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Author	Topic: Writer With The Force Challenge Entries: Round One, Challenge Seven Up 9/1!
ForceWriter Registered: May '08	Date Posted: 5/30 7:49am Subject: Writer With The Force Challenge Entries: Round One, Challenge Seven Up 9/1! - Date Edited: 9/1 3:38pm (5 edits total) Edited By: ForceWriter
	Hello and welcome to the voting round of the Writer With the Force Challenge! If you have no idea what that is please visit the Writer With the Force thread over in resource! Anyone can vote, so we would love for you to participate! A quick overview for the WWTF Challenge: A prompt is given to the writers who have signed up and they are given one week to write a short fic and PM it to the challenge sock. The fics are then be placed in a random order and placed in a thread in the appropriate era anonymously. Then anyone who wants to participate, writer or not will vote for their favorite and least favorite story. The writer with the most positive votes will be given immunity for the next round of prompts, until we reach the last three writers where immunity will go away. The writer with the most negative votes will become one with the Force and be out of the this competition round. This will continue until we are left with a winner for this round of competition. A few rules before voting: 1. Please read all entries before voting. You can find links to the other era threads below! 2. Do NOT vote positive or negative because you love/hate those characters or pairing, you should be voting on how well the story follows the prompt, characterization, creativity etc., not for the characters themselves. 3. Send a PM with your votes and a reason, please. Example: I vote for [story number/name here] as the best story because it used the prompt very creatively. I vote for [story number/name here] as the writer to become one with the Force because I felt the characterization was not accurate. 4. If you beta for one of the writers, please don't vote in either direction for that writer as you know which story is theirs and that completely defeats the purpose of the anonymity. I have no way of checking so we are on the honor system! 5.No voting more than once by using socks! 6. Please no voting in this thread! Send all votes to ForceWriter. You may comment on the entries in this thread if you would like. Other Era Threads: Beyond the Saga WWTF Entries The Saga WWTF Entries -----signature----- Writer With the Force Challenge Sock http://boards.theforce.net/Message.aspx?topic=28454919&brd=10304&start=28454938
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ForceWriter Registered: May '08	Date Posted: 5/30 7:52am Subject: RE: Writer With The Force Challenge Entries: Round one up 5/30
	Entry #11 Title: Interview With a Bounty Hunter Characters/Pairings: A certain Mandalorian, OC’s Era: Before Summary: When the head hunting business is slow, what’s a bounty hunter to do? “Joang Teft,” the receptionist announced the next candidate to be interviewed for the job. The normally indifferent Twi’lek smiled appreciatively as the rugged, dark-haired human passed by her desk. Hmm… nice coming and going. The muscular applicant perceived her noticing him, but paid no mind to the secretary as he entered the office of the head of beings resources. He stood at attention until the bespectacled Balosar introduced himself as Bob Hanget and indicated he should take a seat. Even then, he sat straight-backed and alert. “Mr. Teft,” the Balosar spoke in a nasal tone, “I see here you have had a varied career.” The human remained silent, as no question had been put forth to him. Looking up at his interviewee, Mr. Hanget raised an eyebrow. “Could you explain to me what exactly you did in some of these jobs?” “I could.” The Balosar blinked at Mr. Teft, wondering if the human was trying to be funny. However, the look upon his face was so enigmatic that it would put a professional sabacc player to shame. Clearing his throat, he turned back to peruse list of jobs on the man’s resume. “Okaaay… what is a ‘brilliandeer-lopper’?” “A person who chops off the heads and limbs off dead brilliandeers before they are skinned and readied for canning.” “Oh… brilliandeers are some kind of animal then?” “Yes, they are the chief source of meat on Tandabar IV.” “You were a ‘dolly pusher’… what did that entail?” “I sold dolls door to door.” “Okay, what did you do as a ‘fur blower’?” Without hesitation, and with a deadpan delivery, the human explained that he dried the fur of shampooed animals to get them ready for grooming. He was not about to tell the Balosar that the job actually required him to please some hirsute beings in the Mytaranor sector. “A ‘lingo cleaner’?” “I reprogrammed droids for the duties they needed to perform.” “Could you clarify that, please?” “Their programming was faulty, so I had to correct the encoding language.” “Ah, I see. What in the galaxy is a ‘roving sizer’?” “Someone who sizes footwear.” “What did you do as a ‘smash hand’?” “I smashed nuts by hand. I had to wear gloves so as not to contaminate the food with natural body oils.” “Okay, this last one… ‘targeteer’.” “I operated remote targets to assess the ability of soldiers’ marksmanship.” “So, what qualities do you have that would make you qualified to be a ‘whizzer’?” “I pay attention to detail and accuracy.” After a few more questions and short answers, the Balosar fold his hands on the desk in front of him. “Okay, Mr. Teft, it’s been enlightening. We’ll contact you soon after we’ve had a chance to verify your credentials and interview the rest of the applicants.” Mr. Hanget rose and offered his hand. The human firmly took the Balosar’s hand before taking his leave. “Nice meeting you, sir.” Entry # 12 Title: Lingo Scrubber Characters/Pairings: OC Era: Before Summary: The difficulties of translating similar languages. There is a Mon Calamari saying: minnows can but cower in the shallows when leviathans wage war. There is no equivalent phrase in Quarren, although one comes close: when gods fight one another, mortals are their spears and shields. This is but one of many instances where the two cultures begin to converge, then head off in opposite directions. The problem seems to lie in the fact that the Quarren are aggressive on the whole whereas the Mon Calamari are