irishfino
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Posts posted by irishfino
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Prompt: Pimp My Stories
Most of my stories have started here in the Short Fic thread then spun off to become something... barely readable. But fun.
A very serious story that started out as an exploration into what would happen to Quinn if he suffered from PTSD. Quinn sets off on a journey to become whole again. Jaesa tags along and his weird grandfather, Barnabus, helps them out.
Hindsight picks up on the life of a young man named Geltie and a Bounty Hunter named Ucles. Geltie goes through the motions of being a Darth, a former slave, and a human being who happens to be Sith. Ucles and Geltie cross paths amicably until a secret past is revealed and all hell breaks loose.
A very silly story I started as a break from the seriousness that was NSP. A good chunk of the start came from silly bits that didn't quite fit with NSP.
It's a vignette story with plenty of Quinn being teased by his wife and crew. A plot appears later on because, well, characters do what they want.
From Brute to Silly: the Life of Ald
Ald is ditched in the jungle when he's young by parents who cannot handle a destructive Force-sensitive child. Ald is snagged as an apprentice then goes on to be the Wrath. Naturally, he meets Quinn. They have conference table sex.
Silly warrior meets stiff Quinn meets some serious moments meets comedy meets "oh no she di'n't." A good time for all.
The Misadventures of Mischievous Malavai
A very short lived spin off from NSP. Just silly silliness involving Quinn and his child self.
Another short lived thread. Responses a character would say to the silly things our companions say to us.
Ninety Seven Percent: Lekku Effect
An alternate universe in which Vette is the one to help Quinn instead of Jaesa. So far, it's deviated quite nicely from the main NSP storyline.
Rarh, this exercise has shown me how little I've updated some of my threads. Sad face. Ah, well, I hope the writing bug will bite me again soon.
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I was having some issues getting back into the game from a fix posted here. A little google searching popped up a site with this bioware post that fixed it and got me back into the game: http://www.swtor.com/community/showpost.php?p=6087771&postcount=2
Good luck everyone.
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What server are you on?
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Wow, it's been a long time since I've come up with any QQQ madness. I usually thank everyone individually, but I'll have to do a sweeping THANK YOU to everyone who has commented and to those who have read, but not commented. I would blow kisses, but eww air cooties.
This one is very, very, very short, but it got a few laughs, so here you are!
"This book is the filthiest book I have ever read," Quinn murmured, arching a brow at the contents of his datapad.
"What are you reading?" Athra asked.
"Military codes."
"You are broken."
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Not a single response?
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At long last, replies!
One sure way to work Narithia into a righteous fury is killing someone she was very close to, lol.Whoops.
@Irishfino: Oh, I'm loving the Geltie series with Narithia!!!
I'm glad you're loving it! And it's better than McDonald's! (I've got jokes!)
@Irishfino, ah, I see what you mean with Azasha still having a part to play. I love that it all seems to be part of a bigger plan. Let’s get the popcorn!
I'll get the air popper!
I think I got everyone who commented on my story. If I missed you, I'm really, really sorry.
I haven't had much time to write lately because I've been in and out of the hospital, but I have had time to read and I've enjoyed everything I've read.
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I get 22 mails. I have the CE, special pets from the cartel coin deals you buy in stores, Founder stuff, Hutt Cartel, Fireworks, Risen title. Lots of stuff, heh.
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A good rule in any Guild is when you see another player being asked to stop a behavior, from an Officer or another Guildie, do not step in unless you are directly involved. Once you involve yourself in a situation, you have opened yourself up to consequences.
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I'm not happy about this at all.
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Narithia batting her eyelashes.
*laughs away into the sunset*
I blame a certain set of genes. You know the ones. Eeheeheee.
Prompt: Enemies, Rivals, and Nemeses
Characters: Narithia (who belongs to MilaniGrey) and Geltie
Time frame: The Siege of Tython
Push
Tython was burning.
He enjoyed the thought of it and wondered, however briefly, why the Sith chose to sit on such knowledge. They had heard of Tython. All of them. They had spies planted amongst the Jedi. All of them. And yet there they sat on their arses bickering over planets to attack or whining over the planets the Republic had taken back. What was the point in waiting? Why waste the lives of Sith and Imperials alike when Tython was ripe for the plucking?
They listened. And Tython was burning.
The planet was filled with the newest Padawans and some of the most skilled Jedi he had ever encountered. The closer they came to the Jedi Temple, the harder it became to gain ground until they were at a standstill just outside the doors. He didn’t mind the brief stalemate and he would ensure it was brief. This was what he lived for: the thrill of battle. He almost wished Malgus was here. He would love to see him fighting Shan. As it was, Malgus was nowhere in sight, but Shan was. He wouldn’t be able to get to her, of course, not if Marr had his way which he most likely would, but it didn’t matter. There were plenty of Jedi to go around and go around they did.
