know the specifications of this ship,” Quinn rebuked, his tone as sure as it always was when it came to naval combat. There are times when I wonder if Baras made a colossal mistake assigning Quinn to a ground based position on Balmorra instead of somewhere in the fleet. Vette ignored all this, made a face and stuck her tongue out at him. He didn’t rise to her, though I could feel the hiss of discontent ripple through him.

 

“All right, anything odd from the ship?”

“No weapon systems, minimal commercial-grade shields and Hull integrity is down to barely passable levels. Nothing to indicate any capacity for naval combat.”

“Uh huh, and there’s only two life signs. There’s nothing else, no other electrical signals beyond background processes,” Vette followed up with, sounding somewhat bored. Okay, I get that you want her to be trustworthy, but part of what we’re doing now is figuring out if she is. You should be eager to find more stuff that proves you right.

 

“Two of them?” I was under the impression she was coming alone, what with the ‘just you and me’.

“Her and a pilot?” Vette offered, leaning back in her chair.

“Or Nomen Karr and a Jedi battlemaster,” Quinn offered in protest and the two of them started arguing about it. I ignored both of them. There was one way to solve this that didn’t involve them bickering. Seriously, I’m eight and sometimes its like I’m the only sensible one here. I reached out with my will and touched their presence.

 

“I sense someone strong with the Force, but we’re so far away that it could be two weaker presences. Either Jaesa is strong with the Force, or her companion is also a weakly trained Jedi.” That was partly true. If I focussed, I could refine my sense and single out any variances in their force signatures, but we’d be there in ten minutes. Besides, I didn’t want Quinn revealing to Baras that I could pick people apart from astronomical distances. He wouldn’t do anything helpful with that information.

 

“So, to reiterate, there are no signs of ambushing ships, battle droids, Ion mines or any other explosive devices. Of course, that’s not to say that there aren’t any. Our sensors are not infallible, and the droids could be switched off until needed,” Quinn summarised, not taking his eyes off our Twi’lek friend.

 

“Or maybe it’s just her and a pilot, with no battle droids, bombs or ships lying in wait. Maybe she’s really here to talk,” Vette insisted, as she dropped her feet from the desk and stood over us. Swooping her billowing white desert robe around her, she padded off, to look over her blasters and stuff. Funny how she did that when she was convinced there was no danger over there. I didn’t say anything though, but I was definitely bringing her along with me. One, it looked better to come in with her than an Imperial Officer, and two, she was wearing a white robe, Jedi colours. If there was a fight, the confusion might give her an edge.

 

“We’ll be docking in a few minutes, my lord. I’ll be ready for boarding in five after that.” Ah, I’d better tell Quinn the bad news now, before he got too invested in the meeting.

“No, I’ll need you here in case it’s a trap. You’re our first warning in case there’s something out there, and our way out in case they’ve set a bomb. Take us in, weapons offline but maybe have the navicomputer work on emergency jump points, just in case.” Quinn nodded and I left the bridge.

 

Eleven minutes later, the other ship’s airlock lights went green and both doors hissed open. Passing out through the airlock, the ship was as empty as I had sensed, but way bigger than it looked on the outside. We turned right and had to jog down this wide corridor to a sealed metal door. Inside, I could sense the presences. They didn’t make any effort to hide themselves, or their Force potential. Both were adepts, using the chalice method of Force control: Jedi. We approached the doors and they opened up, revealing the room.

 

Beyond was an open, wide walkway, with booths, tables and chairs lining orange magcon field windows. At the far side of the room, a good fifty metres away, were two men. One was short with loose red-brown hair, the other was taller with tightly cropped and dark brown hair. Both wore the ugly beige and gold tunics I’d seen on Jedi in the holos.

 

“Yeah, so I don’t think that’s Jaesa,” I told Vette as she stared at them, squinting a little to make out all their details.

“Not unless she really put on a few,” Vette snarked back at me, “so, I’m guessing Captain Stuffypants might not have been quite so wrong.” She wouldn’t ever admit Quinn was right, and that’s okay. I knew it.

They didn’t approach, so we did, although this time it was at a more leisurely pace. After all, with two Jedi on board, this was probably a duel, not a trap.

 

“Well well, we’re going to have to thank Nomen Karr after all. The Sith showed.” The smaller Jedi remarked, smirking at his partner.

“Stand down Sith, the Padawan you seek is not here,” the other one explained, the calm in his voice almost hiding the contempt behind the words, “Master Karr discovered her plan and talked her out of it.” Oh, so this was entirely pointless then. Well, nice of them to tell me straight away. Guess we can head back to the ship then. I glanced at Vette. She didn’t look at me. Instead, she was watching the little Jedi warily, like she expected him to lunge at her. All right, I got it. I took a step forwards, putting myself between her and him. Now she had a sithy shield, a little of the tension eased out of her.

 

“It’s not your day. You were expecting one lowly, little Padawan to crush, and instead you get us,” the little Jedi sneered. Yep, actually sneered with full on facial creep too. He thought he could try to bully us? Really? Two can play at that.

“Little, right. Vette, wasn’t she taller than him on the Holo?” I saw his eyes widen in shock while hers gleamed with delight.

“Yeah, I think she was,” Vette confirmed, beaming down at the little Jedi. She was taller than him too, if only by a few centimetres. He recovered quickly, though the smirk was now a glower.

 

“The Sith has a sense of humour. Believe me, Master Karr didn’t send us to help you.”

“Then why are you two dressed like Trade-station greeters?” Vette fired back. I blinked, as it hit me. Those awful waistcoat thingies did look like the ugly orange ones they wore. Obviously, I wasn’t the only one stunned by her revelation. The little Jedi gaped at her, half a dozen expressions all jammed trying to show up on his face at once. The big Jedi recovered quicker, as he only had the one: stoic disapproval.

 

“I’m Ulden, this is Zylixx. We are fully trained Jedi knights, and more than your match. You should submit. Hearing his buddy seemed to soothe the little Jedi enough to be able to string up a sentence.

“Of course, we have yet to encounter a Sith who had the sense to surrender. You all seem bent on having us destroy you,” Zylixx gloated, and for the first time today he got something right. Sith seek Power, and surrendering is relinquishing your power. No Sith worth the name would just give up, especially to a Jedi.

 

“Eh, there’s no point to this,” I stated, looking up at Vette, “Let’s go and find something fun.” She nodded, making an agreeable face and started to turn back the way we’d come.

“Now, why would we agree to just let you go,” Zylixx purred in a tone that was so obviously a threat, even his buddy seemed surprised.

Because it is the Jedi way,” I purred, grinning as Zylixx’s hand darted down for his saber. Guess you’re not a Jedi then.

 

“Zylixx!,” Uldin snapped, the sharpness of his tone tearing Zylixx’s hand away from his hilt, “we assumed this Sith would engage, as all others we’ve faced have. If that’s not the case…,” Uldin trailed off, looking worried.

“No Uldin, this Sith will continue to hunt Nomen Karr and his Padawan. We must end the threat for good,” Zylixx insisted, making even more sense now he was thinking like a Sith. Oh. Of course.

 

“Killing only empowers the Dark Side, senseless ones more so,” I needled, watching his eyes. They didn’t flare like mine, but I could feel the shifting anger and resentment bubble through from below.

“Shut your mouth,” he growled, all brevity gone. So, it was true. Still, I had to wonder, how much of his hate towards the Sith was genuine and how much was his own projections of otherness onto them?

 

“Zylixx, remain calm, The Sith is just trying to unbalance you. Don’t let this get under your skin,” Uldin preached, his voice taking on the patient, gently tone of one trying to soothe a savage animal. He had to know, and he was hiding it from the other Jedi… unless all in Cares’ little coven were secret darksiders too.

“Huh, I wonder how many more of Cares’ Jedi are darksiders?” I mused aloud, seeing for his reaction more than anything.

“Liar!” he screamed, proving my point, “I’m not weak like you. We simply meet force with force.”

 

“So, then if we don’t attack, neither will you?” Vette chirped from over my shoulder. The horror that shot across his face would cool a Tatooinian summer as she tripped him in his own little platitude puzzle.

“No, you’re putting words in my mouth!”

“So you do attack without reason, strengthening the Dark Side?”

“No!”

“Uh huh; while you figure that one out, we’re leaving.” Vette decided, turning to head back to the ship. I would’ve gone then too, but he was so close. I just had to give him a little push and his Jedi sanctimony would come crashing down.

 

“But if you mean to kill us, then you’d better hurry up. Strike me down with all of your hatred and your journey to the Dark Side will be complete,” I sing-songed at him, beaming so much that it closed my eyes. I didn’t need them to know where he was. He was practically roiling with shame at being tricked by a Twi’lek, and outwitted by a kid. All that shame fed into frustration, unto anger and into hate, and that only drew in the Dark Side. Huh, that could be useful.

“No, no more talk!” he screamed, Vette’s little logic puzzle and my goading finally snapping his delusions of righteousness. His lightsaber also snapped into being, “You die now!” He charged forwards as his buddy screamed his name, just as I had foreseen.

 

Lashing out with my Will, I sent the tether of Dark Power careening off to my left, dragging him and the leg I’d attached it to with it. Reaching out with my other hand, I lifted a large metal table, its top-heavy nature flipping it as it rose. His blue blade scored slag deep into the floor as he slammed into the metal bulkhead beyond with bone-crushing force. Then I dropped the table on him.

 

It made more of a squelch than a crunch, aw well as an ear-shattering clang. I couldn’t see any of him under the table, but there was a lot of red spread across the faux-duracrete flooring. Scooping up his saber, I brought it over, still lit, and pointed it at his shocked former friend.

“So, are you going to hold to the Jedi ways, or will you avenge your friend?” The pain on his face was almost enough to make me feel bad about killing his buddy, but then I remembered the contempt in his voice.

 

“What a waste. I had no idea Zylixx was so…,” he paused, trying to rationalise a word that didn’t involve his friend falling, “imbalanced. You exposed his weakness so easily.” Well, yeah. As Quinn says, Vette and I can be the most annoying thing in the galaxy when we want to be. If there’s anything more vulnerable to mockery than a stuffy imperial, it’s a deluded darksider.

“He would’ve revealed himself someday,” Vette comforted, crossing the room to touch the sad Jedi in his big shoulder.

“Perhaps you’re right,” he mused, staring at the upturned table, as if watching it would bring him back.

