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Author	Topic: The Wise
raisedbywolves Registered: Jul '05	Date Posted: 5/4/07 12:51am Subject: RE: The Wise (UPDATE: 5/1)
	I just found this, and it's great! Can you stick me on the PM list, please? -----signature----- What She Saw: http://boards.theforce.net/Before_the_Saga/b10475/21886008/?0 Proud (if erstwhile) padawan to Master Darth Pixel. It's not Darth Real Life, actually - I prefer to think of it as my very demanding Jedi Master.
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correllian_ale Title: Manager Emeritus Registered: Jun '05	Date Posted: 5/4/07 5:50am Subject: RE: The Wise (UPDATE: 5/1)
	On into the night... Mouse was an acolyte to the real Darth Averus. Whoa! All she had to do was find the false Darth Averus’s apprentice, and kill him. Double-Whoa!(you're turning me into Keanu Reeves) “come back at the first light of the following morning with its head, and I’ll let you in.” Alright, now I suspect something fishy, like a double-cross... She swallowed her panic like it was a burning coal, but she swallowed it none the less, and calmly, methodically tracked down where her prey had gone. Sweet imagery Yod! Ask her what her earliest, strongest memory is of, and that’s what she’ll say: of her surviving. I knida like this Mouse kid, she's got spunk! Nice twist thrown in here Yod, gotta' see where this leads! -----signature----- Consider this my "throw back" jersey... I govern my life around my own personal code of ethics, and I suggest that you do the same.
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1Yodimus_Prime Registered: Mar '04	Date Posted: 5/7/07 6:09pm Subject: RE: The Wise (UPDATE: 5/1) - Date Edited: 5/7/07 6:11pm (1 edits total) Edited By: 1Yodimus_Prime
	Healer: Mouse huh? Such an unassuming name for such dangerous a person. Sounds like she's been thoroughly messed over by the darkside. You have no idea. MsL: Um, come again? What Mouse is saying is that the woman she trained with and the woman who is training the boy are A)both calling themselves Darth Averus and B) not the same person. The fight will come in time. Patience, young grasshoppah. Cool that your nickname used to be Mouse, though! Oqi: It IS a pretty awesome title, isn't it? raisedby: consider yourself stuck, my friend Ale: A double-cross in the Sith Order? Ale, I'm surprised at you for even thinking such nonsense! Actually, stuff like that has been the biggest sticking point with writing this story. Every time I write dialogue that requires one character to completely trust another character, I know my readers are gonna go 'uh oh, this sounds fishy...' and any time a character starts sounding overly-innocent, I know you guys'll instantly start questioning their intentions. So I've been very careful about that. ..keep that in mind. VaderLvr: Yeah, I personally liked that chapter ending a lot, because it's a perfect lead-in to the next one... Expect it soonly. -----signature----- Rule 12: A soft answer turneth away wrath. Once wrath is looking the other way, shoot it in the head. --- http://boards.theforce.net/b/b1/26481069 - The Wise http://boards.theforce.net/B/b1/21283317 - Planet Hopping
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NiobeAsha Registered: Mar '07	Date Posted: 5/7/07 7:40pm Subject: RE: The Wise
	I'm not really sure what to say beyond that. The great big, scary beastie is a teenage girl?? And she works for Averus, but the real Averus, not the Averus who isn't? MORE!! I can't wait to see where this is going! -----signature----- BrentusofGath's very bad padawan. Mando par vurel! I'm all about the Zabrak lovins!!
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1Yodimus_Prime Registered: Mar '04	Date Posted: 5/13/07 9:59pm Subject: RE: The Wise - Date Edited: 5/13/07 10:00pm (1 edits total) Edited By: 1Yodimus_Prime
	Niobe: "I'm not really sure what to say beyond that. The great big, scary beastie is a teenage girl??" Hey listen I don't know about other guys, but back when I was twelve, that was a given for all teenage girls. I promise to post the next chapter tomorrow, hell or highwater. I'll be breaking it up into two parts, because it's pretty big. So we're gonna have two weeks of chapter 5. It's a backstory, but trust me, it's not what you think. This backstory has been working out, and it's looking to kick some butts. So stay on your guard, kids. Just a little warning. -----signature----- Rule 12: A soft answer turneth away wrath. Once wrath is looking the other way, shoot it in the head. --- http://boards.theforce.net/b/b1/26481069 - The Wise http://boards.theforce.net/B/b1/21283317 - Planet Hopping
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1Yodimus_Prime Registered: Mar '04	Date Posted: 5/14/07 7:32pm Subject: RE: The Wise
	Chapter 5 - Part 1: Forge She had been born Aeona Dray, to two parents she loved, and who loved her. They lived in a dangerous place, in the underlevels of Coruscant, and had little. But that didn’t matter. She remembered how they usually seemed concerned, worried. But sometimes without warning, they’d become happy and laugh and do silly things. Aeona liked that. It would be fun. And often, people would come over. Strange people. Lots of aliens, too. Many of them were scary, like monsters. Sometimes the sight of them would give Aeona nightmares. Her parents would give them things, and that made them go away. And afterwards, her parents would take her out, up to the surface levels, and buy her toys. Even with all those gifts, their house always managed to have neat things she couldn’t play with laying around. There were pretty tubes full of colorful stuff sitting in rows. There were glowing liquids in neat glasses she wasn’t allow to drink. She remembered how her parents would spend hours measuring white stuff that looked like granules of sucra, but she was never allowed to eat it. Then more strange people would come by and it would all disappear. Then they’d take a trip to the surface and she’d get a new toy. Being on the surface was weird. The light was wrong, especially when the sun was setting. Everything got all orange and the sky turned red. The first time she saw this, she thought the world was ending. The world was ending, and even worse, nobody seemed to care. It was mortifying. Her father eventually explained to her that what she was seeing was “real” sunlight, and the “artificial” (what was that again? “ardavisual?” what did that mean?) sunlight down where they lived wasn’t able to turn red when it switched to night. Aeona decided the real sun was stupid. It made everything hot, it hurt to look at, and it couldn’t even stay the same color. Must stupid of all, no one could control when it turned on and turned off! Every time they went to the surface after that, she would come home and make drawings of the Real sun getting beat up by her own “Ardavisual” sun. Her favorite was the one where the Real sun gets lost behind clouds and can’t see where he’s punching, and he ends up knocking himself out. Made her laugh every time she looked at it. She