Fic: A Sword in Your Hand
Nelani wakes up to warm sunlight on her face and someone shaking her shoulder.
“Awake, young lady?” whoever-it-is inquires, and Nelani’s subconscious categorizes the voice as male, above-fifty, with the sort of upperclass Coruscanti accent you found in Old Republic holodramas. Nelani’s subconscious notices that sort of thing a lot, so she doesn’t pay it much mind right then, only mumbling something that could possibly be seen as a yes and trying to open her eyes. It doesn’t make much difference, though - with her eyes open, all she can see is light and shadow.
“No, it’s alright. I just wanted to see if you were up for some soup.”
For an answer, Nelani just opens her mouth, and the old man spoons in something fishy-tasting. A few swallows later, and Nelani is asleep once again.
~~~~~~~~`
The next time she wakes up, Nelani can see again. It’s night now - at least, the only light is that of a strange glass globe glowing blue-white. It sits on top of some sort of floor desk, where the old man is sitting and scribbling away. Nelani squints her eyes - it looks like some kind of inventory. The old man himself is nothing special: older, with a long grey hair in a knot and beard cut short around an angular face. Nelani doesn’t think she made a sound, but she must have, because the next thing she knows, the old man is looking at her and saying, “How do you feel, hmm?”
Nelani doesn’t even have to think. “Hungry.”
The old man laughs, amused, and mutters something about how he ought to have known. Nelani herself has no idea how strange her answer is in the place she lives now.
~~~~~~~`
After the old man fetches her some more soup - some sort of poultry, this time - he asks, a little abruptly, “What’s the last thing you remember?”
Nelani doesn’t have to think back very far. Rapidly, her mind cycles through JacentroublethatwomanasteroidbadfeelingBEN!shadowsiththatwoman and ends on - her right hand clutches at her neck. “I can’t believe that son of a Sith killed me!” she cried indignantly. For a moment, Nelani worries about the other Jedi (will they know? How will they tell?) but there’s not much she can do for them now, so she turns her attention back to the old man and says, “So, this is the afterlife.”
The old man only raises his eyebrows and says, “You’re taking the concept of an existence after death rather well for someone who’s just arrived.”
Nelani just shrugs awkwardly. “Well, I’m a Jedi. And before I was decapitated, I had a menacing conversation with a long-dead Sith Lord.”
At this point, Nelani’s subconscious notes the old man’s mouth momentarily tightens. Nelani herself brushes past that.
“Is he the one who decapitated you?” the old man asks as though it were a question of rain.
“No. That was somebody else,” she says distractedly, and she has no idea how distressed and betrayed she looks when she says that. “What’s your name, by the way?”
The old man smiles and it’s a kind smile, although not one that looks like it’s been used much. “Ah, well, people call me Katsumi. And you?”
“Nelani Dinn,” she says promptly, and sticks her hand out for a handshake. Bemusedly, Katsumi shakes her hand gently, and formally says, “Welcome to Soul Society, Nelani Dinn.”
Nelani falls asleep before she can ask what that last statement means.
“Awake, young lady?” whoever-it-is inquires, and Nelani’s subconscious categorizes the voice as male, above-fifty, with the sort of upperclass Coruscanti accent you found in Old Republic holodramas. Nelani’s subconscious notices that sort of thing a lot, so she doesn’t pay it much mind right then, only mumbling something that could possibly be seen as a yes and trying to open her eyes. It doesn’t make much difference, though - with her eyes open, all she can see is light and shadow.
“No, it’s alright. I just wanted to see if you were up for some soup.”
For an answer, Nelani just opens her mouth, and the old man spoons in something fishy-tasting. A few swallows later, and Nelani is asleep once again.
~~~~~~~~`
The next time she wakes up, Nelani can see again. It’s night now - at least, the only light is that of a strange glass globe glowing blue-white. It sits on top of some sort of floor desk, where the old man is sitting and scribbling away. Nelani squints her eyes - it looks like some kind of inventory. The old man himself is nothing special: older, with a long grey hair in a knot and beard cut short around an angular face. Nelani doesn’t think she made a sound, but she must have, because the next thing she knows, the old man is looking at her and saying, “How do you feel, hmm?”
Nelani doesn’t even have to think. “Hungry.”
The old man laughs, amused, and mutters something about how he ought to have known. Nelani herself has no idea how strange her answer is in the place she lives now.
~~~~~~~`
After the old man fetches her some more soup - some sort of poultry, this time - he asks, a little abruptly, “What’s the last thing you remember?”
Nelani doesn’t have to think back very far. Rapidly, her mind cycles through JacentroublethatwomanasteroidbadfeelingBEN!shadowsiththatwoman and ends on - her right hand clutches at her neck. “I can’t believe that son of a Sith killed me!” she cried indignantly. For a moment, Nelani worries about the other Jedi (will they know? How will they tell?) but there’s not much she can do for them now, so she turns her attention back to the old man and says, “So, this is the afterlife.”
The old man only raises his eyebrows and says, “You’re taking the concept of an existence after death rather well for someone who’s just arrived.”
Nelani just shrugs awkwardly. “Well, I’m a Jedi. And before I was decapitated, I had a menacing conversation with a long-dead Sith Lord.”
At this point, Nelani’s subconscious notes the old man’s mouth momentarily tightens. Nelani herself brushes past that.
“Is he the one who decapitated you?” the old man asks as though it were a question of rain.
“No. That was somebody else,” she says distractedly, and she has no idea how distressed and betrayed she looks when she says that. “What’s your name, by the way?”
The old man smiles and it’s a kind smile, although not one that looks like it’s been used much. “Ah, well, people call me Katsumi. And you?”
“Nelani Dinn,” she says promptly, and sticks her hand out for a handshake. Bemusedly, Katsumi shakes her hand gently, and formally says, “Welcome to Soul Society, Nelani Dinn.”
Nelani falls asleep before she can ask what that last statement means.