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Trouble, Destiny, and Other Complications - AU: Caught


frauzet

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#1

“Your brother has a way with math. You have a way with trouble,” mom used to say when we were still children. Back, when she was still alive. She probably has been right. All I ever made was mistakes. Funny how things turned out. The current catastrophe represents only the climax of a long line of bad decisions.

 

My best friend died three days ago. She took a bullet for me. By now I know I got the short end of the deal.

 

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I have not given up on TDaOC.

Still some AUs just won't leave you alone.

I hadn't intended to write about this one. The start is rather dark. I changed my mind. Or I had my mind changed?

 

Unlike in TDaOC in this AU Thorns missed his opportunity to become a bounty hunter. He ends up as a thief in Imperial captivity on Korriban instead. This has some major effects on the dynamics between the characters. I have neither a plan nor an idea how this will turn out.

This will probably NOT be PG 13, but I'll try to write nothing too explicit.

I won't promise a regular schedule, since I won't be able to keep that promise.

Expect rather short parts.

 

Constructive criticism is welcome.

I hope, you'll enjoy this story.

 

The start contains spoilers for the beginning of the Sith Warrior story line.

Edited by frauzet
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#2

The last years never saw me hungry. Astonishingly the feeling is still familiar. Ignoring the gnawing in my intestines as best I can, I concentrate on my muscles instead. The cell doesn’t provide anywhere near enough room for proper exercises. Still I fight the effects of food deprivation. Tensing and relaxing parts of my body in turn gives me something to do while I wait for certain death. I am a thief. Even being human does nothing to raise my value. I saw what happened to the prisoners in the other cells. I won’t lower myself to begging when my time comes.

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#3

Have you ever experienced the pleasure of subsiding pain? If you don’t know what I am talking about, I recommend a standard issue Imperial shock collar. Try intensity three for starters. You don’t miss much if you skip one, and two. Bruising your thumb in your parents front door hurts worse. Three is where you’ll probably start to grit your teeth. At four I need all my determination not to scream. Five is my personal favorite. The pain from the electrocution blends into the pain from my sore throat seamlessly. Meager water rations add extra fun. I usually wish I were still able to scream when we reach six. But even someone as stubborn as me needs air to scream. Up to now I haven’t managed to breathe while my body twists itself into knots. We haven’t progressed past six — yet. By the glint in his eyes, the jailer is already looking forward to give it a try.

Edited by frauzet
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I think it's a great idea to explore AU, and I'm enjoying this a lot. I like the diary like posts, they're quick and easy to get into and well written too. Keep it up. AU seems to be catching on more these days. OfficerDonz did an AU version for his fic too and it's quite wonderful.

 

You guys are going to get me thinking about AU and I have enough on my plate already lol. :D

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I am enjoying this a lot. Feeding us small snippets that are easily digested is an interesting presentation and your writing style within these small spaces is very engaging. An AU story is an intriguing idea, perhaps I will give it a go myself at some point and see where that rabbit hole leads.

 

I am really looking forward to your next post.

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I enjoy the diary style! Each entry is a short and self-contained, delicious little bite. And the information content is staggering; there's a lot of info to be had about the background and situation in very few words. Definitely looking forward to more :D
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Thank you for your feedback guys. You made my day :D

 

All I can say is that AUs are a very dangerous thing. Once you start thinking about one, others will pop up.

Small decisions, coincidences, accidents may have a huge impact on ones life. With AUs it's easy to explore those impacts for our characters. Give it a try, and don't say I didn't warn you.

 

I love writing, but as I mentioned in my headcanon thread I have serious problems to get scenes worked out rn. These small pieces were a way to trick myself into actually writing something instead of editing stuff to death. I am not sure how this is going to work out for the following posts, which will contain conversations. This is an experiment. We will find out.

 

What I already have found out is that first person present is damned close and intimate. It's my character and it's happening right now. I love it. And with the small pieces, especially in conversations, it feels even more real. Once a bit is posted, it's said and done. Like in a real conversation you can't take it back. (Well, technically I could, but that would be cheating.) Action, reaction. I think about what happens next in the next post. It probably won't surprise you, when I tell you, that it didn't take my characters long to surprise me :)

 

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#4

I awaken to a strange irregular rhythm. It takes me a while to recognize it as my heartbeat. Intensity six doesn’t kill me after all. At least not at once. After the majority of my neural pathways, too, wake up, I can’t imagine anyone recommending regular, or prolonged use. Through a haze of pain I identify the jailer’s voice. He tells me I am lucky. I am still needed. Me? Someone must have made a mistake. Whatever! But I am still alive. Can’t say that I care. Death seems cozier right now.