 

“Yeah, it’s a good thing we outed him here, or else he might have tried to murder a kid or something,” I snarked, though Vette’s angry glare made me drop the smile. But we always make jokes after we kill people. You do it, and you said it was a copying mechanism, so I’m copying you.

“You’re not a child, you’re a monster,” Uldin muttered darkly. Funny, Quinn says that too, though he’s usually trying to hide a smile when he does. Uldin breathed deeply through his nose and let it out as a sigh. Sliding away from Vette’s touch, he squared up opposite me.

 

“You have won the day, Sith. So, kill me if you must.” He hadn’t attacked us with his buddy, and he hadn’t gone red at all. While I could kill him, it didn’t feel right. Also, Vette was giving me those huge eyes, the same ones she does whenever she really wants to sway me on something. Okay, fine. He lives.

“Why? We came here to talk with Jaesa,” I explained, lifting my arm and shaking the sleeve away while brushing it from my belt. He gaped at what he didn’t see there, “I didn’t even bring my lightsabers.”

“So curious. You leave me with much to ponder Sith. Master Karr said you were here to harm Jaesa Wilsaam, but gave no proof. Your actions on Tatooine, Alderaan and now here paint a different picture.”

 

“That’s what the desert guy, Yonloch said after we stopped fighting. Karr warned him that we’d be coming, and that we were there to hurt Jaesa. That lie cost him his Jedi knight buddy, just like it’s cost you yours,” Vette explained in her most soothing voice. Based off his expression It hurt Uldin more than if she had dragged vibroblades under his fingernails.

“I-I’ll convey your message to her,” he choked before turning and passing through the door behind him.

“Uh, what was our message exactly?” Vette shrugged before glancing around, the tension draining away like moisture on desert sands.

 

“So, guess we’re safe for the moment.” Yeah, I guess we were. Shall we head back to the ship and watch Supernova II again?

 

 

 

Author’s Notes

 

This prompt was difficult, not because of the lack of inspiration but because of all of the choices available. Limiting myself to things with sufficient in game or published material to be understandable, I had five options…

 

Satele Shan’s first meeting with Lucida in the temple (goes mostly as in game, though Lucida calls BS on Jedi apathy regarding the captured/killed initiates and on Shan lecturing her on the dark side

 

Satele Shan castigating Lucida on her conduct regarding her assistance of the neurotic padawan and the padawans in love (more concerned with the Jedi’s reputation on their world than helping, takes the master’s side without recognising that all three were in the wrong.)

 

Nomen Karr’s façade slipping before Jaesa, getting angry as Roan and Vette stymy his efforts to uncover Baras’ agents and then go after her former master and parents, yet insisting she must stay on track of the next spy, assuring her that his duty is to keep her safe even though he’s obviously putting her in danger.

 

The next chapter of Ghosts of the Desert, illustrating Zul’s hypocrisy between her callous but pragmatic words and her more idealistic and risky actions as they attempt to implement their new plan.

 

Roan and Vette meet with Jaesa in good faith to discuss an end to their campaign, only for Karr to make a liar out of her and send the pair into a trap.

 

Edited by Feldraeth
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Hope everyone's Friday has been an awesome beginning to the weekend! Unfortunately mine began with doggo barfing in his crate while I was in the shower and ended with me cleaning up even more doggie sick (and other really gross things) before taking him to the vet where he will be spending the night. :( Anyways, sorry this is a little late in the evening, but hey.....at least it's still Friday so have a prompt and as always, happy writing! As for me, my husband has a much needed beer and movie waiting downstairs.

 

 

Week of October 4, 2019:

 

Happy Place: When your character’s feeling down, frightened, or overwhelmed, where do they go? What’s their “happy place”? Is it a literal, physical location? An actual place they visit that never fails to ground them? Is it an object that brings soothing memories with it? A story, a book, or a piece of music? An activity that helps them refocus? Is their happy place a lie? A bar where they can drink away their feelings, a painful memory that crowds out the new one, a story, song, or activity that distracts but offers no real solace? This week, write about your character’s happy place.

 

*Feel free to continue submitting stories for any prompt. A masterpiece missed the deadline? Don’t let it gather electronic dust, share it anyways!

 

*This week’s prompt not for you? Look for something more to your taste in the Prompt Archive. Consider all the prompts active and waiting to inspire you.

 

This week’s featured previous prompts are:

 

Food on the Go– Everyone enjoys a quick snack. What’s your character’s favorite? What food stall do they have to hit whenever they’re in town? What take-away meal do they always bring home? What munchies do they pack along for a journey? Far from meaningless detail, something as mundane as food can tell your readers a lot about your character.

 

Planes, Trains, and Thrantamobiles - It’s a big galaxy out there and we all have to get around somehow. Our characters encounter ticketing, hyperspace calculations, docking fees, late-running rides and more on ships, banthas, landspeeders, thrantas, troop transports, tauntauns, and/or whatever improvised modes of transportation they can get. Write about your character’s transportation experience.

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Happy Friday everyone!! I know I'm happy to have made it through another work week.....time to celebrate that achievement with a drink or 2 but first, a new prompt.

 

Week of October 11, 2019:

 

Inappropriate Attire: When has your character arrived for an event in the wrong clothing? Why? Was it a social gaffe? Did they interpret “fancy dress” as a formal affair when what was intended was a costume party? Were they told it was casual but not, apparently, that casual? Maybe they prepared for the wrong conditions–it’s never this hot (or cold!) this time of year! Those shoes seemed like a good idea at the outset but now, not so much. Who would have thought they’d need a high-visibility vest? Or that going armed and armored was such a faux pas? This week write about your character being completely inappropriately attired for the occasion and what happened after.

 

*Feel free to continue submitting stories for any prompt. A masterpiece missed the deadline? Don’t let it gather electronic dust, post it anyway!

 

*This week’s prompt not for you? Look for something more to your taste in the Prompt Archive. Consider all the prompts active and waiting to inspire you.

 

This week’s featured previous prompts are:

 

Constant Companions– Who’s with your character through all their adventures? Who’s their right hand, the one who’s always there? Who’s Samwise to your Frodo? Why are they there and why do they stay? This week write something featuring the person or people your character relies on.

 

Heritage and Antiques - Star Wars is full of special things. Old things. Things with personal meaning, things revered as holy. The lightsaber your father wanted you to have when you were old enough. Your grandmother’s silver (ship!) you hope one day to give to your grandchildren. The insignia of your squad’s first commander, the one whose bravery won them a medal and gave your squad its reputation. The holocron that corrupted (or redeemed) your master. What things, places, or heirlooms are special to your character?

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Hey everyone, I'm back again with my fortnightly post.

 

Prompt: Propaganda, Hygiene, Inappropriate Attire, Children, Constant Companions

Title: Cleansing at a mountain Spring

Perspective: Vette, Twi’lek adventuress

Word Count: 3,590

Spoilers: Tatooine SW, Alderaan SW, characters from BH Act I and SI Alderaan, Alderaan Class story

Chronology: Immediately following The Lanthinide Mine

 

It shall be noted that this contains pervasive nudity that may or may not be used for comedy, drama, symbolism or catharsis

 

 

 

Mako and I had taken Elana up on her offer of a good time and after the Thrantas, we’d gone to this little spa she knew up in the mountains. We’d left Urtel at the Guy-care centre and traded our clothes in for bathrobes and a hair towel: yeah, they gave me one too, go figure. Then Elana took us up to this totally man-made hot spring, stripped off and climbed in.

 

Mako and I are from Nar Shaddaa, so we’re not total prudes or anything, but we’re kinda used to keeping our undies on in front of total strangers. Still, it was pretty cold and snowy, and they weren’t gonna give us another bathrobe if we soaked the first one, so uh, as they say: when on Alderaan…

 

Like I said, it was pretty cold and snowy, but that just made the hot spring all the more lovely. Anyway, so Mako and I had got in and it must’ve gone to my head or something because the world got all thundery with strobing light images burned onto my eyes. In the flashes, I saw big bugs with people helping them stick humans to a wall in House Thul, then feed them this brown-grey runny jelly.

 

Next thing I knew, Mako had me up on the seats around the edge of the pool, terror growing her eyes three sizes. Elana was floating closer, a fake smile over worried eyes.

“Darling, I know it’s gauche to have to admit it, but the spa needs to know if you’re allergic to anything. They can’t be responsible if you have a seizure and break someone’s antique something.”

 

“What? I’m not-: I don’t-, I saw… bugs. Giant talking bugs, with people helping them. They had more people, Imperials I think, stuck to the walls and they were feeding them a sticky, honey-looking goo.” Mako looked grossed out but worried.

“That sounds like Killiks. Tell me, this is very important: have you ever met one in person?”

“Wha- No, the only giant bug I’ve met is the one up Quinn’s butt.” Elana frowned and looked like she’d decided something.

 

“You stay with her: I need to tell security to watch for Killiks.” Elana commanded, grabbing a robe and wrapping it around herself. Yeah, I wouldn’t blame her. Outside the pool, this place was freezing!

“Hey, be serious with me, are you OK?” I could see the worry flutter in her wide eyes.

 

“Yeah, it’s not-, I don’t get visions or anything. I don’t have the Force like-,” a nasty thought popped up in my head, “I need to make a call.” Mako closed her eyes, smiled faintly and a blue haze shimmered over the middle of the pool. Yeah, who needs waterproof holos when you have a super slicer. The haze focussed into numbers, so I punched in the holofrequency and watched it connect, hoping the worms writhing in my guts weren’t true.

 

“Hey, Captain Stuffy-Pants, put the kid on, will ya?” I demanded as captain Jerkface materialised. Quinn’s bland holocall face dissolved into Officer glower #2: narrow those eyes and purse those lips: smoulder for me, baby.

“I do not respond to that name, Twi’lek,” he stated coldly, his glower trying to burn through my forehead.

“It’s important, put him on.” Quinn scoffed Regulation Officer Sneer #12: show those minty-fresh teeth and work that eyebrow.

 

“He’s unavailable at the moment.” Uh huh, sure he is. The kid should’ve bounced into frame already unless you’re making him do something, and we both know you can’t make him do anything.

“Then make him available, I don’t care if he’s in the little boy’s room. I just saw a whole load of Killiks and need to be sure he’s not doing anything stupid.” Quinn broke regulation and blinked.

 

“He’s presently in a Killik Hive rescuing Imperial soldiers.” what! Of all the-, “Wait, why aren’t you with him?”

