ways_back_room | Friday DE: So, uh, Fic Friday?

Give me... at least two prompts. More if desired. I've had four days of what amounts to emergency vetmed as the actual ER clinics overflowed, let's get the writing gears back in motion.

Bird song
Your new cockcoo
Close to the sun

I have not idea why you get bird-themed aside from the fact my flock are making lots of noise.

For a long moment, he doesn't know where he is. This is not an altogether unfamiliar sensation in his life, for many reasons - getting knocked about as a child crime-fighter, getting knocked about as the child of a ruthless domineering asshole, half a lifetime of making reality disappear for awhile under the haze of too many medications... it leads to a lot of awakenings in unfamiliar locations.

Whatever he's lying on is hard, uncomfortable, just a thin bit of fabric under his head, and he's just on the edge of too warm... oh. Right. The camp. Army cots about as comfortable as advertised (they're not), and the fever-heat of the jungle does break sometimes, though he knows it will be back. He can't hear Dave's particular sleep-time wuffling breathing nearby, did Dave have early morning patrol?

He can't hear the sounds of camp, either - the sounds of too many men in one place. He can't hear the ever-present buzz of insects, too ready to bite or sting or whatever the hell bugs do in this place. He hears...

He hears...

It's an odd, ruffly sound, muted and at full volume all at once, that doesn't jive with his notion of where he is. It's...

It's cooing.

It's a pigeon. There's... there's no pigeons in Vietnam. None that he's seen, anyway. Any pigeon that got in range of camp might find itself as dinner, so that's probably smart.

...

Klaus cracks open his eyelids, and stares blearily at a world full of disappointment. He's not on an army cot. He's on the floor of the attic, his head on his balled-up jacket. That accounts for why it still kinda smelled like ho... like Vietnam. There's a pigeon alright, staring judgmentally at him from the window.

Klaus rolls, turning his back on the pigeon (and his brother, who still hasn't gotten an answer to the repeated questions about 'where the hell did you go?' and 'what the hell happened to you?' and 'whose blood is that Klaus??'), and tries to go back to forgetting.

oh ouch, right in the feels.

Wedge wakes up.

This is... actually something of a surprise, given how absolutely shitty his last few lucid moments of awakeness were going. Bad intel, an Interdictator where clean space should be, a furball of a fight that had every single alarm in his cockpit going off...

Welp.

He's somehow both absolutely freezing and blisteringly warm. After convincing his eyes to open and focus (this is more of a feat than it really should be), he finds out why.

That star is really too close. And he's pretty sure at this point he has one hell of a sunburn, guessing by how bright it is and how tight his exposed skin feels. Shavit.

Since it seems his air supply was nice enough to hold, he supposes he's now duty-bound to try and actually escape this new situation. Groaning at his own luck, he starts the arduous process of trying to figure out how to jump-start an X-wing without access to anything outside the cockpit.

Someone owes him a drink, later. So many drinks.

I love this! I can just hear the alarms beeping. Sabine wants me to say she's proud of her ex-Impie.

Threadbare
Hidden stash

Cecil sits on the edge of the bed, elbows on his knees, his fingers laced together at the back of his neck as if he could somehow shield himself from the feeling of being watched. The feeling itself isn't new, the Sheriff's Secret Police are always watching, after all, but the eyes have never been unfriendly before. Never been judging, instead of guarding. Never been wrong.

He knows he should be getting up, getting dressed, getting to work. Needs to get to work, if for different reasons than his bosses would state. He doesn't give a damn about the Smiling God or his productivity, but... but if he fails, if his new StrexCorp masters decide he's trouble... what will they do?

Not to him, that... he should care about that more. He doesn't. He's too tired. But to the town, to his friends... to Carlos. What will they do to Carlos? Beautiful Carlos, too trusting by half and from some strange place outside of Night Vale that must be impossibly safe because no sane man would run such ridiculous risks if he knew what all of those risks were! What terrible things would Strex do?

A body, sleep-warm and sleep-clumsy, presses firm against his arched back. Hands, acid-stained and broad slide around his chest, holding tight in a hug that is possessive and possessing. Lips, with the bristle of stubble, hiding teeth like a military cemetery, press kisses against his hands. Carlos.

Carlos' fingers tap against his sternum, and for a long moment Cecil doesn't recognize the pattern, the fog of stress obliterating his ability to remember. But he wasn't a scout for nothing, after all. Morse code, right. Silence is important, when Strex most likely has access to the SSP's audio pickups.

