Breaking News: Hit rock band, Vox Lucentia, breaking up to pursue hero careers.
Lead Vocalist and Guitarist, Amidala Sustrai, told reporters early yesterday that her band, Vox Lucentia, are pursuing alternative careers within the IPA, after several of their members developed abilities due to an attack after their performance last month. The band’s drummer, Macey Stones, and bassist, Ozzy Lyon, are reportedly splitting from the band in order to pursue hero careers together. There has been no comment from the band’s keyboardist, Lin Xu-Yang, who also developed an ability from the same attack. Amidala Sustrai, being the only band member to already have an ability prior to the attack, has explained that it ‘opened their eyes’ to the wider world and how their abilities might be able to help.
Before they were heroes, or even had abilities, Steel and Echo (Macey and Ozzy) were part of a band from Renora, Vox Lucentia. Though they left the band after developing their abilities to pursue being heroes three years ago, they still keep in touch with their old band and often perform reunion shows every few months. Lin Xu-Yang (he/him), aka Quicksilver (middle-right), and Amidala Sustrai (she/her), aka Resonance (far right), are also heroes and are the co-leaders of the nicknamed ‘Band Association’, a network of hero squads that act as backup to other associations and heroes. They’re also happily dating and have been for about five years.
Lin’s ability allows him to create afterimages and mirages, illusionary clones that he can teleport between, and is known as ‘Understudy’.
Amidala’s ability allows her to transform sound into teal energy she can then manipulate and form constructs with, and is called ‘Voice of Reason’.
i don’t even remember what they look like. i just remember that i had a metallic gold colored pencil that i drew gold with. i can probably go back to check what i did with them but that requires going back to my social media from ten years ago
Summary: You're a mechanic on Luminara Undlui's flagship. Things get tense one day when your ex shows up in your repair bay.
Words: 2452
Warnings: implied past abusive relationship, verbal harassment, brief allusion to sexual harassment, innuendo. Nothing too graphic (I’m trying to make these stories mostly angst free) but just a heads up if any of this is triggering for you.
**********
You’re head down, teakettle up, in an ARC-170 starfighter, rewiring a faulty comm panel, when someone smacks your butt. An appreciative wolf-whistle follows.
“If that ain’t a sight for sore eyes,” a familiar, dreaded voice says.
You come up swinging your wrench. “Brallerr, you sleemo!”
Jer Brallerr, your ex, stands far enough back that your wild swipe misses him. He’s very handsome, and that’s where his good traits end. He grins at you.
“Still feisty, I see,” Brallerr drawls. “I like that in a—”
“Shut up, you hot pile of bantha dung,” you snap. “I’ve told you to leave me alone. I’m reporting you to your supervisor.”
Brallerr holds up his hands, still grinning. “Come on, honey buns. That’s no way to treat your man. Especially when I just complimented you in front of the guys.”
Your eyes, which had been focused on the object of your ire, flick around the repair bay, taking in the clone troopers and other mechanics nearby. Most of them are studiously ignoring you and Brallerr, but a few are watching—surreptitiously, or not. You feel a humiliated flush rise in your cheeks.
“You slimy stifling,” you snarl. “Go find an airlock and space yourself.”
Brallerr chuckles. “Can’t do that, sweet thing. Wouldn’t want to miss our standing date night.”
“We’re not dating anymore, Jer. Get that through your thick skull. I have plans tonight, and they don’t include you.”
That makes Brallerr pause, his smile morphing into a frown. “What plans? You know tonight is our night.”
You’d planned to grab a ration bar or two for dinner and turn in early. The 41st Elite Corps has had back-to-back engagements and it seems like all the starfighters and lartys are in need of repairs. Every mechanic has been pulling double shifts.
“None of your business,” you say. “Now go away. I’ve got work to do.”
Brallerr lunges forward and grabs your arm in a bruising grip. “You don’t get to dismiss me like that, sugar pie. I’m the best thing that’s ever—”
“Let her go,” a new voice says.
Your gaze moves past Brallerr to the clone trooper standing behind him. The trooper’s armor is painted 41st green and his pilot’s helmet is tucked under one arm. Three silver stars are tattooed across his left cheekbone. Those stars look familiar, though you can’t place why.
“What’d you say, clone?” Brallerr asks, soft and dangerous.
“I said, let her go,” the pilot says again.
Brallerr lets you go, but only so he can invade the clone’s personal space. “Who in the nine hells are you to tell me what to do, meat droid?”
