LogicLoup
-
Posts
630 -
Joined
Content Type
Forums
Blogs
Events
Articles
Downloads
Gallery
Posts posted by LogicLoup
-
-
I've had flairs pop up and "stick" up in the top left corner of my display a few times - no pattern that I've been able to discern which flair I see or when one will decide to say hello. Resetting the UI (ctrl+U by default) has been working to clear it up for me.
-
Due to money and time constraints I was forced to take some time away from the game in previous years. I see there are these dark side and light side banners that were added during some dark vs. light event and are tied to achievements. Is this a recurring event that will come back eventually or was it a one time thing and oh well tough luck I missed out while I was on hiatus?
Assuming that you mean the banners that match the ones that pop up on each fleet to indicate overall galactic alignment (like this one), the banners and the achievements that grant them aren't tied to the DvL event. When one alignment or the other is maxed out ("The [x] Side is victorious" message will pop up on your screen when that happens), world bosses spawn in semi-random locations on 10 different worlds. After having killed each of the bosses for an alignment, you'll receive the appropriate banner decorations as a reward.
-
I did receive conquest credit for completing the Ziost weekly (and thankfully, my progress up to that point remained intact), but didn't receive my stronghold completion bonus to the point reward. So... partial credit for a partial fix, I guess?
-
Just hit Friend status with Ossus, and was able to buy decorations from D3-C0.unlisted reputation requirement is in place.... I'm legend on ossus and am able to buy all those items -
Each class has five (I think) different sets, and each type of Commander's Share box drops parts from two classes, so you've only a one in ten chance of getting one of the class you want, and even then only if you open the right type.
Relic boxes: JK/SW
Smuggled boxes: S/IA
Military boxes: T/BH
Science boxes: JC/SI
I think that's the right relationship box->classes. If you open only military crates you will get NO JK gear at all.
You're a little bit off on which boxes can drop which class sets.
Alien Research (turn in to Oggurob) yields Sith Inquisitor and Imperial Agent pieces.
Ancient Artifacts (Sana-rae) yield Jedi Consular and Jedi Knight pieces.
Military Equipment (Aygo) yields Trooper and Sith Warrior pieces.
Smuggled Goods (Hylo) yield Bounty Hunter and Smuggler pieces.
For a quick rule of thumb, boxes for a particular specialist will give gear for the same classes as the data crystal vendors in that specialist's room.
-
Wow... feeling like I got off lucky with the ilvl 200 blaster barrels requiring UWT mats instead of Investigation.
-
Next question, since you all clearly know me very well. According to me (and probably only me), who is the best character in SWTOR?
In honor of this character's amazingness, first 7 to answer correctly get codes. Also, I will code spam for the copy/paste race in my next post. BE READY.
-eric
The inimitably charming Kai Zaikken.
-
Wholeheartedly agreed. Maybe with locking permissions tied to key type (especially for guild strongholds)?It would be nice to be able to lock some doors, so that they don't just open whenever someone comes by. It would be useful in RP venue strongholds where some areas are not supposed to be available to everyone like a private room or office. -
Is there a bug with decoration drop rates in flashpoints (other than Star Fortress)? Based on watching the GTN, these are not entering the market at all after 4.0. I've seen several threads asking about them (http://www.swtor.com/community/showthread.php?p=8701929 for one example), and I have not personally seen any drops in flashpoints, only in operations.
I'm wondering if they were left out of the revised loot tables...
I picked up a large crystal formation from a Battle of Ilum HM run earlier today, after not having seen any deco drops since KotFE went live, so I can confirm that flashpoint decorations haven't vanished altogether, just become ridiculously scarce.
-
Same issue — looting an access key did not advance the quest objective — but resetting the mission did not help, nor did abandoning and reacquiring the mission.
-
I've experienced the same issue, and while I'm aware that not all available tacticals count toward the weekly quest, Athiss and Hammer Station do, and my scoundrel did not receive credit for either.
-
I'm having the same problem.
Did we all select the option to work with him as an ally? I wonder if that's it, but he said he would be happy to follow us...
Then returning to Sana-Rae, she says he's there learning...
I chose the "come on, we've got work to do" (paraphrasing) option, rather than inviting him to join as an ally, but am also not seeing him in my Follower roster, so it's not the dialogue choice that's the issue.
-
You do realise that the Yavin stronghold was not only announced but previewed at the Anaheim Celebration event back in April, right? This isn't exactly breaking news.Yavin???? You have got to be kidding me ! Last year at the Seattle Community Cantina event we were told that Alderaan was in the works ... what happened to that??? That's the one I've been waiting for and saving up for.Yavin??? Seriously???? NO Thank You!!!!