Are. You. Okay?

Cecil lies with a firm nod of his head, and then twists to eradicate the bitter taste of that lie to chase the sweetness of Carlos' mouth instead. He'll get ready to go in a moment, right after he puts a better patch on the threadbare spots of his bravery.

Oh this is lovely and sad as are all of yours.

Oooooooh! That's fantastic, of the 'worthy of posting to AO3' variety.

The rain in Spain falls mainly ...

Sun-dappled.

Was there ever a time like this?

Jon doesn't even know why he is here. Rain washes the street, splashing into the gutters in small streams. The pedestrians have stopped passing by, cleary having sought shelter elsewhere.

He sighs, glowering out the window at the persistently overcast sky. Of course it's his luck that he manages to leave England and head south and it's raining. Damn Elias and his new-found desire to see Jon 'fly from the nest', whatever the hell that's supposed to mean. It surely hasn't meant answers, and it has meant a series of increasingly disappointing hotels in a series of increasingly far-flung countries. Spain is actually the closest he's been to home in month. But here he is, following up a lead on that thrice-damned circus. The rain rattles along in staccato syncopated rhythm to his thoughts, equally scattered as the spray of water. He supposes he should be thankful, happy that isn't in Siberia or something equally ridiculous. Gertrude probably would have gone to Siberia. Seems like her sort of thing, now that he's getting to know her more through her tapes and notes. Was he ever so naive to think she was some potty old woman who lived a simple and harmless life? Harmless his ass.

The rain taps on the windows, driven in waves by the wind.

Jon blinks, suddenly realizing he hasn't seen anyone out the window in... in a very long time. Maybe... he's... just going to go downstairs, to the little cafe he saw near the hotel lobby. Just for a moment.

Christ if he ends up being kidnapped again, he's putting in for hazard pay.

Perfect :)
I love well-written rainy scenes.

I will take up to five if you are so willing. That's each tag, not total of all tags.

Edited 2020-04-17 15:59 (UTC)

I will be there by your side / to remind you / how I still love you
Don't stop me now
Convinced our voices can't be heard / we just wanna scream it louder and louder
Tried to grow a little wiser / little better every day
You get away with murder, so innocent

You get the Queen lyrics today!

[ooc: You get an OC.]

Wyk and Tik were an odd pair. A goblin and construct, their meeting had been even more odd as each traveled through the salvage teams and gangs, doing what jobs they could find and earning the scrap to build enough to get their own ship. Wyk had found Tik in a galley of an orcish crap gang. They had him turning spits of all things. A wonderous construct turning spits. It made her skin crawl. So she'd traded him for a trio of dogs.

The orcs had though they'd gotten the better deal given how limited the construct could move, but Wyk suspected she'd end up the better for it. She could tell he'd been reassembled with too many different kinds of parts and so her first aim was get him more aligned with alike parts, limbs to start with. Every team after, she'd piece together some new part for him. Most often other scavengers would just shake their head at her, but sometimes they'd take to 'talking' some sense into her, which usually would result in Tik--so named because of the sound it made between words when it would attempt to speak--in need of more repairs.

These 'talking's ended when Tik took umbradge to Wyk's being mistreated and shattered the arm of an ogre.

And now they stood at the prow of their own salvage ship and stared out into the Astral, Wyk hollering at the void and Tik waving four of his six limbs since he couldn't raise his voice.

Late night chill
Lunch rush
Running out

Trooper HN-6537 hated gate duty but most especially late nights like now. To make it worse the chill rain was coming down hard enough he could feel it creeping past his armor and into his body glove. His partner, HT-4895 couldn't be doing much better but the peedunky but the kriffin' bootlicker was standing at full attention out in the rain.

HN-6537 just didn't get it. There wasn't anyone to see so why put up the show? Surupticiously, he leaned his back against the wall to take some of his weight off his feet and closed his eyes for a moment, just a moment.

"You there, this is a restricted area!"

HN-6537 jumped awake and swung his blaster around to follow HT-4895's example only to find one of the gutter slime beggars.

"Sorry, sorry. Lost. Just wandering, didn't mean anything," the togruta in filthy rags cried holding her hands up in absolution. If it weren't so kriffin' cold and damp, he'd have half a mind to give her a good kick or two. Plus she was covered in some kind of filth that went straight through his air filters. Whatever it was, it smelled worse than bantha dung.