took it to preschool and her classmates agreed it was funny, but they didn’t get it, “What’s…’autovisual’ mean?” Aeona shrugged, “What my daddy calls the sun that lights up the underlevels.” Which was the first and last thing she said on the subject. After that, she stepped back and let the other kids argue over it. “Whoa! We have our very own sun?!” “Nuh uh! There’s only one in the world.” “No there’s not, there’s lots of suns everywhere.” “That’s dumb. You’re dumb.” “I thought suns and stars were different.” “Yeah, stars are big glowbugs that went too high!” “No they’re not!” “Yeah huh!” “Then how come when I’m on top, I only ever see one going across the sky?” “It doesn’t go across the sky, stupid. We go around it. That’s what my gramma said.” “Well your gramma’s a stupid head, cuz…” which got everyone fighting. Aeona faded into the background, feeling detached and out of the loop. Nobody noticed. Then she would stop home to eat, and then go wandering. She liked wandering. It was better than going over other kids’ apartments – she would always win any game they played, which got on everyone’s nerves. Playtime always ended in a fight when she was around. Wandering avoided that. Besides, it was more fun than visiting Uncle Zim, who slept all the time and whose holo only got dumb news stations, and it was better than staying home. She could only take seeing so many strange scary aliens in a week. Beyond that, there was just this drive to explore that she simply couldn’t explain. In fact, there were lots of things about herself that she couldn’t explain. Once, when she was very young, they were visited by people in great big complicated robes. They looked just the same as anyone, except she felt something about them. Something radiant. Something beautiful and wonderful, and she couldn’t really see it or taste it or touch it, but she knew it was there, all around them. They wanted to know if they could take her with them, to become like them. They wanted permission. It sounded wonderful, but she didn’t want to leave. And in the end, her parents didn’t want her to leave either. The visitors left without argument, but their impression would forever affect her deepest thoughts. They had something special, and I could have had it too. I could have that. Then one day, much later, something happened. She was stuck at home that day. It was raining and her parents wouldn’t let her wander in the rain. As her artificial sun gradated evenly from light to dark, people came to the door. Different people. Scary people. Not scary the way the aliens were scary, because these people were human. Scary because of what they said, and how they moved so fast, and made mom and dad shout angry things at them, and had long black things in their hands. And she knew, before she knew, that these people were bad, bad people. She had to hide. But she didn’t run under the bed or in a closet or behind a chair the way other five year olds might. Instead she ran to her room, where there was a loose panel in the wall. At night, when the memory of a scary visitor made it hard to sleep, she would watch the bugs crawl back and forth from the tiny space it created, and she’d pretend to be them and crawl away with them to wherever she wanted. Wherever she wanted in the world. In the galaxy. And in the back of her mind, she knew that was exactly what she’d do one day. So when the bad people started shouting and breaking things, before they had a chance to see her, she ran across the den to her little room. It took a lot of effort to force the opening wide enough to fit, and even then it wanted to spring back into place, which made getting in a gauntlet as the sharp edge scratched across her belly and her cheek and her legs and shoulders. But she made it, between the walls. Just enough room to stand in place, careful not to make a noise. Careful to be absolutely still. Careful not to lose her balance. Careful not to knock against the wall panels or the support rods. Careful not to cough or sneeze. Careful not to cry. Especially careful not to cry. Seconds later, this became terribly difficult. Bad sounds. Bad, bad sounds came from the very den she had just left. The den just beyond the wall panel she was staring at. And then a sudden light. A red flash, creating a star the size of a credit. A hole. Heat radiated from it and carried the stench of burnt construction material into her tiny space. Careful not to cough… All the outside sounds radiated out of it too, becoming louder and clearer and more terrible than ever. With dread taking her breath and fear grinding into her stomach, she peered through the hole. And watched her parents die. Every detail. At one point, just before, there was a single moment, a flash of understanding, where little Aeona knew exactly what was going to happen, and she could have looked away; could have spared herself the misery of seeing it. But she didn’t. So her gaze was locked in place as each event, each moment, each action flipped by in slow motion, like a slide show. Each action freezing another piece of her heart. She stayed there, standing, frozen, wedged inside that wall, as the bad people huddled and whispered and shouted at each other, and then ran around taking whatever they could. She was there when they left, and the artificial night gave way to artificial day, and all there was to look at was the unmoving bodies of her mom and her dad. She was there as some distant part of her that she no longer recognized yelled for them to get up, to get up and say it’s okay, that everything will be okay, yelled until there was no voice left to yell. She was there when knocks on the door went unanswered. She was there when mail was slipped through the door, never to be read. She was there when the Coruscant police swept in and taped everything down and covered her parents up and took them away. And she was there while those officers drank caff over the place they had fallen, talked casually over the place they had fallen, made jokes over the place they had fallen, made fun of them over the place they had fallen, that sacred place. She was there when they left. She was there when it was only her. She stood in that spot, absolutely still, for four days. Getting out was worse, but she didn’t notice. She didn’t notice anything. After the bodies had been removed, she’d gone blank. Nothing registered. Nothing was important enough to register. Not in the universe. When she got out, her lungs found the fresh air and grabbed it, throwing her into a coughing fit, dropping her to her knees. On the ground, looking at her hands and her arms, she saw that all the bugs she remembered watching in the dark – they were now on her, crawling on her. She screamed and scratched at her skin and her clothes and ran. Blind instinct; nothing registered. Maybe she brushed them all off and stomped them dead, maybe she dreamt it. Maybe she ran into the kitchen and gulped down mouthfuls of water, maybe she dreamt it. Didn’t register one way or the other. What did register was when she found herself huddled in the corner