Don’t Call Them Ruth-Less: Tales of Wynston and Quinn

[bright_ephemera]

February, 29 ATC: Fan Service

 

 

 

"Quinn. Suit up. Casuals. We've got a cantina to watch for a while. I expect a certain transaction and we need to intercept."

 

"Seems easy enough."

 

"You keep me on the straight and narrow, I keep you on the straight but single, it works."

 

"Can we just go, agent?"

 

"Sure, sure."

 

*

 

"You neglected to mention that this was a gay bar."

 

"Blame the target, not me. We'll take a booth, no one's going to bother us." Wynston grinned, then sat down on one side of a table that could be termed "intimate" or "wildly inadequate for holding two full-sized plates." He ordered a drink for himself, then a drink for Quinn after the latter attempted to request water.

 

"Now we relax and wait. - I can't help but notice you picked out the single most hideous human disguise you could find."

 

"It's a safety measure, agent, whenever you drag me out to social settings."

 

"I'm afraid the air of noble tragedy is still there."

 

"Would you stop saying that?"

 

"Sure, when you stop being nobly tragic."

 

A slim red Twi'lek strolled up to the table. "Haven't seen you two around before." Although he looked them both over, it was Quinn he smiled for.

 

Wynston buried his face in his hands. "I don't believe this."

 

Quinn made a sudden, intense effort to vanish into the wall.

 

Before the Twi'lek could get another word in, Wynston reached out and covered Quinn's hand with his. "Do you mind?" he growled at the stranger.

 

"Ah, my apologies. Have a nice night, both of you." He backed away a step. Then winked at Quinn. "Do come back sometime."

 

Wynston scanned the room. "Now that I'm looking, I see two more prowling," he said. "What the hell is wrong with you?"

 

"Tragedy, I'm told. I assure you, if I could undo it I would."

 

"Never mind. I have an idea to get them off your case."

 

"I'm not going to like this, am I."

 

"We just need a shield composed of highly visible vibes."

 

Quinn snatched his hand back. "There will be no vibes." He looked around the room to see if anybody was watching. As soon as he had done so, he wished he hadn't. Several were looking his way. He settled for glaring at Wynston.

 

"Have I ever mentioned," said Wynston, "that that look of passionate, concentrated hatred you do has been described by more than one woman as smoldering?"

 

Quinn quickly directed his gaze elsewhere. "I'm not smoldering!"

 

Wynston leaned across the table, smiling dreamily. "That's good. That's perfect. You are a natural at this."

 

Quinn leaned backward. "At what?"

 

"Playing hard to get. Looking convincingly distressed at being seen being...overly demonstrative."

 

"That isn't a new phenomenon for me."

 

"You're falling back into the swing of things very, very nicely."

 

"Cease the eye contact. We're supposed to be watching for our mark."

 

"I'm watching."

 

"Not while you're looking at me like that, you're not."

 

"I'm better than you might think at processing through my peripheral vision. You're stuck, l-"

 

Quinn broke in hastily. "If you utter an endearment you'll be leaving this room on a stretcher."

 

Wynston leaned back and shrugged. "Suit yourself, swe-"

 

"Stretcher."

 

"Look, I'm doing this for your own good. Would you rather continue to be showered with the attentions of strangers?"

 

Quinn eyed Wynston's smile with a look of pure horror. "Yes. Yes, at this point I would."

 

"I don't think you really mean that," purred Wynston, inching his chair forward. Quinn, for some reason, also tucked closer. Then Wynston started and smirked. "Well. Is that a blaster in your pocket, or are you happy to see me?"

 

"I'm not happy to see you. You can figure it out from there. And yes, I am excited enough to fire the second you try to get closer."

 

Wynston looked down at his belly and the thing pressing into it under the table. "You're being literal."

 

"Have I ever intentionally joked with you?"

 

Wynston jerked his head to one side. "Mark. Game face." He snapped into cool, attentive professionalism and turned to observe the floor and the individual walking across it.

 

Quinn looked at their mark, looked back at Wynston, marveling at how quickly the Chiss' entire manner had changed into something non-vile.

 

Wynston caught the movement, looked over, blew Quinn a kiss, and got back to work.

 

 

 

Edited September 24, 2012 by bright_ephemera

[irishfino]

February, 29 ATC: Fan Service

 

 

 

"Quinn. Suit up. Casuals. We've got a cantina to watch for a while. I expect a certain transaction and we need to intercept."

 

"Seems easy enough."

 

"You keep me on the straight and narrow, I keep you on the straight but single, it works."

 

"Can we just go, agent?"

 

"Sure, sure."

 

*

 

"You neglected to mention that this was a gay bar."