docile. This is, of course, an oversimplified generalization and should not be taken as the literal truth. People have spent their entire careers trying to explain the two species' differences with varying levels of success. Condensing their efforts into a few paragraphs is not worth considering. Likewise, it is fruitless to list all the attempts that have been made over the millenia to integrate the two cultures into one peaceful society. There are those who even claim that all such attempts are doomed to fail because there is far too much bad blood between the peoples. Gerred Phol did not subscribe to this fatalistic notion, though there were times when he wondered if it was worth getting up in the morning. Officially, his job title was Translator Second Class for the Dac Bureau of Education. Unofficially, and in his more cynical hours, he thought of himself as a Linguistic Sanitation Worker. Presently he was part of a project to translate the Xolstom Cycle from archaic Quarren to modern Mon Calamari. Had he any say in this matter, he would have urged them to stick to Basic. While the Quarren and Mon Calamari languages were closer to each other in grammatical structure, he knew from past experience that this would cause more ulcers than his aunt's crimson soup. Unfortunately, the fates had conspired to make him a lowly junior translator. So when someone up the ladder yelled Jump!, his only possible gesture of defiance would be to ask How high, sir? in some obscure dialect. As Gerred saw it, there were two major problems with the ancient Quarren/Mon Calamari conversion process. The first was that the languages were different enough to need translation, yet similar enough that he found himself searching hours on end for phrases that were exact matches for the original text. The second was that the unnamed Quarren who wrote the Cycle took every opportunity to slur the Mon Calamari. And Gerred's boss had made it clear that he, and those above him, did not want this translation to be the source of any more unpleasantries. In other words, they wanted it cleaned up for polite society. If that meant removing entire passages, so be it. The first time he came upon such a passage, he actually spent a day trying to come up with an alternative that wouldn't leave a gaping hole where a beautiful phrase used to be. He couldn't, of course. The author of the Cycle, bigoted as he was, was a genius when it came to words. Gerred's grasp of the language was better than most, but it was nowhere near what was required. In the end he did what he could and hoped his conscience would survive. That was half a year ago. He still feels guilty when disfiguring poetry, but he no longer feels the need to drown himself in alcohol each time. He has considered quitting his job four times, only to reconsider when he realized his replacement might not have the same respect for the Cycle. There is a brush and a bar of soap on his desk where he works. When asked, he laughs and claims they are his tools of the trade. So far, nobody has commented on the look in his eyes when he says that. You have until 12 noon board time on Monday June 2nd to vote! This time there are 12 entries, all under 1,000 words! (Links to other entry threads are in the first post!) -----signature----- Writer With the Force Challenge Sock http://boards.theforce.net/Message.aspx?topic=28454919&brd=10304&start=28454938
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Alexis_Wingstar Registered: Sep '06	Date Posted: 5/30 9:29am Subject: RE: Writer With The Force Challenge Entries: Round one up 5/30 - Date Edited: 5/30 8:43pm (1 edits total) Edited By: Alexis_Wingstar
	Entry 11: “Okay, what did you do as a ‘fur blower’?” Without hesitation, and with a deadpan delivery, the human explained that he dried the fur of shampooed animals to get them ready for grooming. He was not about to tell the Balosar that the job actually required him to please some hirsute beings in the Mytaranor sector. Okaay Entry 12: The first time he came upon such a passage, he actually spent a day trying to come up with an alternative that wouldn't leave a gaping hole where a beautiful phrase used to be. He couldn't, of course. The author of the Cycle, bigoted as he was, was a genius when it came to words. Gerred's grasp of the language was better than most, but it was nowhere near what was required. In the end he did what he could and hoped his conscience would survive. That was half a year ago. He still feels guilty when disfiguring poetry, but he no longer feels the need to drown himself in alcohol each time. He has considered quitting his job four times, only to reconsider when he realized his replacement might not have the same respect for the Cycle. I respect a person who respects the language and culture even if he has to butcher it to be 'politically correct'. -----signature----- "Change. It can be good. It can be bad. It can be expected or come as a thief in the night. Invited or not, it always comes." ~Koria "Tender Shadows", co-written w/ The Musical Jedi Padawan to DarthIshtar Failed member of CA (Challengeholics Anonymous)
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DarthBerryStraw Registered: Mar '07	Date Posted: 5/30 10:52pm Subject: RE: Writer With The Force Challenge Entries: Round one up 5/30
	Entry 11: Looking up at his interviewee, Mr. Hanget raised an eyebrow. “Could you explain to me what exactly you did in some of these jobs?” “I could.” The bounty hunter's personality reminded me of a former teacher. Simple, blunt, to the point.. usually. Entry 12: Gerred Phol did not subscribe to this fatalistic notion, though there were times when he wondered if it was worth getting up in the morning. Officially, his job title was Translator Second Class for the Dac Bureau of Education. Unofficially, and in his more cynical hours, he thought of himself as a Linguistic Sanitation Worker. Linguistic Sanitation Worker? That's a nice way to think of it. Great job. -----signature----- “I MAY BE A HOGWARTS STUDENT….” Hargirid paused angrily. “BUT I AM ALSO A SATANIST!” - ... Tara
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Jaina_and_Jag Registered: Apr '03	Date Posted: 5/31 4:12pm Subject: RE: Writer With The Force Challenge Entries: Round one up 5/30
	Entry #11: So many interesting jobs.. Entry #12: Poor guy!
