The Short Fic Weekly Challenge Thread!

[Mirdthestrill]

Thanks for the kind words, everyone!

 

Today's story is a continuation of Distress Call and Failure

 

Title: Insomnia

Prompt: As Time Goes By

Characters: Eyrie Lancaster (Jedi Knight), Feyte Saien (Jedi Consular) and Kira Carson mentioned

Length: 1,100 words

Spoilers: References to Jedi Knight Act II finale and previous

 

Index latest of all Eyrie stories so far

 

 

The Shining Path was quiet, nothing but the low thrumming of the engines and gentle breathing of the other beings on it to disturb the peace. Eyrie’s body ached with tension and shook with exhaustion.

 

So why couldn’t she sleep?

 

She touched the end of her braid. It came down to near the bottom of her chest now, a tightly woven rope of hair that swung when she walked and gave her head a satisfying sense of momentum when she snapped it around in training. Although she couldn’t see it herself, Feyte assured her that it was a plain durasteel grey, shot through with darker strands and now a few white hairs. The taint of what she’d let the Emperor do through her would linger on her soul forever, but now it showed on her body as well.

 

She curled up into a ball again, taking deep breaths and practicing the muscle relaxing exercises Master Orgus had taught her. Master Orgus…

 

When she’d met him, she hadn’t had a braid at all, just a little thatch of hair that she could comb with her fingers. Practical and much better for an academy student who always spent her time working. Besides, it kept it out of her why while she sparred and ran and stretched. She’d been naive, then, hoping that the mysterious Jedi master would take her and train her, finally. Then she could be the hero she’d known she could be, even if no one else did.

 

This was no good. The hot air under the blankets was suffocating her and the sheets wrapped around her legs like the tentacles of some giant sea monster trying to pull her into the abyss. She sat up and wormed her way free of them, the air cold on her body clad only in her undergarments.

 

She didn’t remember why she’d first decided to grow her hair out, only that it was while she was on Coruscant. She’d already been working on trying to get a strand of it long enough for a proper padawan braid, so perhaps it had been related to that. In any case, she remembered it being long enough for her to gather a chunk in her fist as Master Kiwiks suggested they take Kira along with them and she felt her stomach churn in excitement and nervousness.

 

They’d had a good run around the galaxy together, though, she thought. The human girl was driven and competent, if a bit fiery, and even if she’d been uncomfortable at first, Eyrie had learned to enjoy having her at her side. The day her hair had brushed her shoulders, the other girl had helped her to braid it, making intricate overlapping twists down the back of her head to keep any strands from escaping. She’d been more confidant by that point, sure that she was on the way to doing the right thing.

 

Eyrie shivered. The cold was starting to seep into her, but she didn’t want to lie back down yet. Instead, she slid down onto the floor, the chill of the floor soaking into her feet, and padded out of the bedroom and into the main living area. Curling up on the couch, she wrapped one of the fuzzy blankets around herself and leaned her head against the padded back.

 

When she’d gone off to fight the Emperor, so full of foolish confidence, her braid had been almost as long as it was now. She remembered it coming undone as she fought her way through the space station, stopping to tie it back again before she stepped into the chamber where her foe waited.

 

Other memories came, unasked for. The touch of his hand on the top of her head, feeling herself slipping away to watch helplessly as her body moved against her will. Taking out her entire life’s store of anger on whatever she could find- droids, furniture, living beings- as the walls she’d build around her emotions crumbled. Tangled strings of hair hanging in front of her face as she hacked her way through the Emperor’s enemies on some unknown and unremembered planet.

 

Eyrie stood again and walked to the bathroom, blanket flaring around her like a cloak. Grabbing a razor- she had no idea whose it was, but it was sharp and that’s what mattered- she held it to her head. Maybe if she could get rid of all this hair, she could erase everything that had happened while she was growing it.

 

Another memory floated up, something she had nearly forgotten. She stood, clad in armor with sabers in her hands, in the smoking remains of some place she’d just helped obliterate. Town, military base, children’s playground, she didn’t remember. A man stood next to her, a sniper rifle slung over his shoulder and his cybernetic implants a faint buzz in his Force-sense. Her body was drenched in sweat and exhaustion made it easier for her real self to pull itself to the surface.

 

“How many dead?” Her voice quavered.

 

The man registered a flicker of surprise in the Force, but only for a moment before it shut down behind a blank wall. “Do you really want to know?” he said wearily.

 

“Tell me.”

 

“Four hundred and twenty-three was the last known population, although some might have escaped before we got here. We took one hundred and six prisoners.”

 

She nodded, numb. So many… Her fault…

 

He put his hand on her shoulder. “Listen to me. Don’t give up. You have to hang on until you can find a way to keep from losing yourself.” His voice dropped a bit more. “I can try to help, but this is something you have to figure out on your own.”

 

She nodded, trying to pull herself out of the fog of regret that clouded her mind. Her control was slipping...

 

“Hands off me!” she snapped, slapping his hand away. “We’ve got work to do.”

 

Eyrie set the razor down on the counter. Her hands were shaking so badly that it fell to the floor with a clatter that she was sure would wake the entire ship. She had to keep the hair. It was a part of her now, just like everything that had happened while it grew. She’d find a way to live with it.

 

 

 

Note:

 

 

This story serves three purposes in my mind. First, it's the next step in my quest to use every one of the SFWC prompts. Second, it justifies in-story my desire to potentially change Eyrie's hairstyle to the long braided one (jury's still out on that one)

 

And finally, I wanted an interesting and unique way to measure the passage of time, and growing your hari out seemed like a good way to do it.

 

[MishaCantu]

@Mird: you were correct that correlating the passage of time with something as tangible and normal as hair growth was a unique center to your story. I have actually only leveled one jedi knight so much of the story escapes me, but the emotions, like doubt, shame, self discovery were very well translated by your words. Well done.

[Striges]

Tying the passage of time to the length of Eyrie's hair is brilliant. Even if she wasn't consciously aware of it at the time.

Many cultures equate the growing or cutting of hair with either maintaining a lifestyle or initiating a change, a break with the past. With that in mind, I liked that Eyrie chose to keep her hair and the baggage it represents while simultaneously resolving to move on. She can't cut off her experiences so easily. There are good memories too. Well done.

[frauzet]

As someone who associates different phases of her life with the length of her hair, I can only echo the other's replies.

 

One sentence stood out for me:

Taking out her entire life’s store of anger on whatever she could find- droids, furniture, living beings- as the walls she’d build around her emotions crumbled.

Pretending there are no emotions doesn't really help with dealing with them in the long run.

[Striges]

Week of November 18, 2016

Just Desserts--Everyone loves to see the villain get what’s coming to them. Maybe it’s your character who delivers justice. Maybe they’re on the receiving end. This week, hand out some just desserts in your story.

 

 

And, as ever,

 

 

Night of the Living Prompt: Keep on using any prompt you like! Check out the list at http://www.swtor.com/community/showpost.php?p=7489974post=2 and http://www.swtor.com/community/showpost.php?p=7489991post=3 (we’re up to two full posts!). Many thanks to Alaurin for maintaining the prompt archive and story index here.

 

 

This week's featured NotLPs:

A Picture is Worth a Thousand Words: Pictures can also provide inspiration. A scene in a movie, a well-known painting, a screenshot, a character portrait, if you’re lucky enough to have one. Write the “thousand words” (figuratively) behind the picture and share both if you can. Prompt courtesy of Jokad.

Tests and Examinations - Tests are almost as pervasive as credits: Jedi or Sith trials, ship or vehicle operator’s license, weapons certifications exams, advanced intelligence analysis, basic maths. What kind of tests has your character taken? Did she prepare well or wing it? Pass or fail? What about retakes? Write about your character getting through some of the various testing and certifications he’s encountered.

 

 

Got an idea for a prompt? Send me a pm!

[Striges]

Week of November 25, 2016

In A Rut--Doing the same thing over and over. No one wantS to be stuck there. It could be your character, dissatisfied with where their career is going. It could just as well be the writer, bored with what feels like the same plots and situations. Shake it up. Throw in something unexpected. Put your character in a place you never thought they’d be. Try something different and see where it goes. Or, alternately, let your character complain about the sameness.