 

"Blame the target, not me. We'll take a booth, no one's going to bother us." Wynston grinned, then sat down on one side of a table that could be termed "intimate" or "wildly inadequate for holding two full-sized plates." He ordered a drink for himself, then a drink for Quinn after the latter attempted to request water.

 

"Now we relax and wait. - I can't help but notice you picked out the single most hideous human disguise you could find."

 

"It's a safety measure, agent, whenever you drag me out to social settings."

 

"I'm afraid the air of noble tragedy is still there."

 

"Would you stop saying that?"

 

"Sure, when you stop being nobly tragic."

 

A slim red Twi'lek strolled up to the table. "Haven't seen you two around before." Although he looked them both over, it was Quinn he smiled for.

 

Wynston buried his face in his hands. "I don't believe this."

 

Quinn made a sudden, intense effort to vanish into the wall.

 

Before the Twi'lek could get another word in, Wynston reached out and covered Quinn's hand with his. "Do you mind?" he growled at the stranger.

 

"Ah, my apologies. Have a nice night, both of you." He backed away a step. Then winked at Quinn. "Do come back sometime."

 

Wynston scanned the room. "Now that I'm looking, I see two more prowling," said Wynston. "What the hell is wrong with you?"

 

"Tragedy, I'm told. I assure you, if I could undo it I would."

 

"Never mind. I have an idea to get them off your case."

 

"I'm not going to like this, am I."

 

"We just need a shield composed of highly visible vibes."

 

Quinn snatched his hand back. "There will be no vibes." He looked around the room to see if anybody was watching. As soon as he had done so, he wished he hadn't. Several were looking his way. He settled for glaring at Wynston.

 

"Have I ever mentioned," said Wynston, "that that look of passionate, concentrated hatred you do has been described by more than one woman as smoldering?"

 

Quinn quickly directed his gaze elsewhere. "I'm not smoldering!"

 

Wynston leaned across the table, smiling dreamily. "That's good. That's perfect. You are a natural at this."

 

Quinn leaned backward. "At what?"

 

"Playing hard to get. Looking convincingly distressed at being seen being...overly demonstrative."

 

"That isn't a new phenomenon for me."

 

"You're falling back into the swing of things very, very nicely."

 

"Cease the eye contact. We're supposed to be watching for our mark."

 

"I'm watching."

 

"Not while you're looking at me like that, you're not."

 

"I'm better than you might think at processing through my peripheral vision. You're stuck, l-"

 

Quinn broke in hastily. "If you utter an endearment you'll be leaving this room on a stretcher."

 

Wynston leaned back and shrugged. "Suit yourself, swe-"

 

"Stretcher."

 

"Look, I'm doing this for your own good. Would you rather continue to be showered with the attentions of strangers?"

 

Quinn eyed Wynston's smile with a look of pure horror. "Yes. Yes, at this point I would."

 

"I don't think you really mean that," purred Wynston, inching his chair forward. Quinn, for some reason, also tucked closer. Then Wynston started and smirked. "Well. Is that a blaster in your pocket, or are you happy to see me?"

 

"I'm not happy to see you. You can figure it out from there. And yes, I am excited enough to fire the second you try to get closer."

 

Wynston looked down at his belly and the thing pressing into it under the table. "You're being literal."

 

"Have I ever intentionally joked with you?"

 

Wynston jerked his head to one side. "Mark. Game face." He snapped into cool, attentive professionalism and turned to observe the floor and the individual walking across it.

 

Quinn looked at their mark, looked back at Wynston, marveling at how quickly the Chiss' entire manner had changed into something non-vile.

 

Wynston caught the movement, looked over, blew Quinn a kiss, and got back to work.

 

 

 

This... all of this... just... gold. I can't select one thing because I laughed throughout.

[iamthehoyden]

Fricking hysterical. Wynston's "What the hell is wrong with you??" was awesome. Oh, so many things, my dear, so many things. Edited August 17, 2012 by iamthehoyden

[Earthmama]

February, 29 ATC: Fan Service

 

 

 

"Quinn. Suit up. Casuals. We've got a cantina to watch for a while. I expect a certain transaction and we need to intercept."

 

"Seems easy enough."

 

"You keep me on the straight and narrow, I keep you on the straight but single, it works."

 

"Can we just go, agent?"

 

"Sure, sure."

 

*

 

"You neglected to mention that this was a gay bar."

 

"Blame the target, not me. We'll take a booth, no one's going to bother us." Wynston grinned, then sat down on one side of a table that could be termed "intimate" or "wildly inadequate for holding two full-sized plates." He ordered a drink for himself, then a drink for Quinn after the latter attempted to request water.

 

"Now we relax and wait. - I can't help but notice you picked out the single most hideous human disguise you could find."

 

"It's a safety measure, agent, whenever you drag me out to social settings."

 

"I'm afraid the air of noble tragedy is still there."

