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irishfino

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  1. i got back in about 45 minutes ago
  2. ditto on the login service being down.
  3. Agreed. The servers should be restarted once a week whether or not there is a patch or this happens. It always happens. I don't know why they expect anything different to happen.
  4. Replies! Prompt: Heritage and Antiques Characters: Geltie and Narithia (who belongs to MilaniGrey) More Than Us
  5. Quinn was not prepared for a very angry Vette barging into his room before the ambient lighting even hinted toward dawn. He stared at her through half open eyes, his brain still fogged with sleep and, admittedly, a little too much alcohol. He sat up in his bunk and swung his legs over the edge to face her. He couldn’t find the energy to berate her for barging into his room. He needed more sleep than he had thought. “What are you going on about?” he asked blearily. “That – that guy in you wants me to find some Twi’lek named Teala and I can’t sleep because he freaks me the f*ck out!” Vette said fitfully, waving her hands around for emphasis. He rubbed his face vigorously with both hands. He obviously needed to be more than semi-conscious for this talk. Teala. He hadn’t seen her since he left for the Academy and what bad timing that had been. They had been children, really, playing an adult game, neither fully understanding the consequences. His grandfather had ripped into him something fierce when he had found out. He clearly remembered flying spittle and barks of disappointment, and, of course, a slew of what if questions forced to make him think. What if he hadn’t been the one to discover them? What if she had belonged to someone else? What if, what if, what if? It brought down the brutal reality of life in the Empire to a boy, a boy who had nothing and had already given up everything. If only he had known then what he knew now. There was always more to give and it ended with the very breath he held so dear. There was always more to give. He slouched and allowed himself to rest his elbows on his knees and let his hands dangle between his legs. Vette gave him one of those looks, a cross between intrigue and incredulity and he was close to chuckling. On a whim, something he rarely gave into, he scooted over a bit and patted the empty part of the bunk next to him. He was almost positive that, had she eyebrows, they would have touched the tops of her lekku. He finally allowed a small chuckle to escape between his slightly parted lips. He sobered when he saw she was on the verge of running. “Come sit, Vette,” he murmured. “I’m far too drunk and tired to continue looking up at you.” She inched over reluctantly before plopping down on the bed, jostling him inelegantly. He huffed another laugh then rubbed his face again. He may as well get started. He couldn’t risk losing her. She was quite literally his only friend in the Galaxy and that was far more sobering than any thought he had yet to encounter. “Teala was my… companion when I was a boy,” he said quietly. Vette tensed next to him as if waiting for the hammer to fall upon her bright blue head. “I was very ill as a child. My mother, in all her wisdom and loyalty, enrolled me in an experimental program meant to determine if it was better to create a super soldier from childhood or to simply engineer one from birth. It – I was in constant pain once everything started and my grandfather, who was often away in the field, brought back a Twi’lek girl from one of his missions. My mother had long since passed by that point and the little green girl he brought home was a welcome comfort, though she didn’t speak a lick of Basic.” He stopped talking for a brief moment and smiled wistfully. “I could not get her to say ‘Malavai’ for the life of me. She ended up calling me Lah’vay. Bastardized a perfect name, but I allowed it. As the years went on I progressed quite nicely health wise and she and I – well, I was a teenage boy and she a teenage girl.” He cleared his throat awkwardly. No need to go into detail about his sexual exploits as a teen. Or any exploits really, that was rather more personal than he liked to talk about. At this stage, at any rate. “My grandfather may have expedited my entry into the Academy in his fit of pique.” He huffed a small sigh and eyed Vette sidelong. She was looking straight at him, her brown eyes wide with obvious curiosity. He felt quite naked under her stare. “I tried to keep track of her over the years, but my work prevented me from keeping her out of trouble. Last I heard she had been forced into dancing after the massive amount of gambling debts she had accrued over the years finally caught up to her.” “Do you think she knows about… him?” Vette asked. That hadn’t occurred to him. As anyone with sense and the ability would do, he blocked out as much of the pain from the experiments as he could, focusing instead on the few brief moments of painless wonder he enjoyed. He turned to her, bringing his leg to rest bent at the knee on the bed. He felt her tense when his knee bumped her thigh then relax when she realized he meant nothing by the accidental touch. “She may,” he said simply. “Either that or he’s seeking a release he shan’t find with anyone.” Vette clicked her tongue. “Ya know, I’ve been thinking about that.” At his arched eyebrow she rushed to explain. “I thought you should talk to someone about it, ya know, like a professional.” He narrowed his eyes, nearly closing them. “Are you falling asl – never mind. It’s just something to consider. I mean, I’ve woken you up from some bad dreams, but your, uh, body, doesn’t seem to get that message, if you know what