 

There is someone else talking. Male, if I am not mistaken. The jailer tries to argue. He explains about the intensity settings of the shock collar. Level seven is bound to do permanent damage – immediately. Not advisable if you want someone to be able to walk on their own. Eight and beyond were not implemented to be used on humans. Leaves them with cauliflower for a brain. Not as tasty but as capable of coherent thought. We wouldn’t want that, now, would we? Do I get a vote, too?

 

“Leave us!” the second person orders. Footfalls, the sound of a door opening and closing. “You are not afraid of death.” The man doesn’t ask. “Level six, huh? Regrettable!”

 

I share his opinion. My heart gives up on the lepi hop in exchange for something more solemn. The silence stretches on. I am not in a talkative mood. His clothes whisper of movement. I might as well see if my eyes still work.

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It's an interesting style :) Never really done much first person stuff. The dairy format is kind of interesting. Hmm it's actually giving me ideas (as if I don't have enough already!)

 

And I know what you mean about characters, you want them to say/do one thing then they'll likely want to do something else entirely. :D Such is the joy of being an author.

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#5

A dark blur leans against the wall close to my cell. I blink, and it resolves into a humanoid shape. Raising my hand to wipe at my eyes proves to be a real effort. It also takes some effort to swallow the bile back down. I groan.

 

Unmoving the man observes me. What’s so interesting in watching me struggle? He doesn’t occupy a cell. He is somehow associated with the jailer. He’s a pervert. Save assumption. Question answered.

 

As my eyes continue to adjust, the man’s features become clearer. Gray hair, shoulder-length. Probably human. Tanned. Dark form-fitting clothes. I squint at the metallic glint on his forehead. The corners of an implant show half hidden beneath the man’s hair. I recognize him. A coldblooded Sith acolyte dealing with three prisoners as part of his trials. Seems like he isn’t done with that part yet. He holds the remote to my shock collar.

 

Laws never interested me too much; Imperial ones did so even less. So, I’m not clear on the details. I doubt they’re fond of people trying to rob their temples and gravesites, though. No, I am not afraid to die. Still I prefer a not overly unpleasant execution. My gaze shifts to the hilt of the blade – some kind of training weapon – the acolyte wears on his back. I remember the prisoner he killed. Messier than a vibroknife, still better than setting seven on the shock collar for sure. Beggars can’t be choosers.

 

“What way to die will it be?” My voice sounds worse than after three days of drinking and smoking too much.

 

“That eager?” He raises an eyebrow.

 

“I thought you were here for your next trial.”

 

“I am,” he says. A short hesitation. He ponders what to say next. “You will open Naga Sadow’s tomb for me!” Again, this isn’t a question.

 

„Go **** yourself!“ I mutter and brace for the electroshock. My friends died when we tried to open that tomb. I hold the Sith’ gaze. The shock doesn’t come. His eyes sparkle with amusement. I notice their green color. Memories of Ce’na catching sunlight in stolen emeralds.

 

“An intruiguing instigation, alas, anatomically impossible.” He sounds almost regretful.

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Most excellent and a clever way to intersect the warrior story. The future has endless possibilities. Keep it coming.

 

Thank you! :D

 

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#6

Does a trap keep the mouse in? Or does it keep the cat out? None of my slightest movements slip the Sith’ attention.

 

“How often?” he asks.

 

“Huh?” I have no idea what he wants.

 

“How often has Knash used setting six? How often have you passed out?”

 

Am I a lab rat, or what? “Didn’t count. Math isn’t my pet issue.” Let him ask the jailer.

 

Have you ever traveled rooftops at night? Iz used to call me crazy. During my youth choice was an illusion. There was either the carrot or the stick. I hated being the beast of burden. Atop our little world I could at least pretend to be free. I love the moment before the jump. When the crescendo of your heartbeat drowns out the beat of your feet on the tar paper. You’re too fast to stop. The gaping darkness below waits for you to miss the right spot to jump. No turning back. This time I slipped, and I have fallen deep.

 

The Sith’ hands fiddle with the remote to my shock collar. He doesn’t push the button.

 

My neck begins to hurt. My feet tingle. When you pass out your body doesn’t care whether your cell is too small to lie down. My posture prevents proper blood circulation in several strategical points. I struggle to a sitting position. Gives me something else to concentrate on than the karking Sith with the kriffing remote.

