Lord_Thorne
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Prompt: Indulge!
“There you go,” Photin remarked as she tucked the end of the wrapping tape under itself, “that should heal up nicely, but leave it alone until tomorrow night.” The Trandoshan uttered a slight hiss, turning his arm so he could see the whole bandage which covered most of his lower left arm. Photin nodded, then suddenly grabbed his hand, “and don't go flexing your fingers just to see if it hurts! Just let the whole arm rest, and the hand, okay?” Qyzen chuffed at her and rose from the chair, looming over her for a moment. He hissed a “Thank you, will avoid stress on hurt arm” and left.
Photin watched the hunter leave, then swept the bits of bandage, used kolto swabs, and stray ends of wrapping into the trash receptacle, and cleaned the table with antiseptic. “Now back to inventory,” she sighed, picking up her datapad and heading to the cargo hold. The ship was quiet, with most of the crew released for some much-needed shore leave. A glance out the viewport showed a pretty view of Brentaal Four, the darkness of night speckled and streaked with city lights.
Routine tasks can be onerous and boring, or they can be somewhat soothing, depending on one's frame of mind. There were a lot of things neglected during this last voyage, things that weren't high priority, but sooner or later needed to be dealt with. Photin allowed herself to become immersed in the repetitive task of inventory; if unstimulating, it was rather less risky than infiltrating a criminal stronghold, or fighting off pirates.
So it was that she jumped when a gentle cough interrupted her an hour later. She whirled in surprise to find a tall, handsome man standing in the doorway. “Tharan!” she said, “what are you doing here? Didn't you go planetside just this afternoon?”
Tharan smiled warmly. “I did – and I'm back! Surprise!” He stepped into the hold and glanced around, “I'm surprised myself, to find you here; I figured I'd find you resting, or meditating. Couldn't you send one of the droids to do this?”
Photin shrugged. “Most of the droids are undergoing maintenance, and the rest are working on the ship. And counting boxes is kind of restful after the last few weeks.” Behind Tharan there appeared the translucent form of Holliday, the projection of the sentient artifical-intelligence that was his constant companion.”Surely, you aren't bored with Brentaal Four already!”
“Oh, no, it's delightful!” Holliday's soft, breathy voice replied. “So many things to see! We barely landed when we saw – but I'll let Tharan tell you!”
“Thank you, Holliday,” said Tharan. “As you know, Brentaal Four is famous across the galaxy for its entertainments. Artists and performers come here from all over; I was scanning the holo-kiosks to see what shows were in town, when I saw this and was inspired!” He approached Photin, producing a small envelope from his pocket and holding it out to her with a wide grin. “I think you'll like these...” he began humming a sprightly tune; Photin recognized it immediately and cocked her head.
“Is that...” she asked. Tharan nodded. She took the envelope and peeked inside. “It is! And – the D'Carte Company itself?” Holliday giggled at Photin's reaction. Tharan, still grinning. “Two tickets to the D'Carte production of The Slave of Duty – and prime seats, I might add!”
Photin looked at the tickets, beautifully engraved on fine-quality flimsiplast. She looked at Tharan, then looked at the tickets again. “I – I can't take these. These must have cost a fortune – hundreds at least...”
Tharan held up a hand and grinned even wider. “Twelve hundred and fifty. That's for the pair, not each.”
Photin looked at him, blinked rapidly, then looked back at the tickets. Tharan turned to Holliday. “She's speechless. I told you she'd be speechless. The perfect gift for my favorite Jedi.” Photin's eyes narrowed at him, but he held up his hands defensively, “no no, no strings attached, no implications, nothing untoward, no hints or tricks! Just, well, we've been working together for a while now, and you have certainly earned my respect and admiration. And I've heard you humming some of their songs in those rare relaxed moments, so I thought-”
“-and Tharan had me peek into your music-preference files, too!” chimed Holliday.
His cheeks turned pink. “Yes, I did – but only to verify my observations!”
Photin breathed a deep sigh, then nodded. “I can't say anything but...thank you.” She smiled, “it's really too much, but I can't just tell you to sell them back, can I?”
Tharan winked, “that would just be rude,” he agreed.
“Um...but why two tickets? I don't know anyone on Brentaal Four, and these are for tonight.”
“The seller wouldn't part with them as singles. And you're not the only one who enjoys a bit of theater, after all. I rather hoped you would allow me to accompany you...” Photin's eyebrows rose, and there was a small noise from Holliday. “...as a friend and colleague!” he concluded. “What do you say, Madame Jedi?”
“I think I need to go get cleaned up! And find something to wear!” Photin strode out into the corridor, singing the song Tharan had been humming earlier:
I am the very model of a Senator on Coruscant,
My clothing always tasteful yet delightfully extravagant;
When I can't find a party, I will sometimes go to parliament,
And make a speech from time to time on nothing very relevant.
“I'll expect you both home by midnight!” warned Holliday cheerfully.
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I thought this quest could only be completed on dedicated RP servers! Am I wrong!?
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Liking a story rather than another is really a personal thing.
I
No accounting for taste. As the old saying goes, 'beauty is in the eye of the beholder."
So is boring.
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Prompt: Once in a Lifetime
Some things that happen just once in a lifetime aren't things you want to happen even once.
Once in a while, even when juggling a dozen calls for one's attention, one gets that distinct feeling that someone is watching you. Working with the nurses in one of the largest hospitals in the galaxy certainly had plenty of competing priorities and interruptions; Photin had learned much about focus and organization, balancing efficiency, accuracy and heartfelt care, while continuing – in all the spare hours she didn't really have – to sharpen her skills with the Force. As she set herself down in the cafeteria with a large mug of kaf and a pharmacology reference chip, she tried to push that feeling aside; she felt no warning of danger in the Force, and if anyone was watching her, it was likely to be someone on staff or from the Temple to review her work. Some researcher on Nar Shaddaa had published an article that had some interesting potential in treating Spice addiction, and she wanted to cross-check their data.
That feeling of being watched didn't fade, but it was easy enough to ignore. At least until someone came up and stood next to her. Photin kept her head down, trying to look as wrapped up in her reading as she wanted to be, hoping that this interloper would get the hint and find another seat. The person didn't go away, however: in fact, in a hesitant voice she asked, “Sellest, is that- is that you?”
The rising annoyance disappeared behind a flash of surprise. She hadn't heard her childhood name for ten years – ever since the day she was shipped off to the Jedi Order. Nobody even knew that old name except Master Senkari and maybe three other people in the Order! And the voice stirred her memory, though it seemed slightly deeper than she remembered it. She looked up at the speaker: a young woman (though older than herself), well-dressed, very pregnant, pretty but showing signs of stress. It took but a moment to connect that face to a long-neglected memory. “Mari?”
Mari smiled and plopped into the chair opposite Photin. “I can't believe it! It really is you!” She grabbed Photin's hand, “my little sister, the Jedi! We thought you'd be out there fighting the Empire or something! What are you doing here?”
“Well, I'm working with-”
“Oh, you're working at the hospital, of course! You and that healing gift of yours, I only wish I'd seen it myself! Mother told us all about it, several times, how you healed that bird – we ended up keeping the bird, you know, the owners didn't want it any more. We were all so proud of our family Jedi,” she giggled slightly, “even if we couldn't talk to you. Mom and Dad bragged about it all the time...oh, all your plants are still there, too, Dad used to water them himself...” Mari's gush of words stopped. “You – you heard about Dad, didn't you?”
Photin shook her head, “they don't tell us about our old family once we become an initiate. And they keep you so busy, I never really thought to ask after a while...”
“Dad was killed, some drunk idiot in a speeder slammed into him. He was unconscious when they found him, and only lingered a few hours, but the injuries were too much, the doctors couldn't save him. That was, four, um, no, five years ago now. They never told you about that?”
Photin shook her head. “I never heard anything...”
