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Author	Topic: Home In Time for Supper--Wraith Squadron/OCs >>Update! 1/6<<
Guinastasia Registered: Jun '02	Date Posted: 7/4/03 10:53am Subject: RE: Home In Time for Supper--Wraith Squadron story >>updated 07/01<<
	For that, I need help-I have the worst writer's block right now. It SUCKS! -----signature----- Founder of the Face Loran & Ton Phanan Appreciation Society Dark Lady of the JCC, currently retired Member of the Obi-Wan Kenobi Fan Club High Dominatrix of Flyboys, WJFC EUDF Captain, Retired Ravenclaw 0wns your sorry ass
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Xaara Registered: Jun '02	Date Posted: 7/5/03 3:16am Subject: RE: Home In Time for Supper--Wraith Squadron story >>updated 07/01<<
	Hope your writer's block improves, Guin, and here's the next post for you! ******************************************************************* The NRI operative arrived in Wedge and Tyria's temporary lodgings shortly before sunset. When she knocked on the door, Wedge opened it quickly and motioned for her to enter. "Come in. The room's clean." She smiled and held out a hand. "Melcia Ducci. I've been here for nearly a year now." Her voice was low and cultured, her eyes dark and sharply intelligent. Wedge had the feeling that she was very secure of her position. "Commander Wedge Antilles, here as Ettor Arnab. Most on the rest of my squadron is on the other and of the tram line or stuck in transit. How did you get through?" After her initial surprise at hearing his name, Melcia offered a tight-lipped smile. "I have a few connections. And a customs/law enforcement pass." Almost as if talking to herself, she said, "Antilles, on this mission?" "That's beyond me, too," said Wedge, smiling. "Then you know what happened?" Wedge noticed Tyria move behind him and winced at having forgotten her. "Melcia, Flight Officer Tyria Sarkin, alias Gali Lwanga." Nodding to the other woman, Melcia brushed her light brown hair from her tanned face. "Some group—most likely members of a rogue resistance cell—destroyed a section of the tracks. I've been trying to find out who's responsible, but it's been an uphill battle. Imperial operational security has been rather unyielding recently." Wedge offered Melcia a seat, then sat opposite her. His glance at Tyria gave her enough of an invitation to join the pair, and she pulled up a chair at the small round table. "So," he said, settling his hands on the surface in a gesture of most basic trust and forcing a corner of his mouth into what he hoped appeared as an amicable smile, "other than to try to find a way through Imp OpSec, why are we here?" Melcia rested her elbows on the table and leaned forward, meeting Wedge's eyes. "I've connected with a local resistance cell. It's been working undercover from some time now, assessing Imperial capabilities and causing general mischief. If and when the New Republic chooses to intervene on behalf of the people here, the cell has several plans in place to keep order and restore the economy—mostly based on glasswork and what little grows in such a sandy area—to pre-domination productivity. As a cell member, not as a New Republic representative, I've had the opportunity to look over the plans and they appear sound. I'll introduce you and whoever else of your group you wish to accompany you to the cell leaders, and you can report back to your superiors, verifying or correcting the information I've sent thus far." "Then your resistance members aren't the ones who blew the tram tracks?" The New Republic does not work with cells that attack civilian targets, regardless of their motives. "They didn't have any plans to, and as far as I know, they've never resorted to terrorizing civilians to make a point. They realize that frightening the public only works against their cause. The Imperials offer a safe and structured planet, but at the loss of the freedom these people have enjoyed for centuries, and the cell is doing its best to show the public that." Melcia's speech sounded like any other of the thousands of Rebel discourses Wedge had heard through his years piloting starfighters for the Alliance and New Republic. Interesting, though, how the words still stirred him to action against the dictators that held any planet, anywhere. "So it wasn't them?" Melcia bristled visibly, her eyes flashing in irritation, then settled back into her role. "No. I can't say that with one hundred percent surety, but no." She's all I have to work with—might as well take her word at face value for now. Wedge watched the woman for a moment, considering his options. Finally, he said, "When can we meet the resistance members?" "We?" "Myself, my XO, three officers. Only one of them is nonhuman, if that would be a problem in any way." Frowning, Melcia said, "Why would it be?" "I don't know. The planet seems predominantly human, and I don't want to cause undue disturbance or draw attention to our group." "It shouldn't be a concern," said Melcia, shrugging indifferently. "The group is mostly human, yes, but they have a very high tolerance for nonhumans, as do most of the rest of the people here." "That's good to know," Wedge said. "Several of my squadronmates are not human, and I've been to worlds where xenophobia is a norm rather than an exception." "As have I." Melcia twisted her long fingers together; light glinted off the understated rings she wore. The conversation lagged noticeably. "When can we meet the cell members?" asked Wedge when he was sure Melcia would not answer the same question he had asked earlier. "Tonight, if you'd like. They're holding a meeting at 2200 hours, local time. I could take you as Rebel sympathizers, and allow you access to my files and some of the top cell members." "Sounds good. I'll meet you outside the hotel at 2100 hours; will that be early enough?" "That should be fine. I'll see you then, Mr. Antilles, Ms. Sarkin." Rising from her seat with the angular grace of a gryffus, the legendary Alderaanian bird of prey, Melcia shook hands with both of them and took her leave. The door had barely closed behind her before Tyria opened her mouth for the first