You see a few clones step closer, clearly ready to back their brother up. A couple of mechanics you’ve seen hanging out with Brallerr move closer too. Hoping to forestall a fight, you blurt the first thing that comes to your mind.
“He’s my boyfriend, Jer. We’re dating. Now get out of my repair bay before I report you for loitering and harassment.”
Brallerr spins around to stare at you and the bestarred pilot shoots you an indecipherable look behind Brallerr’s back.
“What’s going on here?” the deck boss yells, striding up. He’s a big yellow-skinned Togruta, made even more imposing by his tall montrals. “We’ve got exactly no time for standing around, people. If you’re not sleeping or eating, you should be mechanicing.” He shoots a look at the clone troopers. “And you boys have a briefing on the other side of the hanger.”
Brallerr takes a step toward you. “We’ll talk about this later,” he mutters before stalking away.
You glare at his retreating back, then meet the eyes of the trooper who came to your aid.
“Thank you,” you say.
He nods, then pulls on his helmet and joins the other pilots heading for their briefing.
* * *
Sometime after lunch, you’re elbows deep in the belly of a LAAT/i when your comm pings with a text message. Setting your hydrospanner to one side, you wipe your hands on your coveralls and check your comm. You don’t recognize the incoming frequency, but check the message to make sure it isn’t a service request from another deck.
What's your schedule, it reads.
Who is this? you send back. Why do you need my schedule?
It's Quicksilver, from hanger earlier. Brallerr asked me if I knew your schedule. I put him off for a minute, but he made it seem important.
You roll your eyes and send back, Brallerr liked to know where I was at all times. It was a little creepy. Tell him you're confident in our relationship and you don't need to keep tabs on me. Also, how did you get my comm frequency?
Quicksilver doesn’t reply right away, and you go back to working on the larty. A few minutes later, your comm pings again.
You were working on my fighter earlier. Looked you up on the maintenance roster. Sorry if that’s creepy. Brallerr didn't like that answer. Doesn't think we're really in a relationship.
“Kriff,” you mutter as guilt rises in your chest. “I really karked this one up.”
Not only had you not gotten Brallerr off your back in any meaningful way, but now he was harassing Quicksilver too. You close your eyes and rest your head in your hands.
With a sigh you type back, Would you be willing to have dinner with me? We should probably talk.
/././././
Quicksilver meets you outside the hangar when your shift ends. His helmet sports three silver stars in the same place as the tattoo on his face. He’s got two ration and hydration packs in his hands.
“I thought we could talk somewhere quieter than the mess hall,” he says. “I brought dinner.”
You grin. You hadn’t been looking forward to having an audience while trying to talk to Quicksilver about your fake relationship.
“Come with me,” you say. “I know just the spot.”
You lead the way to the back of the hangar where supply crates are stacked dozens of feet in the air. There’s a kind of maze back here, and Quicksilver follows you without hesitation. When you come to the alcove that’s been set up like a breakroom—complete with a couple of mini conservators and a caf machine—you hop up onto one of the crates and pat the space next to you, inviting Quicksilver to do the same. He hands you the ration and hydration packs, then removes his helmet and set it aside before sitting next to you.
You pass back half the food and fold your legs underneath yourself, resting your elbows on your thighs. “So, I should probably start with an apology. I didn’t mean to drag you into my mess.”
“I couldn’t just stand there while that hut’uun harassed you,” Quicksilver said.
“Thanks. I appreciate the assist.” You suck in a breath, then sigh it out. “I suppose we ought to discuss our breakup. Should we make it public, or just tell our friends that it didn’t work out between us.”
Quicksilver stares at you for a moment, then shrugs. “Do we have to break up?”
It’s your turn to stare in silence. “Well, I mean, I kind of dropped that on you. And I transferred to another repair deck so I could avoid Brallerr. I’m not sure why he chose today to come annoy me again.” Then your brain kicks in. “Wait, you want to date me?”
A blush rises in Quicksilver’s cheeks, and he smiles shyly. “Well, yeah. Why do you think I always request you to work on my fighter? I’ve just never been sure how to broach the subject with you.”
“You requested me to be your mechanic? I didn’t think you could do that.”
Quicksilver runs a hand through his regulation-length curls and shrugs. “Well, technically we’re not supposed to request a specific mechanic. When things are busy repairs are made by whoever has an opening. But I made a couple requests when it wasn’t so hectic, and my fighter just seems to end up in your repair bay more often than not.”
“Huh,” you say, taking that in. Then, “Your ship is the one who’s comm is always going out, isn’t it? Did you purposefully sabotage your comm?”
You remember seeing three silver stars painted on the control console of the fighter.