I mean. And I thought you might be able to benefit from – like real advice and not just talking to the clueless Twi’lek.” “You’re not entirely clueless,” he admitted gruffly. Vette gasped and raised a hand to her cheek and said, “Oh my stars, that was almost a compliment! Who are you and what have you done with my almost favorite stuff bastard?” “Almost?” he scoffed. She smiled. “Hey, I have more friends than you, ya know.” Then she frowned. “Are you all right, though? Really this time. And, yes, before you ask for the thousand time, I really do care so just skip it, alright?” No, he wasn’t “all right.” His life was quickly spinning from his tight and measured control. Stars above and surrounding them, he wasn’t sure how much more of this business he could take. He should be grateful, and he was on many levels, but the constant fear of Syla and the dreams reminding him of his folly and now this business with Sliver or whatever the bloody hell he called himself was quickly sending him spiraling out of his tightly controlled orbit. “I doubt I will ever be ‘all right,’ Vette,” he muttered truthfully. “That’s fair,” she said quietly. “But you can find a new normal, right?” “If I live long enough, perhaps.” Vette offered him a strange smile. “I, uh, may have looked into how much leave the average Imperial officer gets in their lifetime, and knowing you probably have never taken a vacation in your life because you’re an insane workaholic, I figured out that you probably have a year of leave built up. So, I thought that, ya know, if you’re amenable, that you should take a vacation. Ya know, get your life sorted out, talk to a professional trauma fixer, find Teala, go on a sweet adventure or somethin’. Ya know?” No, he didn’t know and no he didn’t want to leave this ship. No matter how scared he was and in spite of the dreams, he was more fearful of leaving this place and – and what? What would happen to him if he left, even for a short while? He was not one to dive headfirst into the unknown. The very thought of leaving the frightening comfort of the ship chilled every inch of him. Vette must have sensed his reluctance. She placed a gentle hand on the knee closest to him, but he stiffened and hissed at her as if her touch scalded him to the bone. She refused to remove her hand. “You don’t want to be alone, do you?” she asked. He flinched. Leave it to her to get to the heart of the matter. No, he did not wish to be alone, not anymore. “Where did you learn the word ‘amenable’?” he asked instead of voicing any of the doubts in his mind, any of the fear. “From you, ya walkin’ dictionary and you didn’t answer my question. Remember, I was found getting into a secret tomb on Korriban that no one else could for thousands of years, I can get into your mind if I want, mister.” He huffed a laugh. “You already know the answer to your question, verbalizing it does nothing.” She frowned again. “It does. Once you admit there’s a problem or something you can’t handle, you can actually go about fixing it. Yeah, I know, it’s hard to overwrite forty some years of stiff Imperial, but isn’t it time to try, at least?” He glowered at her. He had yet to hit forty, thank you very much. “I am not forty,” he said stiffly. Yes, that was the proper thing to focus on, his age. “And to answer your increasingly personal question, no, I do not wish to be alone. I do not like it, especially as the dreams increase in frequency and brutality.” “I think that’s the most honest you’ve ever been with me.” “I am fully prepared to shoot you out of the airlock.” “If I go down, I’m takin’ you with me.” “What ever for? It seems a waste, really.” “Well, I need an escort to travel almost freely in Imperial space and you won’t be alone. It’s win-win, Quinn-Quinn.” “You –” “Are totally awesome. Yeah, I know. It’s a sickness.” He shook his head. She was utterly foolish, yet the little hopeful voice in the back of his head admitted that her plan was quite well thought out, almost enticing if he really thought about it. He didn’t want to. The voice disagreed. She was offering an escape and offering to go with him. No, she wasn’t offering death or suicide, but a real, tangible way to get away from the pain encased within this ship and a chance for him to discover who he was now, instead of lamenting who he had been before he made his foolish gamble. “I will… consider your offer,” he said stiffly, almost reluctant to get the words out. “I’ll get the ball rollin’! We’ll be drinking tequila on a beach in no time!” she piped happily, patting his knee. “Or, ya know, we could try that one Chiss alcohol you mentioned that would be better enjoyed by a fire! Or we could go to Alderaan and take pictures of Killiks! Or we could, I dunno, go tease the Republic on Taris!” “Or,” he murmured, “we could go back to sleep.” “Oh. Right,” she said sheepishly, grinning at him. “I haven’t been to sleep yet. Would you mind if –” He sighed a long, suffering sigh, but the twitch of his lips and the way the corners of his eyes crinkled with mirth gave him away. “I’ll pretend it’s Hoth.” “I am not getting naked.” He laughed a full, albeit short, rich laugh before settling himself fully into his bunk and waiting for Vette to join him. She dove under the covers with an annoying vigor and he was grateful for her presence. They would both sleep a little easier. If only for a little while.
  6. <.< >.> [sneaks in; drops off fic; speeds off into the sunset] Prompt: Shopapalooza Characters: Ucles and Narithia (who belongs to MilaniGrey) Brown is So Jedi Notes:
  7. Is there a shopping prompt? I've looked over the prompt list, but I could have missed it if there was one. (There's a lot of bloody prompts, holy biscuits.)