of a different room. Her parents’ room. It was dark; it was bedtime, but her parents weren’t there to tell her that, to tuck her in and tell her a story, or turn on her night light, or make more pretty things she wasn’t allowed to touch, or be silly with her, or buy her a new toy, or anything else. It was dark in her parents’ bedroom, but her parents weren’t there. They would never be there, ever again. And then, finally, she cried. When she eventually stopped crying, whenever that was, Aeona got up and left the house. Just left it. Why not? Nobody would ever tell her when it’s time to go home, or when dinnertime was, or when bedtime was, or when it was time to go to the surface, or go to school, or go visit Uncle Zim who she hated. So why bother pretending she would even try doing any of those things? So she left. She left and she never went back. If her parents could do it, she could too. It was time to wander for good. Aeona spent her first week alone in crippling, mind-breaking fear. Usually, she found herself hiding in the most clever yet most horrid places. All the while there was a terror-stricken panic coursing through her as she watched all sorts of bad people – worse people – do bad things, and worse things, to other people. She had no idea why she was there, why she didn’t try ascending higher to the levels that were at least nice to look at. Yet every time she started upwards, she remembered the “real” sun was up there. She would not let the real sun beat her. She would not abandon her sun. So she hid. And she survived. Once Aeona got used to the scary sounds and the scary people, she quit noticing them. Her mind moved back to what she felt that night. All she noticed, all she could notice…all she wanted to notice, was her grief. It was overwhelming. It sapped her energy, yet replaced it with another kind of energy. An energy that made her break things she didn’t touch, made street lamps overload when she passed. More things she couldn’t explain. But that didn’t change the fact that it was sapping energy, and it didn’t change the fact that she wasn’t eating. So day-by-day, hour-by-hour, moment-by-moment, her grief was being replaced with hunger. When the second (or was it third?) week ended, she began to realize she was starving. Grief was tossed out of the equation. It didn’t happen smoothly. She’d find food here and there. Depending on how desperate she was, Aeona was able to find something to eat just about anywhere. But it was never enough. Crumbs, at best. Dirty, filth-ridden, inedible crumbs, at worst. It was the playgrounds that saved her. The public ones the Republic had put up throughout that district in dedication to various philanthropists. Not that she would know anything about philanthropists or the Republic. To Aeona, they were opportunity. Enclosed, self-contained pens with lots of hiding places and lots of kids with food who weren’t paying very close attention. She would hide somewhere and look for small, unaccompanied children. Weak ones who looked younger or smaller than she, but who definitely didn’t hang out with other kids; whose parents definitely didn’t care enough to stay close to them. There really weren’t that many who were actually smaller than she was, but they were there. She’d wait for them to get out their lunch – someone always brought lunch – and then she would run up, push them to the ground, and take it. She didn’t care if she made them cry. Hell, they didn’t know what crying was, as far as she was concerned. It got her through the month. And the next one. Sometimes, police officers would walk through the area acting casual, but Aeona saw how they watched. How they studied each kid and traced some invisible line from them to a guardian somewhere else, or a birthday party off in the distance, or their ever-attentive parents, then marking them off in their head. Skinny kid in t-shirt…connects to dad – check. Sandy haired toddler…connects to grandma – check. Plankton things on the seesaw…connect to weird octopus creatures – check. Fatso with the candy on his face…connects to nanny – check. Little girl in rags with messy hair, hiding inside the jungle gym, staring back at us… These officers weren’t just strolling without reason, they were looking for her. And for children like her. Children with nobody to watch them. Why they did this, she couldn’t imagine. She definitely didn’t like them. They were the people who took her parents’ bodies away. They were the people who laughed and joked on the place where her parents fell. They were the people who were supposed to stop the bad guys, but didn’t, because apparently they were too busy looking for thieving children in playgrounds. She didn’t just not like them…she hated them. With every passing day, there were more of them. It made things difficult. More difficult, at least. The few others without parents weren’t making things any easier. She didn’t like them, either. They thought they were boss, or that they somehow ‘owned’ this part or that part of a playground. Sometimes, one would offer to help her, but she would see the devious glint in his eye – the one that promised to betray her, hurt her, abandon her. She didn’t really understand how she read all that from a glint, but she did. So she remained a loner. After a while, it began to take a toll. The reality was, this was using more strength than it gave back. She was getting more food by stealing it, sure, but she still went to sleep hungry. She still woke up hungry. She still felt that painful, eternal crushing inside her stomach that made her dizzy and made her forever tired and broke down her thoughts and made her distracted and gave her headaches. But now she also lived in fear, because not every kid she went after could be small and helpless. There weren’t enough. Being five sucked. And anyway, sometimes they fought back. Sometimes they chased after her. Sometimes, they shouted threats, and began to gang up on her when she came near. Sometimes they had wrathful older brothers who carried chains or vibroblades under the shiny coats they wore with strange symbols ironed on the back. So she kept moving, further and further from the place she was raised; deeper and deeper into the bowels of that city planet. Coruscant is a big place. It is one of only three planets in the entire galaxy that qualifies as a City Planet. Of those three, it is by far the largest, oldest, and most civilized. But ‘civilized’ is a subjective term. Within its vertical world is packed no less than two trillion lifeforms, of every imaginable variety. No amount of modernization, no amount of policing or authority or enforcement can handle that size. It is not possible. Every day on Coruscant, a hundred epics and a thousand novels and a hundred-million morality tales and a billion short stories and a hundred quadrillion little vignettes play out in real life. Every single day. Nothing can keep an eye on that many stories at once. Coruscant can claim to be as civilized as it wishes, but it is too big for the claim to be true. It’s just too big. It’s