The Short Fic Weekly Challenge Thread!

[iamthehoyden]

Prompt: Dreams and Nightmares

 

Title: The Road Taken: Nightmare of a Reluctant Sith

 

Characters: Varrel Umrahiel, Sith Marauder.

 

This, like many of your stories about this character, gives me chills and makes me tear up a bit too. Powerful and so very very sad.

[Earthmama]

Prompt: Dreams and Nightmares

 

Title: The Road Taken: Nightmare of a Reluctant Sith

 

Characters: Varrel Umrahiel, Sith Marauder.

 

 

I love this character! Love him, i love the culture he comes from and his inner turmoil, he is so compelling! I also really like the idea of a love triangle involving him, Jaesa and Quinn. Beautifully written as usual Striges.

[bright_ephemera]

Prompt: Dreams and Nightmares

 

Title: The Road Taken: Nightmare of a Reluctant Sith

 

 

And he could not shake the feeling that he knew this place. Knew it before it became a warzone. Something needling; a riddle he knew by heart and yet could not recognize in translation.

 

 

 

This is my new favorite conceptual imagery. Marvelous.

[iamthehoyden]

Submission #2 for the week - Exploration

 

A Friend in Need

Trooper/Bounty Hunter

Some minor trooper relationship convo spoilers.

 

Sana raised an eyebrow when she answered the holocall. She'd seen pictures of the Chiss bounty hunter from her SIS file and the two had struck up an odd sort of friendship via letters, but until this moment she'd never actually talked to her adopted daughter's older sister.

 

"Well, this is a surprise," Sana said, crossing her arms over her chest.

 

"Yeah, yeah, I know," Skari said, running the back of her fingers down the scars on her cheek, "Listen, I hate asking for help, but the damned Imps have my ship impounded on Dromund Kaas and a friend of mine needs some help."

 

"Why ask me?"

 

"I need someone I can trust to get the job done and that list is pretty short these days. I wouldn't ask, but it's important."

 

Sana thought it through. "What's the op?"

 

Skari chuckled, "You military types crack me up. My friend was scouting on Alderaan, checking out a mark in Castle Rist, but something happened, and he got caught. I'm not sure what, the connection went dead." Skari's jaw tightened for a moment. "If you can find him, I'd count it as a favor. I'd rather not lose any more friends."

 

Sana nodded, "You got it. Never liked those assassins anyway."

 

"I'll be there as soon as I find the f*cking clerk who screwed up my paperwork and put a blaster bolt in him. Gotta go."

 

The holocall went dead before Sana could ask for any more details. Typical.

 

Sana leaned into the gun locker. "You catch that?" she asked her husband.

 

"I always did like Alderaan," Aric said, packing a couple more rounds into his carry bag.

 

###

 

Sana stood at the base of the mountain for a moment and looked up the graceful series of terraces leading to the shining blue towers of Castle Rist.

 

"You know, for a House of Assassins, they have remarkably good taste," she said before picking off another lurking Rist spy in the bushes.

 

"Murder pays well," Aric said, firing another blast.

 

Storming a castle wasn't an every day occurance, especially one with such magnificant views. Sana let herself take a moment here and there to appreciate the setting before they headed into the castle itself. They made short work of the few guards and stealthed assassins they found roaming the halls as they headed for the detention center.

 

Sana paused at the entrance to the center, motioning for Aric to fall in behind her. She could hear arguing but couldn't make out the words. She peered around the corner. Three Rist guards were shouting at each other in front of an empty cage. From out of a dark corner a huge grappling hook flew out and attached itself to one of the guards. In the next moment a small dark bundle of robes came flying through the air.

 

"Uttini!"

 

"Is that a Jawa?" Aric muttered in her ear.

 

Sana smothered a giggle as the Jawa pulled a rocket launcher almost as big as himself from somewhere and proceeded to blast the guards. Sana added in a few well placed shots to finish off the group.

 

"Hey!" she called out from her cover. The Jawa jumped, shot off a couple rounds at the corner. "Hold your fire! We're friends of Skari!"

 

The Jawa cocked his head to the side. "**Friend Skari?**"

 

"She sent us to get you out."

 

The Jawa packed away the rocket launcher and darted over to their corner as Sana stepped out. "**Ooo Blizz likes big gun.**" He pointed at Aric's assault cannon.

 

"It gets the job done," Aric said, swinging the cannon onto his back.

 

"**Blizz makes gun make bigger boom.**" He nodded so hard his hood flapped as he started to reach for the cannon.

 

"Not so fast there...Blizz was it?" Sana said, grabbing hold of the Jawa, "let's get out of this place before we start talking about artillary modifications."

 

"**People mean to Blizz. Blizz make them sorry.**"

 

"Fair enough," Sana said, "you got any more weapons under that robe of yours?"

 

"**Blizz bring lots of everything.**"

 

Sana, Aric, and Blizz didn't run into very many problems on their way out. Where the Jawa kept all the different weapons he pulled out was a mystery Sana knew was going to bother her for quite some time, but they sure did the trick. Getting the Jawa into the Shining Star Cantina back at Castle Organa to wait until Skari arrived was much more difficult, but Sana managed it without resorting to contacting the Organas.

 

"You know," Aric said, glancing at his mate as she watched the Jawa dance to the jukebox from across the room, "I wouldn't mind taking a couple days off after Skari picks up Blizz, check into the inn, relax a bit."

 

Sana grinned at him, "You in the mood for some r&r? With me?"

 

Aric pulled her to him, kissing her with leisurely thoroughness until Sana was breathless and tingly. "Well, I did say we'd need to schedule more of it."

 

"More of what?" Sana asked, her head still fuzzy, grasping his upper arms.

 

Aric grinned, "What's the matter, Major, can't think?"

 

"Shut up," she said, pulling him down to kiss him again.

 

"Ahem."

 

Sana reluctantly stepped away from Aric. A very unhappy barkeep was standing there with a very unhappy Jawa in his grasp. "This is the third time today he's tried to rewire my jukebox. Get him out of my cantina."

 

Blizz's shoulders slumped as the barkeep walked away. "**Blizz want new songs.**"

 

"Tell you what," Sana said, pulling him towards the door as Aric dropped a few more credits on the bar, "You can listen to some new songs while we drive to the rendevous point."

 

"**Yay!**"

 

###

 

The sound of an approaching speeder warned them before Skari drove up, a slim dark-haired girl in the passenger seat.

 

"Blizz! Oh I was so worried!" the girl said, jumping out of the speeder to hug the little Jawa who was talking a mile a minute. Sana exchanged nods with Skari who got out of her speeder and walked over.

 

"You have any trouble?" Skari asked.

 

"Had more trouble in the cantina than in Castle Rist to be honest," Sana said.

 

Skari smirked, "I can imagine." She tossed Sana a credit stick. "For your troubles."

 

"Not necessary," Sana said, about to toss it back.

 

"I insist."

 

Sana frowned but nodded and slipped the credit stick into a pocket.

 

"You ready to go, Blizz?" Skari asked the Jawa.

 

"**Oh oh, Blizz have something for new friends!**" He ran over to Sana and pulled a new rifle out of somewhere along with a shield generator. "**See! Blizz add new targeting and energy boost!**"

 

"Hey, that's pretty nice," Aric said, looking at the modifications that had been done to the generator.

 

"Thank you, Blizz," Sana said, kneeling down on level with him to accept the rifle, "these will be very useful."

 

"**Blizz like to help.**" He ran off and jumped in the speeder. "**Blizz ready!**"

 

Skari saluted Sana with an only slightly mocking grin. "Thanks."

 

"No problem," Sana said.

 

"Can I see that?" Aric muttered to her, taking the rifle as Skari and her crew drove off.

 

Sana turned to watch her husband checking out the rifle and the changes Blizz had made. He frowned as he sighted it and tested the balance.

 

"It seems off. The grip's wrong. Ah well, the little guy was trying to help."

 

Sana took it back, her smaller hands fighting perfectly into place. She grinned at Aric, "It's nice to have a weapon that wasn't meant for men two feet taller than me." She swung the rifle onto her back.

 

"You're really sexy when you're carrying a gun, you know that?" Aric said gruffly.

 

"I'm always carrying a gun," she said with a wink, patting her new rifle as she walked over to the speeder.

 

"I called HQ. We have three days off and a reservation at the Shining Star."

 

"Have I mentioned how much I like a man with iniative?"

 

 

Author's Note:

 

Skari is my JK's sister. You can read a brief background on how they all fit together here. And if you haven't played Imperial Alderaan you really should take a moment to go check out Castle Rist, it's one of the most beautiful spots in the game, IMO.

 

[kabeone]

Great story iamthehoyden

 

I had a Chiss BH that I managed to get to level 11 before I deleted her, you made me want to play my BH. Is Blizz worth it? I'm not sure I'm interested in Torian. Right now BH and Consular are the only two stories I haven't finished. i need more char slots.

[iamthehoyden]

Great story iamthehoyden

 

I had a Chiss BH that I managed to get to level 11 before I deleted her, you made me want to play my BH. Is Blizz worth it? I'm not sure I'm interested in Torian. Right now BH and Consular are the only two stories I haven't finished. i need more char slots.

 

I really liked my BH, she has some really great lines and a smarta** attitude I love. And Blizz is squee-worthy just about always For what it's worth, my bounty hunter didn't romance Torian, she's hoping for someone a bit more her style later on. The BH story really doesn't pick up full pace till you get in the Hunt, but it's a lot of fun. Not quite as epic as some of the stories, but you get to blow a lot of stuff up and you can tell a lot of people to go to hell, which I really enjoyed, hehe. And I hear you on the character slots...I have plans.

[Earthmama]

The Alderaan BH class quest is quite possibly the most fun I've had in this game. Considering how laugh out loud the Smuggler everything is, that's saying something. Also Blizz is awesome....pure win. Also I'm a sucker for Torian, I have my doubts about Doc, I hope there's a customization that gets rid of the pedo-stash.

[bright_ephemera]

The Alderaan BH class quest is quite possibly the most fun I've had in this game. Considering how laugh out loud the Smuggler everything is, that's saying something. Also Blizz is awesome....pure win. Also I'm a sucker for Torian, I have my doubts about Doc, I hope there's a customization that gets rid of the pedo-stash.