 

"Would you stop saying that?"

 

"Sure, when you stop being nobly tragic."

 

A slim red Twi'lek strolled up to the table. "Haven't seen you two around before." Although he looked them both over, it was Quinn he smiled for.

 

Wynston buried his face in his hands. "I don't believe this."

 

Quinn made a sudden, intense effort to vanish into the wall.

 

Before the Twi'lek could get another word in, Wynston reached out and covered Quinn's hand with his. "Do you mind?" he growled at the stranger.

 

"Ah, my apologies. Have a nice night, both of you." He backed away a step. Then winked at Quinn. "Do come back sometime."

 

Wynston scanned the room. "Now that I'm looking, I see two more prowling," said Wynston. "What the hell is wrong with you?"

 

"Tragedy, I'm told. I assure you, if I could undo it I would."

 

"Never mind. I have an idea to get them off your case."

 

"I'm not going to like this, am I."

 

"We just need a shield composed of highly visible vibes."

 

Quinn snatched his hand back. "There will be no vibes." He looked around the room to see if anybody was watching. As soon as he had done so, he wished he hadn't. Several were looking his way. He settled for glaring at Wynston.

 

"Have I ever mentioned," said Wynston, "that that look of passionate, concentrated hatred you do has been described by more than one woman as smoldering?"

 

Quinn quickly directed his gaze elsewhere. "I'm not smoldering!"

 

Wynston leaned across the table, smiling dreamily. "That's good. That's perfect. You are a natural at this."

 

Quinn leaned backward. "At what?"

 

"Playing hard to get. Looking convincingly distressed at being seen being...overly demonstrative."

 

"That isn't a new phenomenon for me."

 

"You're falling back into the swing of things very, very nicely."

 

"Cease the eye contact. We're supposed to be watching for our mark."

 

"I'm watching."

 

"Not while you're looking at me like that, you're not."

 

"I'm better than you might think at processing through my peripheral vision. You're stuck, l-"

 

Quinn broke in hastily. "If you utter an endearment you'll be leaving this room on a stretcher."

 

Wynston leaned back and shrugged. "Suit yourself, swe-"

 

"Stretcher."

 

"Look, I'm doing this for your own good. Would you rather continue to be showered with the attentions of strangers?"

 

Quinn eyed Wynston's smile with a look of pure horror. "Yes. Yes, at this point I would."

 

"I don't think you really mean that," purred Wynston, inching his chair forward. Quinn, for some reason, also tucked closer. Then Wynston started and smirked. "Well. Is that a blaster in your pocket, or are you happy to see me?"

 

"I'm not happy to see you. You can figure it out from there. And yes, I am excited enough to fire the second you try to get closer."

 

Wynston looked down at his belly and the thing pressing into it under the table. "You're being literal."

 

"Have I ever intentionally joked with you?"

 

Wynston jerked his head to one side. "Mark. Game face." He snapped into cool, attentive professionalism and turned to observe the floor and the individual walking across it.

 

Quinn looked at their mark, looked back at Wynston, marveling at how quickly the Chiss' entire manner had changed into something non-vile.

 

Wynston caught the movement, looked over, blew Quinn a kiss, and got back to work.

 

 

 

 

I can't stop giggling!

[irishfino]

"I don't think you really mean that," purred Wynston, inching his chair forward. Quinn, for some reason, also tucked closer. Then Wynston started and smirked. "Well. Is that a blaster in your pocket, or are you happy to see me?"

 

"I'm not happy to see you. You can figure it out from there. And yes, I am excited enough to fire the second you try to get closer."

 

Wynston looked down at his belly and the thing pressing into it under the table. "You're being literal."

 

"Have I ever intentionally joked with you?"

 

Upon reading it again (and again... and a third time... stop judging me) this stood out as the funniest moment in the whole thing.

[Vesaniae]

February, 29 ATC: Fan Service

Can't...stop...laughing

 

"Have I ever mentioned," said Wynston, "that that look of passionate, concentrated hatred you do has been described by more than one woman as smoldering?"

*swoons*

[SveinEternity]

February, 29 ATC: Fan Service

 

 

 

"Quinn. Suit up. Casuals. We've got a cantina to watch for a while. I expect a certain transaction and we need to intercept."

 

"Seems easy enough."

 

"You keep me on the straight and narrow, I keep you on the straight but single, it works."

 

"Can we just go, agent?"

 

"Sure, sure."

 

*

 

"You neglected to mention that this was a gay bar."

 

"Blame the target, not me. We'll take a booth, no one's going to bother us." Wynston grinned, then sat down on one side of a table that could be termed "intimate" or "wildly inadequate for holding two full-sized plates." He ordered a drink for himself, then a drink for Quinn after the latter attempted to request water.

