(no subject)
Title: Holocron
Author: helgaleena
helgaleenas@yahoo.com
Main characters: Quinlan Vos, Villie, Khaleen, Tholme, Tr'a Saa
prompt: 041: shapes
Rating: PG
Summary: Since he isn't dead, Quin can manage to deliver the rest of this message himself.
Warnings: spoilers for Republic #57 A Jedi's Fate. Even though I changed the setting. And the due date.
Notes: Does it all boil down to this in the end? well, yeah, it does afaik...
Because he was who he was, and they were who they were, Quin knew exactly where to find his fugitive loved ones. It was none of the rest of the galaxy's business, and any of them would kill to keep it that way. But his training bond with his former master was still there, and the bright bond with his coming child was right with it, different yet miraculous. He would always know where they were, alive or dead...
Dead like Aayla. Like Luminara. Like Mace. Like Plo. Like too many of his comrades who had crossed over to bring the new balance of dark and light. It had taken use of both to keep from joining them, but he stubbornly refused to die while these beloveds lived, and had need of him. He felt them still, living as well as dead, would always feel them. But now it was time to focus on the living. Because he had managed to stay alive, and in debt to this scoundrel, Grahrk.
Tholme had concealed them in a series of caverns on Saleucami. Quin knew he was worth more to Villie alive while he owed him something, so he refused to pay him back for the bacta treatments until he'd been delivered here, to the place completely flattened by Republic bombardment during the Clone Wars. This was where Tholme had lived for years underground, harassing the Separatist cloners, with his hiding place never discovered.
How they managed to fit Skorp-ion into this narrow crevasse he still couldn't figure out, but between the two Jedi masters, Tholme and Tr'a Saa, they had Force-d the ship into concealment effectively. As it was, the trek in here had taken quite a bit out of him, in his still recuperating state, even when he levitated part way, leaving Villie grumbling and scrambling up the inclines.
"Villie--" he said, endeavoring not to gasp like a fish, "I can't go in there looking like this. You go on ahead; they're up the gap about ten lengths-- I'm going to find some other clothes."
It was true that Grahrk's cast-offs hung on him, especially since spending all that time in bacta, not eating. And of course, the big vain Devaronian understood. "Hokay pal, make yourself pretty for yum-yum then. But what you want Villie to say to them?"
"Take them the holocron. Tholme will be able to activate it." From his belt-pouch he pulled out the ancient recording device, shaped like a crystal of fluorite with five facets, four of them perfect equilateral triangles converging at the tips. The great strategist, Master Oppo Rancisis--dead like the others-- had entrusted it to him, as his second in command, to help him focus by recording his thoughts. In the hours where he thought he was going to die, despite Grahrk and his Wookiee "nephew" dragging him off Kasshyyk in the Inferno, he'd had plenty of thoughts, and had managed to input some of them for those he hoped would survive him. Especially his child. A child deserved to know its father, in this screwed up galaxy.
Now it gave them all something to do, while he tried to look more like himself-- Quinlan Vos, ex-Jedi.
Skorp-ion's nav-com knew him, and let him in. He stopped in the fresher and pulled off the baggy flight unitard, stepped out of the new boots Villie had sprung for on the Wheel, and smiled to see all the baby products lined up on the shelf. Khaleen's touch, all right. The mirror told him that his depilation was still up to date, and his face not too gaunt, considering. His hair had actually unkinked somewhat in the rain of Kasshyyk, and then in the immersion tank. Not certain what else to do with it, he let it hang.
He found some of his blacks in the cupboard with enough stretch that they didn't hang loose or leave big gaps around his atrophied muscles. The utility belt with the bezel clasp he had to adjust to its smallest setting. There was really no need for the wrist guard, but he put it on anyway, just because he felt the need for bolstering that most sensitive place, despite the rather sloppy wrist wraps he didn't have time to redo. Then his body insisted on taking a breather, before the new boots were ready to take on the short walk to where the others waited. He took his body's advice and did not hurry it. Fainting during his triumphant return would be so stupid!
As he entered the main cavern, Khaleen was intent upon his final message, which was being delivered by the pyramidal holograph of himself projected into the air above the holocron. The little facsimile of him looked 'like rancor chow', to use Obi-Wan's pithy phrasing. Obi-Wan, who, like most of the Order, was probably dead...
"I keep forgetting she isn't a Jedi; she can't just 'path it and know the things I'm thinking....It's important to say things aloud. I don't think I told her...." That was when he'd passed out, and the holocron had shut itself down after a few seconds.
Well, the Force had willed that he could finish the message in person. "I love you, Khaleen," he said now, and was rewarded by the look on her face as she turned, and nearly flung the holocron away in the direction of Tr'a and Tholme. No respect for antiquities.
"Quin!" she said, and because he was not quite all there in his own skin as yet, he couldn't quite figure out how she got into his embrace from accross the cavern, but there she was in his arms, as if she had never left them, and all was right with the galaxy. At least this corner of it. Villie was saying a bunch of things, but that was just Villie, making himself out to be a hero, as usual. It was the truth, for once, and not worth policing for inaccuracies.
Holding Khaleen was a much better use of his personal resources at the moment. Holding the mother of his child. Her green eyes, with the decorations sensibly tattooed around them, lifted to his, to make sure he was listening.
"I know," she said.