even bigger when you’re a little kid with no mom and dad, and no home. Monstrous, even. Like a living, breathing creature that wants nothing more than to devour small children. And not as a joke. Not like the games where, after the small children get gobbled up, they giggle and run off to be chased again. In this game, after the small girl is gobbled up, all that’ll be left is a bloody corpse for the police to outline…and then drink caff over, and joke over, and make fun of her over. This was what she thought. This was what kept her alive. It’s what she learned watching the bad people and the worse people on the street: dead was dead. It’s what she learned watching her parents as they fell: you never come back. As Aeona went deeper, she began watching different people. Especially other girls. Other street girls. There was a deep desire for a role model left vacant in the place inside her heart where her parents had lived. Where they still lived, in a way, frozen. But her parents would never be there to show her how to grow up. So she watched the girls. She watched how they walked. She watched how they wore bright, obnoxious clothes, but pretended they didn’t. She listened to how they talked, how they shouted and cursed at each other, using their words like blaster bolts. She watched how they slowed and grew furtive when speeders went by. She watched them lean against the sides of swoop bikes or driver-side doors, talking suddenly so much quieter than before. She followed them to the places they would take other people. Ugly places. She watched them there, too. And then she decided she needed new role models. Aeona had come to the conclusion that there was no real power there, with those girls. She was looking for someone with power. She wasn’t really sure why, but she was. But maybe she did know. Because there was that whisper again from the depths of her memory, from when the people in robes had visited her: They had something special, and I could have it too. Except, now she had an inkling of what that special thing might have been. It might have been Power. And it kinda fit. They had Power, and I could have it too. No…not ‘kinda’. As time wore on, she got sick a lot. It was inevitable – her immune system was a wreck. Always, she struggled through her illnesses without too many problems. And she never threw up. It was the one thing she thought she had control over, that she thought couldn’t break her. The one thing out of her entire life that she could be proud of. And then one day, shivering violently on a warm afternoon under warm heavy blankets, deep inside an unused ventilation pipe that was even warmer, hallucinating within the grip of a fever, as something rotten in the pit of stomach dripped acid into her throat…she threw up. She stared at it in horror as almost immediately after the heaving that painful crushing hunger doubled back onto her tenfold. Like someone punching you in the stomach, but then not stopping, or ever stopping no matter what. Not when you walked, not when you sat still, not when you slept. That was what it was like to be starving. And her eyes were locked upon the reason why, that product of nausea that she so believed she had control of. She saw it as the food she earned – that she’d toiled for, put herself at risk for – lost forever. Like her parents. Except this loss could actually kill her. And it was all her fault. She wasn’t strong enough – wasn’t powerful enough – to hold it down. At that moment, where the darkness that surrounded her and enshrouded her seemed to penetrate every portion of her self, to suffocate her in despair, she found herself with a decision to make: she could either give up right here and just lay down and die…or keep living, no matter what it took. No matter what. This, is how predators are forged. -----signature----- Rule 12: A soft answer turneth away wrath. Once wrath is looking the other way, shoot it in the head. --- http://boards.theforce.net/b/b1/26481069 - The Wise http://boards.theforce.net/B/b1/21283317 - Planet Hopping
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Healer_Leona Registered: Jul '00	Date Posted: 5/15/07 3:19am Subject: RE: The Wise (UPDATE: 5/14)
	Poor Aeona, such a life for one so young. Under her particular cirucmstances, it's ashame she wasn't allowed to go with the Jedi. I certainly fear where she will look for the poer she seeks. Stunning look at her life Yod. -----signature----- Any way youll never know The many ways I've tried
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MsLanna Title: CR GSFF Central Registered: Jul '05	Date Posted: 5/15/07 7:54am Subject: RE: The Wise (UPDATE: 5/14)
	Wow, now that's a hard life. And though her parents were most likely not 100% on the legal side, she still grew up kindo protected. Love her reaction to the officers, though I don't shre it. She's straight on the way down to the dark side. Wonder why the Jedi didn't go looking for her, too dark in the belly of the city? And, I wonder how things would have turned out if she had become a Jedi. Write an AU, will you? It’s what she learned watching the bad people and the worse people on the street: dead was dead. It’s what she learned watching her parents as they fell: you never come back. And I still get called 'mouse,' Yodimus. -----signature----- Padawan owned by Corellian_Ale Master of CloneCaptainRex. Proud FanFic Master of Darth_Sathanos Why so serious? Master of baritonejedi
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VaderLVR64 Title: Fan Fic Manager in Combat Boots Registered: Feb '04	Date Posted: 5/16/07 6:33am Subject: RE: The Wise (UPDATE: 5/14)
	I just wanted to hug her! Aeona had come to the conclusion that there was no real power there, with those girls. She was looking for someone with power. She wasn’t really sure why, but she was. But maybe she did know. Because there was that whisper again from the depths of her memory, from when the people in robes had visited her: They had something special, and I could have it too. Except, now she had an inkling of what that special thing might have been. It might have been Power. And it kinda fit. They had Power, and I could have it too. No…not ‘kinda’. You've created a very real and sympathetic character here. -----signature----- If you have to choose between tears and laughter, remember that laughter burns more calories. Army Mom! HOOAH! Adopt a soldier: http://soldiersangels.org/
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raisedbywolves Registered: Jul '05	Date Posted: 5/17/07 4:22am Subject: RE: The Wise (UPDATE: 5/14)
	Wow, poor Aeona. That was a gripping look at the innards of Coruscant - I loved the bit about Coruscant and its "civilized" society. You make it sound like Lagos! And the playgrounds as the only "control space" Aeona experienced. Very gritty, and very good. -----signature----- What She Saw: http://boards.theforce.net/Before_the_Saga/b10475/21886008/?0 Proud (if erstwhile) padawan to Master Darth Pixel. It's not Darth Real Life, actually - I prefer to think of it as my very demanding Jedi Master.