time in almost half an hour. "Commander Antilles, permission to speak freely?" "Granted," Wedge said, wrinkling his forehead in confusion. "I don't like her," said Tyria. "No, that's not right. I don't like that she's withholding information—she's almost…resentful. Like she doesn't want us here." The woman shoved her left hand in a pocket, used her right to brush something from her blouse. She refused to meet Wedge's eyes. "I don't know. I just don't like it." Shifting from one foot to the other, she looked toward the window. Torn between the need to complete his mission and his need to take Tyria's insightful observations seriously, Wedge said, "We have a goal to accomplish here, so we can't refuse to do what she wants, but I want you to stay near me tonight. There are only five of us, so the minute you think something's not quite right, I want you to tell me." Tyria nodded. "It wasn't that she seemed malicious, just that she wasn't telling us everything. It might be that because she's in Intel, she can't tell us everything she knows." That was a possible explanation, Wedge decided, but he liked to stick with gut impressions, and Tyria's had not been positive. "Just keep your eyes open." Tyria's smile had a hard edge. "You can count on it, sir." ******************************************************************* "So did you decide to defect as a unit, or did your officers decide for you? It's hard for me to imagine a whole ship full of Imperials just choosing to join the New Republic." Nascha leaned forward and rested her chin on her fists. Rison, his datapad forgotten beside him, sat back in his chair and linked his hands behind his head, smiling at her curiosity. "Most of us wanted to defect for some time before we actually worked up the nerve to do it. The captain was careful to select officers with Rebel sympathies, and they were able to spread the word among the crew that we were going to defect on Coruscant. We made a long layover in Imperial space to allow anyone who was unwilling to come jump ship—not many did—then we came straight here." "So you did decide as a group?" "More or less." Watching Nascha, who seemed completely absorbed in the question/answer session, Jax caught Rison's dark gaze and rolled his eyes playfully. The older man grinned and Nascha turned around, shooting Jax a deadly glare. Behind her back, Rison's grin widened; when she returned to her original position, it disappeared. Jax smiled himself at Rison's quick reflexes. "You two are hopeless," said Nascha, directing her eyes toward the high ceiling. "Are you related?" Rison asked, pointing at Nascha and then at Jax. "No, why?" said Jax with a bemused glance at Nascha, had covered her smirk with a free hand. "You look identical when you roll your eyes," explained Rison. "Either you're related or you spend all your time together." "The latter, I think," Nascha said. "Did I ever tell you how we met? It was actually only a short time ago." While she recounted the story, Jax tuned out the conversation, nodding, smiling, or shaking his head when Nascha turned to him, depending on her expressions to guide him. Apart from an occasional noncommittal "Ah," "Oh," or "Uh-huh," the exchange was solely Nascha's domain. He suspected she enjoyed herself equally regardless of his level of participation. So lost was he in his inconsequential thoughts Jax barely started at the low rumble that shook the floors beneath his feet and set one of the hanging lamps swinging. The lamp's shifting patterns of light and shadow brought Jax's attention to the present; vaguely worried that something catastrophic might be happening, he stood from his chair, stumbling slightly as another roar, this one closer, sent a shudder through the entire room. A fine powder sifted through the air in front of his eyes; whether it came from the tiny crack he saw in the wall next to him or from the dust covering some of the unused shelves Nascha had not reached yet he did not know. Rison and Nascha, he noticed, were already on their feet and alert, as if awaiting further disturbance. Neither of them, it seemed, knew what to do in such a situation. They stood calmly, Rison with his knees slightly bent, evidently preparing for an impact of some sort. The quiet that filled the normally busy base was unnerving in its intensity. Then there were calls in the hallway; someone yelled for a medic; an officer who had been dozing on one of the library sofas sprinted from the room, yanking his comlink from his belt. Nascha moved, too, arriving at her desk and shutting down the computer there before covering the entire system with a sheet of plastic. "In case the fire reaches the library and the fire control systems come on," she told Jax when he questioned the action. "Fire?" Jax asked. "There was an explosion," said Nascha matter-of-factly. "Those usually lead to fires." "So what are we suppose—" The base wide announcement cut him off. "All personnel currently within base limits are required to evacuate immediately through the designated escape routes. Repeat, all personnel—" "So I'm just supposed to evac with you?" Rison said, scratching his chin absently. "What happened to being confined to base?" He held up a wrist, around which was fastened a thin bracelet, similar to the ones Jax had seen on med ward patients. "See this? The minute I take it off or step out the base doors, this is going to set off about a trillion alarms alerting Control that I'm loose. They'll have soldiers with large weapons after me faster than I can snap my fingers." "That," Nascha observed even as she moved toward the exit, "could pose a bit of a problem." -----signature----- My Ramblings: http://www.livejournal.com/users/xaara/ My lil bro/sis: Flyboy_7/Wyn_Fel Wyomé, Handmaiden of the Crest
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Jaina_Solo_Durron Registered: Jul '02	Date Posted: 7/5/03 7:32am Subject: RE: Home In Time for Supper--Wraith Squadron story >>updated 07/05<<
	My take on all of this post: Uh-Oh. seriously though, everyone's in trouble...let's just hope they get out of it! -JSD -----signature----- Be nice to me, I might be your doctor someday.