“He insisted on going alone. His exact words were ‘You stay here if the fauns bother you so much, but I’m going’. I don’t believe he understood what pheromones are.” Ugh, Quinn, it’s official: you’re useless.

 

“So why aren’t you with him?”

“He is a Sith and my Lord. I must trust in his decisions.”

“He’s ten! He wears superhero pyjamas and believes making a cake will make people stay with him forever.”

“It was a good cake,” Mako piped up with a nervous grin. I flared a scowl at her: you’re not helping. She shied away, head and arms tucking into her chest to make herself smaller.

 

“Ugh, go find him,” Quinn glowered and opened his pretty little mouth to argue, “Now!” He flinched: the stoic jerk actually flinched. Mako did too but that didn’t count. Quinn glanced around, hiding his nervousness with his patented Stoic Jerk #1 and nodded at something outside the holocomms pickup range.

“Here he comes, along with the rescued.” Quinn turned the holocomm and after a moment of static, people flickered at the edge of the pickup range, led by the kid, a faint sheen on his brow. He looked like he’d run up half a mountain, which for him was the same as a normal person jogging on the flat. Taking the comm from Quinn, he grinned excitedly as he saw me.

 

“Vette, you’re back! How is-,” he stopped, frowning like, “Why are your ******* showing?” I looked down. I’d stood up when I shouted at Quinn, with the top of the water kissing my belly button. I had totally called Quinn topless. I’d flashed him. He had seen me without my top, and he could think about me later, maybe when I was asleep across the room from him. Stars No! No, Eww: that’s just so Eww. It was gross and wrong and Eww! My head swam, and my chest felt tight even as my heart hammered my ribs: I felt like I was going to fall.

 

The heady buzz of a good Corellian Whiskey hit me like a speeder, washing the horrid thoughts from my head even as it strengthened my legs. The kid’s eyes were closed, and his face was a mask of focussed anger. He was pushing his powers through the comm, making me feel better. Either that or I’d downed a bottle without realising it.

 

Mako must’ve listened in or saw my face, because at that moment, she tossed me my ‘hair’ towel. It wasn’t that big, but I finally gave it a use. One handed, I wrapped it around my chest, clutching the ends at the front. The look left the kid’s face and he opened his eyes, just as I saw something move from behind his translucent frame.

 

“So, I warned security and they are tripling-,” Elana said, strutting back over to the pool. Seeing the holocomm, she stopped, squinting at the little blue figures. Mako helpfully blew up the kid to full size with her brain. Along with him, a bunch of Imperials and Thuls came into focus.

“Daria, is that you? You’re supposed to be at the Imperial Academy, what are you doing back here?”

“Being rescued,” Roan chirped, until a frown flickered across his features, “wait, we’re back: was rescued.” The frown dropped, replaced by open-mouthed confusion, “who just said that?”

“Lady Elana Thul,” she answered, shrugging out of her robe before slipping back into the pool behind Roan’s image. The kid didn’t glance around: the camera mustn’t reach that far back, figures.

 

“Oh,” he said with all the enthusiasm as if she’d announced she was the janitor, “Anyway, Killiks invaded a secret mine, and stole all the people, so I freed them, except they tried to eat her spirit, so I threatened them and they let her go.” I nodded, relief pouring through me. So, the kid had been fighting Killiks. Okay, I can get why I saw bug guys, but why did I get a vision about it? I don’t have the Force: I shouldn’t get visions. Had he sent it? No, that didn’t make any sense. Maybe the fighting was worse than he let on and he sent it when he needed help?

 

“Must have been intense,” Mako mused, looking all too smug that she was safely submerged up to her shoulders.

“Not really, they die in like one or two swings. You and Zul could probably have done it all no problem. Ooh, say hi to her for me.” I frowned, shaking my head at the kid. He was fine. It must’ve been nothing, I guess: weird though…

 

“There, you’ve spoken with Vette, now we must get moving,” Quinn butted in, pacing into frame from behind the kid.

“Aww, but I want to talk with Vette some more,” Roan pouted, slumping from the knees up, “How’s your holiday going? will you be back tonight or early tomorrow? Are Chocolate Eggs a thing?” Quinn purposefully turned the holoviewer away from the kid: so much for serving his interests, huh.

 

“Excuse me, it is urgent I speak with my rescuer at once,” someone insisted as a dark-skinned guy in an Imperial Lieutenant’s uniform butted into the hologram. I’m gonna hazard a guess that he was bald under that hat.

“Duty calls,” Quinn noted with a cruel little smirk. His arm twitched and then he flew back. The kid blurred up close, catching the comm before it dropped. I faintly heard the crunch of Quinn hitting something in the background.

 

“Hey!” I snapped, jumping back to my feet, one hand holding the dripping towel in place. Roan shot up, surprised, landing on the adjacent table.

“No throwing Quinn, that’s not okay!”

“But my question!” Roan protested, like that was any reason to smack Stuffypants around, “Are chocolate eggs a thing?” I know what you asked, don’t change the subject.

 

“If they are, you’re not getting one until you say sorry to Quinn!” Roan’s eyebrows shot up, and then crumpled his lips in a pout. Don’t pout at me. You threw Quinn, now stop being a jerk and go apologise. His lip quivered but he bit down on it, the holocomm darkening to reflect the shift to his Sithy eyes. You want to be that way, fine. I can do stubborn too.

 

“Sounds like you’ve got stuff to do. I’ll speak to you tomorrow evening when I get back, not before!” With that, I ended the call. I got a glimpse of horror in the kid’s eyes as he opened his mouth, but that was it. Mako cut the call, leaving his horrified look the last thing I saw. Eugh, c’mon: this is supposed to be my holiday!

 

I closed my eyes, let out the breath I’d been holding and slumped my shoulders. Untucking the towel, I tossed it back onto the side and sank into the warm pool. Tell me, when did I become a babysitter? Okay Korriban, but c’mon. If I’d known I’d be stuck with the next Exar Kun, I’d… probably done it all the same way but I would’ve liked to know what I was getting into.

 

“Everything okay?” Mako asked, her normally cheery voice troubled.

“Yeah, it’s fine. I’m just…” I trailed off. How could I explain it anyway? Yeah, you know I run with a Sith? Well I saw him do Sithy stuff to the Jedi who blasted me. It’s dumb, right. “I’m fine.”

“You…” she paused, contemplating what to say next, “you want to talk about it?”

“Not really.” Mako surprised me. She nodded and dropped the subject. I know she wasn’t feigning care before, but she went from concerned to sabaac face in under a second. C’mon Vette, stop being a Jerk. She needed a holiday from Zul as much as I needed one from the kid. She didn’t deserve me being a grouch too.

 

“Just promise me one thing.” Mako perked up instantly, her hopeful smile shining through her terrible sabaac face.

“Sure.”

“If you ever have kids, don’t ask me to babysit if they’re force sensitive.” Mako smile shifted, becoming sad, almost pitying, as she nodded. The burbling of the hot tub was the only sound between us for way too long.

“He really that bad?” I pushed my lips together, slumped down most of the way underwater and blew bubbles.

 

“No,” I admitted finally, surfacing, “and yes. It’s complicated. Like, most of the time, he’s just your usual kid, but then he goes off and does stuff like Cademimu or Tatooine. It’s like I feel I’m maybe a couple of words away from destroying the planet or something. Don’t get me wrong, it’s not like I’m commanding him to do anything, but it’s not like I’m some stranger watching it on holo.

 

“Vette,” Mako asked as softly as she knew how, “what happened on Tatooine?” What do you mean, what happened on Tatooine? Nothing happened on Tatooine. She looked at me with those big brown eyes, and I felt the lie die on my lips. Okay, truth time, here goes…

“Uh, okay; so, we were out there searching for this old Jedi hermit out in the desert, because he trained the padawan we’re hunting. Well, long story short, we found him and after a long chat full of Jedi goodness, he kinda killed me-.”

 

“Wait, you were dead?” Mako butted in, worried amazement plain on her face.

“Uh, kinda. It was like I was trapped in my body and couldn’t do anything. The old Jedi did it.”

“That doesn’t mean you died,” Elana finally offered, leaning closer to almost whisper secretively.

“Yeah, except the kid pretty much freaked out, babbling about not sensing me, then about me leaving him too.” The sight of the kid with those empty black eyes bubbled up from where I’d locked it away, and the goose bumps that ran across my body had nothing to do with the heated spring.

 

“Well, the younger Jedi, there were two of them. Anyway, he tried to kill the kid when he was freaking out, and everything kinda went weird.” They fell quiet, so I continued, the empty black stare from my minds eye haunting me as bad as a Korriban tomb.

“His eyes went black, then he caught the blade with one hand… and then he fought back, only everything was off.” I turned to Mako, “You’ve seen the way he fights, bouncing from one guy to the next not really noticing the destruction he causes?” She nodded, staying quiet but her worried frown told me everything. “Well, right then, he was absolutely focussed on them, up until he broke the younger Jedi’s neck, and then blasted the old guy with lightning.”

 

“I thought he said he couldn’t do that.”

“Yeah, turns out he can but it burns him too. That’s why he’s wearing gloves, to hide his kolto wraps.” I don’t know, but I think doing all that broke something inside him. He didn’t say a word for two days, until we were back on the ship and do you know what was the first thing he said to me? he asked if I wanted to be there, doing Sithy stuff with him. He offered to drop me off on Nar Shaddaa and let me go.”

 

“Well, yeah,” Mako noded, “he cares about you and from the sounds of it, you were obviously freaked by the whole thing. If he delves deeper into Sith powers, he’s going to get a lot darker. Maybe he wanted to save you from that?”

“Will you?” Elana piped in, gliding over to us on her front.

“No, I couldn’t do that to him: it’d break his heart and leave him with Quinn. That’s the best way to screw over the galaxy. Besides, I kinda have everything under control. I’ve taken steps…” I trailed off, laughing mirthlessly to myself. Steps, right, like that’d work.

 

“You pressed the supernova button,” Mako remarked, snapping me out of my gloom. It wasn’t a question or an accusation, just a simple statement, almost offhandedly delivered, yet the implications were immense. I nodded. He just seemed so sad, so hopeless. You said it was the most hopeful holo you’ve ever seen, so I thought it’d help.

“Supernova button?” Elana asked, not even pretending to understand us anymore.

“He just looked so sad, like everything inside was tearing him apart,” I explained, but all I could see was Elana’s confusion and Mako’s concern. I shut up and let Mako explain.

“It was something my boss came up with,” Mako admitted, glancing at me with concern brimming in her eyes, offering me the chance to explain it. I didn’t really want to even think about it anymore.