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1Yodimus_Prime Registered: Mar '04	Date Posted: 5/20/07 1:26pm Subject: RE: The Wise (UPDATE: 5/14)
	Healer_Leona posted: Poor Aeona, such a life for one so young. Under her particular cirucmstances, it's ashame she wasn't allowed to go with the Jedi. I certainly fear where she will look for the power she seeks. Of course, the Jedi would never force anyone to become one of them, but their presenece in this backstory isn't quite over. The power question, well, you know the result of course...it's the getting there that really is the most devastating part. Healer_Leona posted: Stunning look at her life Yod. Thanks! Wait till you see the second half \ MsLanna posted: Though her parents were most likely not 100% on the legal side, she still grew up kindo protected. Love her reaction to the officers, though I don't share it. She's straight on the way down to the dark side. I have reason to suspect that her parents were 0% on the legal side, to be honest. I don't share her reaction to the officers either..but then, I don't think any of us really has a right to argue that point with Mouse, considering her situation. Wouldn't you agree, Mouse? As of right now, I have no plans for an AU. Heck, I'm still trying to figure out how a sequel will work. (and no, I will not give any details about that ) VaderLVR64 posted: I just wanted to hug her! So did I. Some of these chapters were really hard to write, and was one of them. VaderLVR64 posted: You've created a very real and sympathetic character here. Thanks! That's partially my goal with this story - to create a group of Sith who you can actually sympathize with. (did I just openly admit that this was pro-Sith Propaganda?? ) raisedbywolves posted: That was a gripping look at the innards of Coruscant - I loved the bit about Coruscant and its "civilized" society. You make it sound like Lagos! And the playgrounds as the only "control space" Aeona experienced. Very gritty, and very good. It's easy to take for granted what Coruscant is, when all we ever see of it is the upper class and political side of it. Down below, it's probably not much different from Nar Shaddaa. The difference being, nobody notices. They've thrown a veneer over it and said that's good enough, which does not help people like Aeona one bit. When I was little, I saw playgrounds in two ways: in one way, they were places of endless fun. In the other way, they were vaguely hostile 'lord of the flies' type relms that you steered clear of if you knew what was good for you. Aeona was thrust into the second type, and somehow sort of thrived, if only temporarily. One thing I'd love to do is expand this portion of her life (as well as the portion you'll be reading in the second half of this chapter) into a short story, probably from a different character's perspective. There's a lot happening here that I'm sort of glossing over because it's not the main story. It might be kind of cool to explore that one of these days. -----signature----- Rule 12: A soft answer turneth away wrath. Once wrath is looking the other way, shoot it in the head. --- http://boards.theforce.net/b/b1/26481069 - The Wise http://boards.theforce.net/B/b1/21283317 - Planet Hopping
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oqidaun Title: Manager Emeritus Registered: Jul '05	Date Posted: 5/20/07 4:21pm Subject: RE: The Wise (UPDATE: 5/14)
	I know that it is quite early on, but this has definitely been my favorite chapter. I know I gushed when I saw it the first time, but Yod, rereading it just makes it all the better. Absolutely Mar-vel-ous!!! The depth that you've given this character and the life that you've endowed her with--I think she's going to upstage your protagonist. BRAVO!!! -----signature----- . . . .
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correllian_ale Title: Manager Emeritus Registered: Jun '05	Date Posted: 5/21/07 7:11am Subject: RE: The Wise (UPDATE: 5/14)
	What?!? I know I read this update, why I didn't respond??? I'm fickle I guess. The scene where she watched her parents die...yeah, they were addicts, but... They were the people who were supposed to stop the bad guys, but didn’t, because apparently they were too busy looking for thieving children in playgrounds. She didn’t just not like them…she hated them. The formula to a great future villan, the parents die and the offspring blames the heroes were weren't there to save them. (I know it isn't as simple as that, but you know what I mean) Every day on Coruscant, a hundred epics and a thousand novels and a hundred-million morality tales and a billion short stories and a hundred quadrillion little vignettes play out in real life. Every single day. Nothing can keep an eye on that many stories at once. I loved that anology. At that moment, where the darkness that surrounded her and enshrouded her seemed to penetrate every portion of her self, to suffocate her in despair, she found herself with a decision to make: she could either give up right here and just lay down and die…or keep living, no matter what it took. No matter what. This, is how predators are forged. steeples fingers like Mr. Burns - Excellent. Bravo. Well, 'cept for the vomiting. -----signature----- Consider this my "throw back" jersey... I govern my life around my own personal code of ethics, and I suggest that you do the same.