 

 

Night of the Living Prompt: Keep on using any prompt you like! Check out the list at http://www.swtor.com/community/showpost.php?p=7489974post=2 and http://www.swtor.com/community/showpost.php?p=7489991post=3 (yes, we’re up to two full posts!). Many thanks to Alaurin for maintaining these lists.

 

 

 

 

This week's featured NotLPs:

Breaking the Fourth Wall: These are a lot more meta than we usually explore; roll with them and have fun.

Addressing the Audience: Characters aren’t supposed to acknowledge their audience. Suppose they did? How would they speak to all those who’ve been reading and enjoying their adventures? What might they say to the complainers?

Addressing the Creator: If your character could say something about their writer, what would it be? Would they complain about something? Take the opportunity to give you a piece of their minds? Maybe ask for a favor? Or would they be grateful and thank you?

 

 

Got an idea for a prompt? Send me a pm!

[Striges]

Week of December 2, 2016

Cooperation--Some characters are loners by nature but even so, they can’t do everything by themselves. They’ll have to cooperate with others. Whether it’s a willing partnership where they all gain or coerced and barely tolerated, there’s ample room for conflict. Maybe they plan to betray their partner at the first opportunity. Maybe they prefer to remain on good terms. Maybe it’s an alliance of necessity and they’ll part on neutral ground. Whatever the reason, whatever the outcome, this week write about your character cooperating with others to achieve a goal.

 

 

And, as ever,

 

 

Night of the Living Prompt: Keep on using any prompt you like! Check out the list at http://www.swtor.com/community/showpost.php?p=7489974post=2 and http://www.swtor.com/community/showpost.php?p=7489991post=3 (yes, we’re up to two full posts!). Many thanks to Alaurin for maintaining these lists.

 

 

This week's featured NotLPs:

Hide and Seek - Sometimes our characters need to find something they just don't have. Sometimes they need to keep something hidden from somebody else. Write about a time your character was hiding, seeking, hidden, or sought.

The Sure Bet - Sometimes things just fall into place, and the goal is in easy reach just an action or two away. Sometimes there's a choice between long odds and a safe bet. Or sometimes a surefire proposition walks right up and make an offer. Write about your characters' experience with a sure bet. Did it turn out the way they expected?

 

 

Got an idea for a prompt? Send me a pm!

[Mirdthestrill]

@ Misha and Striges- Thank you! I'm glad the idea worked for you

 

@ Frauzet- I do that too, which is what gave me the idea in the first place. And you've hit the core of Eyrie's personal problems right on the head. Rather than try to deal with her emotions in a healthy way, so they don't affect those around her overly much, she just pretends they don't exist and lets them fester away instead.

 

 

Title: Getting the Gang Together

Prompt: First Day on the Job

Characters: Ketturah Attridies (Bounty Hunter), Mako

Length: 800 words

Spoilers: Bounty Hunter first cutscene, nothing else

 

Index after the I Work Alone saga

 

 

Ketturah slung her pack over her shoulder and looked around the spaceport. Hutta was probably the most disgusting place she’d ever been, and that was saying something. A layer of thick, yellowish mud coated the floors and part of the walls, and reminded her uncomfortably of crap smeared on her boots. Even with shorts on she was sweating and the humidity made her hair feel like she hadn’t showered in days, even though she’d washed it this morning.

 

She checked the directions on her datapad one last time before stowing it in her backpack. Better not carry anything valuable looking through this place, even if it was as beat-up and outdated as her datapad. Most of the patrons looked like they’d kill you for the change in your pocket, so better not to tempt them with something they might actually be able to sell for enough to buy some spice.

 

As she wound her way through the hallways- rather crowded for what she assumed was a normal day here- most of the other beings passed her without a second glance. There was a pretty large number of Gamorrians here, she noticed, as well as Evocii. She vaguely remembered hearing something about them being native here, so it made sense if they were.

 

Outside was even more mud, combined with a sky the color of puke and what was probably the worst thing she’d smelled in a while. Ketturah clenched her teeth and fought the urge to gag. They’d said Hutta stank, but there was no prepping for this. Hopefully the cantina she was meeting Braden in was air-filtered, but she wasn’t getting her hopes up.

 

It turned out to be a good thing she hadn’t. If possible, the Poison Pit smelled even worse than outside, because now it added the scent of sweaty unwashed bodies to the general stink. Grizzled workmen with sagging shoulders and low-level Hutt enforcers crowded around the tables. She was pretty thirsty herself, but she knew better than to trust the alcohol here. She’d be lucky if all they cut it with was water.

 

The bartender ran his eyes up and down her body as she approached, but she ignored him. She wasn’t particularly attractive by most people’s standards, but it was enough for some men, and a few women as well. Didn’t mean much unless they actually tried anything, and the pistols at her hips were usually enough to prevent that.

 

“I’m here to see Braden,” she said, keeping her tone as businesslike as possible.

 

“He’s in the back. Straight down the hall and to your right. Just don’t mess with anything back there.” He paused, like he was considering adding a threat to the statement, but apparently decided his displeasure would suffice and went back to mixing drinks.

 

Ketturah followed his instructions, guessing that the back was probably through the doorway closest to the wall he’d gestured at. Boxes were piled in the hallway, and she slid one blaster out of its holster as she crept towards the door. If Braden or anyone else wanted to ambush her, there were a million ways to do it that were less convoluted and quicker and easier to pull off, but she hadn’t lived as long as she had by being dumb.

 

But nothing jumped out at her as she made her way down to the first door on the right and knocked. For a moment, nothing happened except what sounded like someone scrabbling around inside, then the door was opened by a girl. She was about Ketturah’s own height and probably a few years younger, with short, dark, slightly spiky hair and smooth mid-brown skin, unmarked except for a discreet cybernetic implant. Flashing a quick smile, she turned back toward the rest of the room and called “Braden, she’s here!”

 

“Come in,” shouted a familiar voice from further inside. Ketturah obeyed, letting her weapon hand drop to her side but keeping the blaster out of its holster in case she was still wrong about all of this.

 

Braden turned from a desk as she entered and nodded to acknowledge her. The girl hurried back to a bank of computers that had been set up on a folding table in one corner, and a Nikto in a blast vest looked up from the sniper rifle he was cleaning. It didn’t seem to be much of an operation they had going here, furniture made out of empty liquor boxes and power cable extensions snaking all over the place. A couple of cots had been stacked in one corner.

 

“Hello. Welcome to Hutta. Sorry ‘bout the smell. You get used to it after a while, but there’s only so much you can do. This is Ketturah, everyone. She’s the hunter who’s going to get us all through the Great Hunt.”

 

The girl and the Nikto smiled, and Ketturah returned their looks with a grin. “Let’s get to work.”

 

 

 

Edited December 4, 2016 by Mirdthestrill

[Striges]

Ketturah's dismay at Hutta's ambiance comes through. So does her wariness and evaluation of trouble. I liked her take on Braden and Co. The game puts you on rails so there's no possibility of saying no. Ketturah, though, is cautious about the situation. These guys claim to be experts, but she hasn't seen anything yet that proves it. Given the saame scenario plays out for most BH, I love how everyone finds their own variation.

 

(I always feel I need a tetanus shot before playing Hutta.)

[Venn_Dras]

Title: Vaccine

Prompt: Sadness, Loneliness

Characters: F!Smuggler, Corso

Spoilers: References to beginning of Smuggler story and start of F!Smuggler romance.

 

 

Vaccine

 

Disgust. Fear. And worst of all sympathy. It's on the face of everyone we see; at every port we visit. I should be used to it by now. How can I blame them for stopping to look at what is obviously an oddity out of the latest medical journal. After all, its not everyday you see someone that was bitten by a Rakghoul and lived.

 

Living..... For awhile I lost my sense of what that really was. Surviving, yes.

 

Get up, get dressed, take a walk down to the base clinic and have my blood tested for the umpteenth time to assure them that I won't decide to suddenly start leaning toward cannibalism. It was a monotonous routine that would have probably led me down another kind of madness if not for Vedu.

 

At that point, any kind of employment was out of the question. Not hard to understand why, of course. But to Vedu, as long as you did your job well, you could look as ugly as a Bantha wearing lipstick and he could care less. To say it was awkward that first day when I walked into the warehouse would be an understatement. Turned backs and hushed whispers were a constant for the next few weeks. There was the odd attempt by another work hand or two to start a fight, but when it became clear that I wasn't rising to the bait, things settled down fairly quickly.

