Jump to content

The Short Fic Weekly Challenge Thread!


elliotcat

Recommended Posts

Darth Nox spends the evening at her favorite bar, casting a predatory gaze over the male clientele. She’s been feeling strangely wistful, haunted by dreams that she can barely remember. She spies a young man with pale blue eyes and bleached white hair, and even though she normally abhors that particular fashion trend she decides that she must have him, now. He eagerly succumbs to the power of her charms. The Citadel is much too far to wait; she has her way with him in a nearby alley, and feels distinctly unsatisfied after. She doesn’t know what she’s looking for.

 

...more like who she's looking for.

:D;):rolleyes:

 

*dies of laughter* Oh, man. I love it. ;D

Edited by MilaniGrey
Link to comment
Share on other sites

Ves, those are gorgeous and poignant. I...I may have done some less meaningful ones for my characters because I love the idea that much and I hope that's okay. :o

 

No game spoilers. These vary in time period; Wynston is way past game in Ruth-less, the Sith are post-game, everyone else is during game, I guess.

 

 

~~ No Death, Only Wrath and guests ~~

 

Niselle: Sends flowers with hidden poisonous gas canisters for anonymous delivery to Nalenne. Makes sure to have the delivery boy wear a jacket cam. Spends most of the day alternating between banging Andronikos and watching the cam feed to see when her sister dies. Andronikos is pretty much used to this, and is happy; while he has nothing against Nalenne he does love seeing Niselle worked up for another evil plan.

 

Nalenne: Recognizes instantly that Quinn would be the last person in the galaxy to send her flowers. Force shoves the delivery boy and his stupid bouquet halfway across the hangar, follows to yank his jacket off before he runs away, and spends a little time gloating at the camera. She then goes back to plan out a really dramatic Imperial victory with Quinn; it's the best thing to mark any special occasion. She takes some time in the evening to ooh and ahh with Jaesa over the special holiday issue comic books and their cheesecake superheroine spreads. Promises an irate Quinn she'll make it up to him later. Gets distracted by chocolate instead, but it all works out.

 

Rho: Starts the morning off with a meditation and proceeds to the local community center to help out most of the day. Gently encourages Kira to spend the evening with fellow Jedi without him; he wants her to be happy, and there are some matters where his being close by would do more harm than good. At dinner he lets some of the local foreveralones invite him out to a group dinner, because when they get together to think of someone else - such as, for instance, the celibate Jedi they really shouldn't pity but do - everyone comes out better for it.

 

Nic, early game timeline: Slips out of Corso's sight and spends a night on the town among strangers with cheap booze and decent spice. Corso makes her uneasy and is boring anyway. She wonders what kind of thing he would arrange for a day like this and then reminds herself to roundly mock any guess she comes up with.

 

~~ Ruth!verse ~~

 

Larr Gith, early timeline: Doc. Booze. Chocolates. Flowers. The absolute best lingerie credits can buy, fitted to perfection. Coming up with new Force tricks to blow his mind; probably too drunk to execute them when the time comes. Doc never seems disappointed anyway.

 

Wynston, Ruth-less timeline: Is grateful that today of all days Quinn is going to avoid all public venues where he might attract women. Decides to take Hazard out for a cultural experience of her choice - a Dawn Herald is all about interacting with other civilizations, after all - and afterward takes her home, where he discovers that Pierce Junior has scattered flimsi hearts and an elaborate Valentine signed in a poor facsimile of Quinn's writing. Makes a note to find Pierce Junior a hobby. Gets back to what's actually important, which is, any time there's no emergency in earshot, offering a willing girl the full benefit of his experience. Makes a note to determine whether handing Quinn a stealth generator for all field work would serve to increase the supply of willing girls for the rest of us for such exercises. Makes out with Hazard; makes another note to determine whether the Joining increases all women's resistance to Quinn's air of noble tragedy. Hazard does that thing with her tongue; Wynston stops making notes.

 

~~ Vierce!verse ~~

 

Vierce: Puts in a full work day. This year, he skips calling his mother because for the first time in over a decade she's out with a beau; it's odd not to be placing that call but he's glad for the reason. He emphatically avoids Kirsk's suggestion for a date, instead dining with Jorgan and informing the Cathar that he really is allowed to take the day off to see his girl back home, and ought to next year. Jorgan expresses some curmudgeonly sentiment involving work. After dinner Vierce returns to the ship, briefly thinking over the two or three girls he's had dates with in the past few months and wondering why he's thinking about them at all; now of all times, his career being what it is, love shouldn't even be on his radar. Even if he had the time, he recognizes that Spec Forces looks sexy on paper but is damned difficult to have a relationship with.

 

Kirsk: Currently imprisoned by the Justicars over a misunderstanding, but he's pretty sure he's got a way to get out of it. He succeeds in procuring a portable holo long enough to order flowers for the girl least angry at him at the moment; if he gets out of here he's sure she'll be appreciative. Fantastic girl. Maybe he should've told someone where he was going today.

 

~~ Mellekor!verse ~~

 

Mellekor: Sith Business. Grr.

 

Ananz: The Dark Council recognizes no love festival, and his only previous experience with it is in witnessing the obscene bacchanals hosted by the Hutt who owned him most of his life. He'd like to go someplace normal, with someone normal, just to see what it would be like to pay attention to someone without total authority involved either way, but who is he kidding? He wouldn't know where to start.

 

~~ Sevasht ~~

 

Sevasht Warwiggins: Surreptitiously checks fleet General chat for a good gift for Vette. Obtains a level 5 purple that can't be found anywhere on the GTN on a day like this; mumbles vaguely about Sith stuff when she asks how he managed to acquire one. Proceeds to let her take the lead for the day, because she's adorable even when she's making fun of his last name. Wonders if it would be safe to someday tell her what the secret is all about, and hopes that it will be, because he would love to give her his last name and turn her endless mockery back on her but he wouldn't feel right doing it before she knows.

 

 

Edited by bright_ephemera
Link to comment
Share on other sites

Prompt: Climate (!)

 

Characters: Vashutarl (JK), Kira Carsen

 

Title: Love is in the Air (Corny. Sorry.)

 

No story spoilers. Kind of climbing on the Valentine’s bandwagon today, but why not.

 

 

Vashutarl held the ribboned box under her arm and entered the lobby of the hostel. A quick glance around showed her it was empty. She knew it was empty, of course, but old habits die hard. She let out a sigh of relief. She didn't want to explain the box or anything about it to an inquisitive Padawan. And for some obscure reason, she didn't want to share the treats inside either.

 

She made the lift and back to her room without incident. Good. Turned from the door-

 

"Well, that was quick," Kira said.

 

Vashutarl jumped, "Don't do that!" she exclaimed.

 

Kira grinned, "What, you couldn't sense I was here? I’d never get past Master Kiwiicks.”

 

“I’m not Master Kiwiicks,” Vashutarl objected. It was so hard to see Kira as her student. Vashutarl had to be the teacher. She wasn’t sure she wanted to be the teacher, not yet.

 

“I noticed,” Kira said, looking her over, “and you’re distracted.”

 

“I am...” Vashutarl searched for a word that sounded better than distracted, “...preoccupied.”

 

Kira leaned forward, looking at the box under her arm, “You have a present.”

 

Vashutarl shuffled the box out of view, “It’s leftovers.”

 

“You liked him,” Kira persisted.

 

“I...you,” Vashutarl stammered, feeling heat rising in her cheeks, “you should go practice your kata forms.” When in doubt, give an assignment.

 

Kira peeked around her side, following the box, “Master Din would not approve.”

 

Vashutarl spun around, keeping the gift out of sight, “He was very interested in kata forms.”

 

“You know what I mean,” Kira giggled. She put on a sour face, “You must be careful, Vashutarl. Do not allow emotions to cloud your judgement,” she said, mimicking Master Din’s speech.