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1Yodimus_Prime Registered: Mar '04	Date Posted: 5/21/07 7:24pm Subject: RE: The Wise (UPDATE: 5/14) - Date Edited: 5/21/07 7:42pm (2 edits total) Edited By: 1Yodimus_Prime
	oqidaun posted: The depth that you've given this character and the life that you've endowed her with--I think she's going to upstage your protagonist. Yes, well, I'd hate to give the reader the impresion that he's somehow above being killed by her. I'd fell jsut awful if any of you started thinking that even a single character in this story is safe. Ale posted: The formula to a great future villan, the parents die and the offspring blames the heroes who weren't there to save them. HAHA! I was saying to myself, "Man I really hope Ale responds to this, because he's the type of guy who'd catch that I'm using a cliche" and low and behold, the first person to point out that I used the 'parents die in front of child' formula was, of all people, Ale. Okay, it was intentional. Primarily, I wanted to take a premise that lot's of people use - on the boards and in real fiction - but don't really appreciate or respect all that much, and really explore it. Whenever I saw someone use that old trick as a quick backstory, it always made me suspicious because, in my mind, that sort of thing would really, REALLY mess a kid up. Having someone experience that sort of thing is a big deal. But I was curious if I could do it justice. I suppose we'll just have to wait and see how the story plays out to know for sure. And yeah, it's more complicated than that. With me, it's Allllllways more complicated. As for vomit, and any implied requests that I avoid it: I guarantee nothing. More complications tomorrow. -----signature----- Rule 12: A soft answer turneth away wrath. Once wrath is looking the other way, shoot it in the head. --- http://boards.theforce.net/b/b1/26481069 - The Wise http://boards.theforce.net/B/b1/21283317 - Planet Hopping
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1Yodimus_Prime Registered: Mar '04	Date Posted: 5/23/07 6:25pm Subject: RE: The Wise - Chapter 5-2: Dragon - Date Edited: 5/23/07 7:06pm (3 edits total) Edited By: 1Yodimus_Prime
	Pronounciation note: With the curse word "Shavit," you emphasize the second syllable, like this: Sha-VIT. FYI. Chapter 5 Part 2: Dragon Stumbling, half blind with tears of anger and grief, away from that puddle with no sense of where to go or why; her legs were like sticks and barely held her up; her head pounded against her eyeballs, and disrupted every rational thought she attempted to make, her skin ached with flashes of heat and cold as her body desperately fought her fever. This was the state she was in, the first time she killed. It was only a minor rodent but she killed it nonetheless. She spotted it, she watched it, she chased it and caught it and squeezed and didn’t let go until it stopped moving and biting. There was a second’s hesitation then, as Aeona was filled with an anxious triumph at the knowledge that she just took a life. That yes, she just did that. She took it. That made it her’s, didn’t it? Whatever. And then she bit into it. A fit of dry heaving later, and her stomach finally managed to cough out the piece of raw flesh. At that point, seeing that even when she was successful she failed, Aeona was ready to change her mind – to just lie down and die. Maybe she’d see her parents. Maybe it wouldn’t be that bad. It had to be better than this. “Y’know, it tastes better when you cook it, kid.” The words didn’t quite register, but the hand gently falling on her shoulder did. She flinched. She braced herself. The only physical contact she’d had in the past year was the violent kind, against other children. The voice persisted, “I just want to help. My name’s Level. See? I won’t hurt you. It’ll be okay, yeah?” and eventually, she let the hand touch her shoulder. And eventually, she let the voice pick her up and set her on the back of a big red machine. It looked like nothing more than a naked engine with a giant pair of vibroblades attached to it, and was dreadfully uncomfortable. Not that Aeona cared one way or the other. The voice steering the machine was owned by a giant of a man, dressed up in complicated layers of bandage work under a vest under a long brown jacket. A jacket so big it looked like a robe. It reminded her of someone or some type of person she couldn’t quite remember. His face, which she glimpsed whenever he checked back to make sure she was still there, was riddled with pockmarks, though most were hidden under his beard. His head was completely bald, or shaved, she had no way to distinguish. But what really stood out was the left eye, which was made of glass. It stood out, because it wasn’t made to look like a normal eye. Instead, it looked reptilian: a thin vertical slit surrounded by a soft red iris set within muddy, translucent yellow. It should have scared her, but it didn’t. He didn’t say a word. She didn’t want him to, either. When they set down, the cyclopean man bellowed out in a language she didn’t understand. At once, rough-edged people of various species and ages ran out to him and talked and joked with him for several minutes. She noticed that they wore jackets, too. The backs had a symbol ironed on: a brown, squat monster of some kind. The kind of thing worn by the type of people who would run her out of the playgrounds. The kind of thing worn by angry, violent people with weapons. He gestured to her, in response to some question. She’d hold her ground this time. She had nothing to lose. “Whaaat? It’s Republic Day!” the man named Level said, elbowing a Rodian, “I figured I’d be nice for once! Yeah?” Nice to who? she thought with disgust, remembering the other girls and what they did, Me? Or them? She shuddered. Her thoughts were answered almost immediately, as she caught the looks of annoyance and mute anger in the man’s friends. If these even were his friends. They clearly didn’t want her there. She didn’t really want herself there, either. She’d been all set to give up. Why did this man have to go and ruin it? A year ago, she would have cried. She didn’t. She caught someone saying, “What the kriff are you doing draggin’ a useless nine year old here, eh Lev? We have troubles enough without this shavit! Grow some freakin’ durasteel over that damn heart of yours before it gets us kriffin’ killed.” The pale-faced speaker didn’t look like he wanted to joke about it either. She suppressed the urge to correct him and say she was only six. She didn’t think that would help. “Lock, I found her trying to eat a dead rat, come on! Imagine for a moment that you’re in my shoes, walkin’ down the Fortieth, and you look down an alley, and what you see is a tiny little girl who looks so wasted away she could be picked up by the damn wind, and who is such a mess you aren’t sure if