 

Extravagant facial hair is Doc's defining characteristic, even in the customizations. What's your opinion on mutton chops?

 

Honestly, I like the default 'stache, but the soul patch kills me. If there were ever a chance of me taking him seriously...ha, no.

[iamthehoyden]

Extravagant facial hair is Doc's defining characteristic, even in the customizations. What's your opinion on mutton chops?

 

Honestly, I like the default 'stache, but the soul patch kills me. If there were ever a chance of me taking him seriously...ha, no.

 

There is one customization (the one I use) where he's clean shaven, has a short crew cut, and a tattoo on his face. I like tats, so it's a win for me, but it's pretty prominant so if you don't it might not work.

[kabeone]

Extravagant facial hair is Doc's defining characteristic, even in the customizations. What's your opinion on mutton chops?

 

Honestly, I like the default 'stache, but the soul patch kills me. If there were ever a chance of me taking him seriously...ha, no.

 

I considered leaving out the soul patch when I drew him and Kira for my art thread, but I think it takes the whole package to define his ridiculousness.

[Striges]

The BH story really doesn't pick up full pace till you get in the Hunt, but it's a lot of fun. Not quite as epic as some of the stories, but you get to blow a lot of stuff up and you can tell a lot of people to go to hell, which I really enjoyed, hehe.

 

Good point. Both the smuggler and BH stories have the larger galactic scene as a backdrop. For all the other ones, at least the ones I've done, the war is central. But both the smuggler and BH are independent. They're like the everyday guys in the SW universe, at least until moisture farmer becomes a playable class. I liked that aspect of their stories. I didn't see them as less epic, just less focused on the Empire-Republic situation as compared to the Trooper-Agent in particular.

 

Although (smuggler end spoiler)

would have been nice to get more than a holocall from the Supreme Chancellor. I mean, I just wrecked a big chunk of the Imperial Fleet, I think you can do better than just phone in

 

[iamthehoyden]

Submission #3: Exploration (I swear, I'm done now!!)

 

Old Stomping Grounds

JK (Esma and Scouge...the continuing saga)

spoilers for end of Chapter 3; Tython quests

 

"Master Kaarde."

 

Esma groaned as Satele Shan's voice carried over the low murmurs of the milling Councilors. Scourge paused in his exit of the room and raised one eyebrow at her.

 

"I would like to speak with you," the Grand Master said. Master Orgus had it right, the Council did too much talking. It had taken half the day to get through the briefing, and now, with the glorious exit door in sight....

 

"Of course," she said, ignoring Scourge's unspoken irritation with her acquiescence. "I'll be right back," Esma muttered to him, before following Satele to the far end of the room.

 

"I am concerned, Esma," Satele said quietly, "lately you have been more....chaotic. I fear you are treading closely to the Dark side, and your association with Lord Scourge may be to blame. It may be time to sever the connection. The Emperor is dead, after all."

 

Esma glanced over at where Scourge was standing at ease near the door, making the departing Jedi Masters uncomfortable, legs apart, hands clasped behind his back. He looked directly into her eyes from across the room, a challenge in the curl of his lip.

 

She looked back at Satele calmly. "Master Shan, I appreciate your concern. I will not lie and say that I am as true to the Jedi path as I once was, but I have been tested many times. I can assure you that I will not now, or ever, fall to the Dark side."

 

"I see," Satele said thoughtfully. "Please consider returning to Tython to work with the Masters here. You are strong in the Force, but you are walking a dangerous path."

 

"I will keep your kind offer in mind," Esma said, bowing slightly.

 

"Please do," Satele said, her words heavy with underlying meaning, "I would hate to have you exiled from the Jedi."

 

Esma stiffened and then bowed again and turned to stalk from the room and its inhabitants. Scourge followed her out and onto the upper balcony where she braced her arms on the railing and surveyed the lazily spinning holocron that dominated the central atrium and its small satellites with a certain amount of venom.

 

"I can feel the anger inside you." Scourge was so close she could feel his breath on the back of her neck as he bent down to whisper in her ear. "Very nice, I approve." A shiver hit her hard.

 

She turned around to face him, which put her close enough that they began to get more than a few curious looks. She glared at him, steadfastly ignoring how much she wanted to pull his head down and kiss him till they were both senseless. "Well, unlike some people, I refuse to throw a tantrum when I get mad."

 

Scourge's dark chuckle filled the atrium, drawing every eye. Esma gave him a dirty look and leaped the balcony as she used to do as a padawan, drawing a censorious glance from a Jedi older than dirt and probably twice as dry. She made for the exit, needing to get out of this place.

 

Tython was as beautiful as ever, the green forests and calm gray stone deeply imbued with the Force. Scores of padawans sparred or sat in attentive lessons. She took a deep breath of the clean air.

 

"I understand there are ruins here, from a time before the Jedi," Scourge said behind her.

 

"I'm not ever turning to the Dark side," she said, ignoring his statement while continuing to survey the view.

 

"And yet you are not entirely Jedi anymore, are you?"

 

She turned and met his eyes directly, "I know who I am. It is enough."

 

"You have strength," he said approvingly. He stroked his face tendrils thoughtfully, "We shall see if it is enough to keep you from the Dark side's grasp." It was almost criminal the way his voice slid along her nerve endings. Dark side's grasp, indeed.

 

"So," she said, turning to point as her skin heated, "that's the road to Kaleth."

 

"I would like to see it."

 

She began to walk down the road, no point in driving on such a beautiful day. Scourge caught up with her, his long legs eating the distance easily. It quickly became apparent that the padawans running up and down the road on various tasks had not been told there was a semi-tame Sith Lord wandering around in their midst. Their reactions ranged from confusion as they glanced from her to him and back again, to something close to abject terror. Scourge did not help matters by sneering at them.

 

"Bah! Brainwashed fools, blindly following the orders of their Masters. Not a thought of their own in their heads."

 

Esma opened her mouth, but then closed it. Scourge slanted an amused look in her direction. "They're not all like that," she muttered.

 

"'Not all like that'," he mocked, "such a spirited defense."

 

Esma ignored him, picking up her pace. His chuckle followed her down the mountain path. The tall broken stone walls of Kaleth were still being guarded by ancient droids, although they posed little challenge now.

 

"I trained here," she said, running her hand along one of the stones. She looked back to where Scourge was standing in the middle of the clearing, watching her with heat in his eyes. She hid a grin as she surveyed the ancient space.

 

The two of them wandered the ruins, Scourge examining the ancient devices, pausing to record and read inscriptions. They rounded a corner and spotted a padawan deep in meditation near a green stone. As they watched, he stood and lifted his hand toward a large boulder nearby. They could see him tremble and shake from effort, but the boulder remained unmoved.

 

"I remember this test," Esma said quietly to Scourge, "the boulder is supposed to be unmovable."

 

"What is the point of such a test?" Scourge asked in a low tone.

 

"It is meant to teach them to persist in spite of failure," she murmured, feeling sorry for the young man who was clearly not doing well. His shoulders were slumped in defeat.

 

Scourge snorted, "Blind persistence is foolish. You must change tactics in the face of failure, something the Jedi have never been good at."

 

The young padawan was clearly exhausted. He looked around the clearing listlessly until suddenly his head popped up.

 

"What is he..." Esma muttered, trying to see what had captured his attention. The young man sprinted out of sight briefly and then returned with a large branch. He wedged one end of the branch under the stone, took a breath, and pushed down with both muscle and Force. She began to chuckle when the boulder slid from its position.

 

 

"You say you undertook this test," Scourge said, watching the young padawan thoughtfully.

 

She nodded.

 

"What was the result?"

 

"I moved it," she said simply.

 

Scourge's lips stretched in a slow smile as he watched her head deeper into the ruins.

 

"You coming? It looks like there's a datacron up on this cliff, and I don't think there's anyone up there," she called with a challenging grin, her hand on her hip.

 

Scourge's smile became distinctly wolfish as he stalked Esma through the ruins.

 

 

Author's Note:

My jk and Scourge actually did go datacron hunting on Tython last night. The baby toonlets running around are so CUTE!! (Scourge didn't think so.)

 

[kabeone]

Submission #3: Exploration (I swear, I'm done now!!)

 

Old Stomping Grounds

JK (Esma and Scouge...the continuing saga)

spoilers for end of Chapter 3; Tython quests

Author's Note:

My jk and Scourge actually did go datacron hunting on Tython last night. The baby toonlets running around are so CUTE!! (Scourge didn't think so.)

 

I grin like an idiot through your stories. LIKE AN IDIOT

[Tatile]

I grin like an idiot through your stories. LIKE AN IDIOT

 

That one was pretty adorable, especially the little Eureka! moment the Padawan had

[Striges]

This makes me want to roll a Jedi Knight. Just to get Scourge.

 

Datacron hunting on Tython with your Sith lord in tow must have gotten you some odd looks from the lowbies, especially those on the trial. A lot of stuff we do in-game stuff doesn't translate well into stories. That little tidbit, however, fit perfectly.

[Tatile]

Exploration:

Characters: Rochester, Broan and Benedicta.

Words: 2,717

Style: Really half-arsed attempt at doing a bit of Lovecraft. Suffer if you dare.

 

 

 

"What do you think?" Captain Gorse spoke without turning from the window. They were in orbit above one of the many colony worlds. This was the first true expedition for the new ship and it had thankfully been quiet. Rochester joined the older man at the window, the planet spreading out below them. It was a mess of blue and green, looking more like the romanticised holos given to dreaming women than anything real. The upper hemisphere was more orange than green; it was autumn in the north.

 

"It looks... beautiful, actually."

 

"Yes, mostly a playground for a Sith Lord or two; not the usual 'destroy everything' type, so we get..." He waved at the window and smiled. Strips of cloud covered large parts of the planet, ranging from white to deep grey.

 

"That white stuff, is that snow?" Rochester pointed today the eastern continent. Autumn was melding into evergreens around the base of a mountain range.

 

"Yeah," Captain Gorse chuckled. "Is this the first time you've seen snow?"