 

Vashutarl stifled a laugh. It wasn’t appropriate to make fun of Master Din that way, but Kira imitated him so well. “Kata forms. Now,” she reiterated with as much gravitas as she could muster.

 

“All right, all right, kata forms,” Kira retreated to the meditation atrium.

 

Through the atrium’s one-way glass, Vashutarl watched her begin the ritualistic forms. Safely alone again, she set the box down on the table in the room and opened it. The sweet dessert smell wafted out. The waitress had placed each dainty item in its own tiny tissue cup so the flavors wouldn’t mix. Nestled in the corner was a small octagonal container, pink with filigree, emblazoned with the tearoom’s name and the legend ‘house blend’.

 

Vashutarl opened it. It held dried leaves. Tea leaves. The bright citrus fragrance bloomed in the air. Vashutarl smiled. She fiddled with the yellow flimsiplast lily. On a whim, she went to the sideboard and selected a plain brown clay teapot and matching cup. Plain. Simple. Straightforward. Nice. Like Ian. She set water heating in the kettle by the teapots.

 

“Don’t holo him until tomorrow, otherwise you look desperate,” Kira quipped, peeking in from the doorframe.

 

The clay lid to the teapot rattled back on the vessel as Vashutarl nearly dropped it. She turned quickly, “Kira--”

 

Kira waved off, “Kata forms, I know,” she said, disappearing into the hallway with a sly wink.

 

As Vashutarl waited for the water to boil, she wondered if she shouldn’t be the one doing kata forms.

 

Link to comment
Share on other sites

Double-posting belated replies because I’m slow.

 

@ Bright: Nalenne’s manipulation is brilliant--she wins anyway. Quinn’s objection to the ‘holiday’ is so very Quinn. Probably true, but no less Quinn-y for it.

 

Fun drabbles. I really wish I was better at tying my characters together; they always seem to end up in their own little worlds, isolated from everyone else. I envy your characters sometimes (the bit with the flowers and the twins in the beginning was hilarious.)

 

"If they came to you, and you're mirialan, then surely they are mirialan as well."

******

"That kohl... that may become a problem."

 

"What do you suggest?"

 

"Something more permanent."

Beautiful.

 

“Um, I wished really, really hard, and he appeared on the bridge of my ship in a burst of light, with the accompaniment of a heavenly choir,” Ennaly said with her trademark smirk.

I am going to be laughing at this line for a while.

 

He is holding a damaged thing, a crystal chalice full of cracks, but he speaks beautiful words that make her feel whole again.
Tiny slices of life. These were really good, I enjoyed them a lot, but this bit was very touching. Edited by Striges
Link to comment
Share on other sites

Isoviel -

“No, he doesn’t, and if you wink at my boyfriend again you will lose the eye,” Ennaly smiled at Li so sweetly that there was no doubt in anyone’s mind that she was serious.

 

Hahaha!

 

Ves - Ravage is hilarious!

 

Bright - Pierce Junior is just awesome, just completely awesome :D And Kirsk, just too funny! And Sev too! Ack giggles all around!

 

Striges - awwww, post-good-date glow is so cute :)

 

The funny and the cuteness and *drowns in sap*

Link to comment
Share on other sites

Kata forms: Like cold showers, but with broader practical applications. Also, I have always wanted more Orgus Din content; Kira impersonating Orgus Din would be an acceptable, hilarious solution.

 

Isoviel: Ah, that moment when you realize your brat sibling landed a good one. Before you did. What the hell? She must have used witchcraft. Jerk.

 

I realized after posting that I made Larr Gith ultra depressing by saying, in her fragment, that Doc never seems happy anyway. I meant the complete opposite! He never seems unhappy with their ridiculous excesses. That has been corrected in the text.

 

Ves, upon re-re-reading your drabbles (don't judge) I still adore them. The raw spare shorter statements of loneliness - "She doesn't know what she's looking for", everything Arden Zariel thinks, Drusilla "know[ing] she never will be", "His heart isn't in it" - they're fantastic. The image of the chalice laced with cracks for Thaera is just gorgeous, the way Khem Val thinks of Darth Nox is perfectly fitting, I keep coming back to Nox herself, and apparently I'm a mushfest today. Mush. Fest.

Link to comment
Share on other sites

@Striges Yay Ian background! Also, I love Vashutarl's Kira and her difficulty maintaining the Padawa/Master dynamic. I always wonder how old they thought the JK should be considering Kira is supposed to be 20. I think I'd be having difficulty not strangling her, but then I guess that's very un-Jedi-like.

 

@Tatile eeeee so many hearts for that last one

"Something more permanent."

Swoooon.

 

@bright_ephemera Freak trophy case accident and Tharan, I haven't gone far enough into Consular to know what I think of him. Poor guy.

 

And stacking the deck in her own favor so that she wins no matter what? Nalenne does know how to please her man.

 

@Ves I loved the mini-drabbles especially

Kaliyo Djannis is having fun. Illegally, of course. Wouldn’t be fun if it weren’t.

Hehehe

 

@iamthehoyden "Looking for a woman with a boat... must send picture of boat." I've heard that joke so often, there must be to something and the fisherman thing. As to Crae, he seems like such a sweetie for trying even though he really doesn't get the "civilized traditions" thing. <3

Link to comment
Share on other sites

I hope I'm cool enough to be here, [and do we just post short stories? or are there plots we right about?]

 

It's shorts for characters that you have and the shorts relate to the prompts that are posted (there's an archive linked in the first/second post) but you can plot it as well if you like. I kind of have, if you consider "life" to be a plot.

Link to comment
Share on other sites

I hope I'm cool enough to be here, [and do we just post short stories? or are there plots we right about?]

 

In the forum at large, anything goes. This thread specifically deals in short stories related to the prompts posted each week; the stories can be one-shots if you like, self-contained chapters that build on the same characters and universes if you want. We've had authors write about events in class storylines, in faction/galactic lines, and in completely made-up plots set before, during, or after the canon storyline events.

Link to comment
Share on other sites

And now, prompts!

 

Week of 2/15/2013

Working Out the Kinks – When has any device, excuse, or plan ever worked on the first try? Write about a time your character's efforts met reality and didn't go as perfectly as intended.

 

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

 

(Striges, would you be able to take over posting something next Friday? I'll be traveling.)

Link to comment
Share on other sites

Striges, would you be able to take over posting something next Friday? I'll be traveling.

 

Absolutely. I have a prompt filed away already. *rubs hands together in proper mad-scientist fashion* I'm already plotting my takeover of the thread. *cue evil laughter, bright flash of lightning, and absurdly loud thunderclap*

Link to comment
Share on other sites

Prompt: NotL - Dreams and Nightmares

Class: Bounty Hunter

Spoilers: None.

700ish words.

Set sometime after Belsavis/Hoth.

Set in my BH's universe though reading When I Wake isn't necessary to reading it.

No singing or dancing, I promise. :p

 

I sit up with a jolt, all weapons active and ready.

 

I attack the wriggling thing next to me, the nightmare still clinging to my mind. Reality still distant moments from my mind. I spring onto the thing next to me, straddling it and holding a knife to its throat.

 

'Cyare.'

 

The word falls from somewhere under the white. It pulls at something too new for my past to know and I with strain it's reaching hand.

 

'What are you and why are you in my room?'

 

I press harder and the thing stops any movement. I become suspicious and pull the white away to reveal it: the blonde hair, the blue eyes that hold stern concern and the tight frown.

 

And then the dream passes, the other thing leaves and my memory and self return.

 

'Torian,' I breathe with a groan. I retract all my weapons and sit back on what turns out to be his hard stomach.

 

'What was it this time, Cyare?' His doesn't sound frustrated or harsh: only gentle and concerned. It doesn't fail to amaze and irritate me.