Padawan after Padawan, Master after Master, he cut his way through the defensive force until a golden fury attacked him. He was stunned at first. He had fought enough Jedi to know when shrouded in the light side of the Force they tended to glow a golden white, but he hadn’t fought a Jedi quite as angry as this one. She glanced at the fresh corpse on the ground for but a moment before charging at him, white hair whipping the air as she rushed toward him.
He studied her movements as she engaged him in battle. She used a double-bladed saber with long practiced ease. She was swift and sure in her attack. He marveled at her skill and her calm despite her obvious grief and anger. He studied her attack for a few moments too long as evidenced by his sudden view of the clear blue skies over Tython. She quickly blocked his view and prepared to end him.
Something about her face snapped a memory to the forefront of his thoughts.
“Potato salad,” he murmured.
Her blade stopped and her eyes widened. Then she was gone. He rushed to his feet to find her only to be met with the chaos of battle. She had disappeared. He briefly wondered if she would be taken alive. It didn’t matter now. He sped back into the battle for Tython pushing all thoughts of the white-haired Jedi out of his mind. For now.
Notes:
Eeehh, I feel weird about this one. I'm no good at writing action or action like things or things explaining that action totally happened believe me please I swear.
Blah.
Thanks for reading.
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[record scratch] Replies!
*incoherent flailing*Eeheeheee!
@Irish: Rigged pit-fighting sounds about right. I also continue to enjoy the descriptions of Azasha.
Geltie is pretty familiar with rigged pit fighting, having fallen victim to it plenty of times himself.
Azasha's existence continues to amuse and appall me.
@Irish: Nooo! No more Azasha? Awww. Be interesting to see how she gets her revenge though.
Oh, Azasha isn't gone yet. You'll see.
@Irishfino, Ooh, that’s an interesting way to get rid of Azasha. Look forward to seeing Narithia settle in with Gelt.
Azasha still has her role to play. MAUAHHAHAAHAHAAAAH! [cough; hack]
Thanks for reading everyone!
Gather 'round, folks. It's story time!
Prompt: Worlds Colliding
Characters: Narithia (who belongs to MilaniGrey), Geltie, and a very brief Quinn appearance
Dual Disarming
There weren’t many things that bothered Gelt, but the silent ride back to his Estate unnerved him. It wasn’t the silence itself, but Narithia’s remarkably calm exterior. It shouldn’t have surprised him, she was a Jedi after all, but it did and he felt all the stranger.
After Altansk parked the speeder in the vehicle hangar, Gelt decided to show Narithia her new home. Altansk protested. He was the servant here, not Gelt. Even as a Pureblood, he knew his place and that was assisting his Master in matters most trivial. Gelt waved him off, ordered him to take a break and visit with Talos for a while, and left with an obedient Narithia in tow.
Gelt’s estate was a comfortable size. It was neither too large nor was it too small and the furnishings within gave the appearance of luxury without effort or extreme cost. It was a home rather than a place to store shiny bits and baubles.
Their last stop was the medical bay.
He motioned for her to sit on one of the beds. “My father will be handling your exam,” Gelt said conversationally. Narithia arched a brow and he smothered a smirk. “Or I could have Talos do the exam. He has soft hands.”
“Are your only medics male?” Narithia asked calmly.
He smirked. “Of course.”
“Very well.”
He hid his disappointment at her blasé acceptance of the situation. Truth be told he wanted confirmation of her status as a human, not just a Jedi. He had stolen bits and pieces of it before on the battlefield and when he took her for himself. He wanted more. He wondered if she knew. There was no possible way for her to know, unless she knew more of him than she let on. She might have. Ravage was a chatter in the bedroom according to Gelt’s well-placed informants. And that, of course, was the main reason for the exam.
He crossed his arms as she settled herself onto a bed. She crossed her legs at the ankle and placed her hands in her lap. She was calm. Her calm unnerved him. He didn’t know why.
“Father will be in shortly,” he said stiffly.
“I have nothing to do but wait,” she replied.
He scowled at her. “Tell me, Jedi, what made you stop the last time we met?”
“During the Imperial siege of Tython, you mean?”
He nodded sharply.
“You said something that… reminded me of something,” she said quietly.
“Potato salad?” Her face burned brighter than a traditional red lightsaber blade. He grinned, bearing his teeth and said, “So you do remember.”
She stared at him in confusion and opened her mouth to speak when Quinn entered the room. Father and son spoke quickly and quietly before Gelt departed to give her some semblance of privacy during her exam. Though he wondered how much privacy one had when one’s legs were up in stirrups while someone poked and prodded around your bits. And not in the fun way. He shook his head to clear such strange thoughts.