 

"First time I've seen white snow on a planet with blue water," They stood in silence for a few minutes, concentrating on the scene below. The crew were equally relaxed; there was little for them to do other than to check and re-check signal strength. "I wonder what it's like down there."

 

"Why didn't you go down there?" Gorse shrugged and fell completely out of his usual stiff-backed posture. He waved over a petty officer, before indicating to his office.

 

"As much as I would have liked to explore such a lovely... planet," Rochester laughed softly and leant fully on the window. "My sister does not make for the best of company."

 

"So much so you couldn't join Lord Naught on their little expedition?" Gorse took the offered glass and handed the second to Rochester. The petty officer remained a moment longer, before realising he had not actually been invited to their little chat. Rochester sighed and swirled the whiskey about in his glass.

 

"It's really not worth the hassle. Lord Naught might out-rank her in terms of Sith business, but Benedicta still has a lot of sway with my mother. She doesn't like me much, if that's even a surprise," He sipped at the whiskey, unconsciously licking the scars on his lips. "And, like most Sith at the moment, she has a 'thing' about non-humans. You can see where this is going."

 

"Your boyfriend's a Sith who's above her, but he's also an ex-Jedi, weird-o alien. She'd prefer you to be running around with a lady Sith Lord and having lots of human babies?" Gorse threw back half of his whiskey, his gaze never leaving the planet.

 

"Well, I am technically engaged to my not-really-second-cousin. Benedicta believes I should honour that and, if not, at the very least fool around with men of my own species."

 

"You're the one who broke him; you should get to keep him." He finished the last of the whiskey and placed the glass on the floor.

 

"I didn't really break him, I just sort of..."

 

"He was a Jedi that worked for the Republic and helped to murder half my crew. Now he's a Sith Lord who makes kissy faces at you and falls asleep in the mess hall. I'd say you're responsible for that."

 

Rochester shifted uncomfortably; he was not used to coming under such scrutiny from his Captain. For all his vices and appearances of incompetence, Captain Gorse was almost disturbingly astute.

 

"What do you think of him then?" Rochester took a quick mouthful of whiskey, if only to prevent him from saying anything else.

 

"He's Sith, doesn't matter what I think, he'll do what he wants anyway. He sounded pretty pissed, though, back then. And he did help us off that blasted pile of crap the Republic had the audacity to call a ship. Still." Gorse made a wavering hand gesture and shrugged.

 

"You don't trust him because he's Sith?"

 

"Of course I don't trust him because he's Sith, I don't trust any Sith. I don't trust him more than most Sith because he used to be a Jedi." Gorse nodded, looking almost smug. It was dangerous to talk about the Sith in such a manner, but he had hand-picked his crew for their loyalty. He had also locked the doors to the bridge.

 

"That's fair." Rochester finished the last of his whiskey. He leant his head against the window, sighing.

 

"Let's get back to hitting buttons and pretending we're working."

 

"Yeah, I'll be with you in a minute."

 

#

 

The building was hardly a ruin. All of its walls still stood, though parts of the roof had gaping holes. The slits of windows were void of glass, but the iron frames were in place. They were still a little under a mile from the building proper, but had already passed the outer walls. A few centuries of neglect had led the gardens to over-grow into wild meadows. Creeping vines, laden with heavily scented flowers, covered the internal dividing walls and reached halfway up the enclosing brickwork. Ornate defence cannons now acted as flowerpots and birdbaths, the last reminder of what this had once been.

 

"They built the mansion a hill." Benedicta pocketed her binoculars and waved the handful of troops forward. Lord Naught stood at her shoulder and nodded.

 

"A good defensive point, it would have been hard for any of the natives to assault the building, even if they had made it through the gardens," Broan gave a quick glance to the flowers that carpeted the meadows, noting their bright and varied colours. "How many of these are poisonous?"

 

"Does it even matter?" Benedicta glared at him, her words full of spite. The difference between her and her brother were remarkable. Broan watched her slip away, shrouded in the Force, nearly invisible and mused. Benedicta was correct, after a fashion. Neither of them was here for plants and there was certainly no requirement for the flowers. Their goals, in fact, lay in the mansion beyond. Broan crouched and began to collect some small samples. He had never seen plants quite like these before and, though his house had no need of them, the flowers could prove useful. The Sith had never seemed like a people who would take pride in having such dainty distractions in their lives, so there was sure to be a hidden property or two.

 

As the soldiers walked past, one bent to offer Broan assistance. For a moment, he considered having her collect the more dangerous looking plants, particularly the one that seemed to be oozing at the thorns. He shuddered and waved the woman on. A creeping sensation, like icy water, slid up his spin as he watched her rejoin the group. The temptation had been there, a great looming shadow of potential. Images flashed through his mind as he started to examine the tiny blue flowers. He saw the woman, her helmet gone and her face contorted from agony, all for a simple plant. The trailing thorns grew, reaching toward the sky with malign intent. They covered the ground and the walls, twisting and writhing as they grew, blocking out the sun. He felt himself suddenly surrounded by a palpable evil, oppressive and suffocating.

 

"Lord Naught, are you with us?" Benedicta's voice cut through his anxiety. Broan shuddered and gasped. Her disdain for him became an anchor and he was able to climb out his of his reverie. He stood, breathing hard and looked at his hands. Little trails of blue slime covered his fingers, iridescent against his skin. "Lord Naught." Benedicta's tone stayed close to civil and respectful but it was clear, even over their fuzzy comm. link that her contempt for Broan was growing.

 

Broan was able to compose himself enough to reply. He wiped the blue slime onto his trousers, noting with regret that it started to turn the black fabric purple.

 

"Continue into the mansion, Apprentice Benedicta," Broan paused as felt the ground lurch under his feet. He stumbled and sank to the ground. The static of the radio link started up again, but Broan spoke before Benedicta. "I needn't explain myself to you; do as I say." He tried to stop the spinning by putting a hand to his forehead. It slowed, slightly. His breathing evened and softened. He contemplated just staying in the meadow, surrounded by the flowers, their scents, their soft signing...

 

"Lord Naught, we've found a shed." He nodded, not recognising the voice at first.

 

"Open it, maybe find yourself a shovel." Nausea was making him grouchy. He wavered. The flowers were so close, so inviting and the house so, so far away.

 

"No shovels, my Lord, but we did find a hoe and some rakes. Not sure what you wanted them for, my Lord, they're rusted through." This was a different voice, a man's this time. They were all so literal, all the time. No flair, no desire, no initiative; not like... Broan clutched his head. His thoughts were jumbled, scattered everywhere. A wave of nausea hit him, forcing him over. He gagged, biting back on the vomit. The perfume was overwhelming now. He wanted to sleep, to dream...

 

"Lord Naught, if you're done picking up posies, we'll be pressing forward to the mansion proper. Benedicta Windthorpe out." There was silence. He was alone in the garden with only the signing, weeping flowers. With a gasp, he crawled forward. Through hazy vision he saw the purple infection seeping into his clothes, feel it scratching against his skin. A statue, half sunk into the dirt, helped him to his feet. Pushing away the vines and leaves that covered it, he revealed a grotesque figure. One arm was outstretched, beseeching some anonymous force and the other was curled in, held tight against the chest. Broan was struck by how life-like the statue was, how each of its features were so deftly carved from stone. This was certainly more the thing he expected of a Sith Lord's garden: statues that captured a person's last moments of utter agony. The realisation was enough. The garden was a poison.

 

Broan hurried to rejoin the group. The hair went up on the back of his neck. Shadows flicked just out of view and something hovered, whispering, just behind. He kept his composure, fighting the urge to run with every step. He was Sith, now, and Sith did not jump at shadows. Even with his quickened pace it took Broan ten minutes to find the soldiers, all the while he had been harried by some malign, unknowable thing.

 

"Lord Naught, we were just about to start scouting the mansion. There does not appear to be any immediate danger, my Lord." It was the woman. She had removed her breathing unit, revealing pale and clammy skin. Her breathing was laboured, coming in long ragged gasps. Many of the other soldiers were also breathing hard. The shadow of the mansion did nothing to ease their worries. Only Benedicta seemed unaffected.

 

"Private...tsk... Sanatr, open the door." Benedicta waved the woman over, indicating to one of the smaller servant entrances. Private Sanatr hesitated. A faint scrabbling sound came from just behind the rotting wood. The door opened and the noises stopped. Private Sanatr looked her shoulder and smiled weakly. The building beyond was dark, darker than they expected; much darker than was natural.

 

#

 

Broan ran, stumbled, blindly groping along the walls. The screams followed him, always just behind, always just a little bit further...

 

He tripped. The world tumbled over and over. Wood hit his ribs. Sharp teeth bit his flesh. After an eternity, after mere seconds, he landed. Moulding, musky carpet cushioned his face, stinging in his cuts. He stood, staggered forward and fell to his knees. The screams were there, at the top of the stairs. He could feel them, nothing but hollow teeth and eyes made from air. They called him, cooing and promising, but still, behind their voices he could hear them. Sanatr, Hendry, Jothan. He could not remember them all, but he could hear their last cries.

 

"Get away!"

 

Desperate, he turned. Lightning launched from his fingers, flying up the stairs. The room about him was lit in a brilliant flash of blue. The smell of burning paper wafted to him. There was silence, for a moment, and then a noise like laughter. Broan yelled. Horrible, furious and primal, his voice filled the hall and echoed throughout. The voices laughed again, mocking him. Calling him weak. Worthless. Nothing. Lord Naught. A nothing. An empty. A shell.

 

He rose. Electricity tickled his hands. He could see them now, creatures made of smoke and hate. Madness swirled in their depths. Broan took a step forward. Light flickered over the walls and stairs, casting bizarre and disturbing shapes. He took another step forward, eyes fixed on the top step. He could feel power building within. The creatures, the screaming, mocking monsters, were afraid of him now. They stooped, they begged. Sanatr pleaded for her life, skin yellow and slick from the poison, drenched in blood, her mouth an open, sucking wound. He grinned. The creatures stretched out their arms, welcoming him, beseeching his mercy.

 

Something heavy hit him in the back. Broan fell, the wind knocked out of him. The lightning dissipated and the screams disappeared. He was yanked upwards and backwards.

