Jedi Council Forums - So You Think You Know Movies - the Response Thread

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Author	Topic: So You Think You Know Movies - the Response Thread - Results announced!
VaderLVR64 Title: Manager Emeritus Registered: Feb '04	Date Posted: 2/5/07 10:00am Subject: So You Think You Know Movies - the Response Thread - Results announced! - Date Edited: 3/12/07 4:50pm (8 edits total) Edited By: VaderLVR64
	And your winners are….drum roll please… In first place, and the winner of colors for two weeks: JediNemesis and Entry #27 The Serpent’s Kiss!!!!!!! In second place and the recipient of colors for one week: lazy and Entry # 44 Witness And our third place winners, who will get shiny new colors for three days, are: Persephone_Kore and UnderCoverJedi with their entries of #42 – Where the Heart Is and #14 Walking Tall (respectively) Congrats to our winners and well done all authors! Here is the list of entries. Your vote, when you send it to the sock, should look like this: #99 – Pirates of the Caribbean We hope that everyone kept their identity a secret. Part of the fun of this is NOT revealing which piece is yours! It’s a chance to vote purely for the writing, not just for your friends. All of the entries were so well done! And we hope everyone had a good time with this, which is what a writing challenge is all about! The Mods #34 - How to Lose a Guy in Ten Days #14 - Walking Tall #7 – A Knight’s Tale #35 - Conspiracy Theory #47 - A History of Violence #50 - What a Girl Wants # 27 - The Serpent's Kiss #13 - Cruel Intentions #40 - Gone In 60 Seconds #1 – From Hell #45 – Sleeping Beauty? #42 – Where the Heart Is #16 – Bad Boys #4 – Kingdom of Heaven #15 – Love Actually #29 - Never Been Kissed #44 – Witness #32 – Serenity #2 – Original Sin #10 – The Sixth Sense Rules for Voting: 1) No voting for yourself. 2) PM the challenge sock with the number and prompt corresponding to your choices. You should PM a vote for only one entry. For example, if the author of the vignette you like best asked for title #12, your vote should say #12, The Cat in the Hat. 3) Please, no campaigning or revealing author names. 4) Though several people took more than one prompt, only the vigs listed here are eligible. Don't vote for anything posted in the story forums! We won't count those votes. 5) If an author has requested more than one title, they may only submit one to the challenge. It will be author’s choice, so they may submit either their first or subsequent movie title. 6) Only those who have taken part in the challenge may vote. This means those who have actually submitted an entry. 7) All entries are due Feb. 28, midnight board time, to be eligible for prizes. 8) Voting will begin on March 2 and end on March 9th, midnight, board time. 9) The winners will be announced on Monday, March 12th. All entries will be posted in THIS thread as they are submitted. Please do NOT post telling everyone that you've sent in your entry, as this will give a clue to your identity. Also, do not post in this thread to comment on the stories. If you have any questions about the challenge, post them in the original challenge thread. You can find that here: http://boards.theforce.net/fan_fiction_resource/b10304/26012854/p1/?64 This thread will be for the posting of the entries only and we will up it so that participants can view the entries. -----signature----- R.I.P John, Alex, Jason, and Christian Never forgotten Soldiers' Angels http://soldiersangels.org/ 2114 soldiers waiting for someone to care
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VaderLVR64 Title: Manager Emeritus Registered: Feb '04	Date Posted: 2/5/07 11:57am Subject: RE: So You Think You Know Movies - the Response Thread - voting info in first post
	#34 - Class Is In Alternate Vignette Title: Class Is In (In case we don't want to be obvious grin) Title: How to Lose a Guy in 10 Days They say there is a class for everything... "Today we're going to go over step ten; commitment." A murmur rose from the group as the word dropped into the silence like a bomb. The woman who'd spoken, a petite brunette with an athletic figure and shoulder length hair the color of chocolate, placed her hands on her hips and cocked her eyebrows. "Surely that isn't such a shock." A hand went up. "Yes, Capri?" The tall, skinny blonde blushed as the attention focused on her. "What kind of commitments, Ms. Solo?" Brown eyes danced. "Call me Jaina, Capri. We're talking all kinds; anything that means long term - or even anything that could mean short term. Engagement. Marriage. Children. Talking about living together, even having a joint credit account. Put it together with the rest of the lessons and you'll have him jumping in his star fighter before you can say boo." Laughter echoed through the room. Jaina continued, pacing back and forth in front of the small group, her eyes continuing to dance. "Of course, there is one kind of commitment that won't send him running. Anyone know what it is?" The girls in the room looked at each other when a shy hand finally went up at the back. Jaina smiled encouragingly at the red head. "Hepsa?" The red head ducked her head, her throaty voice coming across clearly despite the angle. "The physical kind?" "Right! A physical commitment means they expect you to be exclusive; but they don't have to be, so watch for this trap. The other side of this is that once he has the physical, he may step back on other issues. Forget about flowers, or dinner, or even candy. He's gotten what he wanted to begin with so he's not going to put the effort in to keep it. Trust me, he'll take it for granted that once you start you'll want to continue. It'll even be expected." "But, Jaina, what if he tells you he loves you and wants to marry you?" Jaina crossed her arms over her chest, her expression stern. "Each one of you is here because you fell for the 'Love' word. I know each of you feel used because of it. Take it in context. Did the words love come in the same phrase as wanting to be close physically? Or did he give them freely and expect nothing in return?" There were tentative nods as she spoke, indicating that they understood what she was saying. Jaina looked out over the small class. "Anyone who says the word love and expects something in return isn't in the relationship for the long haul. They're there for their personal gratification, to use you and eventually discard you. Now, let's review the steps on how to get rid of a man in ten days." Jaina turned towards the board. "Step One." "Cling!" Jaina grinned as they answered enthusiastically as one. "Step Two." "Simper!" "Step Three." "Hang on his every word!" Jaina chuckled. "Step Four." "Hint at the future!" "Step Five." "Beg for his opinion on everything!" Jaina smirked. "Also known as the...?" "Honey, do I look fat in this rule!" The girls dissolved into laughter. Jaina waited until they'd settled to a reasonable volume level to continue. "Step Six." "Smother him in small talk!" "Step Seven." "Beg for gifts!" "Step Eight." "Gush!" "Step Nine." "Introduce the Family!" "Step 10." Jaina turned with a grin. "Commitment!" The girls in her class shouted excitedly, laughing as they did. Jaina applauded them. "Well done ladies, you've just completed Jaina Solo's seminar on how to lose a guy in ten days. Follow these ten sure fire steps, exaggerate them if you have to, and you'll never have to deal with a footloose man again! A step a day keeps the bad ones away!" The girls laughed, one of the brunettes at the front of the class speaking up. "Ms. Jaina, how did you become so knowledgeable?" Jaina smirked. "Because in all my relationships I've been the guy. Class dismissed." Fin -----signature----- R.I.P John, Alex, Jason, and Christian Never forgotten Soldiers' Angels http://soldiersangels.org/ 2114 soldiers waiting for someone to care
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VaderLVR64 Title: Manager Emeritus Registered: Feb '04	Date Posted: 2/5/07 11:58am Subject: RE: So You Think You Know Movies - the Response Thread - voting info in first post
	#14 - Walking Tall So the deed was done, Obi-Wan mused as he walked away from the Lars’ homestead. He resisted glancing over his shoulder and taking one final look at his last link with his fallen friend. “May the Force be with you, young Luke,” he whispered. The words were a wish, a hope for the future. Climbing upon his eopie’s back, Obi-Wan turned his face resolutely away from the little family. He did not know how long it would be before he saw Luke again, but if the hard glint in Owen’s eyes was any indication, then the Jedi sensed he was in for a bit of a wait. He sighed and pulled up the hood of his cloak securely and turned the eopie toward the west. “You have done well, Obi-Wan,” a voice said softly a few moments later. It was Qui-Gon’s voice. Unconsciously, Obi-Wan had been expecting to hear his Master’s voice now that he was here on Tatooine. Qui-Gon would be his only companion in the years to come. “I’m proud of you.” Though something inside of him warmed at the words, Obi-Wan snorted derisively. “In case you haven’t noticed, Master, the Republic has fallen and Anakin is dead.” “And all of that is your fault?” his Master asked with a touch of dry amusement. “You think that the responsibility for the fall of a Republic which has existed for thousands of years rests squarely on the shoulders of one Jedi Master?” “You know what I mean,” Obi-Wan replied in a hard voice. The events of the last few days were catching up with him. His eyes felt gritty and hot with exhaustion, his body ached for sleep. Even sleep, however, would not bring him peace. And it was peace he longed for most of all. Qui-Gon’s voice was gentle when he spoke next. “Padawan, you have always laboured under burdens that are not yours.” The tone was that of a teacher again, and Obi-Wan felt comfort in allowing himself to slip into that role once more. Everything had seemed so much clearer when he was but the learner. Now it had all become jumbled up into “should haves” and “why didn’t I?” “There is no other who should bear this guilt, Master,” Obi-Wan answered quietly, thrusting away that momentary solace. He was not a Padawan any longer. He had been the Master and Anakin the Padawan. The Master had failed and the apprentice had died. “I think we both know who is responsible for what has happened,” Qui-Gon said. “Young Anakin could not harness his own demons. Now we must all pay the price for his weakness.” “I did not see his demons, Qui-Gon, or recognize the difficulty of his struggle,” Obi-Wan whispered in an agonized voice. “I should have known…” And once more he was back at the crux of the matter, the heart of his failure. “And did Anakin ask you for help?” Qui-Gon queried. Obi-Wan did not answer, but gave his careful attention to guiding the eopie. Darkness had descended swiftly over the desert as it always did. Soft moonlight illuminated the sands around him, sending silvered fingers over the dunes, and he extended his senses outward, drinking in the Living Force within the unseen creatures of the desert. Abandoned as they appeared, the sands teemed with life scurrying about and attending to the business of survival. Obi-Wan felt a moment of kinship with the busy creatures, for he too, was caught up in the struggle to survive. “Did he ask you for help?” Qui-Gon asked again, prodding Obi-Wan with his words. “No,” Obi-Wan admitted grudgingly. “And did Anakin deliberately conceal certain circumstances that might have caused you to look more closely into his actions? His needs? His struggles?” Qui-Gon’s voice had gone stern, as it sometimes did when Obi-Wan was young and not paying very careful attention to a lesson. “You know the answer to that,” Obi-Wan ground out between clenched teeth. “Tell me, Obi-Wan… Can you help someone that does not want your help?” Obi-Wan felt as if he was back in the classroom again, pushed to his limits, forced to see beyond his self-set boundaries. Think, Padawan. Come at it from another place. See the issue from all sides. Don’t be constrained by logic or tradition. How often had Qui-Gon said those words to him? A reluctant smile tugged at Obi-Wan’s lips, a tribute to a memory that would sustain him in the months – the years- to come. “No, Master.” Obi-Wan surrendered the point, knowing all too well his Master’s stubbornness. “You’re learning, young one,” Qui-Gon said with obvious approval. “Learning?” Obi-Wan asked, half-smiling beneath his hood though the desert night winds had started to pick up and howled around him. “You’re not as stubborn as you used to be,” Qui-Gon observed. “That’s good.” “Stubborn?” Obi-Wan asked in disbelief. “Do you really have any room to talk, Master?” “I am one with the Force now,” Qui-Gon answered. “I am possessed of infinite patience.” “Well I am not,” Obi-Wan replied tartly. He rode on in silence for a while, still aware of his Master’s comforting presence nearby. At last, Obi-Wan was driven to speak. He had so many questions that he wanted, needed, to ask. “Master?” he said softly. “Yes, my Obi-Wan?” “Do you think…” Obi-Wan sighed and turned his face up toward the moonlight. “Do you think that I could have saved him?” There was no answer for a moment, and when he spoke, Qui-Gon’s voice held a note of solace. “The only one who could have saved Anakin was Anakin himself.” Obi-Wan considered this answer for a moment and then he nodded his head. “Thank you, Master.” “Come now, Padawan,” his Master said with more good cheer. “Do you remember what I would tell you each time we approached a new mission?” “What? That old bit about walking tall?” Obi-Wan asked, feeling a smile pull at his lips. “Yes, that’s it.” The wind blew harder, making Obi-Wan’s robe flap about, startling the eopie. “Tell me, Padawan. Tell me what I used to say to you.” Closing his eyes for a moment, Obi-Wan reached back into his memories of more pleasant days long gone. “Walk tall, young Padawan, and trust in the Force.” “Very good,” Qui-Gon praised. “And now, as you embark on this, your most important mission, I want you to remember those words.” “Yes, Master,” Obi-Wan replied. “I shall-” He laughed and shook his head. “I shall.” He entered his new home for the first time, walking tall, unbowed for this one moment by burden or grief. -----signature----- R.I.P John, Alex, Jason, and Christian Never forgotten Soldiers' Angels http://soldiersangels.org/ 2114 soldiers waiting for someone to care
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VaderLVR64 Title: Manager Emeritus Registered: Feb '04	Date Posted: 2/6/07 4:31am Subject: RE: So You Think You Know Movies - the Response Thread - voting info in first post