  8. As soon as Quinn rounded the corner to his quarters, Jaesa jumped from somewhere and dragged her into the galley. She nearly screamed. So much for them being off the ship for a mission. She should have known they would stick around, waiting for her to return home after a long night’s celebration. It was with Quinn, for stars’ sake, not some hot, nubile male Twi’lek dancer. Though that would have been mighty fine, she was waiting for marriage thank you very much. After assuring the others that she was physically whole, mentally sound, and in desperate need of a hot shower, she ran to her bunk, grabbed a few items, then darted into Quinn’s quarters. He was already in his bunk, back to the door, but the door to the refresher was open in invitation. It was the only place she could get a private shower between Jaesa barging right into the stall because she wasn’t paying attention, Syla coming in to use the toilet, and Broonmark insisting on brushing his fur when the humidity of the ‘fresher would loosen knots, she barely got any showering done. It was almost comical. She complained to Quinn when he allowed her, her complaints of the week and was more than shocked when he offered his stall. With a few caveats, naturally. She didn’t have hair, so there was no risk of the drain clogging, but she was to leave no sign she was there, her soap was required to be scentless, she would clean the shower when she finished, and she was to be fully dressed when she entered and left. She recalled the conversation with clarity. She had even tried to check him for fever only to have her hand, predictably, slapped away. She stepped from the shower and set the sonic scrubber to work. It was really, really weird that Quinn had changed so much in such a short period of time. Six months didn’t seem enough for such significant changes, but, then, he had been thoroughly traumatized. And the dreams. She shivered and pulled her shirt around tighter around her body. When he could tell her what happened, they were terrible. And on the nights he couldn’t, she tried not to imagine what horrors befell him. As she shut out the light and wrapped her towel around her neck, she stepped from the refresher and prepared to leave as quietly as she had arrived. She froze in the doorway. Something was off about the room. It felt colder and looked darker than when she had entered. Icy fingers of dread gripped her stomach. She took a step back, but was yanked forward by a shadow in the darkness. She screamed and found herself screaming into a hand very insistent that she shut up this instant. She shuddered and whimpered as a strong arm wrapped around her chest just under her breasts and forced her back into a solid chest. “You shouldn’t sneak into my shower, Twi’lek,” a male voice rumbled into her ear. She almost labeled it Quinn. Almost. She wiggled against him then yanked his hand from her mouth. “It’s you, isn’t it?” “He slips into unconsciousness after one too many shots of Chiss vodka. And it’s awfully easy to manipulate him into drinking it.” He let her go and spun her around to keep her off balance. “And he never remembers what happens when he’s away.” “What do you want?” she demanded. Damned if she was going to let this thing make her cower. She may not have her blasters, but Syla and Pierce had both taught her a few hand to hand combat moves to get her out of a sticky situation. She wouldn’t hesitate to use them if need be, even if Quinn was in there somewhere. Some part of her wanted him to do something, just so she could pop Quinn a good one. “I require assistance.” “With. What,” she ground out between clenched teeth. “I need to find someone. Relieve a bit of pressure.” “Ew.” He flashed his teeth in a grin. “You wouldn’t say that if you knew and I know you’re curious.” “Again. Ew.” He chuckled at her. The sound grated on her nerves. “She’s a Twi’lek.” Vette crossed her arms. He better not be thinking that and he better not be asking her where a random Twi’lek is because she’s a Twi’lek. They didn’t all know each other, dammit. “You’re skilled in finding Twi’lek relics and hunting down Twi’leks who harbor information on said relics. I want you to find her,” he said plainly. He was up to something. Though he appeared calm and hadn’t bothered to alter his appearance in any way, she could feel… something coming from him. She couldn’t put her finger on it. It was cold, it was angry, it was in pain, but it wasn’t quantifiable. It was like an old, never healing wound that flared and pulsed constantly seeking to be felt, to be dealt with, to be healed. “She’s a green Twi’lek, about my age, she was quite small last I saw her, but she may be one hundred seventy five centimeters at this point. Mischievous and prone to getting into trouble, likely developed a dependency on alcohol, gambling, or both.” “What’s her name?” she sighed. “Teala.” “I’ll be telling Quinn about this.” “I can’t wait,” he murmured darkly. “Now get out of here.” She ran. Notes:
  9. <.< >.> Probably both. Eehee. Thanks for reading!
  10. It was a slip of the tongue. A very poorly timed, liquored up tongue that absolutely refused to listen to the part of his brain that kept it pressed between tight lips. It didn’t help matters that said part of his brain was currently floating in Chiss vodka. Damn the Red Dragon. Was it a Krayt Dragon, he wondered idly until Vette’s small blue hand slapped his chest. He coughed and tried to look affronted. He succeeded in looking drunker. “What did you mean by that?” she asked with a hiss. Narrowing eyes, drawn together brow, lips pressed into a thin frown. Not good. The very annoying male part of his brain wondered if it was her time of the month. The smart male part of his brain told the annoying part that if he so much as got that out of the mouth they wouldn’t see another sunrise again or, at the very least, wouldn’t want to as they would have been de-bollocked quite expertly by tiny, angry blue hands. “Everything. Nothing,” he murmured, shaking his head. Bloody hell he was gone. He really should drink more, build up his tolerance again. He almost missed the days in the academy when he could drink the other recruits under the table. He won many credits in those days simply because he had been underestimated due to his single minded, the mission must succeed, let’s obey our superiors attitude. The only thing that had changed since then was his tolerance. And he had a few new scars and experiences he’d rather not repeat, but mostly his tolerance. “So, because I’m not human everything is more difficult for you?” Vette snapped. He blinked owlishly. Had he really said that? No. No, he hadn’t. He said he wished she were human. It would have made things easier. What things he meant at the time he wasn’t sure. Their budding friendship, if it even was that, was his first thought. Really, he was more a parasite sucking the life out of her while she foolishly feed him and fostered a surely damaging relationship. She was sacrificing much for him: her sleep, her friendship with the lieutenant – though he could argue Pierce was rather nonplussed because it opened up time for him to bugger Syla – and, likely, her sanity. They never got along before and they continued to butt heads even now. Why she bothered, he didn’t know, but their outings as odd friends would be so much easier if she were human. “You have to be more… attentive as a Twi’lek than as a human. I saw it. I saw you. You looked around the Cantina as if waiting for slavers to come through the walls and take you away. When the bartender wasn’t paying attention, you slipped a few drops of indicator into your drinks to make sure they weren’t poisoned. You flinched when men came too close as they drunkenly ordered drinks as if you were waiting for them to make a pass or cop a feel. You carry the burden of being a desirable alien female in an Imperial world where people like you are slaves and worse.” He looked at her. Really looked at her and waited. She looked away and he knew he was right. “The reason you were not bothered… was because I was there. You can’t go out alone. You would be questioned, possibly captured, tortured and worse. And if you were to go alone, you would have to be collared again. It would be much easier if you were human.” “I’m not human