"Are you insane or just an idiot? I swear by the blood of my forebears you are beyond redemption!" Benedicta held Broan's robes in her fist. She was wild and furious, her red hair undone from its bun and falling over her shoulders and back. "I need you to get out of here; otherwise I would kill you myself." She pulled him to his feet, pushing him away from the stairs.

 

"I heard them, I saw them this time." Broan pointed to the top of the stairs. The wall was blackened and smoking and a vase had shattered. Benedicta looked at the spot, her curiosity beating fury. A cold shiver ran down her spine.

 

"Out. Out now." Still with her hand gripped about Broan's robes she all but ran from the mansion. Outside it was night. Their instruments had died upon entering the building and the unnatural darkness had prevented any time keeping. A chill wind blew into the valley and clouds covered the sky. Benedicta looked up and was suddenly seized by terror.

 

Three *****s of purple light were pushing their way through the clouds. The body followed the eyes through the clouds, sharp and sleek. A great predator was descending from the heavens. The trap was sprung, the jaws were closing. Benedicta's heart raced. She had never known fear, true fear, until now.

 

"Fear no evil, child, for it is in you." Broan spoke with a voice which was not his own. He grinned at her, his eyes dead and his face lifeless.

 

All was black.

 

#

 

"How are they?" Doctor P-- examined his slides a second time before shrugging.

 

"None the worse for wear physically, Lieutenant," Rochester nodded, fiddling impatiently. Doctor P-- sighed, stretched and scratched the bridge of his nose. "Can't say how well they're doing mentally, of course. From what I heard that place down there was pretty bad. I'd hate to think about what would spook a Sith Lord."

 

"Thank you, Doctor." Rochester turned to regard the patients. Broan and Benedicta sat in separate quarantine chambers. They were both hunched and silent, staring at the floor. All the soldiers assigned to them were missing, presumed dead in the mansion. Rochester had led the retrieval mission after having not heard word from the surface in days. How would he write a report on that? Two Sith Lords found unconscious in a garden full of flowers, at night, half a mile from the mansion. How could he justify not entering the building to search for the remains of the squad? Fear was no answer but it was the truth. He leant all of his weight against the table. He just wanted to bomb the entire damned thing from orbit and never look back.

 

"Give them time, Rochester. They're Sith, they'll bounce back, they always do." Captain Gorse patted him on the shoulder as he turned to leave.

 

"They bounce back... or they die."

 

 

Edited July 24, 2012 by Tatile

[kabeone]

Exploration:

Characters: Rochester, Broan and Benedicta.

Words: 2,717

Style: Really half-arsed attempt at doing a bit of Lovecraft. Suffer if you dare.

 

Read it three or four times .

 

 

 

I'm still not sure when the garden started to affect them. Why was Benedicta ok until the end? or was she? Why wasn't Rochester's group affected by the garden.... buh buh buh

 

Also, <3 Rochester!

 

 

 

How old is Rochester vs Broan? I had the impression earlier that Broan was much older now I'm uncertain.

[Tatile]

Rochester is about 27-28 during these events and I've always felt Broan was a bit younger, maybe around 25. Broan has a mixture of naivety, Jedi wisdom and world weariness that makes his age a bit hard to pin down.

 

 

 

Benedicta is very much a Dark Side Sith, so she's slightly more used to being surrounded by general auras of evilness. She was starting to succumb, though, just at a slower rate than the others (mostly because she's an arrogant *****). Broan's still largely Light Side so this, coupled with rolling around in those bizarre flowers, meant that he got the worst of it (if we ignore our dead soldiers).

 

And why wasn't Rochester's retrieval team affected? Precautionary measures including environmental suits and irradiated air locks. They had a couple of days to worry and prepare, after all.

 

 

 

Glad you liked it!

[kabeone]

Rochester is about 27-28 during these events and I've always felt Broan was a bit younger, maybe around 25. Broan has a mixture of naivety, Jedi wisdom and world weariness that makes his age a bit hard to pin down.

 

Glad you liked it!

 

I see! Broan being younger makes more sense now, I think the confusion for me is that a Sith would always have more authority over an Imperial no matter his age but mentally I always give authority to older people.

 

I really did like it. Did I ever mention <3 Rochester?

[bright_ephemera]

Hmm, a nightmare counterpart to my Warrior Ruth’s long-cherished dream seemed fitting. Since she never gets simplistically nice things. 1000 words, Warrior Act 3 spoilers.

 

 

 

Ruth stood with her back to a river of blood. The stench was tempting, but she mustn’t swim. She stood and awaited the hunters: faceless, innumerable. Stepping into the blood would be shame, would be failure. Fleeing would do her no good. She had to stand her ground, and she would. She would.

 

The ground shook and dissolved into the river. She fell and was drenched. Blood was hers, and always would be. She screamed. Only a fool would have been dumb enough to rely on the ground.

 

A different, gentle shake brought her out of it, to a safe place where Quinn’s arms were wrapped firmly around her. His gaze steadied her. He seemed to drink in the sight of her, as he had a habit of doing. The last few weeks had been difficult, to say the least, but it was worth it for the look he had just then.

 

“Good morning,” she rasped.

 

“Good morning,” he said.

 

“Thanks for waking me up.”

 

“Of course. You seemed distressed, and that is unacceptable.”

 

“So you went and straightened things out for me.”

 

“Always.” He brushed a lock of her hair to one side. “I l-“

 

“Don’t.” She hurriedly covered his mouth with her hand.

 

He frowned and waited for her to lower her hand. “Why do you keep doing that?” he asked. “When will you permit me to say it?”

 

She hesitated before deciding to answer. “You don’t want to ask that question, Malavai. Just don’t say it at all.”

 

He frowned. “I do want to ask. You’ve kept this bizarre behavior up long enough. Why can’t I tell you I l-“

 

“Silence!” He actually raised his voice to try to talk over her, but a short hard Force choke arrested him before he could finish ‘love.’

 

He recoiled, sat up, stared warily at her.

 

“Get dressed,” she said.

 

He held still, watching.

 

“Get dressed. That’s an order, Quinn.” She started toward her closet. “We’ll want to be armored for this one.”

 

She put on her own clothes, then her black body armor, and felt slightly better. Slightly.

 

Quinn finished pulling on his uniform and sat back down on the edge of the bed. “And now, my lord?”

 

“Do you remember the last time you told me you loved me?”

 

He blanched.

 

“We were in our quarters,” she said. “The ship was headed away from Voss.”

 

“I know,” he said, white-lipped.

 

“You were uncommonly attentive that night. I commented on it and you –“ the memory brought an unbidden genuine smile – “of all things, you reported that you had no explanation for it. It was so you. And I said you didn’t owe me one.”

 

“I know.”

 

Smile, gone. “And then you told me you loved me.”

 

“I know.”

 

“Twelve hours after that you opened fire.”

 

He looked away. “I know.”

 

“I don’t want your declarations, Quinn.”

 

“Then why am I here now? You’ve welcomed me back. Why?”

 

She had thought that through plenty of times. “Because I can’t stomach that line, but I like the rest of it. You gave me everything, once. Word, deed, the whole package. All of it turned out to be a lie. But even knowing it for what it is, I want that lie back more than I’ve ever wanted anything in my whole life.” She gestured hopelessly. “So here we are.”

 

“And that’s what this is to you? A lie?”

 

“Yes,” said Ruth, and wished she weren’t so numb to the idea. “It’ll snap again when circumstance or ambition demands. I don’t blame you. This is the closest thing to love you know. It’s actually admirably Imperial. And it’s enough for me. Just don’t mislabel it.”

 

“I thought you were happy.”

 

“I am. I told you, it’s enough.”

 

“Believing that none of what I have to offer is real? That’s nowhere close to acceptable.”

 

“Why not, dearest? We eat together, sleep together, talk, laugh, feel happier with each other than without. What else matters?”

 

“I want to be able to tell you I-" He brought himself up short. "How I feel about you."

 

"Tell me you enjoy me,” she said flatly. “I think that covers it."

 

"If I try to say the other thing, will you attack me again?"

 

"Yes. I'm sorry. I told you not to ask why."

 

“But everything else can proceed as normal? That’s a twisted game you’re asking me to play.”

 

What little patience she had left for his indignation snapped. “It’s more than you deserve after what you did to me.”

 

Ice slammed down over the hurt on his face. "I see. Dealing punishment for a living must be quite strenuous, Wrath. It must be a relief to come home and hit the easy targets. You know I would do anything to prove myself to you.”

 

“I know you can’t do anything that would prove yourself to me.”

 

“Yet you continue to strike at me for failing this test I can never pass. You pretend to be disgusted, but you’ll endure my presence anyway if it means you’ll have someone around to hurt at will.” He raised a hand to his throat, stood. “You make me sick sometimes."

 

"So go.” It was wrong, all of it, wrong again, but at least she had made sure he was dressed to go. That was a precaution she was learning to take before conversations. “If you don't want me, get out. Leave me alone so I can finally go find someone capable of loving me back."

 

That white face flushed. Quinn strode out and slammed the door behind him.

 

He stopped outside and took a long moment to compose himself. He turned back and pressed one hand against the door. "I love you," he said quietly. His face spasmed. He hurried away.

 

Ruth didn’t hear him. She slammed down onto the bed, pressed her face to the pillows, and - not for the first time, not for the last - screamed, as loud and as long as she could.

 

 

 

 

Poor Ruth, and having her mushy mushy expectations formed by a former Jedi who had all kinds of silly sappy ideas about selfless love! The alliance-plus-sex that the Sith and Imperials in general favor is not really what she’s after.

 

Being uncomfortable about writing abusive relationships makes the fact that I’m frequently driven to write a Sith storyline…awkward, to say the least. Don’t Force choke your significant others, people. It’s not okay. Come to think of it, try not to sell them out to their nemeses or get trapped with them in a gut-wrenching rapid love/hate spiral that can’t go so much as a week without demanding contact again. And, if you must fight, don’t start fighting before you’ve put your pants on in the morning.