Edited to note: I, for one, welcome our new Ahsoka-clone overlords!
-
Well than AGAIN: they should have at LEAST emphasized a bit on the time. What you say may be true but its the job of the story to make you hooked and slightly get an understanding why certain things happen, why this went so fast, why said person does this....But Shadow of Revan did a terrible job at this. Sure the writer put a lot of effort which you can tell but it was clearly not thought out from beginning to end.
With respect, I have to disagree with you on this point. While yes, it is the job of the writers to engage the audience in their story, it is most emphatically not the writers' responsibility to spoon-feed the audience all the "whys" of the plot. You feel that Shadow of Revan doesn't explain itself sufficiently, that there are holes where motiviation or justification are missing, but both SaveTheMonkeys and drfumblez have offered cogent and detailed replies explaining how they were able to draw the relevant conclusions from the information given within the text itself. The information you want is already there — on some points, the foreshadowing has been laid literally from Day One of the game — it requires taking a step back to look at the big picture, and then interpolating the insight from that overall view back down to specific circumstances.
In answer to one of your earlier complaints:
Its ok to leave vague ends and let players guessing but as a good storywriter you also need to give the players a satisfying conclusion. Not giving any satisfying answers and endings leaves the player confused and not happy.I think it's important to note here that we're still in the opening scenes of the Shadow of Revan plotline. Yes, there are unresolved plot elements, but that's because the story is still in progress. No one sits down to a novel and expects a satisfying ending with all their questions answered by the bottom of page 12, so I'm honestly confounded as to why you're demanding the same kind of premature completion here.
-
Not full responsibility, but some. I get what you're saying though. I hope I didn't offend. I'm afraid the Jedi's devaluation of family is one of my sore spots. I also have a lot of sympathy for teenagers who have made really bad decisions that spiral out of their control, so the Sindris pull my heartstrings probably more often than they should.
No offense taken at all. The Jedi stance on attachment in general and familial ties in particular is certainly problematic, and I completely sympathise it being a contentious issue. While I can understand and even, to limited extent, support the guiding ideal of fostering a sense of dispassionate care for sentient life as a whole (there's got to be a simpler way to translate "humanity" to a species-agnostic context
) as opposed to any particular subset thereof, I think the Order's particular application of that philosophy sucks like an Electrolux. It's that tension between ideology and practice that I keep coming back to, and that provides the driving force for this poor messed-up family I've created.Before I start really pontificating ("too late!" yells the peanut gallery), I honestly do greatly appreciate that people care about the character I've put forward. It's gratifying to know I've somehow managed to stumble into evoking an emotional investment
-
LogicLoup - I can't feel bad that Andren gets a kick in the gut at seeing what's happened to Maneera. The Jedi should get that kick in their gut more often - breaking up families has consequences.
The Jedi had their part to play in this chain of events, there's no disputing that, but dropping the whole thing into the Order's lap is, I think, a little too easy. A bunch of scary guys in robes didn't descend on the Sindri household and demand babies in tribute; Jerec and Irialle offered their children up willingly, motivated in no small part by Jerec's fear that his sister's tragedy would repeat itself. (Were she available for comment, Lord Kallei would find this bloody hilarious.) And while yes, the Jedi accepting Zhara and Alendar set the stage for Maneera to run off in a perfect storm of heartbreak and teenaged self-righteousness, her decisions — the good, the bad, and the staggeringly ill-advised — were entirely her own. Forcing full responsibility on the Jedi, either individually or collectively, robs the other players of their agency, making this about the Order rather than about the Sindris.
Hm. From a certain (much more Jedi-orthodox) point of view, this becomes a cautionary tale about the dangers of letting one's emotions, especially fear and anger, take control. *ponders*
-
Apologies for having gotten behind on commenting — the holidays have been kicking my butt round the block and back. Hopefully the seasonal crazy has sufficiently wound down now.
For this week's exercise in Alternate Perspectives, a pair of remixes for Field Trip.
Field Trip: Chaperone (Master Andren Senesca)
Andren lets the smile rise to his lips as he and his Padawan pass through the ticket line. Zhara is so solemn, offering up her hand with the grave dignity of the very young. When he gives her the map and camera, though, her own smile bursts to life, showing her as the exuberant little girl he is determined to let her remain for as long as she can — there will be time enough for her to be sturdy and responsible later. Zhara takes his hand and she’s off, dragging him along behind her like a great brown kite, chattering her joyous discoveries at each station of their little pilgrimage.