 

"Now we relax and wait. - I can't help but notice you picked out the single most hideous human disguise you could find."

 

"It's a safety measure, agent, whenever you drag me out to social settings."

 

"I'm afraid the air of noble tragedy is still there."

 

"Would you stop saying that?"

 

"Sure, when you stop being nobly tragic."

 

A slim red Twi'lek strolled up to the table. "Haven't seen you two around before." Although he looked them both over, it was Quinn he smiled for.

 

Wynston buried his face in his hands. "I don't believe this."

 

Quinn made a sudden, intense effort to vanish into the wall.

 

Before the Twi'lek could get another word in, Wynston reached out and covered Quinn's hand with his. "Do you mind?" he growled at the stranger.

 

"Ah, my apologies. Have a nice night, both of you." He backed away a step. Then winked at Quinn. "Do come back sometime."

 

Wynston scanned the room. "Now that I'm looking, I see two more prowling," said Wynston. "What the hell is wrong with you?"

 

"Tragedy, I'm told. I assure you, if I could undo it I would."

 

"Never mind. I have an idea to get them off your case."

 

"I'm not going to like this, am I."

 

"We just need a shield composed of highly visible vibes."

 

Quinn snatched his hand back. "There will be no vibes." He looked around the room to see if anybody was watching. As soon as he had done so, he wished he hadn't. Several were looking his way. He settled for glaring at Wynston.

 

"Have I ever mentioned," said Wynston, "that that look of passionate, concentrated hatred you do has been described by more than one woman as smoldering?"

 

Quinn quickly directed his gaze elsewhere. "I'm not smoldering!"

 

Wynston leaned across the table, smiling dreamily. "That's good. That's perfect. You are a natural at this."

 

Quinn leaned backward. "At what?"

 

"Playing hard to get. Looking convincingly distressed at being seen being...overly demonstrative."

 

"That isn't a new phenomenon for me."

 

"You're falling back into the swing of things very, very nicely."

 

"Cease the eye contact. We're supposed to be watching for our mark."

 

"I'm watching."

 

"Not while you're looking at me like that, you're not."

 

"I'm better than you might think at processing through my peripheral vision. You're stuck, l-"

 

Quinn broke in hastily. "If you utter an endearment you'll be leaving this room on a stretcher."

 

Wynston leaned back and shrugged. "Suit yourself, swe-"

 

"Stretcher."

 

"Look, I'm doing this for your own good. Would you rather continue to be showered with the attentions of strangers?"

 

Quinn eyed Wynston's smile with a look of pure horror. "Yes. Yes, at this point I would."

 

"I don't think you really mean that," purred Wynston, inching his chair forward. Quinn, for some reason, also tucked closer. Then Wynston started and smirked. "Well. Is that a blaster in your pocket, or are you happy to see me?"

 

"I'm not happy to see you. You can figure it out from there. And yes, I am excited enough to fire the second you try to get closer."

 

Wynston looked down at his belly and the thing pressing into it under the table. "You're being literal."

 

"Have I ever intentionally joked with you?"

 

Wynston jerked his head to one side. "Mark. Game face." He snapped into cool, attentive professionalism and turned to observe the floor and the individual walking across it.

 

Quinn looked at their mark, looked back at Wynston, marveling at how quickly the Chiss' entire manner had changed into something non-vile.

 

Wynston caught the movement, looked over, blew Quinn a kiss, and got back to work.

 

 

 

I couldn't stop lolling! Great work on this!

[bright_ephemera]

I, uh...yeah. I don't think I'm going to be rivalling Fan Service for a while. That one just came together perfectly.

 

November, 28 ATC: Talk the Talk

 

 

 

"Quinn. Lesson today. Much though I enjoy hearing an Academy-trained drill sergeant every time you open your mouth, it's about time you started broadening the horizons of your speech patterns."

 

"I don't see the point."

 

"Improved disguises."

 

Quinn shrugged, unimpressed.

 

"The ability to operate in Republic space."

 

"I manage as I am."

 

"The hope of hitting on some accent or vernacular pattern that fewer women consider a turn-on."

 

"I'm in."

 

"I thought you might be." Wynston jumped into a different accent, heavily Republic. "Now, then. I can start with this here. Your vowels will be a little different - all of them will - and - star, sterling, horror, roundabout, heart - you'll handle 'r's differently."

 

"What did you just say?"

 

"You'll handle 'r's differently?"

 

"You're not speaking Basic."

 

Wynston fliipped back to an Imperial accent. "Yes, I am."

 

"Whatever that mishmash of noises was, it wasn't Basic."

 

"Quinn, it's Basic in a Coruscanti accent. One trillion people speak it as their native dialect."

 

"One trillion people are failing to speak in anything approaching a civilized language. Sleens in mating season sound both more comprehensible and more pleasing than that."