 

My arms cross, my hands finding a grip on lean triceps. I rub my hands along them and feel my own cold, smooth skin.

 

'The usual.'

 

That covers a range of sins and evil, doesn't it? It normalises something that can never be normalised and makes the unacceptable acceptable. I've been telling Torian only 'the usual' from the beginning, never defining, never elaborating. He never asks specifics as if he can understand what the horrors of 'the usual' are. And that makes me feel a little lonely, knowing that there are few people that will ever know how unbearable and terrible 'the usual' is and even lonelier that he isn't one of them. And if I can, I will never let him be.

 

'You can go sleep downstairs again if you want,' I quietly suggest. My voice is weak and pathetic in my ears when I want it strong and indifferent.

 

'Nayc, Cyare.'

 

'Don't you get tired of this?' I ask a little too wearily. I hold my arms tighter across my chest, finding little security or comfort in the thin shirt I wear.

 

'Waking to have you on top of me? Never, Cyare.' His arms emerge to hold my waist and he gives me a small grin I can't help but quickly return. I shake my head and lie down on him. I like his heat warming my skin so much it makes me feel like it's my own. But something about that feeling makes me disgusted with myself. It makes me feel like a parasite or leech and I suppose in too many ways I am.

 

He wraps his arms around me and holds me so tight that I feel them say 'I will never let you go'. I can only wish to believe them.

 

'Utreekov,' I scold with a smile he can't see. I can feel his own smile that's hidden in my hair. Neither of us say any more for a long while. He only holds me close and I feel my ineptitude at any of this. When other women wake their men with kisses and touches, I wake mine with a knife or hand to his throat almost every g** d*mn night.

 

'Do you ever go to bed with me and wonder if you won't ever wake up again?'

 

'Gev, Cyare! You know I never do.'

 

'I don't know it anymore than I know that I might not realise soon enough and I might kill you,' I coldly reply, glad I can't see the frustration in his eyes.

 

'Then you need more faith in yourself.'

 

'I have faith in my ability to kill people.'

 

Torian gently rolls me off him and onto my back, rolling himself on top of me. His hands move to my face and I'm forced to look into his penetrating, blue eyes.

 

'Then have faith in me, ner atin mesh'la Champion.' His kiss if gentle and warm. His lips and tongue and hands try to remove my doubt. And they do. For these few moments or longer, I do believe him and that everything will be alright. He's alive tonight and tomorrow doesn't matter.

 

-----

 

Ner atin mesh'la - my stubborn beautiful

Gev - Stop it!

Utreekov - fool

 

 

A/N:

I had written a sadder ending for this piece but decided to go with something marginally happier. I promised myself it would end entirely happy but... why can't I write happy? :(

 

Link to comment
Share on other sites

Here's a nice long piece for Climate. It's basically my headcanon for the last bit of SW Tatooine, and as such contains a few minor spoilers. Starring A'tro, Quinn, and more sexual tension than you can shake a stick at! :D

 

 

Dune Sea, Tatooine

10 ATC

 

 

Sand crunched under Quinn’s boots as he followed the Sith woman across the vast expanse of desert. He had not previously believed it possible to feel quite this hot. The twin suns blazed mercilessly down from a clear sky, reflecting off the sand and creating an effect that Quinn hypothesized was similar to standing in a blast furnace.

 

Despite the intense heat, he had adamantly refused to undo so much as a single fastening on his jacket. He’d be damned if he was out of uniform just because of this wretched planet’s environment. It had taken a direct order from A’tro after he nearly fainted twice to get him to remove it.

 

He would never have admitted it aloud, and was reluctant to admit it to himself, but he was grateful for the order. His shirt was soaked through with sweat, and he didn’t want to imagine what it would be like in the thick black jacket. The word “baked” came to mind.

 

A’tro walked a few steps ahead of him. She had removed her armor’s detachable sleeves, revealing a pair of well-toned biceps. The heat did not seem to be affecting her as much as it was him, probably due to a combination of mental discipline and her Pureblood tolerance for extreme climates. Still, there was a faint sheen of perspiration on her copper skin.

 

Quinn found himself watching her and unable to look away. There was something oddly mesmerizing about the way a few strands of rust-red hair had come loose from her ponytail and plastered themselves to her neck. Her small form seemed to prowl across the dunes, a predator on the hunt, challenging the desert to try to stop her from achieving her goal.

 

She abruptly came to a halt. Quinn stumbled and very nearly ran into her before regaining his composure. Colliding with his Sith commander would have been beyond embarrassing.

 

A’tro turned around to face him. “Captain,” she rasped. She unhooked her canteen from her belt and took a quick drink. “How are you holding up?”

 

Quinn stared in fascination at a small drop of water that lingered on her lower lip as she closed the canteen and replaced it at her side. The tip of a delicate tongue emerged and flicked the droplet away, and he felt his face heat up even more. Were those tiny ridges he’d spotted—

 

“Captain?” A’tro asked, frowning concernedly.

 

Stop thinking about her like that, dammit! “I’m fine, my lord,” Quinn assured her hastily.

 

“You’re sure? We can stop for a bit.”

 

Quinn shook his head. “I believe it would be best to keep moving, my lord.”

 

A’tro nodded. “Yes, you’re right, of course—wait a minute.” She peered into the distance. “What’s that?”

 

He turned and looked in the direction she indicated. A large, dark mass had covered most of the horizon, and was rapidly heading in their direction.

 

Oh, hell. “It appears to be a sandstorm, my lord.”

 

“That’s what I thought,” A’tro said grimly. She surveyed the area. “There’s no cover nearby, and we can’t outrun it. We’ll have to weather the storm here.”

 

“Weather the—“ Never question a Sith, Malavai. “Yes, my lord.”

 

She eyed the storm with trepidation. “I can protect us with the Force. You’ll have to stay close, though—I can’t cover too large of an area.”

 

Quinn edged towards her, stopping once he’d passed just inside the boundary of what he considered to be a respectful distance.

 

She sighed. “Closer, please.”

 

The wind picked up as the storm drew nearer, flicking loose grains of sand into the air and blowing stray wisps of hair into A’tro’s eyes. He steeled himself and moved forward until he could have reached out and brushed her hair away from her face.

 

“Get behind me,” she ordered calmly as the wall of swirling wind thundered towards them.

 

Quinn quickly obeyed as she raised her chin and clenched her hands into fists, regarding the storm the same way that she would an enemy force. She seemed so small in the face of nature’s wrath, and yet there was something strangely solid about her. It occurred to him that he had no qualms about placing his life in her hands. She was so confident, so self-possessed, that surely no storm could stand between her and her goal.

 

He closed his eyes as the storm hit.

 

An instant later, he opened them again. They were standing inside an invisible bubble. The wind howled all around, whipping sand against the barrier with scouring force, but to no effect.

 

It was nothing short of wondrous. This woman who stood no higher than his shoulder had enough power to protect them from a sandstorm in the open desert. The more time he spent with her, the more she continued to amaze him…

 

Quinn cut off that train of thought before it could wander into places that were best avoided. He adjusted his stance into his best parade rest, turned his head so he was looking out into the storm and not at her, and settled in to wait.

 

It was impossible to determine the passage of time, and he had no idea how long the storm might last. He mentally cursed himself for not researching that before their arrival on Tatooine. He could only hope that it would not be too long. A’tro, as strong as she was, could not keep the protection up forever. If she expended all of her energies now, she would be left drained and vulnerable for the battle to come.

 

A few stray grains of sand whipped suddenly across his face. The protected area was shrinking. Quinn edged closer to A’tro, feeling suddenly nervous. What if her strength failed before the storm had passed?

 

No. She would not fail. He believed in her.