 

“Okay, so you know how little kids like to emulate their heroes?” Mako started, waiting for Elana to nod her understanding before she continued, “Well, We talked to Quinn and he mentioned how all available in the Empire are war heroes or Sith, so we figured why not have an extra one, with less Imperial values: you know, to balance them out. So, we looked for heroes he’d obviously like who had the right kind of values and well… Supernova came up. We then found a good holovid of him and downloaded the link so Vette could play it when and if she thought she needed it.” Elana eyed her suspiciously.

 

“And what is it supposed to do?”

“Well, Supernova’s a super-powerful outsider who’s in full control of his own power, yet chooses to use it to help people, right?” Elana nodded, still frowning.

“And is power relevant?” I felt my brow rise with that. You have a Sith bodyguard and don’t know this?

“Well yeah, it’s key to the Sith, everything they do is to maintain their power or gain more. It’s kind of their end. What happens when you let ideas like Power should be a means to serve and protect the people?” Then it hit me. that’s not why I did it at all.

 

“Oh,” Elara announced, rolling over to lounge on the underwater bench, “so you influenced this Sith conqueror to pick up Republic ideals”

“they’re not Republic!” Mako protested hotly, but Elara was kinda right. Truth, Justice and Liberty were absolutely Republic values. All we’re missing is peace and the pursuit of happiness and we’ve got the Republic’s Articles of Incorporation. They weren’t exclusive to the Republic though, or we wouldn’t have showed Supernova to the kid.

“It’s not like that at all,” I rebuffed but there wasn’t any heat in it. Roan had been so sad when we came back, enough to offer to send me away. I know he doesn’t have anyone else who cares for him, only people who want him for his powers. He was hopeless, so I showed him Supernova. Mako said he means hope, and so does the symbol printed on his chest.

 

“I think you’re missing the point, she clarified, before a bout of giggling cackles shook her. “You’re totally going to get…” she paused reflecting on something for a moment, “is it hacked, slashed or sabered?” She decided, looking straight at me. Hey, why would I know the difference. I work with the kid; I don’t edit him or anything.

“Well, if you’re gonna die horribly at the hands of a Sith, you might as well have some pleasure before the end. You know what we need,” Elana decided, sitting up and letting a slew of bubbles escape from beneath her chest, “a Corellian.” What? She whipped her comm out while Mako and I gawped at her.

 

A Corellian, like as in the food or as in a guy from Corellia? ‘Cause uh, we’re from Nar Shaddaa and I know Shaddaa girls get a bad rep and all, but we’re not that open-minded, you know. The Sith appeared in holo-bust form, trying very hard to not look appreciative. Okay, seriously, what was with her? Yeah, I get it, I did that too, but I was freaking out and didn’t realise until way too late. She knew she was doing it and knew he was uh, appreciating it. Wait, are they a thing?

“Urtel, book a reservation at The Coronet Jewel for four in two hours,” she paused, eyeing Mako for a moment, “Better make it three hours.” Mako recovered faster than me, which was kinda a first.

 

“Uh, I know you guys are pretty relaxed about stuff like this and I’m up for trying new things and all but, uh,” her earthy cheeks shone as she struggled with the words, “I’m underage.”

“Pardon?” Elana blurted, shining one of the sincerest looks of bafflement I’ve ever seen. Shame it only lasted for a fraction of a second.

“That won’t matter: you’re with me. No-one is going to deny you the good stuff. Today, you get to try Whyren’s Reserve and Corellian Brandy for the first time,” she explained, and I let myself breathe again, Elana’s hazel eyes flashed as she glanced at me before settling on Mako, a sly twinkle glinting within, “why did you think I was talking about?” I was just glad she hadn’t asked me.

 

“I just uh, Zul’s kinda strict about alcohol on the ship, and I um…” Mako trailed off, her cheeks flushing adorably, like we’d caught her with a hand in the cookie jar.

Alcohol, sure,” she purred, ignoring Mako’s awkward terror before playfully slapping her shoulder, “Oh relax! I’m just teasing. Still: before we go, we simply must get a facial.” Oh, come on, now I know you’re messing with us. Showed what I knew, we all had one and you know what: it was pretty great.

 

 

As an aside, I remembered a friend made this a couple of years ago and think this is loosely associated with the story and thus works here. (Trigger Warning! This links to Verizon's Tumblr)

Edited by Feldraeth
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Apologies for not getting this out yesterday, I so hate being tardy! :o Alas, it has been a busy week with many distractions...... so no writing time for me unfortunately, however I do have this week's prompt all set to go!

 

Week of October 18, 2019:

 

Message in a Bottle: Has your character ever received a message from a stranger? Was it spam, and they decided to mess with the sender? Was it a misdirected communication, meant for someone else? Was it a blind message, sent without knowing who might receive it? What did it say? Maybe your character sent such a message. Did they hope for help? Were they seeking a random connection with someone else curious enough to answer? Open the bottle and write about the message inside.

 

*Feel free to continue submitting stories for any prompt. A masterpiece missed the deadline? Don’t let it gather electronic dust, post it anyway!

 

*This week’s prompt not for you? Look for something more to your taste in the Prompt Archive. Consider all the prompts active and waiting to inspire you.

 

This week’s featured previous prompts are:

 

Thank You - Gratitude is a big thing. People give thanks for gifts, social niceties, kind words, significant favors, for being offered company or for being left alone. Sometimes there are specific holidays or times dedicated to gratitude, and sometimes it just comes up on the way. What is your character grateful for? Do they admit it?

 

Vacation - Our characters have traveled hither and thither over a dozen or more planets for work, politics, personal vendettas, and more. But where do they go to relax and what do they do when they’ve got some time to unwind? Write about your character’s vacation time. Prompt courtesy of @alaurin101.

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  • 4 weeks later...

Many apologies for not updating the weekly prompt, I will remedy that now.

 

Week of October 25, 2019:

 

Lost!: Really, really lost. So far off course that they don’t know where the course is, let alone how to get back on it. The compass is gone or broken. The sun or stars are hidden behind the clouds. The radio dead or not receiving signal. How did your character get into this situation? Is is real–as in they are physically lost? Is it metaphorical–they’re in a completely unfamiliar situation with no idea how to get out of it. Most importantly: how are they getting home?

 

*Feel free to continue submitting stories for any prompt. A masterpiece missed the deadline? Don’t let it gather electronic dust, post it anyway!

 

*This week’s prompt not for you? Look for something more to your taste in the Prompt Archive. Consider all the prompts active and waiting to inspire you.

 

This week’s featured previous prompts are:

 

Phobia: From Phobos, the personification of fear in Greek mythology, in English a phobia is more than just being afraid. Phobias are rarely rational. The brain is often eager to label anything as a terrible threat regardless of whether it’s logical. A true phobia can be debilitating, where the sufferer avoids any situation that might trigger their fear. Does your character have such a disability? What about one of their companions or someone they meet? Is it a common or reasonable thing to fear? Something others sympathize with even if they don’t appreciate the severity? Or is it something rare or mundane? Some thing or condition, made all the worse by the fact that literally no one else understands why it provokes such a reaction. How does your character deal with it? How do they help a companion through an episode?

 

Accommodation: Does your character need something outside what’s considered typical for their species? Are they more at home in enclosed or darkened spaces–or the opposite? A special diet due to allergies or disease? Something more obvious, like ramps instead of stairs or fixtures and handles being at more convenient heights? What about something basic, like being left-handed in a right-handed world?

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Here's another one.....

 

Week of November 1, 2019:

 

A Matter of Life and Death: This week the stakes are high. Your character has to intercede or maybe they’re the one in the situation. It’s a matter of life and death. Whose? Why? How did the situation get this serious? Is there any way out? Is it really a Matter of Life and Death or did someone use the distress beacon to order pizza?

 

*Feel free to continue submitting stories for any prompt. A masterpiece missed the deadline? Don’t let it gather electronic dust, post it anyway!

 

*This week’s prompt not for you? Look for something more to your taste in the Prompt Archive. Consider all the prompts active and waiting to inspire you.

 

This week’s featured previous prompts are:

 

Wishes - Wherever our characters go, whatever they do, it’s likely they have an eye on something more. Some people keep their fondest wishes a secret; others announce it to the world. Some wish on a star, a falling leaf, a found coin, or other totems. Some find a way to make it happen, and some haven’t quite reached it yet. Write about your character’s wish.

 

Hide and Seek - Sometimes our characters need to find something they just don’t have. Sometimes they need to keep something hidden from somebody else. Write about a time your character was hiding, seeking, hidden, or sought.

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Now for last week's prompt....

 

Week of November 8, 2019:

 

Wrong side of the Bed: Every character can have an incident that ruins an otherwise decent day. As an author, that’s fun to write. What about those times when they just wake up in a bad mood? No reason, no inciting incident, They’re annoyed from the get-go. Those are usually the days that go from bad to worse. Does someone try to get them out of their funk? Are they usually bright and sunny and this is a noticeable change in disposition? Maybe it’s only a matter of degree and their companions are walking on thinner eggshells. This week, write about a time when your character got up on the wrong side of the bed and what the rest of their day was like.

 

*Feel free to continue submitting stories for any prompt. A masterpiece missed the deadline? Don’t let it gather electronic dust, post it anyway!

 

*This week’s prompt not for you? Look for something more to your taste in the Prompt Archive. Consider all the prompts active and waiting to inspire you.

 

This week’s featured previous prompts are:

 

Defenses - Sometimes our characters defend what’s theirs. Sometimes they defend the things they care about. Sometimes they’re asked to defend things they really don’t like. Whether in combat or conversation, write about your character’s efforts to defend something or someone.

 

Mea Culpa - Our characters have probably done a lot of wrong or perceived wrong, one way or another. Sometimes they think an apology is necessary. Sometimes they really don’t. Sometimes they may want to apologize even when they didn’t do anything. Sometimes the wronged party accepts it; sometimes they reject it; sometimes they’re not there to hear it. Write about a time when your character or someone they know was prompted to apologize.

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And finally we have the new prompt for this week! I'm deeply sorry that I got so behind and I will try to keep things up to date a little better. Have a wonderful weekend and happy writing!!

 

Week of November 15, 2019:

 

Love Language/Showing Affection: Every person, every character, has their own way of showing affection. There are culturally sanctioned ways, which often differ by gender and class. Everyone’s different, though, and how they show affection is often how they perceive their standing in another’s eyes. Write this week about your character showing affection in their own way, or recognizing another’s unique love language.

