#ginger writes swtor fic

[andveryginger]

SWTOR Fic: “Reentry” (1/1) (Mairen/Reanden)

Title:  “Reentry”

Fandom:   Star Wars: The Old Republic (RPverse) Relationship(s): Mairen/Reanden (F/M) Rating:   Teen Warnings/Tags:   Adult Situations Implied

Notes: Fictober was kinda the jumping off point for this one, but real life really just went haywire, about halfway through the month. So... here it is, encouraged by the prompt, “Your information was wrong.”

Anyone interested in the back story should take a peek at the “Deja New” series, which covers the first meeting of these super-spy dorks, working undercover in the Empire, and the subsequent relationship they stumble into. This story falls shortly after the battle at the Meridian shipyards, as Mairen and Reanden have been invited to lead a Corellian-based task force in the renewed battle against the Empire. Posted without beta. All mistakes are my own.

Green Jedi Enclave Coronet City Corellia

The Jedi once known as Mairen Bel Iblis stood before the memorial, gaze tracing up the contours of the winding stone form as it reached upward and upward. A burning sensation tickled across her sinuses, creeping upward to engulf green eyes, even as the corners of her mouth tipped down, an outward sign of her struggle for control. Allowing her eyelids to close, she swallowed back the knot rising in her throat and knelt in the damp grass. She lowered her hands, fingertips barely brushing the blunted blades of foliage at her sides. Taking a deep breath she exhaled slowly, reaching gently into the Force. Chaos burbled just beneath the quiet veneer of recent history. Rebuilding efforts were underway in portions of the city, but kneeling, reaching into the energy that swirled within the enclave, she could sense the wounds still healing from the previous war: The aroma of scorched earth as it lingered in the air. The plumes of dark smoke rolling into the sky behind the towering skyline. The scream of Imperial fighters as they soared overhead, pursued by the howl of Republic ships. And all of it intermingled with shouted orders from troopers, cries of pain from the wounded, and wails of those left behind.

If living as a Sith on Dromund Kaas had been Hell, Corellia under fire had been the Ninth Level.

Her sister had been among the wounded – among the dead.

Her mother, her brother-in-law, and nieces had been among those wailing with the loss. Tightness gripped her chest, eyes stinging again as her own grief struggled back to the surface. She remembered too well the day she heard of the sacking – the sneering, wicked grins of the Imperials surrounding her as they celebrated the subjugation of her home, her family, and the death of so many of her fellow Green Jedi. Playing Sith hadn’t been all that much of an act that day. Dark tendrils coiled into her connection, and she felt a chill wash over her. She could hear the rumble of distant thunder; see a flash of lightning across a dark sky.  No, she thought. No more. This was not Dromund Kaas. This was Corellia, vibrant and full of life – life she could feel swirling all around her, warm and bright and reassuring. Wisps pushed back at the darkness, familiarity cradling her, welcoming her, and soothing the jagged edges of her anger and grief. She felt the whisper in her ear more than she heard it: “Emotion, yet peace… Death, yet the Force.” Drawing in a deep breath, she concentrated on how the air flowed into the lower reaches of her lungs; how her chest expanded first forward, then outward from the ribs. Exhaling slowly, she used the focus to reach further into the warmth that surrounded her. Resilience. Determination. Hope. There were Corellians who fought for the wrong reasons, engulfed by their hatred and seeking revenge… but they were far outnumbered by those who fought for the right reasons – for independence and for home. These had been the reasons she stayed on Dromund Kaas… and these had been the reasons her sister had remained in the enclave. Even as the realization settled over her, she felt a prickle of discomfort flutter across her mind; the hair on the back of her neck stood on end. She could sense nothing as an empty shadow took position behind her. It was a sensation she was familiar with, though with an unsettling twist: Most operatives trained in cloaking themselves and capable of concealing their signatures appeared as if they were nothing -- as though there were nothing unusual to sense. In this case, she could sense something – almost like a black hole – as if someone was somehow bending the Force around them. The voice that spoke into the silence was brittle. “I’d heard you were dead.” Mairen knew that voice. It was harder now, lacking in the warmth she once knew, but she would always recognize her brother when he spoke. Perhaps, she reasoned, the anger in his voice was why he felt so… unsettling. Of them all, he had required the most work in meditation… and hated every minute of it. Drawing a second breath, she once again gave an extended exhale, opening her eyes slowly. She moved, unhurried, to stand. Once there, she remained bent at the waist, red hair shielding her face as she swept debris from the knees of her pants and frowned at the damp circles. There would be time to change later, she supposed. Finally, her gaze settled on her brother. The years had been kind and yet… not. He was tall and wiry, built very much like their father. Gone now were the smile and chubby cheeks of his youth; they had been replaced by chiseled, high cheekbones, severe and sharp as his tone. Shadows lurked at the corners of his eyes and mouth, the creases there deepened not only with the passage of time, but the passage of life: It was a shadow that lurked in the pale green eyes that watched her now. Mairen held her own features in check, remaining behind her shields for the moment. She stood to her full height. “Your information was wrong.” His eyes narrowed and she could feel him reach out, begin to test her defenses. Fingers twitched at his side, thumb brushing against the hilt suspended from his belt. “And the rumors that you’d turned? Were those also wrong?” She nodded, once. “Part of the cover.” “You stayed.” “I did.” His lips thinned and Mairen glanced down as his fingers twitched again; glanced up as his jaw clinched. “Adrie died; the war ended; and you stayed,” he said. There was emphasis on each syllable, heavy, as anger seeped into his voice. “Twenty years, living it up as a Sith lord, yet I’m supposed to believe it was all ‘your cover’?” The shielding around his emotions was strong, but there were cracks beginning to form. Concern creased her brow. “You’re my brother, Cian,” she began slowly, her own voice calm and measured. “Father trained us all: You, me, Adrie. You’re the only one left who might know better than just about anyone whether I was capable of turning – of turning my back on my family; on Corellia; on the Force --” “No,” Cian interrupted. “I was your brother. The woman that stood there and lied to us – lied to me – about ‘finding her destiny in the Empire’ – she wasn’t my sister… because my sister wouldn’t have left our mother to deal with Da’s passing; wouldn’t have left me to clean up the mess. And she sure as Hells wouldn’t have missed the opportunity to say goodbye to her little sister.” Mairen frowned. The skepticism was expected… maybe even warranted. She’d known there would be members of the enclave especially who would question her return; it had been one of the larger reasons she had avoided it to this point. Still, he had not been there the day the fighting started again; hadn’t been there to see or sense her reaction. Even twenty years distant, it was a time she did not wish to repeat. “Our baby sister is one with the Force – just as we all will be, when our time comes,” she replied, “but if you think I didn’t feel anything – that I didn’t mourn her – that I don’t miss her – then you are blinded by your own anger and grief.” Her eyes narrowed. “I did not turn.” Her brother dropped his chin, green eyes holding hers. Each word was enunciated: “I don’t believe you.” “Then may the Force help you, because I” – Mairen paused, shaking her head – “clearly can’t.” The events of the next moment happened in a blur: In the exact instant that Cian reached for his saber, her husband, Reanden Taerich, and her mother, Senator Ruari Bel Iblis, rounded the corner. Immediately sensing the danger, Ruari swung her left hand up, fingers splayed as she ensnared her son in the Force. Pinned, he struggled like a man bound, face distorted with strain and anger. Beside her, Reanden had drawn his holdout blaster, barrel pointed toward Cian. His finger rested against the trigger guard. The senator scowled at her son. “What in the Nine Hells is going on here?” “A conflict with reality,” Mairen replied. “He believes I actually turned – that I’m truly Sith.” Voice strained and speaking through clenched teeth, Cian remained defiant. “I will not allow the Empire to take more from this enclave than it’s already stolen!” “Do you honestly think she’d be standing here -- now -- in this instant, if she were Sith? I’d kill her myself, if that were the case,” Reanden snapped. “Though your cousins or a battalion of the Republic’s finest might’ve beaten me to it the moment she set foot on Coruscant, if she were actually Sith.” Cian blinked, confused. “Coruscant?” His glare focussed on Reanden. The spy remained still, blaster at the ready. “With you?” “Coruscant. Nar Shaddaa. A particularly lovely honeymoon on Alderaan…” There was a hint of dark amusement in Reanden’s eyes, echoed in his tone as he taunted the immobilized Jedi. “It’s generally accepted that wives travel with their husbands.” “Husband?” Mairen nodded. “Reanden was forced out first. He was finally able to extract me from the Empire about three months later,” she replied. “After my lengthy debrief with SIS, we… married… on Alderaan. Mum’s cousins were quite accommodating.” The furrow in her brother’s brow deepened, along with the shadows lurking in the creases along the corners of his mouth. “You? Married him? After what happened to Airna? And you expect me to believe that you’ve not turned?” “I know what happened to Airna, Cian.” Casting a sidelong glance to Reanden, she nodded imperceptibly. “I’ve met the man who killed her – stood toe to toe with him, in the heart of the Citadel. It was not Reanden Taerich.” Pushing against the Force restraint, Cian tossed his head to the side in disgust; Ruari’s hand wavered with the effort. “I’m going to release you,” the senator said, slowly. “You’re going to leave the enclave, and you’re going home to meditate. If you even think about drawing on your sister again, Reanden will be keeping his blaster handy, and I will not be so gentle if I have to restrain you again. Do you understand?” He nodded once. Ruari drew her hand back slowly, as one might draw back a sheet, draped over a statue. As the restraint released him, Cian rolled his neck and shoulders, shook out his fingers. He looked to his mother. “You want to see the best in her,” he commented. “You want to believe her. I just hope it doesn’t get us all killed.” Ruari, Reanden, and Mairen watched as he turned, stalking across the courtyard to the far exit. As he disappeared, the cloud around her dissipated, and Mairen instantly reached for Reanden. The old spy reeled her in and held her close; their joined relief almost overwhelmed their connection. He smoothed his hands over her hair, lips pressing gentle kisses to her temple. “It’s all right, love,” he said. His own voice was a bit rougher than he expected. “We’re all right.” For her part, Ruari watched him comfort her daughter. “I should have prepared him – should have prepared you for how he’s changed.” She heaved a sigh. “I don’t think I realized quite how much.” Reanden regarded his mother-in-law. “I’m no Jedi, Ruari,” he began, “but after that? I’d say unless someone is able to get through to him, he’s going to be more a danger to himself and the enclave than any Imperial.” Ruari nodded. “I’m afraid you’re right.” She swallowed, straightening. “Let’s get the two of you out of here. I expect a bit of peace and quiet and time alone would be appreciated right now.” “Anywhere other than here.” Giving a rueful smile, he released Mairen reluctantly; he maintained a hold on her hand. “I think I’ve had quite enough of Coronet for today.” Mairen forced a laugh. “That makes two of us,” she replied. “I think a double of Whyren’s, a fire, and a warm blanket might be just what the med droid ordered.” The senator took the lead, nodding as she stepped past them. “I know just the place.” ***

