SWTORwrites #13: Pet Peeves - The Trouble With Microwavable Soup
(So, this is sorta what happened to me last night, except I got the can out before it could actually do any damage.)
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Here's the thing -- Akerav can cook. He likes his pancakes, and his pastries, and all of the goodness that comes along with sugary snacks. Powdered sugar, honey, chocolate, you name it. If anything, he likes eating the batter while he's preparing everything a little more than the final product.
He can use an oven, yes, he just needs to pay attention to it. Toasters, on the other hand, give him absolute hell. They start to malfunction as soon as he touches one, so, shooting them with his blasters is the best choice as a way to relieve his frustration.
(They're on their fourteenth or fifteenth new one, and Sambar is starting to get a little annoyed with his trigger-happy boyfriend. Akerav thinks they should just use the oven to make their bread in the morning, since the oven actually likes him.)
Obviously, if you leave Akerav alone on the ship, he's going to find some way to get into trouble. Maybe having soup for a snack before Sambar gets back will be easy to make, he thought.
Things are never that easy.
First off, the damn top wouldn't budge! He sat there for a good five minutes gnawing on the lid, clawing at it, and even threatening it to get off, or so help the Maker he'd get his blasters and shoot it off. Finally, after what seemed like forever, it finally popped off... at the cost of sore hands. Stupid soup lid.
Akerav looked at the instructions on the side, which read microwave it for a minute and fifteen seconds. Easy enough. He put the can inside, punched in the numbers, and hit start. Easy snack, here I come!
When it got down to about the forty-six seconds remaining mark, that's where the trouble started. Akerav could have sworn he was hearing popping noises from inside, so he looked back. Nothing. He went back to sifting through the fridge for some soda ("Note to self, get some cherry ones from the store the next time..."), when the noises got really loud. He turned back again and saw the can jumping up and down in the microwave, sparks about to fly.
Akerav did whatever reasonable man would in that situation: he screamed like a little girl, grabbed his blasters, and shot the microwave up.
What seemed like a stroke of fate, Sambar chose that to be the moment he would come back from his errands. When he stepped in the galley, he had the wonderful view of a busted microwave, bits and pieces of it still smoking, a microwavable can of soup a few feet away, and soup everywhere.
He looked at Akerav, who smiled sheepishly and placed his blasters on the counter again, going to rub the back of his head out of embarrassment.
Prosper is more than an old hand when it comes to titles... the one he likes the most is the one he stole as a last name, Starshifter. Under his belt he has multiple sharpshooting wins, a true gunslinger of the old west, even entering informal competitions when he was younger (also known as shooting the other guy before he gets you). His enemies know him as the Wolf, the Hunter, and Uncle, all titles won through the sheer number of bounties under his belt. He has numerous civilian medals of distinction from the Republic... though they'd cough and change the subject if he mentioned them.
Other than be signaled out as being exceptional, rising to the rank of Major and being taken into the Special Forces, Cypher Scyadoth has never received any medals of distinction. She does her job exceptionally well.. and by the time she started exceeding that... well, Special Forces don't need and goddamn medals. Killing six Sith Lords a day is a standard, not an achievement.
She has gotten a curious title - one that means very little to her and much to my other Legacy characters. During her earlier days as a confident, competent Commander she lead a boarding party, and in the end crashed two Imperial fleet ships into eachother, earning her the nickname Starshifter by her comrades and the planet locals. She never picked it up... but others did.
Funnily enough, she handed one out recently, to a trooper named Bodakh, after watching him tank his very first Operation, and doing exceptional. He kited Karagga so well she dubbed him Flamestepper.
First of all, me and your father misses you very much, but we know you're busy and we're very proud of you.
Zevenne smiled at the holoimage of her mother.
"I miss you too", she knew it was just a recorded message, but still, talking to her mother made her miss her less.
As you know your birthday is coming up, and we wanted to give you something.
Zevenne held the small package in her other hand. It was neatly wrapped and she could immediately tell her mother had wrapped it. She now set to work opening it and one small objects fell out in her hand.
The moment she saw it she knew what it was.
Her mother had sent her her medal of honour, the medal she had recieved after defeating General Rakton all those years ago. Zevenne had only seen it lying in a glass case. It had been far to precious to her parents and they hadn't dared to entrust her with it touching it. It had always been: "when you're older".
The message continued.
Zev, I know what you're thinking, and don't you dare send it back. Your father and I earned this, and we think you have earned it too. You're so brave. Cerantha has told me being a Jedi isn't the easiest thing for a young girl. However, you're your father's daughter and I know you've got a lot of spunk, since you're my daughter too.
See this as a medal of honour, from us to you.
We love you and happy birthday.
"I love you too" Zevenne said before turning of the holo and pinning the medal to her robe.
This was the first lesson Gillan learned after being recruited by Imperial Intellgence, and it was the one lesson she took very seriously. That's why she always carried her datapad around. It contained her journal, pictures from different planets to use as reference, and most important: Her notes.
If she learned any valid information. Note in the datapad.
She learned any worthless informaton: Note in the datapad.
Recently the datapad had been filled with notes about her newest companion, Agent Sienn'ra.
Wednesday: 15:31.