and I don’t want to be,” she said firmly. He smiled ruefully. He understood more than he wanted to understand. Humans were prone to errors; errors in judgment, errors in reason, errors in humanity. He didn’t think her an error. No. Had she been someone else she, rather obviously, wouldn’t be Vette. They never would have met, she never would have spoken up for him, she wouldn’t be there to comfort him after his night terrors. She wouldn’t exist. “It shouldn’t be a requirement for me to be human just to get around this place,” she said angrily. Then she looked him in the eye. He nearly took a step back at the swirl of anger and hurt reflected. “I guess I shouldn’t be surprised you think that way. I just thought – never mind, it doesn’t matter what I think. I’m not human.” She pushed past him and made a beeline for her bunk. She didn’t want to deal with him tonight and he couldn’t blame her. “It never bothered me,” he said, loud enough for her to hear though he didn’t bother turning around. “Your being Twi’lek, that is. It was and still remains your ability to never shut up, the fact that you ask questions you know won’t be answered if only to annoy, and your damn smirk when you get what you want.” “It’s like looking in the mirror, isn’t it?” she asked and he could hear that damn smirk of hers. Damn her. He turned then to face her. He kept his face carefully controlled. Well, as carefully as a man two sheets to the wind could. “A mirror to the past.” He enjoyed the look of confusion that dented her features before he bothered to explain. “I had a companion when I was a boy.” “A ‘companion’?” she asked, crossing her arms. “I may tell you about her, but not tonight. Just know she was my only friend in the Galaxy at the time and I was innocent enough to allow myself to express my gratitude at her presence.” He didn’t need to elaborate. She knew what he meant. It was strange, this small bond between them. He tried not to question it. Never look a gift starship in the hyperdrive and all that. He did, however, wonder when it started. When she first saved him, opting to sleep by his bedside for whatever reason? When she stayed by his side every night, offering a shoulder to cry on, but understanding when he refused? Or was it the time he snapped at her, calling her all varieties of terrible things and her response had been a resounding slap? He dared not think of Hoth or his possibly lifesaving body heat or the fact that he gave up the majority of his thermal clothing and developed a nasty case of frostbite on his arse and n*pples. “You’re a really strange guy, Quinn,” she said playfully. “There are facets to my personality that you have yet to witness, parts of me I keep very carefully hidden.” “Like the other?” “He was hidden from me, not by me.” He shook his head. Now was not the time to get lost in the past or talk about the other. Surely he was already regretting telling her anything. “Shall I check on you in the morning?” She snickered. “I was going to ask if you wanted me to check on you during the night.” “You can if you wish. I tend to slip into blissful unconsciousness when I have imbibed enough.” “Then you can check on me if you wish.” She snickered again. “Stars, while some things change, some things don’t, do they?” “There is comfort in routine.” “Yeah.”
  11. Nothing is worse than Vette/Broonmark. Nothing. Not even Khem or Qyzen sex. NOTHING. NOTHIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIING! Thanks for reading!
  12. Seeds of Hope, Winds of Weird Glasses clinked together then clattered to the table as the two satisfied shot takers blew smoke through their noses then giggled at the sensation. “That’s disgusting,” Vette grumbled. She and her impromptu drinking partner were seated at the bar. “I mean, honestly, that’s just weird.” Quinn tilted his head a bit; four shots usually let out behaviors he kept tightly under wraps. He glanced away from the holodancer and looked toward the two giggling and belching smoke. “Yes, the pink and purple and blue and… is that yellow?” He squinted. “The dress is wholly distasteful.” Vette rolled her eyes and sighed. “No, the vid behind them. Seriously, the Frogdogs are terribad this season!” “Did you combine two words to somehow make the sentiment worse?” “You’re damn right I did. It’s a travesty!” “Such strong language.” “I’ll show you strong language.” Vette took a deep breath then exploded in the most inventive form of swearing he had ever heard, which was a feat in and of itself considering his life around Sith and being a military man. “Hah,” Vette laughed as her tirade ended, “the tips of your ears are pink.” He crossed his arms and straightened his back. “I cannot control that.” “No, but it means I got to you. What, didn’t expect the sweet voiced Twi’lek to fire off such a volley of explosive verbiage?” “I wish you wouldn’t eavesdrop.” “Then don’t talk so loud. Other people do try to sleep you know.” He pointed an index finger at her. “Stop taking so-called naps in the pilot’s chair.” “Where else am I supposed to sleep?” “In your bunk,” he said, punctuating each word with a thrust of his extended finger. “You have no idea how hard it is to clean the drool stains you leave in that chair.” She scoffed. “Better than your stains.” He glowered and tapped the bar in a silent order for another shot. “I’ll have you know,” he paused only to slam the shot back, “I cannot do that anymore.” “You just need the right girl to get down there and breathe some life into the ol’ equipment. And maybe blow some of that dust off.” “Oh, I’d love to give this imaginary girl something to blow, as it were, but it just doesn’t work.” “It’s not like you can try yourself.” “You better not be offering. This is already as awkward as I wish it to be.” Vette pushed his shoulder playfully. He wobbled in his seat a little more than he should have. “I am not offering nor would I ever offer to touch your wing wang.” “My what?” “Your p*nis.” He snorted a laugh. “I bet I could.” “Bet you could touch your own p*nis?” she giggled. “No. I gather I could get you to touch me in an intimate fashion of your own volition with a few simple words.” “Now I’m curious. And I hate you for it.” He flashed an uncharacteristically toothy grin. “It’s really quite simple.” He leaned over and whispered a few things in her ear. When he pulled back, his grin widened. “Now whose ears are changing color?” She rubbed her ear and muttered, “Shut up.” “I suppose that means I got to you.” “I am going to kick you in the p*nis so hard, Quinn.” “I would count it.” She rolled her eyes. “I know you would, you sick bastard. And no more tequila for you.” “It wasn’t tequila. It was a rare Vodka from Csilla. Red as Chiss eyes and just as fiery. Quite enjoyable, really. There’s a Csillan whiskey that’s just as lovely, better for drinking by the fire. And there’s a brandy a wonderfully delightful shade of the night sky that is better reserved for the prelude to private moments with another.” He looked wistful for a moment then muttered, “I have only had the Vodka outside of tasting parties.” She nodded. “Don’t worry, you’ll find the officer of your dreams and you’ll get married and make lots of Imperial babies.” “I have no desire to marry myself.” “Oh, stars, yeah, what am I thinking? Your kids would be a right terror! They would probably defeat the Republic though. By, like, age two.” “Lovely thought, foolish thinking.” “Everyone needs some foolishness now and again. Besides, it’s not all that foolish to dream. Or hope, really. I mean, it could happen. You never know. You’ll wake up some day, look over to the right and there’s your wife. Door slides open, kids come running in and jump into the bed in an Akk dog pile.” Quinn tapped the bar again when Vette sighed. “It’ll never happen, will it?” “Were you not waxing lyrical on clinging to hope?” “Yeah, but reality has a way of slapping you in the face a bit.” “That’s the alcohol,” he murmured. He pointed to her freshly poured shot then grabbed his own and raised it into the air. “To…” “Hope.” “If you insist.” They clinked their small glasses together then threw back their shots in unison. A shudder rippled through them both and they laughed at the synchronicity of it all. The smallest seeds of hope could flower in even the stiffest gardens.