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ForceWriter Registered: May '08	Date Posted: 6/11 3:20pm Subject: RE: Writer With The Force Challenge Entries: Round One, Challenge Two 6/11
	Round One, Challenge Two For info on voting, please see the first post! Anyone can vote!! Challenge Two -- TV Land: For this challenge, your fic must be titled (and of course related to that title) from one of the episode titles of the 1st season of the Sci-fi show Andromeda. Entry # 5 Title: The Pearls That Were His Eyes Characters/Pairings: OC’s Era: Before (Way Before) Summary: A speculation on a primitive society that may be a root of the Jedi Order. Life existed long before the first beings reached out from the cradles of their worlds to travel amongst the stars. Long before the Republic and the Jedi Order was established, the Force permeated all living things, and microscopic organisms were drawn to those beings that were strong in the Force. On a world whose name was forgotten for many ages, a tribal race flourished. Those who were sensitive to the Force, which they called ‘The Awareness’, were leaders, either chiefs or the chief’s advisors called sages, or in the tongue of this ancient world, ‘j’adai’. This is the story of the first j’adai king’s birth. ~~~ “Push, Gia!” Doma was poised to catch the baby as Gia screamed. “Again!” “It hurts… I’m tired.” Panting, the young woman leaned back against her husband. “Help her, Kemb!” The young man gently brushed the sweat-soaked hair back from his lifemate’s face before helping her push. “Come on, Gia, you can do this.” With a moan, she pushed one last time and gave an exhausted laugh when she heard the indignant howl of the newly arrived infant. Doma clucked and cooed at the squirming baby as she examined it. “He is strong, this one… good muscle tone… and a healthy set of lungs.” The young couple chuckled at this last part as the midwife handed the new mother the precious bundle so she could nurse. With one arm still around his wife’s shoulder, Kemb reached down to stroke his son’s cheek, laughing when the infant moved to suckle on his finger. The baby’s expression turned to one of disgust before it let go and returned to his mother’s breast. J’adai Lynk had stood quietly with his eyes closed, listening to the Awareness during the birthing process. He opened his eyes and went over to the small family, kneeling next to them. Putting a hand on Kemb and Gia’s shoulder, he spoke with quiet authority. “The Awareness flows through your child. He will be a strong leader. He shall unite many tribes and vanquish a dark presence.” The astonished parents looked first at the j’adai, then down at their baby in wonder. “That is so much responsibility to lie on one so small,” Gia whispered. Just then, the infant’s eyes opened and the young mother gasped in shock as she brought him away from her bosom. “Doma,” Kemb exclaimed anxiously as the j’adai looked down into the little one’s cloudy white eyes. The midwife took the babe, and seeing its blindness, withdrew her ceremonial knife from its sheath. Gia hid her face in her lifemate’s shoulder. Kemb closed his eyes as he held her, and Dar lowered her blade. The infant squirmed and bawled as though he knew his life was in danger. “No!” Link held his hand out as he shouted. The would-be executioner’s hand paused in its deadly plunge inches from the babe’s chest. Doma looked up at the j’adai in shock even as she struggled to lower the blade. “It’s the law! Any baby born with a weakness shall be killed to keep it from weakening the tribe,” she rasped. “Did you not hear my prophecy? The Awareness has spoken! Did it sound like he would weaken our tribe?” Sweat broke out on the woman’s forehead as she fought the invisible force the j’adai wielded to stop her hand. “Give me the baby,” Lynk commanded. “He is weak,” she insisted, “by the law he should die!” “Just a moment ago you said he was strong. Give him to me now!!” “No!” The young couple watched in horror at the exchange and gasped as their baby suddenly flew out of the midwife’s arms into those of the j’adai’s. Doma screamed in rage as she rushed Lynk with the dagger raised over her head. Before the j’adai could react, Gia stretched out her leg to trip the midwife. The two women wrestled with each other, rolling on the floor as they struggled for control of the knife. They clawed and scratched at each other’s faces and pulled each other’s hair. Doma finally got the upper hand and thrust the blade into the young mother’s diaphragm. Silence reigned for a fateful moment as Gia’s eyes widened with the realization she had been mortally wounded. A feral grin spread across Dama’s face as she twisted the knife before yanking it out, and pushing the younger woman away from her. The same moment Gia’s body fell limply to the floor, the baby started crying once more. Kemb, who had grabbed his pike during the fight, but dared not use it for fear of stabbing his lifemate, thrust the barbed tip into Doma’s chest. He grunted as he yanked it back out. “Traitors!” The midwife accused as she dropped her blade and fell to her knees. “Take your son out the back