 

It could be that they were attempting to test "how far gone" I really was. Perhaps whether or not a Rakghoul was secretly sleeping beneath my consciousness and just needed the right amount of push to bring it out.

 

But it didn't. There isn't a Rakghoul in my head trying to claw it's way out and take over my body to terrorize everyone in my immediate vicinity. I do crave a Nerf burger now and then, but that's far from cannibalistic, right?

 

It took a few months and eventually the hushed whispers and turned backs disappeared. The frowns turned to smiles under my persistent sunny disposition, although that last sliver of fear never left their eyes.

 

That's when I met the Captain.

 

She came in like a whirlwind and turned everything on its head.

 

She was the most beautiful woman I'd ever seen. Cinnamon colored hair tied back from her face; her brow was graced with small horns that circled it like an ivory crown. She was by no means a demure damsel. Although we only spoke for a few moments or two before taking down the jammers, her demeanor and body language spoke volumes.

 

At first I wasn't sure if she realized I was infected. When we talked, there was no awkward shifting or blatent staring. I kept waiting for her to bring it up in conversation, but it never did. After wracking my brain, I finally decided to set the ultimate test. She was heading into a separatist base alone, and although I was busy with my own mission I couldn't very well let her run in guns blazing without a decent weapon. I knew Flashy and her would make a fine team.

 

When I handed her Flashy, I expected the elephant in the room to finally show itself. Ever since the infection, not a single person accepted anything I'd offered to them without some kind of protective layer: glove, towel, etc. But without a second thought, she reached out and our fingertips brushed as she took Flashy from me. She didn't flinch, she didn't cry out what a monster I was. In fact, she gave a flirty retort and was out the warehouse door without a second look. This captain, the most amazing woman I'd ever met, flirted with me?

 

For a long time I told myself it was a fluke. After we began traveling together and I saw how many times her talents came into play, I began to realize she saw it as a sort of game. To see how far she could push it; how many more credits she could squeeze out of a client with that beautiful smile of hers. Still, no matter how many times I saw it standing at her side; it felt off.

 

Her smile never reached her eyes.

 

I tried bringing it back in any way I could. Stories from Misadventures of My Time as a Farm Boy was a favorite of hers. Her laughter would carry through the ship, and tears rolled down her face before she would dissolve in hiccups and wave the white flag in surrender. It was during those times that the sadness, the tightly woven string she seemed to have placed around herself finally began to loosen.

 

By then I already knew I was in love with her. I'd played the gallant knight for her on so many planets I'd lost count. She'd flirt with me, and I'd stutter back. I took the plunge one night and finally confessed.

 

It was the best decision I've ever made.

 

Surprise, relief, and then what I could only call pure joy washed over her face like a spring shower over a dry field. She stood there for a moment, a slight smile on her face; before her notorious smirk came striding out.

 

"If that means: roses, love letters, sneaking kisses before we're supposed to, I'm all for it."

 

The next thing I knew she was in my arms and I didn't ever want to let her go. When we both came up for air after that kiss, she leaned her forehead against mine.

 

"Took you long enough, farm boy. Vaccinations are supposed to be taken regularly. You know that, right?"

 

 

 

 

 

 

Notes:

This story is based on the idea of the Infected Corso customization option. I'm waiting for the next Rakghoul resurgence before I roll my smuggler. Need to collect a couple of Data canisters. XD

 

Edited December 6, 2016 by Venn_Dras

[Striges]

Welcome to the thread, Venn_Dras! I don't recall any story dealing with the various companion customizations, let alone the infected ones. I enjoyed it through Corso's viewpoint. Knowing he's fine and not contagious, but the signs of the virus still making everyone wary. You captured the numerous small slights Corso endured in all their tiny individual pain and the weight of them all together, as well as his joy at finding someone who wasn't afraid of him. The vaccine fixing the actual disease but not reversing the changes or at least not fully is a good idea. It makes for an interesting backstory for why an obviously infected person is sharing your character's ship.

[Striges]

Week of December 9, 2016

Trigger Warning-- Everyone--every character--has strong feelings about something. The old standby is “don’t discuss politics or religion” but there are many other options. What sets off your character? What’s that one topic they have to argue about? What’s their position and why? Is it rational? Was it learned and never questioned? This week, push one or more of your character’s buttons.

 

 

Night of the Living Prompt: Keep on using any prompt you like! Check out the list at http://www.swtor.com/community/showpost.php?p=7489974post=2 and http://www.swtor.com/community/showpost.php?p=7489991post=3 (yes, we’re up to two full posts!). Many thanks to Alaurin for maintaining these lists.

 

This week's featured NotLPs:

 

Got an idea for a prompt? Send me a pm!

(Un)invited Guests - Things get complicated when you're visiting someone else, or have someone visiting you. Even if you want them there! Of course, things are extra complicated when your guest is someone you didn't want or expect to come around.

Day of the Dead- celebrated in Mexico on the first and second of November, the modern Day of the Dead celebration has its roots in ancient Mesoamerican traditions. Returning spirits of the dead are welcomed and honored with food and stories. It is a happy festival, all about retaining and celebrating connections with family who have passed on and and less about mourning them. So who would your character remember and why? If, years after their death, your character’s spirit returned to their relatives for just one night, what would they find? There are story possibilities on either side of death’s gateway, find one this week.

[Striges]

Week of December 16, 2016

Limits-- No character is all-powerful, or at least interesting ones aren’t. There are limits to what they can do, be it legal, physical, mental, or self-imposed. What happens when they come up against them? Do they push past it, accept it, or back away? Limits are often there for a reason and breaking them can have consequences. Explore some this week.

 

And, as ever,

 

Night of the Living Prompt: Keep on using any prompt you like! Check out the list at http://www.swtor.com/community/showpost.php?p=7489974post=2 and http://www.swtor.com/community/showpost.php?p=7489991post=3 (we’re up to two full posts!). Many thanks to Alaurin for maintaining the prompt archive and story index here.

 

 

This week's featured NotLPs:

Heritage and Antiques - Star Wars is full of special things. Old things. Things with personal meaning, things revered as holy. The lightsaber your father wanted you to have when you were old enough. Your grandmother’s silver (or silver ship) you hope one day to give to your grandchildren. The insignia of your squad’s first commander, the one whose bravery won her (or him) a medal and gave your squad its reputation. The holocron that corrupted (or redeemed) your master. What things, places, or heirlooms are special to your character?

My First - Firsts are usually special - first items, like Jedi and Sith's first lightsabers or an agent or smuggler's first gun. First times, like your first time connecting with the Force or your first time stepping onto your ship. Firsts can change a person and solidify who they are. Write about a special "first" in your character's life and how it shaped them.

 

 

Got an idea for a prompt? Send me a pm!

[Striges]

Week of December 23, 2016

Making a Mountain out of a Molehill - Some characters are more prone to blowing things out of proportion than others. Maybe it’s just certain situations. Consider a time when something that seemed insurmountable turned out to be minor. Was your character’s preparation or anxiety unreasonable? Or did their actions make the difference between a mountain and a molehill?

 

And, as ever,

 

Night of the Living Prompt: Keep on using any prompt you like! Check out the list at http://www.swtor.com/community/showpost.php?p=7489974post=2 and http://www.swtor.com/community/showpost.php?p=7489991post=3 (we’re up to two full posts!). Many thanks to Alaurin for maintaining the prompt archive and story index here.

 

 

This week's featured NotLPs:

Teachers and Heroes - Everyone has someone they look up to, or someone who's taught them something important. Or a hero that they strive to be like. Who does your character admire and look toward when they're not sure what to do? Who has had an impact on making them the person they are today?

Gifts - Gifts serve a multitude of functions, from hospitality, diplomacy, housewarming, affection, celebration, to manipulation or poison. They can be big or small, expensive or free, expected or surprising, public or private. Write about a gift your character has given or received.

 

Got an idea for a prompt? Send me a pm!

[Striges]

Week of December 30, 2016

Not My Holiday - This week, most of the Western world is celebrating Christmas and the New Year but no holiday is universal, even on Earth. Are your character’s holidays in line with the culture they live in? Do they celebrate something different at a time no one else does? Do they feel left out on either occasion? Their reasons don’t have to be cultural; they might associate bad experiences with a popular holiday or good ones with something obscure. There are stories in any of the permutations. Write one.