 

“You’re not very cooperative for someone who’s already experienced six. Did anyone ever care enough to submit you to an intelligence test?” He smirks. “No? Figures! It’s hard to test something nonexistent.”

 

I am not afraid! The jailer didn’t break me, and the Sith won’t either! I am not afraid! “Go fu—”

 

“Yes, yes,” he interrupts me. “You already said that.” He holds up the remote, looks at it, then at me. “How much more do you think you can take? Everyone has their limits. Everyone breaks eventually.”

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#7

I stare into the Sith’ unblinking eyes. My defiance is show. We both know he speaks the truth. Given enough pressure you either bend or you break. I don’t want to do either. Least of all I want to bend to be broken afterward, once the kriffing Sith got what he wanted. You can’t trust a Sith. It’s a law of nature or something. Not that I would be able to help him even if I wanted. I was just a hired muscle on this expedition. Everyone who knew what they were doing is already dead.

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#8

“We can do this the easy way,” the Sith says, “or we can do this the hard way. Your choice.”

Here we go, the stick and the carrot. Only it will probably be the stick now, or the stick later. So far I can’t smell any carrots. The only noteworthy smell here is my own. Even the flies take a detour to avoid my cell. I clear my throat, which kriffing hurts. I’d kill for a glass of fresh cool water. “Great! You get what you want, or you get what you want. Cool! Where exactly is my karking choice?”

For an answer, he raises the remote. His thumb twitches. His stare bores holes into my skull. The rumors can’t contain much truth. Force users can’t read your mind. He would not need to torture me if he were able to do that, correct? Right now, though, I can tell the Sith’ thoughts as clearly as mine. He – is - KARKED. Big letters. Knash hasn’t left him with any room to maneuver. He can’t use setting seven, because he needs me unmaimed to pass his trial. I can stand six for longer than he can afford. Otherwise he’d have already made me scream a few minutes ago.

I scoff. “You press that button now, or Knash presses that button later. A few more painful gasps of air in between don’t make much of a difference.” Only I DO want to breathe for a bit longer. Not being afraid of death isn’t the same as wanting to die. For some reason the Sith believes I can open the tomb. I can’t. But maybe I can bluff my way out of this cell. Hope dies last.

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Desperation can make strange bedfellows and our caged friend has nothing to lose. Good stuff, waiting for more.

At least he's got nothing to gain from remaining in his cage. So far he's fighting tooth and nail to keep what's left of his dignity and pride.

 

I just love how his personality shines through the entries. And the descriptions along with it are brilliant. So to the point, riveting and amazingly revealing. Keep it up :D

It's astonishingly easy to write. Thorns and I may hove more in common than I had thought. At least I can say that he's even more stubborn than me.

 

Thank you both for your kind comments. It's great encouragement, and truly appreciated.

 

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#9

I spent most of my life in cities. Can’t say I care much for architecture, though. Still, I must admit the Sith Academy is impressive. Most of all because it simply gives me the creeps. I am almost glad I was unconscious on my way in. The Sith leads our way through corridors and halls. The place bustles with people. Couple of higher ranking Sith, a greater number of acolytes heading to or from their classes, and slaves — countless slaves. Korriban was build with blood, blood rebuild the temples, and blood still keeps them from falling apart.

 

On the Sith leads, and I strain to keep up. My circuit training suffered from the small diameter of the cell. We leave the Academy and enter a dig site, probably a tomb. I pay attention to the maze he takes me into. The gazes of the guards at the entry follow us. They probably don’t see many Sith down here. Two turns right, one left. We walk past lines of slaves transporting debris to the outside. Give me one of the baskets they are carrying and I don’t stand out much. We reach a door. The Sith tells me to wait. He will take five minutes inside. Sure, I’ll wait. It’s not like I have other places to be.

 

Carefully I run my fingertips over the shock collar at the back of my neck. No Knash here to punish me for it. The model feels like those I see on the slaves. I have seen similar ones on Nar Shaddaa. They lack a sensor to measure the distance to their remote control. I close my eyes and take a deep breath. If I am mistaken, this is going to hurt. Of the few people, who pass me, none take special notice. The last one turns the next corner. I look left, I look right. Nobody. I start to retrace my steps. I hurry, but I don’t run. I mirror the pace of the slaves.

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I must say the guy has a pair. He really is in a pan vs fire situation though. Can't wait to see if this little ploy works.

I guess he has :)

Your comment made me grin. I used the pan/fire idiom in part #11 (I am a bit behind on posting here).

 

But first comes #10. Hope you enjoy.