After her exam, Narithia reported to his office as requested. In truth, he had her health report in his hands. He knew everything. Nearly everything. There was one bit of information that piqued his interest.
“Ravage never touched you?” he asked, slamming head first into the topic he was so curious about. It was as if he had no idea what tact was.
Narithia choked.
“It seems no one ever touched you.”
“I am a Jedi,” she replied stiffly.
“You were a Jedi, you are no longer.” He glanced at a screen on his desk. “Lucky you only a scan was needed to confirm that little tidbit of information.”
“It kept things from getting awkward,” she replied with a small smirk.
“Cocky little girl, aren’t you?”
“Never.”
“Tell me how you avoided Ravage’s bed.”
“It was rather simple. He wanted to use me for fighting. I argued that taking me to his bed would only exhaust me which could lead to mistakes during my bouts. He seemed a bit put out, but accepted my argument without much resistance.”
He arched a brow. “That can’t have been your only argument.”
“I may have… used my looks to my advantage.”
“How would one use their looks to their advantage when avoiding coitus with one such as Ravage? Does that not defeat the purpose of the entire endeavor?”
Narithia tilted her chin down and batted her eyelashes at him. “I’m just so…” she sighed dramatically, “…tired after my fights. Won’t you let me rest in preparation for the next one?”
Small splotches of pink appeared under Gelt’s freckles. “And that worked?”
“It’s working right now.”
“Touché.”
After speaking further on Ravage’s sexual habits, ways to disarm him, and other minor matters, Gelt showed her to her room. He was sure to arrange a room with a bed, a sitting area, a desk, and its own attached refresher. He didn’t want Narithia to think herself as a slave or a pit fighter. If she was anything to him, she was an apprentice.
When he returned to his office, he checked in with Azasha. Ravage was quick to take her to his bed. She was eager to tell Gelt of her exploits in Ravage's bed, but he made his excuses of "Ew, that's disgusting" and "What the kark is wrong with you?" She huffed a bit and gave her brief report. She didn’t have any new information for Gelt now, but she promised she would before the week was out.
Notes:
Aren't Sith fun?
Thanks for reading!
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Rocket Punch.
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[blows the cobwebs off the keyboard]
Prompt: Changing Paths or Paying the Piper
Characters: Geltie, Ravage, and Narithia (who belongs to MilaniGrey)
An Easy Trade
Gelt was never one for forcing slaves to fight for profit. If he thought on it, he didn’t wish to force slaves to fight for any reason, not even their lives. It wasn’t worth it to him. Of course, he was often alone with such thoughts as he watched these shows. Still, he came when he wanted and interfered as he wished. Very few had enough sway to challenge a Darth taking a beaten slave for whatever his purposes were. Said purposes were often questioned and accompanied by lewd rumors of sexual servitude, but he was no deviant.
Today’s fight was, again, between some captured Jedi and some rising Sith Apprentice. He wondered if the Apprentice thought himself above the captured Jedi. He likely did, but he, too, was a slave. He was a slave to his master, a slave to the Emperor, and a slave to the Force. A slave was a slave was a slave. The lights in the arena flickered brighter as the lights over the crowd dimmed. Gelt would bother with semantics later, the fight was starting.
And there she was, that gorgeous white-haired Jedi who had nearly driven her saber through his chest when they first met. It was love at first sight. She was calmer now, but he would recognize the fire in her presence anywhere. The announcer shouted who they were: Jedi Slave Twelve and Apprentice Yerni and the crowd went wild. She smiled calmly and mouthed something. He knew what it was. It was her name. Narithia.
When the signal was given, the Sith charged first. They always did. But the Jedi, no, Narithia, stayed calm. She drew the crummy vibrosword that always shorted out at the right moments and worked it as if it were a top of the line model. He enjoyed watching her graceful flips, her calm and sure attacks and deflections. She either wasn’t allowed much Force use or had been drugged in some way, but, when she could manipulate the Force, she was as calm and sure as she had always been. She was a beacon of light and serenity and he found himself drawn further into her warmth.
When the Apprentice had all but lost the fight, Narithia’s sword shorted out. That’s how it went. She would be on the verge of victory only to be struck down because of a “malfunction.” Gelt hated how rigged everything was. Still, he put his credits on her. He believed in her ability to overcome this madness.
Gelt watched her twirl her useless blade as she waited for the final blow to come. For the briefest of moments he swore she looked over at him. A flicker of eyes perhaps, or just his imagination. Perhaps she had noticed him sitting in the very first row. Perhaps she had felt his staring or, oddly enough, his belief that she would squash this peon. She didn’t disappoint him. As the long awaited final blow came and the crowd waited with baited breath and betting slips ready to be sent for collection, Narithia was nothing if not calm. Then the ground quaked. The Apprentice stumbled in his charge and, when he had finally regained his footing, he found himself under a rather large boulder of metal and rock. The crowd was stunned into silence for all but a moment then erupted in rage filled shouts and thrown cups and bottles. Gelt laughed. He had likely bankrupted the entire arena, but the credits mattered little to him.