 

And, as ever,

 

Night of the Living Prompt: Keep on using any prompt you like! Check out the list at http://www.swtor.com/community/showpost.php?p=7489974post=2 and http://www.swtor.com/community/showpost.php?p=7489991post=3 (yes, we’re up to two full posts!). Many thanks to Alaurin for maintaining these lists.

 

This week's featured NotLPs are:

Missing Something: We have things we’re good at and things we’re not. What happens to your character when something they rely on is suddenly useless or unavailable? The obvious situation is if your Jedi or Sith can not call on the Force for some reason. But what about a sniper without their trusty rifle, a smuggler without their contacts, or a trooper without their squad? How did it happen? What does your character do?

Rites of Passage - Sort of related to the cultural theme, there are tons of different rites of passage our characters go through. Some are common across cultures, like weddings. Some are specific to a culture, like coming-of-age ceremonies. And sometimes they are just an internal realization that your life has changed. Feel free to take this in any direction you would like.

 

 

Got an idea for a prompt? Send me a pm!

[Mirdthestrill]

@Venn_Dras- I've never seen companion customization/the rakghoul plague dealt with like that before, either, and I love it! It will throw such a monkey wrench in the F!Smug/Corso romance and probably add another layer to their interactions with the rest of the story characters as well. Good job. Also, welcome! Looking forward to seeing more from you

 

Title: The Search I

Prompt: Loyalty and Betrayal

Characters: Jygal Harkness (non-story Agent), Eyrie Lancaster (Jedi Knight)

Length: 750 words

Spoilers: Jedi Knight end act II

 

Index under Eyrie, after Failure

 

 

Jygal Harkness drummed his fingers on his desk as he inspected his mission report. He wasn’t sure how this one would be received, and that made him uncomfortable. After a typical assignment, he had an exact idea of the results, what had gone right and what he was going to have to explain to his superiors. He knew just what to expect when he hit the “submit” button.

 

But this time, he wasn’t even sure himself how he felt about his last mission. They had put down the insurrection, that much was certain. The region in question was subdued, with the rebellious elements killed or brought back for interrogation and the rest of the population back to business as usual, albeit with heavy Imperial supervision. On that level, it had been a complete success.

 

On the other hand… The mission had been the last known sighting of Eyrie Lancaster. The captured Jedi had been one of the Emperor’s favorite playthings over the last month or two, at least that he knew about. She’d been helping suppress the rebellions in the region and he had somehow become her unofficial handler, in charge of managing her homicidal rages and occasional bouts of lucidity.

 

If he was being honest in his report, he would have said it was the hardest thing he’d ever done. He’d always been of the opinion that Sith were probably more frightening than Jedi, and his extensive experience with the former and limited with the latter had supported that view. But he’d refined that theory a bit since then. Apparently the Jedi just pushed all their anger down into the core of their mind to fester unnoticed.

 

Not that he could fault them for that. He did something similar with every thought that Intelligence would deem unacceptable, letting them sit to process when- if- he retired. But that didn’t make it less dangerous to work with a Jedi who’d suddenly had all her mental barriers removed, leaving her free to unleash whatever she felt at the time. And what this Jedi had apparently felt was a lot of pain and anger and alienation. He may not have been able to use the Force himself, but he could still feel it tear through the area around him. Maybe something from Bryyn had worn off on him, or maybe she was just projecting it that strongly.

 

Which made it all the more shocking when, one day, it had all disappeared. They’d just returned with a team from a raid on one of the rebel cells, exhausted and filthy, although only minorly wounded. Jedi Lancaster’s armor was spattered in the blood of half a dozen of her kills, made using a piece of rebar when she’d lost track of her lightsabers, and she was breathing hard. He’d just starting trying to convince her back into her quarters, where they’d learned to just lock the door until they needed her again, when she’d frozen.

 

For handful of heartbeats, they had both stood in complete silence, not even breathing. Then, almost too quiet for him to hear, she’d spoken with a voice he didn’t recognize, low and cracked. “Where am I? What’s going on? What’s all this blood?”

 

He’d gaped at her before stuttering out some sort of explanation and she’d just stared. He had more difficulty reading her expressions than some others, something about not having eyes to track the movements of, but even the dullest Gamorian could have seen the horror written across her face.

 

She wobbled, and he’d stepped in to keep her upright. No sense in having her out of commission for a week because she’d concussed herself falling over. She’d clung to his hand for a minute, drawing staggering breaths that were just short of sobs, before the façade had come back up. Force-shoving him out of the way, she’d stormed back into her room and slammed the door hard enough to make the wall shake.

 

Other incidents like the first one had followed, some nearly an hour long, others just a few seconds. It hadn’t taken him long to figure out that this wasn’t just a strange moment of regret or longing. The Jedi was being controlled and trying to fight it. Maybe that’s why she’d disappeared.

 

Forbidden thoughts rushed up in his mind and he tamped them down. He’d figure it out later. For now, he’d have to figure out how to spin this to Intelligence.

 

 

[MishaCantu]

Nice little bit of the JK story as seen through different eyes, Mird. It can't be easy being a spin doctor to Imperial Intelligence, takes a certain amount of talent and luck. Well done, I enjoyed the read.

[Striges]

Week of January 6, 2017

Luxuries - It’s easy to think in terms of expensive things: fine wine, silk, exquisite meals, and panoramic views. Luxuries don’t have be expensive, or even things. One character might consider time alone a luxury. For another, enough to eat and a safe place to live. Yet another may relish the privileges their wealth affords them. What does your character consider a luxury and how do they indulge?

 

And, as ever,

 

Night of the Living Prompt: Keep on using any prompt you like! Check out the list at http://www.swtor.com/community/showpost.php?p=7489974post=2 and http://www.swtor.com/community/showpost.php?p=7489991post=3 (we’re up to two full posts!). Many thanks to Alaurin for maintaining the prompt archive and story index here.

 

 

This week's featured NotLPs:

You Can’t Always Get What You Want: Every character wants something. It might be tangible: food, money, an ancient artifact. It could be intangible: respect, success, fame or infamy. Often, their entire story is the pursuit of their desire. But something always gets in the way. What happens when something or someone thwarts your character? Gets in between your character and what they want? How do they deal with it?

Promises - It seems like such a small social contract, but a promise can be a big deal. It might be a promise to a child for a treat, to communicate with a loved one on a regular basis, or to keep a secret--state or personal. How about your character? What promises have they made? Have they kept them? Did another character break a promise to your character? Some are quick to give their word and just as quick to break it. For others, their word is their bond and never given lightly.

 

Got an idea for a prompt? Send me a pm!

[Striges]

Week of January 13, 2017

Omens and Portents - Whether being born under a Blood Moon or according to the signs in an ancient prophecy or just picking the winning lottery numbers two weeks in a row, our characters’ lives are filled with omens. Do they put any stock in the superstitions or consider it a bunch of baloney? Are the portents more important to their companions who expect them to be the hero? Is it a sign they should buy another lottery ticket? Omens can be good or bad, and the way your character deals with them likewise so. Explore it.

 

And, as ever,

 

Night of the Living Prompt: Keep on using any prompt you like! Check out the list at http://www.swtor.com/community/showpost.php?p=7489974post=2 and http://www.swtor.com/community/showpost.php?p=7489991post=3 (we’re up to two full posts!). Many thanks to Alaurin for maintaining the prompt archive and story index here.

 

 

This week's featured NotLPs:

Luminous Beings We Are -- Life is bound up, figuratively and literally, with light. Whether it's the physical study, the Light Side, or the dawning at the most unexpected times, we may find light altering the living space, illustrating the spirit, or showing the way. Write about your character's interaction with light. Prompt courtesy of BrightEphemera.

Mistaken Identity: A classic literary device employed in drama and comedy alike. Has your character ever been mistaken for someone else? Have they made an error about another’s identity? What happened? Did hilarity ensue, or was it a more serious situation?

 

Got an idea for a prompt? Send me a pm!

[Jagaimee]

Hi... First time poster, loooooooong time reader. I've just never had the courage to post anything of mine here...