	#7 – A Knight’s Tale She came from the sky, and that’s what we called her; she approved with a wry smile and became one of our own. Her attempts to speak our language were comically rough, heavy with her cumbersome, otherworldly accent, but she made herself understood. She was a traveler, she told us, on a journey to find something she could not remember. Her sea-blue eyes laughed when she said this, as though mocking her insistence on following a dream, but if we pressed her on the matter, she became sad and spoke no more. Skye took up residence with the Mother of Medicine, on the outskirts of our colony, and the Mother reassured us of her pure intentions and strange powers. “She is far beyond us,” the Mother would say. “But she means no harm.” Not everyone was welcoming; as it has always been and will always be, a faction within the village was afraid of the unknown. They condemned Skye for her heavy, night-black armor with its trappings of war, and claimed the machine-beast she arrived in was the demon e’Dhra’s chariot. But the demon e’Dhra never healed as Skye did. When villagers grew ill, she made them well again, and we no longer doubted her compassion. “You are no demon,” I told her one evening, as we watched the children play in the dusty central square. Skye’s lips twitched in a mysterious smile. “So sure?” she rasped. The gentle taunt sank into my heart and made me wonder, not for the first time, what star she had fallen from. * When the clouds no longer blushed pink and gold in the sunset, the Mother lit the bonfire in the village square, and the children gathered around to hear the nightly songs and stories. They always begged Skye to share her stories of adventure, and she always refused; instead, she sat among them and listened to the Mother’s mythical tales with shining eyes. Like the young ones, I wanted to hear of Skye’s adventures, but I was patient and respected her silence. Perhaps we were not ready to hear. She spoke sometimes of a multitude of worlds like ours, and I confess this was beyond the scope of my imagination. I was made for this world; she was made for the thousands beyond it. She was as confused by our way of life as we were by hers; her eyes were wondering when she helped us weave our clothing or assemble our houses of crude adobe. And yet she looked at ease among the children around the fire – perhaps because she was just as curious as they were. * “I reach a twisting in path,” she told us, when we asked her why she stayed so long in our village on our primitive world; her sorrow was more eloquent than her words. “What I search, I … know not how to say,” she apologized. “Where I go, I know not how to walk.” “If you will stay, we will have you,” the Mother offered. “Cannot,” was her wistful reply. “Cannot stay. Cannot go home.” “And yet you cannot go forward,” I pointed out gently. “I do not pretend to know how you swim the stars, but I would not like to lose myself in that void.” She looked at me, and I saw the void reflected in her eyes, filling her soul with emptiness. “I am lost already.” * Skye did not find what she was looking for in our village, on our little alien world, but eventually she found the next step in her journey and announced that it was time for her to depart. Before she set out for her machine-beast in the wilderness, she joined us in the courtyard one more time – only this time, as we gathered around the fire, I noticed she stood in the Mother’s place at the front of the assembling crowd. She caught my eye and beckoned me to her side. “I speak tonight,” she informed me. “You please tell them how I mean.” I nodded, eager to hear and honored that she had chosen me to voice her thoughts to the rest of the village. Skye began to speak as the stars came out. She was wearing her armor for the first time in months, and the firelight sparkled off its metal buckles and snaps. She whispered her broken sentences to me, and I restructured them until they built a bridge of prose between the traveler and her audience. She said that her powers were not unique to her; she came from a land where many had the ability to heal and destroy in miraculous fashion – they were called Jedi Knights, and their powers were known simply as the Force. Skye had been one of them until an enemy invaded and threatened to tear her worlds-wide village apart. She explained that she chose to fight the invaders against her elders’ advice; this choice cost her everything she treasured, and brought her nothing but blood. She spoke of a man – Malak, and the foreign word was bitter on my tongue – her not-quite-mate, who followed her to war and spilled blood at her side. He was strong, she said, and loyal, and he gave up his soul because she did. “All souls fall into the void,” she whispered to me; it was one sentence I did not rework before I passed it on. Skye then told of her descent into madness – she knew the realm of e’Dhra well, and it was not a place she intended to revisit. She spoke with regret of how the darkness tore her dreams apart. What started out as a quest to set things right became a quest for vengeance and destruction. “Everything … twisted,” she murmured. Corrupted, she and Malak fought among themselves, until one day the momentum of her power brought about her downfall. Malak betrayed her, and the order of Jedi she had turned from took her prisoner. But they did not make her answer for her crimes as we would. They did a thing so cruel, so terrible, that the words tumbled out of Skye’s mouth on a tide of anger as she spoke of it. The Jedi made her someone new. They took her memories, her essence, yes, even her name, and replaced them with a lie she came to believe. “They called me Skye,” she said, and suddenly I understood why she had smiled so strangely when we began to call her that. We did not know what to make of her confession to this point; it was all so fantastical, a thing out of our ancestors’ myths, that some did not believe her. Some simply came to fear her again, slinking away from the courtyard before Skye’s words could upset their worldview even more. Skye saw them leave, but she continued to speak. As Skye, the person her Jedi captors made her, she relearned her powers and dedicated herself to destroying Malak. She spoke softly of a man she met in her pursuit of justice, and suddenly there were tears in her eyes. He was her home, and yet she could not return to him – not yet. Her tale wound on as she described finding Malak again; he ripped away the veil of deceit the Jedi had placed over her eyes, and she discovered that her true self was a monster, a scar, a being with bloodied hands. “I am lost, still,” she said simply. “But I hope to find myself.” She returned to the past, then, and told of her final battle with Malak – fury and chaos, shattered trust and regret came together as the two opponents danced on the edge of life and death. Skye’s audience leaned forward, spellbound, and I had to consciously remind myself to relay her words to the crowd. In the end, Skye triumphed, destroying the man she had turned into a monster. Those who had rejected her, the Jedi, welcomed her back into their arms, but she rejected their warm reception and set off on her own, through the stars, until she came to our neglected world. “Why do you travel? What do you seek?” a young voice cried from the crowd, breaking the awed silence that followed the end of Skye’s story. Skye shook her head chidingly. “It is for her to know,” I told the child, when she could not get the phrasing right, “and for you to guess at.” Despite her playful words, I suspected she herself still guessed at her path. * I was the only villager to follow her out to her machine-beast, and we walked in silence under the night sky. I understood even better than before why she could not stay. “I wish you luck in your journey,” I whispered when we came to the mouth of her chariot. “I hope you find the answers you are searching for.” “Thank you.” She looked up into the sky she had fallen from, and then her eyes locked with mine. That mysterious smile lit her face, and the last words she whispered into my primitive sphere of existence were an introduction, not a good-bye. “My name is Revan.” -----signature----- R.I.P John, Alex, Jason, and Christian Never forgotten Soldiers' Angels http://soldiersangels.org/ 2114 soldiers waiting for someone to care
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VaderLVR64 Title: Manager Emeritus Registered: Feb '04	Date Posted: 2/8/07 2:55pm Subject: RE: So You Think You Know Movies - the Response Thread - voting info in first post
	#35 Conspiracy Theory - Alex Trebek and Jesse Ventura insist you saw the planet Venus. Prologue ~~~~ "I wanted to believe. In a universe of endless possibilities, I needed to put my faith in something more material than even the cosmos; something more real than the simple particles holding space together in a cohesive blend of the amazing, unfathomable balance of life itself. I had seen things; things which could not be catagorized or easily referenced which gave me purpose, focus and a drive to see the sinister shadows of a grand conspiracy illuminated before the entire galaxy. This is the quest which must supercede all else I strive for; everything is as nothing to the discourse which follows, lest the galaxy turn from day to night; lest darkness triumph, destroying all in its path..." ~~~~~~~~ Chapter 1: Sounding the Alarm Special Jedi Agent Fox Mulder studied a sparse flimsy on his desk with intensity. Alone in his basement office, his squeaking chair boldly filled the contemplative silence, as if it were the only possible sound in the universe. Determination weaved a crooked smile on his face, half a wince for the paultry amount of information contained in what he was reading. Mulder was an agent of the Galactic Bureau of Investigation, a joint Jedi-Republic outfit that employed Jedi and nonJedi alike. Normally he investigated the X-Files, classified cases that were deemed "unsolvable" by the powers that be, and neatly tucked away out of sight. Today, however, things were different. On his desk was a nightmare of galactic proportions, it was indeed the most horrifying thing he had ever laid eyes upon, and yet it was only a simple piece of standard, law sized flimsy. The message was cryptic and short: "Chaos on Naboo. Plageus lives. Stop the bells of Mount Sidious before the death knell tolls or all is lost." Mulder looked up in a worried hurry as the door swooshed open. He was about to hide the cryptic warning from who knew, when he was instantly relieved and relaxed. His partner, Agent Dana Scully, nonJedi, entered and quietly closed the door. She was halfway off with her coat before she paused, clearly surveying the office with her own form of intuition. "Mulder? Why are you hunched over your desk like you've uncovered another galaxy shattering conspiracy we have to tackle?" Finally his smile took on a completely amused look. He placed the flimsy in his robe and stood. "Have I ever told you, you know me too well. We're off to Naboo, after a quick stop to the Archives." He walked right past her, toward the door, trying to cut off any potential argument. "Get your coat." "I have my coat." She suddenly stopped to think. "Mulder. Naboo is a grassy planet; why do I need my coat?" He turned to face her, sunflower seeds on his breath. "Because we're going into the mountains. Snowcapped mountains." "Of course," was her reply. "You know what? Next time, I won't even bother coming in to work. I'll just find the coldest place in the galaxy and meet you there." Her stomach grumbled and she realized she busted her buns getting there because her partner asked her to. "I was hoping we'd actually get lunch this afternoon." "We'll grab a bite on the way," he said as he was halfway out the doorway. "Fine. On the way." Scully's lips curled and she stared out at Mulder, before sighing and sliding her arm back into her coat and following him out into the hallway. ~~~~ The Archives of the Jedi Temple were said to be the most comprehensive place of learning in the galaxy. It was no wonder the Jedi kept it to themselves. You could find out almost anything, and if the rumors of certain sections housing ancient Sith holocrons were true, then the Archives were filled with potentially very dangerous information. Better to allow a privileged few access to it. After all, what better way to keep evil from the hands of men, but through ignorance. In the heart of the Archives, Mulder found Jocasta Nu with a few padawans. "How can I be of help, Knight Mulder?" "I need information on Naboo," he replied in a conspiratorial whisper. "Anything specific, or should I look up the entire planet for you?" The padawans at her side couldn't resist giggling. "Return to your studies," Master Nu commanded. "That's all right," Mulder replied, chewing on a seed. "I'll look up what I need, I'd just like to know where I can find general info on the planet." "Please," Master Nu said, exasperated, "I've been trying to stop the padawans from eating in the Archive. It's very difficult indeed when I can't even get Knights, who should know better, to stop the bad habit." "Busted," Scully quipped. The padawans giggled most boisterously, until Master Nu hushed them. "And who is this?" she said sternly, finally noticing Scully. "You know the rules, Knight. No nonJedi are allowed in the Archives." Mulder showed her his badge. "I've been reassigned, Master Nu. Long ago. I'm in the GBI now, and this my partner. She's authorized to be here." Jocasta Nu, used to having things go her way in her Archives, merely sighed and shot Scully a nasty look as if to say, 'mess up, and you're history,' and directed them both to a little out of the way booth. "Here you can find all you need to know about the planets of the Republic. And now, if you will excuse me, I have to teach some irresponsible padawans not to imitate certain irresponsible Jedi Knights." She walked away, back toward her other duties. "You'll have to excuse Master Nu," Mulder mumbled, "she's very protective of the Archives." He put another sunflower seed between his teeth and bit down, cracking the casing. "And stop eating those seeds!" Master Nu's voice was quiet enough for a librarian to be content, yet carried an intensity and deceptive volume that rattled Mulder's concentration. "I gathered that," Scully replied, mirth showing through her lack of a smile. "What are we looking for here?" Mulder carefully removed the flimsy from his robe pocket and handed it to her. He continued to scan the screen in front of him so he didn't miss Naboo when it came up. "This was delivered to me by an unidentifiable source. I don't recall a 'Mount Sidious' on Naboo, so we need to find out if there is or not." Scully studied the paper for a moment, then handed it back. "What do you think it means? Who- or what is 'Plageus'? I haven't heard of any chaos on Naboo." "I'm not sure. I think Plageus was a Sith Lord, Master Yoda defeated not long ago. He doesn't like to talk about it, and the masters of the Council all swear there haven't been Sith in the galaxy for a thousand years." "The Jedi do like their secrets, don't they?" Scully chided. "That being the case," Mulder paused. "Here we go. Naboo. Native species, let's skip ahead a bit." He punched a few buttons and called up a map showing the various mountain ranges on the planet. "I'm not seeing a Mount Sidious. I'm sure the Force will guide us to the answers we seek." "Sure," Scully responded dryly. "In case you have forgotten, I am no Jedi. All I know is science and these abilities you have are not exactly quantifiable in the realms of scientific study. I think a little old fashioned detective work will go a long way to finding the meaning behind this message. If there is any." Mulder took in Scully's disbelieving monologue with the serenity of a true Jedi. "I may have to speak to Yoda before we go. I hope he'll be willing to shed some light on this reference to Plageus. If you want to go home and pack some things, I'll meet you at your place." Scully stood and straightened her suit coat. "Ok, I'll see you when you're ready to go." ~~~~ Yoda meditated in the Room of a Thousand Fountains. Something was brewing; ripples in the Force seemed poised to flow out of control and turn into a raging rapids. The diminutive master knew he would not be able to keep the past from somehow shaping things yet to come; he only wished he could determine how his past misdeeds would distort the already clouded future. Someone approached. Yoda felt every step taken as a blow; soon he would, by necessity, have to reveal that which he desperately wanted to continue to conceal. By the Force, it was his one weakness, and it threatened to tear him apart like a raging Telosian fang beast. He always preached letting go, but this always seemed to resurface from the depths of his psyche. Furtively, he opened his eyes and spotted the Force signature he dreaded. He hopped down from his seat, gimmer stick clacking the ground with purpose as he did. "Come, talk we must, Agent Mulder, but not here." "How did you know I was coming here to see you, Master Yoda?" was Mulder's natural reaction. "Very powerful, the Force is." ~~~~ "Information about Darth Plageus, is what you seek," Yoda said, once they were safely in his spartan quarters. "So it's true?" Mulder asked, amazed he was going to hear something probably no other Jedi had ever been granted. "There was a Sith Lord in recent history?" Yoda hrumphed and hopped up on a stool in front of his stove. "So eager, young Jedi are, to find adventure. Adventure, it is not, fighting a Sith Lord. Excitement, it is not, when those around you suffer, hmm?" The Grandmaster grabbed some roots from a cabinet above the stove and began preparing what Mulder could only think was some medicine... or else some kind of grout mixture. "Do you know of the message I received?" Mulder asked. "About Mount Sidious?" Yoda handed him a pot and directed him to a water faucet. "Know about messages, I do not. Message of my own, I received from the Force. Need to tell you what I know, I do, or grave consequences for the future, there will be." Mulder handed him the full pot of water, wondering just how much of what he was about to investigate Yoda already knew. "I-" Yoda interrupted, seemingly