"Search her." HT-4895 commanded.

"Are you crazy? Can't you smell her?"

"Yeah, which is why you are the one who's going to search her." HT-4895 held his blaster at the ready while HN-4895 sighed and got to work. The beggar held her hands out and backed up, but stopped once the blaster was in her face. HN-4895 worked as fast as he could and then backed away quickly, worried he was going to vomit in his helmet.

"She's clean...well, no weapons or explosives."

"OK, get out of here and be more mindful of where you wander!" They both gave her a shove to make their point clear and the togruta beggar stumbled back and nearly fell. She made several bows and she hurried away, obviously thankful for not getting the beating she deserved.

Once around the corner, Ahsoka pulled out the datastick and comm she'd nicked from the trooper who'd searched her and ran off to find her contact for the local rebel cell. These would only be useful for the next few hours, just until they were discovered lost and the trooper reported it.

Edited 2020-04-19 02:28 (UTC)

Oh this is great and makes me want to thread rebel missions.

Edited 2020-04-19 02:31 (UTC)

Me too! I do feel sorry for Ahsoka making herself all stinky with some kind of dung though, but I can see her doing it for a mission.

It's a dangerous business, going out your door

Not all those who wander are lost.

It's the job that's never started as takes the longest to finish

"Admit it," Sabine said as she stopped to pry off her boot and get rid of yet another pebble. They'd been wandering for hours now, up and down the spaceport, through back alleys, markets, and pretty much anywhere else you could think of. "You're lost."

"I am never lost," she replied with a smirk for it was true. Even back when she'd left the Order, she was not lost though it felt like it at times. The path her life and the Force pulled her certainly was a circuitous one, but it stayed true to her so she stayed true to it. "I am certain all those people we helped wouldn't say we were lost."

"Not the point."

"It is precisely the point." She stopped to allow Sabine to replace her boot and looked about the alley and roofs about them. Spotting the convor, she nodded a greeting. Morai nodded back and seemed to chuckle at Sabine as the young woman stood and folded her arms.

"Just what are we doing here anyway? We haven't had a lead pointing us towards Ezra in weeks."

Ahsoka shook her head; the impatience of youth. Was she ever this bad? Yes. Yes, she was. No wonder she'd worn the name Snipes once. "One should always look and listen, for clues are everywhere." So saying, she tapped her staff on the half-obscured mosaic of The Daughter.

"So we've been following clues to another...."

"Temple, yes. This way now."

Cassian Andor
Quentin
Sameth
Moist von Lipwig

And I guess I'll take up to 4 prompts per tag, not sure if I'm doing this right.

Edited 2020-04-17 17:23 (UTC)

You take over my house and home / you even try to answer my telephone
Don't do that / you've got a good thing going now
Don't look back it's a rip-off
A young fighter screaming with no time for doubt
Anything you ask I do for you

You also get Queen lyrics!

Hup hated how gelflings treated each other, everyone was better than everyone else. Deet had found the water when he heard the other gelflings teasing her and she didn't seem to know it. Maybe the Grottan were all as nice as she was and never cruel because they could be. Then it became worse and Deet needed defending, he grabbed a spoon and vaulted over the table.

........

The air was still foggy from the puppet show when the skeksis came through the roof talking about its trophy. Hup spotted a spoon and grabbed it, he wouldn't see Deet hurt. There was no time to think as he moved to protect her. As he was tossed, he could hear her scream and that echo of being 'cute' was another pain.

Gamma state
Moths
Dream in Drive
Diamonds

The hyperdrive hummed and Cassian closed his eyes for a moment to the blue. He almost felt steps and opened his eyes to see Jyn's shadow over him. She gently reached out and moved his hair, "Its always falling in your eyes."

"I cut it but it grows fast," Just something he was used to.

"I like it," She smiled and he saw it in the reflection. He reached out to take her hand and tug her closer, "I like this, in hyperdrive with you."

Now she laughed and leaned against him as they were safe for a time.

He'd never seen stones like them before, clear as ice but something about them was different. Why did the Empire want them?

The container was easy enough to hide, one more piece of cargo as he made his way back to base. When he opened them again, Senator Organa was there and his face went pale, "Kyber."

Cassian looked once more at the crystals, these were kyber, he'd always expected them to glint and shine like other jewels. Instead they were almost simple in their beauty like aurora over Fest, they didn't call out for more.