After the raging crowds had left and started a minor riot that was squashed as thoroughly as Yerni, Gelt went under the arena to the slave holding cells. He found her meditating in the very last cell.
“I remember you,” she said softly as he approached, “from the crowd.”
He faced the cell and was surprised to find her eyes focused on him. Sharp, calculating, and a most pleasing shade of aquamarine studied him without betraying a thought. He arched a brow, but stayed silent.
“Have you come to kill me?”
He blinked hard. In moments like these, the calmness of Jedi disturbed him. Any normal creature feared death. Jedi were not normal creatures.
“Who is your owner?” he asked.
“He calls himself Ravage,” she replied, still staring at him.
Of course it was Ravage.
“Are you interested in her, Occulus?” Ravage asked from the doorway.
It was always Ravage.
Gelt sighed through his nose. “What do you want, Ravage?”
“Zash, of course.”
“Of course.” He should have known Ravage was up to something.
Ravage barked a laugh. “That was easy.”
Gelt smirked. Of course it was easy. Azasha, as he called her, had been a thorn in his side. She was constantly pushing herself bodily against him, making lewd remarks, and being a right pain. He wondered if Zash and Ashara had blended annoying personalities in order to exact revenge upon him. It didn’t matter, she would be Ravage’s soon and he would have this white-haired wonder in his leagues.
“Azasha is outside the arena waiting. Tell her of our deal. If she puts up a fuss, well, I don’t need to tell you how to deal with what is yours,” Gelt said, side-eyeing Ravage.
“I wonder if she still enjoys shock collars,” Ravage murmured a little too loudly as he left to collect his prize.
Gelt shuddered. He didn’t need to hear that. Any of that. Ever.
“And now I am yours. I will fight who you say,” Narithia said softly.
Gelt turned his attentions back to her and shook his head. “No. No more pit fighting. You are to accompany me home. I will discuss your duties when we arrive.”
Her calm exterior cracked just enough to allow fear and disbelief through. It pleased him to know that even this Jedi, this beacon of all things serene could become unnerved at the prospect of him bringing her home. It did bother him a tad to think of the horrid thoughts that might be running through that white-topped head of hers. He would deal with it later. For now, he had a Jedi to take home and acclimate to life in the Empire.
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Replies!
I hope I got everyone who left a comment for me. I had to travel through the pages a bit to find everything.
I sense this going many dark places (well, dark for Geltie anyway).
It has potential. I won't say much more than that.
@Irishfino,
Woo! Azasha shenanigans! This whole thing, I like it.[/Quote]
Azasha is quite fun. I ran the idea past a few friends and they just about died from laughter.
@Irish - speaking of something that is both intriguing and disturbing...Khem laughing:rak_02: Also
“Learn to stay in your own body.”“I want you in my body.”
“No, you wanted to be in my body.”
How does Khem laugh, anyway? I always imagine his language is comprised of "Om nom nom" "Tulak Hord" and "Yn and Chabosh." Maybe I'm just weird. >.>
As for Gelt and Azasha, they have plenty more shenanigans to come. Once my brain lets me write them. <.<
@fino, your Inquisitor lineup is sick yet creative.
It's the best type of creative to be. Unless you're hurting people. Then it's not that great. But writing wise, it's awesome! [looks around; slinks off]
Replies@irishfino: Azasha, the name is great!
Thank you! It was a bit of a whim decision, lol.
@Irish:
HAH!!
I loved it. Both you and Eupho managed to nail Zash down, and I hate to admit it, but I did like her as an NPC. The fact that she's in Ashara's body now is even better, and trying to put the moves on her former apprentice? Priceless.
I really like Zash personally, but Gelt saw her as a mother figure. Then she pulled her stunt and now lives in the body of a Togruta, lol. A Togruta Gelt didn't want on his ship to begin with, one he tried re-purpose for the Empire, and one who was really, really stubbornly annoying. Now Zash is in there hitting on him. He's going to go spare.
@Irishfino: Oo.....Azasha shenanigans!!!!!
I love shenanigans and hope to have more Azasha shenanigans in the future. Her existence amuses me.
Thanks for reading everyone!
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One is the loneliest reply that you'll ever seeeee.
You win an Internet.Please make room in your garage.
I'm supposed to keep them? I've been eating them this entire time. I thought they were cookies!
Thanks for reading everyone!
And now for the story!
Prompt: NotLP: Celebrations
AltU: NSP
Characters: Quinn, Vette, Pierce, and a brief appearance by Broonmark
2600 words long!