muttering to himself. "Grave consequences for the future. Doomed, the future may already be for my failure." Pungent aromas filled the air as he cooked a hideous concoction while Mulder waited patiently for him to continue. Mulder chewed on some sunflower seeds, until Yoda put the lid on his... whatever, and hopped down from the stool. "You said you need to tell me something?" Mulder finally prodded. "Missing time," Yoda whispered. "Failed to defeat Darth Plageus, I did, because of a hole in the Force; a hole in my mind." "Missing time?" Mulder repeated, thinking deeply. "Abduction victims often speak of lost time, or of a hole in their memories. But I've never come across a Jedi experiencing it." They both sat in contemplative silence for a time, in the common room. Horrible smells wafted into the room from the kitchen and Mulder wondered how long he could hold out. Biting into another seed, he was about to attempt to prod the surly master once more, when Yoda began speaking again. "Allowed Plageus to kill a Council member, I did." His voice was almost indistinguishable from the bubbling and churning coming from the pot in the kitchen. "Believe he was evil, I did not. Powerful Sith, he was. Masked his presence from us, he did. Sat on the Council." "The message I received says, 'Plageus lives'," Mulder reported. He handed the message to Yoda who reluctantly took it and looked it over. "If he's still alive-" "Not possible," Yoda interrupted again. He handed the page back to Mulder. "Almost one hundred years ago, this was. Already old, he was. But an apprentice, he could have had. Suspected as much, I did, but unable to prove it, I was." When the odors were making Mulder's eyes water and sting, Yoda led him back into the kitchen to begin scooping the despicable slop from the pot. "Alarming secrets, Plageus knew," Yoda admonished. "If pass this knowledge on, he did, grave danger, the galaxy is in. Stop this, you must." "What kind of secrets?" Mulder queried. Yoda turned to fix a stern, commanding look on him. "Secrets which, into mortal brains, should never make their way. Secrets of life and death." When the pestilence was successfully scooped from the pot, Yoda walked the agent to the door of his quarters. "Assign a Jedi Master to you, I must. Successful, you must be." Mulder was about to leave, but instead he looked back into the kitchen. "Master, what exactly did you cook? Are you going to lay down some tile somewhere?" "What, tile?" Yoda wondered. "My dinner, that is." The sound of a sunflower seed cracking filled the now eerily quiet room. Without another word, Mulder bowed, and quickly left. ~~~*~ Qui-Gon Jinn stood near the edge of the Temple hangar bay, watching the cityscape of Coruscant without seeing, lost in thought. He concentrated on the living Force, trying to get a sense of where he was in the universe. His young padawan, Obi-Wan Kenobi was with the healers... again. That boy got into far more trouble than he did at that age. At least that's what Qui-Gon told himself. He suspected, however, Master Dooku would disagree. Regardless, Obi would be with the healers for a while. Inwardly, Qui-Gon blamed himself. The mission they were on started out peacfully enough, but beyond the calming ripples of the Force, there had been something tugging at him upon first setting down on the sleepy enough little planet. The scene quickly turned ugly, and with little outward appearance. Obi was injured while they tried to make their escape. Why did so many missions end with someone in the Healer Ward? The galaxy was heading into a dark place and there seemed little chance of avoiding it. Qui-Gon had tried to warn the Council on many occasions, but they were too set in their ways to ever make the necessary changes he sensed were in the winds. It took a second beep coming from his robe before he finally sighed and reached for his comm. "Jinn here." "GBI agent, needing assistance on mission, there is." Yoda's voice greeted him unemotionally. "Assigning you, I am." "You do know, Master Yoda, that my padawan is still in the Healer Ward?" "Be here when you get back, he will." Yoda seemed in no mood for conversation, because he immediately clicked the link off. Qui-Gon sighed again and replaced his comm into his robe pocket. Reluctantly, he put his concerns behind him and walked back into the hangar, toward the Temple entrance. A slight twinge in the Force led him to a disused lift, however. When the doors opened, Qui-Gon recognized Knight turned Agent Fox Mulder standing there. "Agent Mulder?" Qui-Gon asked. Before the man could respond, he continued. "Master Yoda assigned me to assist you in your current case." "You seem familiar," Mulder replied, studying his contemporary's face. "Qui-Gon Jinn. My master was Count Dooku, and I distinctly remember a mission where we had some contact with you and your master, Master Mundi." Mulder's dour expression lit up momentarily and the two men clasped hands. "I do remember you. We were all afraid of Master Dooku. It was a relief when he picked you. I remember the day very well." They walked together toward a transport. Qui-Gon sensed worry from his companion. The living Force surrounded this man with intensity, as if he had a destiny to fulfill that had the potential to change the entire galaxy. "So, this mission must be very important for Yoda to send me with you. What are you investigating?" Mulder immediately froze and eyed his surroundings with incredible suspicion. He grabbed Qui-Gon's arm and pulled him into shadow. "There's something happening on Naboo," he whispered in a strange, paranoid hush. "What do you know of," his voice took on an even quieter whisper, so Qui-Gon could barely make out the words, "Darth Plageus?" "Only that Yoda may or may not have fought a Sith of that name." Qui-Gon suddenly realized that that was why Yoda called him personally instead of bringing him before the Council to give him this assignment. "I take it you've stumbled on something while working on the X-Files?" "Well, yes and no," Mulder seemed reluctant. "I've found many things in the X-Files, but this came from an outside source." He handed Qui-Gon the piece of flimsy. "It seems urgent." Qui-Gon scanned the page. "When do we leave?" "We only have to pick up my partner first. If you need something from your quarters..." "No, I'm ready now." Qui-Gon was disappointed to find out that the once promising Knight Mulder had indeed turned into a paranoid man, looking around every corner for a conspiracy. -----signature----- R.I.P John, Alex, Jason, and Christian Never forgotten Soldiers' Angels http://soldiersangels.org/ 2114 soldiers waiting for someone to care
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VaderLVR64 Title: Manager Emeritus Registered: Feb '04	Date Posted: 2/10/07 10:16am Subject: RE: So You Think You Know Movies - the Response Thread - voting info in first post
	#47: What Padme should have remembered. A History of Violence If could just stay still, if I could only hold my breath for one moment more, all my dreams could stay real. Yet the cruel light is spilling into our bedroom in hazy rose lines. They shift faint color onto his otherwise translucent skin. Staring at him, I can trace his scars with my eyes—a history of violence that I’ve failed to prevent. A dark purple line rises on his cheekbone and over his closed eye. A cold metal arm is splayed limp behind his head, with a web of darkened scars twisting all along the unnatural connection between machine and flesh. I brush my fingertips along the hard edges of his ribs as they protrude beneath skin tightened by lack of food. It has been almost three years. Almost three years of him coming to me in the middle of the night, trying not to tremble. Almost three years of me tearing my eyes across his skin in desperation to take count of each new injury. Almost three years of my frustration rising like bile in my throat as he tells me of each new battle, each new death, each new attack that my voice in the Senate has not ended. The history of our marriage is told in the pale skin between the shallow burn marks on his stomach. Our life together has become the healing time between new wounds. I suppose it began when his mother died. In an instant the galaxy became a place where death was a tangible feeling to him, a feeling he described as dark fire in the Force. Qui-Gon’s death had broken him, but the feeling of a life passing through his heart and out into the Force tore him in places he can’t show me. He told me of how he had killed then. The stench of blood and fury was heavy in his clothes there on Tatooine. His injury then hadn’t been visible, but I could feel it somewhere. We both had one. I chose to forgive then and I chose to try to help him. I held him the night of our wedding when he cried out for his mother in his sleep. I’ve chosen every other night I’ve seen him afterward to make him something warm to drink, to kiss him where he hurts, to love him as if that could touch those wounds inside that no sweet-smelling balm can heal. I feel like I’m always racing something more powerful than me. Something is trying to tear him apart, and I’m not powerful enough to save him. Someday I’m afraid that my hands covering his scars will not be enough to stop what bleeds far beneath. That is what hurts me. I lean over and press a kiss into the greenish bruise along his shoulder. He jolts awake, a reaction learned from almost three years of catching light naps during battles. For a moment his eyes stare at me with the dark fire he told me about, smoldering with exhaustion and fear and something… worse. With a sleepy blink the fire disappears, but I don’t forget it. “It is time to wake up, Anakin,” I whisper before burrowing my forehead into his chest. “You have to be at the Temple in two hours.” He slowly drags his real hand up to run his fingertips along my back. It feels like salt in a fresh and deep wound. “I know,” he breathes into my neck. “Just a few minutes. Just a few more minutes like this, please.” I lift my head up and stare into the blue of his eyes. I want to memorize them. I want to remember what he looks like at this moment, so I will know where he has been hurt the next time. If there is a next time. “Will you come back?” I almost beg. “Will my husband come back to me?” “Of course I will,” he mumbles with a hint of laughter underneath. He misunderstands. “I’ll always come for you, Padmé. I can’t lose you.” I give him a weak smile and accept his answer with a nod. Our wedding didn’t change one basic truth. I’m still dying, every day since he came back into my life. I’m giving him everything I have as if it could fix it all, as if my soul was enough. I fear that it won’t be. But I do what I must. I allow the Jedi Order to wrench him from my arms, and I don’t even make a sound about it. Instead, I watch from our balcony as his battalion leaves the Temple for deployment to the next battleground. Only then do I allow my tears to bleed cold down my face. Our love, our history is one of violence. It is only becoming worse. -----signature----- R.I.P John, Alex, Jason, and Christian Never forgotten Soldiers' Angels http://soldiersangels.org/ 2114 soldiers waiting for someone to care
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VaderLVR64 Title: Manager Emeritus Registered: Feb '04	Date Posted: 2/13/07 2:35pm Subject: RE: So You Think You Know Movies - the Response Thread - voting info in first post
	Obi-Wan, Anakin, Qui-Gon, the list goes on and on #50 Title: What a Girl Wants The roguishly handsome smile, the careful caress of your face and hands, the warmth of their body as you snuggle in a Jedi's arms; all of these things and more are what a girl wants. Even now, in the vast emptiness of space, a girl's fantasies and charms forever torment another Jedi's soul. Sylvar, a Cathar Jedi was once apprenticed to Vodo Siosk-Bass before the Great Sith War. She was once married to Crado, another Jedi warrior who also was apprenticed by the same master as she was. Both of them idolized Exar Kun, seeing him as a strong source of power and skill. When Exar Kun rose to power as a Dark Lord of the Sith, he took her beloved Crado as a possessed apprentice when the Sith holocron exploded. The Dark Side energy that was released into Crado put him into a tragic spell. He accompanied Oss Willum to Ambria to kill Maston Thon. In a vicious battle with Nomi Sunrider, Thon, and Crado's former lover Sylvar, Crado and Oss Willum tried to use the Dark Side creatures of Lake Natth to do their bidding, but were defeated. Crado nearly killed Sylvar because of the Dark Side influence, but he fled to escape them while Oss Willum was captured. Crado returned to Exar Kun, where he accompanied Allema to the Cron Cluster. There, they tried to use an ancient Sith weapon to destroy the arriving Old Republic fleet. In the end, they could not control the deadly weapon. Instead, Crado along with Allema caused ten stars in the Cron Cluster to explode, killing them both. In tearful mourning, Sylvar met Tott Doneeta, a Twi'lek Jedi Knight was had been taught by Master Arca Jeth on Onderon. Tott had grown up in a fairly normal Twi'lek family. However, his family was captured by slavers on Ryloth. Tott struggled against each of the slavers, being badly beaten to within an inch of his life. His family was taken to Ereesus and sold. Tott was eventually purchased by Master Arca. He became friends with Ulic and Cay Qel-Droma, and was assigned to watch over the planet Onderon with them. He had the unique ability to communicate with the animals on the planet. He used this ability in front of Sylvar causing her to fall for him. Their attraction became more and more as they soon became inseparable. They battled alongside Nomi Sunrider when they all returned to Ryloth to attempt to put an end to the feud between his clan and the R'lyek. Following the Exis Convocation, Tott and Sylvar again returned to Ryloth. They were secretly married as they didn't want to let go of their feelings for each other. They bonded together and again returned to Ryloth, this time to rally the Doneeta clan to violence. Tott, however, arranged for the leaders of the two clans to join forces and form a new, combined headclan. Because of this though, he and Sylvar started to argue for the first time in their marriage. She skirted with the Dark Side of the Force in her hatred of Ulic. She even tried to rouse the Doneeta clan into a killing frenzy that nearly brought them into a war with the R'ylek. Tott avoided the conflict as best as he could. He and his wife, Sylvar, eventually separated because of the dispute between them. He then forced her to return to Cathar. There, she met with Kharr and went on a blood hunt to try and regain her focus. Unfortunately, she slaughtered an entire colony of kiltiks before realizing that she was falling deeper into the Dark Side. When she learned that Vima Sunrider had traveled to Rhen Var to train under Ulic, Sylvar returned to Exis Station. She offered her assistance to Nomi in an effort to locate Vima. Her evil intentions were exposed by her husband, Tott. Luckily, Nomi left before she arrived, so Sylvar had to resort to hiring Hoggon to take her to Rhen Var, where she hoped to kill Ulic once and for all. She confronted him, and when Ulic refused to kill her in battle, Sylvar found out that she didnâ€™t have the heart to kill him either. She powered her lightsaber off, but was unprepared for Hoggon's appearance. The little man shot her and Ulic in the back, believing that he had killed the greatest traitors to the Jedi order. Gasping for her last breath, Sylvar asked Hoggon for mercy, but he gave her none. He shot her multiple times sealing her fate. Tott mourned for her trangressions, but forgave her. In his heart, he knew that they would be together again in the afterlife, happily reuniting with the love they once felt deeply for each other. -----signature----- R.I.P John, Alex, Jason, and Christian Never forgotten Soldiers' Angels http://soldiersangels.org/ 2114 soldiers waiting for someone to care
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VaderLVR64 Title: Manager Emeritus Registered: Feb '04	Date Posted: 2/14/07 2:30pm Subject: RE: So You Think You Know Movies - the Response Thread - voting info in first post