As the Senator collected himself, Cassian delivered his report to Draven but aware of the faces of those listening who had known Jedi. Finding out more was going to be complicated.

Three prompts.
But no promises.

Never looked back, never feared, never cried
And still I hear her own sweet song
Like a jewel in the sun

Everyone gets Queen lyrics today!

The First-born are memory made manifest, he'd written once, back when he fancied himself a philosopher.

It was true, though.
He knows that now, with the certainty that comes with age. And loss.

He has always heard the whisper of things to come. Most do, but the strands that make up the fabric of his being, Elf, and Man, and Maia, makes that whisper stronger.
Not clearer, mind. Just more insistent. Urgent.
Troubling.
And though the trees do not speak to him as clearly as to those of his Woodland kin, the Valley recognize him as Lord and so will warn him, with rustling leaves and sudden guests of wind.

The present is here and shadows of what is come.

But so are the memories.

He walks the halls of his home and there is a step on the stairway to the Eastern turret where he feels his King's hand on his shoulder. There is a doorway where he hears the laughter of his daughter.

And if he walks alone, and the world is silent, he feels a hand in his. And he can almost hear Celebrian. Singing.

Edited 2020-04-18 07:58 (UTC)

Three per tag, no promises but I need to actually relax this weekend, writing sounds nice.

Spring blooms
Straight road
Out of time

[I am so sorry for copy-pasting, I just sort of already had the exact and correct scene for this written elsewhere.]

It was the business of moments: unearthing the documents case with its precious cargo—proof of marriage, and the child’s legitimacy—and handing it to Araris, followed by the signet dagger of the Princeps of Alera. It had hurt obscurely, to let it go. After so many years, it was like a friend, or a part of him. He knew it almost more by touch than by sight or even by shape, even though that appearance gave it power.

Appearance could be faked. But the metal was real. The weight was real. The hum of furies was real.

It was strange not to feel that perpetual presence at his hip.

And then Araris was gone, and Sep was alone. A moment’s careful sensing told him no one was near, for the moment—

And he sagged, leaning his weight on the table. The men couldn’t see. His singulares, even Araris, and furies forbid Isana: none of them could see the Princeps at a loss. They were all so uncertain. No, they were all so certain in the worst of their expectations. Only metalcrafting kept the swirl of fear, anger, hysteria—and worst of all, despair—from having him nearly unconscious from the strain. Sep forced himself not to think about what his wife would feel right now.

A small smile touched the young Princeps' lips. No. Your place isn’t with me today, Araris. I didn’t send you with her because of my uncertainty for myself. I sent you because I’m certain they’ll live. That thought shone still. Even as the chaos of the camp fractured Legion training, and the death waiting in the east poisoned the air. (The east haunted him: the Marat he could fight. Maybe he wouldn’t win, but he didn’t fear fighting them. What was it?) But he couldn’t waste time contemplating his own future. In the end, it didn’t matter. He knew one thing. His family would live. His Realm would live.

The crows can try to take me. It was a good thing there was no one to see that smile—the savage joy and grim determination and controlled terror and melancholy acceptance he could never show, all confined to the movements of a few muscles. I’ll make them pay in blood for it. And either way, they've already lost.

Closing his eyes for a moment, he nodded once. He drew on the metal of his blade, its serenity, and forced down the storm of feelings. No time left for those feelings. All except one.

I love you, Isana, Octavian. I’ll keep you safe.

I-10, I-20, all the tens: they were so boring, especially when there was very little change of scenery. New Mexico and Arizona were okay. Open plains? Eugh.

And in-between large towns, no cars, no people... at least in this enlightened era there was cell service. And her mother's assurance--if not her father's--that they did understand data needs on long moving trips.

Inside cities, the tens got twisty: 610 was the 'Loop' around central Houston, Texas, she'd learned during their few hours stop for a real meal in a real restaurant. A lot of the number-tens did that with cities in their way, with the straight and empty highway coming out the other side.

And god, it was boring. No turns, nothing to see but sometimes rest stops. Lucy could be fun, but cooped up in the car like this, for hours and hours and hours on end... yeah, no. No all of this was absolutely terrible. But they had deadlines to keep to and a country to move across, so here they were. Lois stared grumpily out her window at the flat plains of Kansas, farm fields and empty fields and maybe some buildings but nothing changed. And as the sky darkened, it would just get harder to see.