 

[Crezelle]

Hmm, a nightmare counterpart to my Warrior Ruth’s long-cherished dream seemed fitting. Since she never gets simplistically nice things. 1000 words, Warrior Act 3 spoilers.

 

 

 

Ruth stood with her back to a river of blood. The stench was tempting, but she mustn’t swim. She stood and awaited the hunters: faceless, innumerable. Stepping into the blood would be shame, would be failure. Fleeing would do her no good. She had to stand her ground, and she would. She would.

 

The ground shook and dissolved into the river. She fell and was drenched. Blood was hers, and always would be. She screamed. Only a fool would have been dumb enough to rely on the ground.

 

A different, gentle shake brought her out of it, to a safe place where Quinn’s arms were wrapped firmly around her. His gaze steadied her. He seemed to drink in the sight of her, as he had a habit of doing. The last few weeks had been difficult, to say the least, but it was worth it for the look he had just then.

 

“Good morning,” she rasped.

 

“Good morning,” he said.

 

“Thanks for waking me up.”

 

“Of course. You seemed distressed, and that is unacceptable.”

 

“So you went and straightened things out for me.”

 

“Always.” He brushed a lock of her hair to one side. “I l-“

 

“Don’t.” She hurriedly covered his mouth with her hand.

 

He frowned and waited for her to lower her hand. “Why do you keep doing that?” he asked. “When will you permit me to say it?”

 

She hesitated before deciding to answer. “You don’t want to ask that question, Malavai. Just don’t say it at all.”

 

He frowned. “I do want to ask. You’ve kept this bizarre behavior up long enough. Why can’t I tell you I l-“

 

“Silence!” He actually raised his voice to try to talk over her, but a short hard Force choke arrested him before he could finish ‘love.’

 

He recoiled, sat up, stared warily at her.

 

“Get dressed,” she said.

 

He held still, watching.

 

“Get dressed. That’s an order, Quinn.” She started toward her closet. “We’ll want to be armored for this one.”

 

She put on her own clothes, then her black body armor, and felt slightly better. Slightly.

 

Quinn finished pulling on his uniform and sat back down on the edge of the bed. “And now, my lord?”

 

“Do you remember the last time you told me you loved me?”

 

He blanched.

 

“We were in our quarters,” she said. “The ship was headed away from Voss.”

 

“I know,” he said, white-lipped.

 

“You were uncommonly attentive that night. I commented on it and you –“ the memory brought an unbidden genuine smile – “of all things, you reported that you had no explanation for it. It was so you. And I said you didn’t owe me one.”

 

“I know.”

 

Smile, gone. “And then you told me you loved me.”

 

“I know.”

 

“Twelve hours after that you opened fire.”

 

He looked away. “I know.”

 

“I don’t want your declarations, Quinn.”

 

“Then why am I here now? You’ve welcomed me back. Why?”

 

She had thought that through plenty of times. “Because I can’t stomach that line, but I like the rest of it. You gave me everything, once. Word, deed, the whole package. All of it turned out to be a lie. But even knowing it for what it is, I want that lie back more than I’ve ever wanted anything in my whole life.” She gestured hopelessly. “So here we are.”

 

“And that’s what this is to you? A lie?”

 

“Yes,” said Ruth, and wished she weren’t so numb to the idea. “It’ll snap again when circumstance or ambition demands. I don’t blame you. This is the closest thing to love you know. It’s actually admirably Imperial. And it’s enough for me. Just don’t mislabel it.”

 

“I thought you were happy.”

 

“I am. I told you, it’s enough.”

 

“Believing that none of what I have to offer is real? That’s nowhere close to acceptable.”

 

“Why not, dearest? We eat together, sleep together, talk, laugh, feel happier with each other than without. What else matters?”

 

“I want to be able to tell you I-" He brought himself up short. "How I feel about you."

 

"Tell me you enjoy me,” she said flatly. “I think that covers it."

 

"If I try to say the other thing, will you attack me again?"

 

"Yes. I'm sorry. I told you not to ask why."

 

“But everything else can proceed as normal? That’s a twisted game you’re asking me to play.”

 

What little patience she had left for his indignation snapped. “It’s more than you deserve after what you did to me.”

 

Ice slammed down over the hurt on his face. "I see. Dealing punishment for a living must be quite strenuous, Wrath. It must be a relief to come home and hit the easy targets. You know I would do anything to prove myself to you.”

 

“I know you can’t do anything that would prove yourself to me.”

 

“Yet you continue to strike at me for failing this test I can never pass. You pretend to be disgusted, but you’ll endure my presence anyway if it means you’ll have someone around to hurt at will.” He raised a hand to his throat, stood. “You make me sick sometimes."

 

"So go.” It was wrong, all of it, wrong again, but at least she had made sure he was dressed to go. That was a precaution she was learning to take before conversations. “If you don't want me, get out. Leave me alone so I can finally go find someone capable of loving me back."

 

That white face flushed. Quinn strode out and slammed the door behind him.

 

He stopped outside and took a long moment to compose himself. He turned back and pressed one hand against the door. "I love you," he said quietly. His face spasmed. He hurried away.

 

Ruth didn’t hear him. She slammed down onto the bed, pressed her face to the pillows, and - not for the first time, not for the last - screamed, as loud and as long as she could.

 

 

 

 

Poor Ruth, and having her mushy mushy expectations formed by a former Jedi who had all kinds of silly sappy ideas about selfless love! The alliance-plus-sex that the Sith and Imperials in general favor is not really what she’s after.

 

Being uncomfortable about writing abusive relationships makes the fact that I’m frequently driven to write a Sith storyline…awkward, to say the least. Don’t Force choke your significant others, people. It’s not okay. Come to think of it, try not to sell them out to their nemeses or get trapped with them in a gut-wrenching rapid love/hate spiral that can’t go so much as a week without demanding contact again. And, if you must fight, don’t start fighting before you’ve put your pants on in the morning.

 

<3 <3 <3

even sith need love too~

[Magdalane]

Exploration

 

 

Miriah woke, not for the first time that night. Her almost seven month’s pregnant self was having increasing difficulty getting comfortable, not to mention that her son was particularly restless at night. Hope that’s not an omen, she thought, I really don’t want Devin to be a fellow insomniac. She slid out of bed, knowing that Corso was working harder with the herds than ever, and was beyond tired when he finally came to bed. She quietly left their room, grabbed some clothes from the laundry area, and silently dressed.

 

Grabbing a bottle of water and some cookies she’d made yesterday, she walked outside and looked around. The moons were pretty full, and there was plenty of light. She had no idea what time it was, but she decided to walk for a little bit, thinking it might help with the restlessness. Miriah struck out toward the south pasture, since she knew there weren’t any animals there right now. As she got closer, she could hear the brook that she’d seen on the maps when they bought the place, she’d just never taken the time to walk out this way. She could see the bank now, and decided to walk along it to the lake it fed. The air felt clean, cool and refreshing, and she took several deep breaths. The baby had settled, being comforted by the motion of her walking, and she gently rubbed her expanding middle as she carefully navigated the bank. The water was crystal clear, and just lazily traveled down its path. The sound of it was soothing to her, and she felt herself relax. She crouched beside the brook, trailing her fingers in the cold water, and felt herself smile.

 

After she’d rested for a few minutes, enjoying a cookie, she stood and resumed her walk. She was just a few steps along when she heard it—a soft cry, questioning and alone. She stopped and looked around but didn’t see what it was at first. As she stood there she saw what appeared to be a lump of something in front of her. As she approached it, she saw that it was weakly moving and crying. It was a baby lynx, and it had been injured. It was so young that its eyes hadn’t opened yet, and it had claw marks along one side that were still bleeding. It was mewling pitifully now, in pain and scared. The mother instinct in Miriah wouldn’t let her leave it to suffer. She tore off her outer shirt and folded it, making a blanket to put the injured kit on. As soon as she touched it the kit started to purr and shiver. Wrapping the poor thing in her shirt, she lifted it to her chest and it quieted. It was so tiny it fit in one hand, and snuggled for warmth. She turned and started back the way she’d come, but she must have walked farther than she’d realized, because she got tired before she could see the house again.

 

Miriah decided to sit, just for a little bit, to get her bearings and check on the baby lynx. It was sleeping, she guessed, but at least it was still alive. Miriah was starting to shiver a little, since she was just in a thin tshirt now, but she knew the kit needed her other shirt more right now. She stood, and started back up the stream. Step after step, she felt herself growing weary, but she didn’t want to stop again unless she had to. As she came up over a rise, she could see her house with what looked liked every light possible on. Oh no, she thought, Corso had woken up and couldn’t find her.

 

She had only the pasture to get across now, but her legs were so tired. Just one foot in front of the other, she thought, I can do this. She was about halfway there when she stumbled and almost fell face first, startling the kit and waking the baby. She landed on her knees, the shock of it traveling up her legs and into her back. She sat, catching her breath and felt the kit move against her as her son moved inside her, both of them urging her to get up and move. She’d just gotten her feet under her when she heard Corso calling her.

 

“Over here!” she responded, and saw him break into a run in her direction. She knew she must have really frightened him. He was beside her in only a few seconds, fear evident in his eyes, and wrapped her in a hug before she could stop him.

 

“Thank the stars you’re alright. What are you doing out here?” He realized she was holding something, and gave her a puzzled look, “What is this?”

 

“I found it, all alone and crying, and I couldn’t leave it to die,” she told him. He took the wrapped bundle and put his arm around her waist, leading her back to the house. “I woke up for the tenth time and didn’t want to disturb you, so I got up and the moons were so bright I thought I’d walk outside for a bit, fresh air and all. I’m sorry I worried you.”

 

He stopped and kissed her, “As long as you’re okay, I’m not upset.”

 

They went inside and Corso put the bundle on his work table to see what was inside. He couldn’t have been more surprised to see the lynx kitten, and figured the wounds were from one of the wild kath hounds that roamed around the ranch. He put some ointment on the wounds, and found a dropper and warmed some milk, feeding the kit until it was full.

 

“Poor little guy, or girl, rather. She surely wouldn’t have lasted until morning, Mir. See, she’s warm and full now. You keeping her for a pet?” He looked up at her hopefully, and smiled when she nodded. She’d found and lined a basket with soft towels and Corso put the sleeping kit inside. They took the new addition to their room and placed the basket in the corner, where they could hear her purr.