	# 27 - The Serpent's Kiss - Watch Out for Those Fangs! Marko was the only visitor at the Star Inn hostel that night, and came down for breakfast the following morning tired but cheerful. Sandre Malvier, the landlord’s wife, was laying the table as he arrived in the dining room, and the two small girls chasing one another around and underneath the chairs had to be her daughters. They were chanting some nursery rhyme as they raced round; Marko caught a few words as he went past. “Janny Melanny lives over the hill -” Mme Malvier shushed them, waved Marko to a chair and smiled tiredly. “Morning, sir.” “Oh, for stars’ sake. Marko, please.” Marko said with a grin. Sandre had to be ten years younger than her husband; it was easy to be friendly to her, as long as he remembered not to overdo it. “Hey, this smells wonderful.” “Thank you.” Sandre said over her shoulder. She reached the foot of the main stairs just as Gerart Malvier came down them, and the couple exchanged kisses. “Casse’s lost her chance cubes, Gerart.” “Under the stairs.” Gerart said shortly. He nodded to Marko; Marko nodded back, and started in on his breakfast. Casse and Mele Malvier stopped singing and adjourned to his table with alacrity on seeing that he was eating, and were only placated when Marko gave them each a piece of honeyed toast. They settled down on either side of him, munching contentedly, whilst Marko worked his way through the rest of the meal. When he’d finished, he pushed away the plate, picked up his travel bag and called across the room to Sandre “Excuse me?” She came a moment later, wiping her hands. “Yes?” “I’m heading through the pass to Languemède.” Marko explained. “Is there anywhere to stop on the way, or do I have to hitch a ride?” “Well -” Sandre began uncertainly. “You can stay at the Lady’s.” Gerart Malvier said from behind her. He looked at Marko critically and nodded. “She doesn’t come down to the valley much, but she’ll let you stay the night if you say we sent you on.” Marko raised a curious eyebrow. “The Lady?” Gerart and Sandre exchanged glances; it was Sandre who spoke. “She lives on her own. A big old place up by the waterfall. We don’t see her often.” Marko nodded, guessing that there was some obscure cultural reason behind their reticence. Médou had a frankly ridiculous assemblage of bizarre superstitions and taboos, and if, say, the local waterfall was deemed to be a haunt of evil spirits then that probably cursed anyone living near it as well. “What’s she like?” “Nice enough.” Gerart said gruffly. “Never had anyone come back to complain of her company, any road.” There was a hint in that sentence, surely, and a fairly broad one. Marko smiled in acknowledgement, and hoisted his bag onto his back. “The Lady’s it is, then.” He settled the bill and left, bidding Sandre Malvier and her husband a cheerful farewell, and missed the long look that passed between the couple as he set off up the Languemède road. * * * Marko reached the waterfall just as night was falling, and walked up a long drive lined with tall slender trees to reach the Lady’s house. There were glowcubes strung in the trees, and the sound of the falls added a pleasant counterpoint to the sleepy forest noises. The Lady’s house was less a house than it was a mansion, and Marko cast an appreciative eye over the huge edifice as he waited by the door. A minute or so after he had let go the huge metal doorknocker, the door creaked open. Behind it was a spindly service droid, hovering at eye height, which buzzed threateningly at him. Marko was about to say something when there was a shimmer of white behind the droid and it moved out of the way. Its place was taken by a woman who took Marko’s breath away. She was as tall as he was, dark-skinned for a Médouaise, and had a huge mass of dark hair tied up behind her head. She wore a long white dress that covered everything from neck to ankle, and even that made Marko stare. Somehow, whilst completely covered, she managed to be a million times more desirable than the barely-clothed streetwalkers who thronged the Coruscant subways. Marko remembered himself enough to say “The Malviers sent me.” She nodded, and smiled. Then, seeing his curious look, she touched her mouth with one hand and shook her head. “You’re mute?” Marko asked gently. She nodded, and then beckoned for him to follow her across the huge, echoing entrance hall. She seemed to glide rather than walk, and her footsteps made no noise. Her long skirt billowed like a sail drifting along the flagstones, and pooled around her feet when she came to a stop. She had to stoop a little to press her hand to an ornate panel on the door she had come to, and the skirt swirled at the movement like a living thing. The door slid open with a faint hiss as she took her hand away, and she resumed her curious gliding walk. Beyond the door was a long corridor, panelled in some wood that looked to have been middle-gold before smoke and time darkened it. Marko ran his hand along the near wall as he went, marvelling at the waxy smoothness of the grain. Like everything in the huge building, it was of matchless quality. Strange that a lady with such an evident fortune should live alone, even if she was a mute. He only became aware that he had slowed when the impatient swirl of her white skirt caught his eye up ahead. She was beckoning to him, and nodded towards the open door she stood by. A light that looked like firelight spilled from it, warm and welcoming. Marko gave her an apologetic smile and followed her through. Inside was another panelled room, with an old-fashioned fireplace set into one wall. A fire burnt in the hearth, lending a cosily archaic feel to the space, and a more modern glowlamp stood discreetly on a side table. Marko sank gratefully into the nearest hovering chair, and closed his eyes as he sat back. The fire was wonderfully warm, and his hostess . . . looked as if she welcomed the company. From the way the old couple at the Star had talked about her, it seemed like one of those mad superstitions - maybe there was some old thing in Médou culture that banned you from talking to those who couldn’t talk back. That had to be the reason she lived on her own. Point of fact, it was a little bit surprising that nobody had thrown culture to the winds and married the woman; for stars’ sakes, she was stunning. Still - Marko stretched happily - he wasn’t a native, and didn’t have to conform to any half-baked local taboos. At that he allowed himself an anticipatory smile. Poor lass, she’d be absolutely starved - He opened his eyes at a feather-light touch on his shoulder, and looked up into the Lady’s face. Marko smiled at her in what he judged to be a gracious manner, and stood up. There was a small table in a corner of the room that was now lit, laid for two, and his hoverchair scooted past him to take up station at the near side. The Lady smiled shyly back, and went around the other side of the table to sit down. When they were both seated, she closed her eyes and sat with hands folded demurely in her lap for a few moments. Marko hastily mimicked her, murmuring a few vaguely pious-sounding words under his breath. When she opened her eyes, she smiled again, this time a dazzling and pleased smile that took his breath away. She was already eating busily by the time he remembered there was food on the table, and he hastened to catch up. There were slices of some meat that was probably a local bird, and various unidentifiable vegetables; they tasted good, and once he had established this, Marko ate with eyes for his hostess rather than his plate. She ate daintily, and somehow avoided getting sauce on the long drapes of sleeve that came down over her hands. Marko finished first, and sat back. She paused, and tapped the table enquiringly; a moment later a spindly hovering server droid buzzed out from beneath the table and proffered Marko a glass of wine. He took it eagerly, downed half the glass in one go, and then had to stop to cough. It wasn’t wine. She made an apologetic face, and tapped the table again. The droid swooped back underneath it and re-emerged clutching a bottle, which Marko took from it. The label was in Médouais, which he had trouble reading, but the main part had been translated into Basic. “Metheglin?” Marko spluttered aloud. “Medoway brain-rot? Sweet Force.” He picked up his glass in his free hand and looked at the liquid suspiciously. “Gods, I could’ve died.” He put down bottle and glass more abruptly than he had intended, and looked up to see the Lady looking flustered and not a little upset. There was red in her cheeks, Marko noticed, and it made her look much younger and definitely in need of protection. “Sorry . . .” he apologised awkwardly. “I’m not used to it. I’m not from here -” At that the flustered look vanished, replaced for a moment by incredulous joy and then by a slightly embarrassed smile. Marko felt like punching the air. He’d guessed right! It was some boneheaded superstition, and she, poor girl, had had no idea he didn’t subscribe to it as well. She tapped the table absently, and the server droid reappeared and began to clear away. Marko followed her back across the room, and went to sit down before he realised that she was not doing likewise. Instead she was standing by the door, one hand on the edge, her head tilted in mute questioning. Marko disengaged himself from the chair and followed eagerly as they left the firelit dining-room and went back along the same corridor they had come by. In the echoing entrance hall all was dark until the Lady clapped her hands peremptorily. The sound made Marko start, and he blinked as another spindly droid flew out of the shadows clutching a glow-cube. The droid accompanied them up the wide flight of stairs, bobbing ahead of them in the gloom like a will-o’-the-wisp. The Lady went slowly, holding onto the stair rail, with her skirt dragging behind her; Marko followed, marvelling at her ability to maintain that stepless, gliding walk even whilst climbing stairs. At the top of the flight was a gallery the mirror of the corridor he had walked along downstairs, identical down to the smoke-stained look of the wall panelling. She stopped halfway along it, placed her hand to the unlocking panel on one of the doors, and dipped Marko a shy half-curtsy before beckoning him through. The bedroom she ushered him into was small but well-furnished, its centrepiece a four-poster bed in the Naboo style. Marko shed his travelling bag onto a hovering chair and made a beeline for the bed, inspecting it with something bordering on awe. It was a work of real craftsmanship. And if the guest bedroom had this quality of decoration, what would the master chamber look like? He turned back to her and said honestly “Thank you.” She smiled, put her hands together in the Médou farewell gesture, and turned to leave for her own bedroom. Marko took a step forward but did not detain her, contenting himself with standing in the doorway and seeing which of the other doors she went to. When her slender white-clad form had disappeared through the door at the far end of the corridor Marko withdrew back into his allocated room, found the small old-fashioned ‘fresher chamber cunningly concealed behind a tapestry, and made haste to clean himself up and find a wearable sleep-tunic. Once he had got rid of the worst of the day’s stains and brushed his hair, he sat on the bed and thought through his plan of attack. She understood Basic, so no problems there. She hadn’t locked his door or her own. And, stars, she was so . . . wonderful. Marko groaned quietly and stood up, stretching. He padded out into the corridor, leaving the door half-open behind him, and sighted down the long gallery to the somewhat more ornate door at its far end. It was open a crack, and warm yellow light spilled down towards him. How much more open an invitation could you get? Marko smiled to himself as he headed quietly towards the sliver of light. The door moved silently on its hinges when he pulled it, and made barely a sound clicking back into place behind him. The Lady was standing at a wide mirror directly opposite the door, brushing the long skein of dark hair that now hung loose almost to her waist. Off to her right stood a huge old bed carved from dark wood, every bit as ornate as Marko had imagined it. The coverlid was half turned back, and the sheets were white. She caught sight of him in the mirror just as he looked back towards her, and abruptly lowered the brush. She smiled at him in the glass, a quiet inward smile as if she knew some secret he did not, and turned around with open arms. He was scarcely aware of taking the two steps it took to reach her. But they had definitely happened, because now she was in his arms, and he was kissing her and running a hand down her side - And into empty air. Marko started back - The Lady looked at him with that same curious smile playing around her lips, and her fingers meshed delicately in front of her. Then she put her right hand to her left shoulder, and as if brushing some stain off her dress moved her fingers out and downward. The white fabric melted away underneath them, seeming to boil and dissolve under her hand like smoke. She was wearing some kind of black long-sleeved garment that looked almost as if it were armour. It glinted metallic here and there, but in a fashion that made Marko’s eyes start to water uncontrollably, as if the glitter did not quite match the lights casting it. She lowered her hand and repeated the manoeuvre from left hip to right knee, the white skirt melting into nothingness - Marko stumbled backward again, a hand clasped over his mouth. He could taste the bile rising in his throat as the shreds of whiteness dissipated from around the Lady’s waist, making it transparently clear that there was nothing below it. Her black-clad torso ended in a smooth dark band, like a surgical sleeve, that came to a slight triangle as if to follow her pelvis. Below that was only empty air, and the last wispy tendrils of white dissolving away. She came towards him, moving as surely as if she walked, but with the odd gliding smoothness that had piqued his curiosity earlier. Marko backed away, blindly, his eyes refusing to see the defiance of nature taking place in front of them. Finally his back met the door, and he sagged against its unyielding surface. The Lady waved a hand derisively, and a shudder went through the door as the bolt on the outer surface slid ponderously into its socket. Marko cringed, trying to flatten himself further against the wood. Then she placed her hands on her hips, as though totally unconscious that there was nothing below them, and tilted her head to survey him critically. Searching for something remotely normal to focus on, Marko found himself looking her in the eye. Only her head remained the same; the ravishing face with its dark skin and tumbling black hair had not changed a whit. She narrowed her eyes, and said consideringly “You certainly have conventional taste in castles.” Marko could not, would not, bring himself to contemplate the ghastly emptiness beneath her poised hands, and instead blurted out “You’re not mute?” “Now that,” she said dispassionately, “is less than conventional. No, the muteness was your idea. All this -” she waved a hand “- came straight from your mind, little traveller.” She smiled, and Marko flinched away. It looked too much like a predator’s smile. “You came to a lonely mansion high up in the Médou mountains. I ensured that you saw what you expected to see. And heard what you expected to hear.” There was a steel in her voice that made Marko flinch again. “I dare say you don’t like your women to talk back.” She clapped her hands, and the room dissolved. Marko had shut his eyes in terror as soon as she moved, but he could feel it happening; it felt like a draining, a coldness, and the growing, inescapable certainty that what he would see when he opened his eyes would not be the room he had shut them on. “Open your eyes.” the Lady commanded icily. They opened. Marko stared, too terrified now even to flinch, at a spartan room with cold walls of bare stone and two stuttering glowcubes hanging from chains. As his eyes became used to the grey light, other things came into focus. Bones. There were bones littered along the base of the far wall - The Lady snapped her fingers and the bones were gone, the lights were brighter and the shadows less threatening. Marko felt a chill as if a cold hand had taken hold of his spine. She drummed her fingers on her hips and said after a moment “I should introduce myself, shouldn’t I?” She did not give Marko time to reply before answering her own question. “Yes. Of