Living Masterpiece, Sly, and This Isn't the Faith You're Looking For - an end-of-the-month 3fer!
Author:wyncatastrophe
Title: Living Masterpiece
Challenge: SWMININANO
Prompt: zealot
Word Count: 149
Characters: Palpatine, Anakin Skywalker, Darth Maul, Count Dooku
Rating: PG
Summary: Palpatine creates living art.
Author's Notes: Oh, no! I don't own Star Wars! Whatever will I do?
LIVING MASTERPIECE
Maul, of course, was a zealot. I have no use for zealots, for the true believers; they are too slavishly devoted to ever fully harness the powers of the Sith. I have no patience with them, though Maul served me well.
Dooku isn’t so much a zealot as an idealist; useful, in his way, and colder, which is more to my taste. I like the flavor of ice in my veins, the slither of it in my mouth. It’s my favorite treat, since not long after I became Plagueis’ apprentice.
There was a time when I thought Anakin Skywalker might become a zealot, too. I was worried about that, but now I see that I had not trusted sufficiently in my own foresight. Anakin Skywalker is something far better and more pure: a profoundly passionate man.
I will corrupt him only to reveal his true glory: my living masterpiece.
____________________
Author:wyncatastrophe
Title: Sly
Challenge: SWMININANO
Prompt: Grand Moff Tarkin
Word Count: 728
Characters: Darth Vader, OC, Tarkin, Thrawn
Rating: PG
Summary: Vader suggests a little creative engineering.
Author's Notes: I still don't own Star Wars. That's kind of my running theme. Boring, huh?
SLY
“Tarkin is a madman,” his right-hand-woman announces, stalking into the living area and flinging herself into a seat with careless, if exhausted, grace. “Worse than that, he is a fool.”
Vader studies her with a good impression of impassivity, helped along by his black mask. He can’t say much in response to her assessment, having come to much the same conclusion himself some years ago, so he decides instead to try and track down the impetus for her latest outburst.
“I assume you have some reason for stating the obvious?” he inquires dryly, and she snorts.
“I need a reason for loathing that piece of worm-ridden filth?” she asks. “Okay. Try this. He tried to treat Thrawn like a secretary today. Handed him a stack of flimsis and asked for coffee. I wish you could have seen it. It made my day.”
The twitch of Vader’s lips is invisible behind his mask, but he knows she can sense his amusement anyway. It’s at the edge of his range of emotions these days, pushing into places that itch and burn and ache with memories. Sidious insists that this refusal to engage in revelry is a deep flaw in a Sith; he can take no pleasure in the excesses of his own power.
It’s ironic: the fallen Jedi who reveled in the pleasures of the flesh with his forbidden wife has become the consummate ascetic as a Sith.
The irony isn’t lost on him, but it is useless, so Vader discards it. To his second, he says, “I take it Thrawn was not amused?”
“No, he was,” she says, and there’s a sly grin playing around the corners of her mouth, too. “Very. He handed the flimsis back to Tarkin and said that if Tarkin was having trouble with his staff, he would be happy to recommend some worthy candidates.”
Vader snorts, and it hurts all the way from his ruined trachea up through his nose. His companion does a credible job of pretending not to notice; someone who didn’t know her well probably wouldn’t have caught the abortive flinch, just a tensing of her muscles, in sympathy.
“Well,” he says, “you’ve proven he’s a fool. But I sense there is more?”
She sighs and leans forward, resting her elbows on her knees to scrub her hands through still-dark hair. Vader has trouble imagining her gray. “Yeah,” she says, the mirth draining from her voice. “He had a thousand Wookiees executed for failing to meet schedule this week. A thousand. That’s madness, Lord Vader.” She looks up at him, her eyes hollow, and Vader feels a stab of pity unworthy of a Sith.
Sidious says it’s good for him to face the pain, to confront himself with everything she emboies, day in and day out.
“That’s not even good business,” she goes on. “You can’t build anything with dead workers. In addition to being wrong, it’s bloody stupid.” She shakes her head and sits back, and Vader can feel the traces of exhaustion leaching her presence in the Force. “He’s out of control,” she says tiredly, closing her eyes.
Vader folds his arms and stares down at her, watching the emotions play under her skin.
“Perhaps you’re right,” he says finally, and she opens her eyes. “I am?”