“Oh!” Mari gave a slight jump, then a quick smile crossed her face, and placed a hand on her bulging stomach. “That's the baby, she started kicking just the other day.” She grabbed Photin's hand and placed it on herself. Beneath her hand, Photin could feel a sensation of movement – she'd dealt with pregnant mothers before, so the sensation was familiar enough; she reached out with the Force and found the living being inside, the barest glimmerings of sentience, as she expected from a healthy fetus.
“It – she seems quite healthy,” Photin remarked. She hid her hesitancy behind a lingering sip at her kaf. She'd long ago reconciled to the Order's strict policy of separation from birth family; by the time her first year at the Temple had gone by, she'd given up asking about them. With her Trials coming up, she'd sometimes thought about looking for them once she was a proper Knight, but had not discussed the idea with her Master.
The other woman leaned forward as if telling a secret. “You know, I want to name it after you. And Devvin – that's my husband – he's okay with that. He's never met you, of course, but has heard all about you! Sellest is such a pretty name, and you've already brought such honor to the family, being a Jedi and all...” She paused at Photin's visibly hesitant expression.
“I'm, ah, I'm not really 'Sellest' any more. The Jedi gave me a new name...” She brought out her hospital badge, clearly marked “Jedi Photin.” Mari frowned slightly as she gazed at the badge. “Photin?” she asked, “what kind of a name is that? I don't get it.”
Photin sighed, feeling almost embarrassed at having to explain the only name she'd known for half her life already. “It means 'light' – in this ancient language hardly anyone knows any more. It's what the Jedi named me when I joined them.”
“Huh,” Mari didn't seem at all impressed. “Well, it sounds weird to me. To me, you'll always be my sister: Sellest. I hope you don't mind if I name the little one Sellest and not Photin!” Photin gave a noncommittal nod, which seemed to satisfy her sister. “Maybe I can use it as a middle name...” Mari shrugged. “But you're lucky to be here! Maybe just in time! Mother is sick, right here in this hospital.” she checked the chrono on the wall. “We should be able to see her now – they were hooking her up to intensive care and setting up the machines when I saw you scurry by. Let's go!” She hauled herself laboriously to her feet and turned toward the exit.
There was no graceful way out that Photin could see. She couldn't just cut her sister off and walk away – that would be cold-hearted and rude; but this unexpected contact with her birth family was against the rules of the Order. She had a few minutes before she had to report to her station, and if her mother was truly ill, perhaps she could lend a Healer's hand. So she forsook her unfinished mug – a nurse's life is strewn with half-finished cups of kaf – and followed.
Mari moved deliberately down the corridor; she wasn't down to a waddle, but the baby had obviously altered her normal balance. “Dzok always hoped he see you and your lightsaber,” she said, gesturing at the hilt dangling from Photin's belt. “He's still such a boy. You know, he signed up on his eighteenth birthday, and shipped out four months ago. The last I heard – he writes sometimes, but writes more to Ronada, that's his sweetheart – he's driving a walker, but of course he can't say where he's deploying to. The army does have its censors, but at least we can still write each other. Um, no offense,” Mari added.
“Oh, none taken, I quite understand. What's wrong with-”
“What's wrong with Mother? They say she's got some rare disease, some kind of cancer, I don't recall the name. No sign of it until two weeks ago.” Mari suddenly sobered, and the forced exuberance of her speech died. “They said she only had weeks to live.” She paused for a deep breath. “I tried once more to send you word as soon as I heard, but of course got nowhere. Dzok said he'd try to get special leave for a trip home, but hasn't had much luck. You know the war isn't going well. At least he's still alive. And maybe that peace conference on Alderaan will go well and it will all be over.”
There was a quiet chime and the two stepped off the lift. “She's right around the corner.” Mari laid a hand on Photin's arm to stop her, her face now solemn. “Sellest – or, or Photin, whatever. Are you...happy?”
Photin blinked rapidly. “Happy?”
“Yes. Are you happy?” Mari took Photin's hands in her own. “Mother and Dad, all of us, are so proud you're a Jedi, but we – Mom mainly, but all of us, except maybe Dzok, who couldn't imagine anyone with a lightsaber being anything but ecstatic! We always hoped you were happy. Being a Jedi is hard work, and it's a special thing, but it all happened so suddenly, and when you can't even write a letter, we always wondered. I mean, I've got Devvin – he's a wonderful man, sweet and smart, and my work – I'm a manager for a major shipping company – and my first child is due in just two weeks. Except for Dad, and now Mother, being gone, I couldn't be happier! But what about you?”
Photin stood pondering the question for a long moment, watching her sister's violet eyes searching for the answer. Happy? It wasn't a question anyone had ever asked, not since joining the Order. Do you understand? Do you see? Do you know? Can you do? Will you do? These were the questions posed to her, a million times and more. She thought about the question: Am I happy? She thought about the things she had given up, voluntarily or not: her family, her old name, her chance to have that special relationship like Mari had, or even a child. Even a normal job, the kind most people could leave behind when the work day was over. Being Jedi was a great honor, but the constant dedication and responsibility was a great burden. Happy? Nobody cared if a Jedi was happy, not even other Jedi.
And yet – and yet, there was something to the question. While she'd had her dark nights of homesickness in the first year or two, she'd never really thought there was any path for her but the one she was on: the path of the Jedi. She'd made a thousand choices, but she could barely recall any time when it wasn't obvious what the 'right' answer was.
“Well, being Jedi isn't about being happy-”she began, but Mari cut her off with a click of her tongue.
“Don't give me that. I'm not a Jedi, I'm your sister, and I want to know if my sister is happy!”
Mari's eyes locked with her own, and there was an uncomfortable silence while the two stood in the corridor, while nurses and doctors and patients and visitors detoured around them. Once Photin opened her mouth to respond, but closed it again under the surprisingly earnest gaze. In a way, it felt like the gaze of a Master, pushing her toward a new insight; firm but not harsh in the teaching moment. Photin's mind raced; this wasn't a gain-or-loss question, even, nor was it a success or failure question. There was no truly 'right' answer, no truly 'wrong' answer. It sounded like a merely emotional query, but it wasn't that either; and that was the moment Photin felt a breakthrough. She realized that it wasn't so much that she couldn't imagine taking any other path – but that she didn't want to. She was doing what she loved, just as much as Mari was. All the frustration, the searching, the discipline and self-denial, it was all part of the thing she felt necessary, part of what she knew - under all the hesitation and noise and fatigue – she knew who and what she was.
She opened her mouth to speak. “You know, Mari? Nobody's asked me that since – well, since I flew away.” She held Mari's hands tightly, and kept her gaze steady. “but I am. I really believe-” Mari tore her hands free and wrapped Photin in a firm hug. “I mean, I think-” her words were stopped by a sudden dark, cold surge in the Force. Photin gasped, and without hesitation shouted, “Code Blue! Code Blue!” Hospital staff froze in their tracks and looked at her as she broke the embrace and dove through the door into the Intensive Care Unit. Following the guidance of the Force, she strode rapidly down the corridor, past the nurses' station, as staffers yelled for confirmation. “Here!” she pointed, gesturing toward the crash cart. With slightly confused looks, the staff responded to the call, hurrying along under her direction. The cart, techs and nurses with it, dashed into the room and began their work, deploying with practiced precision to the monitors and support machines as the alarms only now began to sound off.
Yet, even as she moved to join them, Photin paused at the threshold. She felt the moment of death; her awareness of the living Force in all things also allowed her to sense the moment a person's spirit released their body and began their travel to what lay beyond. She'd felt it dozens of times in her training and work in the hospital. In a real but non-physical sense, the patient – whoever it was - was gone, even as the hospital staff worked to keep the body functioning. With a sigh, she turned away, knowing there was nothing she or anyone could do.
She was startled to see Mari right there, with wide eyes, leaning to one side to get a glimpse of the dying patient inside. Her mouth worked silently for a moment, and tears filled her eyes as a single word finally squeaked out. “Mom?"
Notes
The research article from Nar Shaddaa is a reference to an Imperial mission which includes the destruction of that lab: Breaking the Cure.
I haven't counted the number of 'once-in-a-lifetime' events that crop up in this piece: Mother's death, Jedi Knight Trials, firstborn child...