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LadyMairead Registered: May '02	Date Posted: 7/5/03 9:25am Subject: RE: Home In Time for Supper--Wraith Squadron story >>updated 07/05<<
	Sorry I'm late in replying, I've had stomach flu for a few days, which has precluded me from comprehending anything more complicated than Harry Potter. Loved the last two posts, though, and it's great to have you back. "Well," said Ton, who had removed his false prosthetics immediately upon entering the room and was now lying spread-eagle on one of the beds, "we're here. What do we do now?" laughs I just love that image of Ton, sprawled on the bed as if after some sort of combat. He's a fantastic character. "Him." Turning, Face pointed to the corner where he had last seem the man, but now the space was empty. His eyebrows rose slightly and her turned back to Moira with a question half-formed on his lips, but something about the expression she wore deterred him. "Never mind. We'll be up in out rooms." Ooh, disappearing men and reticent employees…I must renew my suspicion that Something is Afoot. Face shrugged, though the motion did not quite dispel his feeling of uneasiness. "We're the Wraiths. What did you expect?" Nice way to end the post. grins Too true, Face… Nodding to the other woman, Melcia brushed her light brown hair from her tanned face. "Some group—most likely members of a rogue resistance cell—destroyed a section of the tracks. I've been trying to find out who's responsible, but it's been an uphill battle. Imperial operational security has been rather unyielding recently." Hmm… Interesting explanation, but I have a feeling that we've not yet finished with the Saga of the Halted Tram. Plot points seem to be colliding in rapid confluence, and the suspense is building nicely… Interesting, though, how the words still stirred him to action against the dictators that held any planet, anywhere. I love how Wedge, when he strips away all of his administrative duties, his experience, his leadership, is such an idealist at heart. He can still remember why he joined the rebellion in the first place. It becomes evident at times like this why he's come so far and is such an inspiration to others. So lost was he in his inconsequential thoughts Jax barely started at the low rumble that shook the floors beneath his feet and set one of the hanging lamps swinging. The lamp's shifting patterns of light and shadow brought Jax's attention to the present; vaguely worried that something catastrophic might be happening, he stood from his chair, stumbling slightly as another roar, this one closer, sent a shudder through the entire room. A fine powder sifted through the air in front of his eyes; whether it came from the tiny crack he saw in the wall next to him or from the dust covering some of the unused shelves Nascha had not reached yet he did not know. This stuck out as some really nice description. Good writing is in the details, and you certainly evidence that here, by going beyond a simple statement of "there was a loud noise." I can really imagine the scene and the movement. "That," Nascha observed even as she moved toward the exit, "could pose a bit of a problem." More than a bit, I'd say! Problems all around, and I can't wait to see what happens next. Great posts Xaara.
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Guinastasia Registered: Jun '02	Date Posted: 7/5/03 8:16pm Subject: RE: Home In Time for Supper--Wraith Squadron story >>updated 07/05<<
	I'm with Tyria-I don't trust this chick farther than I could throw her. -----signature----- Founder of the Face Loran & Ton Phanan Appreciation Society Dark Lady of the JCC, currently retired Member of the Obi-Wan Kenobi Fan Club High Dominatrix of Flyboys, WJFC EUDF Captain, Retired Ravenclaw 0wns your sorry ass
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LadyMairead Registered: May '02	Date Posted: 7/7/03 3:36am Subject: RE: Home In Time for Supper--Wraith Squadron story >>updated 07/05<<
	Up.