course. In that case, Marko Nievalan -” - the shadows grew behind her, and she was wearing a flickering halo of lightning, a glowing crown of thorns laid over hair that streamed in a high wind, and below her waist grew an indistinct green mass that slithered into solidity and became a writhing, thrashing snake’s tail - “- welcome!” Her voice was a triumphant, echoing shout, multiplied into infinity and amplified into thunder. “Welcome to the home of the Djanimilane, Dark Lady of the Sith.” Djanimilane . . . Marko’s hindbrain respelt the nasal Médouais into something resembling Basic, and presented the result to his shivering consciousness. Janny Melanny - “The children.” Marko whispered stupidly. “The children - at the hostel -” The thunder and lightning vanished as abruptly as they had come, and Djanimilane lowered her arms to her sides. “Were they singing about me? Oh, how nice.” She laughed, showing her teeth. “Funny, isn’t it, how children retell the horrors? But that song will live when I am gone and forgotten.” She was no longer looking at him, but staring into space. “And as long as they sing it, I will never die . . .” Marko looked through her, lost in a morass of terror. Terror of the woman in front of him, of the monstrous impossibility of her existence, and of the nagging certainty that he understood not an iota of why she did what she was doing - She looked back at him as he had that thought, head turning with whiplash speed, and said quietly “Acharis Lang cut me in half.” Lang was a common surname, but wasn’t there a Jedi family - Djanimilane hissed contemptuously and snapped her fingers again. The wall to Marko’s right became a window onto a rainswept vista, through which cut the bright figure of a young woman in Jedi robes, her blue lightsaber poised. In this room of horrors she looked like an angel, and Marko reached out numbly towards her. The Dark Lady obliterated the illusion as quickly as she had made it, and with another contemptuous gesture of her fingers sent Marko reeling back against the door. “My Master cast me out.” She cupped her hands underneath her levitating torso, disgust written on her face. “My skill with minds, my illusions - never mind that I can summon a phantom that would make him quail back in fear - counted for nothing. No Sith, he said, should suffer such an injury . . . He will take me back if I survive ten years without him. Then and only then!” She spat. “But it was exile or death, and any exile is better than that.” Marko did not hear her. The age-old war between the Jedi and the Sith raged in the background of galactic life, only intruding on reality when the balance of power shifted dramatically. And the dark Order stayed in the shadows. This had to be a nightmare, brought on by tiredness and embarrassment and an unfamiliar bed - “Oh, no.” Djanimilane’s silky voice cut in on his thoughts. She smiled the same feral smile again, and stretched like a cat. “It’s not a nightmare, little traveller. I’m afraid you won’t be waking up from this one.” * * * Down in the valley, Gerart Malvier drew the outer door of the Star Inn closed, shot the bolt, and put the chain across. On the other side of the main room, his wife was closing the curtains and straightening chairs. They met at the foot of the stairs, and Sandre looked towards the locked door, and then at her husband. “Gerart . . .” “It’s out of our hands.” Gerart said brusquely. Sandre wrung a fold of her dress between her hands and whispered “Gerart, that poor boy.” Her husband grunted. “D’you see how his eyes lit up when I mentioned the Lady living on her own?” He started upstairs. “Deserves everything he gets.” “No!” Sandre caught at the hem of his tunic. “Nobody deserves that.” Gerart came back downstairs and sat down on the step, pulling Sandre into his arms. “That’s as may be. But if we hadn’t sent him, she would have come for the children. You know what we promised. We send loners up to her, and she stays away from us -” “It’s not right.” Sandre said wretchedly. “It’s not right.” “The girls know.” Gerart said after a long while. “I’m sure of it.” Sandre closed her eyes. “Yes -” There was a creak of a floorboard above them, and both parents glanced up. From the floor above a dim light was shining through a crack, and two girlish voices were chanting sleepily. “. . . Janny Melanny's a witch in disguise . . .” Sandre pulled free of her husband’s grip and climbed the stairs, stony-eyed. A moment later Gerart followed her, and watched helplessly from the upper door as Sandre put their two daughters summarily back in bed. Later, though, after he had looked in on Casse and Mele and found them both fast asleep, he would have sworn that someone was still singing, their voice high as high and as faint as the keening of the wind. * * * O Janny Melanny lives over the hill - She lives on her own and she never comes out; And nobody knows if she everly will; Keep to the path if you're ever about - She lives in the castle way up by the fall, With graves in the garden and bones on the wall! O Janny Melanny’s a witch in disguise - She lives on her own and she never comes out; She's got hair like black stormclouds and glowing green eyes; Keep to the path if you're ever about - But after the sunset when no-one's awake, Janny Melanny turns into a snake! O Janny Melanny will ask you to stop - She lives on her own and she never comes out; For during the day she's a woman on top; (Keep to the path if you're ever about) But see that white dress like a big flappy sail? She wears the long skirt so's you can't see the tail! If Janny Melanny gets into your head - (She lives on her own and she never comes out) You'll pine till you're crazy - and then till you're dead! - (So keep to the path if you're ever about) If she asks you "Come in!" then say thank you and go - If she offers a drink then say thank you but no! For if Janny Melanny's laid lips to your cup, You'll go off to sleep and you'll never wake up! -----signature----- R.I.P John, Alex, Jason, and Christian Never forgotten Soldiers' Angels http://soldiersangels.org/ 2114 soldiers waiting for someone to care
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VaderLVR64 Title: Manager Emeritus Registered: Feb '04	Date Posted: 2/19/07 1:04pm Subject: RE: So You Think You Know Movies - the Response Thread - voting info in first post
	# 13 – Evil Cliffhangers Cruel Intentions She was sitting alone, her head bowed and her hands folded on her lap. Clasped between her hands was a small, intricately carved piece of japor ivory wood. While it wasn’t elegant in the ways that the many Nubian artworks placed around the room were, its curious design had obviously been carved with deep love. Outside, a torrential rain pounded down on the buildings of Coruscant. The sky, which normally at this time of evening would just be turning an orangish-pink, was thick with storm-grey clouds that brewed restlessly, crackling with lightning and booming with thunder. Padmé Amidala tried to ignore the heavy rainfall, but she couldn’t help but think of just how ironic the weather patterns could be. The day she had fallen in love, the day she had married the man of her dreams had been gloriously sunny with all of her hopes and promises reflected in the sun’s brilliant rays. Likewise, this day – when she had to reveal her reasons for the action she was about to take – the weather was as turbulent as the thoughts flying through her mind. Each drop of rain that plummeted from the sky seemed to represent each hope she had had on the day she had married Anakin Skywalker. Those hopes and fairy-tale dreams that had filled her head that utterly blissful day were now falling through her fingers and shattering like glass. Padmé inhaled deeply, trying to keep herself calm. Anakin would come by her apartments soon, as he always did in the evenings. For several weeks she had been trying to find the courage necessary to face him, trying to find the right way to tell him her greatest secret. After all those moments fighting with herself, trying to force herself to let slip her thoughts, she had resolved that there could never be a “right way” to tell your husband that you didn’t love him anymore. Tears were already welling in her eyes. She blinked, forcing them back. She wished desperately that she didn’t have to take this course, but she knew that she had to – for as much of Anakin’s sake as her own. For the first month of her marriage, everything had been blissfully wonderful. Padmé had – at that moment – loved Anakin with every fibre of her being. She was deliriously happy every moment he was with her and tragically saddened every time he was sent off on a mission. But the happy times soon passed. Anakin was sent away more and more often. Months passed when they didn’t hear of each other. When Anakin returned from his various assignments, he became less and less like himself. He now no longer smiled. He spoke constantly of the war, and his anger directed at the Separatists grew more and more profound in his expression each time he spoke. It frightened Padmé. Anakin wasn’t himself. At first she tried to talk to him about it, but every time she approached the topic, Anakin snapped at her, telling her that she wouldn’t understand because she was a politician. Finally, it became more than Padmé could bear. She knew full well that every marriage had its ups and downs – but hers seemed to be escalating downwards faster than she could manage to save it. Anakin hardly spoke to her anymore, and when he did, it was always in anger. The rage in his eyes was so tangible that she could almost touch it. While she still cared for Anakin, what good was it if he kept pushing her away? How could they be in a relationship if they couldn’t even communicate with each other? She didn’t even know if Anakin still loved her. As the days passed, he became more and more distant. What they had once shared was now a dim memory. Footsteps echoed down the hall, coming closer and closer. Anakin. Padmé looked up when he entered the room. Anakin’s face was flushed; he looked angry – as he always was. Padmé wondered desperately what had happened to the handsome, caring man she had married. Anakin stood still as his eyes met hers. A brief look of confusion flashed across his face. “What?” he asked. Padmé swallowed hard. There was no easy way to do this. “Anakin, I…” She glanced away, gazing across the room at the windows that the rain was still thundering against. “What?” Anakin repeated. This time there was a hard edge to his voice. Padmé turned back to him, exhaling deeply. “I… I have something important to tell you.” Anakin raised an eyebrow. “Oh?” he said, walking towards her. She nodded, her eyes flickering away from his once again. She trembled as Anakin sat down beside her on the couch. “What is it?” he asked, his words neither harsh nor soft. Padmé raised her head. “I…” Her words failed as soon as she began to speak. She didn’t even know where to begin. Blinking, she forced back the tears that were beginning to form and looked her husband directly in the eye. “Anakin,” she began again, her voice cracking, “these past few weeks… I don’t know what’s happening, but I just have to say that we’re not what we once were.” Anakin’s eyes narrowed and became as hard as durasteel. “What are you trying to say?” he asked, his voice hardly more than a whisper. Padmé inhaled deeply. She could feel panic beginning to rise, but she forced it aside. Part of her was still fighting her decision – the part that said that she needed Anakin, the part that wanted to be with him. That part was miniscule, a fragment of her former self, still clinging on to a love that was now lost. “You’re not around any more,” she whispered. “Don’t blame that on me,” Anakin hissed. “No!” she breathed. “No, it’s not that… Anakin, please listen. Whenever you are here, I don’t… I feel like I don’t know you. You’re angry all the time, and whenever I try to help you push me away. We barely talk to each other any more...” Anakin made a loud, hissing noise and stood up. Padmé could almost see his anger rising in his eyes. “What do you expect of me?” he roared. “To come home from war and be… happy? Cheerful? Content? It’s you who doesn’t understand, Padmé, I –” “No!” she shouted and then she found herself on her feet beside him, even though she had no recollection of standing up. “I understand war, I understand suffering. If I may remind you, I nearly lost my planet when I was fourteen. This has nothing to do with the war or the Separatists or whatever missions you are taking part of.” She paused, breathing in and out. “Anakin,” she said softly, “this has lasted for too long. You no longer care. It’s like you barely know I exist. Wherever it is you’re going, I can’t follow you.” She lowered her head and reached out with one of her hands. She unfolded Anakin’s own hand and placed in it the japor snippet he had carved for her so long ago. She looked up at him, her lips pursed tightly together, and then whispered, “I… I can’t love you anymore.” As soon as the words passed through her lips, she felt like she had torn her heart in two. That miniscule section of her being that had still been holding on to love let go and perished. Her eyes flickered upwards briefly. Through a thick veil of tears, she saw Anakin gazing at her, a mixed expression on his face. He looked shocked, confused… regretful? His eyes spoke volumes – unbound pain was set loose from the one look he gave her before turning and, without another word, leaving the room. Padmé watched him go, hearing his echoing footsteps slowly fade away. Then she collapsed back down on her couch, sobbing into her hands, each tear falling like the torrential rain falling in thick sheets outside. What have I done? she wondered wildly. Oh, Anakin… She was cruel. Her inner voice accused her of being inhumanely cruel. Her purpose had been to simply state what she felt, but she knew in her heart that Anakin would not see her intentions for what they were. With that last thought, she collapsed and wailed like a heartbroken child. She had no sense of how long she stayed there, hunched on her couch, sobbing into her palms, weeping for the love she had just lost forever. When Padmé finally raised her head, she wildly turned around looking for Ellé and Moteé, but they were gone. There was no one there. No one she could talk to, no one she could confide in. Her heart’s tragedy was her own… “Padmé?” She looked over her shoulder and her eyes widened. “Bail!” she gasped. Somewhere in the back of her mind, a strand of dull memory told her that the day before she had asked her dearest friend to come by to discuss something of importance. She couldn’t remember what it was she had wanted to tell him, but she didn’t care. She flew from her spot on the sofa and hugged her friend. “Padmé?” Bail Organa looked confused as he gently released her grip. He frowned as he looked at her. “Are you all right?” Padmé suddenly became aware that tears still plastered her cheeks. Quickly, she brushed them away with the back of her palm. Her heart thumped as an idea occurred to her. She desperately needed to tell someone – anyone – about her and Anakin and what she had just told him. Surely she could trust Bail… “Please,” she said, “sit down. I have to tell you something.” Bail did as she asked, but he still looked confused. “Padmé, are you sure you’re all right?” he asked, concerned. “You don’t look well.” Padmé took a seat opposite from him. “No, I’m fine… really.” She took a breath, hoping that she wouldn’t start crying again. “I have to tell you something. I just… I just need to tell someone. Please listen...” Bail nodded. “Very well,” he said, concern still in his voice. Padmé swallowed, raised her hands to her face and exhaled slowly. “Anakin and I… we… oh, Bail!” The tears came before she could stop them this time, and soon she found herself pouring out the entire story of her and Anakin while Bail sat beside her, listening quietly, holding one of her hands while she cried. Half-blind by her tears, Padmé couldn’t see his reaction to anything she was telling him, but her need to tell someone was too great for her to care about what he might think. “…but it’s true,” she sobbed a little while later, wiping away at her tears with trembling fingers. “I don’t think I love him, or can love him, anymore. He doesn’t seem to care…” Thud. Padmé looked up wildly, her eyes widening in shock as she saw the cloaked figure come through the doorway into her sitting room. She