“Tarkin needs to be taught a lesson in ... management skills.”
She’s wary of him now, uncertain of his intentions. Vader feels a brief flicker of satisfaction; that is how it should be, but so very seldom is. “Okay,” she says slowly. “What did you have in mind?”
Vader cocks his helmet toward the viewport. “I believe a reminder of the shortcomings of his technological terror would be ... timely.”
“That’s alliterative, but not very illuminating,” she says. “What do you want me to do?”
“A little creative engineering.”
“A little ...” She breaks off, grinning, as memory makes his meaning clear. “Sabotage. Okay. I can do that.”
“I never doubted you,” Vader said. “Try to come back in one piece this time.”
She stands up and saunters closer. It would be seductive, but he’s trapped in the suit and he doesn’t indulge in physical pleasures anymore, anyway. “Yes, milord,” she murmurs. “When do you want me back?”
_________________________
Author: wyncatastrophe
Title: This Isn't the Faith You're Looking For
Challenge: SWMININANO
Prompt: faith
Word Count: 652
Characters: Luke Skywalker, Han Solo
Rating: PG
Summary: Luke needs to forgive.
Author's Notes: I still don't own Star Wars. But look, the voices in my head wrote a story anyway ...
THIS ISN'T THE FAITH YOU'RE LOOKING FOR
Han listens to his long, discouraged ramble and then leans back and crosses his legs comfortably. “You’ve got to have some faith, Luke.”
Luke glares at him. “I thought I just explained to you why it wasn’t reasonable to have any faith.”
Han shrugs, unperturbed. “Faith ain’t reasonable,” he says. “I figure that’s why they call it faith and not reason.”
Well. That’s hard to argue with.
Luke tries anyway. “You’re missing the point,” he says, pretty sure he remembers what that was. “Anybody can go wrong. Anybody. It can happen at any time. I don’t even know what happened to my father --”
“Nobody ever knows what happens to anybody else,” Han says. “Not really. And anyway, what’s that got to do with you? The same thing ain’t likely to happen two generations in a row. You’ve got to quit worrying about your father’s life, which is over, and start worrying about your own, which is about to be, if you don’t start paying attention.”
Luke glares at him. Han is supposed to do the best friend thing and be supportive here, but of course he’d have to choose now to remember that he’s a nonconformist. “What are you talking about?”
“Well,” Han says. “You spend most of your time wondering about what other people did or might have done or maybe thought about doing but didn’t get around to in time. It’s like you’re still arguing with a Jedi Order that’s been gone for decades, and an Old Republic that will never come back again. And with the ghost of your father, who must have been an okay guy at some point or he wouldn’t have turned back for you.”
Han stretches with elaborate casualness, but Luke knows that look on his face. Han is about to tell him something he knows Luke won’t like, but that he thinks is important anyway: it’s a look that sheepish and stubborn at once, and Luke hasn’t seen it often, but it’s never a good sign. “You need to forgive your old man for not being there,” he says, and it’s even worse than Luke thought. “I mean, I don’t know what you think would’ve happened differently, but the point is: he didn’t even know you were alive. As soon as he did, he was all over you. And yeah, he had some crazy ideas about fatherhood, but in the end he did the right thing. So forgive him and move on. Don’t get caught up in hating everything you are because of everything you think he might have been, like Leia. And while you’re at it, you can go ahead and forgive the whole kriffing Jedi Order for dying. And it seems like kind of a stretch, but you might as well go ahead and forgive old Ben Kenobi for lying to you. It was an awful thing to do to a kid, but I don’t think he was right in the head. And then you can just move the hell on and have some faith in yourself, because you’re not any of those people who failed already. You’re Luke Skywalker, and your mistakes haven’t been made yet.” Han grunts. “You’re too damn young.”
“But I --”
“You’ll make your own mistakes, Luke. We all do. But you won’t make theirs. Have a little faith.”
Han is implacable in his calm; he’s said all he has to say, and Luke knows from experience that he’ll listen doggedly if Luke needs to get it out of his system, but he won’t talk about it any more.
So there’s no point, really.
Luke sighs and gets to his feet. “Yeah. Okay. Want to grab an ale?
“Sure thing, kid.” Han levers himself upright and grins. “There’s a bar a few levels down called the Outlander. Ever been there?”