 

The storm continued to rage, and the circle continued to contract. Quinn was forced to move closer and closer to A’tro, until he stood directly behind her, with only a few scant inches of space between them. With the cloud of blowing dust blocking the suns, the temperature had dropped considerably, enough for him to be uncomfortably aware of her warmth.

 

At last, the storm receded into the distance behind them.

 

“Finally,” A’tro murmured, swaying on her feet.

 

Instinctively, Quinn reached forward and caught her around the waist, steadying her before she could fall. Her head lolled back against his shoulder and for a moment, he thought she might faint. But an instant later, her head came up and she took several quick steps away from him.

 

“Are you all right, my lord?” Quinn asked softly, then mentally cursed himself when it occurred to him, too late, that she might be offended by the inquiry.

 

“I’m fine, Quinn,” A’tro replied calmly. “Thank you for asking,” she added, flashing a small, wry smile.

 

His heartbeat accelerated rapidly. It seemed the heat was getting to him.

 

Quickly, he turned away from her and surveyed the landscape. The storm had shifted the dunes, and he was no longer completely certain of their bearings. He could only hope that A’tro’s instincts would continue to guide her in the right direction—wait, what was that?

 

“My lord,” Quinn said, pointing at what he had just noticed. “I believe I’ve spied our destination.”

 

A’tro moved up beside him, peering in the direction he indicated. “It appears you have. Well spotted, Captain. You have an eye for detail.”

 

It was those damned suns, he told himself, and not her praise that made him suddenly feel warm.

 

 

*****

 

 

Quinn slowly opened his eyes. The memory of what had happened immediately before he blacked out sprang to the forefront of his mind, and he started to try to rise.

 

Hands pushed him back down, and A’tro’s face filled his vision. “Relax,” she told him firmly. “The Jedi are both dead.”

 

“I apologize for my lack of assistance in this matter, my lord,” Quinn said faintly. Stars, what would she think of him now? Weak and pathetic…

 

“Don’t be an idiot,” she murmured. “I don’t expect you to resist a Jedi Master’s mental influence. I handled the situation fine by myself.”

 

“Nevertheless,” Quinn insisted, “I shall endeavor to react more optimally if such situations arise again in the future.”

 

A’tro smiled faintly. “Whatever you like, Captain.” She extended a hand.

 

He stared at the gloved appendage until it dawned on him that she was trying to help him up. He took her hand and let her pull him to his feet, then quickly dropped it.

 

“Now that you’re awake,” she said briskly, “It’s time we headed back to the Alecto and informed Lord Baras of our progress.” She swayed slightly where she stood.

 

Quinn frowned. “My lord, with due respect, you’ve just defeated two very powerful Jedi. It may be prudent to rest for a time—“

 

“I’m fine,” A’tro interrupted, turning to face him. “It’s getting late. We need to move, before it becomes too dark to see…” She wavered on her feet again.

 

“My lord, as your medic, I must insist on ensuring that you are uninjured."

 

“Oh, stop it,” she muttered, putting a hand to her head. “You just want to get your hands on me.”

 

Quinn felt his face flush. “I would not presume—“

 

“No point denying it,” she mumbled.

 

Before Quinn could work up a suitable reply, her knees buckled and she collapsed at his feet.

 

He cursed softly and dropped to his knees beside her, then removed his gloves and laid a careful hand against the side of her neck, trying not to think about the remarkable softness of her warm skin, the subtle ridges… Her heartbeat pulsed gently against his fingers, strong and steady. She was not in serious danger.

 

He didn’t even realize that he was about to touch her lips until he managed to halt his fingertips a few scant millimeters away. Stars, what had happened to his self-control? A’tro was a Pureblood, a Sith, and his commander. Those were three things that set her far, far above him, three reasons why it was an especially bad idea for him to be taken in by her like this.

 

Quinn took a deep breath and forced himself to think rationally and objectively. A’tro was most likely suffering from a combination of fatigue and dehydration. There were also, he noticed suddenly, several small lightsaber wounds marring her arms and a few on her torso.

 

He needed to get her back to what pitiful excuse for civilization there was on Tatooine, get her water and kolto. The supplies he had with him simply wouldn’t do, and with the two corpses nearby it was only a matter of time before scavengers paid a visit. He doubted he could fight off a pack of womp rats or a wraid by himself.

 

There was nothing for it, then. He had to get out of there, and do it quickly, before it was too late.

 

Steeling himself, Quinn carefully scooped A’tro up into his arms. She was surprisingly heavy for such a small woman—probably a combination of her armor and her muscle mass. He managed to balance her weight enough to stand and stagger out of the hut.

 

The suns were sinking low on the horizon. While at least the heat was receding, it also meant that soon it would be too dark to navigate. He readjusted his hold on A’tro and set off across the desert.

 

Outpost Zaroshe had just become visible in the distance when the suns set. The drop in temperature was almost instantaneous, and Quinn shivered as his skin became cold and clammy. He had to put A’tro down for a few moments and put his jacket back on. In minutes, it had become as dark as the depths of space. Try as he might, he couldn’t make out any sign of lights from the direction that he had been heading.

 

They must try to keep the lights low to discourage nighttime raids by the Sand People, he thought.

 

A’tro was still unconscious. He was tempted to stop and wait for her to wake up, but he knew that he had to keep moving. He was practically blind in this darkness, but staying still meant a greater chance of something nasty finding them. Doing his best to continue in the direction that he had been heading before, he continued forward.

 

He couldn’t see, and it was maddening. He hadn’t realized how full the desert was of small rocks until he started tripping on them every few steps.

 

“Should’ve brought a light,” he muttered.

 

Then it dawned on him. It was not something that he normally would have been comfortable doing, but if it meant the difference between life and death…

 

Tentatively, Quinn maneuvered a hand around to A’tro’s waist and unclipped one of her lightsabers. If doing this ensured that she would survive, he would gladly endure whatever punishment she saw fit to give him for touching one of her weapons.

 

Finding the activation stud and making sure that the hilt was indeed pointed away from him was a bit tricky while balancing a comatose Sith in his arms, but he managed. A moment later, the scarlet blade blazed to life with the familiar snap-hiss sound.

 

He still couldn’t see very far, but it was better than nothing. At least he could see the ground, and do his best to avoid obstacles.

 

It felt like the longest walk of his life. His arms were aching from the strain, and his mind was feeling a similar pressure. The desert around them was completely silent, and it unnerved him. Who knew what was lurking in the night, just out of view?

 

Then he forgot about everything else as A’tro stirred in his arms. He quickly shut off the lightsaber and replaced it on her belt; what she didn’t know wouldn’t hurt her. He lowered her to the ground and knelt beside her, trying vainly to see her face.

 

“My lord?” he whispered.

 

There was a noise from behind him, and he started to turn around. The next thing he knew, there was a blaster pressed against the back of his head, a light shining in his face, and a uniformed man frowning down at him.

 

Quinn blinked rapidly to keep his eyes from watering at the sudden brightness, and reflected absently that he had never been more grateful to see the Imperial black and gray.

 

“Identify yourself,” the other officer said curtly.

 

“Captain Malavai Quinn,” he said briskly, then rattled off his service number. “Presently under personal command of the Sith A’tro Zaraine, apprentice to Darth Baras.”

 

The officer raised an eyebrow. “I take it that’s her on the ground there?”

 

Quinn nodded. “I can’t discuss the details of our mission, but she needs medical attention straightaway.” He glanced at the other man’s uniform and added coolly, “Lieutenant.”

 

“Do you have identification?” the lieutenant demanded, unfazed.

 

Quinn pulled out his identicard and proffered it to him. He scanned it on a small device and handed it back.

 

“You check out, sir,” the lieutenant said, sounding much more respectful. “My men and I are one of the night patrols from Zaroshe. We’ll take you back to the outpost immediately.” He gestured, and the soldier holding the blaster to Quinn’s head stepped away.