As she realized the very first day she was taken in by the Jedi, Sellest/Photin never saw her parents alive again...
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A little delayed, but you get what you pay for, ha! Actually, it took some extra time to figure out how to formulate this.
Story prompt: Set the Standards
With one leg nearly paralyzed from his last attack, she was barely able to block his overhead swing as he leaped at her again. The two blades clashed for a split-second as he dove past her into a graceful roll, spinning even as he landed with a sudden slice at her good leg. She jumped back to avoid the low cut, but the effort of balancing on one good leg left her open to his unrelenting attack. One, two three arcing blows came faster than the eye could follow; she only parried the first; the second raked her arm, causing her to drop her weapon, and the third caught her square in the ribs. He backed away into a ready position as she raised her hands to yield. He shut off his weapon and the two stood quiet.
With a tired, exasperated sigh, she bent to retrieve her training saber. The pain was easy enough to deal with, using Jedi techniques to compensate and boost her body's recovery; the frustration was something else. “That wasn't even close,” she opined, “you'd think I hadn't been practicing at all!”
He was still breathing heavy; the acrobatic Ataru form demanded a lot from the practitioner, and they both knew he was less skilled in the subtler arts of the Force. “Actually,” he spoke between gasps of breath, “you did pretty well.” He clipped his training saber to his belt and reached for his robe, but did not put it on, preferring to let the breeze cool him. “I couldn't have kept up that pace much longer.”
Photin's lips pursed into a moue. “It's just...ugh! I've been drilling for hours every day since our last match, and it feels worse than ever.” Her breathing and perspiration back to normal, she donned her own robe and plunked herself down on a nearby stump. “Plus, Master Senkari is putting on the pressure. She says with the war on, there's a huge demand for Healers, and I need to focus on my studies. She says I've been 'distracted'...” Her words drifted off in mid-sentence when she looked up and saw him standing a little closer, still holding his robe in one hand, regarding her thoughtfully. She didn't meet his eyes, but found herself observing the rising and falling of his chest – one part of her mind, the Healer-in-training, measured his respiration rate (almost back down to normal resting rate), taking stock of the subtle movements of his physique, mentally ticking off the origins and insertions of the muscles, the visible definition of the abdominal muscles, rising to a fine smooth chest (clearly defined pectorals) and a strong neck atop broad but not overdeveloped shoulders (prominent deltoids), the hint of stubble indicating a beard that didn't really need to be shaved every day, a pleasantly-shaped nose and wide hazel eyes...
She gave a sudden gasp, and blushed, averting her gaze into the forest.
“Photin? You okay?” He took a step forward; she could feel his presence, not just in the Force but as something else. When he put a hand on her shoulder, a sudden warmth radiated within her, from that shoulder to all her extremities. Forcing a small, calm smile onto her face, but feeling the blush reddening her cheeks and forehead, she looked up at him. “No, I – I'm fine,” she replied, before words stuck in her throat. That clinical corner of her mind noted her mildly accelerating heart rate. The rest of her was feeling dizzy, as if the gravity controls were going haywire – never mind that they stood in a forest on a full-sized planet. In her mind's eye, she began to see images of her and him together, holding hands, embracing, his strong arms wrapped around her, their lips meeting... “It's, um, just -”
He shook his head and smiled. “Don't worry, you'll be okay. You're smart as a whip, and plenty strong, and if there's any way I can help -” His words were cut off when she surged to her feet and planted her lips on his. His eyes widened and he stood stiff for a moment before yielding; the kiss was warm and sensitive and careful, as together they began to explore a special intimacy.
No!
It wasn't Master Senkari's voice in her head; it was definitely her own, swamped though it was with surges of emotion and discovery.
No no no no no!
The kiss paused for a moment, the two gazing into each other's eyes as they stood in tight embrace, with the only sounds a light breeze in the trees and the song of an unseen bird. Then another kiss began, deeper and more lingering than the first.
You can't do this! It's a mistake!
His hand stroking her hair felt right and good, and all she wanted was to be with him, to share this moment for ever.
Forever? Really? Is that all you want?
The clinical corner of her mind ran down an invisible checklist, silently but pointedly observing the preliminary stages of sexual arousal, and the similar responses observable in the man.
You'd throw everything away for this?
Their second kiss ended, and she rested her head against his chest, drinking the sensation of being held and of holding someone close.
Forever?
The voice in her head, her voice, said this word as if it were the final warning. She knew that if she followed this path – and she wanted to, so much! - it would change everything, in ways she could not predict. She felt no fear; she could make the choice that stood before her, but she realized that it was a fateful choice, not a mere dalliance or diversion. There were a few, rumor had it, who seemed to make it all work out, but deep within, Photin could see that was not her path: she would either become a Jedi and a Healer, or she would love and be loved in this special way. Somehow she knew she could not have both.
It took but a few seconds to review her life, and what she truly wanted to do with the future. She sighed a deep sigh, and a chill came into her, settling in what she knew would forever be a hollow spot in her soul. “No,” she said out loud. “No, I can't do this.” She pushed him back, then turned and walked away with as steady a stride as she could muster. He remained silent; she did not dare look back, afraid that he would see the tears filling her eyes.
For some reason, the bird had stopped singing.
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Replies and Comments
@Lord_Thorne: That was a fantastic look at how being recruited into the Jedi looks from the youngling’s perspective. The name-change strikes me as more of a Sith tradition, though. Is there a reason for that?
As a sidenote, the logic behind Photin’s name reminds me of how Pholux’s name was chosen (out-of-universe, in this case) on sort of the same logic. I was trying to convert my characters from being more personal avatars to being separate characters (the biggest remaining artifact of that is the fact that most of them are male – my secondary legacy is an even split and even on the primary one there are actually sixteen characters to satisfy my obsessive need for symmetry), and I scrambled to find a more fitting name for my Agent than Bond’jamesbond (yes, really). First I was thinking “Spy, therefore shadow, which is Umbra in Latin, so I’ll call him Umbrandis.” The name didn’t suit him at all, so, since he was lightside, I went the opposite direction and called him Pholux, which basically means “light-light.” Not exactly my most clever naming job, but I refuse to change it again. Most of my characters’ names have similarly embarrassing backstories (except Rikynn – there I just got lucky with the random generator).
About the name change, I was thinking along the lines of some types of Christian monks, or even some lay traditions, where a new name is adopted as part of baptism or induction into monasticism, as a symbol of leaving one's old life behind. It does seem more typically a SIth thing, but I can easily imagine it being a practice among the Jedi at times. Part of the reason for the name change (besides driving home the dramatic impact of the 'recruiting'), is that Photin is over ten years old when she's discovered, and that seems on the high side for Jedi recruitment (considering all the younglings at the Temple caught in Anakin's rampage), and a name change would be a way to overcome that. At least in some people's way of thinking.
All my toons in the game after my first (who is long gone now, since shortly after launch), have been deliberately constructed as fictional characters rather than personal avatars. Your description of how you come up with names is very similar to mine. In the server I moved to right before the merge, my general theme has been French-type names (Photin is not an actual game character, but if you see a merc named "Jeanne D'Arc" in-game...), but I've made a number of alts based on pseudo-Greek or pseudo-Latin variations on 'light' or 'dark.'
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Indeed - even without a great tragedy or mysterious past, life can be quite wrenching, even (or especially) to those who are just trying to muddle through the best they can. And now I think I know the name of one of Photin's significant friends!@Lord_Thorne How wrenching Even knowing the things Photin is destined for, it's hard. Taking her name is such a brutal cut. Then again I'm imagining her teaming up with a Jedi named Synthesis and having plant-based adventures all over the galaxy...
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Prompt: Family
Goodbye, Sellest
As soon as it shut behind her, the door slid open again. “What did you just bring into the house this time?” Mom asked.
Sellest, without rising from her knees, shifted to one side so Mom could see the small feathered creature twitching pathetically. “It's a Lesser Crested Flutterplume, must be someone's pet – see, the ID ring around its foot?”