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Xaara Registered: Jun '02	Date Posted: 7/9/03 2:07pm Subject: RE: Home In Time for Supper--Wraith Squadron story >>updated 07/05<< - Date Edited: 7/10/03 2:09am (2 edits total) Edited By: Xaara
	Well, that's a pretty informed take on the situation, JSD. Don't worry, plenty of interesting things will happen between here and the end of the line... LM: Sorry to hear about the stomach flu--nasty stuff--but I'm glad you're back! Indeed, the Saga of the Halted Tram is just beginning, as you will find out in posts to come. Thank you for your comment on the description. I'd have to say without hesitation that description is always my biggest problem with writing, mostly because I'm never quite satisfied with the way I've said something. Most dialogue remains pretty much unedited, but my description often meets my keyboard three or for times before it's even presentable. Thanks for your usual thoughtful comments and thanks for the up! Well-put, Guin. Thank you for reading! ******************************************************************* Wes entered the cantina at a disinterested pace, Lucio beside him and Piggy several steps behind. As he had expected, the bartender looked up at him, gauged his ability to do any serious damage if inebriated, and dismissed the entire crew as another trio of locals. "This is where we meet Arnab?" asked Lucio. "That's right," said Wes. "Nineteen hundred hours…ah, there he is." He nodded toward a table near the back, where a man with light brown hair and a tiny moustache sat sipping a drink—non-alcoholic, Wes assumed. Across from him was Tyria, her hand wrapped around a glass of some purple liquid. "Hello," Wedge said when they approached the table. "Nice seeing you here." Wes inclined his head slightly. "Likewise." Gesturing for Lucio and Piggy to join him, he sat next to Wedge. Lucio took the place next to Falynn, and Piggy moved a chair to create a seat at the head of the table. Tyria waved at a waiter. "Could we get some service over here, please?" The man smiled automatically and hurried to the table, whipped out a tiny datapad and stylus, and stood at the equivalent of attention. Wes fought the urge to say at ease, and wrinkled his nose slightly in aversion to the bowing and scraping. Lucio saw the expression and grinned, his white teeth flashing for a moment before the waiter turned to him and he once again became the serious lieutenant. "I'll have the vegetarian sandwich," said Lucio. "And please, nothing that's going to move when I bite it." "Same for me," said Wes, who hadn't had time to look over the menu. Pointing carelessly at Piggy as if he considered the Gamorrean a simple piece of property, he continued, "And our companion here will have a steak, whatever sort of meat you have around here, well done." After Wedge and Tyria had placed their orders and the waiter had scuttled away, the conversation took on a more urgent air. "We've communicated with NRI, and we're going to meet with the people we're supposed to contact later tonight," Wedge said, resting his wrists on the table and leaning forward. "And this group, does it know we've arrived? Or will this be one of the surprises most of us are so good at finding?" Wes asked. Tyria shrugged. "Surprises aren't so bad. How many times did you know what you were going to get for your lifeday before you actually opened the presents?" Glaring, Wes said, "I always knew. I peeked. My question remains." He ignored Tyria's evident irritation and turned back to his commanding officer. "No, they won't know we're coming until we actually arrive unless Melcia tells them first," said Wedge with a long-suffering sigh. "So this will be a surprise," Lucio said. Wes turned to look at the younger lieutenant and nodded approvingly. With a little work, he could live up to my reputation. "Where are we going to meet?" Piggy grunted, his language automatically translated by the tiny speaker system installed in his throat. "And when?" Wedge glanced at his chrono. "Two hours, in front of my hotel." The commander cut off as the food arrived, then continued, "No New Republic-issue anything. I'll be going with my partner, Gali," he poked a thumb at Tyria, "and you'll stick to your disguises as well. Understood?" "Perfectly," said Wes, careful to omit the sir he almost placed at the end of the confirmation. He bit into his sandwich, enjoying the first fresh food he had tasted in quite some time, and chewed slowly. "Are there any concerns?" "One," Lucio said. "Do we have any way of verifying NRI's story? For example, by asking Grinder to look into past law infringements to see if this group is mentioned there?" Wes agreed with his mouth full. "Tafss a gud pndt." Swallowing, he repeated the sentence. "That's a good point. Even though it's kind of ironic that SpecOps doubts NRI," he observed, nodding toward Lucio. "Don't you two work together all the time?" "We do," said Lucio with a grimace. "That's why I'm asking." "I'll tell Grinder to get working on it," Wedge said. "Anyone else?" There was a general negative response. "All right, then," Wes said cheerily. "Who's picking up the tab?" Few sensations, he reflected later, exactly matched the feeling of four devious pairs of eyes, just watching him. ******************************************************************* "Excuse me, sir, but do you know how we can reach Arteria?" Myn inflected a degree of self-importance in his voice that he knew would annoy the Imperial guard before him. Gesturing at Falynn, he said, "I have a rather important engagement that cannot wait. My companion here will