The aviary towers up ahead of them, and Zhara stops suddenly, dragging him away. “Could I have my lunch now, please?” she asks, the question low and conspiratory.
“Are you sure?” Andren asks in return as he retrieves the meal they had prepared that morning. “It’s still early.” He looks past Zhara, toward the aviary, and that’s when he sees her. The scar-ringed eyes throw him, at first, but around them, behind the sullen, simmering anger she wears like armor, he can still see echoes of the girl — the same age Zhara is now — who had pleaded with him to let her sister stay just a little while longer.
“Master? Is something wrong?” There’s concern in her voice. Just barely ten, and she’s already too observant by half.
“Hm? No, not at all.” He hopes nothing’s wrong. He hopes Maneera (he remembers her name, just like he remembers everything else about that day) can allow herself to accept this show of compassion. He gives Zhara a smile. “I’ll be right over there if you need me.” Andren goes to sit on a nearby bench, watching as the girls make their wary overtures.
Maneera is snarly, and he can’t honestly blame her, but Zhara pushes on with tenacious generosity, and soon enough, the older girl is smiling, won over by chatter and a sandwich. Zhara offers her hand, and in the light of some sudden revelation, Maneera looks stunned and homesick and relieved all at once. Andren allows himself a small sigh of relief.
Then the Twi’lek lumbers up. Maneera tenses, Zhara backs away, and Andren’s hand is on his saber almost before he realizes it. The Twi’lek paws at Maneera, pulls something from inside her jacket. His hand slides down into her back pocket and squeezes, and Andren catches the tail end of her reply. “—usual place, usual rates.”
“Careful, pretty thing,” the Twi’lek chuckles, his voice as thick and shapeless as he is himself. “Wouldn’t want the good doctor to find out about your side job, now would you?” It’s only when he catches sight of Andren that he pulls his hand from Maneera’s pocket. “See you tonight, Nera.” His laugh rattles around in his throat as he walks away to lose himself in the crowd.
Both of the girls are shaken, and it’s all Andren can do to keep from sweeping them both into a bone-crunching hug. But Zhara needs a good example, and Maneera needs her illusion of independence, so he keeps back, settling for a hand on Zhara’s shoulder and a simple plea for Maneera as she hides behind her hands. “Let me help.”
Her spine stiffens in defiance as she glares at the two of them. “I don’t need your help,” she spits back. “There’s nothing more you can take from me.” She gives the flutterplumes a long, hungry look before storming away.
Andren looks to the caged carrion-birds for insight, holding back bitter tears by force of will. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”
Field Trip: Interloper (Maneera Sindri)
Jax is late, as kriffing always, so Maneera’s standing at the aviary, watching the flutterplumes. They’re ugly and ungainly and she loves them so damn much because she knows she is, too. She watches the birds go about the business of being a family and feels a churning in her gut that has nothing to do with the hunger that’s been around long enough to almost start feeling like it belongs.
“They’re very pretty,” pipes a little voice from beside her.
Maneera turns, looks down at the little red-haired girl in robes. Just great. “They don’t belong here,” she mutters in reply before looking back to the cage. One of the ’plumes takes off, climbing to beat its wings against the force field at the top of the enclosure. It knows the attempt is hopeless, it has to know, but it tries anyway. “They should be at home.”
The Robe kid leans out over the rail to read the sign. “Their mother wasn’t able to care for them properly. The zoo people had to raise them from chicks, so they wouldn’t know how to take care of themselves now. Where else can they go?”
A pair of flutterplumes have found a bit of food — safe, planted, spiked with balanced vitamins — and are fighting over it. “They’re ruined now. They’d’ve been better off with their real family.” Maneera grins as the littler bird wins its game of chicken, and she laughs right along with it as it clacks its beak over its meal. Flush with vicarious victory, she lets herself be gentle with the Robe girl. “Sorry, kid. It’s not your fault.”
“That’s okay,” the girl replies, pushing something along the ledge toward Maneera till it bumps into her hand.
Huh. Sandwich. “Thanks, kid.” The bread is chewy and the saltnut butter is crunchy and the jewelfruit jelly is just the right amount of tart, and whoops, there goes half the sandwich right there.
“You’re welcome.” The kid punches a straw into a drink box and sets it down next to the sandwich, then looks up at Maneera and holds out her hand.
Miraluka. No. Just... no. She can’t deal with this. The Twins are laughing at her now, they have to be.
“Nice to meet you. I’m Zhara Sindri.”