 

Wynston went Coruscanti. "You're a real snob, you know that?"

 

"Ugh. Can't I just speak Huttese or something?"

 

"We'll work on it. Coruscant first."

 

"If I must." Quinn took up a very different vocal style. "Look at me, I'm an ignorant lout who can't be bothered to enunciate my consonants or do any of my 'o's right; furthermore I don't have a speck of education or class and am probably going to waste my entire life haring after the idiot dreams that the Republic instills in its masses."

 

Wynston stared, wide-eyed. "Quinn, that was perfect."

 

"That's the problem! It's disgusting!"

 

"If you could say something that doesn't make you sound like a complete arse, but keep that accent, you would be all set for undercover work in Republic space."

 

Quinn tapped his fingers on the table and watched.

 

"All right, so everything you say makes you sound like a complete arse regardless of the accent."

 

"I was waiting for the inevitable commentary."

 

"Happy to oblige. Now just remember. Chicks dig the Imperial upper class style. Drop that and they'll be more likely to actually pay attention to your personality, which will translate directly into less unwanted attention for you."

 

"I wish I could believe you. But the fact that there's a stable population of one trillion on Coruscant indicates that men are still getting female attention there. Even with the accent."

 

"That's where your personality will make the difference."

 

Quinn scowled and leaned back. After a moment he spoke up with the Coruscanti accent. "I can't believe you actually want me to talk like this. I can't believe anyone would want to talk like this."

 

"You're a natural. If you've already got that down, we can move on to Huttese."

 

"Thank the stars for that. Please, let's get started."

 

 

 

Edited August 17, 2012 by bright_ephemera

[irishfino]

Wynston went Coruscanti. "You're a real snob, you know that?"

 

That summed up everything quite nicely.

[bright_ephemera]

January, 29 ATC: Peacemaker

 

 

 

Malavai Quinn stood straight and proud, decked out in a tastefully conservative variant of the clothing of Alderaanian nobility. A number of noblemen were in attendance in House Rist's audience hall that day; Lord Rist himself sat at a table on a dais at one end, and it was he that Quinn was matching stares with.

 

"I've laid out the polite arguments, Lord Rist. Are you still quite certain you wish to leave the Celadine Consortium?"

 

"Entirely. Now skitter along to your Organa masters and tell them not to bother me again."

 

"I only ask because, the stability of this hemisphere and the good of the common people aside, I happen to possess ironclad documentation of certain contracts you have taken for both the Thuls and the Ulgos, in direct contravention of the agreements you had previously signed with those houses."

 

The room got very quiet.

 

Lord Rist sneered. "Even if such documentation existed, no paperwork is completely ironclad. A true Alderaanian would know that."

 

"Furthermore," said Quinn, dropping suddenly to a deadly voice just above a whisper, "my associates know precisely where your illegitimate daughter is fostering and how to reach her. The Rists aren't the only house that can arrange accidents."

 

The color drained from Lord Rist's face. He stared at Quinn, who looked calmly back, the smallest of smiles playing about his lips.

 

"Simply reaffirm your loyalty to the Empire," said Quinn, "and I'll be on my way."

 

Lord Rist looked confused. "The Empire? Who said anything about the Empire?"

 

Quinn frowned. He turned and looked over at Wynston, who was standing at the foot of the dais, dressed as an ordinary house guard. "Did I say Empire again?"

 

Wynston rubbed his temples. "Yes. You said Empire again."

 

"I've been making a real effort not to do that." He turned back to Rist. "Simply reaffirm your loyalty to the Celadine Consortium, and I'll be on my way."

 

"I'll reaffirm my loyalty to anything it takes to get you out of here, you strange man."

 

"Anything it takes?" Quinn looked suddenly hopeful. "If that's the case, the Empire really would be-"

 

"Quinn," snapped Wynston.

 

"Ah. Fine. The Celadine Consortium it is." Quinn sighed, pasted a slight smile back on his face, and presented Lord Rist with a datapad containing a formal proclamation of intent for him to sign. Then Quinn gave him a small ironic nod, turned, and walked away, radiating pride and power as he went.

 

Wynston fell into step beside him. "The Empire? Again?"

 

"We got what we wanted," muttered Quinn, "I don't see what the problem is."

 

"The problem is that if I had half your stage presence I would push you off the nearest bridge and do these negotiations myself. It's ridiculous. Nobody does softspoken menace like you do, but could you please at least try to pay enough attention to remember who you're strongarming people into allying themselves with?"

 

"Calm yourself. I'll get it next time."

 

"You'd better."

 

 

 

Edited August 17, 2012 by bright_ephemera

[kabeone]

That whole last page everything on it. Pure gold. Fan Service, Pure Diamonds. Edited August 17, 2012 by kabeone

[Morgani]

Why have I been waiting to read these? I must have got hit with a stupid rock.