need to accompany me." And make it quick—I'm going to die in these clothes, he added silently. Since his and Falynn's disguises involved posing as rich citizens, both of them wore heavy and luxurious clothing that trapped the heat as well as any furs. The guard, Stryson from his identification badge, shook his head and cast an appreciative glance in Falynn's direction. Annoyed, Myn glared at him and pulled Falynn slightly closer. "I don't think that will be possible, sir," Stryson said. "I have orders not to let civilian personnel through until the way is clear. If you'll kindly step onto one of the skimmers now returning to Monterba…" "Look, young man, I have some people waiting for me who can't be kept—" "Don't, darling," purred Falynn, casting a sidelong glance at the Imperial, who suddenly seemed less sure of himself. "I'm sure we can talk someone higher on the chain of command to get us through." Kell approached the group. "Hello, Hamad," he said, using Myn's alias. "I believe we met earlier on the tram? My friend here and I are on our way to an urgent union meeting, and it looks like you're in a similar situation. You don't suppose we could get through, do you?" Runt, who had shadowed Kell, smiled at Stryson. Coming from a human, the expression might not have frightened the young man; coming from Runt's long face, the smile carried definite threatening undercurrents. "Uh…sirs, ma'am," Stryson glanced at Runt as if he could not confidently place the nonhuman in either category," I'll try to find someone for you to talk to, if you'll wait right here." "Very kind of you," said Falynn, nodding in a parody of graciousness. Stryson scuttled—Myn decided there was no better word for the movement—away. Offering another grin, this one without the malice, Runt linked his fingers behind his back. "We like this planet. If it is all like this, we will find little trouble here." Falynn pulled a sweat-soaked layer of expensive cloth away from her skin. "Whether or not it's always this easy, I'm about to get heatstroke. As a wealthy member of the Galaxy, I hold that this treatment of me is unacceptable." "Of course," Myn said. "But we'll soon be to our hotel. Then you can freshen up for our appointment." Kell managed to turn an eye roll into something resembling a sneeze, a transition Myn would have appreciated had the former expression been directed at anyone but him. An admonishing phrase partially formed in his head, Myn cut off at the approach of an Imperial officer, followed nervously by Stryson. "I hear you need to reach Arteria?" The large Imperial seemed much more self-assured than the now-cowering Stryson. "That's right," said Myn. "My friends and I require transportation to that end." "We are, of course, willing to pay," said Kell. "Reaching that city is worth a great deal to the four of us." Myn could have sworn the Imperial's face lit at the prospect of a quick credit, though the man watched Runt with his distaste evident in his expression. "Of course we'll have to find some way for you to arrive in Arteria comfortably." "Thank you," said Falynn. "We appreciate your willingness to help us." "Not at all." Holding out an arm bent at the elbow, the officer walked Falynn toward a nearby skimmer. The other three followed; Stryson had disappeared. "I'll even drive you myself." A minute later, the group sat in a speeder while the officer alternately drove and talked his way through the rough group of soldiers. At the edge of the cordoned area, he stepped from the vehicle, led them to another speeder, and gestured for them to enter. "Here we are." He rested one hand on top of the vehicle and leaned down to address the driver. "You'll be taking these good Imperial citizens to Arteria immediately." When the driver started to protest, the Imperial's eyes narrowed into dangerous slits. "Thank you for your cooperation." After Myn had palmed the officer a hundred-credit note while shaking hands; after they had rearranged seats so Kell, the largest among them, had enough leg room; after they had again rearranged seats so the young Imperial driver did not have to sit next to Runt, a nonhuman, the group was on its way. Perhaps, Myn thought, allowing the perilous idea slip into his head, this might turn out as planned after all. -----signature----- My Ramblings: http://www.livejournal.com/users/xaara/ My lil bro/sis: Flyboy_7/Wyn_Fel Wyomé, Handmaiden of the Crest
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talkingbanana Registered: Jun '03	Date Posted: 7/9/03 4:24pm Subject: RE: Home In Time for Supper--Wraith Squadron story >>updated 07/09<<
	Finally decided to stop lurking around here - your work is great! I think I may have reviewed a couple times over on ff.net (same pen name as my screen name here), and then saw that you were posting here more regularly and started reading here. Great update, as always! Perhaps, Myn thought, allowing the perilous idea slip into his head, this might turn out as planned after all. Ha, yeah right! I can't wait to see what kind of mischief they get into now. -----signature----- How? Myn/Lara one-shot, Betrayal, slight AU http://boards.theforce.net/beyond_the_saga/b10477/28175766/p1/?0 Sometimes it's better to light a flamethrower than curse the darkness. - Terry Pratchett, Men at Arms
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LadyMairead Registered: May '02	Date Posted: 7/9/03 6:06pm Subject: RE: Home In Time for Supper--Wraith Squadron story >>updated 07/09<<