 

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#10

Trouble does often give warning in advance. No reason to complain. On the contrary! I admit, I may have ignored those warnings often enough. But this time, honestly, I’d have appreciated some hints a bit earlier. One moment I am walking in line with the slaves, my face hidden behind a basket, happy I actually managed to get out of the tomb, when in the blink of an eye the rest of the line evaporates miraculously, and I am left standing alone, facing two approaching guards, rifles at the ready. My arms hurt from carrying the basket. If I try to throw the damned thing at one of the guards, I risk squashing my own feet. Drop it and run? The wall to my left sports a generous amount of hand- and footholds. Doable despite the muscles in my arms already trembling. BlasTech rifles have a capacity of 120 - 250 shots; can’t identify the model positively. Even if the guards were the worst shots ever, the best estimate leaves my remains decorating the wall in countless new little blast holes. I take a few tentative steps back. With the debris inside, the basket at least provides a modicum of cover.

 

“Look whom we have here…” someone greets me from behind. I have almost forgotten about the guards at the tomb’s entrance. I am getting the sense they haven’t been watching the Sith earlier. Granted, sometimes you just don’t get the warning.

 

“You didn’t think you could hide behind that beard, did you?” front left asks.

 

The beard? Kind of grew of its own accord. Nobody around whom I’d have trusted to give me a shave. And though my hair has grown, too, a large portion of my tattoo must still be showing. If someone were looking for me, they’d keep an eye out for that. Only, why would someone be looking for me here on Korriban? Who would bribe Imperial guards to catch me? I got a great memory for faces. I don’t know these men, never seen them before. The lump in my guts tells me they won’t care. As I try to turn, the first punch hits my lower back. As usual my guts are right.

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Looks like he's in a pickle now. I'm looking forward to see him getting out of it. I like his train of thought about the rounds in the weapon, so calculating :D I love it! ^^

 

Thank you! Thorns hasn't had a formal education, but he knows a thing or two about weapons.

 

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#11

I feel almost grateful for Knash’s torture. Almost. The current pain pales in comparison to the electrocutions. But these guys want to make me suffer. And they’re making a good job of it. They don’t overdo it. No chance to pass out. I stopped struggling a few punches ago. Two of them hold me upright, the other two take turns. This will last a loooong time. After a while only me and the pain are left. Its ebbs and flows hide a story. I will figure it out eventually. Or maybe I won’t. Doesn’t make a difference.

 

“That’s enough!” someone orders.

 

The voice resonates with an authority even my dulled senses are unable to ignore. I have trouble to process the meaning of the words, though, and so do the guards, obviously. Two more punches before a shock from my collar courses through my body. The two men holding me release me with a startled yelp. The shock stops immediately as I crumple to the ground. Thank you very much! I lack the energy to feel annoyed.

 

“I said, that’s enough,” the voice repeats. Sounds like my Sith has caught up to me.

 

“Apologies, my Lord,” someone says. Has to be one of the guards. Sincerity sounds different. Call me spiteful, but I wish the Sith would make them feel sorry indeed. “This slave is a criminal; a thief, and a murderer,” the man continues to explain. I’d ask him to slow down if it somehow seemed like a better idea. I am okay with the criminal. I earned that. Thief? Cling together, swing together! Not much leeway here. Murderer? We’re not talking about my youth, are we? If we’re not, then I call it self-defense. And just for your information: a shock collar around your neck doesn’t make you a slave.

 

The Sith, like Knash for that matter, doesn’t know either. “I am well aware of who this slave is, Captain, thank you!” he replies. Why do people think they know you after a conversation of hardly two sentences? “He was placed into my custody. He has a task to fulfill, and I will see to it, that he does. This service is part of the atonement for his malefactions to the Sith. You do want him to atone, don’t you, Captain?” Hiding behind words normal people are unable to spell doesn’t put you in the right. Can he convince the guards there is some backup behind the hot air he produces?

 

“Of course! But we saw him enter with you, acolyte,” the captain replies. The change of honorific doesn’t bode well. “He came out alone. You let him escape. It was our duty to detain him.” Gone was any sign of reverence. Does a captain outrank an acolyte? Do I hope for the fire or the frying pan?