 

That's okay, between reading all this stuff and writing my own crap, I didn't want to play the game anyway.

 

I had better be careful, though or bright_ is going to make me love Quinn.

 

>.>

 

<.<

[bright_ephemera]

May, 29 ATC: Paying (Selective) Respects

 

This one touches briefly on the Sith Warrior Act 3 spoiler.

 

 

 

"Quinn. Surprise job, high-priority, Sullust sector."

 

Quinn tugged at his satchel strap and frowned. "I'm taking the day off," he said.

 

"I...hadn't realized you were familiar with that concept."

 

"I'm going to Dromund Kaas. For a memorial."

 

Wynston thought for a few seconds. "It's Ruth's birthday, isn't it."

 

"Yes. She would've been thirty-eight."

 

"Ah," the Chiss said thoughtfully. "Still far too young. On the plus side, at least she was spared the indignity of turning forty."

 

"Forty wasn't bad."

 

"Oh, you remember back that far, do you?"

 

Quinn glared.

 

"Forty felt like the end of the world to me." Wynston rubbed his chin. "Or maybe that's just because the planet I was on that day was going to blow up if I didn't find a way to reverse the tectonic destabilizer before midnight." He let his hand drop. "Ah, well. Out of curiosity, did you ever actually spend a birthday on speaking terms with her?"

 

"Yes," bristled Quinn. "Four of them."

 

"And the other fifteen or however many there were, you were at each other's throats."

 

"No, we were ignoring each other. Only one of her birthdays actually involved combat against me. And it wasn't really combat so much as shouting and throwing things."

 

"I'll be the first to admit that my understanding of romance is a little superficial, but I never could comprehend how your notion of true love could involve so much argument and projectile weaponry and attempted murder."

 

"There wasn't all that much attempted murder."

 

"A little goes a long way."

 

Quinn crossed his arms and gave Wynston the evil eye.

 

"I understand these things better than you might think," said Wynston. "Although when I break up with a dangerous mark, I generally succeed in killing her."

 

"You are a repulsive human being."

 

"No, you're a repulsive human being, Quinn. I'm a repulsive Chiss. Now go, take all the time you need; I'll manage things around here 'til you get back. Bring some flowers to her grave for me, would you? Those lilies she likes."

 

"I'm getting her lilies," Quinn said stiffly.

 

"So get more of them."

 

"I'm not giving you credit for copying my tribute, agent."

 

"Fine, then. Get her some velvet flame-rods."

 

Quinn scowled even harder. "Velvet flame-rods are notorious for secreting a contact poison that starts by causing painful, disfiguring skin lesions and then gets worse from there."

 

"Ah. I was hoping you didn't know that. It was the whole point. Please, handle them with bare hands. And sniff deeply."

 

"I'm leaving now."

 

"Am I going to have to come with you to pay my respects?"

 

Quinn gritted his teeth. "I'll get her some more lilies."

 

Wynston nodded, satisfied. "Good man."

 

 

Edited August 17, 2012 by bright_ephemera

[bright_ephemera]

I had better be careful, though or bright_ is going to make me love Quinn.

 

>.>

 

<.<

 

I worry that this is by far the least faithful I have been to Quinn as a character. I put him through the wringer for close to twenty years to explain how the stick up his *** got so flexible, but even so, don't think being fond of this guy would necessarily translate to liking game-Quinn; Wynston's partner here is almost too un-Quinn-like for my own comfort.

 

And yet...so ridiculously fun.

[irishfino]

"Simply reaffirm your loyalty to the Empire," said Quinn, "and I'll be on my way."

 

Lord Rist looked confused. "The Empire? Who said anything about the Empire?"

 

Quinn frowned. He turned and looked over at Wynston, who was standing at the foot of the dais, dressed as an ordinary house guard. "Did I say Empire again?"

 

Wynston rubbed his temples. "Yes. You said Empire again."

 

"I've been making a real effort not to do that." He turned back to Rist. "Simply reaffirm your loyalty to the Celadine Consortium, and I'll be on my way."

 

"I'll reaffirm my loyalty to anything it takes to get you out of here, you strange man."

 

"Anything it takes?" Quinn looked suddenly hopeful. "If that's the case, the Empire really would be-"

 

"Quinn," snapped Wynston.

 

"Ah. Fine. The Celadine Consortium it is." Quinn sighed, pasted a slight smile back on his face, and presented Lord Rist with a datapad containing a formal proclamation of intent for him to sign. Then Quinn gave him a small ironic nod, turned, and walked away, radiating pride and power as he went.

 

Quinn is a doofus, lol.