Agent Sienn'ra is a twi'lek. Since she is the first twi'lek I've spent this much time with I felt the need to ask her about her lekkus since they always fascinated me. I now know that even though they in some way are "brain-tails" they are not made out of porcelain and she can sleep without worrying to roll on them. I am also not allowed to braid them, even though I want to.
Wednesday: 16:03
Agent Sienn'ra just got an injury on her left arm. Might scar.
"You know it's really creepy when you keep taking notes right?"
Gillan looked up from her datapad to look at the twi'lek.
"I've learned that information is everything"
Sienn'ra leaned forward and snatched the datapad from her hand.
"We're in the middle of a battle. If I see you writing on this one more time I'm personally throwing it out the airlock".
Gillan just stared at her in shock, then nodded once. Sienn'ra seemed to accept that and returned the datapad.
Wednesday: 16:08
Agent Sienn'ra has a bad temper and is quite hostile towards technology.
I finally got around to this. Darths cannot abide being wasteful.
They could hear her coming from a mile away. Dull thuds as objects hit the walls, the sound of air being forced out of her way, boots clanging as she stomped into the center of the ship.
Vette cringed and Jaesa suddenly became very interested in her nails, the two of them exchanging glances.
“You?” Jaesa mouthed.
“Nope,” Vette denied.
“Pierce,” they both mouthed at once, nodding.
Pierce poked his head out of the crew quarters, yanking himself back in as a crate flew by his head, crashing into the wall, spilling ration bars all over the deck.
“M’Lord,” he rasped, “did I leave the light on in the meeting room again?”
Velimai seethed, fists at her side. “Captain!” she roared.
Quinn stepped out from the bridge, tapping on his datapad. “Lt. Pierce, you have left the lights on in unoccupied rooms for a total of,” he made a few more taps into the ‘pad, “4 standard days, 3 hours, and 19 minutes.” Quinn hid his grin, but the smug tone in his voice was undeniable.
“Lt., you know that I expect my crew to waste as little energy as possible. If you leave a room empty, you are to turn off the lights. I have made this clear several times.” Velimai’s eyes flashed red, and Pierce found himself suspended several feet above the ground.
“Captain, let the Lt. know what he can do to make amends.” She dropped Pierce unceremoniously, letting him fall on his ass.
“Of course, My Lord,” Quinn’s eyes glinted, and he allowed himself to smile this time. “Lt. Pierce, you are to give Broonmark a bath.”
Jaesa and Vette exchanged glances again. Vette covered her mouth as her jaw dropped open.
Quinn turned on his heel and returned to the bridge. Velimai followed, her parting words left in the air behind her.
“Good luck with that. Perhaps you will find it easier to turn off the lights from now on.”
"I remember now. I remember how it started. I can't remember yesterday... I just remember doing what they told me..."
-Nikki, Operation Mindcrime
SWTORwrites Prompt#10: Family.
Jaesen woke abruptly when a datapad with a low battery wailed loud enough to startle him. Finding Aristan standing over him, leaning in close enough to nearly be nose to nose, nearly made him scream, sitting up so fast he knocked over a vase on the desk and sent it crashing to the ground, shattering. It took everything right then to not punch his brother in the face. Even if said brother were a Sith Lord and very likely able to deflect anything he threw at him with a laugh.
"Are you awake, darling brother?" Aristan asked, smirking. He withdrew finally, giving back Jae's personal space to look down at the shards of glass on the floor. A small, oval mouse droid had already activated and begun vacuuming up the mess.
Jaesen rubbed at his eyes a moment and sat forward. "I am now. What do you want, Aristan?"
"Look at you," Aristan snorted in contempt, "You're a mess. My workaholic brother, what an embarrassment."
Jaesen rolled his eyes and pushed himself free from the chair, realizing he'd fallen asleep in his uniform again. He gripped the side of his desk for balance, then leaned up against it to let his head finish swimming. "Truly, your concern is noted. Now what do you want?"
Anger flared and Aristan's features twisted in a snarl. Jaesen felt the tendrils of pressure against his windpipe and instinctively reached for his throat, as if somehow he might pry loose the Force that cut off his breathing. He'd seen it before on so many others who ended up angering the wrong Sith. How ironic his own brother choked him now.
He felt his feet leave the ground, Aristan lifting him up into the air. Panic nearly set in for the lack of oxygen. Then he simply relaxed, letting his hands fall to his sides. Giving in, he realized, freed him from everything. From Darth Setekh's prodding reminders, from the research he had to do, from the memories he wasn't even sure were real.
Black spots just began to swim befor his eyes when abruptly Aristan released him and he dropped back to the ground. His knees buckled and he ended up in a heap on the tiles.
"Emperor's throne, little brother, what have they done to you?"
Aristan knelt next to him, grasping his shoulder with one hand and lifting his chin with the other. "I'll talk to my master, get you transferred out of this Division. He managed to get you and Rhease into a military school for me. He could do this as well."
"No, Aris-"
"I will not have you trying to kill yourself by Sith!" he roared.
"It's not the Division!" he shouted back.
They stared at each other for a long moment after that. Aristan let go of Jaesen, falling back to sit on the floor with him. When he reached for him again, it was to take his hand and grip it lightly. "Tell me then, Jaesen. What is it."
Jaesen drew in a deep breath, and then exhaled slowly. "I remember how it started..."