“Guilty as charged,” Quicksilver says, grinning. “But only after the mission. I’d never put anyone in danger.”
You’re a little flattered that he’d mess up his comm just so you could fix it, but you’re also perturbed that he’d mess up his comm just so you could fix it.
“Don’t do that anymore,” you admonish. “Just because you think a mission is over doesn’t mean the Sepps won’t drop an ambush on us.”
“Well, the point of messing with my comm was to get your attention, so I don’t really need to do that anymore, do I?” he asks. “Or do I need to take more drastic measures to keep your attention now that I have it?”
You roll your eyes. “Mess with your ship again, and I’ll report you to your squadron leader.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Quicksilver said. Then he gives you a shy look. “So, do we have to break up?”
You knock your hydration pack against his. “We should probably go on at least one date before we make any decisions,” you tease. “Rations in the hangar doesn’t really count.”
The two of you spend the next hour or so eating and getting to know each other. Both of you have ignored pings from your respective comms, but as your comm pings again, you finally look at it, and frown.
“Everything okay?” Quicksilver asks.
“Brallerr’s looking for me.” You sigh.
“Hey, don’t worry about him.” Quicksilver places a hand on your knee. “I’ll walk you back to your quarters, then have a talk with him.”
“No. I’d better talk to him. He’s my problem. I should have done more than just transfer to a different hanger deck in the first place.”
“You sure? I can go with you. For moral support.”
“She doesn’t need your support, clone,” Brallerr’s says, stepping into view.
He has three friends with him, and you can smell the alcohol from where you’re sitting.
You surreptitiously key in your deck boss’ frequency into your comm and leave the channel open.
“I don’t want any trouble, Brallerr,” you say. “Why don’t you go sleep it off? We can talk in the morning when you’re sober.”
“We’re gonna talk now, sugar pie,” Brallerr says, taking a step toward you. “You don’t get to brush me off without consequences.” He looks at his friends. “Why don’t you three keep the clone company while me an’ honey buns have our talk.”
You unhook a wrench from your utility belt and step in front of Quicksilver before he can say anything. “Go to your room, Jer. Get sober. It’s not going to end well if you guys try to put one of our pilots out of commission.”
“Clone lover,” one of the other men spits.
“You bet I am,” you shoot back.
The other men look startled, clearly not expecting you to agree with them.
“They fight for us. They protect us,” you say. “They die for us. If being grateful for their sacrifice and wishing this war would end even one day sooner to spare more lives makes me a clone lover, then I’ll gladly accept the nickname.”
Brallerr’s face fills with rage. “You little—”
“You’d better not finish that sentence,” Quicksilver says, sliding off the crate to stand next to you.
“Or what? You gonna let your little girlfriend do all your fighting, meat droid?”
You feel Quicksilver’s hand settle on your shoulder.
“No. I’m going to let my brothers keep your friends company while you and I have a little chat.”
Behind Brallerr and his friends, at least ten troopers appear from the maze of supply crates. You have the feeling that there are even more men you can’t see. Everyone pauses, and you flick your eyes to your comm. It’s no longer connected. You wonder if the deck boss even heard any of what had transpired.
Then the troopers begin to shift aside and, as if in answer to your question, the Togruta deck boss appears. He folds his arms over his chest and glares at Brallerr.
“You’ve really put your foot in it this time.” His gaze moves to you. “I heard everything. Brallerr, you’re suspended for drunken misconduct. If I have my way you’ll be off this ship, and out of the GAR, for good.”
A ripple of surprise passes through the assembled troopers.
The deck boss looks at Brallerr’s friends. “You three, clear off. You’re on probation. Keep your heads down and do your work, and I just might not add this little incident to your permanent records.”
The three men don’t even look at Brallerr before sliding through the ranks of troopers and disappearing.
The deck boss clamps a hand down on the back of Brallerr’s neck. “Come on. You’re spending the night in the brig.”
The troopers part eagerly as the big Togruta walks the other man away.
You let out a breath and hook the wrench back onto your belt and shake out your hand. It aches from holding the tool so tightly. You start to tremble.
“You turned on your comm?” you ask Quicksilver, to distract yourself.
He nods and takes your hand, gently massaging your palm. “When I saw you turn yours on. I wasn’t sure how quickly whoever you called would arrive.”
“I’m glad you did.” You smile and wave at the troopers with your free hand. “Thanks.”
The troopers all grin and wave back. You feel heat begin to rise in your cheeks as they continue to stare at you.
“Um, Quicksilver?” you whisper, trying to tug your hand out of his grip.