 

Quinn got to his feet, subtly brushing sand off his knees. “Very good, lieutenant.”

 

He lifted A’tro into the back of their camouflaged speeder himself. How did I not hear the engine? It must be a stealth model.

 

As they set off across the dunes, only the knowledge that there were others watching kept him from reaching out to brush her hair away from her face.

 

 

*****

 

Aboard Fury-class starship Alecto

10 ATC

 

 

“Course laid in for Alderaan, my lord,” Quinn reported.

 

A’tro nodded. “Very good, Captain.” She started to leave the bridge, then paused, turning back around to face him. “It occurs to me that I never did thank you for your actions on Tatooine.”

 

“I was only doing my duty, my lord,” he murmured.

 

“Still…I am grateful.” She smiled at him, then turned and walked away.

 

Quinn decided to indulge himself, just this once, and allow himself to reflect on how even more beautiful she became when she smiled like that.

 

 

Notes:

Gah, Quinn's PoV is tricky. I hope I've kept him sufficiently in character. And speaking of in character...they kept trying to get away from me here. I lost count of the number of times I had to delete a paragraph or two because A'tro and Quinn could not keep their hands off each other. :rolleyes:

 

As far as the (probably very un)realism of the sandstorm goes...I claim artistic license. :D

 

Oh, and A'tro has a last name now! I'd always planned on giving her one, but I could never come up with one that I could remember. I guess I've written Zaraine, so Zaraine it is.

 

...and then it just dawned on me how irksomely similar that is to Zariel. You know what? Screw it. I'm not changing it. :p

 

Link to comment
Share on other sites

I feel like I haven't written in a while. So umm sorry if this is terrible, I can't tell anymore :(

 

NotLP: Allies

It's about Scourge, because that's all I got in my head. Takes place after the end of Chapter 3 during the "Grey years" where Remi leaves the Jedi Order to become a bounty hunter.

 

No direct spoilers but references JK endgame spoilers.

 

 

 

The turrets were active and intact. The sensors reported no activity. The security door had not been tampered with. Scourge drew his lightsaber. Having been gone for three days, he expected to fight to reclaim his bunker, but he saw no signs of any intruders. The Sith who waited for him was not a surprise.

 

"Greetings, Lord Scourge, you are a difficult man to track down." He said comfortably from the only seat in the room. "I am Lord Suborno, I am here representing the interests of the Dark Council." He raised his hand as Scourge stepped forward, "I am not here to fight, I only wish to talk. I have information that you may want."

 

Scourge deactivated his lightsaber and leaned against the wall next to the only obvious exit. The Sith smiled confidently and waved a datachip.

 

"After the events of recent years," he began, "the remaining members of the Dark Council came into possession of the Emperor's fortress. Centuries of data were stored there including information about a particular ritual." He paused dramatically, "Used to grant immortality."

 

"I encourage the Council to try to the ritual for themselves." Scourge replied.

 

The Sith laughed heartily, "Oh no, the notes on the process explain the side effects quite thoroughly." The man eyed him speculatively, "If one wished to counter the effects, one would need to know exactly how the ritual was performed. I can't imagine you would not seek a way to reverse your condition."

 

"The ritual cannot be reversed." Scourge replied, repeating the first words spoken to him when his torment began.

 

"No, no it can't." The Sith confirmed, "But there are certain techniques and even other rituals that could restore some of your emotions, though you might have to live with some pain. There's also possession of another body, much like the Emperor's Voice, which I’m sure you’re familiar with. All of that is detailed here." He waved the datachip again. "Encrypted of course."

 

"Of course." Scourge echoed. He had spent the last year monitoring the Empire's activities while researching his own condition. "And what exactly is it that you want from me in exchange?"

 

"We seek the Jedi you aligned with. As you are no longer with her, we can only assume the Republic showed you their true colors regarding gratitude and cast you out." He fiddled with the datachip, "The Jedi managed to defeat the strongest Sith who sought to claim the Emperor's throne. This left any new claimants wary, then after Darth Ebon's attempt to assassinate her failed, she just disappeared." He frowned, "We've done our best to draw her out but her former Padawan showed up instead."

 

"I do not know where the Jedi is."

 

"Of course, we didn’t think the Jedi Council would advise you of her location, all we want are your insights."

 

Scourge shrugged, "The Jedi Council is probably more careful with their greatest weapon now that the Empire is targeting her. It is likely they have her running menial errands while they wait for a target of greater opportunity."

 

"I see, we had guessed as much. Tell me, what did you learn of the Jedi in your time with her. Rumors say she has been known to deviate from the Jedi Council's direct orders given the right motivation. Any observations you could give would be useful."

 

Scourge contemplated the question, "She is strong in the Force and a master of more than one martial form. She would make a fine Sith if she could be corrupted but she is stubbornly insistent on the Jedi Code as a way of life. Despite her devotion to the Republic she is sympathetic to the plight of the average Imperial, seeing them as pawns who only commit the atrocities she has seen because they were ordered to do so by the Sith."

 

Lord Suborno laughed at the last as Scourge knew he would. "Jedi truly are foolish aren't they? They do not know the depth of patriotism that is bred into every true Imperial citizen, how most would happily throw themselves into a fire to preserve their way of life and not only for the sake of the Sith."

 

"Indeed not," Scourge agreed, "and I saw no reason to enlighten her."

 

The Sith's eyes gleamed, "How would you suggest we draw her out."

 

"Target Imperial citizens or neutral colonies." He nodded at the Sith's surprise. "A Republic target would bring Republic reinforcements, possibly the Jedi's former Padawan again. Killing Imperials would be ignored by the Republic Senate, but she would break from her Council’s orders to save ordinary citizens."

 

Lord Suborno nodded slowly, seeing the logic in the strategy. "We could then turn around and blame the Republic for attacking the civilian targets reinforcing public fervor for the war." He tilted his head, "You know, there are some who call you traitor, but there are others who believe that the Emperor was leading us to ruin. With the right backing on the Council you could return to the Empire, you don't need to continue your exile."

 

Scourge said nothing only staring at the other Sith in silence until the man grew uneasy. "Very well, I see you prefer," he gestured around him at the bunker, "your solitude. The decryption key will be sent to you when I report to my superiors." He placed the datachip on the table next to him. He stood smiling comfortably, "Your Empire thanks you, doubly so when Jedi Master Remi Syeriy is dead."

 

Scourge had spent the last year and more attempting not to think of Remi, but the Jedi invaded his idle thoughts and sometimes his dreams. He found himself storing away memories of places and events so that he could tell her about them later even though he knew he would never see her again. He had felt a strange sensation in his chest since they had parted ways, a void, almost like pain, the closest he had felt in centuries. It was that more than anything else that drove him to his research.

 

He had not wanted to talk about her, but not because it was painful. He did not want to share his memories of the Jedi with this man. This Sith was unworthy and that name should never have touched his lips.

 

Suborno's eyes widened and he drew his weapon, barely raising it in time to parry Scourge's leaping strike. His protests were cut off by a brutal backhand. Sparks flew as the men circled each other their blades connecting in flurry as sparks of lightning burned all around them. The man was no master of any form, Scourge’s lip curled with contempt and a single strike ripped the lightsaber from Suborno’s hand.

 

The Sith knelt babbling and begging for his life, "Why would you protect her? She can't avoid the Dark Council forever, if not me someone will find a way to get to her."

 

"Perhaps," Scourge said, "But not through me." The red of his saber slashed through the Sith's neck and continued to the other side.

 

Scourge did not bother to clean up the body, an open door and scavengers would take care of that. He gathered his few belongings and left the bunker for the new place he had prepared on Hutta. He considered sending a warning to the Jedi Council but decided against it. They would not believe him, they might even suspect him, only she had ever trusted him. He examined the datachip, perhaps it contained the solution he sought for years. It amused him to think the Jedi was still helping him. Protecting her had merely been returning the favor. That was what he told himself. He tucked the chip into a slot in his armor next to his heart to keep it safe. It seemed fitting.