Oh gods, no. Not like this, Zeezee can’t be allowed to see her like this. Her brain seizes up. “I... I’m...”
Maneera’s never been so glad to see Jax as she is in that moment. He crashes into her, and for a moment she doesn’t even care that he’s got his hands on her like he owns her. He’s made enough down-payments by now; Maneera figures that probably does buy him some entitlement. As she gets her feet back under her properly, she turns so her back’s to the little Robe... and maybe, just a little, to keep herself between Jax and the girl that used to be her sister. “Watch it.” And just look at her, keeping it all together like this isn’t the third most miserable day of her stupid life.
Jax ignores her, just like always, and roots around in her jacket for his supply. Smooth as a magic trick, he trades the usual unregistered credsticks for whatever new batch Hennigan’s cooked up for him. “Tell your boss it’s been a pleasure doing business with him.” The other hand slides down into her backpocket. Whatever. Jax copping a feel is about as much cause for alarm as water being wet. “And with you.”
Maneera grins up at him, reckless and fierce. “Not in public and not for free, Jax. Usual time, usual place, usual rates.” Look how much she doesn’t care. Just look.
Jax’s laughter sounds like a constipated bullfrog. “Careful, pretty thing. Wouldn’t want the good doctor to find out about your side job, now would you?” He catches sight of something behind Maneera and pulls his hand from her pocket. “See you tonight, Nera.” He’s still laughing as he saunters off.
Maneera holds it together long enough that there’s no chance of Jax seeing her fall apart. She leans back against the ledge and puts her hands over her face, just shutting out the world for another moment. It’s a stop-gap, but it’ll do till she can get back to the clinic and make it go away for real.
“Let me help.” A new voice. Male. Low but intense, almost desperate. Not as calm and reasonable as last time she heard it, but recognizable just the same. Nothing could change that voice enough to make her mistake it for anyone else.
“I don’t need your help. There’s nothing more you can take from me.” The sight of the flutterplumes — ugly and unlovable and just like her — fills her with the fierce pride she needs to stalk off with her head high.
-
@Ereiniel - Both of the Andies are so wonderful, and the interaction between them was so wonderful... until it wasn't. And of course they're both so entirely convinced that the other isn't seeing the situation properly... *facepalm*
@hoyden - Wow. Just when I'm thinking Crae can't possibly be a bigger creeper, he stops being overtly creepy and BANG! much more disconcerting.
LogicLoup - Good to see Maneera messing with Corso and, of course, some time with her parents, even if it is only short (Can we see more? )Absolutely! Maneera's evolving relationship with the rest of her family is definitely something I want to explore.
@Tatile - Oh... poor Broan. Jothar just... argh. Urge to sucker-punch... rising.
@irishfino - I like that Ald goes into this realising fully that Quinn is a plant, but decides to play the game through just to see what's underneath.
@kabe - The Governor Saresh Drinking Game! Guaranteed to separate the men from... wait, no. The cyborgs from those without enhanced livers!
@Striges - Rixik is always a skeevy joy to read (that sounded much less like faint praise in my head, honest), but
What the hell was it with women and scars? He ought to bottle it and sell it as an aphrodisiac.
takes all the prizes.
-
Quick little piece of fluff before the new prompts roll in.
Reference Librarian (Necro-prompt: parenthood)
Maneera Sindri, no spoilers
Senate Plaza spaceport, Coruscant. 0 ATC.
The four of them stood in the spaceport — Jerec and Irialle, Maneera and Conor — half-listening to boarding calls for outbound shuttles, waiting for the moment that inched slowly closer.
“You’re really sure about this?” Maneera asked.
“I still have a job to do,” Jerec replied, smiling. “And besides, this will have me in a position to keep a discreet watch over a pair of promising young Jedi.”
“You’ll remember to call, won’t you?” Irialle added. It was not a question.
“I promise, Mom.”
“Now boarding flight 786, service to Tython.”
Irialle laid a hand gently on Jerec’s arm; he nodded in acknowledgment, then fixed Conor in a glare that was somehow no less fierce for being eyeless. “Captain Breslin.”
“Yes sir?”
“Should the notion ever occur to you to mistreat my daughter, I would like you to bear something in mind. I am an archivist for the Jedi Order. This gives me virtually unquestioned access to the broadest and deepest collection of knowledge in the galaxy. What I do not know, I can learn in short order.” Jerec leaned in, his voice dropped to a conspiratorial whisper. “You do not want to test me in this.”