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 toward 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.
-
NotLP: I Love This Bar
Characters: Vette, Quinn, and Pierce
AltU: NSP
Warnings for vomiting and squickiness with said vomiting.
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 eat the worm.
-
NotLP: LF1M
Characters: Geltie and Zash
Apprentice on Apprentice
“We should have sex,” Azasha said as she successfully pushed Gelt into a corner.
Gelt shuddered and swallowed down the bitter bile that rose in his throat at the thought. “I told Ashara no and I will tell you the same. I’m not attracted to…” he looked her up and down then returned his gaze to her face. “Learn to stay in your own body.”
“I want you in my body.”
“No, you wanted to be in my body.”
“I’m confused.”
“I thought Ashara was dead.”
“I dislike you, apprentice,” Azasha drawled.
“It’s mutual, trust me,” Gelt replied, bored with her antics. He pushed at her shoulders. She yielded and let him exit the corner. “Get back to work on your forms. You won’t get your saber back until you’ve mastered them again.”
Azasha sighed, batted her lashes one last time then left him in the brief peace her practice gave him. Truth be told, he made her practice for hours on end just to get her out of his space. He really should kill her.
Notes:
Shenanigans continue with Azasha!
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Replies!
@Irishfino, Ucles and Geltie are like a one-two punch in the feels, but it’s a good hurt. And,
It always amazed him how people could convince themselves that a man who bought child slaves to fight for money cared for his family.A very accurate observation. For enough credits, those kinds of people would sell their own mothers.
I do enjoy punching feels. [<.< >.>]
Scro's brother will find out the hard way (by super death) just how much his brother cares for him. (Spoiler: not at all
)@Irish: GREAT pieces, sir. Short, but I was still emotionally invested 1/4 way through. Especially with Geltie.
Thank you! I do enjoy writing feel punching pieces that punch the feels in such a way as they are still enjoyable.
And I'm a lady.
And ow, my feels (Ucles and Geltie).
[puts away feel rocket launcher] Nothing to see here, move along.
And now for a bit of funny.
NotLP: Worst Day Ever
Characters: Geltie, the SI crew and a new/old crewmember
SPOILERS: For Khem's questline and the End of SI Chapter One
By Any Other Name Would Sound As Stupid
If being trapped in the Deshade was torture then this was the void. An alien. A self-righteous, insistent that she still is a Jedi alien with headtails and… alienness. She almost wanted to die. Almost. Not quite. Really, she shouldn’t complain too much. After dealing with the failed ritual, living in the Deshade, and doing a stint in a Rakata Mind Trap, being back in a female body was bliss. And the headtails weren’t all bad if she tied them back while awake and propped them properly while asleep. She would thank the idiot’s body she now inhabited, but that was rather hard with said idiot quite dead. She shouldn’t have touched that box.
Zash giggled to herself. As lost in thought as she was, she forgot she was at the conference table with the others who were debating over what to call her. At her giggle, they turned their attention to Ashara turned Zash and waited. She shook her head and waved her hand at them. Gelt arched a brow.
“We can’t call her Ashara,” Gelt murmured thoughtfully.
“You still called her Zash when she invaded my body,” rumbled Khem.
“That’s the sexiest description of that incident to date,” Andronikos quipped.
Khem made a threatening motion at the pirate.
“Now, now, gentleman…” Talos said gently. “There is no need to fight over this.”
“What about Azasha?” Gelt asked, ignoring the majority of the squabbling.
“No,” Zash said quickly.
“Yes!” Andronikos laughed. “I like it. Azasha!”
Khem laughed. “I agree with this name.”
“Azasha it is,” Gelt said.
“Don’t I have a say in this?” Azasha asked pitifully.
“You tried to kill me, you were trapped in my Deshade, we put you in a Rakata Mind Trap, then you tricked my apprentice into touching the damn thing and killed her. No, no you don’t get a choice in the matter. Get used to it, apprentice.”
Azasha pouted. “You’re not fun at all.”
“Go work on your katas, the rest of you are free for the day.”
Azasha continued to pout at the table as the rest left the conference room. Back to being an apprentice. And an alien one at that. An alien apprentice who had tried to kill a good portion of the crew she was now part of. It would have been a mercy to kill her.
It seems her former apprentice was no longer merciful. She had taught him well. With that thought she happily skipped her way to the cargo hold to begin practicing her saber forms. And, yes, she really skipped.
-
Prompt: If I Were a Rich Man
Characters: Vette and Quinn
Alt-U of NSP
Keep the Whiskey
“Hey Quinny Quinn Quinn,” Vette chirped as she entered his room. She proudly showed him her haul. “I have a bottle of the finest Corellian Whiskey a couple hundred creds can buy and two glasses with ice colder than Hoth.”