[greyias]

This is not the fic I planned to write today...

@andveryginger and I were joking about Lana overhearing something in the hallway thinking Theron was talking to the Outlander, but it turns out to be his jacket instead. Then @keldae begged for it to be made into fic, and apparently my brain wanted to write more crack instead of finish the angsty whumpfest I accidentally left lingering a few weeks ago. 

It was Umabara Eve, and Lana Beniko couldn’t sleep. Tomorrow, everything would change, and she was starting to have doubts about the brilliant plan that she and Theron had put together to root out the true mole within the Alliance. Her traditional whisky-tea combo that she drank every night had started at a 30% whisky, 70% tea ratio, but as tomorrow’s date drew closer, the balance had tipped, and she was now putting a few drops of tea in her mug of lukewarm whisky. It was a rather disgusting combination, but a Sith had to sleep.

Apparently she wasn’t the only ones with doubts, as she rounded the corner, she heard the hushed tones from her co-conspirator, and slowed down. It did not sound like a conversation she should intrude on.

“Hey, Baby, I know this is going to be hard, but I’m going to have to leave you behind. It’s far too dangerous where I’m going to bring you along.”

Oh, Theron was finally telling the Commander about the plan? Thank the Force. 

When they had both hatched this ruse after their mole hunt was proving fruitless, she had agreed that leaving their friend in the dark was probably the best. The Commander had a tendency to giggle like a schoolgirl when attempting to lie, which was handy for Lana beating her at Sabacc, but less so for initiating an elaborate sting operation.

However, she could tell that the weight of what Theron was planning to do to his beloved Jedi was weighing heavily on him, evidenced by the empty bottles of scotch and the dark bags under his eyes from sleepless nights. Lana was starting to wonder if he could actually pull off the fake betrayal they had carefully orchestrated. It was one thing to get Theron captured and tortured so he could maybe get information from his strange zombie ancestor, but Lana’s suggestion of “maybe we should try that with you actually knowing this time” had been taken to… extremes.

Somehow the simple act of him being caught on holo where the Order could see him betraying his true love had evolved into a spectacular show of pyrotechnics, rampant property destruction, and Lana being a heroic self-sacrificing hero while Theron monologued terribly to hidden cameras. She had seen his script and it needed… work. But he didn’t seem very open to constructive criticism and just told her she needed practice being stunned and seemed to take far too much satisfaction in tazing her.

This was the last time she let him plan an undercover operation.

“I just want you to know that I love you, no matter what you see or hear, remember that. I wouldn’t be doing any of this if I didn’t think it was necessary.”

Well, now that was out in the open, they could all have a discussion about this like reasonable adults. Lana left her accidental eavesdropping perch and rounded the corner—

—to see Theron facing a coat rack, lovingly stroking his red jacket.

“What the blazes are you doing?”

“Lana!” He had the good sense to look startled, one hand absently reaching for his blaster. Paranoid spy. “This isn’t what it looks like.”

“It looks like you were just talking to your jacket.”

“Okay, it’s exactly what it looks like.”

“Seriously?”

“What I do to calm my nerves before a dangerous mission is my own business.”

“In the middle of a hallway? Discussing our secret plans?”

“Well, I certainly couldn’t do it in my room.”

“And why not?”

“Well, the Commander might overhear and—”

“Please tell me that the next words you were going to say are ‘think I’m insane for talking to a jacket’.”

“No, she thinks it’s cute. She even got Baby his own coat rack and painted it to match.”

“You two are the strangest people I’ve ever met in the galaxy!”

“You’re just jealous.”

“I am not—and you named your jacket ‘Baby’?” Lana asked incredulously. “And gave it a gender?”

“I never pegged you for the judgmental type, Lana.”

“I am not— and you’re changing the subject!” Theron cursed quietly at being caught at his favorite tactic. “We need to tell the Commander about this plan.”

“No, we don’t.”

“Yes, we do. You’re pickling your liver, talking to inanimate objects, and probably most importantly, I’m pretty sure we’re going to break her if we don’t give her some hint of what’s going on.”

“Sure, and what would happen if we tell her, what do you think she’s going to do?”

“Probably say ‘no, please don’t taze Lana, she’s my favorite’.”