didn’t even need to see his face to know that it was Anakin. “Padmé.” His voice was hard and cold, unlike anything she had heard before. “Anakin,” she whispered. “I should have known,” he growled. “From the way you were talking to me earlier, from the way you’ve been acting for these past few weeks… you’re with him!” Padmé opened her mouth in shock, glancing at Bail. Then she stood up and frantically rushed to Anakin’s side. “No, it’s not like that!” she exclaimed, her voice hoarse from crying. “Please Anakin… this has nothing to do with Bail, this is between us –” Anakin abruptly seized her shoulders, cutting her off sharply. “What did you tell him?” he hissed, his eyes flat. “N-nothing!” she stammered. “Please, Anakin, this isn’t like you think it is –” “You’ve betrayed me!” he roared, his hand gripping her arm tightly. “You swore you loved me, Padmé! You swore it! And now you tell me that you can’t love me anymore.” His eyes flashed and his grip tightened as he spoke. Padmé winced in pain, but it wasn’t the pain from her arm that was hurting her – it was the pain he was inflicting by his words. “You said you loved me, Padmé,” Anakin continued, his voice rising and falling. “When you said that you would marry me, were you intending to leave me soon afterwards?” “No, Anakin, I –” “Shut up!” he yelled. “Anakin, stop!” Bail’s voice roared across the room. Padmé saw Anakin’s eyes flash briefly in her friend’s direction before turning back to bore into her own. “Did you ever intend to be so cruel?” he hissed, drawing her closer to him. “Did you ever plan on being so cruel that as soon as I’m gone for a longer period of time, you decide to leave me forever?” “No!” Padmé gasped. It was becoming difficult to breathe. “I never meant for it to turn out this way… please, Anakin, just listen to me. Maybe we were never meant to be together. Maybe it would be better for you to leave and –” “Leave and forget about us?” Anakin growled. “Never. How could I forget the days that made me happier than I have ever been in my entire life? Padmé, whatever it was you intended on telling me today, I’m not going to believe it. I will never believe it.” Padmé was gasping for breath. Her free hand reached up and rested on her throat as she tried to fight for breath. It was becoming difficult to speak. “Anakin, I… can’t… love you… anymore!” she said, struggling to get the words out. “You’ve… become…” A veil of darkness was descending on her. Her mind was filled with fog; she was dimly aware of what was going on around her. Anakin was still yelling, one hand extended in front of him, pointing at her… there was someone else shouting. Padmé felt herself slipping and sliding forwards before landing on something hard. Then she sunk beneath the waves of darkness. Far away, so faint that it was barely more than a whisper, a voice came calling, reaching out to her… Padmé, Padmé, Padmé… I’m so sorry… please, forgive me for ever hurting you… -----signature----- R.I.P John, Alex, Jason, and Christian Never forgotten Soldiers' Angels http://soldiersangels.org/ 2114 soldiers waiting for someone to care
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VaderLVR64 Title: Manager Emeritus Registered: Feb '04	Date Posted: 2/19/07 1:06pm Subject: RE: So You Think You Know Movies - the Response Thread - voting info in first post - Date Edited: 2/19/07 3:45pm (1 edits total) Edited By: VaderLVR64
	#40 - Chocolate during PMS Gone In 60 Seconds Senator Quane Rahn sat in his pod in the Senate chamber gazing blankly straight ahead. With his best political face on, he feigned interest in Senator Bail Organa’s tedious reasoning against giving Chancellor Palpatine more executive powers. Quane detested wasting time. In his thirty years as the Senator of Kalarba, he prided himself of knowing how to get things done in the least amount of time. Did that involve making somewhat unseemly deals? Yes. Occasionally compromising his ideals? Yes. Was he always able to please his constituents? No. Quane didn’t spend much time dwelling on the distasteful side of politics. He realized the majority of beings across the Galaxy were incapable of understanding how politics really worked. It wasn’t their fault they weren’t among the elite few chosen by the Gods to be given the gift of enlightenment so they could comprehend the reality of what it took to get things done. Quane shifted uncomfortably in his seat. This was the part of his job he hated the most. A deal to give the Chancellor more executive powers had already been made. The debate that would follow Organa’s futile speech was only a formality, necessary to allow the citizens of the Galaxy to believe every opinion was heard and considered before decisions were made. Looking around to make sure he wasn’t being observed, Quane reached into his robes and pulled out his grandson’s electronic game. Asteroids was the best selling game on Coruscant and Quane was up to level 20. He was just about to beat his grandson’s record when Chancellor Palpatine called for the official vote. Sighing, he shut down the game and prepared to cast his vote. It passed as planned in sixty seconds. Quane grinned in satisfaction. Taking part in the action of passing a necessary piece of legislation was the part of his job he loved the most. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ The day the world changed started out as any other. Quane spent his day at the Senate before returning home for a relaxing evening. He had just sat down to dinner when he was summoned back to the Senate for an emergency session. He rushed back to the Senate chambers, exchanging speculative reasons for the session with his fellow Senators as they made their way to their rerspective pods. A hush fell over the chamber when a hooded figure stepped into the Chancellor’s pod. Quane’s mouth dropped in shock as the figure began to speak in a harsh, rasping voice of the Jedi’s attempted assassination of the Chancellor and plot to overthrow the Republic. Quane could hardly believe his ears but proof of the Jedi’s treachery stood before him. He looked away in horror as Palpatine threw back his hood, revealing his newly disfigured features as he calmly declared all Jedi outlaws of the Republic. He scarcely had time to wonder how the Republic was going to hunt down and imprison the mighty Jedi when Palpatine declared the need for a new Galactic Empire. “We must never again be divided,” Palpatine explained in a convincing tone. “Only by standing together, as one voice can we hope to accomplish peace throughout the Galaxy.” He paused, eyes scanning the entire chamber. “Let us become the first Galactic Empire, ruled by a single sovereign, elected for their lifetime.” He held up his hands in triumph as one after another, Senators jumped to their feet applauding enthusiastically. All too soon, Palpatine called for order and an official vote was underway. Quane stood proudly as he cast his vote and watched in wondrous awe as each and every Senator voted for the new Emperor’s proposition. He stood back, tears of joy filling his eyes as he watched how the Republic he served for 30 years was gone in 60 seconds. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ The Senate was shut down for a week following the creation of the new Empire. Quane spent the time meeting with as many Senators as he could. They congratulated each other, each delighted with the role they’d played in history and spent many hours imagining the tranquil new would they would help to shape. It was the best week of Quane’s life. He returned to work the following week in high spirits. Stepping into his office, he froze at the sight of a strange man sitting at his desk, boldly sifting through the contents of his drawers. “What do you think you’re doing?” Quane asked in a tight voice. The man looked up. “Good morning, Senator,” he greeted in a bored voice before returning to his task. “I am Firmus Piett, your new assistant. I was just…,” “My what?” Quane stomped over to his desk, slamming the drawers shut. He smirked when Piett barely managed to get his hands out in time. “I have an assistant, thank you,” he continued in a tight voice. “You may leave now.” “I’m sorry Senator,” Piett replied simply. “I was assigned by the Emperor himself.” Quane studied the slight, young man before him. Piett still sat in his chair, looking up at Quane, a look of triumph on his face. “I can assure you, you will be reassigned when I speak with the Emperor,” Quane hissed. “Now, I would appreciate it if you would get out of my chair and let me get to work.” “Very well,” Piett responded, rising very slowly. “But I have strict orders from the Emperor to monitor every…,” “You will monitor nothing!” Quane roared. “Now get out of my office!” Piett shrugged nonchalantly. “Will you be contacting the Emperor’s office soon?” he asked. “Because I have my own work to do.” Quane took a deep breath to calm himself. He enjoyed a casual friendship with Palpatine over the years and was confident he could convince him to reassign Piett. To the bowels of the Senate building scrapping the filth from the floors with his bare hands, if possible. “I will contact him immediately,” he smiled, imagining the impeccably groomed Piett reduced to scrubbing the floors on his hands and knees. “No go.” Piett left without another word. Quane sank into his chair, reaching for his desktop intercom. He could hardly believe his ears when the Emperor’s receptionist coldly informed him Palpatine was too busy preparing for the morning session to be interrupted with individual issues. In the future, he was to take all matters up in the Senate. He sat in stunned silence, staring at the intercom. After all these years of loyalty to Palpatine and he was dismissed as just another Senator in 60 seconds. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Quane walked through the hallway on his way to the Senate chamber still reeling from his earlier treatment. “Good Morning, Senator.” Bail Organa fell into step beside Quane. “I take it from the look on your face, you’re not entirely pleased with the changes you’ve experienced this morning.” Quane cast a guilty look around before responding. “That’s an understatement. Were you assigned a new assistant as well?” “We all were,” Bail nodded. “All of us?” Quane shook his head in amazement. “I just don’t understand why the Emperor felt the need to assign one to me. I’m one of his biggest supporters.” “Perhaps he just wants to make sure you stay that way,” Bail mused. “Why wouldn’t I?” “Senator,” Bail sighed heavily. “If you’re not happy with the initial changes the Emperor has made, what makes you think you will agree with everything else he has planned?” Quane stopped dead in his tracks, grabbing Bail’s arm. “What do you mean? Palpatine only wants peace throughout the galaxy.” “At the cost of democracy and all personal freedom,” Bail pointed out. “As you are beginning to see.” They walked quietly for a few moments, stopping before the entrance to the Senate chamber. “I can’t believe the Emperor would take away all freedom,” Quane whispered. “You will after this morning’s session,” Bail warned. “And when you finally see what Palpatine has in store for his new Empire, come and see me. We may just be able to do something about it.” “You…you would oppose the Emperor?” Quane gasped in shock. “I cannot stand by and watch the Galaxy twisted to serve Palpatine’s evil whims,” Bail vowed in a tight voice. “Can you?” He gazed at Quane pointedly for a moment before entering the Senate chamber. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Quane quickly walked to his pod, pondering Bail’s words. He still found it hard to believe Palpatine had sinister plans for the future, but if he did, what was he going to do? Did he dare take a stand against him? He pushed the thoughts from his mind as the Emperor stepped into his pod and the session got under way. He listened carefully as Palpatine boasted of the hundreds of Jedi already hunted down and killed, the new interrogation centers being set up to weed out Jedi sympathizers and the new detention centers for those found guilty of treason. His heart sank as he realized Bail was right. This was not the new world he envisioned when he voted for the demise of the Republic. “There is one more matter that needs to be addressed before we can continue,” Palpatine announced. “I need to be assured of your loyalty.” He turned slowly, looking at the entire body of assembled Senators, ignoring their gasps of surprise. “I have invited several holo reporters from the various news agencies throughout the galaxy to broadcast this momentous occasion to each of your home worlds.” He gestured to several holo cams strategically placed throughout the chamber. “So there will be no doubts as to where each and everyone of you stand.” Quane shuddered as a sense of foreboding washed over him. He had a very bad feeling about this. “Senator Rahn.” Quane shifted uncomfortably as every eye turned to him. “You have the honor of being the first to proclaim your oath of loyalty to me.” Palpatine’s yellow eyes flashed with pleasure. Quane’s heart began to pound as he broke out into a sweat. Could he declare his loyalty to Palpatine and his new regime? Should he? “I’m waiting, Senator,” Palpatine hissed, h s eyes narrowing into thin slits. Out of the corner of his eye, Quane noticed an armed Senate guard step up to the entrance of his pod. He swallowed the lump in his throat, the consequences of not declaring his loyalty becoming abundantly clear. Quane stood regally, shoulders squared. Palpatine sneered in gleeful triumph. “I will declare no such oath,” he declared in a strong voice. “I serve the citizens of Kalarba,” he paused to stare directly into Palpatine’s eyes. “Not you.” Quane heard the sizzle of blaster fire before crumpling to the floor of his pod. He lay, paralyzed in agonizing pain as the life ebbed from his body. He managed a slight smile as his eyes closed for the final time, hoping that while his defiant stand against Palpatine only lasted 60 seconds, it would give the millions of beings watching throughout the Galaxy the courage to make their own stand. ~The End~ -----signature----- R.I.P John, Alex, Jason, and Christian Never forgotten Soldiers' Angels http://soldiersangels.org/ 2114 soldiers waiting for someone to care
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VaderLVR64 Title: Manager Emeritus Registered: Feb '04	Date Posted: 2/21/07 2:36pm Subject: RE: So You Think You Know Movies - the Response Thread - voting info in first post