Quinn sighed and spun on his stool to face her. She had been like this since Hoth. It was made worse after the incident in the hangar, an incident of which he had no recollection.
She clonked down both glasses on his desk and poured three fingers worth in each then grinned at him.
“Don’t worry about me,” she said lightly. “I can sit on the floor.”
She set the bottle of whiskey on his desk, snagged her drink, and sat down on the floor with her legs crossed.
He eyed his glass warily. “What do you want, Vette?”
“To drink this fine whiskey with my friend.”
He glowered at her. “You can stop lying. What do you want?”
“Ugh,” she sighed. She chugged her drink as quickly as possible, shuddered, then reached for the bottle. Quinn obliged her and poured her another. She grinned. “Look, I thought that, you know, we could talk and maybe you’d stop being a stiff bastard about anything and everything ever.”
“You try this at least once a week and leave with less information than you came in with. Why would this week be any different?”
“Because you’ll touch your drink this time?”
She had him there. He could resist a Corellian Whiskey from – he eyed the bottle – two decades in a cask? Marvelous. He picked up his glass, sniffed delicately then took a sip. His eyebrows raised a little and he made a pleased noise in the back of his throat.
“I trust it’s to your taste?” she asked, grinning at him.
“It’s fine.”
Vette snickered. It was more than fine. He loved it.
“So, I have a question for you! And it’s not super personal this time!” she said happily.
His face went blank. Her last bout of questioning was terrible and increased in horridness as she ingested more alcohol.
“I should hope not. And it’s seven.”
Vette burst into a fit of giggles. “Oh, my stars. That’s a little bigger than average, right?”
“Is that your question?” he asked stiffly.
“No, no. Just never figured you for a non-standard issue blaster.” She sniffed and tried to stop giggling. “Okay, okay. My question is: if you had unlimited credits, what would you do?”
“Buy a uniform for every week, upgrade my blaster, buy a new vibroknife, and upgrade the ship. I’d also stock the medical bay with enough supplies to last a few years,” he replied without hesitation.
“You are so boring.”
He took a drink from his glass.
“I would buy a new pair of blasters, the best looking armor money could buy, and then… I’d go on a vacation. I’d also buy all the Twi’lek artifacts I could find, but I do that already, so nothing would change on that end.”
“This has been highly informative,” Quinn said dryly. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have an itinerary to finish.”
“Yeah, yeah,” she said as she stood up. “I can take a hint.”
“Past experience dictates otherwise.”
“Whatever. Keep the whiskey.”
He thought it strange that she left without so much as a fight. She never left without drinking at least three glasses and usually she was stumbling so much he felt it necessary to help her lest he be stuck tending to her injuries. And she left him the bottle. But now she was gone and he was confused.
And he was confused as to why he was confused.
-
Replies ahoy!
AHA! *pounce**tugs on sleeve* 'Scuse me...I think you dropped this.
*hands you box, you can't help but open it*
Crud, you caught me. And eeee box of squeeeee.
@Irish: Okay, I have to admit, I laughed pretty hard. He never shows up at a decent time
Kallig has the worst timing ever. Then he yells at you. He’s really annoying.
@Irishfino, Yay, more stuff! Poor Gelt, talk about unwelcome guests, yeesh!
Kallig is always barging in on people. Gelt also sleeps naked so… eehee, hope he got an eyeful. Then again, that might be how he came up with that list. <.< Never know with Kallig.
eeeeee, fino! Welcome back! Kallig the alarm clock is a hilarious image.It feels good to be back
. I should draw the Kallig alarm clock. Being smashed into a wall. By a very angry Forcewalker… eeheee.@Irishfino: Yay!! Welcome back, and seriously, what is it with parents, grandparents, or in this case, the ghost of an ancestor, and the drive to make the younger generation have babies?! I swear, my hubby and I had only been married for an hour when his grandmother was asking when we were going to have a baby!!!!
Thanks!
! And my grandmother has already asked when my husband and I are going to have another baby. Not any time soon, lady. Not any time soon.@ Irish: Welcome back! I doubt anyone wants a spectral matchmaker, Geltie least of all.
Thank you
! And, yes, Geltie really isn’t in the market for anything right now let alone a woman to impregnate. Kallig is all kinds of terrible with timing, lol.@irishfino: I was giggling for at least 10 mins, and I will be giggling through every appearance of Kallig when playing my male Inqui.
Eeheee, there’s a specific scene in the SI line that inspired this. You’ll know it when you see it. And you’ll have a huge giggle fit.
Thanks for reading everyone
!!A double feature story!