  13. A Million Ways There were many things Quinn did not understand about Vette. She was aloof, but serious. She valued Twi’lek artifacts and would pursue them to the ends of the Galaxy. She spoke up for a man she did nothing but irritate to see his reaction. Now she was trying to be his friend or some approximation of a friend. He doubted they would ever be true friends. He didn’t have friends. He had colleagues, superiors, idiots under his command, but never friends. He didn’t have time for them. He hadn’t since he was a child. He realized too late that a friend, a true friend, would help him in his time of need. What he needed now was his blaster back. Or his knife. Either one would get the job done, but he didn’t have access to them. Vette was insistent that he not have either item unless they were off the ship. He knew why and he hated it. He hated knowing his weakness was on display for all to see. He pushed such maudlin thoughts to the back of his mind as he took inventory in the Cargo Bay. This area of Broonmark’s area and the Talz made it known that he was not welcome here. He knew. He knew he wasn’t welcome on this ship. He knew his presence was tolerated because of the lengths Syla would go through to replace him. He wasn’t a rare officer, but measuring his intelligence and ability against his rank gave him more flexibility than others of similar skill. Those others had moved on, been promoted, had a wonderful career. Careers that he envied. Careers that he desired. He would still be subject to the whims of the Sith in such a career path, there were no careers where one wasn’t, but he wouldn’t be as confined as he is now. He wouldn’t be as watched as he is now. He hated the feeling of their eyes boring into his body, pulling at him, exposing the weak meat beneath the durasteel shell. They felt worse than lightsabers at times. He hated it. Even with his hate and his thoughts of completing what Syla started, he did his job. He took inventory of everything in the cargo hold, including the carefully unmarked and unaddressed package in the far corner conveniently hidden behind tall stacks of boxes. No one would see him there if they looked in and it was unlikely they would look for him until after. He set his inventory report to send in one hour. That would give him enough time to assemble what was in the package and prepare himself for what was to be done. His report sent exactly one hour later. Vette found it strange it took Quinn such a long time to run an inventory of the cargo in the hold. Not much had changed. There was something delivered about a week ago, but otherwise – her thoughts stopped. He wouldn’t have. She made an excuse to Pierce for an early end of the Sabaac game and ran off to the hold to find him. When she entered the hold it was quiet and he was nowhere in sight. She looked around, checking behind every crate to find him. As she made her way to the back of the hold, she grew frantic. “It shouldn’t be this hard,” she heard Quinn say. She stopped and pressed her back into the tall stack of crates he was hidden behind. “It’s just a blaster.” She wanted to run around the corner and yell at him or tackle him to stop him from what he was doing, but scaring him could end badly. Very badly. Slowly, she poked her head around the corner. He was kneeling on the floor with a blaster in his hand. She couldn’t stay quiet. “Hey,” she said quietly. She expected him to jump or shout or at least look at her. He did nothing. “Quinn?” she asked, her voice a little louder this time. He kept his face carefully controlled as he looked up. “You are the last person I want to see right now.” “That hurts, Quinn,” she quipped. She wished she was lying. “What are you doing?” “I was in the process of assembling a blaster.” “Yeah, I can see the blaster, Quinn.” She sighed softly. “Did you order it?” “What a foolish question.” “What a foolish order.” “You have no boundaries, do you?” he asked. He quickly finished with the blaster and placed it back into its case. “I can order what I like, when I like. I can carry my weapons at all times as I am always on duty. Whatever your end goal is, Vette, I will find my own way to accomplish my tasks. I will not be stifled by the likes of you with your misguided attempts at saving my life and becoming my friend.” He grabbed the case by its handle and stood. “Return my blaster and my knife to me.” She opened her mouth to respond, but he quickly shoved the case into her chest and left the hold. She caught the case before it fell and sighed. That man was a mystery. He wanted to live. He wanted to die. He wanted to be friendly. He wanted to be left alone. He had more mood swings than a pregnant woman. She wanted to help him, but it was clear he didn’t want her help. Maybe he’d listen to Jaesa. Vette made her way to her bunk, case still clutched to her chest, and sat down. She didn’t know why he gave the case over without so much as a fight. She didn’t think he had given up. No, he still wanted his own blaster and knife back. Was he making a trade? That seemed a bit silly, really, they were his things. She set the case down on the bed and stared at it. If it wasn’t a trade, what was it? Her curiosity was getting the better of her and he had given her the case he had to have known she would open it. Yes. Yes, he knew. He wanted her to open it. Yep. That was it exactly. So she did. She was stunned for a few moments as she stared at the contents. Inside the plain, silver case nestled in the softest silk she had ever seen sat two blasters. Identical in every way and assembled with great care, these twin blasters begged her to hold them, to care for them, to use them. She carefully removed one and gave it a closer look. It was beautiful. Every inch of the blaster was custom made to specific orders. But the grip stood out the most to her. It was orange and textured for a sure hold, but it also had an image etched into the surface. The image was of the little glowing guardian she had given to him when she first took his blaster and vibroknife. It was a small thing, so