 

Well. *deep breath* Here goes nothin'. This was inspired by this lovely story from YoshiRaphElan. If propaganda officers can make a poster... what about holovids? *evil grin*

 

Prompt: Propaganda

Characters: Morrun Khayan (trooper), Adnir (Jedi Knight) - also Aric Jorgan and Elara Dorne.

Timeline: This takes place sometime in the break between Act I and Act II of all class stories.

 

Spoilers: Most of the trooper's Act I (...in roundabout ways...), and a mention of a title gotten at the end of the Jedi Knight's Act I.

 

 

“…you’re telling me you’ve never even heard of this?”

 

I groaned and my face was formally introduced to the cold metal console of the holocomm. “No,” I muttered. “Wish you’d never told me, either.”

 

What kind of a title is ‘Stars Burn Bright,’ anyway?”

 

I finally looked up at Adnir again. He’d folded his arms, one eyebrow scrunched down and his left lek’ twitching in what I guessed was irritation. Or maybe disgust. “Dunno,” I said. “More propaganda…”

 

"They don’t even look like you…” he said confusedly. There was enough innocence in his tone that I suddenly realized what the big problem was.

 

“Wait, you’ve never seen a propaganda film before?” Now it was my turn to fold my arms. I leaned back in my chair and couldn’t help but smirk. “They twist all the details. Let me guess, my scar is gone?”

 

"Uh…no, it’s bigger and covers your entire left eye.” Adnir stared hard at something offscreen. “And your eyes are almost supernaturally bright. And I swear your hair has never been that long.”

 

“Aw, come on, what?” Twisting the details was bad enough. Propaganda in itself was bad enough. But…huh? I’m fairly certain a lot of people knew what the Captain of Havoc Squad looked like, and I did not look anything like what Adnir was describing…so if I was that far out of left field, I wondered what Jorgan and Elara looked like.

 

“Yeah…” Adnir winced and looked up at me. One lek’ tip flailed itself right over his shoulder. “And what are you doing hugging Elara like that?”

 

My jaw dropped open. “What.” H…hugging Elara like…what!? She and I were barely even friendly to each other! “Can I see?”

 

In hindsight, I should not have asked.

 

 

* * *

 

 

“Wow.” I sniffed the air. “Jorgan, did you make popcorn?” When did we even get a popcorn maker on the Thunderclap?

 

“Bought it from a vendor planet-side,” he said, handing me a small bowl of the sweet-smelling puffed kernels. I twisted around on the seat to see Jorgan handing out similar bowls to Elara and Adnir, who were perched on stools next to us. Elara daintily took hers and nodded her appreciation, while Adnir just stared at his wide-eyed.

 

“…this is popcorn?” he finally asked, looking up at us like he’d just seen a field full of diamonds.

 

“You’ve never had popcorn before?” I knew Adnir was a little naïve in some areas. But…?

 

“It’s not like the Jedi Order has movie night every Taungsday,” Adnir muttered as his cheeks turned brown. The green-skinned twi’lek’s version of blushing, I’d assume.

 

I shrugged and looked down at the holofilm cover on the table in front of us. Sure enough, there was…me…in all my shirtless, ruggedly-scarred, long-haired…um, “glory.” Well, not completely shirtless, there was a bandolier across my chest. “I” was staring off heroically at something to the side, gripping a smoking pistol in one hand (hold on, laser pistols didn’t smoke) and hugging…some very weird woman that I assumed to be the artist’s version of Elara with the other arm. I said “weird” because…well, I’ve traveled all over the galaxy and seen some very strange stuff. And absolutely nowhere has any human woman ever been that…uh…large in the…you know whats. Beyond that, “Elara” was dressed in some absolutely bizarre outfit that was more show-offy than practical. (I left it at that to avoid filling in the blanks – there weren’t much – in my mind. Which nearly made me throw up in disgust.) It wasn’t even armor…I don’t even know what it was! Was that some Coruscanti fashion magazine’s idea of “protective gear?” Protective against what, a wet noodle gently slapping her shoulder (which was about the only part fully covered)?

 

Behind “us,” there was a rendition of Jorgan that managed to be fairly accurate. By that I mean something along the lines of, “they got the death glare down pat, and not much else.” He looked more like a raging lion than a grumpy cat. I wondered if his “personality” was more “RAGE KILL DESTROY RAWR” in this crazy version.

 

Behind me – me sitting on the bench on the Thunderclap, not me on the cover there – Elara cleared her throat. “Sir, I’m concerned this holovid may actually be detrimental to Havoc Squad’s efforts in the war,” she said dubiously. “For example, our relationship is strictly professional, not…” She favored the cover with a glare. “…involved as it suggests us to be.”

 

“Don’t worry, Dorne,” I said, gritting my teeth. My spine was crawling with disgusted shivers. “When I find the guy who drew this cover, I’ll say he has a present from Havoc Squad. That present will turn out to be my armored fist to his face.”

 

"Can you do that?” asked Adnir. “Because there are a lot of people in the Order you could do that to, and I’ll say I gave permission…then wave the whole Hero of Tython thing in their faces if they don’t like it…”

 

I looked back at him in time to see both Jorgan and Dorne staring hard at him. “…kidding?” he offered weakly.

 

"You’re a terrible Jedi,” I deadpanned. I would have said more, but there was a fanfare from the holovid screen, signaling the movie was about to start.

 

Where to even begin with that thing… Dear stars. If they took every single bit of Havoc Squad’s history (and my personal history, besides), turned it on its head, spanked it with a brick, dropped it on its head several times, threw it out a window, then disemboweled it…it still would’ve been more accurate than this monstrosity.

 

Apparently, it started out following my life, starting from about age ten. A golden-haired zabrak child ran on-screen, and I could feel the floor-shattering groans emanating from Jorgan and Adnir. Said child promptly picked up a bazooka larger than he was and started firing at Seperatists, who were backed by the Imperials. Cue montage of battle sequences in which the blonde kid grew up, somehow switched to dark brown hair in the process, became the widely-recognized leader of the resistance, got Republic help (and by “help,” I mean “an entire freaking fleet of battle cruisers showed up in a big damn heroes moment to drive off the Imperials”), then, as an older teenager, promptly was accepted into military training.

 

I could have listed about ten thousand things wrong with that alone and everyone would’ve been there for the rest of the night, so I stayed silent.

 

There was a time skip to when the kid was in his early twenties. By now he had hair that was way too long for regulation (mine was bordering that regulation, but they let it slide a bit because of my position), several heroic scars, and rarely wore armor. This was supposed to be the flipping Republic Military!?

 

“Careful,” I muttered to Jorgan. “We’re gonna have a bunch of gangster wannabes joining Special Forces because of this.”

 

Years of discipline could not stifle the laughing fit that Jorgan nearly asphyxiated from at that moment.

 

The kid onscreen was promoted to Havoc Squad, and in came Jorgan’s…caricature. Ouch. Whoever wrote that script had heard of way too many Drill Sergeant Nasty stereotypes, because Jorgan’s character hit each and every single one on the head. “We’re going to need a massive amount of alcohol to drown this out of our brains,” I groaned at one point, after Jorgan’s character went through an entire list of clichés.

 

“I could almost condone that, sir,” Dorne piped up sympathetically. I glanced back at her to see her wincing, too.

 

The old Havoc was then…mysteriously disbanded because each and every member (whom I barely even recognized) fell deathly ill due to some shadowy figure poisoning them. “I” got to hold Wraith in my arms as she dramatically passed out, with the appropriate look of devastated horror and grief on my face.

 

I was surprised to hear someone gagging, and even more surprised that that someone was me.

 

So off parody-me and caricature-Jorgan went to go find who poisoned Havoc Squad, because – with someone ominously saying “you’re our only hope now, Lieutenant Khayan!” – we were the last remnants of Havoc Squad. Comparing this with real life, the situation was vaguely correct. The details were…not. I started to wonder if someone had read the secure files of why the original Havoc went MIA while tripping on some fantastic drugs, then wrote this script.

 

The travesty that was Elara came into play on Taris, of course, where she heroically saved Jorgan and I from a pack of rakghouls. Or she might’ve saved us from a pack of people dressed up in really bad rakghoul costumes. And I’m still not sure how she did it…either by assaulting them with the sight of her horrendous and completely impractical outfit, or by just standing there so majestically that they all ran away in fear of her innate attractiveness.