“Hmm,” replied Mom, in that voice mothers use when they're trying not to sound harsh. “Pretty. It looks hurt.”
“Yeah, Mom, that's why I brought it home. It's wing is broken, must have hit a speeder or something. I think I can fix it.” The girl stroked the little bird gently, and it seemed to calm down. “I'm pretty sure I can...” Her voice drifted off as her hand hovered over the animal.
Mom sighed, still not moving from the doorway. “Sellest, you're not a veterinarian, you can't just 'fix' a broken...” Mom's voice faltered as a soft golden light began to grow around Sellest's hand, then to the brightly-colored wing that stretched out at an unnatural angle. “You...what is...” Mom gave a little gasp and fell silent. Sellest, her eyes shut, made no response or movement. The wing began to straighten, and the flutterplume gave a low croak, rising to its feet and cautiously flexing the wing. When the animal began to hop around, Sellest drew a deep breath and sat back with a wide smile. She turned to Mom, “See? All better!”
The look on her mother's face wiped the smile from her face. Rather than the happy glow Sellest felt at the restoration of a suffering creature, Mom's eyes were wide with surprise – or was it fear? Suddenly the girl felt embarrassed, as if Mom had caught her doing something bad. “Um, I'm sorry, I was just helping...”
Mom blinked quickly. “No, no, it's fine, dear, it's fine. Come here, Sellie.” She held Sellest very tightly for a long moment. When she finally let go, there were tears in her eyes. “Mommy needs to call someone now. And, um, see if you can find out whose pet that is and get it back to them.” Mom stood up and took a shaky breath. Seeing the look on her daughter's face, she stammered, “You've done nothing – nothing wrong, dear. I just – I need to make a call.” She stepped out to the corridor, and as the door slid shut, she called out, “I love you, dear, never forget that.”
Sellest frowned, wondering why her mother was upset. She'd brought home hurt animals before, fed them and treated them as best she could. It's just, this time was different: instead of food water, and simple first aid cream, she felt like she could actually heal them just by wanting to. And it really happened! It felt so warm and happy on the inside, and even the little croaking flutterplume seemed happy. She reached out her hand to it and it responded by showing her the ring on its claw. She read the ident code and moved to her datapad to punch it in to see who it belonged to. She wondered if the owner would be happy, or kind of upset like Mom.
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“I don't like it.” Her father's voice had risen, in that way adults do when they're trying not to yell. Sellest froze in the corridor, hands full of the dirty dishes they'd told her to pick up from her room – it was well after her bedtime, and they seemed to have forgotten about it, but she was still up, and she figured better late than never. “I mean, it's amazing, but isn't there some other way? Someone else who can train her?”
Mom replied, her voice calmer than Dad's but still tense. “The Jedi who was here today told me she has great potential. You should have seen it, she just waved her hand and the broken wing mended itself. Nobody can do that but the Jedi. They know best how to handle a gift like that.”
A deep sigh from Dad followed by the heavy rhythm of his fingers tapping. Sellest crept slowly and silently closer. She'd talked to the brown-robed Jedi Knight, and he seemed nice but was so full of questions! Little brother Dzok, seven-year-old that he was, had been all over him, wanting to touch his lightsaber and ask him questions about the war, but the man had brushed him off gently yet firmly.
“You realize we might never see her again? You want to say goodbye to your own daughter?”
Mom let out a gasp of frustration. “Of course not! But it's not about me. Or you. It's what's best for her! Antwan, she could be a Jedi! She's smart, strong, and you know she's had a way with plants and animals since she was a toddler...”
Sellest clapped her hand over her mouth so they wouldn't hear her gasp. Me, a Jedi? Is that what this is about? Dzok would be the one to be a Jedi, he's always watching the war holos and making pretend lightsabers and blasters...
“Which is why we've been saving up! It's almost time for Mari to go off to college, and if Sellest is headed for medical school, that's a lot of credits we'll be putting out. But at least we'll be able to see her. The Jedi don't let younglings even visit their families.”
“But there's a war on! Your own cousin Zeran is out there, risking his life to protect us. We have a duty, and if our daughter has the Force, how can we turn our back on that?” Mom sounded like she was still trying to convince herself as much as her husband. Sellest's mind was still spinning over the idea of being a Jedi. She had no interest in slicing people with a lightsaber or fighting the war. She risked a very slow, careful peek around the corner.
Dad was shaking his head, his hands writhing on the table. “I don't want my daughter to be a killer. Or a soldier. I don't want to lose her that way.”
Mom was leaning against the wall, arms folded. “The Jedi said they would train her as a Healer first, just the way she's already started. He said the lightsaber stuff is more about self-discipline and focus, they wouldn't force anyone to fight.” She balled her fists, but kept them tucked under her arms. “I for one would be proud to have a Jedi Healer for a daughter.”
Dad sighed heavily. “I suppose it's inevitable. I don't know how medical school would deal with Force abilities anyway, that's the Jedi's thing. We can talk to her in the morning, get her ready.” He raised his tear-filled eyes to meet his wife's gaze. “But if she doesn't want to go, we won't make her. Is that clear?” She nodded, then reached for a tissue and began to cry in earnest.
Sellest ran back to her room and dropped the dishes carelessly on her desk. She looked around at her collection of house plants, a dozen pots of lush green growth, but even they seemed joyless and gave no comfort. She plunked herself down on the bed, her head still a cloud of confusion and surprise. A Jedi!? Me? Reaching for her favorite stuffed manka cat, she clutched it to her chest, wondering what would happen tomorrow.
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Her manka cat, clamped under her arm as she climbed aboard the transport, was one of the few things she was able to take with her. Mom and Dad promised to take care of her plants; she'd written out detailed instructions on how often and how much to feed and water each one of them. Little brother Dzok waved frantically, having extracted a promise that when she got a lightsaber she would come visit and let him hold it and even turn it on. Big sister Mari stood quietly by, saying a fond farewell but little else. The padawan helping her aboard was young, about the same age as Dzok, with the little braid falling down the side of his head. She settled in her seat while the padawan secured her small suitcase and backpack.
The adult Jedi was saying a few last words to Mom and Dad. Mom was openly crying; Dad was red-eyed but holding himself together in the presence of the Knight. The Jedi bowed and strode toward the speeder. Sellest waved and forced a smile onto her face, though she felt her own tears welling up.
She kept her eyes on her family for as long as she could; she waved and they waved, until they were lost in the distance among the crowds and traffic. She looked up at the Knight driving the speeder when he spoke. “I was meditating on this last night, and I feel I need to give you a new name, to reflect your new life.” His eyes rested on her briefly, with a look of kindness. “From now on you will be called Photin. It's from an obscure language, a name that mean 'light.' What do you think of that, a special Jedi name for a special new Jedi?”
Sellest flashed a smile at him and shrugged. “Sounds okay.” She didn't want to listen to the little voice from somewhere deep inside that told her she'd never see her parents again.
-
@drug_cartel
I think I'm one of the few Quinn supporters around, but this version really does deserve the saber. One has to draw a line somewhere. And Guss is one of my absolute favorite companions. I fear for his fate in your hands now...
@JamagsAwesome
Good 'origin story' for Pholux. I can't help but wonder if Thrakkis was in on the Sacking of Coruscant
(re my Bad Timing entry a few posts later) And, yeah, I too have a rather jaundiced view of Mandos. -
Not sure if this goes under 'Bad Timing' or 'Turning Point' - a rework of a piece I did for RP background a few years ago, for a senior-looking Smuggler.
A little darker than my posts here so far, just a warning.
Hey D2, you ready?
Okay, here goes. Begin recording. From: Zeran J. Kraktus, Colonel, Republic Army, retired.
...um, and it goes to, what-his-name...that young shrink...yeah, Captain Farin Munger, MD, PhD, blabla, Coruscant Senate Medical Complex, Counseling and Mental Health Office, like that, you know.
Mark it Private and Personal, not that anyone cares.
Hey doc, how's it going? Just checking in, per orders. According to Deets, my next appointment isn't for a couple weeks, but you told me to keep you posted, so here you go.