way!” Lynk ordered as he gave the infant to his father. “Go to Melvi and do as she says.” As Kemb did as the j’adai bid without question, Lynk knelt before Doma. He looked deeply into her eyes as he hissed, “It is you who have betrayed the Awareness within you for the love of my brother. I hope it was worth it.” Doma gave a strange gurgling cry as her eyes glazed over and she collapsed the rest of the way to the floor. Lynk shook his head sadly before rising and leaving the way Kemb had gone. Entry # 6 Title: The Unconquerable Man Characters: Seann Colbi (OC) Era: Before Summary: Before the Republic encompassed the galaxy, the frontier’s were ruled by the blaster. Whispers rose quickly upon my arrival inside the drinking hall. The eyes, staring, near unblinking, were next, following my progress with dogged attention. Much to my relief, most were filled with that admiration that was born of fear and knowledge. More than a few watched me with that predatory glint in their eyes. Always the ones that had something to prove, to the galaxy, to themselves. They were the most dangerous. I’d spent half my life moving from planet to planet, city to city, always forced to leave before I could set down my roots. A long existence of loneliness that was periodically marked by death. Plunking myself in the corner, I made it a point to brush aside the edge of my long coat, exposing the blaster kept at my hip. I repeated the process on my other side. They were a set, black, dinged and danged, the first I had ever owned, once belonged to my father. He lived a simple life on the farming plains of Alderaan, forever disapproving of his oldest son. The feral expressions in the dangerous eyes grew. I gauged them, wondering if one of them would build up enough ambition to call me out. The closest was a young man, about a decade younger than me, a dimple in once cheek, and a chip on his shoulder. He had a shock of fiery hair and color shifting eyes that flashed in the dim light. Short and stocky, I would have easily dwarfed him. It was always the smaller dogs that were the most likely to bite you, they didn’t care that you could put your toe through their rib cage, as long as you considered them a threat. Someone would die today and I wondered if I would let it be me. A man is conquered only by himself and I decided in that moment of the draw if I will be faster or not. I ordered a drink from the barmaid, a stimulating creature to say the least. She bobbed up and down in all the right ways and scurried off to snatch my order. This town, this planet, was much like the others I’d seen before down to the scratched bar, the line of stools that hovered around the perimeter, the ale stained glasses and the husky, smoky tang in the air. Small, backwater, every boy and girl out there looking to make a name for themselves, wanting out of the monotony of their humdrum lives. I knew from experience, I’d once been in their shoes. My boots weren’t any more comfortable on my feet. As I’d guessed, it was the red-headed nerf that moved first. He’d thought I’d relaxed, that I wasn’t watching him, but I’m always watching. His finger had only just ticked towards his weapon and my left side blaster was out, trained, and fired. He hadn’t even cleared the holster. The patrons of the cantina breathed in a gasp of ozone. It never stopped surprising me, the quiet of the blaster. Pop. Zip. And it was over. The red-headed nerf slipped back, head lolled on his neck, his legs went out from under him, and the body, no longer a person, poured onto the floor. Respect filled the room, palpable to even the dimmest of senses. Awe was a double edged sword. They either hate you or they fear you. That was it. And even though you could be friendly, as I was hoping to get with that stimulating creature, they would never be your friends. I’d only had a couple of friends in my life. They were all dead now. I’d killed them. They took it as a mercy. Those who had been reluctant to call me out before, found one more excuse to add to their list. The others, those with dreams of fortune and glory, found one more reason to try their luck. You take down Seann Colbi and you become the legend of Seann Colbi. Greater even. A blaster fighter was only as good as his last fight. The fight was the legend, whether for you or the sucker who got ya. The legend lives on, eventually you die. The barmaid brought me my ale and I gave her my most pleasing smile. She returned it, all red and succulent, and I can almost read her thoughts. Danger is a strange aphrodisiac and she has drunk her fill. I sipped at my drink, waiting, watching. No one else came to challenge me. Hopefully, they would think twice before challenging each other. Maybe that was why I won’t forsake this game of pantra and ese. I’m the living embodiment of what a blaster fighter brings you. The old, warn, lonely fighter, taking on the galaxy one at a time. The legend was the glamor, ol’ red-head the reality. I gave the folks a taste of that realty. Before I left, the barmaid dropped her name and directions to her apartment in my lap. Then she grabbed a fistful of my wavy black hair and