 

I heard someone choking and turned to see Adnir turning bright blue from embarrassment. Wow…I didn’t even know he could turn that color…

 

Naturally, screen-me and screen-Elara hated each other at first. Just as naturally, we fell in love/lust ridiculously fast and then—

 

“Whoa,” said Jorgan, cringing and fumbling for the remote.

 

Adnir yelped and ducked behind the bench to hide. My face was growing so hot that I was afraid it was on fire. I glanced at Elara and saw her turning unhealthy shades of red. Whether that was from humiliation or fury, I had no idea.

 

We finally got past the…um…that scene…and pseudo-Havoc found the person who had poisoned the old Havoc. Drumroll, wait for it…

 

A Sith lord named Lethal.

 

“Dear STARS please let this end!” I yelled at no one in particular. Adnir was alternately crying and laughing his head off on the floor. Elara was unable to suppress little snickering giggles, and Jorgan was just staring straight ahead with a shell-shocked look on his face.

 

Cue the “epic” showdown between Havoc Squad and Lord Lethal. Which ultimately amounted to me fighting a Sith bare-handed, Jorgan screaming in rage at absolutely nothing as he shot at droids that had randomly showed up, and Elara being taken hostage by those droids and being unable to help any of us. Which led to me taking down the Sith right as I got a lightsaber to the gut. Whoever “my” actor was, he was behaving more like he had a bad case of digestive issues than a plasma sword through his stomach.

 

“Is it wrong,” asked Adnir, “that I’m almost rooting for the Sith?”

 

I reached behind me and lightly whacked him upside the head, and never in a thousand years would I tell him that I was starting to root for the Sith, too.

 

So, because somehow the poison that had affected the original Havoc Squad was tied to the Sith (despite it being of a tech-based origin instead of the force), Lethal’s death meant Havoc was somehow cured and perfectly able to stand up, walk around, talk, and be absolutely normal…roughly one day after being near-death. And Elara got to angst and wail over my seemingly-dead body before giving it all she had to revive me. Apparently kisses were now a form of medicine – or you’d think so from the rate at which she applied them to my face.

 

Somehow…I did revive. And somehow, I was able to stagger around and walk to the nearby shuttle after being stabbed in the gut with a lightsaber.

 

Adnir threw a piece of popcorn at the screen in protest.

 

The holovid ended with me, fully recovered, and Elara literally flying off into the sunset on a freaking thranta that appeared out of absolutely nowhere. But it was “romantic,” right? Roll credits, with some impossibly cheesy version of All Stars Burn as One.

 

There was absolute dead silence in the room, save for that song. Then Jorgan slowly reached over and turned off the holovid player. Click. Now the silence felt like it would smother us.

 

“Okay,” I said, finally finding my voice. “So. About that punching people in the face thing we were talking about earlier…”

 

“First thing tomorrow,” Jorgan growled, “Havoc Squad is paying a visit to the company that made this. And they will learn some very serious lessons about artistic license.”

 

He gave the blank screen one of his (in)famous death glares, and I knew that tomorrow, some drugged-out film person would start ruing the day they were born.

 

 

 

Author's note:

 

Well, that might not be the best piece, per se, to introduce Morrun and Adnir with, since they are acting slightly out of character (or maybe this really is how they act when they're not being shot at; I haven't put them in very many light-hearted situations, come to realize!)...it was very late at night and I was very tired when I wrote this. I blame sleep deprivation!

 

[YoshiRaphElan]

@Jagaimee, Oh my goodness, that was perfect! I had forgotten I wrote that but wow, you took it and rolled with it and made it so much better. That was hysterical. I miss posts like this in this forum; I wish it was as active as it once was. Welcome!

[MishaCantu]

@Jagaimee I truly enjoyed your short story. It was light hearted and funny, something we don't see a lot of on these forums. I think you captured each characters reactions pretty accurately, and I do love Jorgan, Mr. Grumpy cat. Each one's reaction to the vid was a hoot, and I did love the popcorn bit.

 

Hope to hear or rather see more from you.

[frauzet]

Welcome to the thread Jagaimee!

 

I read your story before breakfast, and I laughed so much, it will brighten the rest of my day. Thank you!

[Jagaimee]

Thank you so much, everyone!! The warm welcome totally made my day. I'm so glad you all liked the story... excuse me while I go squee'ing all around the room because aaaaaaahhhhhhh somebody liked a story I wrote aaaaaaaaaahhhh!

... *ahem* I'm okay now. Thank you all. I tend to start a lot of stories and never finish them - so here's hoping I can get around to actually finishing a few more.

 

@YoshiRaphElan: I was really worried about posting this story at first, because it was so heavily inspired by your story - I was worried you'd think it was plagiarism or something. (I blame high school for that mild paranoia: if there was one thing I learned, it was that the teachers had a ridiculously overactive system for figuring out who plagiarized what, and heaven help you if your research paper quoted a lot of sources, because it would come up as 50% plagiarized... ) But - you liked it. Yay! I can stop worrying now. XD

[Jagaimee]

Double-posting's allowed, yeah...? I think it is.

 

Prompt: First Impressions, First Day on the Job

Characters: Seraji Halkas (bounty hunter)

 

Spoilers: Meeting the hunter's team on Nal Hutta

 

 

 

 

This was it.

 

Seraji took a deep breath – and instantly coughed it back out. The foul smell of Hutta combined with the decidedly unpleasant odors wafting through the hallways of the cantina made for one heck of a nose-plugger. The Mandalorians had a saying for that. Nose-blind, or something, but they of course said it in Mando’a. Not like I care, Seraji thought, growling a weak little growl as she pawed at her nose. As if the stench was something physical she could get out of it.

 

Bleck.

 

Okay, so taking a deep breath was out. Bouncing on her toes was childish. She was not a child, never mind what Braden had said or what the standard age of an adult was for a cathar. Besides, bouncing on her toes would make what few mishmashed pieces of armor she wore clank a lot, and the people waiting for her just inside the room to her right would definitely hear that.

 

Seraji shook her head, trying to clear the light haze of smoke and spices that had gathered in the hallway. The heavy silver clasp at the back of her half-ponytail scraped across her scalp at the motion, but instead of adjusting it, Seraji just smiled at the touch. So many memories in one little trinket. So many feelings.

 

Speaking of feelings…Seraji guessed there was nothing else to do but just march on in – her feet were moving and she felt like a piece of cargo on a delivery belt being carried helplessly to a destination – just march on in and say hi…

 

“Mako, mind checking the security again?”

 

Seraji rounded the corner just as the old man got done speaking. His low voice was slightly comforting, in that it was at least familiar.

 

“Sure thing, boss,” came a high-pitched, female voice.

 

Seraji halted in the doorway of the room, surveying the team. There was Braden, the old Mandalorian, arms folded over his strong chest, watching a little sprite of a human girl as she tapped away at a computer. Off in the corner, a muscular Nikto lazily fiddled with a blaster.

 

The Nikto smirked. “<Hey,> Hunsi,” he called in Huttese, looking over to near the doorway. Seraji stiffened in confusion, but the Nikto merely nodded to her and glanced at something to the side. “<You going to stand there and brood all day?>” At least, she was fairly sure he said that. Translating Huttese on the fly was a skill she was still working at.

 

“No. Name is pronounced hoon-seye. Not hun-see.”

 

It gave Seraji more of a scare than she would like to admit to hear that…voice…coming from barely two feet away. She slowly sidled into the room, staring to her right – and saw a being that made her quickly take two steps farther away from him.

 

The man turned to watch her. Ruby eyes burned out from a broad, dark blue face: a chiss. A chiss who looked less like the tall beanpole chiss Seraji had previously encountered and more like he could take on a Hutt’s entire fortress alone. He was dressed simply – just a black shirt, pants, and boots – but Seraji got the idea that weapons were hidden in those clothes that no one would be aware of…until they were being used. Three long, deep scars blazed down the left side of the man’s face, from his tousled jet black hair to his chin, like the claws of some ferocious animal. It was a wonder his eye was still there, come to realize.

 

The towering chiss nodded to her, and she realized she’d been gawking at him. “You are Seraji?” he asked. His voice was full of gravel and an accent that Seraji couldn’t place. It sounded vaguely Imperial, yet…deeper. Richer. The vowels were more rounded, the consonants more enunciated and clipped. It sounded beautiful, in a very scary way.