Edited because I soooo fail at typing and cuts ...
Title: Living Masterpiece
Challenge: SWMININANO
Prompt: zealot
Word Count: 149
Characters: Palpatine, Anakin Skywalker, Darth Maul, Count Dooku
Rating: PG
Summary: Palpatine creates living art.
Author's Notes: Oh, no! I don't own Star Wars! Whatever will I do?
LIVING MASTERPIECE
Maul, of course, was a zealot. I have no use for zealots, for the true believers; they are too slavishly devoted to ever fully harness the powers of the Sith. I have no patience with them, though Maul served me well.
Dooku isn’t so much a zealot as an idealist; useful, in his way, and colder, which is more to my taste. I like the flavor of ice in my veins, the slither of it in my mouth. It’s my favorite treat, since not long after I became Plagueis’ apprentice.
There was a time when I thought Anakin Skywalker might become a zealot, too. I was worried about that, but now I see that I had not trusted sufficiently in my own foresight. Anakin Skywalker is something far better and more pure: a profoundly passionate man.
I will corrupt him only to reveal his true glory: my living masterpiece.
____________________
Author:wyncatastrophe
Title: Sly
Challenge: SWMININANO
Prompt: Grand Moff Tarkin
Word Count: 728
Characters: Darth Vader, OC, Tarkin, Thrawn
Rating: PG
Summary: Vader suggests a little creative engineering.
Author's Notes: I still don't own Star Wars. That's kind of my running theme. Boring, huh?
SLY
“Tarkin is a madman,” his right-hand-woman announces, stalking into the living area and flinging herself into a seat with careless, if exhausted, grace. “Worse than that, he is a fool.”
Vader studies her with a good impression of impassivity, helped along by his black mask. He can’t say much in response to her assessment, having come to much the same conclusion himself some years ago, so he decides instead to try and track down the impetus for her latest outburst.
“I assume you have some reason for stating the obvious?” he inquires dryly, and she snorts.
“I need a reason for loathing that piece of worm-ridden filth?” she asks. “Okay. Try this. He tried to treat Thrawn like a secretary today. Handed him a stack of flimsis and asked for coffee. I wish you could have seen it. It made my day.”
The twitch of Vader’s lips is invisible behind his mask, but he knows she can sense his amusement anyway. It’s at the edge of his range of emotions these days, pushing into places that itch and burn and ache with memories. Sidious insists that this refusal to engage in revelry is a deep flaw in a Sith; he can take no pleasure in the excesses of his own power.
It’s ironic: the fallen Jedi who reveled in the pleasures of the flesh with his forbidden wife has become the consummate ascetic as a Sith.
The irony isn’t lost on him, but it is useless, so Vader discards it. To his second, he says, “I take it Thrawn was not amused?”
“No, he was,” she says, and there’s a sly grin playing around the corners of her mouth, too. “Very. He handed the flimsis back to Tarkin and said that if Tarkin was having trouble with his staff, he would be happy to recommend some worthy candidates.”
Vader snorts, and it hurts all the way from his ruined trachea up through his nose. His companion does a credible job of pretending not to notice; someone who didn’t know her well probably wouldn’t have caught the abortive flinch, just a tensing of her muscles, in sympathy.
“Well,” he says, “you’ve proven he’s a fool. But I sense there is more?”
She sighs and leans forward, resting her elbows on her knees to scrub her hands through still-dark hair. Vader has trouble imagining her gray. “Yeah,” she says, the mirth draining from her voice. “He had a thousand Wookiees executed for failing to meet schedule this week. A thousand. That’s madness, Lord Vader.” She looks up at him, her eyes hollow, and Vader feels a stab of pity unworthy of a Sith.
Sidious says it’s good for him to face the pain, to confront himself with everything she emboies, day in and day out.
“That’s not even good business,” she goes on. “You can’t build anything with dead workers. In addition to being wrong, it’s bloody stupid.” She shakes her head and sits back, and Vader can feel the traces of exhaustion leaching her presence in the Force. “He’s out of control,” she says tiredly, closing her eyes.
Vader folds his arms and stares down at her, watching the emotions play under her skin.
“Perhaps you’re right,” he says finally, and she opens her eyes. “I am?”
“Tarkin needs to be taught a lesson in ... management skills.”