	As he had expected, the bartender looked up at him, gauged his ability to do any serious damage if inebriated, and dismissed the entire crew as another trio of locals. shakes head An unwise move, particularly where Wes is concerned… Tyria shrugged. "Surprises aren't so bad. How many times did you know what you were going to get for your lifeday before you actually opened the presents?" Glaring, Wes said, "I always knew. I peeked. My question remains." Oh my god, you write the best dialogue. There's a fine line between amusing and subtle, and silly and banal. You, of course, exemplify the former. You must share your secret with me, O Great One. I have troubles with dialogue… Wes agreed with his mouth full. "Tafss a gud pndt." glances around furtively Ok, I have an absurd question: When you write the characters in situations where their words are obscured for some reason, do you practice? I remember having to write something where one of my characters had a swollen lip, and I stood in front of the mirror for a good fifteen minutes, talking to myself so I could hear exactly how the words sounded. Am I the only one? Also, no one can ever hear about this. passes hand over thread Ahem. Few sensations, he reflected later, exactly matched the feeling of four devious pairs of eyes, just watching him. laughs That was just a great line, and so eloquently worded. Stryson glanced at Runt as if he could not confidently place the nonhuman in either category… grins I love ambiguously malevolent-looking characters. Kell managed to turn an eye roll into something resembling a sneeze, a transition Myn would have appreciated had the former expression been directed at anyone but him. That is just such a fantastic image! I love these characters, so much… It's rather obscene, actually. Perhaps, Myn thought, allowing the perilous idea slip into his head, this might turn out as planned after all. coughs Right Myn, you just tell yourself that. Whatever gets you through the day. Great post, Xaara! The action is moving along at a wonderful pace. Can't wait to see what happens next.
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Xaara Registered: Jun '02	Date Posted: 7/10/03 6:45am Subject: RE: Home In Time for Supper--Wraith Squadron story >>updated 07/09<<
	talkingbanana: Yay! A delurker! bows Thank you for entering my humble thread. As for the FF.N vs. TF.N thing, it's a rather large pain to upload everything over at FF.N, so I only do it every once in a while, when I remember… I'm glad you liked the post, and I hope you stick around. (Love your username, BTW.) I don't know if calling me O Great One is such a good idea, LM. You might inflate my already oversized ego. The secret to dialogue is…that there is no secret. But other than that, all I can say is this: know your characters. When you write the characters in situations where their words are obscured for some reason, do you practice? whispers You can never ever tell anyone this, but yes I do. I've done the exact same thing—standing in front of a mirror and trying to figure out what letters to use to reproduce an odd-sounding word. Mom actually walked in on me as I was trying to figure out the phrase I ended up including in that last post and asked me something like, "Why are you standing in front of a mirror and saying 'That's a good point' with three fingers in your mouth?" I had, as you may well understand, quite a bit of embarrassed explaining to do. Right Myn, you just tell yourself that. Whatever gets you through the day. So it's not enough that you talk to yourself, now you talk to the characters, too? Honestly. Thanks for reading! -----signature----- My Ramblings: http://www.livejournal.com/users/xaara/ My lil bro/sis: Flyboy_7/Wyn_Fel Wyomé, Handmaiden of the Crest
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Xaara Registered: Jun '02	Date Posted: 7/14/03 1:52pm Subject: RE: Home In Time for Supper--Wraith Squadron story >>updated 07/09<<
	Alahna hissed as she pulled in a lungful of warm air. Though Moira had promised to send someone up "soon," the smuggler saw no indication that anyone had been notified of her situation, much less advised to correct it. Darkness had come, and with it a relative cool, but the room remained uncomfortable enough to distract Alahna from the sleep Ton and Face enjoyed. Even fully clothed, they did not appear to suffer from the heat. Some people, she thought with a little twinge of envy, can sleep anywhere. Another glance at the slumbering duo. It's probably because they're in the military. I'll bet the Rebels could snatch a nap en route to the Death Star. Rising and walking through the open door to her room, Alahna turned the already overworked temperature control down several more degrees. The machine complained, but obligingly sent a batch of frigid air through the fan. Since one machine was being forced to perform the job usually required of two, Alahna did not have a great deal of confidence in the theory that both rooms would eventually become comfortable. Reasoning that Face and Ton were asleep and thus would not be bothered by a slightly raised temperature in their room, Alahna closed the door separating the areas and curled up on her bed, closing her eyes in another attempt to rest. Her thoughts insisted on coming back to the present, and at long last she abandoned any ideas about sleep, instead deciding to find something to eat in the comfortable dining area downstairs. She left a note—Gone to find food. Meet my when you wake up or I'll bring something back for you—and exited the room as quietly as possible, slipping her keycard into her pocket. As an afterthought, she returned briefly to collect her blaster and a small holdout vibroblade. The restaurant was open but unoccupied save a lone Rodian