 

*Feel free to continue submitting stories for any prompt. A masterpiece missed the deadline? Don’t let it gather electronic dust, post it anyway!

 

*This week’s prompt not for you? Look for something more to your taste in the Prompt Archive. Consider all the prompts active and waiting to inspire you.

 

This week’s featured previous prompts are:

 

Temptation: It comes in all flavors, all kinds, all things. And it need not be a physical thing at all, but an experience or emotion. It’s usually, but not always, a vice. What tempts your character? What siren song do they find irresistible? Do they crash on the rocks following it, do their friends help them avoid it, or do they manage alone? Not all temptations are bad, of course, and not all can be neatly avoided.

 

 

Roadblock: Something’s in the way, physically or metaphorically. Something preventing your character from getting what they want. What is it? Why is it there? What does your character want and who wants to stop them? This week, throw a roadblock in your character’s path. Let’s see how they navigate it.

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Ooooo, look who figured out how to put up the new prompt on time!!! :D Happy Friday and as always, happy writing!!!

 

Week of November 22, 2019:

 

Beauty: In the eye of the beholder and only skin deep? Or is there in truth no beauty? It’s more common to make our characters physically attractive than not, but modern human (and especially Western) standards are not universal. How does this play in their unique cultures? What does your character consider beautiful? Does it align with their society? What does beauty mean to them in the context of their story? Do they see themselves as beautiful? What would they do to become so, or more so, or do they care?

 

*Feel free to continue submitting stories for any prompt. A masterpiece missed the deadline? Don’t let it gather electronic dust, post it anyway!!

 

*This week’s prompt not for you? Look for something more to your taste in the Prompt Archive. Consider all the prompts active and waiting to inspire you.

 

This week’s featured previous prompts are:

 

Challenge– If it were easy, everyone would be doing it. What’s hard for your character? What challenges do they set for themselves and what ones do they face? Difficulty often reveals a character’s true self. How do they face a challenge?

 

History– Personal or World, history informs your character’s actions. What part of the past shapes their present? Are they aware of it? How so? This week, consider your character’s history and its influence.

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  • 2 weeks later...

Many apologies, I was out of town last weekend for the holiday and completely forgot to put up the prompt....so here it is!

 

Week of November 29, 2019:

 

Masks and True Faces: Some of our characters wear physical masks. Why? Do they protect their body against harm, their identity against retaliation, or hide something they are ashamed of? Some eschew protection and flaunt their identity, their face, their safety. Other characters take on new personalities and identities depending on who they’re with or the job they need to do. Not a physical mask, but protection just the same. Write about the masks your character wears and to whom, if anyone, they show their true face and self.

 

*Feel free to continue submitting stories for any prompt. A masterpiece missed the deadline? Don’t let it gather electronic dust, post it anyway!

 

*This week’s prompt not for you? Look for something more to your taste in the Prompt Archive. Consider all the prompts active and waiting to inspire you.

 

This week’s featured previous prompts are:

 

Anniversaries - Some dates are remembered and celebrated; others are remembered and reviled. From the fresh anniversary of something that happened just a year ago to the enduring remembrance of holidays for cultures and nations, people often mark the date and do something to observe the occasion. Write about an anniversary or significant holiday in your character’s life.

 

Hope– Hope, the final thing in Pandora’s Box. Hope is what keeps people going when the night is dark and the journey is hard. Hope for a brighter day and a better way. Or just something different, some change. To fall in love, to find redemption, to find a purpose. Even a doomsday cult has hope, even outsiders don’t understand it. What does your character hope for?

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And now for this week's official new prompt.....

 

Week of December 6, 2019:

 

Infodump: Writers often need to give the reader information. A lot of it. A backstory, a history, a strange device, a motivation. You need a character to monologue. This week’s challenge is to create a scene around explaining something important about your character, their world, or their current situation. Infodumps don’t have to be boring! They can be funny, ridiculous, serious, or even deadpan, all while still being interesting. Your infodump doesn’t even have to match the tone of the rest of your story. This week: tell, don’t show.

 

*Feel free to continue submitting stories for any prompt. A masterpiece missed the deadline? Don’t let it gather electronic dust, post it anyway!

 

*This week’s prompt not for you? Look for something more to your taste in the Prompt Archive. Consider all the prompts active and waiting to inspire you.

 

This week’s featured previous prompts are:

 

Goals: Your character is nothing without goals. Pursuing their goal is what propels the story forward. Step back for a moment and consider how and why they set that goal. Did they wake up one morning and know what they wanted to do? Did it grow organically out of life experience? Did they go through a modern, goal-setting exercise? Is theirs a reasonable goal, achievable with a stretch, or are they unlikely to ever achieve it? Do they keep moving the goalposts? Does someone move them for your character? Set a goal this week.

 

Inappropriate Use of Power- To be honest, the germ of this idea came from imagining a youthful Obi-Wan trying out his Force Persuade skill on a bartender with a handwave and a “you don’t need to see my identification.” And while the tone of the inspiration was silly–what’s to stop scheming Sith from reading their instructor’s mind for quiz answers–it can be sinister as well. It’s not limited to Force-users, or indeed any character with special powers. Authority and trust can be misused as well, and to silly or sinister ends. Was your character tempted? Did they witness an event? Did they stop another character?

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Hey, I'm back following nanowrimo and with a double parter that fits some of the prompts.

 

Prompt: It Takes Two, Mother’s Day, Masks and True Faces

Title: Assault on Grathan’s Estate: Facing the Family

Perspective: Roan, The Littlest Sith

Word Count: 2,420

Spoilers: SW Grathan Estate storyline

Chronology: Mid Dromund Kaas

 

 

 

“Mother a stranger approaches,” warned the man in a large breastplate with wires and tubes running all over his lanky limbs. I guess he’s Grathan’s secret son, Bee-slit. Huh, prophetic name. He will be slit soon enough.

 

“You don’t know the half of it, kid,” Vette remarked from over my shoulder. She was behind me, ready to grab her pistols and shoot the two Grathans. She wanted to use me as cover, just like in the cyber-laboratory. That’s okay, she isn’t Sith: she can’t stop lightsabers. It’d be silly to think she could.

 

“I am Celvanta Grathan! How dare you enter my son’s room uninvited. Who are you?” the old lady sneered. She looked weird, all wrinkly with her body stuffed into a grey tunic, trousers and a fan-hat-thingie. She also had purple-red around her eyes and down the middle of her lips, like that pureblood in the hanger. Maybe it was supposed to represent something; like that they were married maybe?

 

“We’re here to execute him,” I explained, wondering if she’d step aside. I know she’s his Mother and all but some Sith care about their lineage. I doubted it though: no one wants to raise the weak. She’d get over the loss of her status symbol soon enough.

 

“You’ll have to kill me first,” oh, okay. I guess she didn’t care that much, “and while my son is still an acolyte, I am fully Sith!”

“Ooh, so am I,” I chirped, unclipping my lightsaber and waving it at her. She tore her green eyes off Vette, glowering at me. She wasn’t powerful then, not as a Sith.

 

Any sith who has spent time mastering the dark side had yellow eyes. I sometimes have yellow eyes, but they come and go if I’m not using the dark side for something. Ragate said it was important not to use it for everything, to master the weaker non-dark bit first so you can empower yourself further in combat.

 

She curled her mouth into a cruel little sneer that made me feel like I should think I wasn’t worth her expectation. Either she had very little ability with which to compel the force or she was very good at hiding her power too.

 

“Then may the force give me the strength to defeat you,” she mused, that harsh mirthless smirk sneering down at me. She was weird. Who tries to act superior to an opponent, especially when you don’t know if they’re more powerful than you? Then I got it, I’m a kid and she’s an old lady. She didn’t care that I was stronger, she couldn’t conceive that I was danger-, ‘give you the strength’? What?

 

The force isn’t an ally: it’s a servant. Was she a Jedi? aren’t they not supposed to have kids? Then again, they weren’t meant to use the dark side and join the Sith, so maybe an ex-Jedi? Yeah, that made sense, Jedi turned Sith would be trained without yellow eyes, have the Jedi philosophies and beliefs and wore silly clothes. But aren’t Jedi, even ex-Jedi, supposed to care about people? As I wondered, she went red and fired a trickle of Power towards me. I swatted her and her lightning aside with my Power, and she dented the wall before clattering to the floor. Guess this would be over quickly and we could go find Lanniter Droge in the science dormitory. I wonder where that is: he wasn’t very helpful at all.

 

“Beelzlit, take cover!” she called from the floor, scrambling to get up. Huh, she cares more that he lives than that he’s weak. Huh, guess she is a Jedi: she’s pointlessly sacrificing herself so he can run away. I wonder where he’ll go, where in the fortress he’ll hide? Maybe he won’t pretend to be a Sith acolyte and will actually go and rally the guards? I doubt it. Besides, there’s only one way out and it’s behind us.

“No Mother, I stand at your side, Attack!” He went red too. Oh, I guess it doesn’t matter now. They get to die together.

 

He bustled towards us, whipping his training saber out and held it up overhead, pointing back. I knew it as the opening stance for shien but why would he use it? I’m obviously not a power duellist, so why pick the slow, lumbering style? Maybe it’s the only one he knows? Let’s find out.

 

I skipped forwards, sinking into the force to make my passing a blur, and flicked my hand at his exposed belly. It wasn’t a proper strike, more a test of his defences. He should jump and spin over the blade, kick to his left and slide out of my reach or bring his weapon down to hammer the test away. Seeing what would tell me his true style.

 

He did none of these, instead lumbering into the blade. His belly sizzled and he dropped, to his knees. Annoyance flickered through me: I was already twirling the other way. If I wasn’t, I’d have cut him in half. Really, that was all he could manage? He’s twice as old as me. That was just… pathetic. Maybe the Jedi would do better.

 

I finished my spin and brought my blade around in a wide roundhouse strike on the Ex-Jedi. I don’t think she believed her son would fall so quickly: she was still fumbling with her lightsaber. Eventually, she got it out at the last moment, in an awkward, one-handed grip. She used her left hand. Was that because she was left handed, or wanted to challenge her duelling skills? Our blades met. It was weird though: there was no weight to it, as if she didn’t know how to fight properly. Uh okay: I pushed against the blade. She gasped as her blade lit a line along her shoulder.