He just smiles and doesn’t let you go. “Ke’shaadlar, vode. You’re making my girlfriend nervous.”
Laughter, well wishes, and a few wolf-whistles fill the air as the troopers leave the two of you alone.
“So, what do you want to do for our next date?” Quicksilver asks.
You look up at him with wide eyes. “You still want to date me after that?”
“Mesh’la, we faced down an enemy together. I think on Mandalore, that would mean we’re engaged.”
“Oh,” you say, feeling a little lightheaded.
Quicksilver chuckles and leans in to press his forehead against yours. “I’m teasing about the engagement. But I really would like to see you again.”
You nod and sag against him, your arms going around his waist. “I’d like that too.”
**********
Mando’a:
Hut’uun - coward
Mesh’la - beautiful
Ke’shaadlar, vode - get moving, lads
🎤 “And buried in your bones there’s an ache that you can’t ignore”
Oh, oh, this could work for two characters from Untitled WIP!!!!!
Soren comes to mind first, because (and I’m not sure if this will stay but it exists in the current iteration of the story) his magic hurts him. I haven’t fully decided if it’s that he has so much magic/raw power that it overloads his system essentially, or if it’s something more minor, like doing magic gives him pain. Either way, it’s a rare condition that no one really knows how to treat or help with.
Quicksilver is the second, because she’s had her powers/state of godliness stripped from her. She has been separated from a part of herself, and so there is dissonance. Perhaps she has learned to ignore it for the most part, but sometimes it can’t be ignored. Also, Quicksilver is *so* lonely. She has been separated from her love and her best friends, her punishment for bringing her love back from the dead. But, mostly, she is lonely because she is alone. She has been locked away, hidden from all but the highest of the gods, punishment, again, for defying death, for breaking the Old Laws of the gods. She has spent a thousand years by herself, and even for the gods, that is not an insignificant amount of time.
Okay so a while ago I wrote some love letters between the main couple of my wip (which still doesn’t have a title I’m sorry) and I thought I might share them here because that seems like something people might like. So here is the first letter, from Quicksilver to Jazzick, sent before they were cursed:
My Dear Jazzick,
You asked me in your last letter whether I enjoy being a goddess. The truth is somewhat complicated, and I’m not entirely certain I can adequately articulate it, but for you I will try.
You know that my bailiwick is all that is lost or found (and sometimes both). As such, it is not one of those which would seem immediately to tend toward cheerfulness, as would, say, being the goddess of love or a patron of children. (I will grant you, however, that my particular domain lends itself to melancholia, wistful or nostalgic romanticism.)
I find, at times, that I am overcome by what is offered into my power. Did you know there are not just things, but knowledge, and even, most terribly, people? I walk the back allies with the homeless, I rest in shallow graves with the murdered, and languish in hovels with the impoverished. I sit at bedsides in hospitals where no one else sits. I shadow children lost in city and wood. If they allow me, I comfort them, I lead them far from my own domain. It is counterintuitive, perhaps, but I cannot bear to retain them, when I have the power to make them found.
I know the names of the gods who came before us, and of their worshippers. I know sights and sounds and tastes and textures no longer present in the Realms. I know the truth of legends and the stories of the ancient ghosts.
Some days it is too much, and I can do naught but weep for the weight of it. And some days I revel in my power, my knowledge.
I seek to lessen what is mine. I want to share with the world, to remind the people of what they have forgotten, to make found that which was lost. I want a temple built to me, where people can come and offer prayers or trinkets, and in return receive some tidbit that might aid them in their quests.
Of course, there are some things which aught never be known, which were forgotten or lost for good reason. These things I keep and guard, for they are dangerous, oh so very dangerous. And some of them are Evil.
Do not ask me about them, I beg of you. You are my heart, my love, my dearest one, but I have a duty entrusted to me, a covenant I cannot break. It would bode ill for us both if you pried.
I am unsure if I have answered you question truly, or if I have merely rambled on. Forgive me if it is the latter. But enough of me; what of you, dear Jazzick? How have you fared since your last letter? What Realms have your travels brought you to, what sweet dreams have you encountered, and what foul terrors of the night? Are you well?
Your mother does ill to send you to combat her foe, though I know you a capable soldier and mage. She ought to fight her own battles, especially those against her own Aspects.
Be well, Jazzick. Be careful, and be safe. I’ve no desire to mourn you yet.
With Love eternal,
Quicksilver
P.S. I’ve enclosed a chocolate bar, for I know you enjoy the stuff. Please come home soon; I miss chatting with you over tea and waking up to your smile.