	1. The PM inbox From Hell Pain. More than anyone should ever live through. Sorrow. A grief so intense that it made him want it all to be over now. Anger. Simmering hot fury that would never evaporate. His life turned upside down, and the pieces of his shattered existence were gone forever. Anakin Skywalker was living in hell; one he brought upon himself. How fitting that the planet where his life nearly ended was a perfect representation of Hell itself. Mustafar raged against him as furiously as he fought against the man who was almost a father to Anakin. Now the remains of his torn body were scorched by fire, and his misery became worse if that was even possible. Glancing up at the man who caused it, he only felt his incredible rage grow. You were my brother, Anakin. I loved you. The words haunted him; they were a mockery and an absolute contradiction of the truth. Obi-Wan had never truly wanted Anakin to become a Jedi, after all he argued with Qui-Gon Jinn about him joining the Order. This entire time he tricked Anakin into think that they were friends that they were a true Master-Padawan team. But in the end it was all a lie. His scream rose and fell as Anakin’s throat was searing with the fire that consumed him and he knew it was all going to be over soon. Nothing could save him now for he was on the brink of the miserable existence of his pathetic life. The Force that he’d known as a child betrayed him now as his breaths became labored and his lungs protest with each forced breath of air he took. Padme, he thought bitterly. Why did you have to betray me too? He didn’t know where the fine line between love and hate changed; only that he wanted to hate her for what she did to him. Their love had been strong, it had endured the Clone Wars, and it was supposed be till death do us part. She, like Obi-Wan turned on him and without her, Anakin wasn’t sure if life was even worth living. The seconds wore into minutes and Anakin was still hanging onto life, just barely. And then out of nowhere he felt something, at least he thought he did but all nerve endings were long gone by now. Eyes that could barely see struggled to open and then he saw something that surprised him; it was Darth Sidious. Palpatine, the only person who had told Anakin the truth about Jedi and the lies they spread. It was truly an honor to become his apprentice and as Darth Vader he hoped to bring so much to the galaxy. Things he’d dreamed about as a child and things he’d long wished for since then. But now he wondered if that was to become reality. Anakin fell in and out of consciousness for several hours, surviving only because of the medical attention he received. The waking moments were also hell, the painful agony he endured was not over. And it felt life a lifetime before it did. ~~~~~ Cold metal appendages poked and prodded at his torn body causing him to scream out in pain. Tubes were put down the remains of his throat and droids replaced all his lost appendages with new ones. Realizing what was going on, Anakin wanted to stop it, but there was no way. He wanted to die, he deserved to die but these machines were preventing that. When it was almost complete, Anakin’s eyes grew wide as the black mask encased his face for the first time. Claustrophobia had nothing on this prison he now wore, but for the first time since his accident, Anakin could breathe again. Granted it wasn’t with his real lungs, but rather the metal parts that now kept him alive. He bed arose to an upright position as a familiar voice washed over him. It was his Master. “Lord Vader, can you here me?” Taking another breath, Anakin truly wondered if he would be able to speak. And the voice that emerged was not his, at least now the one he knew. “Yes, Master.” Then, almost fearfully he had to ask the question that was most pressing. Though in a sense he hated Padme, the love for her was much stronger. If Sidious saved him then he probably took Padme as well. Anakin truly never meant to choke her with the Force, but it was something that he couldn’t stop. It was as if he was seeing himself through someone else’s eyes. He needed to see her again, she still loved him, Anakin was sure of it. “Where is Padme? Is she safe? Is she alright?” he asked. Palpatine hesitated before speaking in a serious voice. “I’m afraid she died…It seems in your anger, you killed her.” Anakin couldn’t believe this, and he was instantly outraged. “I couldn't have! She was alive! I felt her! She was alive! It's impossible! No!!!” And suddenly with an instant clarity that was worse than his entire ordeal, the man once known as Anakin Skywalker truly learned what Hell was. -----signature----- R.I.P John, Alex, Jason, and Christian Never forgotten Soldiers' Angels http://soldiersangels.org/ 2114 soldiers waiting for someone to care
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Darth-Challenge-Sock Registered: Jan '07	Date Posted: 2/22/07 1:03pm Subject: RE: So You Think You Know Movies - the Response Thread - voting info in first post
	#45: Baby Leia Sleeping Beauty? You are so quiet, lying there. It’s jarring. You never were the sort to stay silent for long, there was always something you had to say, a wry comment on the situation at hand, some thought that must be expressed. Even when you slept, you were never completely hushed. You would murmur garbled nonsense, dream fragments or snatches of the day’s schoolwork. You were never this quiet. The stillness is less at odds with your character, at least of recent years. When you were younger, you were a fount of never-ending energy, always expressed. Your short limbs moved faster than any others’ did, keeping pace with my long strides. I never did remember to slow myself, you just always kept up. But the past few years have wrought their changes, and you have learned stillness of mind and body. No, this lack of motion is not as unusual for you, but its perversion of your normal attitude is that much the worse for it. The lower edge of your robe’s left sleeve is worn thin, a thread’s unraveled end moving in the air system’s cooling draft. It was always your main nervous habit. Every time we’d appear before the Council, you would lock your hands and grip that end with your right fingers. The longer my arguments with those of our leaders who disapproved of my methods, the tighter you would grip that edge, the more you would worry it. You always respected authority more than I myself did, it always distressed you to be placed in between your master’s choices and the whim of the Council. The edge looks raw and unfinished now. It had been a while since you have had a chance to mend it. The band which held your knight’s tail back has snapped, and the auburn strands fall messily around your neck. It looks like your hair normally does, first thing in the morning, mussed and disordered. You always did hate that, and would spend far longer than I’d think necessary fussing with it whenever you woke up. I used to tease you about it, remember? Waiting until you’d finished grooming and then ruffling your hair as I walked past. I haven’t done that recently, we’ve been too busy these past few months. Your eyes are empty now, with a glassy stare. Nothing of your brilliant personality shows forth, nothing of your sparking humor and unlooked-for wisdom. It’s very cliché, the idea that a man’s soul is revealed in his eyes. But with you, the cliché proved to have truth at its heart. I could see everything of you in your gaze, and it never failed to humble and amaze me. I had been entrusted with such a precious thing, your life to shape and guide. You trusted me with that, and I saw it every day in your eyes. Your hand is cold, as I hold it. You were in so much pain, towards the end. It hurt to watch you, helpless to do anything to save you, or to ease your passage. Such a stupid waste of all that you were, all that you might have been, for you to die here, a pointless accident. You were so badly wounded, yet I emerged unscathed from the same crash landing. All things happen as the Force wills it, but what meaning is there in your death? Yet there is still a look of peace upon your face. How calm you were, my padawan. How ready to accept what the Force willed. Rest in peace, my Obi-Wan, my padawan. I shall carry on in your stead.
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Darth-Challenge-Sock Registered: Jan '07	Date Posted: 2/22/07 1:06pm Subject: RE: So You Think You Know Movies - the Response Thread - voting info in first post
	#42 Slightly to the Left Real title: Where the Heart Is He was dying, stabbed through by burning red light, and the world was coming alive around him. He was fading away. He was floating, weightless and womb-warm, with tiny living whispers busy all around him. Something was touching his face. Lorian Nod woke up, opened his eyes, and saw that everything was pink. His first thought was that this didn't resemble any theory he had ever encountered about what happened after you died. Then he blinked, his eyelashes dragging through perfectly salinated goo that had been resting comfortably against his eyeballs, and the pink shapes resolved themselves into the interior of a medical facility. He decided that it must be a very brightly lit one, and he himself must be in a bacta tank. The bacta was still whispering wordlessly all around him. Lorian considered this and accepted it. Bacta was alive. It wasn't usually chatty, to his knowledge, but if his lately reawakened sense of the Force had him paying attention to the activity of bacta, he would be content with that. It was a friendly activity, at least. What had him puzzled was why he was personally still active, even in the limits afforded by a bacta tank. There was only so much one could regenerate, and he'd been impaled on Dooku's lightsaber. It seemed as if having a charred hole through his torso ought to kill him. He'd been so sure he was dying. There was a chnk-hsss, muted by the viscous fluid in his ears, and the tank began draining. Lorian yawned and tilted his head as the level dropped below his chin, blinking the bacta away from his eyes and letting it run out of his ears. No earplugs. They must have popped him in here in a hurry. Of course they had; he'd been stabbed. He shut his eyes again quickly as the equipment sprayed him briskly to rinse off the rest of the bacta, then blasted him with hot air. The tank unsealed at last, the support systems lowering him to the floor and releasing, and he took off the breath mask and climbed out into the cooler, drier air outside its confines. That was when he saw Obi-Wan Kenobi. Sheer surprise meant it took him two tries to recognize the man, and a third to realize he was being offered clothing. "Ah, right. Thank you." Lorian accepted the loose pair of pants while looking around himself at the room. And then staring around himself at the room, and last at Obi-Wan. "This is the Temple infirmary." Obi-Wan raised one eyebrow, very slowly. "It certainly is." Lorian looked down at himself. The pale gray hair on his chest had not quite petered to nothing over his stomach, but a few centimeters below his sternum was a bare patch. He pushed the hair aside to trace its edges gingerly and found it smooth and still tender, warm to the touch, and slightly off center. A perfectly round scar. Now that he had noticed it, he thought the area around it ached. He was also suddenly very aware of his heartbeat, and how close it felt to what ought to be a hole. The scar itself seemed to feel nothing. He looked up. "Why am I alive?" Around. "And why am I here?" Obi-Wan folded his arms. "You're here because you were alive, and you're still alive because we brought you here." Lorian regarded him sourly. "Then thank you for bringing me here for advanced treatment," he said, "but I'm at something of a loss why I needed it. Count Dooku would have been more than happy to kill me while he was still a Jedi; I don't see why he would have left me alive now that he's abandoned such pesky scruples." Obi-Wan's eyes fell to focus on the scar. "I wouldn't care to speculate on his motives for that. I rather doubt it was intentional so much as a by-product of his being in a great hurry. His thrust was just far enough to the side to miss your spine, and too low to strike your heart. Instead of carving upward, downward, or outward to either side to make sure of his kill, he must then have withdrawn the blade perfectly along its original path, before you could begin to fall." "Or maybe switched it off," Lorian said, still fascinated by the wound. "Still, not bad." Obi-Wan's eyebrows shot up. "Not bad?" Lorian shrugged. "Contrary to all apparent logic, I'm still alive. I can afford to be generous. What was the damage, then?" "Ribs, of course. The missing segments have been replaced with calcic graft bars. You may notice some loss in lung capacity at higher levels of exertion, and your stomach has lost about forty percent of its volume." "Hmm." Lorian gingerly traced the scar again, then patted his abdomen. "Well, I'd been meaning to lose some weight, though this probably qualifies as a drastic measure." "Perhaps slightly drastic, yes." Very dry. Obi-Wan was looking at him with a certain amount of disgust, and Lorian wondered how much was for his flippancy, how much was for his overall moral character, and how much might be simply physical. He hadn't been a Jedi since he was twelve. He'd never had Dooku's talent with the Force even before that. He'd still listened to it after he left -- the Council hadn't been able to take that away, and for years he'd had that occasional edge. A hunch, a warning, an insight, an extra sliver of height in his jump or speed in his reflexes. But he'd taken away from himself what the Council couldn't, reaching for the bright touch less and less often. Now he was an old man, with years of soft living behind him, and while he'd kept himself in decent shape it had certainly been nothing like Jedi training. By most standards, he was unusually handsome and muscular for a human his age. By Jedi standards, he was downright... squishy. The idea of Obi-Wan finding him vaguely repulsive amused him. Then again, maybe if he'd kept up his speed just a little better, he could have blown up Dooku's ship. Probably not. A little more exercise, Lorian could rationally imagine. He couldn't envision himself having continued practice with the Force to any degree that might have allowed him to outrun the surge of focused darkness Dooku had been riding, not without reconfiguring his entire life. He blinked. That was interesting. His memory of the chase now included a sense of Dooku racing up behind him, a vivid spatial awareness and taste of cool malice on the air, that he knew had not been part of his perceptions at the time. Oh, well. Memories were tricky things sometimes. He occasionally wondered what Dooku thought had happened between them -- not this last time, which seemed fairly obvious, but back when they were children. "If you're quite finished inspecting yourself?" Obi-Wan's voice cut into this thoughts. Lorian looked up at him. "Sorry," he said cheerfully, "I've never been impaled before." A pause. "I realize you don't think much of me, but you needn't look so disappointed about it." "Given the choice, I'd have preferred Dooku's predecessor to be the one with poor aim." Lorian frowned. "I beg your pardon?" "Qui-Gon." Obi-Wan stepped forward and put three fingertips against Lorian's chest, above the scar. Not very far above. There was just enough pressure for Lorian to feel his heart pulsing against the ribs. "The previous Sith Apprentice struck him through the chest. There." "Ah," said Lorian, glancing down at the young Jedi's hand. Sensitive subject, then. "And what did you do to him?" Obi-Wan's expression didn't change. "I cut him in half," he admitted. "Good job," Lorian said. "Poor kid." "I beg your pardon!" "I meant Qui-Gon," Lorian said hastily, and watched the (subtle, very subtle) flicker of facial muscles as Obi-Wan tried to fit his Master into that description. Obi-Wan shook his head. "He died a Jedi," he said, as if that made it any better. Perhaps it did, Lorian reconsidered, thinking of the sounds and scents and colors he had ignored for so many years. "So," Obi-Wan went on after a short pause, "what are your plans?" Lorian raised his eyebrows. "Unless it's no longer an option, I would like to go home. Much as I appreciate your hospitality." He frowned. "It is still intact, isn't it?" "As far as I know," Obi-Wan said, "but I would expect the Separatists to contest Station 88 at some point now that peaceful means have failed them, and I wouldn't be surprised if the contributing worlds are attacked. And you will be convalescent for some time." Lorian shrugged. "I feel fine. I should probably buy a shirt before I book passage, though." "You will," Obi-Wan repeated, "be convalescent for some time. We've spoken with the rest of your administration; they will understand if you want to complete your recovery here." "I don't--" Lorian began. "Master Yoda," Obi-Wan went on, sounding less than enthusiastic about it, "has stated that you acted as a Jedi Knight." Lorian shut his mouth. "He says," Obi-Wan continued doggedly, "that as the Force is clearly with you, acknowledged as it was not when you first contacted him again, and as you have grown beyond your youthful indiscretions...." He had to be paraphrasing. "The Council invites you to stay here and... start over." The idea made Lorian draw breath sharply, deeply enough that he felt the tug of the scar at his back. That was going to be annoying. But to be, perhaps, a Jedi again -- to be asked back to the Temple -- when Dooku was -- "No," he said. Obi-Wan blinked. Lorian shook his head slowly. "They threw me out when I wasn't even a Padawan yet," he said. He saw another flicker -- ah, right, Obi-Wan had actually been sent down to the Agricultural Corps before he'd snagged Qui-Gon after all. "I have life experience, but I don't have the training to be fit for Knighthood, physically or emotionally, and frankly? I'm not willing to start over now, especially not in the middle of a war." What would they do with him, anyway? The idea of being a Padawan in his eighties was ridiculous. "I'm going back to Junction 5 and Station 88. That's where my life and work are now. My responsibilities, if you'll believe I acknowledge any." And then, just to be obnoxious, he added cheerfully, "I've sort of grown attached to it."
