Jedi Council Forums - The Art of Execution (J/J Halloween Challenge Entry)

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Author	Topic: The Art of Execution (J/J Halloween Challenge Entry)
Jags_Scoundrel Registered: Nov '03	Date Posted: 11/1/04 8:52am Subject: The Art of Execution (J/J Halloween Challenge Entry) - Date Edited: 6/9/05 8:32am (1 edits total) Edited By: Jags_Scoundrel
	Title: The Art of Execution Author: Jags_Scoundrel Timeframe: post-NJO Characters: Jagged Fel, Jaina Solo Genre: vignette Keywords: J/J Summary: Jag and Jaina discover a deadly piece of art. Notes: This was a response to the J/J Halloween Challenge. The parameters were: it had to be less than 2000 words, feature Jag & Jaina, have A blood-curdling scream pierced the night, and everyone in the room froze as the first line, and include the following words: spooky, ghost, skeleton, mask, haunted, foggy, eerie, howl, creepy, grave. The usual disclaimers apply . . . The Art of Execution A blood-curdling scream pierced the night, and everyone in the room froze. “What was that?” the couple that had just stepped up to the desk to check in asked simultaneously, their eyes wide in fright. “Oh, I’m sure it was nothing; one of the guests must be watching a spooky holovid,” the owner of the establishment soothed automatically, even as his mind was racing. That sounded like it came from the room down the hall. Oh, no! He pasted on the sincerest smile that he could muster and said smoothly, “Excuse me for just a moment.” Without waiting for a response, he slipped into the back room and grabbed his porter by the ear and hauled him to his feet, causing the slight little man to howl in pain. He scowled at him, snarling, “The couple you just took to Room 111 - you did warn them, didn’t you?” The porter looked up at him sheepishly. “Um, I might have forgotten.” * * * * * * * * Room 111, a few moments earlier “Next time, I will make the travel arrangements,” Jaina proclaimed sourly as she surveyed the room. “I don’t know what you are insinuating,” Jag said innocently, not willing to admit right away that he was as dismayed with their accommodations as she appeared to be. “Jag, this place is positively creepy!” “Jaina,” he chided, “where is your sense of adventure?” She placed her hands on her hips and shot a dark glance at him. “Isn’t that my line?” “One that you have used on me too many times,” he said with a wry smirk. “So why am I being chastised now for taking the initiative?” “Jag, I’m serious,” she said impatiently. “I can feel a dark presence –” she paused for a moment and closed her eyes in concentration, “– right here in this room.” A retort popped immediately into his mind, but he quickly stifled the urge to utter it. He could tell that she was being serious, and her insights from the Force were not a joking matter. “What is it?” he asked, furrowing his brows in concern. “I’m not sure, but it’s coming from that,” she said as she pointed to a decorative mask on the wall. Or what some twisted individual considers decorative. It appeared to be the face of a human skeleton made from some sort of glossy black material. What commanded his attention was the large faceted gem in the center of the forehead; it was the color of freshly spilled blood, with what appeared to be black clouds seemingly roiling within the stone. “Well, look at that,” she remarked as she removed the mask from the wall and turned it over in her hands. “The point sticks out through the back. I’ll bet that would poke right into your forehead if you wore this,” she mused just before gingerly touching the gem. Jag watched in horror as instantly her body stiffened and an almost inhuman scream tore from her throat before her eyes rolled into the back of her head and she collapsed to the floor, unconscious. “Jaina!” he cried. Shunting aside the paralyzing fear that gripped him, Jag quickly dropped to her side. He noted that her breathing was fast and shallow as he checked her pulse, which he found to be racing. He could tell that her eyes were darting furiously back and forth behind her closed eyelids, and he noted with some surprise that despite her fall, she still clutched the mask tightly. Surmising that the tip of the gem could have been coated in some sort of poison, possibly hallucinogenic, Jag reached for the mask to remove it and see if it had punctured Jaina’s finger. He grasped the top of the mask, but as soon as his palm made contact with the top of the faceted stone, a white-hot pain shot up his arm to engulf his entire being. The last sound that he heard was his own tortured scream before the white reversed to black. Abruptly, he found himself standing in the midst of a foggy landscape. The dim, reddish light of dusk cast an eerie glow onto the gnarled, dead trees that dotted an otherwise barren field. In a small clearing just ahead, Jag could see two figures clearly, as if they were bathed in a spotlight. One was a tall figure, clothed in a black hooded robe, which was slowly advancing on the other figure – Jaina. Tears were streaming down her face and she was looking up at the figure in wide-eyed horror, looking like she had seen a ghost. “No. It can’t be . . .” she whispered. “You left me,” the figure accused. “No,” she sobbed quietly as she fell to her knees. Now towering above her, the black-robed figure reached down with his left hand and clutched Jaina by the throat, lifting her in the air like a child’s toy. “No!” Jag cried out as he rushed forward. Without sparing him a glance, the hooded figure thrust a hand toward him, sending Jag flying backward. His flight came to an abrupt and painful end against one of the gnarled trees. Desperately, he struggled to move, but an unseen force held him firmly in place against the tree; the pain from the bark and broken limbs digging into his back was insignificant compared to the pain of watching in helpless agony as the figure continued to crush the life out of Jaina. He screamed her name over and over in an attempt to distract her attacker, his throat becoming raw with the effort. The figure turned his head toward Jag, his face still masked by the shadows of his hood, and he