brought her lips down on mine. I was sure she was looking to inhale me from the inside out, when she broke away. “A promise for later,” she purred. I sat stunned for several moments. Yes, she definitely was a stimulating creature. I stood up, a conquered male. This was acceptable. I crossed out the door and paused in my step. You know that stuff I was talking about on saving a bunch of fool hardy youth. Well, it was a all begtal snot. Standing in a line, three men, each holding a blaster trained on me, waited. “Can I help you gentlemen?” I asked. “You Seann Colbi?” Both blasters were out before any of them blinked. There was no law accept survival, and I wasn’t about to be conquered. Voting for Challenge Two is over at 12-noon Sunday June 15th! -----signature----- Writer With the Force Challenge Sock http://boards.theforce.net/Message.aspx?topic=28454919&brd=10304&start=28454938
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Jaina_and_Jag Registered: Apr '03	Date Posted: 6/11 5:58pm Subject: RE: Writer With The Force Challenge Entries: Round One, Challenge Two 6/11
	Entry #5: Woah! Definitely an interesting concept you came up with. Entry #6: Loved your OC! There was no law accept survival, and I wasn’t about to be conquered. Nice way to think of things.
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DarthBerryStraw Registered: Mar '07	Date Posted: 6/11 9:19pm Subject: RE: Writer With The Force Challenge Entries: Round One, Challenge Two 6/11
	Entry # 5: Ah! Crazy tribe laws. It's sad how some can be so brutal. Entry # 6: He definitely sounds like an unconquerable man. -----signature----- “I MAY BE A HOGWARTS STUDENT….” Hargirid paused angrily. “BUT I AM ALSO A SATANIST!” - ... Tara
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Ceillean Registered: Nov '01	Date Posted: 6/12 4:54am Subject: RE: Writer With The Force Challenge Entries: Round One, Challenge Two 6/11
	Entry #5: Intriguing! I'd honestly like to read more about it. Entry #6: I love your OC! -----signature----- I'm having trouble dealing with the fact that Kyp Durron is a fictional character Stress -- The reaction created when the mind overrides the body's desire to choke the living sh** out of somebody who desperately needs it http://ceillean.blogspot.com/
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Alexis_Wingstar Registered: Sep '06	Date Posted: 6/12 5:18am Subject: RE: Writer With The Force Challenge Entries: Round One, Challenge Two 6/11
	Entry 5: I'm betting there's going to be more to this story! J'adai = Jedi? Entry 6: Seann Colbi is a great name, and I'd like to see more stories with this dude. -----signature----- "Change. It can be good. It can be bad. It can be expected or come as a thief in the night. Invited or not, it always comes." ~Koria "Tender Shadows", co-written w/ The Musical Jedi Padawan to DarthIshtar Failed member of CA (Challengeholics Anonymous)
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ForceWriter Registered: May '08	Date Posted: 6/25 1:28pm Subject: RE: Writer With The Force Challenge Entries: Round One, Challenge Three 6/25!
	Round One, Challenge Three The Challenge: Random "us" words-- For this challenge you must use all three words that end in 'us' (below) and there must be an us in the fic! (As in two people who are together, not necessarily in a relationship, just interacting with each other! happy ) The words: ambiguous, dubious and contagious. Entry 6 Title: Innocent, Harmonious, Repose Characters: Obi-Wan Kenobi, Siri Tachi Era: Before Obi-Wan Kenobi sighed as he cast a jaundiced glare at the door to the quarters he and Qui-Gon shared. Smoke leaked out from the lines of the door, as the Temple’s anti-fire system worked its wonders to put out the flames that Qui-Gon’s latest attempt at cooking had inspired. Neither of them were ever going to be proficient, but Obi-Wan had at least had the good sense to accept his limitations in this area. Qui-Gon, on the other hand, had gone at it with his usual obstinacy. “Master...,” he began, a teasing jib perched upon his lips. “Obi-Wan, if you value your Knighthood, I’d be very careful what you say next.” The young Jedi apprentice, clamped his mouth shut, biting off his laughter. Once the threat might have caused him to cringe, but he knew Qui-Gon’s moods now and could anticipate how far to press his irate Master. “Yes, Master.” “Well, we can’t sleep here tonight,” Qui-Gon continued, subdued. “We’ll have to find temporary quarters until the smoke has been put through the recyclers.” Obi-Wan shrugged. “It is all right, Master. I’ll just stay with Garen or Reeft.” --- It turned out that Obi-Wan could not stay with Garen or Reeft, for Master Clee was entertaining and old friend and she was using Garen’s quarters and Garen had already asked Reeft to stay with him. Obi-Wan had contacted Temple Housing and had been told that the auxiliary units were undergoing routine maintenance. Qui-Gon was staying with Master Windu and Yoda had offered his quarters to Obi-Wan. Staying with Master Yoda was always a dubious affair. The diminutive Master was only a better cook in the fact that it was incredibly