 

Reflex must’ve driven her to the side, because she staggered out of my reach, her lightsaber toppling from her grasp. Don’t drop your saber, everyone knows that, it’s the first rule.

 

Her eyes were like a cornered Tu’kata’s, wild, fearful and fixed on me. Then I felt it, power coiling around her, focussed on her forward hand. She had the will to direct hate at people? The power gathered in her hand was barely enough to make sparks. I cast out my will and snatched at the nascent power away. The sparks died in her hand. Staring at her impotent fingers with horror stretched over her painted face, she backed away and bumped into the table. I padded closer, the thrumming of my lightsaber the only sound in the room.

 

“Stop,” a voice pleaded from behind me. I glanced back over my shoulder and saw the son. He had crawled up off his knees, one hand holding his seared guts, “You are more than a match for us. Mother, if I am the target, save yourself. I don’t want to see you die!” What, but that’s not how being a Sith works. He should know there’s no mercy among us, it’s always fight to flee, to the death or to force submission. She seized the opportunity my confusion provided and fled. At least one of them knew what being Sith meant. Still, killing all the guards on the way out would be annoying.

 

I drew in the power I’d gathered and then dropped it. She hadn’t fled at all, she had run over to his side, her once zappy hands resting on his wound. The force around them buckled and writhed, twisting inwards, willing his flesh to knit together. It felt wrong, like the Force itself was being folded into the wound. It wasn’t a proper healing ritual, more like a waking meditation done backwards.

 

“Ssh, you must not sacrifice yourself for anyone, not even me. You must endure at all costs,” she sounded angry, but she wasn’t radiating anger. When I looked at her, I only saw fear but it wasn’t layered over her. Her fear stretched out to her son. She cared for him, but it didn’t make sense. If they’re both Sith, then they shouldn’t care for each other. Caring leaves you blind to their eventual betrayal. She must’ve lied to me, she wasn’t a Sith. Neither was he. They were sensitives, yes, but they didn’t have the training or the will to be Sith.

 

I stood there, wondering whether I should kill them. Baras wanted them dead, but they were yellow. I glanced at Vette. She looked uncomfortable, watching the two of them. Lady Grathan glanced up from her son, green eyes fixed on me.

 

“Assassin, you’ve carved your way into the inner sanctum of Lord Grathan’s compound, all to kill a boy,” she queried, rising and stepping in front of her grown-up son. “You are a breath away from the master himself. Spare us and I’ll help you destroy Lord Grathan instead.” She pressed forwards, crossing before me, to stand beside the table. My lightsaber twitched in my hand. With a flick of my arm, I could run her through, and she knew that. It had to be a calculated risk: she knew something I didn’t, and that bothered me.

 

“I married my husband for power. It was a means to an end,” she continued, glancing at her son as she uttered the words, as if he was her end, “now I want out. I’m strong,” no, you’re really not, “but I cannot touch my husband. How long I’ve waited for someone to end his oppressive rule.” I know she was saying words but they didn’t make any sense, even among back-stabby Sith politics.

 

She didn’t have the power to end him, like any other apprentice, so she didn’t seek out power, as any apprentice should. She sought an assassin. She had to know any successful assassin would just take over his powerbase, and that means eradicating the bloodline. If she couldn’t stop the victim, why think she could stop the assassin? Besides, she was sworn to her husband, to obey and make baby hair into legacies and stuff. She couldn’t kill him: he was the foundation of her current existence. She didn’t have the power to supplant him yet.

The younger Grathan staggered past, and I saw freshly-scarred-but-otherwise-healthy belly between his fingers. Reaching his mother, he leant heavily against the table.

 

“So, you’re offering to trade your husband and master for your son and you think I’m dumb enough to believe that?” her look of plaintive calculation faltered. “Maybe no-one told you, Jedi,” That got her attention, green eyes flashing wide, “but we don’t do that. No Sith would so lightly cross their master, and especially not for something as weak as their child’s life.”

It just made sense didn’t it? Sith crave power, in so far as it granted them freedom: through victory, our chains were broken. Children are a chain of attachment to be broken, and no Sith would want to languish in their chains.

 

“That’s not…” she trailed off, suddenly looking a lot older and upset. She had to be lying. Mothers don’t care about their children. That’s why they send them away to the Academy when they become inconvenient.

“You know, I totally believe she’d give up a Sith lover for her son, especially if she is a former Jedi. There’s not a lot a Mom won’t do for her kids,” Vette agreed with a quiet certainty. She genuinely believed that, but that’s not right at all.

 

I felt a thin, waxy hand rest against my shoulder. It was warm and comforting and all I wanted was to turn around and go far far away, back to my dead planet and the tombs, where everything made sense. I didn’t run away, not this time. I am Sith: sometimes, you don’t get to do what you want. But how was Vette sure of that, unless…

“How do you know, are you a Mum?”

“Uh, pretty sure I’m not.” Pretty sure or absolutely sure? How could she tell? Is it a sense they got, a wave of hatred at some little human thwarting their rise to power.

 

I looked at her for the answer but she smiled that implacable ‘I’m not going to tell you’ smile. I glowered some more, or maybe sulked, and considered using my power to compel the answer from her mind. The thought of an obsidian-eyed Vette slumped at the legs of a throne bubbled up from somewhere deep in my head. I – I had more important things to worry about.

 

“You want to trade your husband’s life for your son: fine, but my instructions were clear. Lord Grathan survives my onslaught. His son doesn’t.” Lady Grathan’s features flickered with uncertainty, before a steady, sure smile crossed her strained face. Calmly, she smoothed the rumples the fight had made in her shirt.

 

“A wicked plan is taking shape. Long ago, my husband was nearly beheaded – now he can’t exist without his helmeted mask. Everyone knows this,” she explained, rubbing her hands together as if plotting made her colder. Maybe she drew on the dark side for confidence, but I didn’t feel it.

 

“Kill Lord Grathan. My son will wear the mask and assume his mantle. He’ll publicly rant that his son was murdered. No one will be the wiser.” That… actually sounded reasonable, in the short term anyway. I doubt he could fool any Sith with a scrap of power, or sense enough to perceive its absence, but none inside the compound were so worthy. Of course, I’ll have to tell Braca, just to make sure she helps without fear of reprisals, but I doubt she’ll spread that secret too widely. Ragate says never to let blackmail material slip unless doing so serves you better in the long run.

 

“All right, I’ll do it.” Her face showed nothing but I sensed it light up with a schemer’s glee. I could feel apprehension from behind me, Vette’s worry over facing a Sith Lord leaking out into the force. Don’t worry, I would prefer to handle this without witnesses.

 

“Excellent, you won’t regret it. My husband lies in the last room on the left, the Passcode is Aurek Senth Hosk three-five-nine. I assure you, Lord Grathan deserves to die.” Authorisation, Authorisation – the soulless dead eyes of the droids he stuffed the Captain Leftenant’s men into flashed into my head. Agreed, Grathan dies. I bade Vette stay, turned and stalked out of the room. It’s time for Grathan to see what fruit his treason has wrought.

 

 

Prompt: It Takes Two, Inappropriate use of Power,

Title: Assault on Grathan’s Estate: Facing the Family, Part II

Perspective: Vette, Twi’lek adventurer

Word Count: 1,506

Spoilers: Grathan Estate

 

 

 

Even as the doors hissed closed behind him, I knew this was a bad idea. Yeah, I get how the kid thought he was keeping me safe while he faced down Lord Grathan but I’m not some princess who desperately needs protecting. I can handle myself, have been handling things by myself for longer than he’s been alive. Besides, the safest place for me on this whole twisted planet was right by him.

 

“You, slave,” Cellvanta Grathan sneered, angling those beady eyes at me, “report to the seneschal for your new assignment: perhaps something base and disgusting in the beast pens to remind you of your proper station.” Wait, what; You’re taking is side in this? A moment ago, you were begging him to ‘free you from that tyrant’: your words, not mine.

 

“If you think that boy stands a chance against my husband then you’re clearly as stupid as you look. Your only option if you want to live is to serve me, up until I no longer have use of you.” Cellvanta preened, her eyes fixed on mine. Uh, if she thinks her husband has a chance against the kid then… actually, how do I know the kid can handle it? Sure, he thought it was easy, but he’d left me in here with them. What was that if not for my protection?

 

There was a hiss of a drawing lightsaber from the room next door, and a crackle of lightning. Something slammed into a bulkhead and then nothing. It all went quiet. Uh, that’s not good is it? In the last fortnight or so that I’ve known him, the kid’s never been quiet, not while awake, anyway.

 

“I don’t know Mother, I think she looks nice.” Her son, uh Beelzlit cooed, his eyes running all over me. Yeah, no: just no! I might’ve taken a step back from the creepazoid and clenched my hands on my pistols too. Y’know, to give him the right idea: I’m not into that, at all. He crinkled his puffy face up and took a step closer.

 

“Don’t you think serving me is the best idea ever.” He intoned and you know what, he was right. Sure, he wasn’t pretty right now, but once the swelling died away, he’d look a bit like a holo-star. Wouldn’t it be wizard if someone like-, wizard? Who talks like that?

 

I bit my cheek, hard enough that the pain was pretty much the only thing in my head. The shimmer around him flickered and died. The creep glowered at me, knuckles whitening in his balled hands. What: you’re not interested in someone who can throw off your mind trick. Should’ve figured you were a coward as well.

 

“That the best you got, jerk” I jeered at him, his concentrated glower snapped open in shock. I could taste blood, maybe I bit myself too hard but better that than not getting free right? The kid’ll be back in a minute, I just have to stay alive and okay until then.

 

“Mother, she threw off my compulsion. She can’t do that!”

“Beezlit, I told you, keep your focus up until after they do your bidding. Still, it doesn’t matter anyway. With the boy dead, she’ll do whatever you want if she hopes to keep that alien head of hers. Now, I’m off to do damage control with your father. Show this impudent little slave her place and then send her to the Seneschal for breaking.”

 

I didn’t say anything. I know, totally unlike me but biting my cheek maybe wasn’t my best idea. Instead, I spat the blood seeping from the wound. The mouldy old witch sneered, her wrinkled hand slithering up straight at me. Lightning leapt from her fingers and PAIN, capitol-everything, swept over me. I don’t really know what happened. One moment, I was standing. The next I was on the floor, my forehead feeling weird. I could see a twi’lek headdress bump and roll away, lightning sparking off it randomly. Familiarity swam in the soup that was my head. I think maybe I have one that looks just like that. Someone was screaming too, and they were real loud.