“You’re still getting tazed tomorrow! And I’m the favorite!”

“Damn it, Theron!”

“And we can’t tell the Commander. Because… reasons™…”

“The reason being that she’d agree with me that this plan is idiotic. If we had just gone with my original plan of you shoving us into a locked closet while broadcasting it to your recruiters within the Order, I’d be able to—”

“No, it needs to look real. These people are crazy, Lana, if I’m to be accepted as one of them I need to appear equally as insane.”

“Well, if you send them a holo of you speaking to a garment of clothing like a lover, I’m sure they’ll take it under consideration.”

“You know, Lana, sometimes your words hurt.”

“Good, then we can both march down to the Commander’s quarters and tell her—”

“No. We can’t.”

“Why not?”

“Because…” Theron whipped his coat off the rack where it had been lovingly hung and slipped it on in one overly melodramatic motion. “This is just something I have to do. One day, she’ll understand… and maybe forgive me.”

Lana massaged her forehead, feeling the beginnings of a stress headache coming on. “I should have stuck with the Empire. Sith are saner than you lot.”

[lunarowena]

Fanfic Writer Meme

Tagged by @dragonologist-phd ages ago. Going to open tag this one because it’s been so long I don’t remember where it’s made the rounds. Please grab this if you’d like to!

How many works do you have on AO3.

57, although some are a few-hundred words ficlets, and some are drabble collections.

What’s your total AO3 words count?

219,689 (101,773 not counting Prepare for the Dawn, which is a collaboration and not entirely by me)

What are your top 5 fics by kudos?

1) “Assistance,” Pillars of Eternity (133 kudos)

2) “The Machine Beneath,” Pillars of Eternity (57 kudos)

3) “Two Gingers and an Australian Walk Into the Lingerie Department,” Doctor Who (52 kudos)

4) “Lightning Strike,” Pathfinder: Kingmaker (29 kudos)

5) “Walking in Balance,” Star Wars: The Old Republic (28 kudos)

Do you respond to comments? Why or why not?

Yes! Although it may take me a few days between getting the email and remembering to respond.

What’s the fic with the angstiest ending?

I’m sitting here trying to decide if “Assistance,” “Touched With Fire,” or “The Damage” is the angstiest thing I’ve written and I can’t decide.

What’s the fic you’ve written with the happiest ending?

Uh, probably “The Mermaids Want to Marry Aloth” which, if you can’t tell by the title, is absolute crack.

Do you write crossovers? If so, what is the craziest one you’ve ever written?

I have one (unfinished) fic that kind of falls in that realm, “Pride and Prejudice and Miss Granger,” which is Pride and Prejudice with Harry Potter characters but also a very unserious comedy. I have a couple other crossover ideas (most notably for Doctor Who and Mass Effect) that I don’t know that I’ll ever write but are actually played straight.

Have you ever received hate on a fic?

The meanest thing anyone’s every commented on my fic was that my angst was cheesy, so not really :P

Do you write smut? If so, what kind?

Nope! I don’t like reading smut so I’m not going to write it. Also, my husband is my copy editor and the thought of the person I have sex with reading sex scenes that I’ve written is an immensely uncomfortable prospect.

Have you ever had a fic stolen?

Not that I’m aware of!

Have you ever had a fic translated?

Yes! “New Beginnings” was translated into Russian.

Have you ever co-written a fic before?

Yes, Prepare for the Dawn is a collaborative project of the logs of our Pillars TTRPG campaign.

What’s your all-time favourite ship?

I am a diehard Barbara Wright/Ian Chesterton shipper (Doctor Who), though I’ve never written anything for it.

What’s a WIP that you want to finish but don’t think you ever will?

I don’t know that I’ll ever finish There Ain’t No Easy Way Out, which makes me sad because it was really important to me at one point. But it’s hard to write and I’m not that into SWTOR anymore :(

What are your writing strengths?

Dialogue!

What are your writing weaknesses?

Description. I don’t describe what people are doing. I don’t describe what people look like. For real, my husband thought Aloth was an old human man until I dropped some line about him being a young elf.

What are your thoughts on writing dialogue in other languages in a fic?

I would just write the dialogue in italics to indicate it’s in another language, I’m not going to attempt to badly google translate stuff.

What was the first fandom you wrote for?

Neopets

What’s your favourite fic you’ve written?

Don’t make me choose between my children :P

[gerdavonrinnlingen]

Author Questions

Tagged by @cipherninethousand  Mercciii :D

Author Name: Gerdavonrinnlingen or Gerda

Fandoms You Write For: SWTOR, Star Wars, Detroit become Human and Marvel

Where You Post: On AO3 and FF

Most Popular One-Shot: Hmm, on AO3 it’s a Quinn/Pierce smut (Weapons Test) theheeheh :3 It’s the crackship you have all been waiting for!

Most Popular Multi-Chapter Story: That would be my SW/Theron fic Rogue Agent - very closely followed by Ginger Gears my newest Rose/Hux fic.

Favorite Story You Wrote: Uhhh that’s very hard! Okay, I think that would be Aiscal - a incredibly fluffy Dad!Quinn fic that gives me all the FEELS.

Story You Were Nervous to Post: That was The Cruellest Thing, my first Star Wars Movieverse fic. I was scared to post something in such a big fandom, thinking that I might attract haters with my Rose/Hux ship. But instead I got so many lovely comments that I have written two more multi-chapter fics for this ship :D (And the forth is almost finished)

How Do You Choose Your Titles: I stare at the blank page before I start writing anything and just come up with something that has to do with a scene I want to get to or a concept I know I will use in the fic. Usually I don’t change the title anymore. For example I chose the title of my unpublished fic Heterotopia because it’s in a sense about prison and the not-places that are somehow ‘other’.

Do You Outline: In a way. I know beforehand what scene I want to write and I just work up until the point where I can write them. I get in a flow and on the way I develop sub-plots.

Complete: 25 fics

In-Progress: 5 at the moment.

Coming Soon: As already mentioned: Heterotopia - another Rose/Hux fic because I was super motivated by my readers! In fact it was so much fun that I started like a month ago and already wrote 34 chapters :D

Do You Accept Prompts: Kind of. I’m just so horribly slow at times :(

Upcoming Story You Are Most Excited to Write: See above :D

I’ll tag: @aliyamirat, @semper-draca, @whitepen, @riajade01, @tishinada and everybody else who wants to do this :D

[andveryginger]

In working with these idiots yesterday in a different ‘verse, it occurred to me that I’d never posted this gorgeous shot of my lovely Mairen and @keldae‘s Reanden on their wedding day. The fic is still in progress, but I definitely wanted to share @meonlyred‘s glorious work. =D

[andveryginger]

SWTOR Fic: Double Duty

Title: "Double Duty"

Fandom: Star Wars: The Old Republic (Drastic Measures AU)

Author: Ginger

Pairing: Imperial Agent/Jedi Shadow (Reanden Taerich/Mairen Bel Iblis)

Rating:T

Summary: ”You’re not a spymaster,” Marcus Trant muttered. “You’re a damned matchmaker!”

Notes:

The idea for this has been rattling around in my head since the Fictober list dropped. The prompt, “I might just kiss you” certainly grabbed the attention of the two assholes. Unfortunately, Real Life™ has been a total bitca and I’m just now settling in to do a little writing in between some embroidery commissions.

Theoretically takes place sometime in some future version of @keldae‘s DMverse, where the Alliance is established on Odessen, with Ardun Kothe having stepped in as spymaster because Spyboy Theron has his own operational duties. Marcus Trant has apparently been forced to depart Coruscant for an as yet undisclosed reason. Mai and Reanden have -- of course -- been snarking at each other for months. More recently, however, Ardun has noted a change between the two...