it’s a Human or a Twi’lek under that mud…and then you watch this poor little thing pick up a dead rat from the ground with a gleam in her eyes, and…” “And what? Eat it? Good for her – lots of protein in rats, I hear. Is this shavit supposed to move me?” Lock ran up to her and bent down condescendingly. He was a formidable being, with scars crisscrossing his face and bare arms, and had rough leathery skin traced with the most frightening tattoos. She noticed he was also missing a finger. He immediately began mocking her, “Aw, boo hoo, I got no food. Waa, waa, look at me, I’m forced to eat rats.” Then without warning he turned furious and screamed in her face, “I lived on rats for three Nordus-damned years before moving up!” there was a sneer in there, along with the hope that he’d scared her. Except, there had been a warning that he’d do that. Not from him, but from somewhere inside. She didn’t only expect it, she knew exactly when it would happen and how it would sound. So when it did happen, it wasn’t surprising or scary at all, and she weathered it without so much as a flinch. In fact, if anything, she looked unamused and standoffish. Like she was perfectly capable of taking down this full-grown, hardened criminal all by herself. That wasn’t what she specifically intended to look like, of course, because she really didn’t care enough to intend to look like anything. That just happened to be how her lack of interest showed on her face. “It seems,” observed Level, “That maybe the useless nine-year-old’s got some durasteel of her own, eh?” The Rodian laughed, “Or she’s deaf.” he said, working his strange mouth around the alien words of Basic. She knew it was meant for her, that the others would have understood him had he spoke in his native language. She at first wanted to say “I’m not deaf,” but decided that would sound stupid and childish, so she went with, “I’m not afraid of you.” It came out sounding like she was, in fact, very afraid of them. It sounded to her ears just as, if not more, childish than anything else she could have said. Whatever advantage she had, in other words, was lost. On the playgrounds, that sort of comment would have been an invitation to attack her. But they just laughed. That made her mad, that they’d dismiss her so quickly…but at least they weren’t killing her. In fact, Lev actually brought her into their home, and inside she got to eat a full meal for the first time in a whole year. She threw it up, to her embarrassment. More proof that she was weak. Except only Lock got mad, and only because Level insisted on cleaning it himself. Once she was able to keep some food in her stomach – which took a while – they gave her Bacta. It got rid of her fever almost immediately. She slept in a bed. With a mattress. She woke up twelve times that night, convinced this had all been a cruel dream. Every time, she looked in panic around the strange room, tested the soft mattress, and breathed the musty air. When she was finally sure that everything was still real, she relaxed and laid back down. Aeona was so grateful, she could have cried. She didn’t. She wanted to give them something in return, but she couldn’t think of anything except her real age. So the next time someone called her ‘that nine year old’ she corrected them, “I’m six.” She said proudly. Saying it now - after what she had done outside the other day, not cowering like she had - it was impressive to them. They ruffled her hair (which she didn’t like at all) and gave her more food (which she did), then Lev got them all together and they decided to let her stay. And that was how Aeona became a Kryat, and the youngest member of the most dangerous swoop gang in Coruscant’s western hemisphere. “You need a good name to ride with us. This ‘Aeona’ business sounds too weak, y’know? We need something threatening, yeah? Yeah.” Lev thought about it a moment, “Spine? You definitely have one.” He laughed at his own joke. Someone had to, she supposed. “How bout ‘Rat’?” said Lock, who laughed too, but for a different reason. “Mouse.” She corrected. But it was too quiet and they didn’t hear, so she said again, “It was a mouse.” Lock appeared skeptical, “Mice are poisonous mutants. You can’t eat them. And very hard to catch. So are you sure about that?” “I know what I kill.” She said flatly. “Well maybe so, but you did have a fever and – “ “Have you ever killed anyone or anything in your life where you didn’t care who or what it was? EVER?” she glared at him, a glare that he returned for a while…until he looked away, “I didn’t think so.” “Mouse it is, then!” said Lev, and they drank on it, which made her dizzy somehow. She decided that, in the future, she’d stick to water and let them drink the weird stuff. In Lev’s team – one of many teams within the Kryat Gang – Mouse flourished. They gave her back her energy, made things seem important, made her care. And she made them solid. Her presence filled in the blanks of a puzzle none of them had known was unfinished. She gave them a reason to do what they did that, for once, had nothing to do with spice and credits. They changed her; she changed them. They became a family. Here, her name was never Aeona, and never would be. That was her mother and father’s name for her. Nobody here was her mother or father. But they were her family. And her family called her Mouse. So that was her name. And if you crossed that, you crossed them. But ultimately, she began to realize that they loved her because she relied on them. It was her weakness that kept them together, not her strength. This made her feel aloof. She went back to wandering. Often, she would wander great distances while the team was off doing something dangerous, something the felt she was too young to do. Sometimes, she’d be gone for days at a time. It was two years later that it happened. She found herself further away than she’d ever been before, in an area that was completely unfamiliar, and now she’d hit a dead end. The wall extended for easily half a mile in either direction, and looking up, it ascended nearly into heaven itself. But even as strange as it was, this wall was especially different. Because it was familiar. Not the wall itself, but what it emitted. That feeling of Power she remembered, it flowed from the structure like a fountain, like a flood. Mouse didn’t know how long she’d been staring at it before the men came by. She watched them as they slowly walked the straight distance toward her. They were the only two people in the area. It was clear they were not out to harm her, but she put herself on her guard anyway. Both wore nearly identical brown robes. Complicated ones. That familiarity again. “It’s the Jedi Temple,” said the first man, in a crisp, high-class Coruscanti accent, “You’re at the ground floor looking up at the largest building on the entire planet. It’s a sight few beings ever