Edited August 17, 2012 by irishfino

[Vesaniae]

I worry that this is by far the least faithful I have been to Quinn as a character. I put him through the wringer for close to twenty years to explain how the stick up his *** got so flexible, but even so, don't think being fond of this guy would necessarily translate to liking game-Quinn; Wynston's partner here is almost too un-Quinn-like for my own comfort.

 

And yet...so ridiculously fun.

I personally believe that a little OOC behavior is perfectly acceptable if the results are this funny. And Quinn is, in my opinion, damn hard to write properly in-character. There's a scene in Afterimages that I've rewritten three times because I kept feeling like it was OOC, and I'm still not completely happy with it.

 

I think the Quinn we see here is, while slightly OOC, close enough to character to be believable. At least in my opinion. Besides, it's funnier this way.

[ragnnerok]

I worry that this is by far the least faithful I have been to Quinn as a character. I put him through the wringer for close to twenty years to explain how the stick up his *** got so flexible, but even so, don't think being fond of this guy would necessarily translate to liking game-Quinn; Wynston's partner here is almost too un-Quinn-like for my own comfort.

 

And yet...so ridiculously fun.

 

I agree game Quinn is a twit

[bright_ephemera]

I worry that this is by far the least faithful I have been to Quinn as a character. I put him through the wringer for close to twenty years to explain how the stick up his *** got so flexible, but even so, don't think being fond of this guy would necessarily translate to liking game-Quinn; Wynston's partner here is almost too un-Quinn-like for my own comfort.

 

And yet...so ridiculously fun.

 

Derp, for clarity's sake I should specify that "this" is "this entire thread." I'm taking terrible liberties with the character of Quinn for the purposes of this whole thread.

 

No dignity for you, jerk. Serves you right.

[irishfino]

Derp, for clarity's sake I should specify that "this" is "this entire thread." I'm taking terrible liberties with the character of Quinn for the purposes of this whole thread.

 

No dignity for you, jerk. Serves you right.

 

The only real way to make Quinn a malleable character is to traumatize the ever loving spit out of him, then make him deal with emotions like a semi-person. Or strip him of everything and dive into his stupid head and yank his damn emotions out.

 

...

 

Not speaking from experience or anything...

[irishfino]

May, 29 ATC: Paying (Selective) Respects

 

This one touches briefly on the Sith Warrior Act 3 spoiler.

 

 

 

"Quinn. Surprise job, high-priority, Sullust sector."

 

Quinn tugged at his satchel strap and frowned. "I'm taking the day off," he said.

 

"I...hadn't realized you were familiar with that concept."

 

"I'm going to Dromund Kaas. For a memorial."

 

Wynston thought for a few seconds. "It's Ruth's birthday, isn't it."

 

"Yes. She would've been thirty-eight."

 

"Ah," the Chiss said thoughtfully. "Still far too young. On the plus side, at least she was spared the indignity of turning forty."

 

"Forty wasn't bad."

 

"Oh, you remember back that far, do you?"

 

Quinn glared.

 

"Forty felt like the end of the world to me." Wynston rubbed his chin. "Or maybe that's just because the planet I was on that day was going to blow up if I didn't find a way to reverse the tectonic destabilizer before midnight." He let his hand drop. "Ah, well. Out of curiosity, did you ever actually spend a birthday on speaking terms with her?"

 

"Yes," bristled Quinn. "Four of them."

 

"And the other fifteen or however many there were, you were at each other's throats."

 

"No, we were ignoring each other. Only one of her birthdays actually involved combat against me. And it wasn't really combat so much as shouting and throwing things."

 

"I'll be the first to admit that my understanding of romance is a little superficial, but I never could comprehend how your notion of true love could involve so much argument and projectile weaponry and attempted murder."

 

"There wasn't all that much attempted murder."

 

"A little goes a long way."

 

Quinn crossed his arms and gave Wynston the evil eye.

 

"I understand these things better than you might think," said Wynston. "Although when I break up with a dangerous mark, I generally succeed in killing her."

 

"You are a repulsive human being."

 

"No, you're a repulsive human being, Quinn. I'm a repulsive Chiss. Now go, take all the time you need; I'll manage things around here 'til you get back. Bring some flowers to her grave for me, would you? Those lilies she likes."

 

"I'm getting her lilies," Quinn said stiffly.

 

"So get more of them."

 

"I'm not giving you credit for copying my tribute, agent."

 

"Fine, then. Get her some velvet flame-rods."

 

Quinn scowled even harder. "Velvet flame-rods are notorious for secreting a contact poison that starts by causing painful, disfiguring skin lesions and then gets worse from there."

 

"Ah. I was hoping you didn't know that. It was the whole point. Please, handle them with bare hands. And sniff deeply."

 

"I'm leaving now."

 

"Am I going to have to come with you to pay my respects?"