Many thanks to @keldae for letting me play in the sandbox. You can have Reanden back any time. Really.

“...I have all the particulars on your identities here --” Ardun Kothe stopped, frowning as he bowed his head over his datapad. “Damn it. Grabbed the wrong one,” he said. He looked up to his agents: former Imperial operative, Reanden Taerich, and Green Jedi, Mairen Bel Iblis. “Excuse me -- and ah, try not to kill each other while I’m gone, hm?”

Reanden watched his old friend disappear into the corridor, door sliding closed behind him. He cut Mairen a wicked grin. "I might just kiss you..."

"Might?" The red headed Jedi raised her brows briefly, expression shifting quickly to a smirk. "Be still my beating heart."

His lips quirked sideways in response. "We're supposed to be married, darling," he said. He took two steps forward, narrowing the gap between. "I should be making your heart race."

Her gaze darted involuntarily -- and almost imperceptibly -- to his lips. But Taerich was a student of body language. It’s a tell he noticed, and one she knew she telegraphed. She cocked her head to one side, mischief sparking through green-hazel eyes as she folded her arms across her chest. She didn’t otherwise move. "I suppose, darling," she drawled, "I'll simply have to fake it."

"Fake it?" Reanden stepped closer. "If you must, I suppose. Though perhaps a bit of rehearsal might be needed."

Amusement mixed with the impish gleam in her eyes. "Just so I'm prepared, hm?" Her lips twitched. "Seems I've heard that song and dance before."

At this, Reanden raised his brows, left disappearing under the lock of hair that flopped diagonally across his forehead. "And here I thought Jedi led more sheltered lives. Or so your dear uncle led me to believe."

"My dear uncle has no idea," Mairen replied with a roll of her eyes. "I trained as an operative, Taerich. That required no small amount of... adjustment. Thankfully, my training officer was more than happy to oblige."

His brows arched higher. "Well, so Kothe wasn't always buttoned-up and all business, hm?" He pursed his lips, his own gaze flitted toward her lips. He covered by making a show of looking her over. "And good taste, too."

"Honestly, Taerich," she said. "You're off your game if you think that is flattering." Leaned against the conference table, she shifted a bit, despite herself. Recovering, she gave a wry grin. "At least I know Ardun cares."

"Present tense?" He stepped closer. Warmth radiated between them, as well as an undercurrent of energy that seemed to shadow their interactions of late: a mix of frustration and amusement and irritation and... something else that could prove dangerous. Neither will admit it, but both struggled to keep breathing steady and even. "I'd hate to step on any toes. Professional courtesy, and all that."

Mairen shook her head. "Long since over, if you must know," she answered. "Friends now -- colleagues, too." She glanced down, then back up. "The only toes you're about to step on... are mine.

"Then I suppose I should stop.” His eyes flashed and he swept gently forward with his foot, slipping the toe of his boot the narrow space between her own.

The Jedi arched her left brow sharply. When he didn’t retreat, she shifted to sit on the conference table, widening the gap between her legs. She unfolded her arms, hands coming to rest on either side of her hips.

Gaze holding hers as he stepped into the space, her inner thighs embraced his quads through the fabric of their trousers. He could see the slight flare of her nostrils, knew his were doing the same. Hands curled over the curve of her hip; his lips hovered millimeters away as he spoke: "Should I stop?"

“A little rehearsal,” Mairen replied slowly, “might be just what the agent ordered."

There was a sharp intake of breath, and Taerich sealed his lips over hers. The connection was at first like their conversation: firm, assured, almost taunting. She was, after all, calling his bluff -- matching his brazen attitude with her own. But then his hands drifted up, framing her face as the kiss deepened. Her hands came to rest on his biceps, tugging him closer as she shifted her hips toward his. Around them, the room faded. Their focus narrowed to little more than each other and the current that seemed to flow through them as they explored new territory.

Breaking away abruptly, Reanden dropped his head back and squeezed his eyes shut. Opening them again a moment later, his hazel eyes regarded her, pupils blown. His chest rose and fell quickly, and he swallowed between breaths. He rested his forehead against hers. “Kriffing Hells,” he panted. “Wondered what that was going to be like.”

Her laugh was abbreviated, hindered by her own short breath. “Me, too.” Mairen tightened her grip on his arms briefly. “Now I’m wondering about a lot of other things.”

He chuckled. “Me, too.” There was a long exhale, then he drew back and looked toward the door. “We’ve got to get out of here. Kothe will be back, and we are in no condition for the rest of that mission brief.”

The Corellian Jedi nodded. “Maybe, but…” She licked her lips, brow creasing in thought. “...that mission will get us out of here. And, as you so helpfully pointed out, we’re supposed to be married -- or at least our cover identities are. I can’t think of a better excuse to… satisfy some of that curiosity? Especially since we’ll have quite a bit of downtime after the drop.”

Reanden gave a lopsided grin. “I like the way you think,” he replied. “The only problem I have at the moment is I’d rather just satisfy that curiosity -- right here and now.”

“Force, Taerich,” she hissed. Her hands tightened on his arms. She then pushed him away, employing a small amount of assistance from that same energy she’d just taken in vain. Reanden landed heavily in the chair to her left. The want in her green hazel eyes reflected his own as she looked to him. “Later.”

A split second and the durasteel panel slid open once again. Kothe entered much as he’d departed, eyes fixed on the datapad in his hands. “And this should cover it,” he said as he made his way toward them. “I’m uploading the data to your ship, Reanden -- it’ll be best employed for this one. You can study your covers en route.”

The former Imperial nodded, crossing his legs, casually interlacing his fingers in his lap. “I --” He paused, clearing his throat. “I’ll make sure she’s prepped and ready to depart as soon as possible.”

Kothe nodded. “Good.” He looked to Mairen and blinked. “You all right, Mai? You look a little flushed.”

“Yes, well…” Mairen cleared her own throat, glancing to Reanden, then back to her old friend and colleague. “We had a few choice words while you were gone. I… think we’ve settled it. For now.”

Again, the senior agent nodded. “This is practically a milk run, but the last thing I want is for you two and your sniping at each other to compromise the mission. Understood?”

“Oh, I don’t think that will be a problem.” Reanden pushed himself to standing, flashing a wink at Mairen as he did so. He picked up his jacket from the table, holding it at his waist. He then looked toward her. “Meet you in the hangar in ten?”

“Ten minutes. Got it,” Mairen replied. She slipped off the conference table to her own feet, shifting her attention to Kothe. “See you on the other side, old friend.”

“As always.”

Kothe stood watching as the two beat a hasty retreat from the room.

From the opposite door behind him, Marcus Trant entered, also watching as the two agents hurried away. He gave a long, slow whistle, leaning against the podium at the front of the room. "Those two," he drawled, "are like detonite."

Picking up the small surveillance device, a disc about the size of a credit chip, Kothe chuckled. "Ready to blow at the lightest spark?" Trant nodded. "You're not wrong... and it's exactly the reason I'm sending them on this meet. We don't want them anywhere nearby when they finally get their drutash together."

Trant shook his head. "I thought she hated him."

"She did." The former Jedi looked up at his colleague, hint of a smirk ghosting across his lips. "Or rather, she hated her perception of him -- one fed to her for decades by her uncle... who, as we both know, has his own reasons for bias." The smirk finally stuck. "Turns out the reality is a bit more complicated."

"So it would seem." Marcus shifted, gaze following Kothe as he moved about the room, gathering datapads and tapping controls on the console integrated into the table. A crease formed in his brow. "Mairen's not exactly known for fooling around, Ardun."