male who did not look up from his meal when Alahna entered. Force of habit directing her actions, she chose a corner table from which she could survey the entire space at a glance. Despite the lack of solid evidence implicating Moira in any sort of criminal activity, Alahna preferred to stay alert for any signs of danger. She kept this firmly in mind as she sat. At the press of a button, a menu appeared on the surface of the table in front of Alahna, coming from a screen flush with the plane. She tapped the table next to her selections, depressed the button that read "Done," and relaxed into her seat. Several minutes later, Moira entered the dining room carrying the salad and cold meat Alahna had ordered. Moira smiled as she set the food on Alahna's table. "No companions this evening?" Not sure how much she should risk telling the other woman, Alahna said, "They weren't ready to come down. They might join me later." The professional smile still on her face, Moira turned away. Alahna remembered at the last moment what she had wanted to ask, and called, "There still hasn't been anyone up to check the temp control. Would it be possible to get that taken care of?" Something in Moira's eyes hardened when she looked back at Alahna. "I'm sorry—I sent my brother up to see to that hours ago. He didn't come back and I assumed he'd completed the task. He'll go fix it right now. Enjoy your meal." "Thank you," said Alahna. "I'm sure I will." It was not much later when she heard the voices. At first, Alahna tuned them out—a pair of siblings arguing about work that needed to be done was hardly important enough to engage her curiosity—but a stray comment caught her attention. "—I can't, Moira. They've seen me already." The speaker—male and nervous, judging by his voice—lowered his tone, then said something too indistinct for Alahna to hear. Who's seen who already? I've seen him already? Is he the man from earlier, who escaped the restaurant as soon as Face and I turned away? Interested, the smuggler focused her ears on the conversation, pursing her lips in an effort to concentrate. "Look, Saro, someone has to fix the temperature control. If they ask you anything, just pretend you can't hear them." "I'm not deaf. That particular disability is a little difficult to simulate." Moira sighed in irritation. "You simulate it well enough when I talk to you. Now go and do the job you were hired to do." A hint of desperation tinged Saro's voice when he again spoke. "Moira, you're not just risking me. You're not just risking yourself. There are a lot of people who—" "Keep it down, will you?" The conversation became hushed, and Alahna rose from her seat, creeping toward the kitchen. "I'm just saying…" Saro trailed off. "And I'm just saying that whether or not you want to, you're going to fix that unit. I can guarantee you that they're not going to find out who you are. If you hadn't been crazy enough to jump out the door as soon as they noticed you—" "You've already yelled at me for that." "That's because it was a stupid move, Saro. And you still have a job to do." "I want it on record that I'm going against my better judgment." "Your better judgment is roughly on par with some of the worst choices I've ever made." "That's not funny." Moira snorted. "No it's not; it's true. Go now, before I have to—" "Fine, Moira." A long pause. "Well, are you going?" "I'm on my way." Another, longer pause. "If I have to hit you with a pan to get you out of my kitchen, I will be angry and you will be bruised in unpleasant places." There was a slight scuffling of feet, the scraping of metal against metal. A young man—the young man from earlier in the evening—stepped cautiously from the kitchen, looking both ways before proceeding out into the open area of the restaurant. Alahna averted her face, hoping he would not recognize her, and was relieved when Saro's eyes passed over her without a hitch. After a moment of indecision, Saro left the room. What was that all about? Alahna ate her food as quickly as possible, slipped a ten-credit note under the plate to pay for the meal, and exited the room, running up the stairs and into her room. To her relief, Saro had not yet arrived. "Face?" She leaned down over the napping pilot. "Come on, wake up." Face groaned in his sleep and turned away from her voice. Something resembling the phrase "I don't want to," emerged from his lips. "Face, you have to wake up," Alahna said, resting a hand on his shoulder and pulling at him gently. "I have something important to tell you." "That'll never work," said Ton, fully awake in the space of a second. Alahna wondered for a moment whether he had been aware the entire time, but he continued before she could ask the question. "Face is always a bit challenging to wake. A combination of intense shaking, loud noise, and cold water is usually enough to force him to open one of his eyes." The pilot in question rolled onto his back. "Ton, if you even think about—" "Or," Ton amended, "sometimes the mention of such an unpleasant experience is all it takes." "I overheard something," Alahna said, ignoring both men. "And I think you'd better know about it." "Eavesdropping, were we?" asked Ton. "More or less." "So," said Face, sitting up in bed, his eyes still closed, "what did you hear?" ******************************************************************* The alarms had begun to give Jax a headache. Constant and penetrating, they pierced the foam earplugs he had procured from an officer with a carton of the things and vibrated against the inside of his skull until he worried that the bone might fracture from the reverberations. This, he