 

Corso led her to the bed, and they wrapped themselves around each other. “Never figured you’d be bringing home stray animals, love.” He chuckled, “She’ll have to be a house pet, she’ll never survive outside.” Miriah nodded and yawned, suddenly tired.

 

“Sorry for all this,” she told him, and just gently squeezed her, “I know how tired you must be.”

 

“Don’t worry about me,” he told her. He’d never tell her how afraid he’d been when he couldn’t find her, how he’d wondered if he’d upset her and she’d just taken off. Logically, he knew better but dead tired and half asleep it had seemed plausible. He just held her close as she drifted to sleep, feeling the faint kicks of his son as he, too, seemed to settle in for a nap.

 

 

 

[Morgani]

Nightmare 1800 words

 

Minor planet quest spoilers about Alderaan.

 

A note on family

 

Nicci is the eldest Kodrevas sister and I don't have her rolled as a character but she's married with two kids. (Cookies if you recognize their names.) She and Brei'yu are just over a year apart and were very close even after Brei defected. Ipha was born a couple years after Brei'yu and won't speak to her anymore. Mavae is the youngest, almost 10 years younger than Ipha and is a horrible little girl. She's my dark sided Assassin character. Despite the golden ideals of the Kodrevas parents, both Republic diplomats to House Organa, the Kodrevas girls very much went their own ways.

 

 

 

Her children had cried themselves to sleep. Her husband had kissed her forehead for a long moment and that was when the tears began again. Kav had taken her hands in his and told her he didn't have to go, not yet. But she had insisted. Her father was dead, as his only son-in-law, indeed the only other man within the family so far, there were things to see to, issues to take care of. Nicci Kodrevas felt her throat close as she watched her beloved stride out the door, the tears in his eyes a testament to the legacy of a man who touched lives, and changed them.

 

She had taken herself to another room and cried as hard and as long as her body could stand. She would have to tell Brei'yu that Father was dead. So much history and anger was tied up in Brei, her mother would fret and wring her hands and pull her hair, undecided as always about what to do when it came to her. Nicci still spoke to Brei on occasion, even though the younger sister had defected to the Empire years ago. Nicci strongly believed in family and you never turned your back on family.

 

She had some control of herself, so it would have to be now. Later, when the void he had left in their lives became obvious and couldn't be ignored, it would be a different story. Nicci went to the holo and sought a connection that only she knew.

 

On the other side of the galaxy, deep in Imperial space, Adris Westan lounged. A spherical object that he had recovered from a dig site on Taris ages ago and was probably invaluable to the Imperial Reclamation Service made a lazy arc between his hands as he listened to Brei'yu and Vector discuss the handling of illness within the Joiners. Brei'yu was asking questions Adris had never considered about the odds of undetected mental illness within a Joiner, and if it would affect other Joiners or Killiks through their one mind link to the hive when the holo sounded a call. Adris decided he was going to ignore it and make it a lazy day for his crew but Brei checked the caller anyway.

 

“It's mine, you can stay on your butt and daydream,” she said with a grin as she patched her sister through. The smile died as she saw her sister's puffy, ravaged eyes. “Nicci? What's wrong? Are Nixxie and Coyle alright?”

 

Nicci broke into fresh tears as she shook her head. “Brei, F-Father. Father's dead.”

 

Brei'yu went very still and Adris sat up, the relic missing his hand entirely and falling to the floor. Vector watched with an impassive face, not taking his eyes off Brei as she processed this information. “What- What's happened?” Brei'yu whispered. She cleared her throat and tried again. “What's happened? Where's Mother and Kav? The kids?”

 

Nicci wiped her eyes with a damp linen. “Kav and Mother have gone to House Organa. There are files in Father's office that need attention and matters of... of funeral.” Her voice choked but she controlled it. “My children are asleep. Thank you for your concern.”

 

“Nicci-” Brei'yu began.

 

“I love you, my sister. I do mean my thanks.” Nicci took a deep breath, hated the telling of it, knowing it needed to be done. “There's not a lot of information I can give you because they won't give it to me. From what Kav could tell me, House Thul sent assassins from Rist to wipe out what was left of House Panteer. Father was there as official from House Organa and... and he... got in the way. Panteer lost two members of their family and there were others.”

 

Brei'yu hung her head. “Father's assignment was to House Organa! What was he even doing around Panteer?”

 

“Father went where he was needed. After the Republic helped to remove Bouris Ulgo from the throne, the power vacuum has been acutely felt here.”

 

Brei'yu stiffened. “Oh, Ipha,” she murmured, thinking of the patriotic younger sister who idolized the man who served in the Great Galactic War before becoming a Diplomat. The sister who would no longer speak to her since she had snuck into House Thul late one night to take transport to Dromund Kaas. “Does Ipha know?”

 

“She is being told through official channels. I haven't been able to speak with her yet.”

 

*

 

“We regret to inform you that your father, Gethe Kodrevas was killed last night, Lieutenant. House Organa and the Republic extends it's deepest sympathies. We're told-”

 

She didn't hear the rest. She didn't need to. House Rist had murdered her father. Ipha Kodrevas stood as stiff and still as durasteel, her eyes locked on the representative's holoimage, her breathing so shallow as to be imperceptible. Of its own accord, her hand reached over to turn the man off, his words just a buzzing in her ears. Her feet moved themselves, taking her away from the shocked stares of her Squad.

 

But it was her arm, the flesh and bone one, that won out in the end.

 

The cry was ripped from her chest and rang with such aching clarity through the ship that it brought the rest running. She turned and her rammed her fist into the bulkhead again and again as rage burned through her, before the sadness and despair could take over.

 

There was a colorful curse and an arm wrapped itself over her shoulder and down her chest, yanking her backward and off her feet. Small hands wrapped around the wrist that was even still raising itself for another hit and someone was murmuring “Her hand, oh her hand.”

 

Major Poole took up her vision, coming to stand between her and the wall and her arm went limp. Even in this state she wouldn't hit a superior officer.

 

*

 

“I'm... I'm not going to be able to come to the funeral.” It was half a question, half a slow realization. Brei'yu felt her throat start to burn. “I'm not going to be able to say good-bye.”

 

Nicci opened her mouth to comfort but could only offer a helpless apology.

 

Brei'yu put a hand to her forehead, and then the other. When someone put their arms around her, she sagged into them. She expected it to be Adris but when his voice came from behind her, telling Nicci she would need to call again, she realized it was Vector. Something warm threaded through the cold sadness in her chest.

 

“I didn't- I didn't think. Why does this hurt so much? I left them. Their ridiculous ideals and their stunted plans. I thought... I thought he would live forever. He was so big. Oh, my sisters. My mother. I- I...” The tears shocked her. She'd long since said good-bye to her family. She thought she had.

 

*

 

Her back was up against someone's chest and she struggled weakly. Major Poole had her by the shoulders and she was trapped. There was pain, in her mind, in her chest, and somewhere else. Somewhere far off. “Lieutenant,” Poole said gently. “You need to breathe. Ipha. Lieutenant!”

 

The order was snapped out and got her attention. She looked up at the large Zabrak and for a moment she saw her father, big shouldered, tall statured, dependable. The rage dissipated in a rush leaving only sadness and loss. “Not my father,” she whispered. “No, not him. Not my father.” Each word stung her throat and her body's only answer was tears. They filled her eyes until Poole's face was only blurry color then spilled down her cheeks to fall on the arm Aric Jorgan, who she knew in the part of her mind that still operated was holding her back, holding her still.

 

“Sir, we need to get her into medical. I can sedate her. And I'll work on her hand,” Elara murmured as she held Ipha's arm still to prevent further damage.

 

“Woman's half cyborg and she chooses to beat the snot out of a wall with the one of three parts of her that still have bone,” Tanno Vik said. He shook his head with sympathy.

 

“Shut up, Vik,” Jorgan snarled. He took a step back, pulling Ipha with him and she went limp, the fight drained out of her. “Come on, Ipha. We'll take care of you,” he said quietly as he shifted his grip to put her arm around his shoulder.

 

“He's gone, Jorgan. The Empire took him. I-I don't... What do I do?”

 

“You're going to rest, we'll figure everything else out later,” he said as Elara gently injected her with a sedative. He lifted her onto the bed in medical and leaned over her so as her eyes closed, he'd be the last thing she saw.

 

*

 

“Is it done?” The voice was cold and curious. “Is House Panteer wiped from Alderaan?”

 

“My Lord.” The man's voice trembled just slightly and Mavae Kodrevas was cooly impressed as she figured he was about to give bad news. “There were... complications. Two of Panteer's family fell to Rist, but... House Organa had sent an unexpected caravan. There were... more than expected. The assassins were stopped.”

 

“Two. Two?” The Darth's voice was ice now. “The remainder of Panteer's sniveling House is gathered in one spot, in a cave like animals and the best assassins on planet, in the sector only take out two of them?”

 

“House Organa lost men as well, my Lord,” the soldier said hopefully. “Diplomats from the Republic, one of their own, many guards.”

 

Mavae felt a chill ride down her spine. “Diplomats?” she asked before her Master could interject.

 

The soldier glanced at her then back at the Darth, unsure if he should answer.

 

“You were asked a question,” her Master said.

 

“House Organa sent ambassadors to offer succor to House Panteer. It's said that their highest ranking diplomat was killed protecting the children. Another was shot in the back as he tried to flee.”

 

Mavae's eyes lost their focus and she felt down the Force for something familiar, something missing. “Gethe Kodrevas,” she said quietly. “He was killed.”

 

“Yes. The one who shielded to children was named Kodrevas.”

 

Mavae turned her gaze from the soldier. Her father was dead. It was her eighteenth birthday.