Kothe nodded, once. "I'm more than aware," he said. His voice was a low rumble, rueful tone evident in his words. "He's the first to spark such a... passionate... reaction from her since -- well, in a long while.”

Since you, Marcus supplied silently. "But... Taerich?" he asked. "He's a remarkable agent and an old friend, but... well, his issues have issues. You know that as well as I do."

"And Mai -- Mairen -- isn't without her own baggage," Kothe began. "But I've seen -- and heard -- how miserable he is, Marcus. That banter between them is the liveliest I've seen him outside of an op in...also in a long time."

“Same.” Trant grimaced. He shook his head. “He’s been an absolute disaster since Airna died. Kept it from the kids well enough, I guess; even from me, for the most part. The past few years, he’s pretended to have it together -- and actually has -- for missions. I’ve pretended not to notice when he drops off the radar afterward.”

“Binging?”

The former director of SIS nodded once. “Not unlike you, after… well, after. But you climbed out of the bottle. He keeps finding his way back in.”

“A popular diversion, but not a coping mechanism.” Kothe offered a rueful smile. “She’s a good balance for him -- not afraid to call him out on his bantha shit, like Airna. He needs that. If this works -- and that’s a big if -- it might help.”

Marcus regarded his colleague for a long moment, lips pursed as he chose his words carefully. He shifted his weight between his feet, picked at the veneer on the podium. “You two have something of a history,” he said. “You’re okay with her and the old bastard?”

“Mai and I,” Kothe began, “are friends. Have been since she left Corellia.” He placed his datapad onto the conference table. Leaning against it in a manner that he had seen the Green Jedi herself do earlier, he folded his arms across his chest. “We can’t go back, and I don’t know that either of us wants to. I just want her to be happy. And I want that old bastard to be happy, too.”

Trant sighed, then gave a snort of laughter, shaking his head. “You’re not a spymaster,” he said. “You’re a damned matchmaker.”

At this, Kothe laughed. “Not the spymaster anymore -- or I won’t be when you step up,” he replied. “Seems to me, I’m left at loose ends.”

“Doesn’t make you the morale officer.”

“True. Hylo might not like me honing in on her territory.”

Shaking his head again, Marcus pushed himself to his feet. “C’mon,” he said, beckoning with a wave of his left hand, “and let me buy you a drink. Got a bottle of Whyren’s in the stash.”

The former Jedi fell into step next to his friend, pausing only long enough to secure the conference room. “Hope you’ve got more than one bottle in there, old friend,” he said. “With those two, we’re gonna need a steady supply.”

“With those two, we might as well buy the distillery…”

[andveryginger]

Headcanon: Chiss Emoting, Conversational Layers, and Interactions

So I just reblogged this post by @codariidoescrimes, discussing some basic ideas about Chiss emotions, reactions, conversational layers, and other interactions. I didn’t want to toss my own stuff on there, to muddy up the original post, but I thought I might expound upon a few things.

What follows is strictly my conjecture, drawn from lots of reading, political study, and inference from a lot of interaction. For those of you who RP Ascendancy-born Chiss, especially in the SWTOR-era, the Csillan Rose community is a great asset, even if you don’t actively participate in their structures and arcs. They -- and a very good friend -- helped me get started writing Chiss, and it’s kinda (ahem) snowballed from there.

In short, I agree almost wholeheartedly with the previous post: I think, much like Vulcans, Ascendancy-born and raised Chiss are beings of intense emotion that -- unlike Vulcans -- they acknowledge, but keep tightly reined. Decisions are made not on emotional reaction, but as logically as possible, based on the hierarchy they serve: Does the action benefit the Ascendancy? Their House? Their family? Any action taken that is not seen to be in keeping with their duty to any of the above is suspect, and can subject them to censure at best, and exile at worst. Action taken for personal reasons? ::gasp::  Scandalous!

Living politics as they do, it’s thus very rare for an Ascendancy Chiss to say exactly what they mean. Any stray word or movement could be used by a political adversary to discredit them, their House, or their family. Thus, they rely heavily on inference, using diction, tone, and body language to convey what they can’t say directly.

This means that there is also a heavy reliance on etiquette and protocol. In a public conversation, they are addressed by rank. To use common or familiar names in such a setting is an insult of the highest order; the familiar or core names are saved for private conversations with family, merit adoptives, and very close friends.

In regard to interactions with non-Chiss, Ascendancy Chiss do consider themselves superior to just about every known species. Some are better than others at hiding this. One means of asserting their dominance is the use of their native language, Cheunh, in the presence of non-Chiss. It is a difficult language, almost impossible to be spoken by an outsider. Speaking their native tongue in the presence of said outsiders, however, is considered rude and thus done only when one wishes to make a point. Chiss are then more likely to revert to a trade language such as Minnisiat or Basic, to converse with those they like, respect, or must interact with in some official capacity.

I also suspect that, when socialized with outsiders regularly, Ascendancy Chiss learn to read others and, when the situation calls for it, convey their point in an outside manner. Depending on the Chiss, this can prove more or less uncomfortable for them. It will largely depend on their own upbringing and the perspectives of their elders and Aristocra.

The converse is also likely to be true of outsiders who spend a good deal of time around Ascendancy Chiss: They eventually learn to read between the lines themselves, noting the tone, word choice, body language, and other social cues. Raina Temple is a prime example of this, going so far as to be functional and welcome in the Defense Force intelligence service.

When dealing with Empire- or Republic-born Chiss, however, all of the above can get tossed out the window.

...and I could go on, but I’ll put on the brakes here. =D

Needless to say, I love writing the Chiss. There is an inherent tension in them, in their society that makes them incredibly interesting to explore. It’s one of many reasons that I really hope the SWTOR team bring Zahn back to work with the seeds they planted in “Traitor Among the Chiss.” Despite my love, however, the double-talk and incessant politicking can make them exhausting to write. =D

[andveryginger]

Microstory prompts, #43. undone

Well, it’s not angst.

Annya Emrys is no blushing virgin. The daughter of a Corellian smuggler, Archiban Kimble swaggered into her life with just the right mixture of snark and sass to prompt a bad decision. But as her skin grows heated under the warm caress of Theron Shan, their breaths echoing in the silence of his shuttle, she realizes she might as well be: Electricity arcs between them, her heart races, and she’s soaring along the currents of the Force in ways she never has before. Impatience grips her as her blue leatheris top falls open, the clasp undone by nimble fingers. It -- and the rest of their garments -- quickly form a pool on the deckplating. There is no fumbling, no tripping, no inadvertent bumping of heads. They join with a sigh, the tendril of light that is Theron Shan twining around hers, their signatures a perfect mirror of their bodies. The rippling threads shift and glide together in the aether, pushing, pulling with synchronized give and take until finally -- finally -- radiance explodes behind eyes tightly clenched.

The quiet that follows is almost staggering, their whisper-soft movements loud as thunder as she curls into his side, head pillowed on his chest. His hand comes to rest on her hip and he drops a kiss to the crown of her head. Words dance between them, but are not given voice -- too much, too soon, she thinks, and neither can know what the future holds.

Slowly, their breaths even out and they drift -- cocooned, peaceful -- into sleep.

[andveryginger]

Overgrown

Staunchly trying to avoid the Piranha Angstfest going on, I ended up with something a bit... bittersweet. It’s an idea that’s been on the back burner for a while, and this just seemed appropriate.