It's been six years. To the day. Six years.
(long silence)
Deets, slide that bottle over, would you? I think there's still some left. Just give it here, jeez! It's not like I'm not already under the influence. Yeah, thanks.
Anyway, Doc Munger. Six years ago today. Time flies when you're having fun, eh? Ha! I've been doing better lately. I'm glad you cut down the prescription, I feel a little less foggy in the head. Little more like my old self.
Six years ago – wait, what time is it? Oh, I guess that makes it yesterday. Of course, it was all over the holo channels. Coruscant Rebuilding! Six Years After the Sack! Life Under the Treaty! Gah. The Sacking of Coruscant, they call it. Nice name - easy to say and easy to ignore what they did.
Anyway, I got through most of the day all right. Stayed away from the news, took a short walk in the park nearby – until I saw the kids playing, that was too much, then I went home. Just played music, took a nap. Thinking about those kids made me think of mine, though. So I pulled out the old chip. You know, the one you told me not to watch – the home security monitor? Yeah, that one. Six years.
I remember the flight. Inbound from our base out past Tatooine, first home leave I'd had for three years. Nice leisurely flight – I splurged for a first-class berth. We had a two-hour layover on Brentaal and were about to make the final jump when the alarms went wild. Nobody believed it at first – the Empire came out of nowhere and blitzed the capital. Of course, all flights were canceled or rerouted – I didn't get home for almost a year later. By then...
Feh! It's empty. Deets, fetch another...no, don't. I've had enough. Too much, really. Gotta finish this.
You know, I must be getting better. I only watched it through once this time. Only paused it a couple times. I should really write a letter to the home-security company. I paid them top credit, and their stuff delivered; the alarm went off as soon as the Sith beat down the door, and the cameras recorded every detail of the raiding party as it went through every room in the house. Every detail. Got a perfect view of my boy Monty as he jumped in front of his mom with a kitchen knife in his hand. Great camera angle on his brave face as his head fell to the carpet, and the laughing Sith thugs as they cut down both of them. The cameras were right on little Iona when they found her, too...
(long silence)
I even laughed when I got to the part where they tried to set fire to the place and the sprinkler system kicked in. Wet, frustrated Sith clomping around angrily in the mist and the blood, ha!
If I'd caught a faster flight I could have been there. I could have--
Ugh, who am I kidding? They'd just have taken me too. There were too many, I wouldn't have got all of them, then I'd be dead too.
It would be better that way. I still think that.
But that's why you're here, doc, right? To talk me out of that. Yeah.
Or at least get me back into enough shape to get back into the field. There's some Sith that need killing.
All of them.
-
(Prompt: Skeletons in the Closet)
A Memorable Mark
The dark-haired girl looked frantically up and down the long corridor, searching for a face she knew, but only a handful of well-dressed strangers could be seen. To stem the rising tide of panic, she forced herself to stand still and breathe. Where did Mom and Dad go!? She wondered. I came this way and turned left – no, that way... Standing right outside the fresher, she couldn't see anything that looked familiar. She'd been in a rush, and hadn't paid attention beyond the instructions 'right around that corner.' But which corner was that now? There were no signs, no guide droid, and only tall, grownup strangers – many of whom weren't even any species she'd ever seen before. Okay, she told herself, what would Uncle Cesar do? Uncle's stories of his adventures in the Outer Rim were almost as good as the ones on the holovid shows, even better because they were real. She remembered one story where he was escaping from a gangster's hideout: “There I was, alone in a strange place. I had no idea how to get out – so I just picked a direction and started walking...” The girl nodded to herself, took another look around and began walking down the corridor with as much false confidence as she could show, eyes scanning for any clues.
--------------------------------------------------
“Senator Saresh? That's...are you sure?” Photin asked with evident dismay.
The older Jedi nodded and handed her a new set of robes. “That's the one. Chair of the Senate Armed Services Committee. Rising star of the Republic, probably the next Supreme Chancellor. Put these on.” Photin took the robes and held them with a worried expression. “What, you don't like her? She's been a great inspiration, and, I might say, a good friend to the Order.”
Photin examined the robes, hesitating to unfold them. “No, no, it's not that, I just – isn't there someone else you can get?” She met the man's eyes briefly, then looked out the viewport, where an endless stream of airspeeders passed by, the Jedi Temple looming in the distance.
Geron's eyebrows pulled toward each other in a frown. “In case you haven't noticed, there aren't a lot of spare Jedi around, not even here at the Senate, what with everything going on around the galaxy. I'm glad I could find you, at least you're a proper Knight and not just a padawan! The two of us will make a suitable honor guard for the ceremony.” He arched one eyebrow. “Unless you have some more urgent business?”
The younger Jedi sighed and shook her head. “I suppose. I just hope she doesn't...oh, never mind.” She turned and strode toward the nearest fresher to change. Geron watched her with a mix of frustration and curiosity, then shrugged and went in search of his own place to change.
----------------------------
I should have found them by now, thought the girl. The people she passed by all looked so important and busy she didn't dare bother them with questions, though some gazed at her curiously. She saw no other children; that was no surprise, the only children in this building would be the ones in the tour group she was desperately trying to get back to. She walked as fast she dared without breaking into a run – Uncle Cesar's story reminded her that running would only make people suspicious, would only draw unwanted attention. If only they'd been allowed to keep their datapads, she'd be able to call Mom and it would all be fine! But the security people had taken all those away while the tour group was in the Senate building.
She rounded yet another corner and slammed full tilt into a Bothan as wide as he was tall, wrapped in robes of luxurious and brightly-colored silk. He let out a yelp of surprise and whirled around. “I say, what is the meaning-” The girl's eyes went big as saucers, and the panic she'd kept at bay erupted into her brain. She turned and bolted away as the big Bothan shouted, “after that girl! Get her!” As she ran, she could hear the metallic voices of security droids mixed with cries of alarm from the well-dressed people, all turning and looking in her direction.
-----------------------------------------
The robes were very well-made, high quality fabric, a pattern based on the simple Jedi robes with only a little ornamentation and highlighting with gold-colored thread. Photin met Geron and together they strode toward the main Senate Chamber. “You still seem nervous,” Geron said. “This your first time in the Senate?”
“Not exactly,” she replied, “it's been a while, though.”
The older man's mustache bent up in a smile. “Well, there's nothing to worry about. We're just the honor guard for the ceremony – someone's up for a medal – not the Cross of Glory I don't think, but something almost as good. All we have to do is stand there and look official. Easy, right?”
Photin pushed a smile onto her face. His words were meant to reassure her, but she wasn't worried about the ceremony as much as who would be there. She mentally rehearsed some Jedi calming rituals as they approached the Chamber. They helped a little. “Calm yourself, young one,” muttered Geron, “it's just a little ceremony; I'll introduce you to Senator Saresh. It will all be fine, you'll see.”
----------------------------------------------
Adults are always surprised at how quick and elusive children can be when they're motivated. The girl twisted out of the grip of two security droids and three Senate aides, in full flight, racing towards what she hoped was an exit, or maybe a path back to Mom. Then a hand suddenly clamped down on her shoulder and held with an iron grip. She was spun around to face a green-skinned twi'lek, who demanded, “what is going – aaaaah!” The twi'lek recoiled when the captured girl, without thinking, bit down on the hand that held her. The girl kicked away, but the twi'lek lashed out with her other hand and grabbed the girl by the hair, yanking her back. For a split second, she tried to put up a brave face, but burst into tears at the stern purple eyes of the twi'lek. “Who are you and what are you doing here?” the looming twi'lek demanded.
-----------------------------------
“Ah, my honor guard, just in the nick of time!” Senator Saresh beamed at the entrance of the two Jedi. “Master Geron, good to see you again! And who have you brought with you?” Saresh bowed and smiled at the younger Jedi, then gazed at her quizzically. “Have we met? There's something familiar about you...” Then she shrugged and bustled away. “Sorry about the rush, but we're already fashionably late. Come, come! The Senate and our latest hero awaits!”