“Sir,” Conor replied, “if anything happens to Mans on my watch, I’d concede to whatever recompense you considered appropriate.”
After a long, thoughtful moment, Jerec gave a solemn nod, then shouldered his and his wife’s bags and started for the departure gate.
“They’d never find the body, you know,” said Irialle brightly as she patted Conor on the shoulder.
Maneera watched her parents go, grinning fondly. “I think they like you.”
-
@hoyden - Torian/Mako has always struck me as an object lesson in "be careful what you wish for." Mako makes no secret of being a squealing Mando fangirl, so in makes sense that she'd go for Torian. But the thing is, while Mako knows a fair bit of the who and what of Mandalorian culture, she doesn't really understand the whys and hows beneath that surface layer of fact, so there are bound to be moments like the one here, where she's confronted with something she either didn't know or didn't think much about (because really, "thoughtful" is not a Mako word), and the implications of her infatuation just kinda drop onto her like a ton of bricks.
@Striges - I'm struck once again by the impression that, for a contemplative order, the Jedi don't really do much actual thinking. This is after Faith, so Yuon should know that Jurial is given to philosophical pursuits; surely it's more consistent with his character to be pursuing an abstract line of reasoning than to be trying to justify a secret romance? *sigh and shake head at Yuon* "Logic! Why don't they teach logic at these schools?"
-
All My Love to Long Ago (Maneera Sindri, I love this bar)
minor spoilers for Smuggler chapter 1
Dealer’s Den cantina, Coruscant. 10 ATC.
Much to her relief and pride, Maneera held back the shudder until after they’d left the private room. For all their apparent differences, Pollaran was just another Jax. Better looking, maybe, and definitely slicker, but under the polish was the same greedy stare.
“You alright there, Captain?” Corso, bless his big dumb farmboy heart, had that white knight look in his eye. Again. Maneera resisted the urge to pat him on the head.
“Yeah, I’m fine. Your buddy back there just reminds me of an old business partner.” She could see the inevitable question coming together, so she headed it off with one of her own. “You up for a drink? I think we’ve earned ourselves a little celebration.”
“If you reckon we can spare the time,” Corso replied with an eager-puppy grin.
“After what that slicer girl did to Skavak’s record, he’s gonna be tied up for a long while.” As Corso started ambling toward the bar, Maneera grabbed him by the elbow and hauled him to the front door. She needed to get out of here, out of this place that reeked of Pollaran’s slimy charm. “Come on. I know a better place.”
Maneera tried, without much success, to bite back a snicker at the dismayed look on Corso’s face when the cabbie demanded danger pay, up front, on top of their regular fare. She handed over the credstick with a grin. When the cab pulled up to a grimy dive ten levels below the Senate tower spaceport, the cabbie promised to pray for their safety. Corso paled; Maneera laughed outright and tossed the driver an extra tip.
The same old sign flickered above the doorway — a mynock lounging along the lintel, grinning in contentment as one wing fluttered to pat its distended belly. A pair of Rodians staggered arm-in-arm into the perpetual dusk of the lower levels. Inside, badly synthesized swing played just loud enough to blur the edges of furtive conversations; dusty yellow lights shone down on the tables below in fuzzy-edged cones. Maneera surveyed the room. Her searching look exploded into a bright, sudden smile as she beelined for an empty booth, dragging Corso along behind her.
“I wouldn’t have picked you for this kind of place, Captain,” said Corso as he eased onto the cracked faux-leatheris seat.
A waitress ambled up. “Whatever won’t outright kill me — don’t bother with dosing it out, I’ll take the bottle,” Maneera replied to the girl’s mutely questioning glare. “And a draught for the kid here.” The waitress nodded and wandered up to the bar.
“I guess it’s maybe a little upscale.” Maneera returned her attention to Corso. “But the Bloated Mynock’s next-best to home. Had my first drink here. First kiss. First fight.” She snickered. “All over a stretch of a couple hours. Best birthday party I’ve ever had.”
Corso’s eyes went saucer-wide. “You were in a bar fight?”
“Yup. Started right here in this very booth.” The waitress returned, glassware chattering on her tray as she tilted it to maintain some kind of precarious balance. Maneera smiled and slipped a credstick into the pocket of the girl’s apron while she was occupied with doling out their drinks. “Matthew threw the first punch, I got in the last one.” She poured herself a shot and knocked it back. Just like she remembered, her throat felt like she’d been gargling with rocket fuel. “And I deserved every hit along the way.”
“What’d you do?” Corso took a cautious sip of his half-liter.
“Kissed his cousin.” Maneera grinned proudly. “Full on the mouth, tongue and everything.”