Carefully descending the ladder, Mairen Bel Iblis took a step back and admired her handywork. The deep green vines with delicate blue-violet flowers had been unkempt, laying forgotten at the back of a market stall. It was the scent that first caught her attention: Soft and lilting, somehow overcoming the scent of fried cakes and stale brew that always lingered. She remembered it well, memories swirling to the surface -- of training in the courtyard with her father; of being chased by her little sister, tiny hands coated in chocolate from an earlier snack; of her first kiss, an awkward occurrence with her training officer that was complicated, at best. It had been these vines -- or rather, ones very like these -- had adorned the exterior walls of their home in Coronet. How such a thing had found its way to Rishi, she would never know. Kneeling beside the neglected plant, however, she’d then felt a gentle nudge from the Force.

She reached out and gently traced a velvety petal with her fingers.

These blooms had been meant for her.

Negotiating a price far below market value, Mairen returned back to the small apartment with not one, but two containers of the flowering vines. She’d been thankful that her fiance had vacated to Coruscant for the day, attending to some debrief or other at headquarters. He’d have given her endless hell for the mess. As she stood there, looking at them sprawled over the wooden decking, she wondered, too, if she’d made a mistake. But no, there were reasons -- as yet unclear -- she ended up with the plants. It was up to her to make it work.

Armed with gloves, snips, and allowing the Force to guide her, she took a deep breath and plunged ahead. A few hours disappeared in the blink of an eye; potting soil, weeds, dead branches, and other detritus scattered around her like a halo, along with the old planters. She saw to it that all had been disposed of before she went to hang the vines in their new home. They now adorned each side of the balcony exit, seated securely against the ledges. It was only as she stood there, admiring her handywork, that time seemed to re-engage.

“Mai?”

A warm smile curved her lips, affection radiating through her. “On the balcony!”

She watched as Reanden Taerich padded through the living room, his expression an echo of hers. As he neared the doorway, however, a furrow flickered over his brow. It was still creased as he leaned forward and touched his lips to hers. “What are you doing out here?”

“A little decorating.” Mairen nodded, indicating the vines that now draped over the stucco walls. “They’re a cousin to the candlewick flower, I think. Genetically altered, of course, because, well, Corellia and we couldn’t just leave something so Alderaanian.”

The silver-haired agent turned, gaze falling onto the vines. He swallowed visibly. “I… thought I smelled them, as I came through,” he said. His voice was thick, heavy with emotion, as was his Force signature. “Wh --” He paused, clearing his throat. “Where did you find them?”

“A little stall in the market. They just… called to me. I remember Mum and Da had them all over the walls, at home in Coronet.” Mairen reached out, smoothing her hand over the nape of his neck. “Are you all right, love?”

“Airna grew them on Lavisar -- on the back of the house.” He offered her a lopsided, bittersweet smile curving his lips, eyes somewhat glassy. “They reminded her of home.”

Mairen felt again the slightest nudge from the Force. “I’m sorry, love,” she said. “I can take them down --” She moved toward the ladder.

He shook his head, reaching to catch her hand as she made to step away. “No… I mean, unless you want to. I know we’re trying to make a new start, and…” He sighed. “I could see how it might be awkward.”

“Oh, love.” Mai closed the distance between them. “She was your wife, Reanden; the mother of your kids. She will always be part of you and part of them.” Reaching up, she curled her free arm around his neck. “Hells, love, she’s family. I’ll never ask you to forget her. Yes, we’re here, getting on with our lives -- trying to enjoy retirement in the warmth and the sunshine. But if these will upset you…”

Again, he shook his head, releasing her hand and bringing both to rest against her hips. “As long as you’re comfortable with it, I think they should stay,” he said. “I think the kids will like them, too.”

Mairen pursed her lips as she regarded him. Along their bond, she could feel the bittersweet sting of the memories, swirling with warmth and affection. “If you’re sure.” She gave a lopsided grin. “Maybe I won’t kill them.”

“They’re a lot heartier than you think.” Reanden gave a chuckle, dropping a kiss to her forehead. “Something about Corellians.”

“We’re a stubborn lot.” She smoothed her hands over his shoulders, chest, and then back around his neck, interlacing her fingers. “Not exactly known for my green thumb, though.”

“Only if you’re still wearing your green gloves,” he teased. His expression sobered and he leaned forward, kissing her slowly, almost reverently. He drew back. “Thank you, Mai.”

She gave him a soft smile. “Always, love; always.”

[andveryginger]

Six Sentences from a WIP

Well, I’ve been tagged twice -- once by @keldae, and once by @d6790.

So, for @keldae:

He was scowling at his datapad when she entered their shared study some time later, feet propped on the far corner of the desk, empty tumbler of whiskey nearby. She could see the weariness, not all of it fatigue, in the puffy eyes and slump of his shoulders.

Lowering the datapad, he looked up at her. There was warmth and affection and gratitude in his gaze, behind which she could see -- and sense -- the heartache that gripped him. She crossed the expanse of the room, rounding the desk. He quickly lowered his feet and found himself with a lap full of red- headded Jedi.

For @d6790:

Lana knelt beside the still form of Theron Shan, looking up at the Outlander looming over her. The light was behind them, casting them in shadow and she couldn’t help but think it was an apt description: Reckless, seething darkness -- the epitome of the Sith she had grown to hate. Never looking forward, rarely making the practical choice. Years ago, she had been inspired by the Force to form a connection; that inspiration had been renewed after the Zakuulan invasion. But now the galaxy was saved and the Force seemed to have very different ideas. She could feel the hatred and the malevolence swirling deep within this person she knew and she could feel the Force, nudging her in a direction she was already considering.

Her former adversary and now friend, Theron Shan, had to live. And for that, she must defy the Outlander.

Coming into the game late, so I’ll simply say that, if you feel as though you want to do this, please do so!

[andveryginger]

Fictober, Day 8: “Mercy”

Fandom: Star Wars: The Old Republic

Pairing: Annya Emrys/Theron Shan (Female JK/Theron Shan)

Rating: PG

Warnings: None

“I know you do.”

Potential spoilers for “Fractured Alliances” arc, with a dash of headcanon.

For the first time in hours, Theron Shan lowered the datapad in his left hand, reaching up with his right to massage his eyes and pinch at the bridge of his nose. Reading reports could be one of the most boring parts of intelligence work, especially now. With the Order exposed, out of commission, and their world-destroying toy destroyed, it seemed the galaxy was pausing to take a breath. There was no direct action taken by Empire or Republic; Zakuul was in the process of rebuilding; and the Alliance was simply regrouping, adjusting to their new place in the galactic order.

Temporary though it might be, he had to admit he was appreciative of the opportunity -- to regrow his hair. To reclaim his jacket. To heal -- emotionally, mentally, physically. To mend the strain in their relationship his undercover escapades had caused. And, apparently, to plan a wedding. Or, he thought, to be more specific, an elopement. If he was going to get married, there was no way he was waiting more than a few weeks.

Opening his eyes, he looked to the far side of the curved sofa. There Annya sat, in a fashion mirroring his, feet propped on the low table, crossed at the ankles, and a cup of caf in her hand as she reviewed her own reports. The datapad display cast an eerie glow over her pale skin, blue eyes flickering left to right as she scrolled through the information. He could see the slight crease in her forehead or the occasional arched eyebrow as she reacted to her reading. A soft smile tugged at his lips as her gaze never left the datapad, even when she paused for sip of her caf. He noticed, too, the ease to her shoulders -- to her body language, really -- and warmth bloomed in his chest.

He didn’t deserve her.