difficult to burn stew. Further inquiry to Temple Housing had produced a list of Jedi currently on assignment. Obi-Wan breathed a sigh of relief when he found a familiar name. Feelings between he and Siri Tachi had never been ambiguous, but at least now they had fallen into the pattern of friendship. He made his way to Siri’s quarters, punched in the code Housing had given him and melted onto the sleep couch. --- When Obi-Wan awoke the next morning, he thought he was dreaming. Siri Tachi’s face was close to his own, so close he could feel her breath, a sweet cinnamon tang filling his nostrils. Their legs were entangled and arms were wrapped around waists. For several heartbeats a silly grin swept across his face and it didn’t even occur to him that their might be something wrong with the situation. And then reality came crashing down. Panic overrode his senses. He pushed out with his arms, while throwing himself back Both he and Siri rolled off the single sleep cot and hit the floor with a thud. “Ow,” Siri said, rising on her knees at the same time as Obi-Wan. She rubbed at her head. “What was that for, Kenobi?” “What are you doing here?” Obi-Wan asked, confused. “I live here,” she said in a deliberate mocking tone. “Shouldn’t I be asking the questions here?” “But you’re supposed to be gone.” Siri planted her hands on her hips and gave him a withering glare. “I’m about ready to make you gone,” she growled. “You know what I mean,” he said, trying to be reasonable. For the first time, he truly looked at her and reason fled him. “By the Force, what are you wearing?” Taking stock of her short pants and sleeveless tunics, she answered, “Their sleep clothes, Obi-Wan.” She made it sound so innocent, so ordinary. Cheeks burning, inexplicably, he pointed out, “My sleep clothes don’t look like that.” “You aren’t wearing any,” she stated, he missed her sly smile. Horrified, he looked down to find that he was wearing the tunics and leggings he’d been wearing when Qui-Gon had innocent attempted to burn down their quarters. “You aren’t funny,” he said flatly. “Oh, I think I’m hilarious.” She threw herself, belly first, on her sleep couch and looked up as Obi-Wan took a retreating step as though she were contagious. “Force, Kenobi, what is the matter with you? All we did was sleep together.” He felt his heart stop. Literally. “No. No. It was innocent, harmonious, repose.” She blinked at him. “We slept together.” “Would you please stop saying that.” His eyes wandered to an expanse of lean leg. “And please get some clothes on.” She rolled off the edge of the bed and took a step towards him like she would a wild long-tail cat. “Look, Obi-Wan, calm down. I’m not sure what’s got you so riled up anyway.” “It’s forbidden,” he whispered. She broke into incredulous laughter. “Master Adi knows you’re here. Master Qui-Gon knows you’re here.” He felt foolish and completely wise all in the same instance. Yes, Qui-Gon would not begrudge him a simple mistake, there would be no pressing questions. But Obi-Wan saw the inherent danger. He had liked waking up to Siri’s face next to his, the smell of her breath, the extra warmth of her body. Seventeen, and he could imagine a lifetime of waking up in the same manner. It didn’t fill him with dread, but a sort of longing. One that frightened him. And suddenly he felt a confusion in his and Siri’s relationship that had never existed before. “Right. Of course, you’re right. It must have been the shock.” Siri watched him, her sapphire eyes bearing more wisdom than he was comfortable with. Her head turned down, unable to meet his gaze. “Siri...” He tried to think of something witty to say, something to break the awkward between them. For the first time, words failed him. Abruptly, Siri lashed out, giving him a playful push. “Force, Obi-Wan. You’re such a dimwit. ‘Innocent, harmonious, repose.’” She mimicked him near perfectly. “What do you do? Meditate half the day away, thinking of the most innocuous words to the most awkward situations. I can’t wait to be at a state dinner, I’m going to let out a huge belch and wait for you to describe it as a ‘build up of vapor in the digestion track.’” “Only you would do something so indelicate in the middle of a state dinner, Siri,” he teased, smiling his gratitude. She’d given him an escape today. “Arrogant gundark,” she accused. “Loud, irreverent...” She dug a finger into his side. “You’ve lost your knack for feathery words. I wouldn’t finish that sentence if I were you, Kenobi.” “Ow,” he said, batting her hand away. “Wimp.” “Banshee.” “Do you call all your friends such horrible names?” she questioned. “No.” He gave sly smile, a light tugging at the corners of his mouth. “Just the ones I sleep with.” Votes must be in by 12 noon Sunday June 29th! The other threads: Beyond the Saga The Saga -----signature----- Writer With the Force Challenge Sock http://boards.theforce.net/Message.aspx?topic=28454919&brd=10304&start=28454938
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DarthBerryStraw Registered: Mar '07	Date Posted: 6/25 2:43pm Subject: RE: Writer With The Force Challenge Entries: Round One, Challenge Three 6/25!