“That doesn’t sound like something worth starting a fight over.”
Maneera poured herself another shot. Rather than downing it right away, she tilted the glass this way and that, watching the alcohol slowly collapse from where it clung to the sides of the glass. “We were all a bunch of dumb kids, and we were ridiculously drunk on...” She raised her glass, smirking. “I still don’t know what this is.” She paused, shaking her head. “Matthew had just enlisted and was gonna be shipping out the next morning. He asked me to wait for him... friends for damn near forever, and it takes half a bottle of rotgut and the threat of facing down the Empire to move him to do anything about it.”
“If my girl went kissin’ another man after I’d proposed to her, I reckon I’d be mad too,” Corso pouted, taking another drink of his beer.
“I tried telling Matthew I wasn’t really into him — not enough to promise myself to a lifelong ‘maybe,’ anyway. He just kept on about how happy we’d be if I’d just wait till the war was over and he came back home.” Maneera shrugged. “I figured if he wasn’t listening to words, only thing I could do was show him what I meant.”
“I guess,” Corso allowed, reluctantly.
“Okay, so maybe it wasn’t the most outstandingly tactful thing I’ve ever done.” Maneera downed her shot, poured another. “But in my defense, I’ll remind you that I was A) sixteen, B) plastered, and C) crushing like mad.”
“Your fella’s cousin?” Corso smiled wistfully. It figured the kid would be a sucker for romance.
“Yeah. ‘swhy I kissed her.”
“Her?”
“Uh-huh.”
“You kissed a girl.”
“Yep.”
“After a boy just asked for your hand.”
“Pretty much, yeah.”
“On the mouth?”
“I figured I might as well go for broke. The first twenty, thirty seconds were a little awkward, seeing as I had no idea what I was doing. Ana was a fantastic tutor, though.”
“In this booth?”
Maneera nodded, then burst out laughing again as Corso scooted out to the far end of the bench, trying to shore up his delicate sensibilities with a long pull from his glass. Warm memories, questionable booze, weirding out the farmboy. Good times.
-
@Magdalane - Grace and peace be with you and your family as your son returns home. I wish him comfort and health in a swift recovery.
Seeing Miriah use her tequila-tolerating powers for good and for awesome (upwards of 17 shots? good lord) was fantastic.
@Striges - Both pieces are beautiful portraits of stepping into a legacy. In addition to the tremendous integrity that Valho and Varrel show in their moments, I love the subtle brushstrokes of cultural detail throughout.
This started out as an attempt at a second fill for last week's Do the Math but never quite managed to come together properly. So now it's a (long) bit of Family for Maneera.
Closing the Gap (Maneera Sindri, spoiler-free)
Temple Area field hospital, Coruscant. 0 ATC.
Captain Breslin walked Maneera from their cab to front doors of the repurposed office building. “You sure you don’t want me to tag along?”
“Not really,” Maneera confessed, her lips twitching up into a wry grin. “But I think I need to do this on my own, and I know I’ve kept you away from your ship way longer than I should.” Before he could reply, she added, “Besides, bedside vigil for a total stranger can’t be high up on anyone’s to-do list. Go on. I’ll be fine.”
“Okay.” The Captain nodded dubiously. “Call me if anything comes up. I’ve got the ship’s frequency forwarded to the handheld, so don’t worry about me being away from the terminal. You call.”
“Thanks, Captain.” Maneera reached out and took one of his hands in both of hers, squeezing tight. “Thank you so much.” The Captain smiled as he wrapped his free arm around her shoulders in a loose hug. Maneera pulled away quickly, darting into the makeshift hospital before she could talk herself out of it.
Inside, a young man slumped half-asleep behind a ridiculously opulent receptionist’s desk. His head snapped up sharply at Maneera’s approach, revealing the same ragged exhaustion that marked the security officer back at the spaceport. “Can I help you?” he asked, the words thick and muddy. Maneera wondered if anyone on Coruscant had managed to get in a decent night’s sleep since the attacks.
“I got a call from Doctor Ohlmak. He said one of your patients might be my mom.”
“Oh... oh!” A bright, eager grin spread over the man’s tired face as he called up records on the terminal beside him. “One of the blanks... you’re Miss Sindri? Uhmm... Maneera?”
“That’s me.”
“Wonderful.” A Mirialan woman rounded the corner to stand beside Maneera. “Doctor Ohlmak’s in surgery right now, so Doctor Seerdon will take you up to see the patient.”