For months, they had poured over the intelligence, rushed into the chaos, chasing some pattern that always seemed just out of reach. They knew now, of course, that such uprisings had been the work of Gemini XVI and her Order puppets, but at the time, such knowledge eluded them. An undercover operation was considered very seriously for a long while: He had been a major proponent, of course, with Annya and even Lana remaining much more hesitant. There was simply too much they didn’t know, they argued -- too much risk -- to send anyone in, even him. Perhaps especially him. Thus, the idea had been tabled… or so she and Lana thought.

It was after Iokath -- after Annya had very nearly been killed on Iokath -- that he knew what he had to do. Execution of his plan, however, was more difficult than expected. His investigations into the origin of the signal received by Republic Intelligence led him to their informants, which, in turn, led him to Vinn Atrius. The former Zakuulan knight didn’t trust him. He was too close to the Commander, he said, to be believed. Theron knew then that it was going to take a charade of epic proportion to sell his cover. Umbara provided that in spades.

He had to give Annya credit: She could act. After everything they’d been through together, though, he wasn’t surprised. Of course, she was channelling the righteous fury he sensed along their bond into the displays of heartache and desperation. It made them entirely believable. It also made him a little scared to meet her for the first time.

But meet they had, and continued to work together. There had even, he remembered with a smirk, been a steamy reunion in the back room of a questionable Red Light district cantina. She wanted so much to stay angry at him, to make sure he knew how unacceptable his actions had been, despite he knew well enough how wrong he had been. Then he’d touched her, kissed her, and her fury gave way to the long restrained rush of longing both had managed to keep at bay in the intervening months.

A few more rendezvous had carried them through the operation, allowing them the opportunity to trade information... and offering something of a relief valve on the strain of their separation. Ahn had very definitely put aside her personal objections to get the job done -- it was the only way she could guarantee he would come home to her, she said. Thus, by the time they had brought the adventure to a close, her anger had largely subsided, leaving only a dull ache in its place.

She felt betrayed. Perhaps not as sharply as she might have, had they not shared a bond, but, she pointed out, they were a team. Their efforts against first the Emperor, then Revan proved that well enough. And their coordination had only grown in the two years following her rescue from Zakuul, as they became partners in all aspects. Not including her in his planning -- in carrying through the mission after she believed he would let it go -- left a wound. She had forgiven him, yes, but it would take time to for her heart to heal.

Looking on her now, however, with the gentle slope of her shoulders, the peace with which they had settled back into their routines… he could sense the pain had loosened its grip. He was once again struck with wonder at her capacity for mercy. The warmth in his chest stirred further and he sighed.

Force, but I love you.

A soft smile traced her lips, hovering there for a long moment before she lowered her datapad and looked up to him. “I know you do,” she replied. Lowering her feet to the floor, she leaned forward, placing the reports and her cup onto the table. The smile morphed into a grin, blue eyes glinting with mischief. “So why don’t you come over here and do something about it?”

Theron was up and had closed the difference before either could blink.

[andveryginger]

Fictober, Day 1: “Achilles’ Heel”

Fandom: Star Wars: The Old Republic

Pairing: Mairen Bel Iblis/Reanden Taerich (OCs, mentioned)

Rating: PG

Warnings: Angst.

1. “Can you feel this?”

“Can you feel this?”

Yes, she felt it, Mairen Bel Iblis thought. But then, she was feeling everything at the moment: The echo of pain that rippled along her back as tissue healed over her wound. The rasping sweep of the blunted metal stylus that the medic scraped over the sole of her feet, checking for nerve damage. The energy that rippled through the remaining Republic personnel -- relief that the mission was over, gratitude they had survived, and concern over those injured.

It was what she couldn’t feel that was more troubling: The chaotic, weakened Force signature that was Xaja Taerich, post-rescue. The reserved, concerned, and comfortable signature of Reanden Taerich. Xaja, for her part, was likely moved back to Tython for treatment. The physical, mental, and emotional damage done by her captivity would require Force healers and counselors. It made sense, then, that she would have lingered nearby only to be stabilized for movement.

Reanden was a different story.

At first she’d thought the bond formed between them had been some sort of dream, vision. His presence had been a constant -- steady, worried, deeply affectionate as he sat, day after day, beside the tank. She had sensed the gamut of emotions as he read his daily reports, processing the intelligence as only he could, something to pass the time. Sensed his fear as he pushed back thoughts of losing her -- Xaja -- Sorand -- Korin. Sensed the terror that lanced through him as he reached for her hand, skin-to-skin contact heightening the connection forged between them.

She should have known then that he would run, she thought.

“Cardinal?”

Blinking, Mairen looked up to the medic. The blonde regarded her with a furrowed brow, and there was concern warming her gaze as she regarded her patient. “Are you alright?” she asked.

“Yes, yes -- I’m fine,” the Jedi replied, offering a rueful smile. She waved her hand dismissively. “I was just curious as to why I couldn’t sense Knight Taerich. But then I reasoned she was moved on for more serious care.”

“She was,” the medic conceded. “Shortly after we got you in kolto, they shipped her off to Tython.” Her lips drew to a line. “Got a long road ahead of her, that one.”

Mairen nodded. The trauma of those events would haunt the younger Jedi for a very long time, she knew. If she were anything like her father -- or her mother -- she had little doubt that Xaja would push through. It didn’t mean there wasn’t going be a high cost. “The Order will take good care of her, I’m sure,” she said aloud.

The other woman echoed the action, cropped blonde hair sweeping her shoulders. “Seems you’ll make a quick recovery, though.” Her cheerfulness was a bit forced, and Mairen could sense confusion and worry as it stirred within and she fought to determine if she should say something. “Even still, I… I kinda thought the old man would stick around…”

A deep ache gripped her chest and Mairen could feel the sting of tears as they threatened; she struggled to maintain a steady breath. “So he did leave, then.”

“This morning,” the blonde replied. “He popped in for an update on you and then the sergeant says he went for flight clearance back to Dromund Kaas. Took off shortly thereafter.”

That, she thought, explained the distance she felt -- the muted sensations as opposed to his presence beside her, or holding her hand as she lay on the medical bed. She swallowed back the knot that rose in the back of her throat and drew on the Force to stabilize her emotions, her voice. “And I should be getting back soon, myself… before they get too curious,” she said. She offered a taut smile. “I don’t suppose you could release me for return to duty?”

The medic returned the smile, nodding. “I can do that.” Spontaneously, she reached and took Mairen’s hand, giving it a reassuring squeeze. “Stay safe, Cardinal.”

Reaching over, Mairen patted the back of the medic’s palm with her free hand. “I will. I promise.”

“And,” the medic drawled, a wry grin curving her lips, “lemme know if you need me and the guys to smack some sense into Duathion. Seems like he might need a little ‘cognitive recalibration.’”

Her eyes stinging, the red headded Jedi gave a laugh.  It was a bark of laughter, something of a release valve for the swirling mass of emotions she couldn’t begin to sort. “I’ll keep that in mind, Corpsman…?”

“Shade,” the medic replied. “Margaret Shade.”

Mairen nodded. “Thank you, Corpsman Shade.”

“All part of the service we offer here.” The corpsman offered a bit of a smile and one last squeeze of her hand before slipping away and down the corridor.

Watching her go, Mairen couldn’t shake the feeling of loneliness that seemed to engulf her. She should have known he would run, she thought again, though it still shocked her that he had. And yet… she knew, from the brief moments of lucidity in the kolto and out, that he still cared -- could sense it with the certainty only a bond could bring. She struggled to focus on this, not the whispers of betrayal and abandonment that lurked in the darker recesses of her mind. A sigh escaped her. Dromund Kaas was going to be a nightmare, she realized, knowing that the darkness there would crawl and creep, looking for weaknesses. She could only hope to find balance sometime between now and then.