At least it meant Lucy falling asleep and Lois was getting some peace and quiet.

Maybe she'd be able to ask Dad for a midnight rest stop. Anything to stretch her legs and buy some chocolate or ice cream at the inevitable waystation next to the gas and parking lot and restrooms.

She thought she was falling asleep, because no way was she seeing what she thought she was seeing. The shouldn't be any kind of giant... thing, tower maybe? of rocks in the middle of Kansas plains. It was far enough away she had time to sit up, realize she wasn't sleeping--

"Dad?"

"Yeah?"

"Can we stop just a sec? I need to--" I need to know what that is. Why that is. There's a story behind it, I know.

When he immediately pulled over, she realized belatedly that it had been hours since the last restroom break. Oh well. Just because he was wrong didn't mean she couldn't...

Go see.

Since she was here.

And it was off the interminable road.

These are great.

One golden glance of what should be
See this creature on every street
Misguided old mule

The noise of the bazaar was more than a little irritating. It made listening for the conversation of the target they were tracking down harder, of course, and the constant movement of people made spotting their contact harder. (So many people meant so many lives, emotions--it was harder to keep out than out in space.)

In the privacy of his own mind, Anakin could admit what was really wrong: it wasn't Tatooine, but it was Tatooine. Another sandy planet, R2 complaining about his motivators needing maintenance after this, and worst of all the kriffing Jawas. He hated to remember that some of the blasted things had actually migrated off planet.

And so there they were, jabbering in the open squares of the bazaar, hawking their stolen goods often to their owners for ten times the worth.

His hand clenched.

Bip BOO-whirp, R2 said with the mix of sympathy and acerbic (rude, 3PO would insist) tone only he could pull off.

Anakin huffed a laugh. "You're not wrong." He shook his head and continued down the 'street' of tents, hoping Obi-wan had met with success--

When--

One of the ubiquitous hooded creatures appeared practically out of thin air, jabbering at him, and Anakin briefly considered his lightsaber as a deterrent for whatever conversation the thing wanted to have. Then he reminded himself that they were not announcing their presence as Jedi and he should probably try to stay off any Separatists' radars for the moment. "What?"

Look around, it swept its arm. So many newer models! On every corner! We have for cheap. Can give you discount for your old one.

Anakin just stared at them incredulously.

As if he would just sell off his--

(sold to watto who sold her off to the worthless piece of poodoo who couldn't protect--

couldn't save--)

R2 was rocking back and forth in indignation. Whrr-BEEP boop-rrreeeeek boo-ip BEEP, he swore at the Jawa before nudging Anakin in the leg.

"The astromech," he said coldly, "is not for sale."

The Jawa must have had enough self-preservation instinct left that the frostiness of his voice was enough to send it scurrying away, babbling apologies fearfully. Anakin glared after him.

Boo-beep bip?

"No," he replied, absently patting R2 on the dome. "C'mon, let's go. Obi-wan was supposed to be here by now and he's not. If even Ahsoka couldn't manage to keep him on schedule, we probably need to go rescue them. Again."

Whrr-bip, R2 said quietly as the two made there way in the direction Anakin could feel his master and Padawan's presences.

Ahsoka and I love this. She says to tell you that Obi-Wan is the one in need of rescue and she is already on it. Just a blaster malfunction. Thank you. How are you?

Tavi slumped a little lower in his seat. He hated days like this.

He could feel Ehren's sympathetic stare next to him, and Max--okay, Max was probably flirting with Charis three seats over, if Tavi was honest with himself. Phillipa hadn't seemed to mind that Max had already moved on. For that matter, so had she, if Nicon bringing her flowers from the market in the city was any indication. But Max always saw more than he let on, so Tavi knew he had to have... some idea, at least.

He didn't know if that was reassuring or humiliating.

Maestro Larus droned on and on and on and it was about the history of engineering, and the early uses of furycrafting in the construction of cities, and Tavi knew what was coming. He just knew. This was already the second time this semester this had happened and he could already hear a quiet snicker or two. He decided that the best thing to do was to keep his mouth shut at this point. Or maybe not; if he kept quiet, someone would tell Brencis and Brencis would renew that black eye that was faded because Tavi was, clearly a coward.