“This way, please.” The doctor led the way to a waiting lift and keyed in their destination. Silence settled between them as the lift climbed — Maneera had no idea what to say, and the doctor seemed content enough to forego idle chatter. With a soft chime, the lift doors opened onto a shallow atrium. Holoportraits of business-suited men in poses of exaggerated dignity lined the walls. Doctor Seerdon was off again, leading the way at a quick walk down a short length of hall and into a large room which had been partitioned off into smaller spaces. A kolto tank stood in each section, peeking up over the shoulder-high walls. Overwhelmed, Maneera followed the doctor through the maze of cubicles until finally the doctor stopped in front of a tank and asked, her voice held carefully level, “Do you recognize this woman?”
Maneera took a step forward, pressing her hand against the glass of the tube as she peered at the woman within. She looked older now — there were grey strands threaded through the pale brown hair, and lines folded into her forehead and at the corners of her mouth — but there was no mistaking the delicate frame or the stark, angular lines of a face that was pretty when smiling and striking otherwise. “That’s my mom.”
Doctor Seerdon pulled a datapad from the side of the tank. “We’ll need her name for the records.”
“Irialle Sindri. I-r-i-a-l-l-e, S-i-n-d-r-i.”
“And sign here,” the doctor said, handing the pad and a stylus to Maneera.
Maneera scrawled out her name and returned the pad and stylus. “Is it okay if I stick around till she wakes up? I’ll keep out of the way, I just —”
“It’s alright,” Doctor Seerdon replied, her stern expression easing into something like a smile. “I’ll let the duty nurse know you’re here.”
“Thanks.”
The doctor replaced Irialle’s chart and was on her way. Maneera hitched herself up onto the edge of a cart loaded down with monitoring equipment — At least, that’s what she assumed all the graphs and charts and spiky lines meant. Hennigan hadn’t had anything even remotely like any of this. — and watched as her mother floated, still and quiet.
“I never wanted it to turn out like this,” she said at last, breaking the silence. “I really didn't. It’s just... you gave them away. First Zeezee and then Alen, you gave them away like extra kittens, and if you could get rid of them just like that... How was I supposed to stick around, knowing that’s all family meant to you?
“Sorry. I’m doing this wrong.” She sighed, leaning forward as she propped her elbows onto her knees. “When I heard about what happened here, and I saw the footage of the Temple in ruins... I knew I had to get back here, and I hoped, I had to make myself hope you were all still alive. I want to try and make things right between us. I don’t know how to start, or even if that’s really a thing we can make happen, but I have to try.”
Silence stretched out again, underscored by the steady hum of electronics and the gurgle of kolto circulating through the tank. Time stretched, too. Minutes and hours didn’t so much pass as ooze out into an unrecognizable blur. Maneera let her thoughts drift, sliding between memories of the past and worry over the present and faint hope for an unseen future.
“Maneera?”
Time focused as Maneera was startled back into the here and now. She scrambled to her feet, turning to the sound of her father’s voice. Words died in her throat as she realized how she must look to him — a scarecrow-gaunt stranger perched beside his wife like a grotesquely eager carrion bird, a sick parody of the girl he had known. “I... I’m sorry,” she murmured down at her toes. “I can explain.”
Arms wrapped around her, drawing her in close. “Seven years,” Jerec whispered. “Ashla be thanked.” After a long moment, he stepped back to look her over. His hands stayed at Maneera’s shoulders, as if afraid she’d vanish again if he broke contact. Maneera kept staring downward, feeling gawky and sixteen and heartbroken all over again. The joyous relief in Jerec’s face faded, replaced by fierce concern. “You’ve been hurt.”
“It’s just a few scars,” she replied with a carefully indifferent shrug. Bravado came easier than truth. “I think they make me look distinguished.”
“That’s not what I meant.” He tucked a hand under her chin, lifting her head gently. “Was it the man I spoke with? Breslin?”
“What? No.” Maneera shook her head. “Dad, the Captain’s been nothing but decent to me. It’s just... I did some really dumb things, after I left, but that’s all over with now. Captain Breslin’s been trying to help me get my head back on straight.” She paused, her face twisting into a bitter smirk. “Poor guy didn’t know what he was signing on for.”
Jerec’s expression gentled, but the concern was still there. “Tell me how I can help.”
“Why? Why did you send them away?” The question was out before Maneera realized it, and once started, she couldn’t stop the flow of words. “They’re yours, your very own flesh and blood, and you let the Robes take them and turn them into just a couple more hollow puppets when they should be home with family who care about them.”