Photin bowed, but words stuck in her throat. She couldn't meet the twi'lek's gaze; her eyes were fixed on the Senator's hand, where a wound had left its mark more than a dozen years ago, an irregular arc a few centimeters across – about the size of a child's bite. She forced down the memory of that moment of panic, and took a second to compose herself before following the Senator and Geron into the cavernous Senate Chamber.
-
@bright_ephemera Loved the bar droid's mindlessly repeated comments, just the kind of stuff that is supposed to be catchy and witty but really adds a note of melancholy to the scene.
@Iheca Welcome from another noob! I only joined here a week or two ago. Nice interaction!
@drug_cartel “better to find an ally than leave a corpse” - so stealing that for a motto for pretty much all my Imperial toons!
Prompt: Carry On
“Welcome back, Master” chirped C2 as the hatch hissed shut behind Photin. “I hope your mission was a success...oh, excuse me!” A slight shudder passed through the droid before it spoke again. “Ah, now that my olfactory sensors have adjusted, allow me to suggest an immediate shower, while I attend to your, ah, urgent laundry needs.” Photin let loose a weary sigh, but said nothing, heading down the corridor to her cabin. C2 shuffled behind her, “May I relieve you of your burden? I can store it carefully until you are ready...”
Photin clutched the large box to her chest. “No, no, I got this,” she replied, “you just go get the cleaner ready.” Qyzen rounded the corner and raised one hand in greeting before the smell hit him. He uttered a gravelly choking sound and retreated before Photin could reply. Reaching her cabin, she turned to C2, who was still hovering at her elbow. “And hold my comms; if it's not the Grandmaster herself, I'm not available for the next hour.”
The closing door cut off any reply, and Photin slumped wearily against it. She too could smell the pungent odor of Quesh infusing her clothes and even her skin - there was no getting away from it on that planet, especially when she'd had to go deep into the mines to stop the Empire's saboteurs. Between Jedi discipline and Healer training, bad smells weren't normally a problem; but it was different when you had to live with them all day for days on end, and they came from your own clothes. Even standard breath masks couldn't filter out the minerals and pollens that made Quesh adrenals so potent, and they got into everything. Even the crews and garrisons got tired of complaining about the stench.
After a long moment of just resting, Photin opened her eyes and hefted the package she was carrying. A smile formed on her face as she checked the tiny monitors on the box. “Nice,” she remarked to no one, “atmosphere and everything is in good shape.” She set the box down gently on her desk and admired it. “Can't wait to install this, but I have got to get clean first!”
Several minutes later, after an extremely long shower, she again stood by the desk, wearing a simple – but clean, praise the stars! - tan bathrobe, her hair bundled up in a towel. From one of the desk drawers she produced a pair of close-fitting gloves, snapped them on, then pulled out a breath filter and fixed it in place. “Now,” she said, picking up the box, “let's find you a new home!” Pausing only to nudge her feet into a pair of slippers, she carried the box over to a vaultlike door marked with biohazard symbols. Balancing the box on a hip, she keyed in an access code, and the airtight seal on the vault hissed before sliding open.
She stepped in and elbowed the switch to close the vault door behind her. The pressure change on her eardrums felt like a signal, and she breathed a deep sigh of relief. Here, locked away from the galaxy, everything was at peace, everything was in good order. She surveyed the array of containment cells built into the walls, varying in size from a cubic decimeter to a few the size of standard home food-storage units. Each had a viewing portal and an array of environmental indicators. She walked slowly along each wall, surveying her collection. Nothing moved in any of them; only a few ere empty; the rest had a landscape of sand, mud or rock, marked only by a sickly patch of mold, or a unsettling spore pod, or a bulbous growth of some unappetizing color. In more than one cell there were bones of some tiny animal, or part of an animal, around which the growths clustered. She finally stopped at an empty cell about the same size as the box she carried.
“This one will do perfectly!” she said, smiling behind her mask. Setting the box down on a shelf, she keyed in a series of data points. It took her some time, but eventually she finished and the system stood ready. Carefully Photin opened the box and with gloved hands lifted a slimy, bulbous thing from the box into the container, holding her breath. The too-familiar and disgusting odor of Quesh atmosphere filled the air as she placed the thing tenderly into the new cell, along with a few handfuls of rock and soil she also transferred from the box. Then she shut the cell and the box, and the cell began working to recreate the atmosphere of Quesh for the new addition.
Photin admired her new acquisition for several minutes, watching the chemical readings as they approached a close duplicate of Quesh inside the cell. The cell took on a faint orange tint. “Welcome home, Mister Q,” she said, giggling. “Computer, new item is a Queshian Slime Devil – that's its common name, of course, I haven't looked up its scientific name yet. I believe it's a kind of slime mold. Quite toxic; I saw the effects of its excretions on a poor miner just yesterday. But it should be a fine addition to my collection, yes?” The computer beeped in response, and a red glowing skull-and-crossbones appeared in one corner of the cell monitor, the same way several other cells bore the same warning label. With a bright, refreshed smile, Photin turned to the rest of her collection. “Now, how are the rest of my lovely pets?” She began to go from one to the next, observing and cooing over the slime, mushrooms, mold, and other fungi in each one.
-
Took me longer than I expected, and the result is longer than it should be (and that's after two major overhauls to shorten it!), but here's my response to a recent prompt:
Prompt Inspiration: Mission Accomplished
Mission Inspiration: Quiet, Please (Grade 3 Diplomacy)
Experiencing a midlife crisis, the head of Aratech plans to meditate in seclusion for a decade, making the company's future uncertain. Have your companion convince her to stay.
The receptionist looked up from her terminal with the reflexive smile of her profession. “Welcome to Alpine Ascetics Meditation Complex!” Her eyes swept the figure standing in front of her desk and caught the lightsaber hanging at his hip. “How may I help you, ah, Master Jedi?”
The robed Mon Calamari blinked at her, then cleared his throat. “Ahem. Yes – ah, yes, I'm a Jedi,” he replied. “I'm looking for someone – I was told she'd be here somewhere.” He pulled a holopic from his datapad, an image of a smiling, well-dressed Caridian. “Could you -”
She stopped him with a raised hand. “Say no more, Master Jedi! While we at Alpine Ascetics maintain the highest level of privacy for our clients, the arrival of Executive Aptin Fenz is hardly a secret. Of course, we have our own highly qualified staff of advisers and spiritual guides, but I'm sure she would be pleased and honored to consult with a member of your esteemed Order.” She tapped some keys on her terminal. “I can notify her of your desire to see her, Master, um...” She looked at him questioningly.
He seemed hesitant to respond. “Guss- I mean, Master Tuno.” As the receptionist typed the name into her keyboard, the Mon Calamari continued. “But, ah, this is an unofficial visit, you know, no need to make any permanent record of this...or notify the Jedi Order...” Again, the receptionist smiled and nodded. “Nothing to fear, Master Tuno, discretion is assured. You're lucky, though – Ms. Fenz is officially entering voluntary seclusion tomorrow. Today is the last day she will see anyone but service droids for a full thirty-day cycle.” She gestured toward a small array of overstuffed chairs. “Please make yourself comfortable; I'm sure Executive Fenz will quickly open her schedule to consult with a Jedi.” The Mon Cal, taking his cue, sauntered over to the waiting area and settled himself into a very comfortable chair.
“Okay, Guss, so far, so good,” the Mon Calamari muttered to himself. It had seemed like a simple job: talk some big businesswoman out of turning her back on her life's work. Only after he'd agreed to do it did he find out he had to get in to talk to Executive Aptin Fenz, the head of the entire Aratech Corporation, one of the biggest manufacturers in the whole galaxy! He still didn't really know what he was going to say when he actually met her, but he was sure something would come to him. Glancing around and failing to spot a snack machine, he relaxed and watched the news on the nearby holoprojector.
He was awakened by the sound of a protocol droid. “Excuse me, Master Tuno, but Executive Fenz will see you now. Right this way, if you please.” After moment of confusion, Guss recalled where he was and what he was doing, and followed the droid. There were a dozen people crowded around the door to Fenz' room, a mix of severe-looking business suits and angry-looking fashion plates. When they saw the Jedi robes and lightsaber approaching, there was a moment of surprise and calculation in their eyes, then they seemed to all speak at once, to him and to each other.