 

Quinn gritted his teeth. "I'll get her some more lilies."

 

Wynston nodded, satisfied. "Good man."

 

 

Somehow I missed this post. O_o...

 

Hilarious banter all around!

[bright_ephemera]

March, 29 ATC: Backstory

 

 

 

It was eight o'clock in the morning by the clocks of the mission destination.

 

It was one of those missions that required riding in a small shuttle for several hours.

 

Wynston took another deep swig of Duros deathglow.

 

Quinn frowned at him. "Most days you wait until the job has started to get inebriated."

 

"I'll go insane if I wait."

 

Quinn leaned back and conspicuously, callously didn't ask.

 

"There was a girl," said Wynston.

 

Quinn rolled his eyes. "There always is."

 

"Over in Imperial affairs. And Agent Temple overheard her calling me 'Wyn.'"

 

Quinn stiffened. "That's a stupid nickname."

 

"It's not my fault. I've always had this name. But then...then..."

 

Quinn stared at the wall and conspicuously didn't ask.

 

Wynston set down the flask and buried his face in his hands. "Then Temple giggled and said 'QuinnWyn.'"

 

Quinn opened his mouth, but no sound came out. He swallowed hard and radiated outrage.

 

"She called us partners. She said we had a lot in common."

 

"We most certainly do not," huffed Quinn.

 

"I know! I mean, it wasn't always this way, but..."

 

"Agent Temple had a momentary lapse of reason. It's nothing that bears thinking on."

 

Wynston took another swig of deathglow. "You have no idea. You have no idea. Do you know what I was before I met you?"

 

"I seem to recall neither asking nor even slightly caring."

 

Wynston drank again. "I was the perfect little obedient operative. I said yes, sir, no, sir, I was quick, quiet, compliant. I always got the job done with a minimum of waste and zero extraneous commentary. Merciless, yes, but effective. I fell in line, I unquestioningly followed the rules. All for the Empire."

 

"It almost sounds like you were tolerable once." Quinn sniffed. "I suspect you're lying."

 

"I ignored women. I didn't engage in any of the many carnal vices life has to offer. I bowed and saluted on cue and was always very very accommodating for Sith. And my bloody nickname rhymed with 'Quinn.'"

 

"The degree to which you copied me is rather disturbing."

 

"This was before Ruth came along! I didn't know you!" He drank again. "I didn't know you. So then, so then we met."

 

"Sadly, yes."

 

"And I thought, if that's what I'm going to end up like, I need to change my life as of yesterday."

 

Quinn looked at Wynston's flask. "You did succeed in changing."

 

"Ha," said Wynston bitterly. "You made me what I am today, you monster. I've been having a great time since I decided to develop a personality, but it's you who started the process, and it's you who motivates me every time I see you doing something obnoxiously protocol-compliant."

 

Quinn reflected silently for a minute or two.

 

Wynston sniffled and stared at his feet.

 

"Is there any of that deathglow left?" Quinn asked quietly.

 

Wynston nodded and handed the flask over.

 

 

 

 

Notes:

That truly was my concept for Wynston. An operative healer, a neat functionary, perfectly obedient, perfectly effective with optimally efficient solutions. And, yes, named Wynston, though I never thought to call him Wyn until a story I was writing yesterday.

 

So anyway, then I met Quinn. And played the Warrior line. And realized, I just played through my Wynston concept, or rather, played alongside him. Time to try a different style. And so the Wynston you all know came into being.

 

Edited August 20, 2012 by bright_ephemera

[Vesaniae]

'QuinnWyn.'"

 

*chokes* I really should know better than to drink while reading this thread. LOL.

[bright_ephemera]

*chokes* I really should know better than to drink while reading this thread. LOL.

 

I was just about as horrified as Quinn was when this turn of phrase popped into mind for the first time. I'm so sorry, man. I had no idea. I wouldn't have said anything, but you just know somebody would've come up with it sooner or later.

 

If anything prompts Wynston to resurrect and use his family name, it'll be the horrible knowledge that people who know him as Wynston might at any moment decide to call him Wyn. Which is but one click away from a terrible terrible person's name. You poor boys!

[irishfino]

Wynston sniffled and stared at his feet.

 

"Is there any of that deathglow left?" Quinn asked quietly.

 

Wynston nodded and handed the flask over.

 

Don't drink too much, boys, or this might really turn into a Quinn/Wyn. *snickers*

[irishfino]

Speaking of Quinn/Wyn, I just had a thought. An evil, evil thought. What if Wynston had a dirty dream about Quinn? He's unable to look Quinn in the eye, let alone talk to him for a few days. This pleases Quinn to no end until someone (maybe the joiner Hazard?) tells Quinn why. Awkwardness ensues on a mission.

 

Just a thought. :3

Edited August 20, 2012 by irishfino