 

 

 

 

Note

 

 

Scourge does not actually know Remi left the Jedi, he assumes she stayed after he was banished.

 

The planet he's on is supposed to be Klatooine, but since I never describe it I left it out. I'm super hesitant to write about planets in the Star Wars continuity due to having a hard time figuring out when things were discovered, when they were settled, who had control of them during the time period in question, etc. etc. so most of my stuff ends up being dusty dessert numbered planet or something from in game.

 

If you read Remi the Grey this takes place just before he moves to Hutta where things happen :).

 

I tried not to write or draw Scourge once and had zero ideas for a whole week. I should stop trying.

 

 

Edited by kabeone
Link to comment
Share on other sites

Here's a nice long piece for Climate. It's basically my headcanon for the last bit of SW Tatooine, and as such contains a few minor spoilers. Starring A'tro, Quinn, and more sexual tension than you can shake a stick at! :D

 

 

Dune Sea, Tatooine

10 ATC

 

 

Sand crunched under Quinn’s boots as he followed the Sith woman across the vast expanse of desert. He had not previously believed it possible to feel quite this hot. The twin suns blazed mercilessly down from a clear sky, reflecting off the sand and creating an effect that Quinn hypothesized was similar to standing in a blast furnace.

 

Despite the intense heat, he had adamantly refused to undo so much as a single fastening on his jacket. He’d be damned if he was out of uniform just because of this wretched planet’s environment. It had taken a direct order from A’tro after he nearly fainted twice to get him to remove it.

 

He would never have admitted it aloud, and was reluctant to admit it to himself, but he was grateful for the order. His shirt was soaked through with sweat, and he didn’t want to imagine what it would be like in the thick black jacket. The word “baked” came to mind.

 

A’tro walked a few steps ahead of him. She had removed her armor’s detachable sleeves, revealing a pair of well-toned biceps. The heat did not seem to be affecting her as much as it was him, probably due to a combination of mental discipline and her Pureblood tolerance for extreme climates. Still, there was a faint sheen of perspiration on her copper skin.

 

Quinn found himself watching her and unable to look away. There was something oddly mesmerizing about the way a few strands of rust-red hair had come loose from her ponytail and plastered themselves to her neck. Her small form seemed to prowl across the dunes, a predator on the hunt, challenging the desert to try to stop her from achieving her goal.

 

She abruptly came to a halt. Quinn stumbled and very nearly ran into her before regaining his composure. Colliding with his Sith commander would have been beyond embarrassing.

 

A’tro turned around to face him. “Captain,” she rasped. She unhooked her canteen from her belt and took a quick drink. “How are you holding up?”

 

Quinn stared in fascination at a small drop of water that lingered on her lower lip as she closed the canteen and replaced it at her side. The tip of a delicate tongue emerged and flicked the droplet away, and he felt his face heat up even more. Were those tiny ridges he’d spotted—

 

“Captain?” A’tro asked, frowning concernedly.

 

Stop thinking about her like that, dammit! “I’m fine, my lord,” Quinn assured her hastily.

 

“You’re sure? We can stop for a bit.”

 

Quinn shook his head. “I believe it would be best to keep moving, my lord.”

 

A’tro nodded. “Yes, you’re right, of course—wait a minute.” She peered into the distance. “What’s that?”

 

He turned and looked in the direction she indicated. A large, dark mass had covered most of the horizon, and was rapidly heading in their direction.

 

Oh, hell. “It appears to be a sandstorm, my lord.”

 

“That’s what I thought,” A’tro said grimly. She surveyed the area. “There’s no cover nearby, and we can’t outrun it. We’ll have to weather the storm here.”

 

“Weather the—“ Never question a Sith, Malavai. “Yes, my lord.”

 

She eyed the storm with trepidation. “I can protect us with the Force. You’ll have to stay close, though—I can’t cover too large of an area.”

 

Quinn edged towards her, stopping once he’d passed just inside the boundary of what he considered to be a respectful distance.

 

She sighed. “Closer, please.”

 

The wind picked up as the storm drew nearer, flicking loose grains of sand into the air and blowing stray wisps of hair into A’tro’s eyes. He steeled himself and moved forward until he could have reached out and brushed her hair away from her face.

 

“Get behind me,” she ordered calmly as the wall of swirling wind thundered towards them.

 

Quinn quickly obeyed as she raised her chin and clenched her hands into fists, regarding the storm the same way that she would an enemy force. She seemed so small in the face of nature’s wrath, and yet there was something strangely solid about her. It occurred to him that he had no qualms about placing his life in her hands. She was so confident, so self-possessed, that surely no storm could stand between her and her goal.

 

He closed his eyes as the storm hit.

 

An instant later, he opened them again. They were standing inside an invisible bubble. The wind howled all around, whipping sand against the barrier with scouring force, but to no effect.

 

It was nothing short of wondrous. This woman who stood no higher than his shoulder had enough power to protect them from a sandstorm in the open desert. The more time he spent with her, the more she continued to amaze him…

 

Quinn cut off that train of thought before it could wander into places that were best avoided. He adjusted his stance into his best parade rest, turned his head so he was looking out into the storm and not at her, and settled in to wait.

 

It was impossible to determine the passage of time, and he had no idea how long the storm might last. He mentally cursed himself for not researching that before their arrival on Tatooine. He could only hope that it would not be too long. A’tro, as strong as she was, could not keep the protection up forever. If she expended all of her energies now, she would be left drained and vulnerable for the battle to come.

 

A few stray grains of sand whipped suddenly across his face. The protected area was shrinking. Quinn edged closer to A’tro, feeling suddenly nervous. What if her strength failed before the storm had passed?

 

No. She would not fail. He believed in her.

 

The storm continued to rage, and the circle continued to contract. Quinn was forced to move closer and closer to A’tro, until he stood directly behind her, with only a few scant inches of space between them. With the cloud of blowing dust blocking the suns, the temperature had dropped considerably, enough for him to be uncomfortably aware of her warmth.

 

At last, the storm receded into the distance behind them.

 

“Finally,” A’tro murmured, swaying on her feet.

 

Instinctively, Quinn reached forward and caught her around the waist, steadying her before she could fall. Her head lolled back against his shoulder and for a moment, he thought she might faint. But an instant later, her head came up and she took several quick steps away from him.

 

“Are you all right, my lord?” Quinn asked softly, then mentally cursed himself when it occurred to him, too late, that she might be offended by the inquiry.

 

“I’m fine, Quinn,” A’tro replied calmly. “Thank you for asking,” she added, flashing a small, wry smile.

 

His heartbeat accelerated rapidly. It seemed the heat was getting to him.

 

Quickly, he turned away from her and surveyed the landscape. The storm had shifted the dunes, and he was no longer completely certain of their bearings. He could only hope that A’tro’s instincts would continue to guide her in the right direction—wait, what was that?

 

“My lord,” Quinn said, pointing at what he had just noticed. “I believe I’ve spied our destination.”

 

A’tro moved up beside him, peering in the direction he indicated. “It appears you have. Well spotted, Captain. You have an eye for detail.”

 

It was those damned suns, he told himself, and not her praise that made him suddenly feel warm.

 

 

*****

 

 

Quinn slowly opened his eyes. The memory of what had happened immediately before he blacked out sprang to the forefront of his mind, and he started to try to rise.

 

Hands pushed him back down, and A’tro’s face filled his vision. “Relax,” she told him firmly. “The Jedi are both dead.”

 

“I apologize for my lack of assistance in this matter, my lord,” Quinn said faintly. Stars, what would she think of him now? Weak and pathetic…

 

“Don’t be an idiot,” she murmured. “I don’t expect you to resist a Jedi Master’s mental influence. I handled the situation fine by myself.”