 

 

Author's Note

 

I've lost family members as a child and as an adult so I tried to express the confusion and chaos that takes over in the first few minutes of learning you've lost someone close. I remember by grandfather taking me to my cousin's casket when I was 7 and trying to hold it together. I see a lot of me in Ipha and I know that when my father passes I will be an absolute mess because we're so close. I was trying to capture all that strength and despair in as few words as I could so this wouldn't get too long. Losing my dad is my nightmare, and Ipha is the one that takes it hardest. I'm not sure where this falls in canon, after Alderaan obviously. I've had to massage the time line a little to allow for the fall of Panteer and Brei'yu living on Alderaan and defecting as a teen. Maybe one day I'll write that too.

 

[Morgani]

Exploration:

Characters: Rochester, Broan and Benedicta.

Words: 2,717

Style: Really half-arsed attempt at doing a bit of Lovecraft. Suffer if you dare.

 

 

 

"What do you think?" Captain Gorse spoke without turning from the window. They were in orbit above one of the many colony worlds. This was the first true expedition for the new ship and it had thankfully been quiet. Rochester joined the older man at the window, the planet spreading out below them. It was a mess of blue and green, looking more like the romanticised holos given to dreaming women than anything real. The upper hemisphere was more orange than green; it was autumn in the north.

 

"It looks... beautiful, actually."

 

"Yes, mostly a playground for a Sith Lord or two; not the usual 'destroy everything' type, so we get..." He waved at the window and smiled. Strips of cloud covered large parts of the planet, ranging from white to deep grey.

 

"That white stuff, is that snow?" Rochester pointed today the eastern continent. Autumn was melding into evergreens around the base of a mountain range.

 

"Yeah," Captain Gorse chuckled. "Is this the first time you've seen snow?"

 

"First time I've seen white snow on a planet with blue water," They stood in silence for a few minutes, concentrating on the scene below. The crew were equally relaxed; there was little for them to do other than to check and re-check signal strength. "I wonder what it's like down there."

 

"Why didn't you go down there?" Gorse shrugged and fell completely out of his usual stiff-backed posture. He waved over a petty officer, before indicating to his office.

 

"As much as I would have liked to explore such a lovely... planet," Rochester laughed softly and leant fully on the window. "My sister does not make for the best of company."

 

"So much so you couldn't join Lord Naught on their little expedition?" Gorse took the offered glass and handed the second to Rochester. The petty officer remained a moment longer, before realising he had not actually been invited to their little chat. Rochester sighed and swirled the whiskey about in his glass.

 

"It's really not worth the hassle. Lord Naught might out-rank her in terms of Sith business, but Benedicta still has a lot of sway with my mother. She doesn't like me much, if that's even a surprise," He sipped at the whiskey, unconsciously licking the scars on his lips. "And, like most Sith at the moment, she has a 'thing' about non-humans. You can see where this is going."

 

"Your boyfriend's a Sith who's above her, but he's also an ex-Jedi, weird-o alien. She'd prefer you to be running around with a lady Sith Lord and having lots of human babies?" Gorse threw back half of his whiskey, his gaze never leaving the planet.

 

"Well, I am technically engaged to my not-really-second-cousin. Benedicta believes I should honour that and, if not, at the very least fool around with men of my own species."

 

"You're the one who broke him; you should get to keep him." He finished the last of the whiskey and placed the glass on the floor.

 

"I didn't really break him, I just sort of..."

 

"He was a Jedi that worked for the Republic and helped to murder half my crew. Now he's a Sith Lord who makes kissy faces at you and falls asleep in the mess hall. I'd say you're responsible for that."

 

Rochester shifted uncomfortably; he was not used to coming under such scrutiny from his Captain. For all his vices and appearances of incompetence, Captain Gorse was almost disturbingly astute.

 

"What do you think of him then?" Rochester took a quick mouthful of whiskey, if only to prevent him from saying anything else.

 

"He's Sith, doesn't matter what I think, he'll do what he wants anyway. He sounded pretty pissed, though, back then. And he did help us off that blasted pile of crap the Republic had the audacity to call a ship. Still." Gorse made a wavering hand gesture and shrugged.

 

"You don't trust him because he's Sith?"

 

"Of course I don't trust him because he's Sith, I don't trust any Sith. I don't trust him more than most Sith because he used to be a Jedi." Gorse nodded, looking almost smug. It was dangerous to talk about the Sith in such a manner, but he had hand-picked his crew for their loyalty. He had also locked the doors to the bridge.

 

"That's fair." Rochester finished the last of his whiskey. He leant his head against the window, sighing.

 

"Let's get back to hitting buttons and pretending we're working."

 

"Yeah, I'll be with you in a minute."

 

#

 

The building was hardly a ruin. All of its walls still stood, though parts of the roof had gaping holes. The slits of windows were void of glass, but the iron frames were in place. They were still a little under a mile from the building proper, but had already passed the outer walls. A few centuries of neglect had led the gardens to over-grow into wild meadows. Creeping vines, laden with heavily scented flowers, covered the internal dividing walls and reached halfway up the enclosing brickwork. Ornate defence cannons now acted as flowerpots and birdbaths, the last reminder of what this had once been.

 

"They built the mansion a hill." Benedicta pocketed her binoculars and waved the handful of troops forward. Lord Naught stood at her shoulder and nodded.

 

"A good defensive point, it would have been hard for any of the natives to assault the building, even if they had made it through the gardens," Broan gave a quick glance to the flowers that carpeted the meadows, noting their bright and varied colours. "How many of these are poisonous?"

 

"Does it even matter?" Benedicta glared at him, her words full of spite. The difference between her and her brother were remarkable. Broan watched her slip away, shrouded in the Force, nearly invisible and mused. Benedicta was correct, after a fashion. Neither of them was here for plants and there was certainly no requirement for the flowers. Their goals, in fact, lay in the mansion beyond. Broan crouched and began to collect some small samples. He had never seen plants quite like these before and, though his house had no need of them, the flowers could prove useful. The Sith had never seemed like a people who would take pride in having such dainty distractions in their lives, so there was sure to be a hidden property or two.

 

As the soldiers walked past, one bent to offer Broan assistance. For a moment, he considered having her collect the more dangerous looking plants, particularly the one that seemed to be oozing at the thorns. He shuddered and waved the woman on. A creeping sensation, like icy water, slid up his spin as he watched her rejoin the group. The temptation had been there, a great looming shadow of potential. Images flashed through his mind as he started to examine the tiny blue flowers. He saw the woman, her helmet gone and her face contorted from agony, all for a simple plant. The trailing thorns grew, reaching toward the sky with malign intent. They covered the ground and the walls, twisting and writhing as they grew, blocking out the sun. He felt himself suddenly surrounded by a palpable evil, oppressive and suffocating.

 

"Lord Naught, are you with us?" Benedicta's voice cut through his anxiety. Broan shuddered and gasped. Her disdain for him became an anchor and he was able to climb out his of his reverie. He stood, breathing hard and looked at his hands. Little trails of blue slime covered his fingers, iridescent against his skin. "Lord Naught." Benedicta's tone stayed close to civil and respectful but it was clear, even over their fuzzy comm. link that her contempt for Broan was growing.

 

Broan was able to compose himself enough to reply. He wiped the blue slime onto his trousers, noting with regret that it started to turn the black fabric purple.

 

"Continue into the mansion, Apprentice Benedicta," Broan paused as felt the ground lurch under his feet. He stumbled and sank to the ground. The static of the radio link started up again, but Broan spoke before Benedicta. "I needn't explain myself to you; do as I say." He tried to stop the spinning by putting a hand to his forehead. It slowed, slightly. His breathing evened and softened. He contemplated just staying in the meadow, surrounded by the flowers, their scents, their soft signing...

 

"Lord Naught, we've found a shed." He nodded, not recognising the voice at first.

 

"Open it, maybe find yourself a shovel." Nausea was making him grouchy. He wavered. The flowers were so close, so inviting and the house so, so far away.

 

"No shovels, my Lord, but we did find a hoe and some rakes. Not sure what you wanted them for, my Lord, they're rusted through." This was a different voice, a man's this time. They were all so literal, all the time. No flair, no desire, no initiative; not like... Broan clutched his head. His thoughts were jumbled, scattered everywhere. A wave of nausea hit him, forcing him over. He gagged, biting back on the vomit. The perfume was overwhelming now. He wanted to sleep, to dream...

 

"Lord Naught, if you're done picking up posies, we'll be pressing forward to the mansion proper. Benedicta Windthorpe out." There was silence. He was alone in the garden with only the signing, weeping flowers. With a gasp, he crawled forward. Through hazy vision he saw the purple infection seeping into his clothes, feel it scratching against his skin. A statue, half sunk into the dirt, helped him to his feet. Pushing away the vines and leaves that covered it, he revealed a grotesque figure. One arm was outstretched, beseeching some anonymous force and the other was curled in, held tight against the chest. Broan was struck by how life-like the statue was, how each of its features were so deftly carved from stone. This was certainly more the thing he expected of a Sith Lord's garden: statues that captured a person's last moments of utter agony. The realisation was enough. The garden was a poison.

 

Broan hurried to rejoin the group. The hair went up on the back of his neck. Shadows flicked just out of view and something hovered, whispering, just behind. He kept his composure, fighting the urge to run with every step. He was Sith, now, and Sith did not jump at shadows. Even with his quickened pace it took Broan ten minutes to find the soldiers, all the while he had been harried by some malign, unknowable thing.

 

"Lord Naught, we were just about to start scouting the mansion. There does not appear to be any immediate danger, my Lord." It was the woman. She had removed her breathing unit, revealing pale and clammy skin. Her breathing was laboured, coming in long ragged gasps. Many of the other soldiers were also breathing hard. The shadow of the mansion did nothing to ease their worries. Only Benedicta seemed unaffected.

 

"Private...tsk... Sanatr, open the door." Benedicta waved the woman over, indicating to one of the smaller servant entrances. Private Sanatr hesitated. A faint scrabbling sound came from just behind the rotting wood. The door opened and the noises stopped. Private Sanatr looked her shoulder and smiled weakly. The building beyond was dark, darker than they expected; much darker than was natural.

 

#

 

Broan ran, stumbled, blindly groping along the walls. The screams followed him, always just behind, always just a little bit further...