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Darth-Challenge-Sock Registered: Jan '07	Date Posted: 2/26/07 10:03am Subject: RE: So You Think You Know Movies - the Response Thread - voting info in first post
	#16 Bad Boys I came because of the guys of course. What else would I be doing out here? To get the newest helmet hair look? The sexy orange uniform? NOT! It certainly wasn't because I wanted to compete with other girls, and definitely not her Royal-I'm-always-perfectness, or whatever. Just because you all think she is wonderful doesn't mean she is. What? Oh well you could say I came for the guys, but I really said because of the guys. You know my dudes; Babyface, Sourbutt, and Furface. They figured out where the better party was being held and so like, we bugged out and came here. This place is short of important stuff though. I mean there would be so much less helmet hair if they actually just arranged for decent hair care. Just look at New Kid over there! That is a serious haircut waiting to happen. And I mean like seriously Dude, they need to get in a supply of nail files. What happens if I lose this one? CLIPPERS? Are you like insane or something?!! There is no way clippers are touching these nails. It's not like a I am asking all that much. A place to party, a few cute guys and clothes with some style. Like, isn't that what every girl wants? Top of the list? The guys of course. The rest means nothing without them. I mean can you imagine Her Wonderfulness and me out for a julaspike? I don't think we even speak the same Basic! What do you mean New Kid is kind of cute? I guess, if you are into that sort of thing. I mean seriously Dude, that is as exciting as dating Babyface or Sourbutt. If I had wanted that kind of scene, I could have stuck around and married Mudboy! One word for you. Boring! Huh? Oh well I mean Mr Tall, Black and Breathy is a good example of what I am talking about. He has horrible fashion sense; I mean who told the guy that black masks and capes would get him on the covers of fashion holo's? But there is something sexy about him despite the goth look. I bet there is a forbidden love affair and a couple of kids tucked away somewhere. The dude totally has it where it's at. In fact it is the same thing that is sexy about my boyfriend. I told you how I met him in a bar, right? Well he was cute, but he took a few of my career suggestions and then like WOW, he totally blew me away. He knows how to live dangerously too. I am like totally turned on by the fact he stiffed the Hutt. And have you noticed he totally followed me here? You say he likes what? Her Holy-haughtiness? What is your damage? So like, whatever! I think guys what something like girls want and Princess Perfection certainly doesn't have it. Are you like kidding? You still think I should go for the good guy, New Kid? I'm telling you dude, Bad Boys are totally where it is at!
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Darth-Challenge-Sock Registered: Jan '07	Date Posted: 2/26/07 10:04am Subject: RE: So You Think You Know Movies - the Response Thread - voting info in first post
	#4 - Attending CIV Kingdom of Heaven The evenings on Alderaan had always provided a safe haven to Bail Organa. They were the only time he truly had time to himself and time with his family. His wife had even less free time than he; from dawn to dusk, Breha rarely had a moment when she was not meeting with her Council, an ambassador, town leaders, or neighboring dignitaries. She would retire for the evening an exhausted soul, always trying to hide her fatigue as her daughter immediately rushed to tell her about her day. Their little Leia had indeed grown up. After her arrival five years earlier, Bail witnessed the transformation of the small child who was barely larger than his forearm into a small curious ball of energy. With dark brown hair, wide eyes, and a vein of mischief in her, Leia had added quite a few grey hairs to her father’s head. She was very intelligent; Bail was surprised as how quickly she learned and adapted to her environment. She did have a bit of a temper, but had thankfully grown out of the tantrum age and instead resolved to pouting. Bail regretted how little time he actually could spend with his daughter. With the Empire causing more harm than good, Bail was often working or away on Coruscant to argue in the Senate. The elected body held little power anymore, however the Emperor dared not dissolve it. The man was too smart to do so; if he got rid of the Senate, he would lose many star systems’ alliance and cooperation. Between work in the senate and work on Alderaan, Bail had little time for anything anymore. Especially since Breha fell ill. Bail had been called home from Coruscant frantically by one of Breha’s handmaidens. The queen had collapsed on her way to a meeting with two Ambassadors from Metellos. Her senior advisor was sent to apologize to the Ambassadors while Breha had been rushed to her room and a medic called for. When Bail arrived home several days later, she was still in bed. He had hid his emotions when he saw his wife. Her face was strikingly pale and her eyes had lost some of their hue. She tried to shake it off as a passing cold, yet Bail could see through the lie. Something was wrong. With the queen ill, Bail had taken charge of the planet, meeting with his wife’s advisors each morning and even having to make several public announcements to the planet about his wife’s condition. On top of his own workload, his wife’s soon began piling up as well. He spent his nights working while caring for his wife. After several weeks, the lack of sleep had begun to take a toll on him. He finally had to hand his duties as a senator to the former Senator of Alderaan, Bail Antilles. While being free of that workload, his wife’s fading health did little to alleviate his stress. After a month, the medics finally confirmed the one thing that Bail had dreaded; Breha could possibly not recover. Whatever was afflicting her body had spread in her lungs, causing her violent coughing fits and high fevers. Her body was fighting it, but was losing. For Leia’s sake, neither of her parents told her. Breha would sweetly tell their daughter that she would be fine, yet Bail could see it was breaking her heart to do so. Leia, however, took it upon herself to look after her mother. When she was not with her tutor, she was with her mother, often reading to her, combing her mother’s hair, or telling made-up stories of princesses of distant lands and heroic stories of Jedi Knights. While their daughter kept her mother company, Bail worked late into the nights. The farmers on the far side of the planet were experiencing a drought and requesting aid. The merchants wanted to lower taxes. Senator Antilles needed the Queen’s permission to try to push a new bill forward in the Senate. It seemed an unending list of tasks for Bail to finish, and it was already late. “Poppa?” Bail blinked several times then looked up from his desk at the voice. Leia stood in the doorway, holding her light pink night robe closed with one hand and resting the other on the doorway. Bail motioned for her to enter, Leia shuffling in her slippers toward him. “It’s late, Poppa. You should sleep.” Bail turned an eye to the chrono. It was far later than he thought. He forced a smile at Leia. “That it is. I’m going to finish this last thing and go to bed.” He eyed his daughter’s face. Leia was biting her lower lip and avoiding his eyes by looking down at his desk. Bail craned his head to try to meet his gaze. “What is it, Angel?” “I was wondering,” Leia fumbled, slowly raising her eyes. “When people die, where do they go?” Bail felt a lump rise in his throat. It was a question he had been asking himself every day since his wife grew ill. Though their religion on Alderaan held that there was an everlasting resting place for the soul in the heavens, Bail’s own beliefs had been shaken. If there really was a higher being, they would not have let this happen to his wife. Pushing his own worries aside, he tried to force a smile. “Well honey, when someone dies, their soul floats into the sky. They go up to the kingdom of heaven, where all the good people in the universe live and wait until we join them.” Leia frowned. “All they do is wait for us? That sounds boring.” Bail chuckled. “They keep busy watching over us. When they die, it’s their job to watch over those they love.” Confusion crossed Leia’s eyes. “So grandma and grandpa can see us?” “That’s right,” Bail said, looking up at the ceiling. “We can’t see them, but they’re there.” Leia looked up at the ceiling. “Would Momma go up to heaven and watch over me?” Bail felt his throat tighten. “Momma’s going to get better,” he said, his voice cracking slightly. If he said it enough, perhaps he would start to believe it as well. A pair of deep brown eyed met his gaze. “I know she will. I mean… eventually.” Bail’s heart broke at her gaze. Leia knew. Something in her eyes told him that Leia knew her mother was dying. How she at such a young age could comprehend such a thing was puzzling to him, yet Leia never ceased to amaze him. However, for her sake, he had to stay strong and try to make her believe that Breha would be all right. He had to make himself believe she would live. “Of course, Angel,” he answered with a smile. “Do you want to sleep with us tonight?” Leia nodded her head silently. Bail pulled his daughter close to him and kissed her forehead. “I’ll be along shortly. I expect you to be asleep when I get there, though. It’s way past your bedtime.” Leia made a face as her father pulled back from kissing her. “How come you don’t have a bedtime?” Bail chuckled. “I promise you, Leia, when you are older, you can make your own bedtime.” He playfully swatted her behind and scooted her toward the door. “Good night, Angel.” “Good night, Poppa.” When Leia was gone, Bail sighed and turned back to his work. He could put in one or two more hours, he supposed. ---------- “Poppa? Poppa?” Bail awake to the sound of his daughter’s voice. He was still in his office and sunlight was pouring in through the windows; he had fallen asleep while working. He looked down at Leia’s face, finding it somewhat fearful and numb. “I’m sorry, Angel. I must have fallen asleep.” Leia didn’t say anything for a moment but Bail could tell something was bothering her. “Leia, what’s the matter?” “Momma won’t wake up.”
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Darth-Challenge-Sock Registered: Jan '07	Date Posted: 2/26/07 10:05am Subject: RE: So You Think You Know Movies - the Response Thread - voting info in first post
	#15: What Anakin should have stayed away from Love Actually Sola Naberrie held her breath as she leaned forward and cupped her hands around the pretty orange-and-black patterned flitterfly. She almost had it... "Sola! Dinner!" Sola jumped at the sound of her mother's voice, and the flitterfly was startled into flight. She watched it swoop gracefully around the blossoms in the garden for a moment before she went inside. Her mother and father, Jobal and Ruwee, were already seated and waiting for her when she took her place at the table. Sola sniffed the delicious aromas wafting from the serving bowls and sighed contentedly. "Sola, darling," Jobal said when they had finished eating. "Your father and I have something to tell you." She paused to smile at Ruwee. "We're going to have a baby. You'll have a little brother or sister!" "Really?" Sola gasped. "Really," Ruwee confirmed, smiling back at Jobal. Sola plucked at her napkin, her mind racing. Having a little brother or sister to take care of and teach and play with would be fun. But she knew that babies were a lot of work, too. What if her parents had to spend all their time taking care of it? What if they loved the baby more than her? Suddenly, she didn't feel so happy. "May I be excused?" she asked quietly. "Yes, darling," Jobal said. Sola walked slowly out to the garden. This time, she didn't even notice the flitterflies. She just wandered around, lost in thought. She finally went in the house to go to bed, and when her parents came to tuck her in and kiss her goodnight, she made an announcement. "Momma, Papa," she said. "I don't think I want a brother or sister." Jobal glanced at Ruwee, then at Sola. "Why not?" she asked. "Babies are messy," Sola said. "And they cry all the time." "I think we can handle it," Ruwee said, giving Sola a teasing smile. "A baby can't help put the dishes away," Sola said. "Not like I do." "Yes, you're very helpful, dear," Jobal said. She took Sola's hand. "But you have to understand. The baby will be arriving in about six months, and you'll just have to get used to that." "You never even asked me!" Sola shouted, pulling her hand away from Jobal's. "You didn't care if I wanted a baby or not! You don't care about me at all!" She burst into tears and rolled onto her stomach, burying her face in her pillow. She heard her mother and father talking anxiously, and then they left the room. She knew they didn't love her anymore. They only cared about their baby. Suddenly, Sola felt a gentle hand on her back. "Sola," Jobal whispered. "Dear heart. Don't cry." Sola burrowed her face deeper into the pillow. "I understand why you're upset," Jobal said. "Having another baby will be a big adjustment for all of us. But no matter what, you'll still be our special, wonderful little girl. We love you, Sola, and we always will." At last, Sola sat up. She sniffled and rubbed her eyes with her sleeve. Then she crept into her mother's waiting arms. Jobal pulled her close, murmuring comforting words. "I love you, Momma," Sola said. She frowned. "But I'm not going to like the baby." "You'll feel differently when he or she's born, darling," Jobal said soothingly. "I won't," Sola insisted. Jobal didn't press her. She just hugged her tighter. As the months passed, Sola could almost forget there was a baby on the way. Jobal and Ruwee spent as much time with her as ever, except Jobal's stomach became so large it was hard for Sola to sit in her lap. But one day, Jobal sent Sola to play outside and Ruwee brought a strange woman to the house. Late in the afternoon, Ruwee came to get Sola. "Come meet your sister," he said, taking her hand. Sola couldn't help feeling curious as she followed her father inside. She saw that Jobal was sitting in bed with a small, blanket-wrapped bundle in her arms. When she noticed Sola and Ruwee, she smiled and told Sola to sit next to her. "This is your sister, Padmé," Jobal said. She pulled back the blanket to reveal a tiny, sleeping face. "She's so little," Sola said softly. "She is," Jobal agreed. "Would you like to hold her?" "I guess," Sola said, surprised that she actually wanted to. Jobal carefully laid Padmé in Sola's arms. After showing Sola how to support Padmé's head and body, she settled back against the pillows, watching her daughters. For a long moment, Sola gazed down at the infant in her arms. Then Padmé's eyes fluttered open, and she whimpered. "Hello, Padmé," Sola whispered. "I'm your sister. You don't have to be scared." Padmé made a small cooing noise, and Sola smiled. "She's very lucky to have such a wonderful big sister," Jobal said. Sola carefully, gently, hugged Padmé. "I thought I wouldn't like you," she breathed. "But I like you a lot. Actually, I love you." Padmé cooed again, her gaze locked trustingly on Sola's face. And Sola was sure she was saying 'I love you' back.
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