get to see.” He beamed, warmth rolling from him as though a geyser had burst, even outshining the giant wall – temple. “Who are you?” she asked, suspicion rolling off her tongue. His voice radiated calm, “I am Jedi Master Baruuk and this is my padawan, Sifo-Dyas.” “Greetings,” said the padawan, who bowed, “And I suspect you have a name too?” “Mouse.” She said. The Master switched to a look of fatherly concern, “We sensed your presence from almost a mile away, Mouse. It isn’t often that a non-Jedi so strong in the Force is found wandering this close to the Temple.” “What are you gonna do about it?” He seemed to study her, “Mouse…not a name parents tend to give children. Do you have another?” “Not anymore.” She winced after saying it – she gave away her position. Stupid. He smiled. She hated it when people smiled at her mistakes. He said, “I suspect you lost it when you lost someone close, hm?” he paused, “An older sibling? A close uncle? …Your parents?” She kept her face stone. This stranger would not get to her. But there was nothing except sympathy in this man, “We can give you a better life, Mouse.” Then all of the sudden, it clicked. These people…these Jedi…they were the ones who had that special thing. And this Force, it was the Power. The Power she’d been looking for, “I can become a Jedi?” it was almost too excited a question to be a question. More like a request. His face sunk, “I’m…I’m afraid not. You’d be much too old. But there are many non-Jedi in the Order, some of whom came from a situation just like your own. We only want to help you. You would have a better life. I can promise that.” But the idea of being with other children who had the same thing happen to them as she…it sounded too much like what she remembered of the parentless kids in the playgrounds. They’d be territorial and cold. And besides, what was the point of being surrounded with such power if she couldn’t use it? This is what she wanted, and this stranger was promising nothing less than to deny it from her! Some speil, ha! What Boontas! Mouse thought. Boonta. That was slang she’d learned from The Rodian. He first told her it meant ‘know-nothing’, but she eventually got him to admit it was a religious slur that referred to Rodians who practiced within the Corellian faith. Learning that only made it more enjoyable to repeat, knowing that the word could actually do harm if said to the right kind of person. But these Boontas weren’t worth it, “No thanks. I’ll take my chances.” she finally said, and before they could respond, she leapt to a drainage pipe, which she used to slide down to an even lower level before running away completely. She felt someone follow her. She couldn’t see who, or where, but she felt it. Probably one of those Jedi. That Sifo-Dyas had looked suspicious. Probably, he was following her to see if there were others like her, to impress his Father or Guardian or whoever Baruuk was. Probably looking for others that were young enough. Figured! With the Kryats, she was too young. With them, she was too old. When was the world going to start spinning in her favor? She got home quickly enough. Lev causally asked where she’d gone, as usual. As usual, she shrugged and went into the space they’d created to be her room. No one bothered to pry any further. Most of them were too busy discussing the latest job she wasn’t part of. Normally she’d stay inside in the evenings and have Lev teach her more of the alphabet or how to patch up blaster wounds. But today she was too restless to stick around. Too angry. So she struck out again after dinner, and wandered aimlessly for a long time, brooding. She stuck to the shadows in the places most congested with pedestrian traffic, just watching. That’s what she liked to do most: just watch…to pick out the strongest…pick out the weakest…pick out the prey. When she returned, the door was locked. They never locked the door. The Kryats didn’t have to. Nobody in their right mind came anywhere near being close enough to warrant locking the door. But maybe someone had today. She went around back. That door was still open. She walked in. It smelled odd. She turned on the light. Everyone was dead. She didn’t stand there paralyzed with shock, she didn’t scream, she didn’t drop to her knees in despair, she didn’t run in terror, and she definitely didn’t cry. Mouse knew it would happen sooner or later. She’d been ready. Lock had died a month ago, in fact. Caught a bolt to the head. So instead all she did was regard the bodies of her loved ones with the callous eye of disinterest, at their festering blaster wounds, at the carpet soaked with blood, and then at the walls riddled with holes. A straightforward job. Where they screwed up is, they missed the little one. It didn’t even need a decision. Someone was going to die for this. She picked up Lev’s Hold Out, still smoking. It was heavier than she expected. She nearly tripped over some cowering old woman just outside the back door. She stared up at Mouse, looking so weak and in need. The woman’s eyes were glassy with fright. A trembling hand stretched out and pointed north, “They…they went that way, into those apartment buildings. You poor thing, you must be – Oh! Oh, child, come back!” But Mouse wasn’t listening. She was already inside and running up the steps. She knew this apartment building like it was her own home. In a way it was. It acted like an overly tall fortress that encircled their base on three sides. There were a thousand exits, but only one led straight through to the other side. And she knew the shortcut to it. When she got back out into the open, she saw them. Five guys with carbines, laughing, running down the street, their backs to her. Five pairs of identical shiny jackets with symbols ironed on them revealed the men to be from a rival gang. Not that it really mattered to Mouse who they were, other than guilty. For a second, the sound of Lock’s voice flooded her mind and called her a hypocrite. She reminded herself that he was dead, just like the rest of them now, and she ignored it. She kept up her run and lifted the Hold Out. She brought it up so the sight was level with her eyes and at that moment, every transgression that ever befell her poured out. Every single moment of fear and misery, from the very first – from the death of her parents. Ten times, she remembered counting. Hate Ten times, the bad men shot her parents. Fury Ten times. Rage It went like this: One, BLAM! Two, BLAM! Three, BLAM! Four, BLAM! Five, BLAM! Six, BLAM! Seven, BLAM! Eight, BLAM! Nine, BLAM! Ten, BLAM! And they all fell down. -----signature----- Rule 12: A soft answer turneth away wrath. Once wrath is looking the other way, shoot it in the head. --- http://boards.theforce.net/b/b1/26481069 - The Wise http://boards.theforce.net/B/b1/21283317 - Planet Hopping
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