If he spoke up, Brencis would beat him up for, like last time this happened, being enough of a lunatic to insist that some of those ruins clearly indicated that at some point Alerans might not have had--

"Maybe this will finally beat some sense into that backward paganus skull of yours, if that's even possible."

"We have to see what the world around us is," Tavi had retorted before he thought better of it, "instead of falling back on an imbecilic delusion that--"

And then Brencis had punched him in the mouth and he'd never gotten to finish that sentence. At least Max had gotten there before Ehren could get more than a bruise or two. Tavi knew he'd been asking for it, as much as ever asked for anything from Brencis. Except a little peace and quiet, maybe a week of it?

At least lessons with Maestro Killian ought to take some of the edge off. The latest they'd been doing in unarmed combat was giving Tavi some ideas on how to take down Max, at least if he caught his friend off guard. The look on his face would be so satisfying.

It almost made up for all the stairs he'd have to climb to run messages for the First Lord after--

"...the arches are a remarkable example of-- ... Did you have something to say, Academ?"

What?

From his right he heard a quiet thud as Gaelle's head hit her desk. Only then did Tavi realize that, while he was busy contemplating his schedule for the day, complete with pre-dinner witty exchange of fists with Kalarus Brencis, he had somehow raised his hand.

Crows.

So much for that. Tavi climbed to his feet, trying to ignore the snickers. "Excuse me, Maestro Larus, but about a hundred years ago, Maestro Sophus, who was recognized widely as the premier authority on pre-Imperial architecture--"

Larus snorted derisively. "Do you really think, Tavi Patronus Gaius," driving in the point again that the only reason Tavi was here at all, tolerated at all, was that he was the First Lord's current pet whim, and Tavi gritted his teeth, "that research has not advanced in the last century?"

"That the oldest Helfstein ruins in Acquitaine clearly indicated that hand-quarried blocks were necessary for their construction. In the last two decades, Maestro Astoris Magnus, who held the position of teaching pre-Imperial history here at the Academy..."

"Is a misguided old mule?" called out one of the other students, Tavi couldn't see who. He'd place the voice in a moment or two. He was a little distracted.

"I cannot support pupils speaking so of a member of our faculty emeritus," Larus said mildly. The class snickered again. None of them missed that Larus didn't disagree with the sentiment, or say he wouldn't say it himself. Bloody crows. "Nevertheless, the idea is utterly insupportable given the scale of the construction.

Stop it, Tavi. Sit down. Be sensible.

Sometimes he wondered if he'd really stopped having any sense at all that day he'd decided to take Aquitaine's signet dagger.

"Actually, Maestro," he heard himself saying, hearing Ehren hiss his name, knowing what was about to come since he'd been the one brainstorming the numbers with Tavi in the first place, "the mathematical calculations, taking into account the weight of the blocks and strength of unfurycrafted wood, indicate that given a ramp at about a twelfth pi and leverage of..."

It would be one of those days.

Oh very nice! I can just see Ehran face palming.

lime
bent gear
race for the sky

"What are you doing?"

Obi-wan's voice was somewhat incredulous. Anakin debated whether or not he was going to actually come out from underneath the shuttle. Not yet. Easier to get out of this sooner if he stayed where he couldn't see Obi-wan's face.

At least he could be honest! "Fixing the shuttle," he said cheerfully. "After that last engagement, it clearly needed some retuning."

Just buy it, just buy it... Obi-wan would be pinching his nose about now, Anakin guessed. He did that a lot when somehow Anakin had tired him out abruptly. "The battle went well, Anakin. And I was quite impressed that you didn't crash the ship when we landed."

"I don't crash, Master. Some landings are rougher than others." That was definitely Anakin's story, and he was sticking to it.

"Force help me if Ahsoka starts doing that," he heard Obi-wan mutter under his breath. "My point is, what exactly needs retuning? It seemed in perfect shape to me, and your flying didn't seem to be affected."

Anakin knew, now, exactly what Obi-wan was asking--or, rather, begging him not to do. Internally he didn't know if he wanted to roll his eyes (no, he didn't more reason to have someone tell him he behaved like a petulant teenager) or keep egging Obi-wan on. Well, at least that second one seemed entertaining. "It was. The steering on this was entirely too clumsy. A little work and it will be responding... adequately, at least. You're not going to get anything like a starfighter on this," he added.

Audible breath in, audible breath out. "Because it's not a starfighter, Anakin." A beat, and then Obi-wan asked even more tiredly, "Why is that part bent? I didn't think it was supposed to be."