Prompt: If I Were a Rich Man
Characters: Geltie and Ucles
Timeframe: Ucles is still employed by Scro and Geltie is still a pit fighter
Ucles
“What would I buy with a few million creds?” Ucles asked, repeating the question his dumb associate asked him. He knew what he would buy or, rather, who. “That depends, how much we talkin’?”
“Enough to buy your most treasured thing!” the other man practically squealed. He was drunk. He had to be. Which was bad because he got handsy when he was drunk. Nothin’ like a good ol’ fashioned groping to sober you up. Ucles shuddered faintly at the thought.
“Well, my wife’s dead, so I can’t buy her, but, uh, there is one thing she left me that I ended up losing when my home was ransacked by a group of a*sholes.” He finished off his pint of ale. “I’d pay anything for that.”
“Still pretty sweet on your wife, eh?”
Ucles sighed. “Look, guy, I ain’t interested, alright?”
The other man laughed. “You ain’t that pretty. Anyway, I think it’s kinda sweet you’re still stuck on her. You gotta work on movin’ on though. No sense in hangin’ on to a dead chick’s t*ts.”
“I’ll give you a pass today because you’re drunk,” Ucles slammed his glass onto the table and stood. “Say that to me again and I’ll kill you.”
Ucles took one last look at the man’s dumb expression before leaving. If he wasn’t Scro’s brother, he would have shot him dead right then. As it was, the coward would go running to Scro, tell him what Ucles did, and be surprised that Scro didn’t care. It always amazed him how people could convince themselves that a man who bought child slaves to fight for money cared for his family. To Ucles, the ones who fought for money were the lucky ones. He’d seen the sh*t Scro did to the girls. Even put one out of her misery. It sickened him to no end.
If he had the damn money, he and his son would be gone. But, at this rate, he’d never have the damn money. Kid never lost a fight; which was good, meant he lived to see another day and Ucles scraped in a few hundred credits to go into the savings he had squirreled away. But it was bad because the kid’s buyout price would keep going up. He felt useless. He had to watch the things Scro did, terrible things, and not do a damn thing else he lose his job and his one means of helping his son. He hated himself a little more every day.
As long as his son came out of it in one piece, it didn’t matter if Ucles could never face himself in the mirror again. It didn’t matter if Ucles dove head first into addiction to help cope with the sh*t he had to deal with. All that mattered was that his son was free. What was his life compared to his son’s? Nothing.
Geltie
Geltie didn’t have the luxury of drowning his woes in alcohol. He did have his assigned partner, his “stress relief.” He didn’t view her as such. He never wanted to. Through the fights, the injuries, the recovery, he never once took out his anger on her. He saved it. He kept it inside and used it to fuel himself during the fights. It had worked so far, but, tonight of all nights, he fell ill. She tended to him with shaking hands and he was happy for the comfort. She had opened up to him little by little when she came to realize that he wasn’t like the others. He didn’t desire her that way. He didn’t want to dominate her. He wanted her to be herself. Even in the confines of this horrid place, he wanted her to feel at home with him.
She regretted what she had done the moment he started vomiting.
“I have a question,” she started quietly.
“Mm?” he murmured softly.
She looked at him and took in his flushed face, the sweat dripping down his forehead, and his half open eyes.
“If you had a lot of credits… what would you do?” she finished quietly.
“Buy your freedom,” he replied without hesitation. “You want to be an artist, don’t you? Artist’s only need to be slaves to their dream, not to men like Scro.”
Her heart sank in her chest. “That won’t happen,” she said. Her throat constricted with tears as she continued, “I – I poisoned your meal. You’re – you’ll die soon.”
He smiled at her. “It’s alright.”
She shook her head, but said nothing. It wasn’t the first time he had been poisoned in this place. It wouldn’t be the last. It hurt. Not just the poison as it coursed its way through his bloodstream, destroying tissue and platelets, but the fact that they had used her. Of all the people in this place, from the cook to the person who gathered the ingredients for the food, they used her. He’d see this place burned to the ground and Scro screaming for his life if he had his way.
And he would. As long as he held onto this hate inside him and focused it into the fine edge of a blade. He’d strike Scro, free the others, and leave this place. Until that day, he would comfort his would be assassin.
He loved her.
-
The Void of Space
It’s dark. The sounds and smells are familiar. I can feel ice penetrating my clothes and gathering upon my skin. I can feel the softness of Jaesa’s skin against mine. It’s that night. I remember this night well.
I knew darkness was coming after meeting with Jadus.
I knew binding Jaesa to me in such a manner was foolish and would hurt her more when the end came. I was selfish. I regret it at times, but not always. I did love her. Even if I refused to admit it at the time. It would have been strange, really, to admit such a thing. I had lived two years in a place where she could not, but she was there. The feelings were there before, budding like flowers in a fertile garden. She would have said something sappy and silly like “A fertile garden of love.” And emphasized love with as much goo as possible. And possibly batted her eyes at me and grinned that silly grin of her.