small he may not have realized the significance of the gesture, but it made her feel inexplicably warm inside. She smiled to herself as she studied the other blaster. They were exact copies in every way. She moved to place the blasters back into their case when she noticed a small flimsy in one of the fittings. She set the blasters next to the case and picked up the flimsy. “Happy birthday,” it read. It was a simple message, written with great attention to the form of each letter, but its impact was far more than simple. She knew he would be in the medical bay taking his daily inventory at this time while munching away on a ration bar. She tried to convince him to eat a normal meal during his shift, but he made excuses about time and brushed off her concerns. At least he was eating. She moved further into her bunk, pulled a wrapped object from her false panel on the side of the bed then made her way to the medical bay. She passed Pierce who was now locked in battle with Broonmark at the HoloChess table. Those two were the strangest pair of friends she had ever seen. She didn’t include herself and Quinn in the “Strangest Friends in the Galaxy” contest due to the fact that the man did not consider her a friend. The wonderful birthday gift notwithstanding, he didn’t like her. She entered the ‘bay and went straight to Quinn’s side. “It’s not humanly possible for you to be hungover at this hour,” he said stiffly. He continued his inventory without glancing at her. She wondered how he developed those eyes in the back of his head. She set the wrapped item on the counter. “Here. And it’s not because you gave me such a thoughtful birthday present or that you knew it was my birthday. It’s more…” she paused then continued her thought quietly. “It’s more that you had the chance in the hold to – to, ya know, end it. And, well, you didn’t, so here’s an extension of my trust.” “They were mine to begin with.” “Not my trust.” He sighed through his nose. “Don’t get huffy, it’s true. I never trusted you. You just had that look to you and you were too perfect. I mean, come on, Baras is vocal about you being indebted to him then you show up in the hangar of your supposedly own freewill? Too convenient. I tried to tell Syla, but she already had her crush on you.” “Thank. You. Vette,” he said stiffly, biting at each word as it passed his teeth. “It’s true. And you already know that I spoke up when Syla was slowly killing you because of the effect it would have had on her. I didn’t really care if you lived or died.” “Vette,” he ground out between clenched teeth, “I am taking inventory.” “Yeah, I know. Look. I know we didn’t get along in the past and, until recently, I didn’t really care about you outside of trying to piss you of all the time, but, ya know, after everything happened and it turned out you are, in fact, human and have fears and dreams and such, I, uh – what I’m trying to say is – this is hard.” She turned toward him, but kept her gaze pointed toward the floor. “Thank you for – for the blasters. They’re a really thoughtful gift and it surprised me that you could be so… thoughtful.” He set his datapad on the counter and turned to face her. “Vette, you have interrupted my inventory of the medical bay supplies. You have insulted me repeatedly in a short period of time. You have questioned my humanity and now I am questioning my sanity. You have said your thank yous. You can leave now.” She wasn’t sure what possessed her to do it, but it was too late. She lunged at him, hugged him for a few stunned moments then ran from the medical bay. She kept running until she found the safety of her bunk. She dove into her bunk as if it were the greatest cover in the world then pulled the shutter closed. What was she doing? Hugging Quinn? Had she gone mad? Yes. She had to have gone mad. Or, or better yet, she had been rendered temporarily insane by receiving a gift from someone she was sure didn’t give a damn whether she lived or died. But, then, that wasn’t exactly true. He did give a damn. He gave a damn so much he lent her his body to keep her warm. She shuddered. That sounded strange. That sounded wrong. That sounded like – she sighed in frustration and tugged at the tips of her lekku. It was a bad habit she turned to when she was upset or nervous, but it was calming. Damn. What was she going to do? How was she going to explain to Quinn that she didn’t meant to hug him? Why would she hear shouting in the Galley? Shouting. Damn! She drew back the shutter, grabbed her new blasters, and ran into the Galley. Pierce was hovering over Quinn, who was on the floor holding his jaw. “What’d you say to her, Quinn? Eh!?” Pierce asked, half shouting. She stopped in her tracks. Nothing. He had said nothing. It was her. She had ran away because she had hugged him. And now Quinn was being punished for it. “Hey!” she shouted. Pierce turned his head to face her. “I’m not some damsel in distress in need of rescuing, Pierce! Next time, try asking me what happened instead of flying off the handle and cold cocking innocent people.” “I didn’t mean it like that,” Pierce rumbled. “Then how did you mean it?” she asked as she moved to Quinn’s side. Pierce took a step back and allowed her to fuss over Quinn. He let her. “It doesn’t look too bad.” Quinn stayed quiet, choosing to keep his eyes focused on the floor. She had come to his side again to protect him. Was this what it was like having a friend? He saw Vette stand out of the corner of his eye. He didn’t want to look at her. He was still reeling from being hugged. The punch didn’t bother him, people punched him in the face with far more regularity than he would prefer to admit to, but the hug was so far removed from what he was used to he was sure his head would be spinning for days. “We’re not going out for drinks tonight, Pierce,” she said, crossing her arms. “Eh? It’s your birthday, we always go out for drinks on your birthday,” Pierce protested. “Not this year, Pierce.” She turned her attention to the still sitting Quinn. “What’d’ya Quinny Quinn Quinn? I need a drinking buddy and you look