He knew without looking which his teacher was pointing to. "I needed to bend it to get it out." Obviously, he didn't add. Out loud.

There was another long pause before yet another sigh. "Well, I suppose it won't be serviceable until you've finished. I'll let Master Yoda and Master Windu you're occupied in maintenance of mission-critical spacecrafts."

Anakin blinked.

Anakin actually pushed himself out from under the shuttle. He knew he probably was covered in oil and bits and things, but that dry tone from Obi-wan, and what he said... "Wait, really?"

Obi-wan arched an eyebrow at him. "Well, it's hardly going to do us any good if we need it and your work got interrupted. Do you need me to send R2-D2 down to help?"

"I..." Anakin had to swallow, his mouth a little dry. "Yes, Master, that would be most helpful in... speeding the work."

Waving his hand dismissively as he turned towards the corridor leading away from the hanger, Obi-wan said over his shoulder, "Don't take too long. You know much more than I do about the training Ahsoka asked for today, I think."

Anakin thumped his head against the hull of the ship. "This is about the reverse grip, isn't it," he half-growled.

"You'd have to ask her," Obi-wan called back before the door shut behind him.

Anakin tossed his spanner a few feet away as he mentally started putting together a lesson plan for his sparring session with Ahsoka that afternoon. He really needed to make his point abundantly clear, apparently, if Obi-wan was dodging having to do it. Then he remembered he needed it, and sighed and raised his hand to call it back. At least no one had seen that particular reaction, he thought.

On the other hand, at least Obi-wan had gotten him out of yet another meeting. Taking over Ahsoka's training for the day seemed like a fair trade for that.

Edited 2020-04-18 23:58 (UTC)

Very nice! I love Anakin's frustration or avoidance of Ahsoka's preferred style.

They'd been at it almost fifteen minutes now, and Derius was starting to look more than a little harried.

Julia loved it.

"You're just scared," Kal taunted their older brother. They didn't have much more time left to tease him relentlessly. Papa had finally stopped dithering over which Aleran Legion to send Derius off to--Mama had long since told him he was over-thinking it and given up trying to get him to see sense. At least he'd felt better after Uncle Max had agreed with Uncle Ehren's recommendation.

Derius didn't much mind, of course. Kal was the one desperate to have a tour with the First. She already was the pet student of the Battlecrows who were still in service in the Citadel. (Most of them were. They wouldn't leave Papa. He was mildly exasperated that no one was willing to retire.) But Derius? He didn't have much investment, although he'd told her and Mama that he hoped he wouldn't have to take the First Aleran itself when he finally got his first Captaincy. Now that he'd gotten his first tour as a Tribune with the Third Aleran, he was hoping to take the Second. He'd been asking Mama about Maratea then.

Julia shook herself out of her thoughts and giggled at Derius's long-suffering expression. "C'mon, Derius," she said, letting herself whine a little. "You used to do it all the time! And we won't be able to for aaaaages."

He gave her a flat look. Even though his eyes were the same color as Mama and Papa's (and Julia's, even though Kal had her horse's now), he just couldn't give that same look. She just smirked in response.

"That," he said with his attempt at being ponderous, "was when I was teaching you how to fly."

"Oh, please," Julia scoffed. "We did just in spring to see the fair in Beros."

Kal crossed her arms. "So we know it's not that."

Derius threw up his hands. "Because a little brat who will go unnamed--"

From up on top of a bookshelf their little brother called down, "Nope, too lazy today, or I'd out-fly you all into the ground and you know it." Julia laughed outright. He might not be wrong; sometimes he took more after Papa and Mama both than any of them, and they could never agree which.

"Will go unnamed," Derius repeated, "had already taken off for it and someone had to be responsible for the consequences."

Kal tilted her head with a smirk. "So we get back to it: you're just scared we'll win."

The three of them kept arguing as Julia just collapsed into a chair giggling, but inside she watched her older brother. He'd be gone so soon, and for so long. Hopefully he'd come back between tours, but even if he did, it would be three years at least until they saw him once he left, unless they made a trip down to the Third Aleran to see him. And that's not likely, she thought. They were really close to old Kalare. Between the mountain and still mostly covered in croach--without people or a city to worry about, it was a low priority to retake--it wasn't really safe for them. Even if Kal disagreed.