They had so much. They had three Jedi, two of them elders, and even a holocron. And this was his new family, the way things would be from now on. Maybe someday his child would use that same holocron, for messages to the future.
end
Author: helgaleena
helgaleenas@yahoo.com
Main characters: Quinlan Vos, Villie, Khaleen, Tholme, Tr'a Saa
prompt: 041: shapes
Rating: PG
Summary: Since he isn't dead, Quin can manage to deliver the rest of this message himself.
Warnings: spoilers for Republic #57 A Jedi's Fate. Even though I changed the setting. And the due date.
Notes: Does it all boil down to this in the end? well, yeah, it does afaik...
Because he was who he was, and they were who they were, Quin knew exactly where to find his fugitive loved ones. It was none of the rest of the galaxy's business, and any of them would kill to keep it that way. But his training bond with his former master was still there, and the bright bond with his coming child was right with it, different yet miraculous. He would always know where they were, alive or dead...
Dead like Aayla. Like Luminara. Like Mace. Like Plo. Like too many of his comrades who had crossed over to bring the new balance of dark and light. It had taken use of both to keep from joining them, but he stubbornly refused to die while these beloveds lived, and had need of him. He felt them still, living as well as dead, would always feel them. But now it was time to focus on the living. Because he had managed to stay alive, and in debt to this scoundrel, Grahrk.
Tholme had concealed them in a series of caverns on Saleucami. Quin knew he was worth more to Villie alive while he owed him something, so he refused to pay him back for the bacta treatments until he'd been delivered here, to the place completely flattened by Republic bombardment during the Clone Wars. This was where Tholme had lived for years underground, harassing the Separatist cloners, with his hiding place never discovered.
How they managed to fit Skorp-ion into this narrow crevasse he still couldn't figure out, but between the two Jedi masters, Tholme and Tr'a Saa, they had Force-d the ship into concealment effectively. As it was, the trek in here had taken quite a bit out of him, in his still recuperating state, even when he levitated part way, leaving Villie grumbling and scrambling up the inclines.
"Villie--" he said, endeavoring not to gasp like a fish, "I can't go in there looking like this. You go on ahead; they're up the gap about ten lengths-- I'm going to find some other clothes."
It was true that Grahrk's cast-offs hung on him, especially since spending all that time in bacta, not eating. And of course, the big vain Devaronian understood. "Hokay pal, make yourself pretty for yum-yum then. But what you want Villie to say to them?"
"Take them the holocron. Tholme will be able to activate it." From his belt-pouch he pulled out the ancient recording device, shaped like a crystal of fluorite with five facets, four of them perfect equilateral triangles converging at the tips. The great strategist, Master Oppo Rancisis--dead like the others-- had entrusted it to him, as his second in command, to help him focus by recording his thoughts. In the hours where he thought he was going to die, despite Grahrk and his Wookiee "nephew" dragging him off Kasshyyk in the Inferno, he'd had plenty of thoughts, and had managed to input some of them for those he hoped would survive him. Especially his child. A child deserved to know its father, in this screwed up galaxy.
Now it gave them all something to do, while he tried to look more like himself-- Quinlan Vos, ex-Jedi.
Skorp-ion's nav-com knew him, and let him in. He stopped in the fresher and pulled off the baggy flight unitard, stepped out of the new boots Villie had sprung for on the Wheel, and smiled to see all the baby products lined up on the shelf. Khaleen's touch, all right. The mirror told him that his depilation was still up to date, and his face not too gaunt, considering. His hair had actually unkinked somewhat in the rain of Kasshyyk, and then in the immersion tank. Not certain what else to do with it, he let it hang.
He found some of his blacks in the cupboard with enough stretch that they didn't hang loose or leave big gaps around his atrophied muscles. The utility belt with the bezel clasp he had to adjust to its smallest setting. There was really no need for the wrist guard, but he put it on anyway, just because he felt the need for bolstering that most sensitive place, despite the rather sloppy wrist wraps he didn't have time to redo. Then his body insisted on taking a breather, before the new boots were ready to take on the short walk to where the others waited. He took his body's advice and did not hurry it. Fainting during his triumphant return would be so stupid!
As he entered the main cavern, Khaleen was intent upon his final message, which was being delivered by the pyramidal holograph of himself projected into the air above the holocron. The little facsimile of him looked 'like rancor chow', to use Obi-Wan's pithy phrasing. Obi-Wan, who, like most of the Order, was probably dead...
"I keep forgetting she isn't a Jedi; she can't just 'path it and know the things I'm thinking....It's important to say things aloud. I don't think I told her...." That was when he'd passed out, and the holocron had shut itself down after a few seconds.
Well, the Force had willed that he could finish the message in person. "I love you, Khaleen," he said now, and was rewarded by the look on her face as she turned, and nearly flung the holocron away in the direction of Tr'a and Tholme. No respect for antiquities.
"Quin!" she said, and because he was not quite all there in his own skin as yet, he couldn't quite figure out how she got into his embrace from accross the cavern, but there she was in his arms, as if she had never left them, and all was right with the galaxy. At least this corner of it. Villie was saying a bunch of things, but that was just Villie, making himself out to be a hero, as usual. It was the truth, for once, and not worth policing for inaccuracies.
Holding Khaleen was a much better use of his personal resources at the moment. Holding the mother of his child. Her green eyes, with the decorations sensibly tattooed around them, lifted to his, to make sure he was listening.
"I know," she said.
They had so much. They had three Jedi, two of them elders, and even a holocron. And this was his new family, the way things would be from now on. Maybe someday his child would use that same holocron, for messages to the future.
end