like you need a drink.” Pierce scoffed. There was no way he would agree to it. What sort of game was she playing? He wouldn’t be jealous of her offer to Quinn, their relationship wasn’t like that. It didn’t matter, Quinn would say no and Pierce would end up going with her anyway. “Yes,” Quinn said with surprising firmness. He pulled himself up and looked Pierce in the eye. “I will accompany you on one condition.” Vette blinked. “What?” “No Hutt Tequila.” Vette laughed and clapped him on the shoulder. “It’s a deal. I’ll let Syla know plans have changed.” She steered him back to the medical bay by his shoulder. “You finish up that inventory.” Once Quinn was back in the medical bay, Vette pressed an adhesive cold pack to his cheek then left him to his work. He didn’t mind her leaving him to his work, but her actions confused him. Coming to his defense without being asked, tending to his injured jaw, letting him work in silence. He was almost positive that this was friendship. He wasn’t sure if he considered her a friend, but she obviously considered him one. It was strange. What she said earlier was true. They never got along before and her motive for talking Syla into sparing him was purely selfish: she didn’t want her friend to suffer. And he wasn’t the friend. He didn’t mind then. He was far too out of it to know what was happening to him, but his return to the ship signaled significant changes in his life including his budding friendship with Vette. There was something else he couldn’t quite put his finger on. It didn’t matter now. He had a friend. That thought amused and terrified him.
  14. Never Eat the Worm Vette was sweating blaster bolts. She never felt like this after a night of drinking with Pierce. There was the one time they sprung for Rodian food, but she wasn’t sure if she could actually blame the food or the amount of alcohol in her stomach. Etiher way, Quinn chewed her up and spat her out when she stumbled into the medical bay and promptly covered his uniform in bright orange vomit. It reeked of strong spices and stale alcohol. He burned that uniform. Which probably didn’t help with the smell. She stumbled her way from the couch near the holoterminal into the medical bay where Quinn was taking his daily inventory. She heard him sigh, whether it was purposely loud or he had let himself slip, she didn’t know. She did know the look on his face as he turned around was one of pure annoyance. She gave him a shaky smile, a nervous laugh then shuffled her way to a bed. He waited until she was on the bed and lying down before going to work. There were days where he hated his job. Being a servant to the Empire was a trying endeavor at best when one was subject to the Sith, but he was subject to the Sith’s slave turned friend. He may not have minded so much if the situation were different, if say he hadn’t been under Baras’ employ and had to choose between death and death. At least Syla’s killing style was somewhat quick and painless, was his thought. It turned out to be anything but. It was too soon to be able to put this behind him, so he worked. He found ways to avoid her, ways to communicate with her without being in the same room, and ways to help her in battle without actually having to watch her fight. Those red blades were seared into his corneas, into his dreams, into his flesh. He remembered every detail. Every time those blades slashed through the air, slashed through bone and flesh, they hummed as if singing him to his grave. And it would have been the end of him if not for the annoyingly drunk Twi’lek lying in his medical bay. As Quinn continued his thoughts and his scans, Pierce lumbered into the ‘bay and over to a cabinet. “Take two,” Quinn said stiffly. Any more and the man would throw off his inventory. Again. Perhaps he did it on purpose. “Need three or four. Hutt Tequila,” Pierce replied gruffly. Quinn sighed through his nose. “Take five. Two now, one when you eat next, and two before bed.” “Yes, Doctor Quinn,” Pierce replied with mock dutifulness. If there was one thing Quinn hated about that man, it was his penchant for mocking those above him in authority. If he wanted to get well, he’d listen, otherwise, he’d be right back in the medical bay whining over an upset stomach. Quinn shook his head and turned his attention back to Vette in time to see her grabbing for him. She was faster than he thought she would be and so was her tongue down his throat. It wasn’t a bad feeling, he rather liked the softness of her lips. Had she been anyone else, anywhere else, he might have gone along with it. As it was, he was disgusted and sick to his stomach. He quickly wrenched her hands from his uniform and her mouth from his and ran to sink. He hunched over the sink as he coated it with the contents of his stomach. “That’s disgusting, Quinn,” Pierce rumbled. He agreed. Very much so. As he reached for a towel to wipe his mouth he noticed something moving inside the sink. Quickly he grabbed a container from the cabinet overhead, pulled a pair of tweezers from a drawer then snagged the wiggling thing and dropped it into the jar. “Is that the worm?” Pierce asked as he loomed over Quinn’s shoulder to get a better look. Quinn nodded then spat something into the jar. “Is that a karking egg!?” “Yes, Lieutenant,” Quinn replied stiffly. He capped the container and twisted the lid tightly. “Don’t you know, you’re never supposed to eat the worm?” “I didn’t, Vette did.” “Yes, and in her delirium she grabbed me, kissed me, and passed her wonderful friend to me.” Pierce laughed for a few moments then sobered when Quinn turned his head and fixed him with a deadly glare. “This is serious, Lieutenant,” Quinn said, his voice cold with rage. “These are parasites that breed quickly enough to kill a person in twenty four hours. Inform our Lord we need to redirect to the nearest planet with an Imperial hospital.” Pierce blinked then ran out of the ‘bay yelling for Syla. He quickly got to work on a temporarily solution, one that would break the cycle of breeding long enough for the two of them to receive