She’s wary of him now, uncertain of his intentions. Vader feels a brief flicker of satisfaction; that is how it should be, but so very seldom is. “Okay,” she says slowly. “What did you have in mind?”
Vader cocks his helmet toward the viewport. “I believe a reminder of the shortcomings of his technological terror would be ... timely.”
“That’s alliterative, but not very illuminating,” she says. “What do you want me to do?”
“A little creative engineering.”
“A little ...” She breaks off, grinning, as memory makes his meaning clear. “Sabotage. Okay. I can do that.”
“I never doubted you,” Vader said. “Try to come back in one piece this time.”
She stands up and saunters closer. It would be seductive, but he’s trapped in the suit and he doesn’t indulge in physical pleasures anymore, anyway. “Yes, milord,” she murmurs. “When do you want me back?”
_________________________
Author: wyncatastrophe
Title: This Isn't the Faith You're Looking For
Challenge: SWMININANO
Prompt: faith
Word Count: 652
Characters: Luke Skywalker, Han Solo
Rating: PG
Summary: Luke needs to forgive.
Author's Notes: I still don't own Star Wars. But look, the voices in my head wrote a story anyway ...
THIS ISN'T THE FAITH YOU'RE LOOKING FOR
Han listens to his long, discouraged ramble and then leans back and crosses his legs comfortably. “You’ve got to have some faith, Luke.”
Luke glares at him. “I thought I just explained to you why it wasn’t reasonable to have any faith.”
Han shrugs, unperturbed. “Faith ain’t reasonable,” he says. “I figure that’s why they call it faith and not reason.”
Well. That’s hard to argue with.
Luke tries anyway. “You’re missing the point,” he says, pretty sure he remembers what that was. “Anybody can go wrong. Anybody. It can happen at any time. I don’t even know what happened to my father --”
“Nobody ever knows what happens to anybody else,” Han says. “Not really. And anyway, what’s that got to do with you? The same thing ain’t likely to happen two generations in a row. You’ve got to quit worrying about your father’s life, which is over, and start worrying about your own, which is about to be, if you don’t start paying attention.”
Luke glares at him. Han is supposed to do the best friend thing and be supportive here, but of course he’d have to choose now to remember that he’s a nonconformist. “What are you talking about?”
“Well,” Han says. “You spend most of your time wondering about what other people did or might have done or maybe thought about doing but didn’t get around to in time. It’s like you’re still arguing with a Jedi Order that’s been gone for decades, and an Old Republic that will never come back again. And with the ghost of your father, who must have been an okay guy at some point or he wouldn’t have turned back for you.”
Han stretches with elaborate casualness, but Luke knows that look on his face. Han is about to tell him something he knows Luke won’t like, but that he thinks is important anyway: it’s a look that sheepish and stubborn at once, and Luke hasn’t seen it often, but it’s never a good sign. “You need to forgive your old man for not being there,” he says, and it’s even worse than Luke thought. “I mean, I don’t know what you think would’ve happened differently, but the point is: he didn’t even know you were alive. As soon as he did, he was all over you. And yeah, he had some crazy ideas about fatherhood, but in the end he did the right thing. So forgive him and move on. Don’t get caught up in hating everything you are because of everything you think he might have been, like Leia. And while you’re at it, you can go ahead and forgive the whole kriffing Jedi Order for dying. And it seems like kind of a stretch, but you might as well go ahead and forgive old Ben Kenobi for lying to you. It was an awful thing to do to a kid, but I don’t think he was right in the head. And then you can just move the hell on and have some faith in yourself, because you’re not any of those people who failed already. You’re Luke Skywalker, and your mistakes haven’t been made yet.” Han grunts. “You’re too damn young.”
“But I --”
“You’ll make your own mistakes, Luke. We all do. But you won’t make theirs. Have a little faith.”
Han is implacable in his calm; he’s said all he has to say, and Luke knows from experience that he’ll listen doggedly if Luke needs to get it out of his system, but he won’t talk about it any more.
So there’s no point, really.
Luke sighs and gets to his feet. “Yeah. Okay. Want to grab an ale?
“Sure thing, kid.” Han levers himself upright and grins. “There’s a bar a few levels down called the Outlander. Ever been there?”
Edited because I soooo fail at typing and cuts ...