@hostilebutcuddly said: " was it you? did you do all this? " (It's the 03 Lan Fan for you!)
This definitely wasn’t the worst Kimbley had ever done. Around him, the men had been haphazardly stacked, the one in his still-curled fist dangling limp by his shirt collar---but the life within these low brow, weaklings of adversaries had not been entirely purged. The point had simply been to disable them---to teach them a lesson, for even considering stiffing him on their previous negotiations.
That’s what happened when folks dared cross Zolf J. Kimbley.
His glance toward the source of the intrusive voice was subtle, unconcerned, as though he wasn’t surrounded by bruised and bloodied bodies, his voice equally calm as he spoke:
@celestianvices said: " something is clearly bothering you. "
Had his mood truly gone so unchecked? Perhaps he would experience embarrassment for this slip-up, if he were truly capable, thus in its place was a passive sort of discontent, fingers handling the rim of his whiskey glass with an absent idleness.
“Not necessarily bothering me---” he began, blandly, decidedly taking a drink to break up his half of the dialogue, before placing the emptied glass back upon the table with a pointed clack, “---more like, I am overcome with an unpleasant smattering of ennui as of late. While I do enjoy engaging in my research and etcetera, it’s been so very long since I’ve gone on a proper adventure.”
Slitting eyes accompanied a mischievous grin---the indication of a swift turn in his displeasure with the formation of a likely diabolical idea---which increased fractionally with his lean forward, voice dropping to a conspiratorial purr, “Perhaps the Lady Avarice would assist in remedying this unfortunate malady of mine?”
It wasn’t as though Kuja had been bothering to hide the onset of this insufferable ennui from his companion---but the fact that the other had actually been perceptive enough to verbally identify its existence was... quite moderately impressive, given how often such nudges seemed to go completely unnoticed. The SOLDIER could sense danger from a league away, and yet could hardly recognize a feeling when it was right in front of him.
An exaggerated harrumph in response, followed by the shift onto his exposed abdomen, the book in his slender hand gracefully following the motion. Spine pressing into the plush pillow, cerulean eyes, veiled by sooty lashes, continued trailing over the delicate cursive, despite currently absorbing nothing---merely having to put on a show. Bare legs kicking---almost with a childish rhythm---followed by a thoughtful hum before he finally chose to speak:
“Perhaps there is,” his pout increasing as his glance darted from his reading to the man across the way. “Would you dare seek to remedy it---if you would be so courageous?”
3. Who would pine away in silence their entire lives without confessing their love.
*
Ruth was used to taking what she wanted.
She was unlearning that, here with the Alliance. She was respected, but people were blunt with what they expected out of her. And she certainly didn’t think she could just grasp what caught her eye.
Who caught her eye.
Romance was out of the question under the circumstances. It would paint a target on whoever it was, and the power would always be wrong. So she tried…she tried.
But she found herself alone with Theron Shan in the cafeteria.
He had been hard to track lately. Avoiding her or supporting her…he was a stranger from the Republic, and she didn’t understand his priorities. Or desires.
He was stonily silent through half the meal. So friendly, usually, and so good. Or so quiet.
Ruth cleared her throat and was acutely aware that in life experience he was ten years her senior. Somehow it was always older men. “Do you dislike me?”
He stopped, fork halfway up. “What? No! What brings that up?”
The hair at the V of his T-shirt. The shape of his arms when that jacket came off. His voice, that incredible voice. His eyes, looking anywhere but at her. “It’s hard for the Outlander to judge signals.”
“I have no problem with you. I think you’re doing great. If I’m bothering you, tell me.”
“Of course,” she lied to the shape of his nose and lips, and the startlingly defined eyelashes. “I will.”
I don't think I understand how to do the extra dramatic OTP ask, but I want all the numbers for any Ruth ship. Especially 10 and 13. :D
So 13, berserk on death, shot me straight to Wynston and Ruth. I’ll try toget sketches going for the other ones, too :)
This, uh. Is not uplifting. Revenge, and all that. This is set after the endof Knights of the Dawning Alliance but contains no spoilers for the game orKotDA.
13. Who would go berserk at harm or death befalling the other.
“Wynston! You have to stop!”
Wynston crouched in the little round courtyard outside Hoboru the Hutt’spalace and looked up at a frazzled Lana. “Stop what?”
“Whatever you’re doing here. By yourself. This isn’t the way to handle thissituation.”
”Situation?” A harsh rasp appeared in his voice, and didn’t go away. ”Ruthis dead. At his order. For the low price of one little pleasure planet, which I will deal with in a moment. She’sgone. I’m just running damage control.”
”Three tons of baradium is damage control?”
”Four. I intercepted a shipment to supplement.” He stood and a dozen smallprobe droids rose in a curving panel before them. They each started projectinglittle scenes: the camera feeds of Hoboru the Hutt’s palace.
”Wynston,” Lana said, hard and urgent, “what are you doing?”
”I’m going to watch him die.” Rasping and so very cool.
“And how many others?”
He jerked as if stung. “They’re Hutt friends. That’s acceptable.” He leanedtoward a smaller drone, one projecting a throne room. Hoboru? “Can you hear me?”The Hutt clearly looked around. “My name is Wynston. You killed my bestfriend. For this, you die.”
“Wynston, I don’t think–”
Wynston raised a trigger and detonated.
It was a rumble. It was a rage. It was a ripple of windows running away fromburst after fiery burst out the walls, over the roof. Flame and brokenfragments sailed free of the entire glass dome.
Wynston started running in.
“What–stop!” She reached out in the Force and he whipped around,snarling, his sidearm in his hand.
“I left a safe route to him,” he said. “In case this didn’t do it. Let mego.”
”I won’t let you–”
His red eyes narrowed. ”Let. Me. Go. Don’t break this. Not over onenecessary execution.”
“This won’t bring her back.”
“Nothing ever will.” He swallowed. “Let me go.”
They went on together after that.
Through the least flaming corridor ran a current of wounded and terrifiedstaff, guards mostly. Before Wynston could shoot the first pair, Lana jumped inand dispatched them. From there they charged, splitting the current down themiddle, hacking at any security that got in the way.
Hoboru the Hutt’s throne room was a sparking, blackened ruin. Lana spotted thequivering brownish mass just as Wynston did. She let him go.
“I thought the baradium directly under your seat would do it,” said Wynston.“But I make sure.”
“Who are you?” said the Hutt in a high squeaky voice. “The Hutt Cartel will—”
“Kiss my ass. My name is Wynston. You killed my best friend. For this, youdie.” He slanted his aim toward Hoboru’s tail and fired.
“No! We can come to an arrangement! Your friend, it was busi—”
“Does it hurt yet.”
Hoboru waved aimlessly, shivering. “What?”
Wynston fired again. “Does it hurt yet?”
“Please, I’ll give money, slaves, I have another planet—“
Further up the torso. Three shots, carefully placed. “Does it hurt yet?”
“Augh! Yes! I’ll give you anything, just stop!”
Shot in the shoulder. “It hurts?”
“Yes!”
“Hm.” He shot in the other shoulder and leaned in. Lana heard every word. “Theseare going to hurt for the rest of your life. Mine will go on for a very longtime. Yours won’t.” He aimed once more and made an end.
Seven or eight times.
He turned back to Lana and his face was calm, his mouth relaxed. “That’sall,” he said.
Savagery had never been in his playbook, not for as long as she had knownhim. But Ruth had known him longer. “Are you going to be all right?”
“I’m always all right.” He plucked a lacy scrap of ash from her hair and gaveher a smile, not quite the crooked real one. “Let’s go home.”