And how to face Reanden the next time she saw him.

[andveryginger]

Title: Shattered

Authors: Ginger & @keldae

Fandom:  Star Wars: The Old Republic (RPverse)

Pairing:  Imperial Agent/Sith Inquisitor (Imperial Agent/Jedi Shadow)

(Mairen Bel Iblis/Reanden Taerich)

Series:  Deja New

Rating:  T

Summary: No matter how much Reanden stared in mute horror at the datapad on his desk, the awful words blinking up at him refused to change.

Notes:    

And thus begins the arc @keldae and I have dubbed "The Incident" -- the huge, rambling, life-altering angstfest that begins to bring Clan Taerich (Plus One) to its current form in the RPverse. There are a lot more gaps to fill in this overall arc, even more backstory to fill in before this all goes down, but we've started hitting the high points. And, quite honestly, I think it's time Mai and Reanden showed there was more to it than just falling into bed... though they still very much enjoy that, too. ::snerk::

Posted without beta, but with considerable poking and tweaking over the past year. I made one last pass this morning, so anything you see now is probably my fault. ;)

[andveryginger]

Fictober, Day 7: “When All is Said and Done”

Fandom: Star Wars: The Old Republic

Pairing: Jace Malcom/Satele Shan (Past) (and future?)

Warnings: None

Rating: G

“No worries, we still have time.”

A day late, and somewhat without context. My best guess is that they are discussing gathering evidence on Saresh in some branching AU that my brain has rolling in the background.

“Not to worry,” Satele said. “We still have time.”

Jace Malcom grimaced and his right hand rubbed the back of his neck. “Not as much as you think.” At her furrowed brow, he hesitated, sighing. “I… resigned my post.”

The former grand master blinked, the furrow in her brow deepening as she looked to the career military man. “You resigned your post?” Then her hand came to rest against his forearm, the surprise replaced by compassion, clearly expressed on her features. “Jace…”

“I hate the Empire as much as anyone,” he rumbled in his low baritone, “but even I recognize what’s at stake here. We can’t keep dividing our resources, fighting two different wars on two different fronts. They have armies of droids, and she insists on throwing our people at them, acting like they’re as disposable…” A heavy sigh escaped him and he shook his head. “I maintain my respect for the office of the Supreme Chancellor, but I could not continue to support Saresh.”

Satele stepped forward, replacing her right hand with her left, the right moving to smooth over the closely-cropped hair above his ear, sweeping down to the back of his neck. She knew how much this cost him. Her voice was soft as she spoke. “I’m sorry, Jace.”

Again he shook his head. “Don’t be.” His lips thinned as he looked down at her, his large hand cover her petite one on his forearm. “This is why you left, isn’t it? You were afraid I could turn into… that.”

“You’d given so much -- lost so much -- to the Sith,” she began, hesitantly. He could see her struggling to choose the right words. “And, without a Force connection to counterbalance the anger and grief, I was so afraid I would watch you fall over that precipice. I… knew I couldn’t watch that; knew I couldn’t let our son be dragged down, too.”

Jace felt his heart catch in his throat, understanding her meaning: She truly had cared for him, and couldn’t have stood by, watching him self-destruct. “After Alderaan, I was… struggling. I hated them -- Imperial soldiers and Sith alike -- with a strength I still can’t explain,” he confessed. “I’ve spent my whole life -- my entire career -- fighting the Empire and everything it represents. But after everything, there has to be a Republic to come home to. If we don’t focus on the larger threat… I see it may not survive.”

A long moment of silence stretched between them. Eventually, Satele looked up at him, remorse softening her gaze. “I’m sorry, Jace,” she said. “I… my judgement wasn’t fair to you. Or Theron.”

“It wasn’t. And I won’t pretend it didn’t hurt,” he said, “but it’s done -- and has been for a long time. We have other, larger issues to face.” He allowed a gentle smile to curve his lips and warming gold-hazel eyes. “Maybe, when all is said and done…”

Her own eyes traced his features as he allowed his sentence to trail off. In her expression, he could see the affection of old -- a hint of the wonder he once saw in a young Jedi knight as she looked on him. “Maybe,” she finally said. “When all is said and done.”

[andveryginger]

Fictober, Day 3: A Matter of Trust

Fandom: Star Wars: The Old Republic

Pairing: Hylo Visz/Gault Rennow. Theron Shan/Annya Emrys (implied).

Rating: G

Warnings: N/A

3. “How can I trust you?”

The (in)famous Mirialan smuggler known as Hylo Visz leaned back against the computer console and folded her arms across her chest. She regarded her husband with a grimace. “How can I trust you?” she asked. “You not only tried to con a con man, but you also tried to cash in on the Commander’s life insurance policy. Now you’re tryin’ to run book on the wedding? Hardly a good endorsement, Ty.”

“Gault, dear,” the Devaronian corrected. “Gault. Remember?”

A smirk twitched at her lips. “Not what it says on my marriage license.”

“Surely just a minor oversight. I paid that ridiculous scoundrel an enormous amount of money to --”

Hylo merely rolled her eyes. Amusement glinted in the blue depths, however, mingled with a wariness born of long experience with the man she sometimes claimed as husband. “All right, Ty,” she said, cutting him off. She shook her head. “Count me in for ten.”

A grin slowly curled across red lips. With his own impish gleam, Gault reached into a pouch on his belt for his datapad. “Eeeexcellent, my love,” he said, tapping a few entries into the device. He looked back up at his wife. “Now, what about the baby pool? How about another ten?”

She could only sigh and shake her head. If the Old Man found out Ty -- Gault -- was taking bets on wedding dates, much less on the pitter-patter of little feet, he would hit the roof... and probably freak out, given his long-standing commitment and parental issues. Given that it was one of her husband’s schemes, chances were good the former SIS field op would find out.

At least, she thought with a chuckle, watching the fallout will be entertaining...

[andveryginger]

3 Song Meme

Ages ago, the lovely @lumielles​ tagged me to select three songs for one or more of my OCs. I don’t generally maintain playlists, relying instead on Pandora stations to create moods as I write for my characters. Thus, trying to choose has taken a long while. In the end, I chose my current main, Mairen Bel Iblis.

Featured below with her fiance, Reanden Taerich, in a gorgeous piece by the amazing @quatraquartzart​. The beach retreat on Rishi is a current fave for the “retired, extremely dangerous” spies. ♥

“Lie,” Black Light Burns. Fitting for most of my spies, I think this works for her during her time undercover in the Empire. She despised the politics -- the constant jockeying for favor and position; backstabbing and emphasis on personal power. Having established her reputation early on, she showed herself to be a professional, garnering a place in the circles travelled by more pragmatic Sith such as Darth Marr and Lana Beniko.

“Tongue Tied,” Earle. Sums up the relationship between these two dorks fairly effectively, especially early on. Much as they hate to think about it, the kids know to knock before just wandering in to their dad’s place these days. ::snort::

“Home,” Daughtry. While all the lyrics aren’t entirely applicable, the overall sentiment is is quite appropriate: Once Reanden fled the Empire, faking his death, Mairen struggled a bit, having lost her friend, lover, partner, and station chief all in one go. Home, they discovered, was wherever they were -- together.

Bonus: “Under the Influence,” Elle King. To the outside observer, they first hated each other. And then, when the rumors started, it was whispered the two had embarked on a scandalous affair, each using the other for the influence they offered. As an all-but Force blind spy and Sith lord, to be emotionally involved -- on top of being two extremely well-placed spies -- brought its own political and social intrigues.

It helps that this one definitely has a retro, Bond-like feel to it. Perfect for a couple of spies. =D