 

“Nevertheless,” Quinn insisted, “I shall endeavor to react more optimally if such situations arise again in the future.”

 

A’tro smiled faintly. “Whatever you like, Captain.” She extended a hand.

 

He stared at the gloved appendage until it dawned on him that she was trying to help him up. He took her hand and let her pull him to his feet, then quickly dropped it.

 

“Now that you’re awake,” she said briskly, “It’s time we headed back to the Alecto and informed Lord Baras of our progress.” She swayed slightly where she stood.

 

Quinn frowned. “My lord, with due respect, you’ve just defeated two very powerful Jedi. It may be prudent to rest for a time—“

 

“I’m fine,” A’tro interrupted, turning to face him. “It’s getting late. We need to move, before it becomes too dark to see…” She wavered on her feet again.

 

“My lord, as your medic, I must insist on ensuring that you are uninjured."

 

“Oh, stop it,” she muttered, putting a hand to her head. “You just want to get your hands on me.”

 

Quinn felt his face flush. “I would not presume—“

 

“No point denying it,” she mumbled.

 

Before Quinn could work up a suitable reply, her knees buckled and she collapsed at his feet.

 

He cursed softly and dropped to his knees beside her, then removed his gloves and laid a careful hand against the side of her neck, trying not to think about the remarkable softness of her warm skin, the subtle ridges… Her heartbeat pulsed gently against his fingers, strong and steady. She was not in serious danger.

 

He didn’t even realize that he was about to touch her lips until he managed to halt his fingertips a few scant millimeters away. Stars, what had happened to his self-control? A’tro was a Pureblood, a Sith, and his commander. Those were three things that set her far, far above him, three reasons why it was an especially bad idea for him to be taken in by her like this.

 

Quinn took a deep breath and forced himself to think rationally and objectively. A’tro was most likely suffering from a combination of fatigue and dehydration. There were also, he noticed suddenly, several small lightsaber wounds marring her arms and a few on her torso.

 

He needed to get her back to what pitiful excuse for civilization there was on Tatooine, get her water and kolto. The supplies he had with him simply wouldn’t do, and with the two corpses nearby it was only a matter of time before scavengers paid a visit. He doubted he could fight off a pack of womp rats or a wraid by himself.

 

There was nothing for it, then. He had to get out of there, and do it quickly, before it was too late.

 

Steeling himself, Quinn carefully scooped A’tro up into his arms. She was surprisingly heavy for such a small woman—probably a combination of her armor and her muscle mass. He managed to balance her weight enough to stand and stagger out of the hut.

 

The suns were sinking low on the horizon. While at least the heat was receding, it also meant that soon it would be too dark to navigate. He readjusted his hold on A’tro and set off across the desert.

 

Outpost Zaroshe had just become visible in the distance when the suns set. The drop in temperature was almost instantaneous, and Quinn shivered as his skin became cold and clammy. He had to put A’tro down for a few moments and put his jacket back on. In minutes, it had become as dark as the depths of space. Try as he might, he couldn’t make out any sign of lights from the direction that he had been heading.

 

They must try to keep the lights low to discourage nighttime raids by the Sand People, he thought.

 

A’tro was still unconscious. He was tempted to stop and wait for her to wake up, but he knew that he had to keep moving. He was practically blind in this darkness, but staying still meant a greater chance of something nasty finding them. Doing his best to continue in the direction that he had been heading before, he continued forward.

 

He couldn’t see, and it was maddening. He hadn’t realized how full the desert was of small rocks until he started tripping on them every few steps.

 

“Should’ve brought a light,” he muttered.

 

Then it dawned on him. It was not something that he normally would have been comfortable doing, but if it meant the difference between life and death…

 

Tentatively, Quinn maneuvered a hand around to A’tro’s waist and unclipped one of her lightsabers. If doing this ensured that she would survive, he would gladly endure whatever punishment she saw fit to give him for touching one of her weapons.

 

Finding the activation stud and making sure that the hilt was indeed pointed away from him was a bit tricky while balancing a comatose Sith in his arms, but he managed. A moment later, the scarlet blade blazed to life with the familiar snap-hiss sound.

 

He still couldn’t see very far, but it was better than nothing. At least he could see the ground, and do his best to avoid obstacles.

 

It felt like the longest walk of his life. His arms were aching from the strain, and his mind was feeling a similar pressure. The desert around them was completely silent, and it unnerved him. Who knew what was lurking in the night, just out of view?

 

Then he forgot about everything else as A’tro stirred in his arms. He quickly shut off the lightsaber and replaced it on her belt; what she didn’t know wouldn’t hurt her. He lowered her to the ground and knelt beside her, trying vainly to see her face.

 

“My lord?” he whispered.

 

There was a noise from behind him, and he started to turn around. The next thing he knew, there was a blaster pressed against the back of his head, a light shining in his face, and a uniformed man frowning down at him.

 

Quinn blinked rapidly to keep his eyes from watering at the sudden brightness, and reflected absently that he had never been more grateful to see the Imperial black and gray.

 

“Identify yourself,” the other officer said curtly.

 

“Captain Malavai Quinn,” he said briskly, then rattled off his service number. “Presently under personal command of the Sith A’tro Zaraine, apprentice to Darth Baras.”

 

The officer raised an eyebrow. “I take it that’s her on the ground there?”

 

Quinn nodded. “I can’t discuss the details of our mission, but she needs medical attention straightaway.” He glanced at the other man’s uniform and added coolly, “Lieutenant.”

 

“Do you have identification?” the lieutenant demanded, unfazed.

 

Quinn pulled out his identicard and proffered it to him. He scanned it on a small device and handed it back.

 

“You check out, sir,” the lieutenant said, sounding much more respectful. “My men and I are one of the night patrols from Zaroshe. We’ll take you back to the outpost immediately.” He gestured, and the soldier holding the blaster to Quinn’s head stepped away.

 

Quinn got to his feet, subtly brushing sand off his knees. “Very good, lieutenant.”

 

He lifted A’tro into the back of their camouflaged speeder himself. How did I not hear the engine? It must be a stealth model.

 

As they set off across the dunes, only the knowledge that there were others watching kept him from reaching out to brush her hair away from her face.

 

 

*****

 

Aboard Fury-class starship Alecto

10 ATC

 

 

“Course laid in for Alderaan, my lord,” Quinn reported.

 

A’tro nodded. “Very good, Captain.” She started to leave the bridge, then paused, turning back around to face him. “It occurs to me that I never did thank you for your actions on Tatooine.”

 

“I was only doing my duty, my lord,” he murmured.

 

“Still…I am grateful.” She smiled at him, then turned and walked away.

 

Quinn decided to indulge himself, just this once, and allow himself to reflect on how even more beautiful she became when she smiled like that.

 

 

Notes:

Gah, Quinn's PoV is tricky. I hope I've kept him sufficiently in character. And speaking of in character...they kept trying to get away from me here. I lost count of the number of times I had to delete a paragraph or two because A'tro and Quinn could not keep their hands off each other. :rolleyes:

 

As far as the (probably very un)realism of the sandstorm goes...I claim artistic license. :D

 

Oh, and A'tro has a last name now! I'd always planned on giving her one, but I could never come up with one that I could remember. I guess I've written Zaraine, so Zaraine it is.

 

...and then it just dawned on me how irksomely similar that is to Zariel. You know what? Screw it. I'm not changing it. :p

 

*shakes a stick at the sexual tension*

 

so delicious

 

I mean, poor Quinn. I mean, A'tro. I mean..

Both of them

Yea.

Link to comment
Share on other sites

Turning Point

 

With Master Ashari, Master Istier and a young Broan.