rotated his outstretched hand palm upward then violently clenched it into a fist, and Jag felt his throat close up simultaneously with the motion. In an adrenaline-fueled panic, he fought vainly to breathe, but his windpipe was closed completely. For a moment, Jaina’s gaze met his, and he could see the pained recognition there that she was as helpless to save his life as he was to save hers. He closed his eyes, hoping to envision Jaina in a happier moment as the image that he would take to his grave, but he could only see her haunted eyes begging for an escape from this nightmare. Without warning, his whole world disappeared in a blinding white haze then suddenly plunged into blackness. Consciousness returned just as quickly, and he found himself on his back, staring up at a ceiling and gasping for air. He was flooded with relief as he realized that it must have been just a frighteningly realistic nightmare. Jag was forced to reassess that belief when he pushed himself up to a sitting position and turned to look at Jaina – she was also breathing in deep, uneven gulps; the gruesome purplish tint to her skin fading with every breath and four angry red fingerprints and a thumbprint appearing on either side of her throat. “Jaina,” he breathed in a horrified whisper. “Jag?” she rasped, seeming a bit disoriented. He leaned forward to help her as she struggled to sit upright. “Jaina, are you all right?” he asked, his voice still a bit gravelly from the abuse from a few moments ago. She nodded and assured him, “I’ll be fine.” Jag wanted to believe her and wanted to believe the same of himself, but his emotions were still tumbling wildly from the whole ordeal. As he searched her eyes for something to anchor him, he could see the same turmoil that he felt mirrored there. He pulled Jaina into his embrace and hugged her fiercely, offering his strength and drawing on hers in return. They pulled away suddenly as they both realized that they were not alone in the room. In perfect synchronicity, they looked up to see the proprietor as he finished hanging the mask back on the wall, fervent apologies spilling from his thin lips. “What in the Corellian Hells is that thing?” Jaina spat out angrily as they rose to their feet. He beamed proudly. “One of the most intriguing pieces in my collection. To be honest, I don’t know anything of its history. I just saw it in a little curiosity shop on one of my last trips off-planet, and I just knew that it would be perfect for this room,” he gushed. Only his Chiss-ingrained sense of control kept Jag from punching the smile off of the man’s face. “Your intriguing piece of art almost killed us,” he said icily. “And I am so sorry. The porter was supposed to warn you not to touch the stone – there have been a few minor incidents before. I had no idea that prolonged contact could be so hazardous.” “Well, I can fix that for you,” Jaina said as she unhooked her lightsaber from her belt. Before Jag had a chance to ask her what in blazes she thought she was doing, she ignited it and shoved the violet blade through the stone in the mask. “Hey!” the proprietor cried indignantly. “I expect you to pay for that damage!” She quickly spun and pointed the tip of her lightsaber perilously close to his throat. “Just be glad that’s all I’ve damaged,” she hissed. “Yes, ma’am,” he squeaked. She glared at him menacingly for another few heartbeats before extinguishing her blade and clipping the hilt back to her belt. “Let’s go, Jag. There’s no way that I am sleeping in this place,” she stated emphatically. Jag could not have agreed more, but it was late; they would have to make do here until the morning. “Jaina, it is too late to go anywhere else tonight.” Her mouth flapped open to protest, but he silenced her with a simple trust me look. Jag turned on the proprietor, commanding in a voice usually reserved for the greenest recruits, “You will show us to the room farthest away from this one. No charge, of course.” “Oh, of course, of course,” he assured quickly. “I will send the porter right away to collect your luggage and show you to our most luxurious suite,” he proclaimed then slithered out the door before another word could be spoken. Jaina sniffed indignantly. “I hope that ‘most luxurious’ means: free from creepy pieces of art that can kill you,” she groused. “As long as you can keep your hands to yourself, I am sure that we will be fine,” Jag replied smugly. She arched an eyebrow and stepped as close as she could without actually touching him. “You don’t really mean that, now do you?” she asked, her voice low and seductive. He smiled as he pulled her close. “Not at all,” he said in a tone of voice that matched hers just before their lips met in a passionate kiss.
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DCWiz00 Registered: Mar '04	Date Posted: 11/1/04 9:46am Subject: RE: The Art of Execution (J/J Halloween Challenge Entry)
	Nicely done! The imagery was very good. -----signature----- Supporting sexier icons in Fan Fiction in '06. All will embrace the Racier Side of the Force! Master to thesporkbewithyou
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Thrawn McEwok Title: TFN EU Staff Registered: May '00	Date Posted: 11/2/04 1:45am Subject: RE: The Art of Execution (J/J Halloween Challenge Entry)
	Scoundrel: Jaina, Jag, and Dead Jimmy Vader?! Perfect SW Halloween One-Shot! Working on anything else, by any chance? - The Imperial Ewok -----signature----- A/T = OTP :===8[#]8===: Kyp/Jaina fans: stand up and be counted!
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Jags_Scoundrel Registered: Nov '03	Date Posted: 11/3/04 9:36am Subject: RE: The Art of Execution (J/J Halloween Challenge Entry)
	DC: Nicely done! The imagery was very good. Why, thank you! TMcE: Jaina, Jag, and Dead Jimmy Vader?! Gee, I don't know how you figured that out. Perfect SW Halloween One-Shot! Thanks! Working on anything else, by any chance? Well . . . I do have the next vig for SC, a songfic, and that little AU story in various states of completion. Unfortunately, I haven't had much luck lately writing more in any of them.
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