 

The door hissed open and the freaky-looking head of the family flew into the room. He sailed through the air in an arc and bounced off his wife’s chest, the metal of the mask clattering as it rolled across the metal floor tiles. Slowly, I blinked away the painful fog and stared at the rolling head. It didn’t have a body.

 

“See, now he’s the new Lord Gra-, the kid chirped happily, stopping suddenly. What, did he sense something? There was a cracking sound, a coughing ‘whumph’ and the sound of straining durasteel. Hey! What’s going on? I lolled my head around and saw the witch and her jerk son pinned to the far bulkhead, gasping as they struggled to move their arms away from the wall. The kid advanced on them, air shimmering around him the same way it does over a fire.

 

“I left her here to keep her safe, not for you to abuse,” Roan snarled, only it came out weird: deeper than his usual squawking. There was also a ******* growl under the words: a hushed whisper of the threat he could unleash. Gazing up at him, I saw his large green eyes gleam with a deep sulphurous tinge, now harder than durasteel. He shifted his terrible gaze and saw me. C’mon wake up, now’s not the time to stare aimlessly. I shook my head, the mental cobwebs falling away. His eyes lost their hardness.

 

Turning away, he stalked behind me and I saw him on the far side, scooping something from the floor in a fluid, almost birdlike motion. Turning, he slid his prize, my headdress, down onto on my head, those bright green eyes now devoid of their taint. Gently, I shifted it so it sat just right, the metal tooth resting over the bridge of my nose and the padded rings sitting around my ear cones.

 

“So, who was totally outmatched?” I called to the twisted family pinned to the far wall. Slowly, I pushed myself up, only wobbling a little. What, my legs were all stiff and jerky. “Looks like you should’ve bet on the kid, he’s way stronger than your renegade Lord.” The kid slid beside me, letting me lean against him so he could take a bit of my weight.

“Yes,” she breathed, eyes fixed on the kid like I didn’t exist, “I sensed my husband’s death.” Oh? That wasn’t what you were saying a minute ago.

 

“Really?” I piped up, loud enough to make real sure everyone noticed me. I flashed her that little smile you only see on slavers, politicians and Hutts: the one where they know they have you right where they want you – funny to be on this side of it for a change.

 

“Lord Grathan is no more. What pleasure to think he suffered,” the now-ex lady Grathan purred as she steepled her fingers, desperately trying to ignore me. Oh, you’re not getting away from this so easily, you or your creep-wannabe son.

 

“And I’m sure you’re eager to show just how much you value his death.” Oh that got her attentions. She flashed me a glower with those wannabe-sithy green eyes. Yeah, if she got the chance, she’d totally murder me, but she’s not getting it, not while the kid’s around. Roan glanced up at me, his look questioning. What, has you never been in a shakedown before? Oh come on, she totally deserves it for trying to kill us, and the creepazoid even more for that mind trick crap, not that I’m telling you about it or anything. I’m so not handling those questions.

 

Cellvanta watched the boy glance up at me, a cold little smirk creasing her wrinkled face.

“And what do you think is a fair trade?” She purred through that fake smile. I had be real careful here. The kid might do something stupid, like ask what she had and let her dictate whatever she wanted to discard.

“We want-,” I started before the kid could ask for a pony.

 

“Power for power: we want his holocrons and our pick of his scientists,” the kid interrupted, looking sourly at remaining Grathans. Uh, okay. That’s a good choice and all but what’s with the glare? Oh, right: creepazoid and the torture. Yeah, um, keep up the glare. They deserved it.

“Very well, down the hall, take the last right before you reach the lift platform. You’ll find the reliquary there,” she stated, obviously trying to dismiss us.

“And the science dormitory?”

“Ugh, follow the corridor outside around and it’s the last door on the left. It’s locked, but I doubt that will stop you.” Okay, so we had everything now, let’s go do something else, yeah? The kid nodded as if he’d heard me, then turned and stalked out of the creep’s room. I followed on after. Looks like we’re almost done.

 

 

Edited by Feldraeth
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  • 3 weeks later...

Characters: Adwynyth, Vette, Quinn

Prompt: Goals

Timeline: Rishi

Spoilers: surprisingly none, I think

 

 

 

"That was fun." Adwynyth tossed her lightsabers to the still-muted 2V droid, shook off her boots, and dropped her shredded and blood-stained dress right at the entrance to the ship after coming up the ramp. If the droid could have made a sound, he probably would have sighed.

 

Vette jumped over the soiled clothing, practically running into the Sith's back. "Seriously? You can't even make it to the main room? What happened to all that Sith enthusiasm after a good bloodbath?" She then stripped her clothing as well, tossing the slave girl outfit at the droid, nailing its head with the thong as usual. She gave a little fist-pump and mouthed "GOAL!", knowing it would irritate the droid as much as having a sweaty lower garment draped over its antenna.

 

"It's just not fun anymore. These people aren't defiant subjects who need crushing, or revolutionary spies that need to be tortured for information. I want to drink with these people. And now I can't because I destroyed their favorite bar."

 

2V took the lightsabers and soiled clothing and practically stomped down the ramp. A few seconds later, the sound of one of the sabers igniting went unnoticed, as did the brief sounds of destruction that came after.

 

At that point, Malavai Quinn decided to stroll in from the cockpit. As usual, the sight of a naked Twi'lek spoiled any thrill he might have drawn from the sight of his nearly naked wife. But after his annoyed sneer, he recovered smoothly and actually grinned the shadow of something that, on another face, might have been a smile. "Ship, engage protocol seven." A nozzle extended from the ceiling and sprayed some type of foam all over Vette until she was nothing but a ball of foam with a blue head and lekku sticking out.

 

"What the kark, Captain Starchy-Butt?!" She struggled against the substance for a few seconds. "Hey, I can't move!"

 

At this point, the tired and unmotivated Adwynyth chimed in. "Dammit, Malavai, all I want is to get through this mission and get done so I can go on a five-week bender and then come back in disguise after they've rebuilt the bar and go on another five-week bender with the ones I haven't killed."

 

"Goals are good, my lor--" He corrected himself in mid-sentence, as always. "--my love. You should try to emulate our master, Vette. She has at least set goals for herself." The sarcasm flowed like wine, but the Sith merely snorted, in no mood to engage today. "As have I," he continued. "And I've accomplished mine: coming up with an easy way to tame naked Twi'leks."

 

The Twi'lek stopped struggling and cussing in about seven different languages and brightened up immediately. "I have a goal, and I'm almost there. Remember that lekku buff I said I was getting a couple years ago? Well, the best salon in the galaxy is here, and we just figured out exactly who owns it and how to get an appointment."

 

Quinn gawked. "That was not on the mission dossier."

 

"You men the one I didn't read?' Adwynyth remarked in Quinn's general direction, then glared suspiciously at Vette. "Wait, that message from the Dark Council telling us to come here--?"

 

Vette beamed. "Fake. Some of my best work. I can be motivated for a good cause."

 

"I thought Marr using the words 'chocked full of' was a bit off."

 

"So I gave him some personality." Vette did something nobody could quite see, slipped out of the foam ball, and stuck her tongue out at Quinn. "Take that, Captain Clothing Fetish." She dropped the small shiv on the couch and padded to her room with just a bit of a swagger.

 

Adwynyth looked at Quinn, and he opened his mouth to say something. "Yes, yes, you probably could have planned that better." She grabbed his arm and headed toward their bedroom. He didn't object.

 

 

 

Okay, that was a little weak, guys,but I'm out of practice. It has been a few years. Re-subbed for a couple months, so I might have time for some real good stuff before time runs out.

 

I might even finish the "Swaindrix goes after Skadge" story. :D

Edited by Adwynyth
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Characters: Swaindrix, Mako, Gault

Prompt: Challenge

Timeline: between Tatooine and Taris

Spoilers: None I can think of

 

 

 

Annoyed swearing in at least three languages could be heard coming from the entry area.

 

Gault looked up from his reading and smirked. "You know, that's the first time I've heard our hunter friend get this annoyed about something that didn't involve weapon restrictions or bureaucracy. What's he doing down there?"

 

"Hmm? Oh, I dunno." Mako put on her most innocent face and feigned distraction with the nail polish she was applying, a dead giveaway that she knew something. Gault hadn't needed a week on the ship to figure that one out. "Maybe he's fixing that weapons locker?"

 

The Devaronian scowled. "You'll need a better sabacc face if you're gonna pull that one off. Come on, what gives? I usually expect to hear gunfire when that much naughty Huttese is coming out of his mouth."

 

Mako put down the brush and sighed. "Look, the big guy made me promise not to tell. But he's developing an important skill for the hunt. Trust me."

 

"Okay, now I know you're lying to me. There's no furniture flying around or explosives happening down there."

 

At that point, they both heard the stupid 2V droid trying to calm Swaindrix down. Mako sighed. "Blast it, I forgot to get the droid out of his way--" A snarl and gunfire cut off her lament, followed by the droid's head being flung up from the hold, embedding itself in the ceiling of the wardroom. "Okay, that's a new one. I didn't know he could throw that hard."

 

Swaindrix came stomping up the stairs shortly after. "How the hell am I supposed to get any needlepoint done with that stupid droid--" he trailed off, but the damage was already done.

 

"Needlepoint, you say?" Gault's question oozed with salacious delight. "An important hunter skill indeed." Mako facepalmed, knowing what was coming next. "I can definitely see where you'd need to make someone a sweater in the middle of aawk--" His monologue was cut off by the simple fact of being lifted off the deck by his neck at the hands of a very annoyed bounty hunter.

 

Mako spoke up, as Swaindrix was too busy deciding whether to toss the scam artist and sniper down the stairs. "Remember when Drix caught that knife in midair last week, and you remarked it was about the tenth time you'd seen him do that? Well, how do you think he keeps himself dexterous enough to do that? By having me or the droid throw knives at him all day? You think he'd have any fingers left if we did that?"

 

She walked over and laid a hand on the hunter's bicep. "Put him down, big guy, huh? He can't snipe things if he can't breathe, you know." He softened immediately, as much by the slicer's gentle touch as by her words. Gault mentally filed that away for later as the hunter let him down and stalked off downstairs again.

 

"Remind me to shut up next time, will ya?" he said, rubbing his throat.

 

"Would that actually work?" quipped Mako, back to working on her nails.

 

"Probably not."