 

 

 

Talan swept his feet up, slamming the heels onto the top of the chair in front of him. He slipped down in his own chair, making the most of the cushions, and started to hum. Ashari sat next to him, straight-backed and serene. She would appear the picture-perfect Jedi, were it not for the company she kept.

 

"Talan, really, put your feet down."

 

"Don't see the point, Shar-shar," He winked, enjoying her returned scowl. "We've got ten minutes till landing and, unlike yourself," He shuffled in the seat a bit more, in such way as to show off his voluminous great coat. "I at least don't stick out like a sore thumb."

 

"We are Jedi," Ashari sniffed and smoothed her robes. "We are to be known where ever we go - it is our way."

 

"That may be so, Shar-shar, but those we're looking to protect can't afford such luxuries."

 

"The Empire has no hold here."

 

"You know it's not the Empire we're worried about, out here."

 

Talan looked up. The shuttle they travelled in had a transparent ceiling and it was easy to see why. They had barely breached the atmosphere and already the smog was rolling in, thick and heavy. The stars started to wink out, one by one, as they descended into darkness.

 

~

 

The boy slipped out of bed and strode, quietly but confidently, through the half-light. There was a film of grime on every surface. He opened the door of the cold-cupboard with his foot and wiped his hands with a rag. The rag disappeared into a shadowed corner and picked up a large bottle, nearly as big as his chest, and took two quick mouthfuls of the liquid inside.

 

Mom would be home soon. Mom would not stay long, she would be gone soon again, but the idea of Mom being near made the child happy.

 

He wiped the bottle down as grime began to take hold and quickly shut the cold-cupboard. He sat on the floor and began to practise his sums.

 

~

 

Ashari dusted her robes off for the umpteenth time. Blaster burns had ripped holes into the fabric and she briefly considered doing away with the thing entirely. Talan gave her a brief nod as shook out his coat. It was holding up better than her robes, not that that made her feel better about either choice of attire.

 

"And if, Shar-shar, one of us had not looked like a Jedi, none of this would have happened." Talan surveyed the wreckage. Boxes and general store-front debris littered the walkway where their fight had taken place. No bystanders had been injured, to their knowledge, but a few of the local gang enforcers lay dead. The rest had fled, no doubt with news that the Jedi had arrived.

 

"We are Jedi. We do not hide in shadows or lurk in alleyways."

 

"I realise what you are saying, Ashari, and I do not like what you are insinuating," Talan began to arrange the nearest body into a more dignified pose. The individual's hands were crossed across their chest and Talan pulled them into place, following the length of the road. Under the tonnes of metal and concrete, miles from the sky, he could not tell where south or north were, or even whether up was still up. "We cannot fulfil our purpose here if our every step is dogged by these thugs," He drew a small symbol in the air above the body and finally stood. "I do not care whether you think we act like Sith. We are not. That's final."

 

Ashari said nothing and nodded in agreement. She joined him on the speeder, which was blackened but otherwise undamaged, and they started to pull away from the carnage. Their goal was deeper still, closer to what once might have been the planet's surface. She wondered for a moment, as the engine popped and juddered to life, if there actually was a planet under all this, or if it was just buildings from end to end.

 

A gaggle of children, all skinny and pale, appeared as if from nowhere and began to strip the bodies of the fallen. The one that Talan had tended to was left until the Jedi were well out of sight.

 

~

 

Mom came in as the boy was finishing the last of his sums. A little bit of smoke rolled in through the door before it closed. She leant against the door and then slid slowly to the floor. The boy put down his sums and pottered over to Mom. She always sat on the floor, against the door, but today she seemed... quiet. She was holding her tummy like it hurt.

 

"Mom?"

 

Her head jerked up, as if she had just woken. She smiled and the boy smiled back.

 

"Little Broan, mommy's feeling tired. Could you fetch one of her stories?"

 

He nodded eagerly and fetched one of the slides. There were only a few and they were all old and clunky, but Mom loved them and so did Broan. He sat down next to her and put the slide in his lap. It was too big for him to hold easily.

 

"Can you read me the one about the Prince and the Dancing Girl?"

 

"But Mom, that one always makes you cry."

 

"I know, darling, I know."

 

Broan opened the simple text file and started to read aloud. Mom sat next to him and fell asleep.

 

~

 

"Are we here?" Ashari looked down the row of doors. The footpath dwindled into the distance, small orbs of yellow light piercing the fog along the length of the rails. There was a great gap that fell away below them, but just a few floors above the great weight of the city crushed against them.

 

"Looks it. Now we just need to find out which door." Talan pulled out a dataslide and checked the details. There was not a lot in the message, but they had come this far.

 

"Did she not provide you with her apartment number?"

 

Talan gestured to one of the doors and shrugged.

 

"Wouldn't have done her any good. None of the doors are numbered."

 

Ashari sighed and pointed toward the lights.

 

"I shall start over there; you start where we came up," Talan nodded and copied the details to her dataslide. "Perhaps we can find this child before the thugs do."

 

~

 

Broan finished the story and the dancer girl was left alone, again. The dancer girl was always alone at the end. She left her family, her friends and her home to be with her Prince. And then her Prince was gone. Broan sat for a moment before he started on another story.

 

Mom was very still and very quiet, but Broan kept reading. Maybe she'd wake up if he read a nice story?

 

Something wet splashed against his hand. He licked the droplet. It was very salty. Another drop hit the dataslide and Broan gave way to crying. He shoulders shook and he could no longer read the words.

 

~

 

Ashari stood outside a door; it was as nondescript and as slimy as all the rest. The one thing that set it apart from the rest was the sadness that washed over her. Talan joined her and checked the door.

 

"Locked," He ran one hand down the seam of the door and looked around. There were no windows and the walls were flat and featureless. "We're late but... Force helps us if the boy is still there." He pushed against the door. The lock was cheap and weak and gave way easily. The door shuddered and shook, it moved, but caught on something. They heard the crying now. The boy was stressed and notes of fear were starting to replace the sadness. Talan reached around the door and touched the fallen woman's shoulder. Gently, he moved her away from the door, finally able to wedge his shoulders into the gap and push the door fully open.

 

The boy recoiled and sniffed, hugging a large slide to his chest. He look from Talan, crouched next to his mother, to Ashari, who was stood just outside the room, looking imposing and strangely uncomfortable.

 

Talan moved the woman back into a sitting position and set her against the wall. The boy scampered to be next to his mother.

 

"Hello there, are you Broan?" Talan reached out a hand and smiled, as comforting and as friendly as he could manage. The little boy nodded and moved closer to his mother. "I'm Talan and this is my friend Ashari, we're Jedi. We're here to look after you now."

 

Mom was cold and still and would not hug him. She was missing something but he could not tell what. Out of desperation and sadness, Broan leapt forward to Talan and buried himself under the coat, folding into layers of warmth. Talan stroked his hair and soothed his crying. And for the first time, Broan saw the outside of his house.

 

 

Edited by Tatile
Link to comment
Share on other sites

Absolutely! The thread is open to anyone. You're just in time for the new prompt. Check out the chronological listings of our authors' stories.

 

*checks watch* Well, the prompt train has arrived at the station. We’ve had Allies, so let’s have a bit of the opposite. New prompt:

 

Enemies, Rivals, and Nemeses Everyone has them. Each class story hands you a number of them, and we create more in our Legacies. So, how does your character deal with his or her enemies--quick death, public humiliation, something else? What about rivals, professional or otherwise? Does your character dream of destroying them or use them as motivation to exceed? Is there a nemesis lurking in the wings somewhere? Tell us about it!

 

Or catch the commuter bus with the prompt archive. Always ready with inexpensive, affordable, scenic views of past prompts. Perhaps you’ll find something inspiring there instead.

 

(Many many thanks to Kabeone for both the prompt archive and all the various indices!)

Link to comment
Share on other sites

×
×
  • Create New...