She knew Papa had a reason for picking the Third for Derius, but she hadn't worked out what yet. Derius guessed already, because he hadn't been surprised.

Julia didn't like it when she didn't know things. Uncle Max was here; maybe she could get him talking, since he'd brought Cora with him. Julia could probably bribe Cora into keeping her father distracted while Julia wheedled answers out of him. Deciding that would do nicely, especially if it was after dinner and Cora was too excitable to sleep and Uncle Max had had a little wine, Julia pushed herself out of her chair and over to the window. She made a point of making plenty of noise as she opened it and stepped onto the little window-garden outside it.

(She'd make it up to the groundskeepers later.)

Derius broke off whatever he was saying. "What are you doing?" he asked incredulously.

She just grinned at him. "Going to Beros. There's going to be wonderful honey-candies there."

"Julia!" She ignored him as she leapt lightly off from the planter and into the air, whipping up her windstream before she could drop below the window. Laughing, she shot straight up and north towards the town, ignoring Derius's protests and Kal sprinting past him to beat him to the open air.

"I'll tell them where you are!" her little brother called up to her faintly, cackling as he said so. Julia could feel Kal speeding up to catch up to her, and took that as her sign to pour on even more to take her over and away from Appia as quickly as she could.

Hah. See if they can beat that.

Edited 2020-04-19 00:02 (UTC)

The best thing was they could talk now. On the phone. For real. Or video-chat. Lois liked that even more.

Maddie teased her about it endlessly, but even she had to admit Clark was really unfairly gorgeous. Maddie said it was unfair to everyone who wasn't Lois. Lois had insisted, a little plaintively, that it was unfair to her too, okay. Maddie never did believe her.

"...so Mom is making her lime chicken tonight for dinner," Clark was saying. He sounded so excited about it that Lois sat up a little.

Well, now she had to ask! "It's that good?"

She could almost imagine Clark rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly. "Well, it's great, but everything Mom makes is great." Lois had to agree; Mrs. Kent and her mom had been swapping recipes ever since Clark's family visited. The additions to the menu rotation were fantastic.

Also, Lucy and Mom were talking about kicking her out of the kitchen, which Lois thought was uncalled for.

Clark was still talking though. "But she always used to make it the first day of summer vacation when I was really little, you know? And then when I started whining more about school starting up again she started making it then, too. Like a little bit of summer to take into the year."

Not for the first time, Lois thought the Kents sounded like the absolutely bafflingly cutest family she'd ever heard of. Like, stereotypical perfect farm family. She'd yet to discover what could possibly be weird about them, besides Clark's obsession with security and interest in an unknown person with superpowers. But hey, she'd take the cooking.

"Think you can get her to email it to Mom?" she asked. "Lucy was complaining about getting lemon chicken all the time, maybe it'd be enough to get her off that."

Clark laughed.

(she loved his laugh)

"Probably. You know how she feels about feeding you all from a distance."

Lois rolled her eyes. "Honestly, I'm telling you, we're fine," she insisted. But she knew that was how Mrs. Kent expressed affection, too. It was nice to know Lois--and by extension, her family--was considered part of Clark's family. It made her all confusingly warm inside.

"Yeah, Mom never believes that of anyone."

Lois just groaned, and then brightened. "Speaking of food, actually..."

It was Clark's turn to groan. He knew he was about to get the latest lead she'd been working on. Her principal was probably going to kill her for it, but she knew she was right.

Edited 2020-04-18 23:44 (UTC)

3 prompts for me, please, but I make no promises as to my ability to answer them. Nor do I promise that they won't become Miraculous Ladybug AU fics, especially if somebody gives me song lyrics. :)

Long time gone
Constellation blues

Have you found a new toy to replace me?
This is the only life for me
Why don't you take another little piece of my soul

Friday DE: So, uh, Fic Friday?

no subject

no subject

Bird Song

Re: Bird Song

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

Convinced our voices can't be heard / we just wanna scream it louder and louder

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

Not All Those Who Wander Are Lost

no subject

no subject

No time to doubt (My first attempt at Dark Crystal fic)

no subject

Safe in the lane

Not clear but true (You get two Cassian fics as this was the idea)

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

Out of Time

Straight road

Re: Straight road

no subject

See this creature on every street

Re: See this creature on every street

Misguided old mule

Re: Misguided old mule

no subject

Bent gear

Re: Bent gear

Race for the sky

Lime

no subject

no subject

no subject