treatment. Times like these made him wonder where he went wrong with his life. Was it upsetting Broysc’s pride? Was it accepting Baras’ offer? Was it clinging to life as Syla carefully tore him to pieces? He didn’t know if he should be happy he was alive. After all, that meddlesome Twi’lek saved his life only to shove a parasitic worm down his throat after a night of binge drinking with the Lieutenant. He swirled the finished product in its beaker and stared at it. It was the brightest green he had ever seen and it smelled vaguely of burnt grass and mint. He wasn’t looking forward to drinking this nor was he looking forward to coaxing Vette into drinking it either. Perhaps if he told her it was a Swamp Shot she would drink it without hesitation. It was worth a try at least. He poured a dose for Vette and one for himself into two small dosage cups. They looked enough like shot glasses for his ruse to work. He was able to convince her to sit up and that it was, in fact, alcohol in the small cup, but everything nearly fell apart when he mentioned he would be drinking the second “shot” in his hand. “I am trying the ‘loosening up’ thing you mention constantly,” he said smoothly. “Wow, you really do listen to me,” she replied with the sincerest astonishment he had ever heard from her. She must still be drunk. “Bottoms up!” Vette slammed her dose back then shuddered, coughed, asked just what in the void that was then fell back onto the bed, unconscious. Quinn drank his as quickly as possible, straightened Vette’s head and lekku on her pillow then tidied up the ‘bay while he waited for the ship to dock with the nearest planet with an Imperial hospital. He had to admit he was quite surprised that two so-called connoisseurs of alcohol didn’t know to never drink the worm.
  15. The long and short of it is: Malavai Barnabus - given his grandfather's first name as a middle name - is the Quinn we all know and lovethe. Malavai Sartus is Gelt's birth name. Quinn didn't want his son to bear his name, but, after all the children they had lost, he found it insensitive to deny Jaesa her wants. MBQ + JW = MSQ I'll cover why Gelt goes by Gelt in a future chapter.
  16. [sneezes] Why Can't I Hate You He calls for Halle after exploring that memory. That memory. He felt it. His mother’s pain, her sorrow, her feeling of loss, her emptiness. Then he felt his father’s pain and grief for his wife’s suffering. It is hard to accept. It’s hard to hate him right now and he so very badly wants to hate him. He kicks the unconscious man in the ribs. His father. Malavai Barnabus Quinn. He is dead. Declared dead some time ago. He can’t remember how many years it’s been other than too many. Halle comes in all red hair and green eyes and immediately focuses on the man on the floor. She’s a good sort. He likes her. Talos found her at a dig or, rather, she found him. She had been looking for him specifically for some reason or another. Blah, blah, Sith tombs and artifacts. “He’s unconscious,” he says. Halle rolls her eyes. “Obviously, Occ. What do you want me to do?” “Stim him conscious.” She does as she’s told then moves away as the man on the ground slowly comes to, groaning and wincing in pain. “Anything else?” “Mm, you could wait for me in my chambers.” “Haha.” She leaves the two of them alone. Gelt crosses his arms and watches as his father struggles to sit up. Once he does, he’s greeted by a jolt of lightning. His scream of pain is utter delight to Gelt’s ears. “What do you want?” his father asks, his voice hoarse from his pained shouts. “I want my mother back. I want my family back. I want my life back,” he replies without shouting this time. “You think you’re the only one?” He braces himself as best he can as he shakes his head. “I’ve seen terrible things, done terrible things trying – trying to get you back. It was never enough. Never good enough. Never enough money. Never enough – anything. No matter how much I wanted you back, no matter how much – how much I loved you… nothing. And your mother – your mother died to protect us. She went so far as to use one of those damn Jedi mind tricks and it worked because I was weak for her. She was – she was everything until you finally came along.” He wants to hate him. “What was her command?” “Protect Malavai.” Malavai is both of them. Was both of them. He’s Sartus now and his father is Ucles. There is no going back. It’s a painful thought that strikes him in the chest and tightens his throat. Nothing he does now will right the Galaxy. He can’t have what his life would have been, he can’t have what his family would have been, he can’t have his mother and he barely has his father. He calls for Talos this time then leaves his father hunched in the middle of the room. He needs to think. He needs to be somewhere else. He needs a good fight. A good fight always cleared his head. He finds Khem outside and challenges him to a fight. “This time, I will eat you, little Sith,” Khem rumbles. Gelt shakes his head and smirks. Khem was always a sore loser.
  17. <.< >.> [cough; hack] So much dust. [cough; hack] Thanks for reading! [achoo!]
  18. Too late. Like a moth to flame, I am drawn to it.
  19. Now that's a banana hammock I can get behind. And in front of. To the side... All over. Mm, yes.
  20. The patch notes take so long to post because there is such hilarity contained within. <3
  21. No, both young ladies looked up the codes and could not find them. My husband went on a separate occasion and spoke to an employee we are quite familiar with, with the same results: they did not have them. As I do not work at GameStop, I cannot double check myself and they are not listed on their online website.
  22. Oh, thank the stars I'm not the only one. My poor male Chiss Agent tried to go undercover as a dancer and nearly had his cover blown because of this! This needs to be fix yesterday, BioWare!
  23. GameStop no longer sells the Cartel Coins. I went there the other day to get a code and they said they received one "shipment" of codes and that was it.
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