 

 

Edited by Adwynyth
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Characters: Adwynyth, Quinn, Vette

Prompt: Love Language/Showing Affection

Timeline: sometime between Balmorra and the end of Chapter 1

 

 

"Oh, Captain, a word if I may." Adwynyth entered the main room of the ship, lights dimmed to the point where she was almost a silhouette.

 

Quinn turned at the sound of the Sith's voice and settled into parade rest. "My lord."

 

"I wish to go over these mission reports. I find them inadequately detailed.." Adwynyth was wearing a skin-tight black bodysuit that covered everything below her neck and black boots with sensible heels, polished to an Imperial Academy shine. "We shall have to delve into the numbers closely and review all the individual moves documented."

 

"Of course, my lord. I shall of course recount the looks of fear on the faces of each and every adversary who dared defy your might. Would you also allow me to categorize the victories by amount of blood spilled?" Quinn, for some reason no outside observer would fathom, was dressed in a leather slave harness, plaid short shorts, and a pair of pink fuzzy nerf slippers.

 

"Oh, please do, dear Captain." Adwynyth's voice was beginning to sound a little less than professional. "And I will point out each Imperial tactic suggested by you and used on the battlefield that improved our odds of ultimate mission success. Would you like them given chronologically," and she managed to ooze sensuality over the word, "or by difference to odds?"

 

Quinn seemed to be having some trouble remaining in parade rest, and his eyes were madness incarnate. "Chron--" his voice squeaked, and he started again. "Chronologically, I should think, my lord."

 

Vette wandered in on her way through to the 'fresher. "Oh, for kark's sake, can't you guys warn me when you're gonna get all kinky? Ew!" She rushed the rest of the way and slammed the door.

 

Adwynyth looked at Quinn, and Quinn looked back. They'd both had enough foreplay, and raced each other to their room. The door slammed there as well.

 

2V followed up silently, polishing the fingerprints off the respective doorknobs.

 

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@Adwynyth: Obviously, I pictured him trying to do needlepoint in full beskar'gam - if only for the challenge of it!

Hee hee! In-game, Swaindrix is wearing a full set of gold scalene armor (minus the helmet; gotta see the guy!), but I'm not sure what he wears in my headcanon. I'll have to think about it. My tendency is to think he wears patched-together stuff that's too heavy and gets wrecked and replaced fairly often. His fighting style does tend toward "the more carnage, the better".

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Characters: Swaindrix, Mako, Gault, Torian

Prompt: Roadblock

Timeline: sometime after class story completion

Location: Alderaan

Spoilers: Male BH romance

 

 

 

"Just blast the thing. We don't have time for this." The bounty hunter reached into the speeder and honked the horn yet again. He was ignored.

 

"Swaindrix, you will do no such thing," declared Mako in her 'take charge' voice. "I think it's cute." She scratched the nerf under the jowl.

 

Torian tried his hand at convincing her. "No time, ner'vod. Bounty has rules. Time's one of 'em." The young Mandolorian examined the forest and cliffs as far as he could see in either direction. There was no other passage, short of perhaps climbing bare, jagged rock at least a hundred feet high.

 

Mako appeared to waver a bit, but then Gault spoke up at the worst possible time. "Besides, nerfburgers taste good." He unslung his sniper rifle. "Just let me put one between its--"

 

A blaster whip to the side of the head interrupted the Devaronian. "What did I tell you about weapons aimed in the general direction of my wife?" Swaindrix's scowl deepened. "We're burning daylight here. Mako, this stupid thing moves now. You got a better idea than blasting it? Scaring it sure didn't work." He looked at the scorch mark on the ground where he'd set off a small explosive. The nerf hadn't even flinched.

 

Mako looked around, then walked over to a tree and picked what appeared to be a blumfruit. She split it open to release the fragance and walked over to the nerf's face. "You like this, girl?" Swaindrix, Gault, and Torian looked at each other. None of them had any idea it was a female.

 

"Here you go. That's it. Come on." The slicer tempted the large animal out of the road with the fruit, then left both pieces on a shelf of rock where the placid beast could nibble to its heart's content. She walked by Swaindrix, grabbing the keys to the speeder on the way. "I'm driving, macho man."

 

The hunter's scowl deepened again, then disappeared, then gave way to bemused chuckling. "Yes, ma'am." He clapped Torian on the shoulder and gave Gault a friendly smack in the chest as he headed for the passenger seat. The Mando and the flim-flam man hustled to the back seats, amazed. Maybe being married to Mako was mellowing him out a bit.

 

Nobody knew that the 'mellow' phase of life with Swaindrix was about to end abruptly at the hands of a Houk.

 

 

 

 

Oooooo...foreshadowing. :D

 

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  • 2 months later...

Hello! Long time since I've posted the weekly prompt but now that we're stuck at home, I will try to remedy that by getting caught up. Hope everyone is well!

 

Week of December 13, 2019:

 

Sweater Weather: It’s winter here in the northern hemisphere. Definitely time to break out the jackets, scarves, and long sleeves if you haven’t already. What does your character think of cold weather? Are they the ones wearing shorts in the snow, or are they always cold even wrapped in blankets? Do they come from a place with an actual winter, but now live elsewhere with different traditions or no seasons at all? Are they accustomed to an unchanging climate and the seasons always throw them off? What is this “winter” you speak of? Wait, there’s something besides cold? Of course, sweater weather also suggests cuddling, cups of hot chocolate, tea, cider, or even soup. Be romantic, dystopian, or anywhere in between this week.

 

*Feel free to continue submitting stories for any prompt. A masterpiece missed the deadline? Don’t let it gather electronic dust, share it anyway!

 

*This week’s prompt not for you? Look for something more to your taste in the Prompt Archive. Consider all the prompts active and waiting to inspire you.

 

This week’s featured previous prompts are:

 

Oh, Well That’s Awkward - The class stories are full of interesting coincidences, especially when you take all the companion stories into account. Legacies, as part of the game structure, encourage even more strange situations and relations. So, what’s something about your character's’ legacy or story that makes family get-togethers interesting. Or impossible. Or just really unlikely.

 

Irresistible Urges- Cravings can happen for lots of reasons: addiction, pregnancy, a reminder of a favorite creature comfort, or it just being 2 AM right after all the takeout places have closed. What can’t your character do without? Write about a time when cravings struck. Suggested by @irishfino, iirc.

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Week of December 20, 2019:

 

Festive Food: Few human holidays are celebrated without food. Special cakes or cookies, the bread that only comes out for the holiday, roasts, stews, vegetarian, carnivore, and everything in between. Some of the special foods are cultural: everyone all around you is making the same things because of course everyone makes them. Sometimes it’s a special thing in your family alone: Grandma’s holiday bread, Dad’s special cookies, Auntie’s secret-recipe casserole. Sometimes the special thing is special because it is part of a culture otherwise left behind: the thing no one makes here, but does where you’re from. What special food does your character associate with holidays and why? Do they make and enjoy it and share with their friends? Who likes it and who hates it? Does your character hate it, but make it anyway because reasons?

 

*Feel free to continue submitting stories for any prompt. A masterpiece missed the deadline? Don’t let it gather electronic dust, share it anyway!

 

*This week’s prompt not for you? Look for something more to your taste in the Prompt Archive. Consider all the prompts active and waiting to inspire you.

 

This week’s featured previous prompts are:

 

It Wasn’t My Fault! - For all the havoc our characters wreak in their stores, this time they weren’t to blame. Who was? Who accused them? What were they supposed to have done? Was it an honest mistake, a malicious accusation, or just bad luck? Is your character believed, or do they pay for someone else’s misdeeds?

 

Persuasion- A salesman, a con artist, a propagandist, an advertiser. But also a lover hoping their beloved feels the same, a scientist with a new theory, a lawyer defending their client or prosecuting the law, a child wanting to keep the cat that followed them home. Persuasion is all about convincing someone and bringing them over to your side of the argument. It doesn’t have to be successful! Some characters never agree, but they do like to argue.

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Week of December 27, 2019:

 

Second Chances: Everyone screws up. Who gets a second chance? Under what circumstances will your character give another a second chance? Honest mistake? Unforeseen circumstances? Deliberate sabotage? Will some characters (main or otherwise) allow anyone a second chance? No one? Nobody is owed a second chance; no one can earn it. They don’t have to be forgiven for the initial wrong. Give someone in your character’s story a second chance this week. Or don’t. That’s a story too.

 

*Feel free to continue submitting stories for any prompt. A masterpiece missed the deadline? Don’t let it gather electronic dust, share it anyway!

 

*This week’s prompt not for you? Look for something more to your taste in the Prompt Archive. Consider all the prompts active and waiting to inspire you.

 

This week’s featured previous prompts are:

 

Cross My Heart - Honesty isn’t exactly espoused by most organizations in the galaxy, but some individuals and groups still strive for it. Write about your characters encountering (or handing out) the right or wrong truth at the right or wrong time.

 

Omens and Portents - Whether being born under a Blood Moon or according to the signs in an ancient prophecy or just picking the winning lottery numbers two weeks in a row, our characters’ lives are filled with omens. Do they put any stock in the superstitions or consider it a bunch of baloney? Are the portents more important to their companions who expect them to be the hero? Is it a sign they should buy another lottery ticket? Omens can be good or bad, and the way your character deals with them likewise so. Explore it.

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Week of January 3, 2020:

 

New Year, New You: Make a new character, or write for a character you haven’t before. It can be a completely new OC, a new character in your game or story, or an established character in a property you like but never wrote them before. Write anything from a short scene to a complete fic or story.

 

*Feel free to continue submitting stories for any prompt. A masterpiece missed the deadline? Don’t let it gather electronic dust, share it anyway!

 

*This week’s prompt not for you? Look for something more to your taste in the Prompt Archive. Consider all the prompts active and waiting to inspire you.

 

This week’s featured previous prompts are:

 

Weapon of Choice: Ancient weapons are no match for a good blaster: What weapons does your character favor? Is she a traditionalist or does she prefer the new hotness? Does he choose something typical for his class, role, or species, or something wildly different and unexpected? Why? From Corso’s Torchy to Lord Zash’s first saber, weapons play an important role in your character’s story. Take a moment and share it.

 

Lovers Back to Friends: Love doesn’t always work out. It’s easy to take the hostile view of a breakup. Where both characters end up disliking or avoiding each other. This time try something harder: they remain friends despite their previous intimacy. It needn’t happen right away. Few people are so mature. This time, imagine it does or has to and how your character handles it anywhere along the timeline. Explore what it means to retain real friendship, not merely stating “we’re friends.”

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