	Entry # 6: “Do you call all your friends such horrible names?” she questioned. “No.” He gave sly smile, a light tugging at the corners of his mouth. “Just the ones I sleep with.” Very cute! I enjoyed this viggie a lot. -----signature----- “I MAY BE A HOGWARTS STUDENT….” Hargirid paused angrily. “BUT I AM ALSO A SATANIST!” - ... Tara
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Ceillean Registered: Nov '01	Date Posted: 6/25 2:48pm Subject: RE: Writer With The Force Challenge Entries: Round One, Challenge Three 6/25!
	“Do you call all your friends such horrible names?” she questioned. “No.” He gave sly smile, a light tugging at the corners of his mouth. “Just the ones I sleep with.” Too cute. -----signature----- I'm having trouble dealing with the fact that Kyp Durron is a fictional character Stress -- The reaction created when the mind overrides the body's desire to choke the living sh** out of somebody who desperately needs it http://ceillean.blogspot.com/
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Alexis_Wingstar Registered: Sep '06	Date Posted: 6/25 4:17pm Subject: RE: Writer With The Force Challenge Entries: Round One, Challenge Three 6/25!
	I loved the banter between these two. You got their personalities down perfect. -----signature----- "Change. It can be good. It can be bad. It can be expected or come as a thief in the night. Invited or not, it always comes." ~Koria "Tender Shadows", co-written w/ The Musical Jedi Padawan to DarthIshtar Failed member of CA (Challengeholics Anonymous)
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Jaina_and_Jag Registered: Apr '03	Date Posted: 6/25 6:11pm Subject: RE: Writer With The Force Challenge Entries: Round One, Challenge Three 6/25!
	Entry #6: Loved it! The banter was too cute!
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ForceWriter Registered: May '08	Date Posted: 7/23 6:12pm Subject: RE: Writer With The Force Challenge Entries: Round One, Challenge Three 6/25! - Date Edited: 7/23 8:13pm (1 edits total) Edited By: ForceWriter
	Challenge Five: An Expert Opinion Your character(s) is an expert at something... tell us about it. What is it? How did they learn it? From whom did they learn it? (You don't have to answer these questions, they are just to get your muse going.) The catch... it can not be something we know they have an expertise in! Example: We all know that Luke could be considered an Expert on the Force, but what if he also though himself an expert musician? b]Entry # 1[/b] Title: Mess Characters/Pairings: Dooku, Qui-Gon Era: Before Summary: Knight Dooku and Padawan Qui-Gon make a medical run. Qui-Gon anxiously checked the IV running to the infant's arm. This wasn't a good way to travel, but the child had been very ill. Which was, of course, why his parents had let two Jedi take off with their only offspring. On foot, since only very special vehicles were allowed in the preserve, and they hadn't checked one out. They'd been running for hours already. The IV was fine. It was a standard part of the emergency kit: a bag with adjustable pressure so that the flow was independent of gravity, slender tubing that would meld with the skin and vein when inserted so that the site was a little tender but not as traumatized as with the old-fashioned needle. And they'd run very smoothly, taking turns, so as not to jar it too much. Dooku had taken a sliver out of the tubing and fused it back together so that it was narrower, and it looked like Qui-Gon's adustment to the pressure had been correct. There was no swelling, and the hot tautness of fever was going down, so the medicine must be working. Even as he thought it, the baby drew in a breath and let out an awful scream. Dooku's head turned, and a moment later they came to a halt. "Hush. You'll be much more comfortable in a minute." The low voice rumbled across the infant's high wail as deft hands spread out a blanket and then carefully unsealed the sanitary diaper. The skin-seal on this sort was related to that on the IV tubing, but without penetration. It was good for containing mess, but the material wasn't very breathable, so nobody used them exclusively. A vile smell emerged as the seal was released. Qui-Gon wasn't sure if the illness was responsible or if this was normal, but he was guessing it was the illness; he certainly didn't remember any of the babies in the Creche smelling like that in their diapers, not when they were healthy. The baby's cry hiccuped to a confused stop as he found himself floating a few centimeters above the blanket on a cushion of cool air. Once he was wiped clean, the diaper folded around itself, re-sealing into a secure pouch with the used wipes inside as well as, thankfully, most of the odor. Dooku settled the new diaper into place and scooped up the infant, patting him on the back a few times before taking off again. After a stretch, Qui-Gon said, "I didn't know you knew how to change a diaper, Master." Dooku looked sideways at him with a bemused expression. "I had the usual frequency of Creche duty as an initiate and as a padawan." He added wryly, "And it hasn't been that long." Qui-Gon blushed slightly. "I didn't mean I thought you couldn't do it. I just didn't expect you to look like an expert at it." Like everything else, almost. He was sure Dooku