 

Seraji swallowed hard and drew herself up to her full, completely not intimidating height. All of five feet of cathar kid stood staring at all of six-and-a-half feet of chiss terror. “Yes, sir.” Her voice didn’t squeak. Good girl. That’s a start.

 

“Seraji!” Braden’s voice broke in. Seraji forced herself to look away from the chiss – Hunsi? – and look towards the old Mandalorian. Braden was smiling at her, a smile that she recognized as friendly and welcoming, like when he’d approached her and asked her about this crazy Great Hunt business. She could relax a bit. “Welcome,” he greeted. “All right, granted, this isn’t the best headquarters, but it’s what we’ve got to work with. Mako, Jory, she’s here,” he added, when neither the human girl nor the Nikto seemed to show much interest in the newcomer.

 

Seraji nodded at the human girl (Mako, presumably) as the girl turned around. Black hair framed a delicate face, inquisitive eyes – she was actually kind of pretty, for a human – and there was a flash of metal to one side of her face. Some sort of cybernetic, intricately wrapping around her left eye. Weird; Braden hadn’t seemed like the type to spring for something that fancy, and Mako only looked a few years older than Seraji herself, so she doubted Mako had the kind of money for that implant. Interesting. Mako gave a quick wave as she sized up Seraji just as Seraji was sizing her up. “Hi there,” Mako chirped. She sounded friendly enough.

 

“Hey,” Seraji said, offering a probably-not-too-nervous smile. It widened when Mako smiled back. The girl didn’t seem all that nervous. So there wasn’t any reason to be nervous. There. Ha.

 

“Aaand Jory…” said Braden.

 

The Nikto at the table waved jovially, an easygoing smile on his scaled face. “<Welcome.>” Most Nikto that Seraji had run into were vicious brutes, but Jory seemed okay.

 

“And Hunsi.”

 

Seraji glanced back at the chiss in the corner. He hadn’t moved, still leaning against the wall, arms folded, watching her with a neutral expression. He nodded once. “Hello.”

 

“Well… hi, all.” Seraji nearly took another deep breath, then remembered just in time and decided against it. She settled for widening her stance and clasping her hands behind her back instead. “I’m Seraji Halkas.” Sometimes, it still felt weird to say Halkas instead of Vysok. Weird, but good. It was her name now, a name all her own.

 

“Bounty hunting since you were a kid, right?” Mako piped up. She had a cheerful voice. Seraji decided she and Mako would get along great…then she realized that she’d never gotten along great with anyone close to her own age, except for her brother when they were children.

 

“Yeah.” Seraji nodded emphatically. The heavy clasp in her ponytail hit her head hard with each nod. Mine now, it seemed to say. Mine now.

 

"Heh. <You still look like a kid,>" Jory observed with a friendly wink.

 

Seraji felt her hackles rise. "Well, I'm not." There was a gleam of concern in Braden's eye. Seraji forged on ahead before he could say anything: “I…well, gonna be honest with you: I’m not looking to be a Mando with this Great Hunt. I’m just…I just want a stream of credits so I don’t have to be constantly scrounging around on the bottom rung.” She was relieved to see Braden just nodded, accepting that. Good, he wasn’t going to try and push his Mando way of life on her...or bring up her age again.

 

Jory laughed. “<You’ll fit right in!>” he declared happily. Seraji tried her best to translate his rapid stream of Huttese that came next, but she probably still got a few words wrong. At least the meaning came through: “<Credits, glory, a place in the Mandos – doesn’t matter why you come here, just that you did.>” Huh. Save for that crack about her appearance, Seraji liked Jory already. “<Braden’s been bragging about you,>” the Nikto added.

 

“…uh…” Seraji glanced at Braden. “You…have?” Her face grew warm under her fur, and she awkwardly plucked at the fur on the back of her neck, smoothing her hackles back down.

 

“I told them what a tenacious little ball of fire you are,” Braden said with a warm smile.

 

Oh. Okay. Good. He hadn’t said anything about the disastrous way they’d met a few years back—

 

“He also told us about that time you tried to kill him and failed so spectacularly you wound up hurting yourself,” Mako said in a deadpan tone.

 

Seraji decided that she and Mako would not get along great.

 

“He…told you about that, huh,” Seraji said, narrowing her eyes at Braden.

 

Braden offered a shrug. “They asked how I met you. We’re all family here now, Seraji. Best if we all get to know each other. Except for him,” Braden said with a nod towards Hunsi. “He’s a mystery to everybody, and he’d prefer to keep it that way.”

 

Hunsi gave an annoyed-sounding grunt.

 

“Anyway,” Braden went on, “there’s no shame in that encounter. It got you here now, didn’t it?”

 

Seraji moved one shoulder back, feeling the rough-worn bodysuit tug and catch at her fur. Well, that was annoying. “I guess,” she said lamely. Being confronted with past failures wasn’t fun. I am Seraji Halkas, I am a bounty hunter now, she firmly told herself. Seraji Halkas. Bounty hunter. I’m not a failure.

 

“Well, if we’re all caught up,” Mako said cheerfully, “I found our first target.”

 

Jory and Braden moved towards Mako and her computer terminal, with Braden gesturing back at Seraji to join them. She took a step forward, then halted as she felt someone behind her. On habit she looked back to see Hunsi moving more quietly than she would have thought possible, silently crossing the room to stand almost protectively behind Mako.

 

Seraji joined them a moment later, as Mako was explaining their first hunt.

 

We’re all family here now, Seraji, Braden had said. A weird kind of family, to be honest: two humans, a cathar, a Nikto, and a chiss. There were weirder groups of people, but still. Where had Braden found these people? Probably the same place he’d found her – either going up against him (she could bet on Hunsi doing something like that) or, later, fighting over the smallest scrap just to brawl. Just to prove themselves. Just to prove herself.

 

Family. Huh. Her last family had fallen apart. But Braden, probably the head of this family, didn’t seem to be favoring anybody above the rest. That…was a good start. Seraji doubted this family would last – the thought of a family actually sticking together was absurd – but maybe for the short time they were together, they might forge some friendships. Maybe. Might. A lot of uncertainty. Still, the first impressions were good. She rather liked everybody here – save Hunsi, but maybe he was just quiet…or just waiting to snap. She’d keep an eye on him, ready to run, as she had been since she was a kid.

 

First impressions are big, but old habits don’t fade away that easily.

 

 

 

And another,

Prompt: Discoveries, Advice, Teachers and Heroes

Character: Seraji, once again.

Spoilers: General idea of why the bounty hunter is on Nal Hutta to begin with, but nothing specific.

This takes place a few days after the above.

 

 

 

What was she even THINKING?

 

Seraji huddled at the base of a copse of sickly trees, tucking her knees up to her chest and trying very hard not to concentrate on the stinging pain that was yelling from her left arm. It felt like a bore-drill ant was gleefully – sadistically – biting his way right through her muscle and bone. Sure, she’d been shot before, but…still.

 

What was she thinking.

 

Seriously. Winning the Great Hunt? Ha. Yeah, right! She was going to be stuck on Nal Hutta forever at this rate. Her bounty was well-protected by more guards than Seraji could count, and she didn’t have the stomach to just go in and start plugging people with laser bolts. Three times she’d tried to infiltrate that compound. Three times she’d been chased out by a flood of blaster bolts screaming bloody murder. The bolts were screaming, not her. She didn’t scream. Much.

 

Seraji bit her lip so hard she tasted blood. It mingled with all the other tastes on her tongue – the reeking stench of the nearby swamp. At least it hid her own scent, but made it a thousand times harder for her to pick up anyone or anything else’s. My nose is going to be a deaf-mute by the end of this, she thought ruefully, not just blind on top of it.

 

How could she even think she could do this? Hunting was simple – it was what she’d been doing since she was a little girl, what she’d had to do just to survive, but those were jungle animals. She was a predator, not a hunter. Hunting...bounty hunting... required a totally different set of skills. Being a predator…hide, stalk the prey, jump at the right opportunity. That had been mostly what she was doing, all the time she was a “bounty hunter” – some rich guy wanted the wild animals off his property, so she’d go out and kill said animals or scare them off. Easy.

 

This wasn’t easy.

 

“Hold out your arm.”