“A Jedi! Maybe you can talk some sense into her...”
“She'll talk to some stranger, but not to me!? Some nerve...”
“Master Jedi! Please tell her to sign this agreement, it's best for everyone...”
“She's not gonna leave it all to the Jedi, is she? I have my rights...”
“Master Jedi, I'm the COO of Aratech. Tell these fools that I'm the rightful successor to the top spot...”
A couple of them blocked the doorway, and Guss could tell they weren't going to let him slip through with just silent dignity. After their initial outburst, they fell quiet and stared at him. He looked from one to the other as the silence grew more uncomfortable. “Ah...” he stammered, “I, um, I appreciate your concerns – as a Jedi, of course I understand. I'm a Jedi.” When they didn't move, he resumed, “and, um, as a Jedi, let me assure you the Order isn't gonna take anyone's money. Even if there is a lot of it.” He winced; that didn't come out right, he thought. “I'm not here about contracts or anything. I'm not a lawyer, I'm a Jedi.” That sounds better! “I'm only here to talk, you know – uh, spiritual stuff.” He struck a pose he hoped looked serene and meditative, folding his hands together and bowing his head. With sighs of frustration, they parted and allowed the droid to escort him into the room.
The room was like a nice hotel room, but crowded with piles of clothes, food and other items. From the back corner, a Caridian in a loose sweater waved. “Back here, Master Jedi!” Guss dodged past the droids packing stuff into boxes and crates. “What an unexpected honor! A visit from a Jedi Master!” She bowed briefly. “Aptin Fenz, CEO Aratech Corporation – for about twenty more hours, anyway.” Shoving a stack of medical supplies off a chair, she retrieved a half-empty bottle of wine from the crate next to her and refilled the glass on the table. “Have a seat, Master Jedi!”
“Why thank you!” Guss looked around. “You, ah, seem to have a lot of stuff here. Taking it all with you?”
Fenz nodded and smiled. “I'm going into seclusion – becoming a hermit for a while while I sort things out. Giving up my position and everything, rethinking my life – but that doesn't mean I have to live like a pauper, eh? I'd love to get some advice from a Jedi Master!” She took a sip of her wine, savoring it for a moment, then fished out an empty glass, “can I pour you a...oh, wait, Jedi don't drink, do they?”
“I...well, most of them – us – don't, but...what have you got there?” A rich, pleasant aroma reached Guss from the open bottle.
“This?” Fenz glanced at the label. “Tanum Cabernet '44 – a little sweet for my taste, but very good vintage. Winner of the Carida Vintners' Association gold medal a few years ago.” She poured a glass and handed it to Guss. “So, what does a Jedi Master have to say to a seeker like me?”
Guss enjoyed the tingle of wine on his tongue and the warmth sliding down his throat. Not too sweet for me! “Well, about that – I'm not sure this is the best thing for you, stepping away from everything. I had a...vision, yes, a vision about you. You know, when I was meditating.” He took a gulp of wine. “You have a lot of responsibilities, you know, you can't just walk away from them.”
Fenz regarded him curiously. “But isn't that what the Jedi do? All that stuff about avoiding commitments, no love or luxuries or anything? No material wealth? So you can focus on your meditation and spiritual wellbeing?”
“Well, yeah, some Jedi are like that.” He took another pull at his glass, and held it out for refill. “But not all of them, I mean, us. And not everyone is a Jedi. See, some are cut out to be Jedi, some are better suited to be soldiers, or bankers, or winemakers...” he could feel the relaxing glow reaching his limbs.
“...or corporate executives?” Fenz asked. “That hardly seems something the Jedi would consider enlightened.”
“Well, some Jedi are kind of big-headed that way,” Guss replied, “but really, think about it. You've got a lot of people depending on you. There's a pack of vultures outside who want to tear apart what you've built. And the good you can do as CEO is so much more than you can do as a little old lady out in the forest.”
Fenz pondered his words. “I didn't expect to hear this from a Jedi. Tell me more...”
----- The next day. -----
“Welcome back, Guss! I caught the news, Fenz is back on the job! Well done! How did you manage it?”
Guss hefted the box he was carrying onto the shelf in his room. “Oh, hi boss! I just talked, um, you know, wise Jedi stuff to him. About destiny and service and all that. And she gave me some stuff she didn't need any more – a bunch of medical supplies. I'm unloading them now.”
“'Wise Jedi stuff?' What do you mean by that?” Photin raised an eyebrow. “Did you pose as a Jedi or something?”
Guss' skin took on an odd tint, which Photin recognized as Mon Cal blushing. “Well, I...yeah, I might have. It was the only way I could get in to see her, it's not like I stole anything or hurt anyone!”
Photin put her hands on her hips. “I asked you not to do that, Guss, it could get you and me in a lot of trouble...by the way, what's that box you just shelved? Medical supplies should go in the medbay...”
“Hey, I got the job done, right?” Guss held his webbed hands up defensively. “And we got some free stuff – which I didn't steal!” Photin glanced meaningfully at the box. “Um, that's a case of wine...as I guess you can tell from the label...just a little extra gift from a grateful seeker, yes? Don't worry, I'll share it with the rest of the crew!”
-
Total newbie here, I hope I'm not intruding. I just thought I'd check out this thread and read the above prompt. It brought to mind the final scene of a longer story I wrote a couple years ago. So, with some trepidation, I submit the following revised version of that old story.
The main character, Photin, is a fairly new Jedi Knight. (Prompt: Ordinary Heroes)
Keeping Promises
Even cranked to full volume, the battered old holoviewer could barely be heard above the hubbub of the rambunctious crowd. Few of them were paying much attention to the game anyway, engaged as they were in arguments, table games, and loud conversation. One table had even raised voice in song, a popular ribald ballad about a seductive female bounty hunter. It was crowded, much more than one might expect from a neighborhood bar in the middle of a work day. While many of the customers were dressed in casual attire, most were dressed for work – a mix of manual laborers, office workers, and service-industry employees.
A sudden hush spread across the room, as one table after another stopped in mid-sentence and turned to stare at the woman standing in the door. She stood silent for a moment, giving the bar a chance to look her over. She obviously didn’t fit in here; her robes, well-tailored white and gray fabric, stood out among the drabs and faded outfits of the others, and that was one thing. The other thing that grabbed their attention was the lightsaber hanging from her belt. Most of them had seen Jedi before, but rarely up close – and the only time Jedi came to this neighborhood was when they were pursuing a criminal. More than one of the patrons had had unpleasant encounters with Jedi, either as targets of a manhunt or interrogation as suspects or witnesses. There was as little love for the Jedi here as there was for security officers – and most of the security patrols in the area could at least be bribed.
Photin surveyed the bar, feeling a bit uncomfortable with dozens of eyes staring silently and suspiciously at her. She sensed no real danger, however, so she stepped quietly into the room. There was barely enough space between the tables and chairs to walk through, but the crowd parted before her as she approached the barkeeper. The whole time there were whispers and murmurs among the customers. “A Jedi? What’s a Jedi doing here?” “Nice robes she’s got, whaddaya think they’re worth?” “Hey, you think maybe that’s her, the one he told us about?” The barkeeper stood alone, arranging empty glasses on a tray, watching her approach. Photin stopped in front of him. He met her gaze with a solidly stoic sabacc face, almost as if daring her to ‘read’ him, or intimidate him.
“Excuse me, sir, I want to make sure I’m in the right place. Is this the Two Blue Moons?”
The barkeep set down the glass he was polishing and nodded. “That’s right. What’s yer business – Jedi?” There was strong note of suspicion in that final word. The murmurs died, and Photin could almost physically feel the people behind her leaning forward to listen.
“I – I’m looking for a man called…Scooter? I was told he, um, hangs out here.”