“Maneera.” She hadn’t understood it seven years ago, but now she recognized the grief in her father’s voice, on her father’s face. “Your sister and brother have been granted Ashla’s gift. No matter how much we may wish it otherwise, nothing can change that.” He drew in a breath, forcing the tremor from his voice. “Part of the burden of that gift is in setting aside other ties, to wholly devote oneself to listening for the call of the Light.” At Maneera’s dubious glare, he continued, “It was hard for you, for all of us, to see Zhara and Alendar leave. But think how much worse it would have been, not just for us but for them, if they’d been old enough to grow attached, to understand what was happening to them.”
Realization sank in. “Who did they take from you?”
“Kallei. My sister. Five minutes older and so convinced I needed her to look after me.” A smile spread slowly, sorrow tempered by remembered fondness. “She didn’t manifest a full affinity for the Force till we were thirteen. Ran away three times after she was taken to the Temple. The first two times, she came back home. Mother and Father would contact her Master, let her know that Kallei was safe and sound; Master Celindra would be there within the hour to take Kallei back.”
“And the third time?”
“She didn’t come home. I... we never heard from her.”
Maneera stepped in to close the gap between herself and her father. As her head dipped to rest at his shoulder, his arms wrapped around her again. “I’m sorry, dad.”
“Shhh.” A hand patted lightly at the back of her head. “You’re home.”
-
@irishfino - I'm intrigued. As nice as it is to see Ald and the crew being a (mostly) functional family, the whole thing seems just a little... weird. Vette, Pierce, and Quinn as an effective combat team? Vette being civil to Quinn? Quinn not just noticing but actively pleased by Vette's happiness? What is this strangely endearing sorcery?
@hoyden - Throwing a friendly match that he knows the competition probably can't afford to lose? Aric is good people. Doing so by scratching on the eight? Best. Shark. Ever.
I almost, almost feel sorry for Crae. It can't be easy transitioning into humanity from the snake he's believed himself to be.
@EverSteam - The total straight-faced gravitas with which Quinn treats the enemy... err, toilet, is brilliant. I especially liked his tactical assessment of the other crew members' competence in dealing with the problem.
@thatghost -
I spy, with my little eye, someone I think might be Vector? I don't know that I would have classified him as "late-middle-aged", though.A late-middle-aged couple in the far corner was being discreet about their staring but staring they were...the man's eyes resembled black holes, spooky-familiar...but the lighting in this dive...But just... oh, Doc... I can't help but feel for him in the midst of the raw deal he's being handed here. Bad enough to know your spouse is looking elsewhere, but then to be treated as an unpleasant chore? Being mindtricked into just meekly wandering off with no promise of later discussion - without even the memory of a presence that would make that discussion necessary? That's just cold. I think I kind of want to slug Mirrigan.
-
@Magdalane - Miriah being, and allowing herself to be, absolutely silly in-love with Corso is sweet all by itself, but even more so considering all it took for them to get to that point.
@kabe - The large-scale divergences in Remi's and Scourge's outfitting of their respective safehouses worked well to highlight the points where their plans did mirror each other. And the pairs of cups at the end... beautifully done.
@Tatile - As heartbreaking as it is, it's a talk that needed to be had, I think, and I appreciate that Broan doesn't just take for granted that everything's okay now.
@hoyden - That last line... for someone usually so calculating and self-aware, I can see how the sudden realisation that he's allowed someone else to matter so deeply to him must seem like losing it.
@Eversteam - Welcome aboard! Wow... Quinn is just whole big frustrated bundle of fight-or-flight here.
I should have noticed what she was doing with her hands. You should always be aware of what a Sith is doing with them.Favourite line, and so very very true for Quinn.
@Vesaniae - A'tro's stream of consciousness here is fantastic
@Irrissa - Short but very, very poignant.
@irishfino - Aside from the obligatory spit-take — enjoying Ald's meat, indeed!
— I love the way so many of your Ald pieces have had these little moments that are light and cute on their own — here, Vette crushing on Ald — that turn around and become heartbreakingly tragic in light of later plot.
) as opposed to any particular subset thereof, I think the Order's particular application of that philosophy sucks like an Electrolux. It's that tension between ideology and practice that I keep coming back to, and that provides the driving force for this poor messed-up family I've created.
(Can we see more? 
)
Daily PO: Defeat Ossus Insectoids is not updating
in Bug Reports
Posted
Another confirmation.
It also seems to be worth noting that while Defeat Ossus Insectoids doesn't advance via the Jedi Under Siege storyline, Defeat Hutt Space Enemies does.