 

Seraji shot up and whirled around – and promptly lost her balance and tripped over her own feet, falling with a splorch into the muck. Foul water sprayed up into her hair and fur, and she coughed and flailed before getting her balance back, fumbling to get her blaster out of its holster. The wound on her arm shrieked a pained protest.

 

Hunsi was standing on the bank, watching her with one eyebrow raised. He looked…different, than when they’d been in the cantina back room. Now he had an armored black longcoat, a massive blaster pistol (more like a miniature cannon) poking out from a holster on his hip when he moved, and only his eyes were visible from the folds of the covering he’d wrapped around his head.

 

If Seraji hadn’t known who Hunsi was, she’d have thought the angel of death himself was hovering over her.

 

“Get up,” he said after a moment of them just staring at each other.

 

Seraji clawed her way out of the mire and stood dripping on the bank. The dirty water was seeping into the blaster wound on her arm, and she couldn’t quite suppress a snarl of pain.

 

Hunsi favored her with a warning glare as he motioned to her arm.

 

“I’m not mad at you,” she growled. “I’m mad at my arm! …the shot. The—thing, whatever, I don’t care, just…arrggghhh, stars, it hurts!” She flailed her arm about, trying to get the water off, but Hunsi caught her wrist.

 

“Be mad at the wound itself,” Hunsi said. He took off the armor on her shoulder and started deftly and delicately rolling up her sleeve, looking at the wound with a critical eye. He opened a small medkit Seraji hadn’t noticed he was carrying until then. “Be mad at the water. At the trees, at the planet, at those distant akk dogs. Whatever helps. Not at other people.” He glared again at her. “Mad at other people – you lose control. You see red. You wake up from that, realize people are dead.” He shook his head. “Don’t ever do that.”

 

His rich accent lurked around his words. Hunsi should’ve been a Senator, hollering away in some Republic office. His voice would’ve made him very effective, Seraji thought. People would listen to him just because they’d be afraid his voice would murder them if they didn’t pay attention. “Yeah…okay,” Seraji muttered. Well, it was sound advice. “You’re talking from expe—“

 

Hunsi sprayed an antiseptic on the wound.

 

“—rienceYEOWCH YOU SON OF A—“

 

Another glare. He was…really good at those.

 

Seraji shut up, gritting her teeth and being unable to damp down little growls as Hunsi cleaned the wound further, then started bandaging it up.

 

“Don’t lash out,” Hunsi growled right back at her. “Not at me. Not at someone who is trying to help you.”

 

“Sorry,” Seraji gritted. “I’m—not used to—that HURTS!—not used to people—helping—“

 

“Get used to it. Recognize help from hurt.” Hunsi gave the cloth wrapping one final tug. Seraji glanced down to see a very neat, very snug bandage wrapped around her arm. It looked like the work of a professional medic, like the doctors in Kaas City attending to Imperial soldiers. Hunsi rolled down her sleeve, then reattached her armor over her shoulder. Seraji tentatively rolled her shoulder and moved her arm underneath her sleeve. It…didn’t hurt. Didn’t even sting. Mostly. “One more thing,” Hunsi said.

 

Seraji looked up at him. His ruby eyes were blazing.

 

“Don’t. Give. Up.”

 

He pointed to something beyond her, and Seraji turned to see a pair of vicious-looking wild akk dogs slinking in towards the compound where her quarry was housed. A plan instantly came together in her mind: creep in on their tails, use the dogs for distraction, let them run roughshod over the bodyguards while she quietly took out her target. Easy.

 

“Make an opening when there isn’t one. If not, wait for one. Take a chance. Think.” Hunsi clicked shut the medkit box and straightened up, blocking out the diffuse light filtering down from the sky for a moment by towering over Seraji. She looked up at him again. “You can do this,” he said, in a voice that was decidedly less intimidating than before. “Now go.”

 

Seraji blinked.

 

“Go.”

 

Seraji went.

 

Skidding down the little slope, being careful to avoid the murky swamp water, avoid the poisonous plants – she hated Hutta already – and avoid the notice of a few lethargic sleens resting just above the water’s edge. Ahead, the akk dogs’ eyes gleamed as they peered into the compound.

 

Seraji looked back once to see—nothing. Hunsi was gone. But she hadn’t even heard the bushes rustle…she looked harder, and this time saw a pair of glowing red dots watching her from the shadows of a bog tree.

 

Okay then.

 

What had she been thinking? She gritted her teeth in newfound determination. She’d been thinking that she was stuck. As the guards began to raise an alarm, and the akk dogs launched themselves into the compound, howling a primal cry, Seraji dropped low to the ground and ran in a hunter’s crouch, nerves thrilling. Now she wasn’t stuck. She was a predator again. She shunted all thoughts of pain or discomfort to the back of her mind, concentrating on nothing but slipping in unnoticed as the akk dogs raised Hell in the compound.

 

The guards were being torn apart. Seraji forced herself to ignore them. She moved through the sparse shadows of the nearby trees and then crouched in a shock of bristly swamp grass. She narrowed her eyes so they wouldn’t stand out, spreading her arms to either side so they’d look like fallen branches from the trees, tilting her head ever so slightly so her bold facial markings would blend into the scraggly grass.

 

There was her target. Looking nervous, huddled in a corner of the compound, a blaster held in his shaky hand as his guards ran in to defend him from the akk dogs – and get themselves slaughtered. He was all alone.

 

Seraji moved slowly so he wouldn’t notice her. She found the tranquilizer gun in a waterproof pouch on her belt, the one Mako had given to her. She was suddenly aware of the extra weight, suddenly aware of everything as if it were crystal-clear, presented in front of her on a silver platter. One dart dropped into the gun…she raised the gun…thwip.

 

The man, her bounty, staggered as the dart hit his neck. Seraji clamped her jaw shut so she wouldn’t cheer, still hyper-focued on him and him alone. He shouted, but his words were slurred, and none of the guards ran towards him…then he dropped. Seraji was out in a flash, running low to the ground like a vorn tiger, catching the unconscious man’s arm and dragging—

 

She was yanked backwards by the man’s unexpected weight, and time jolted back to normal. One akk dog was glaring right at her. Now her shoulder was beginning to protest again from the sudden tug on it. Blast it all, hadn’t she just gone through this!? Except now there was no Hunsi to bail her out.

 

Or was there?

 

Be mad at the wound itself.

 

Seraji bared her teeth at the akk dog. At the two guards who were also looking her way, realizing what had happened.

 

Be mad at the water. The trees, the planet, the akk dogs. But not at other people.

 

Seraji focused on the dog, not the people. It snarled at her. She snarled right back, and allowed herself to feel a brief rush of pride as that snarl turned into a full-blown roar. The dog shied away, eyes huge. Seraji yanked the unconscious target up onto her shoulders, still with her teeth bared at the dog, who was crouching down now in submission. The other dog was limping. The two guards were all that was left, and Seraji saw them slowly put their guns away as she started staggering determinedly out of the compound. Their boss was too close to her – if they shot at her, they’d shoot him.

 

She was nearly doubled-over from the man’s weight, but she didn’t care. Triumph was singing in her heart.

 

She marched across the boggy way, back towards the copse of trees where Hunsi was still waiting. She saw his ruby-blaze eyes widen slightly; then he stepped out of the shadows, nodding. “Well done.”

 

Seraji slung the target down onto the ground and straightened up. She looked up at Hunsi, who watched her impassively, then she closed her gaping mouth. “…thank you,” she mumbled. Her shoulder ached, but she could deal with it. The sheer rush she’d felt…it wasn’t psychotic, it was just focused. A hunter. A real hunter. Thanks to Hunsi.

 

“Last thing,” Hunsi said. “Don’t leave a job unfinished. Run.”

 

Seraji looked back to see the two akk dogs running out of the compound like their tails were on fire, and the two remaining guards barreling towards her and Hunsi. Whoops.

 

Hunsi hoisted their target to his shoulders and gestured for Seraji to go first. She ran, armor clanking with every step, flying over the marshes, with Hunsi going faster and more quietly than she would have thought possible, hot on her heels.

 

By the time they crashed back towards Jiguuna, Seraji felt ready to drop from exhaustion…but her heart was still singing. I did it.

 

 

 

Note

 

...I have a problem with ending stories. I can't ever seem to find a good, solid ending. They usually wind up dragging out and out and then I have to figure out where I was trying to go in all that mess of words. Argh.