There were scattered gasps among the crowd. The barkeep’s eye twitched, but he said nothing; by way of reply he pointed down to the end of the bar. Following his direction, Photin spotted a large flatpic of the man she’d talked to in the slaver’s hold, surrounded by flowers. A shrine; he’s dead then. She stepped up to read the printed banner above the picture. Passed away three days ago – I barely missed him. If only they'd released me from the hospital earlier! Tears welled up; she hung her head in mourning. “I’m sorry, my friend, I should have come sooner,” she muttered.
After a long moment, there was a sudden thunk next to her; the barkeep had plunked down a glass next to her on the bar, and was filling it with a clear liquid. He set the bottle aside and folded his arms, watching her. Photin turned to the crowd; they all seemed to be watching her with a mix of suspicion and expectation. Swallowing the lump in her throat, she spoke.
“At the darkest moment of my life – betrayed, beaten, alone – I’d lost my lightsaber, and even got my hand cut off,” she held up her still-shiny new cybernetic hand, spreading the clawlike fingers for all to see. “And imprisoned in the hold of a slaver ship. I was about to lose hope, I could see no way out. That’s when I met one of the other captives, a retired bolo-ball player who called himself 'Scooter.' He was unconquerable, even bound by chains and wracked with a fatal illness. He encouraged – no, demanded that I push on, that the only thing to do was to keep going, no matter what. It was his spirit, his unquenchable courage, that inspired me to, in his words, ‘go down charging,’ like any good bolo-ball player. Everything that happened on that ship: over a hundred people saved from bondage, a Sith lord driven away – he gets at least some of the credit. I could not have done it without him.”
She paused to carefully pick up the glass with her cyberhand, taking care not to crush it. Holding the glass aloft, she said, “Scooter made me promise that when – not if, but when, he insisted – we escaped, I would come here. I will regret all my life that I only knew Scooter for a few hours. Some of you have known him for years; please, if you can indulge a silly young Jedi, I would love to hear your stories about him; funny, sad, his bolo-ball career, his best and worst jokes – anything.” She looked at the glass in her hand. “I only today got out of the hospital. The Masters of the Jedi Council want me to report to them as soon as possible. But I keep my promises, so I had to come here first. And if I can’t talk to Scooter himself, I’ll take the next best thing: his friends. To Scooter!” Steeling herself for a moment, she tossed her head back and gulped the drink. The stuff tore at her throat like hot acid and burned all the way down; she coughed and sputtered, and the tears in her eyes were no longer just ones of sadness. When she finally caught her breath, she croaked, “by the stars! That’s the worst stuff I’ve ever had!” The barkeep burst out with a wide gap-toothed grin and turned the bottle around to reveal the label: “Sith Spit 190;” even Photin had heard of the fearsome reputation of the overly potent beverage. The crowd laughed and cheered. She set the glass down with a solid thunk, shook her head and gave them a wide, if shaky, grin. After another coughing fit, she spoke in a raspy voice. “Oh, and I also promised him I would buy the house a round in his name. And I keep my promises.”
Cheers erupted from the crowd as they swarmed the bar.
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Because what we really need is indeed yet another reason for elitists, whether 'theorycrafters' or not, to chatter endlessly amongst themselves, compare sizes, and mock those who don't fit their preferred mold. Sure, it sounds like it could be a fun idea (as with so many others) but too many people are jerks.
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Seconded. It would be nice to have some options between floor-sweeping and mini or mini-with-leggings
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While I would love for decorations to be more accessible, I'm not convinced the current situation really needs to be changed much. Since they changed the conquest bonus from SH completion to mere ownership, there's no game-mechanical reason you need more and cheaper decorations (and even before that change, there were several cheap or free decorations that could be used/abused to fill that need). I'm not discounting the desire for more and cheaper decorations - I've spent many hours and untold millions of credits decorating!
To be honest, what I would like to see is a big expansion of different decorations available on the cartel market, at low prices, combined with a higher drop rate for decos from (hyper)crates (in addition to, not instead of, other stuff!). I think that would help bring down the huge GTN prices a bit, and a wider variety to choose from is more likely to get me to actually spend real-world dollars on stuff (I have more free time than money, so I don't buy very much on the cartel market - I just wait and buy with credits). Not to mention that, after years of (slowly) accumulating and unlocking, I'm far more likely to spring for cool decorations than I am for another armor set or another weapon.
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(That entire post is very well put; just didn't want to quote the whole thing.)]....I think part of the problem is that we feel like we don't really know what you're trying to achieve with conquest.
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So I guess it all boils down to this: What DO you want the Conquest system to accomplish? Who do you aim for it to include? Who are you targeting with this new system? So far, we've heard goals that make no sense compared to the implementation. Is that because the system is not what you want it to be at all? Why put it in the game until it's at least close to that?
...
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Trite as it is to say, it's nevertheless true that I've been playing since beta. And I'm pretty laidback about a lot of things - bugs, story/plot W.T.F.'s, and so forth. I've been mostly solo or small-group active, and in general have enjoyed the game (my real complaints have almost always been about the jerks I run into while playing, not the game content) . But this conquest crap is finally getting seriously on my nerves. It makes no sense from any angle. Previously, I did conquest all the time; I could get personal goals fairly easily on as many alts as I cared to play (typically 3 or 4 on each side, without stretching). But now, it's just frustrating and punishing. If the root purpose behind the whole conquest idea is to encourage people to spend time playing the game, it is working completely opposite to that. If you want people with alts to spend time playing the game, then nothing should be limited by legacy. If you want small guilds to be able to compete in conquest, alts is (or used to be) a major way to do that - because running multiple alts means you're spending time playing the game, and you could, with planning and effort, overcome the limitations of a smaller member base.
These new conquest protocols destroy for me the whole appeal of doing conquest (at least for me, and I don't seem to be alone in this), which used to work as a little extra reward for spending time playing the game, as well as a way to contribute to whatever guild I'm in at the moment, which is a nice feeling. Instead, the game is becoming less fun, since this week the rewards for conquest look like they're *only* for people who spam MM FPs - since I'm not one of them, I very likely to spend less time playing the game, since my best efforts are going to be, to make a pun, pointless. (Not that 'crafting week' was much better, given all the stupendously irrational nerfs and limitations they put on conquest crafting!).
I've been pretty quiet on these forums, and overall have been reasonably content with SWTOR. The last year or two (starting with the stupid 'you can only run these solo, no matter what your friends want to do' KOTFE/ET, which bugged me far more than any weirdness in that story arc), I'm drifting toward the attitude that maybe it isn't worth it to stay, let alone pumping regular subscriber fees into the coffers of a company that lately seems to be seeking ways to drive players away. As the old saw goes, 'such folly smacks of genius. A lesser mind would be incapable of it.'
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From the moment I set foot on Rishi, I thought it would be a perfect place for a stronghold: scenery, atmosphere, a location as faction-neutral as Nar Shad (but prettier!). Here's hoping they don't muck it up!
psst...hey devs! If you really want to open my wallet, come out with a line of good piratey decorations too!
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Personally, I'm not sure why *any* conquest requirement really needs to be 'once per legacy.' Running several alts through conquest missions should be rewarded, since it means time and energy spent playing the game. Until this last revision, whether in an active guild or not, I usually had no trouble completing personal conquest on multiple alts - and I hardly ever do PVP, GSF, or Operations (granted, I've got a fair amount of time on my hands).
Edit to add: I will concur on the lockout farming maybe being 'once per character' or even 'once per legacy' - I've done it as part of my guild, but it feels unsavory somehow.
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A true palace would be welcome, whether in a high Zakuul tower (which might be too reminiscent of the Coruscant/DK or Nar Shad urban houses), or an Alderaan mountain castle.
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I'm pretty sure I would buy extra Cartel Coins just for a Lifeday Jawa Claus.
...and the thought of a gang of jawas taking over Santa's Workshop is pretty amusing.
(re my Bad Timing entry a few posts later) And, yeah, I too have a rather jaundiced view of Mandos. 
How you can eat Speedy ?
in Public Test Server
Posted
How can you eat Speedy?
"...with some fava beans and a nice Chianti on the side."