couldn't actually be good at everything, and had tentatively begun to suspect that engines might be one of the exceptions, but diapers? "Oh, that was relatively easy," Dooku said, lengthening his stride. "It's fortunate the villages in the preserve are generally so well equipped, even if emergency access to the outside is somewhat lacking." Qui-Gon eyed him sideways. "So well equipped in terms of diapers?" Dooku nodded. "Think back to our last mission. If Preserville III had the same level of supplies as those villages, we'd probably be cutting up our cloaks before we got back." A pause. "And, of course, the Force assisted." Qui-Gon's mouth quirked in appreciation. "Even better than a hovertable." "And vastly better than the plain rock." Qui-Gon nodded and fell silent for a long moment, then raised a question that had been nagging at him since the first time Dooku had taken a turn carrying the baby. "Master," he said, "are you humming?" The baritone thrum disappeared as if swallowed, which answered the question even before Dooku said, "Yes. Was it troubling you?" "Oh, no," Qui-Gon said. "I won't complain if you sing, either. I just wondered." A brief pause. "I didn't think you liked small children, for some reason." And this one wasn't even particularly strong in the Force. They'd be giving him back when they were done, which meant this particular jog was not exactly within their mandate. Qui-Gon was glad they'd taken the detour, though--at least, he would be if the baby recovered. But he did know Dooku didn't like recruiting missions, because Dooku had said so. "I don't," Dooku said sharply, but his arm still cradled the child, who had fallen asleep again, if fitfully. "But that's hardly his fault, is it?" ~~~~ ~~~ Entry # 3 Title: Boring Indeed Characters: OC's - Vekd, Jan'ira Era: Before the Saga Summary: "He’d heard the horror stories from other Masters around steaming mugs caf, and unlike the intricate designs carved onto the warm mug he currently held between his rough hands, the stories were not pretty. " As much as Vekd hated to admit it, Jan'ira was a very boring Padawan. A VERY boring Padawan. He’d trained several Padawan over the years of his existence, but none had been quite as agreeable Jan’ira. None had suffered through astronavigation classes without so much as a yawn, enjoyed solving complex calculus problems, and found happiness in reading about far away cultures. None had gone to sleep when they were exhausted, abstained from crude holoprograms, seemingly found no romantic interest in his own species, or even bathed regularly. None, until now. Jan’ira seemed to have a natural aptitude for obeying orders. Vekd glanced at the chrono adorning the sterile back wall of their quarters, and sighed wearily when the lateness of the time registered within his mind. This wasn’t the first time Jan’ira had stayed out a little later than acceptable, but to be honest, he’d never established a curfew. There was simply to reason to restrict a Padawan’s curious mind, when their late night adventures involved pouring over data files in the Archives, and no disobedience was present. Yes, the pair had suffered through occasional power struggle (Generally surrounding Jan’ira’s use of ridiculous slang terms and his rare delusions of gangster status, but these things were trivial compared to the Padawan troubles of recent times.) He’d heard the horror stories from other Masters around steaming mugs caf, and unlike the intricate designs carved onto the warm mug he currently held between his rough hands, the stories were not pretty. Vekd stood and grimaced at the shudder inducing crunch of his aching knees. It would be best if he found Jan’ira before his old bones demanded sleep. Vekd searched the corridors of the Archives visually first, since he frowned upon unnecessary use of the Force. However, finding Jan’ira in the light blue glow of glass paneling was proving to be impossible. Perhaps his eyesight was beginning to fail him, but he saw no Jan’ira shaped shadows in his wandering. Opening himself to the cool waves of the Force, Vekd reached out with his senses, and felt his Padawan not even two meters away, locked in a janitorial droid closet. What the hell was he doing hiding in there? The possibilities pounded through his mind as he strode to the door and unlatched the lock with a flick of his wrist. Vekd grasped the handle, wrenching it to the right with a hard tug… …and immediately regretted the motion. He nearly gasped; boring indeed. In the midst of scattered droid parts and shoved between two towering shelves, lounged a shirtless Jan’ira. A very, exposed, shocked Jan’ira, surrounded by three now terrified looking female Padawans. Three. Female. Padawans. One had frozen with one set fingers stroking his left cheek, the other buried in his hair. Another was draped across his chest, and the last with his feet between her small hands, massaging them. Jan’ira gasped, his eyes widening in sheer terror, but his voice was steady when he spoke. “Hello, Master?” Other Threads: Beyond the Saga The Saga Votes Due by Sunday July 26th! -----signature----- Writer With the Force Challenge Sock http://boards.theforce.net/Message.aspx?topic=28454919&brd=10304&start=28454938
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