 

“It was a test,” the Sith states matter-of-factly. The tip of a boot nudges my ribs, makes me groan. I squint. Despite the chill wind Korriban’s sun glares as bright as those of Tatooine. The Sith towers over my prone body. Earlier he somehow looked smaller. He continues his explanation. “Good sense of orientation, street smart. He got further than I had anticipated. I have to thank you, Captain, for adding a valuable lesson to his education.” I am in no condition to evade the next kick to my ribs. It hurts, but more due to the overall soreness of my body than the force behind it. I am a prop in a play. The Sith ignores me as he goes on. “When Darth Baras ordered me to take this piece of filth along, I was in doubt whether the slave could be of any use. I shouldn’t have doubted Darth Baras’ wisdom. You certainly agree, Captain, don’t you?”

 

“Of course, my Lord,” the Captain hurries to confirm. Darth Baras’ name carries weight. Clever, Sith! Couldn’t have done that better. The guards know to challenge him is to challenge this Baras guy.

 

“Get up!” the order is directed at me.

 

The try makes me groan again.

 

“If you need help, I am willing to lend you a hand.” He raises the one holding the remote to my shock collar.

 

While I struggle to get up, I notice the men who held me rub their arms. The Sith sees it, too. He smiles at them. His teeth flash in the sunlight. “Gentlemen. You should consider to buy Jailer Knash a beer. He undertook it to ensure some familiarity between the slave and setting six.” Yeah, I am sure he’ll appreciate the gesture.

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I love the phrasing you use, it is like I can actually feel the fear, pain and frustration Thorn is feeling. A rare gift, my friend. A very old song popped into my head just as soon as I finished reading this last chapter, "clowns to the left of me, jokers to the right, stuck in the middle..." by Stealers Wheel.

 

Can't wait for more.

Edited by MishaCantu
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I love the phrasing you use, it is like I can actually feel the fear, pain and frustration Thorn is feeling. A rare gift, my friend. A very old song popped into my head just as soon as I finished reading this last chapter, "clowns to the left of me, jokers to the right, stuck in the middle..." by Stealers Wheel.

 

Can't wait for more.

 

Thank you for the compliment! Especially since I usually feel my writing is somewhat lacking in this department.

 

*hums* ....Well I don't know why I came here tonight.

I've got the feeling that something ain't right. ...*continues humming*

 

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#12

 

The Sith walks towards some unknown destination. I follow. Déjà-vu. Here we go again. Despite my latest adventure, I am able to keep up. His pace is definitely slower than before. He’s a Sith. His actions follow some agenda of his own. No reason to be thankful.

 

I pay attention to the people we pass. The slaves hurry out of our way, but otherwise ignore us. Not so the guards and soldiers. Their scowls follow me, make the skin between my shoulder blades itch. We pass some kind of booth where the Sith gets a bottle of water. I’d swallow if there was some spittle left in my mouth. My swollen tongue probes the cracks in my chapped lips. I am thankful for the chill wind.

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#13

The Sith lowers the bottle of water. A drop of the precious moisture runs down his chin. It’s hard not to stare, even harder not to lick my lips.

 

“Would you like some?” The corners of his mouth twitch.

 

Kriffing azkanc. He knows about my sparse water rations. My pride decides I am still going to take a while to die of thirst. I shake my head.

 

The Sith shrugs and closes the bottle. We walk on until we reach a precipice. There is some kind of dig site in the valley below us. The reconstruction of some old tomb or temple. The Sith lowers himself to the ground, feet dangling over the edge.

 

“Sit!” he says and points beside him.

 

I consider to remain standing, but what’s the point? If he wants to shove me over the edge, he’ll do so whether I’m sitting or not. I don’t want to appear like a sulking child, refusing just to refuse. I sit down beside him. It’s a good spot. Nobody can approach unnoticed, and it provides an excellent view over the operations below. We watch in silence for a while. The bustle reminds me of a hive of blood ants building their castle of sand. I wonder who’s more mindless in their task, the worker ants or the innumerable slaves below.

 

The Sith offers me the bottle. “Drink!”

 

I open my mouth to decline. Before I can say something, he shoves the bottle at me. We look each other in the eyes.

 

“Why don’t we stop this game for a moment, and do some plain talking?” he asks.

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I do enjoy Thorns. Stubborn, almost to a fault, a bit of a wise a.s.s, quirky way of observing the world. I appreciate your line about the blood ants and likening the slaves to the worker ants. Having lived in Florida, I remember sitting and watching fire ants building their hills, nasty buggers that they are.

 

Now what could a sith possibly have to say to a slave? Looking forward to the conversation. :D

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As I said before, I really enjoy seeing Thorns' thought processes and how he makes his decisions. I'm looking forward to seeing the discussion these two get into. The Sith seems pretty cool too. I like that he's very direct. :)
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