I miss her.
It hurts to think such thoughts. It hurts to have her next to me again at long last. But I know. I know it won’t last, I know this is a memory. I know this is fleeting, but I am foolishly hoping that this last decade and more of my life was a dream. That I have a second chance. That this is that chance.
It’s not.
Jaesa wakes up next to me and goes stiff. I know what she’s thinking. I know what I’m thinking. When she speaks, it’s exactly as I remember. There is no deviation. This damn memory.
This damn memory.
I tell her she has to go. She’s hurt and starts to argue, but I am quick to make it clear to her.
“Jadus is planning something,” I say.
She knows. She can feel it. It’s gotten much colder since my return, she tells me. I know. Even with her next to me it’s all I can do to keep from shivering. He’s gathering fear in great proportions. I don’t know how much longer we have. And then I do. This is a memory. I know exactly what happens, when it happens, why it happens.
The memory skips forward when Jaesa pulls me to her and embraces me. He’s controlling this journey. I know he’s there. I hear laughter echoing in the darkness as the memory shoots forward.
The shifting blur of pictures finally comes to a stop. Blood freezes in my veins. I know this memory.
Notes:
After a long hiatus it seems the writing bug has returned to bite me. ^__^
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Gaaaaaaaaaah!!!!
Brilliant. I love connections/bridges/whatever like that. Well-played
Thank you!
Ooooh, I love the connection to NSP!More NSP goodness to come.
Thanks for reading everyone!
-
[sneaks in]
Prompt: Uninvited Guests
Characters: Geltie and breed-right-this-instant Kallig
Infinite Loop
“Flesh of my flesh.”
Oh, stars, no. It hadn’t been a month since his last visit already, had it? Gelt rolled over in bed and cracked an eye open. There he was, Lord Kallig, the most annoying relative he had ever encountered.
“I know you are awake,” Kallig said, irritated with the boy for pretending.
Gelt mumbled something and sat up. “What is it now, Kallig?”
“You killed the girl before she provided an heir.”
Gelt covered his face with his hand. That again. Always that. It was always about him continuing the line, never about how he was.
“I noticed, Kallig.” He dropped his hand and glared at the ghost. “What do you want?”
“The continuation of the line.”
Gelt’s left eye twitched. “Oh, no, I’m fine, thank you so much for asking. Get out of my room, Kallig, before I bind you to a Hutt’s arse.”
“That’s no way to treat a concerned relative," Kallig rumbled.
“You’re not concerned with anything, but your damn bloodline. Stop annoying me about it or I will geld myself out of spite.”
Kallig hummed low in his throat. “I did come with a list of potential mates. You should seek them out.”
“Get out before I fry all chances of the line continuing.”
“You wouldn’t.”
Gelt sparked dangerously. “Try me.”
Kallig sighed and raised his hands in defeat. “I’ll come back when you’re in a better mood.”
“Never.”
With a huff and a puff of purple smoke, Kallig disappeared. Gelt sighed softly. Kallig was the worst alarm clock. Buzz, buzz, buzz, it’s time to breed. Buzz, buzz. He flopped back onto his pillow. It wasn’t as if he could find a woman, impregnate her, then take the child and raise it himself. He wasn’t interested in that anyway. He wanted a family of his own. It was the one thing he held onto during his indentured servitude. He wanted a family with a certain girl, but finding her was impossible. She didn’t exist here.
He rolled over, turning his back to the spot Kallig had left. He hoped for sleep, but knew it wouldn’t return to him for some time. He wouldn’t leave the warmth of his bed to pace the floor embedded in his depressing thoughts. No. It would be best if he could, for a while, pretend the one he wanted was here next to him. Pretend that she was warming his bed and running her hands through his hair. He liked that. He liked her touch, the thought of it anyway. He hadn’t seen her in some time. He wanted to. He wanted to meet her again. But he knew she didn’t exist here. He went back to pretending, talking himself out of pretending, then pretending again; an unending loop of warmth and happiness followed by cold realization that he would never see her again.
But he hoped. And, as his father often said, if he had hope he had everything.
Notes:
It's been a while since I've written anything. Feels good to write again.
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I've been away for a while... a month I think... had to let my sub lapse. Well, now that I'm back, I have absolutely no desire to write and I didn't write much while I was away. Having a new job might have something to do with it.
I'm hoping the urge comes back soon.
I miss it.
Warzones/Arena please let the player decide!
in General Discussion
Posted
I've wanted the ability to select which warzone I get plopped into for a year now. I stopped PvPing when the queue gave me nothing, but Hutt Ball, which I really dislike.
The fact they still refuse to implement this is not surprising, but it's very disappointing.