 

He tripped. The world tumbled over and over. Wood hit his ribs. Sharp teeth bit his flesh. After an eternity, after mere seconds, he landed. Moulding, musky carpet cushioned his face, stinging in his cuts. He stood, staggered forward and fell to his knees. The screams were there, at the top of the stairs. He could feel them, nothing but hollow teeth and eyes made from air. They called him, cooing and promising, but still, behind their voices he could hear them. Sanatr, Hendry, Jothan. He could not remember them all, but he could hear their last cries.

 

"Get away!"

 

Desperate, he turned. Lightning launched from his fingers, flying up the stairs. The room about him was lit in a brilliant flash of blue. The smell of burning paper wafted to him. There was silence, for a moment, and then a noise like laughter. Broan yelled. Horrible, furious and primal, his voice filled the hall and echoed throughout. The voices laughed again, mocking him. Calling him weak. Worthless. Nothing. Lord Naught. A nothing. An empty. A shell.

 

He rose. Electricity tickled his hands. He could see them now, creatures made of smoke and hate. Madness swirled in their depths. Broan took a step forward. Light flickered over the walls and stairs, casting bizarre and disturbing shapes. He took another step forward, eyes fixed on the top step. He could feel power building within. The creatures, the screaming, mocking monsters, were afraid of him now. They stooped, they begged. Sanatr pleaded for her life, skin yellow and slick from the poison, drenched in blood, her mouth an open, sucking wound. He grinned. The creatures stretched out their arms, welcoming him, beseeching his mercy.

 

Something heavy hit him in the back. Broan fell, the wind knocked out of him. The lightning dissipated and the screams disappeared. He was yanked upwards and backwards.

"Are you insane or just an idiot? I swear by the blood of my forebears you are beyond redemption!" Benedicta held Broan's robes in her fist. She was wild and furious, her red hair undone from its bun and falling over her shoulders and back. "I need you to get out of here; otherwise I would kill you myself." She pulled him to his feet, pushing him away from the stairs.

 

"I heard them, I saw them this time." Broan pointed to the top of the stairs. The wall was blackened and smoking and a vase had shattered. Benedicta looked at the spot, her curiosity beating fury. A cold shiver ran down her spine.

 

"Out. Out now." Still with her hand gripped about Broan's robes she all but ran from the mansion. Outside it was night. Their instruments had died upon entering the building and the unnatural darkness had prevented any time keeping. A chill wind blew into the valley and clouds covered the sky. Benedicta looked up and was suddenly seized by terror.

 

Three *****s of purple light were pushing their way through the clouds. The body followed the eyes through the clouds, sharp and sleek. A great predator was descending from the heavens. The trap was sprung, the jaws were closing. Benedicta's heart raced. She had never known fear, true fear, until now.

 

"Fear no evil, child, for it is in you." Broan spoke with a voice which was not his own. He grinned at her, his eyes dead and his face lifeless.

 

All was black.

 

#

 

"How are they?" Doctor P-- examined his slides a second time before shrugging.

 

"None the worse for wear physically, Lieutenant," Rochester nodded, fiddling impatiently. Doctor P-- sighed, stretched and scratched the bridge of his nose. "Can't say how well they're doing mentally, of course. From what I heard that place down there was pretty bad. I'd hate to think about what would spook a Sith Lord."

 

"Thank you, Doctor." Rochester turned to regard the patients. Broan and Benedicta sat in separate quarantine chambers. They were both hunched and silent, staring at the floor. All the soldiers assigned to them were missing, presumed dead in the mansion. Rochester had led the retrieval mission after having not heard word from the surface in days. How would he write a report on that? Two Sith Lords found unconscious in a garden full of flowers, at night, half a mile from the mansion. How could he justify not entering the building to search for the remains of the squad? Fear was no answer but it was the truth. He leant all of his weight against the table. He just wanted to bomb the entire damned thing from orbit and never look back.

 

"Give them time, Rochester. They're Sith, they'll bounce back, they always do." Captain Gorse patted him on the shoulder as he turned to leave.

 

"They bounce back... or they die."

 

 

 

I love love love Lovecraft and this was a fun read. Very terrifying Broan's decent into madness.

[Morgani]

Hmm, a nightmare counterpart to my Warrior Ruth’s long-cherished dream seemed fitting. Since she never gets simplistically nice things. 1000 words, Warrior Act 3 spoilers.

 

 

 

Ruth stood with her back to a river of blood. The stench was tempting, but she mustn’t swim. She stood and awaited the hunters: faceless, innumerable. Stepping into the blood would be shame, would be failure. Fleeing would do her no good. She had to stand her ground, and she would. She would.

 

The ground shook and dissolved into the river. She fell and was drenched. Blood was hers, and always would be. She screamed. Only a fool would have been dumb enough to rely on the ground.

 

A different, gentle shake brought her out of it, to a safe place where Quinn’s arms were wrapped firmly around her. His gaze steadied her. He seemed to drink in the sight of her, as he had a habit of doing. The last few weeks had been difficult, to say the least, but it was worth it for the look he had just then.

 

“Good morning,” she rasped.

 

“Good morning,” he said.

 

“Thanks for waking me up.”

 

“Of course. You seemed distressed, and that is unacceptable.”

 

“So you went and straightened things out for me.”

 

“Always.” He brushed a lock of her hair to one side. “I l-“

 

“Don’t.” She hurriedly covered his mouth with her hand.

 

He frowned and waited for her to lower her hand. “Why do you keep doing that?” he asked. “When will you permit me to say it?”

 

She hesitated before deciding to answer. “You don’t want to ask that question, Malavai. Just don’t say it at all.”

 

He frowned. “I do want to ask. You’ve kept this bizarre behavior up long enough. Why can’t I tell you I l-“

 

“Silence!” He actually raised his voice to try to talk over her, but a short hard Force choke arrested him before he could finish ‘love.’

 

He recoiled, sat up, stared warily at her.

 

“Get dressed,” she said.

 

He held still, watching.

 

“Get dressed. That’s an order, Quinn.” She started toward her closet. “We’ll want to be armored for this one.”

 

She put on her own clothes, then her black body armor, and felt slightly better. Slightly.

 

Quinn finished pulling on his uniform and sat back down on the edge of the bed. “And now, my lord?”

 

“Do you remember the last time you told me you loved me?”

 

He blanched.

 

“We were in our quarters,” she said. “The ship was headed away from Voss.”

 

“I know,” he said, white-lipped.

 

“You were uncommonly attentive that night. I commented on it and you –“ the memory brought an unbidden genuine smile – “of all things, you reported that you had no explanation for it. It was so you. And I said you didn’t owe me one.”

 

“I know.”

 

Smile, gone. “And then you told me you loved me.”

 

“I know.”

 

“Twelve hours after that you opened fire.”

 

He looked away. “I know.”

 

“I don’t want your declarations, Quinn.”

 

“Then why am I here now? You’ve welcomed me back. Why?”

 

She had thought that through plenty of times. “Because I can’t stomach that line, but I like the rest of it. You gave me everything, once. Word, deed, the whole package. All of it turned out to be a lie. But even knowing it for what it is, I want that lie back more than I’ve ever wanted anything in my whole life.” She gestured hopelessly. “So here we are.”

 

“And that’s what this is to you? A lie?”

 

“Yes,” said Ruth, and wished she weren’t so numb to the idea. “It’ll snap again when circumstance or ambition demands. I don’t blame you. This is the closest thing to love you know. It’s actually admirably Imperial. And it’s enough for me. Just don’t mislabel it.”

 

“I thought you were happy.”

 

“I am. I told you, it’s enough.”

 

“Believing that none of what I have to offer is real? That’s nowhere close to acceptable.”

 

“Why not, dearest? We eat together, sleep together, talk, laugh, feel happier with each other than without. What else matters?”

 

“I want to be able to tell you I-" He brought himself up short. "How I feel about you."

 

"Tell me you enjoy me,” she said flatly. “I think that covers it."

 

"If I try to say the other thing, will you attack me again?"

 

"Yes. I'm sorry. I told you not to ask why."

 

“But everything else can proceed as normal? That’s a twisted game you’re asking me to play.”

 

What little patience she had left for his indignation snapped. “It’s more than you deserve after what you did to me.”

 

Ice slammed down over the hurt on his face. "I see. Dealing punishment for a living must be quite strenuous, Wrath. It must be a relief to come home and hit the easy targets. You know I would do anything to prove myself to you.”

 

“I know you can’t do anything that would prove yourself to me.”

 

“Yet you continue to strike at me for failing this test I can never pass. You pretend to be disgusted, but you’ll endure my presence anyway if it means you’ll have someone around to hurt at will.” He raised a hand to his throat, stood. “You make me sick sometimes."

 

"So go.” It was wrong, all of it, wrong again, but at least she had made sure he was dressed to go. That was a precaution she was learning to take before conversations. “If you don't want me, get out. Leave me alone so I can finally go find someone capable of loving me back."

 

That white face flushed. Quinn strode out and slammed the door behind him.

 

He stopped outside and took a long moment to compose himself. He turned back and pressed one hand against the door. "I love you," he said quietly. His face spasmed. He hurried away.

 

Ruth didn’t hear him. She slammed down onto the bed, pressed her face to the pillows, and - not for the first time, not for the last - screamed, as loud and as long as she could.

 

 

 

 

Poor Ruth, and having her mushy mushy expectations formed by a former Jedi who had all kinds of silly sappy ideas about selfless love! The alliance-plus-sex that the Sith and Imperials in general favor is not really what she’s after.

 

Being uncomfortable about writing abusive relationships makes the fact that I’m frequently driven to write a Sith storyline…awkward, to say the least. Don’t Force choke your significant others, people. It’s not okay. Come to think of it, try not to sell them out to their nemeses or get trapped with them in a gut-wrenching rapid love/hate spiral that can’t go so much as a week without demanding contact again. And, if you must fight, don’t start fighting before you’ve put your pants on in the morning.

 

You make me hate Quinn, which Is okay. I'm not very far into the SW story. But it does make me glad that in my head canon Quinn does the incident to her brother instead of her. I think she gets a twisted satisfaction out of teasing Quinn er... physically but otherwise barely acknowledging him. Vikis really should have killed Quinn, but sicing his pixie sister on him was almost as bad. You can look but you can't... do anything else. Buh-bye.