thought with what fragment of lucidity he retained, is not good. Nascha, as usual, had found the position at which she could offer the most assistance and was passing out earplugs from a boxful she had appropriated from a storage closet. Over the continuous wail of the alarms, she shouted and gestured to the sentients with a poor sense of direction, pointing out the escape routes. Though the job should have gone to one of the guards now running through the building, Nascha tried her best to control the tide of pilots, mechanics, and office workers flooding the halls. Jax and Rison did their best to help her. "Straight ahead!" Nascha yelled at one Bothan who expressed doubt in her ability to point him toward the stairwell. He was, evidently, supposed to be somewhere other than in the hall. "Turn right at the next intersection! Four doors to your left! The turbolifts are clearly marked and the stairs are right next to them!" The Bothan nodded his comprehension and disappeared. Another minute of frantic crowd control, and Jax caught a whiff of the bittersweet odor of smoke. This, he decided, is where we leave. He tugged at Nascha's arm. "Let's get out of here—I'm sure the NR people are doing all that they can to control the area." "Why?" Jax looked over her head at the young Imperial who stood behind her, and Rison nodded. "I smell it too. I agree, we should leave before the crowd panics." "Nascha, I smell smoke, and that smell is usually a precursor to fire. I don't want to be trapped in here." Jax grabbed her hand and pulled her with him into the pulsating mass of sentients. "We're going to get out before something bad happens." Even as he said the words, Jax felt the crowd tense and knew that each individual was now catching the same scent he had noticed earlier. A moment during the course of which he could hear only the alarms, and then the group moved as one, catching the tide of fright and communicating it along the massive assembly. A crushing wave of sentients flowed down the corridor, toward the open door Jax knew existed, somewhere at the far end of the hall. Jax did not wait for Nascha's concurrence with his decision; he forced her along regardless of her efforts to dig in her heels and halt his progress. There was a scream and a Twi'lek fell to their left, trampled by pair after pair of feet until he managed to stumble up. Even Jax could see that the injured alien would not make it much farther without assistance, and he hesitated as long as possible in the crowd, torn between his conscience and his instincts. Nascha, however, did not waver. With a strength that he had never seen her implement, the diminutive woman pushed her way back through the mass, toward the spot where the Twi'lek hugged the wall. Jax followed as best he could, avoiding a fall by sheer force of will. By the time Jax caught her, Nascha was already at the Twi'lek's side, supporting him and closing her eyes in the concentration Jax had seen when she had healed his flimsi cut. Only this time, it's a great deal more important. Rison materialized at Jax's side, startling the younger man. "She's going to need help," Rison shouted. "If you help her, I should be able to tackle the Twi'lek." With a nod, Jax once more plunged through the crowd, locking one arm around Nascha's waist, half-dragging, half-carrying her toward the exit. Even in her dazed state, Nascha kept her hands on one of the Twi'lek's arms, gripping his wrist so tightly that her knuckles slowly turned white. The smell of burning paint and plastic intensified until Jax could barely breathe through the noxious gas. Each inhalation seared his lungs and brought tears to his eyes; each time he exhaled, he could see tiny tendrils of smoke stir in the remaining clean air. He knew, in an absent sort of way, that the sentients in the hall should be crawling on the floor, the better to breathe what oxygen lingered near the deckplates, but he was afraid to suggest such a thing to Rison. The minute they tried to follow that rule, the entire group would be crushed. So Jax pressed on, lightheaded, willing the exit closer. At some point along the journey, Jax lost track of time, forgot where he was, could not recall why he ran. He tried to turn and ask the man beside him—who was that again—but found he could not muster the breath to speak. But somehow, from somewhere inside him, he forced the strength to carry on, to continue supporting those around him. Jax had passed through the door before he realized he was outside, breathing air containing adequate amounts of oxygen. The sudden rush of cool and usable air rejuvenated him in a moment; coughing, sputtering, trying to rid his mouth of the horrible taste of smoke, he nearly collapsed onto the permacrete. It was only then that he looked down at the woman at his side. "Nascha?" he rasped, deep, racking coughs breaking his words. She didn't answer. A sudden fear closing around his chest, Jax shook her. "Nascha!" Her legs crumpled under her, and Nascha sank to the surface, making no effort to stop her fall. Jax caught her and lowered her to the permacrete, turning her on her side and placing two fingers into the hollow under her jawbone, feeling desperately for a heartbeat. There was none. As if from a distance, Jax heard himself summon a medic to where Nascha lay motionless. The medic took one look at her, at the wisps of smoke that escaped her nostrils, and called another doctor to his side. Together, the two lifted Nascha onto a hovercart and sped the vehicle through the remains of the crowd, leaving Jax with Rison and an injured Twi'lek. Rison, an injured Twi'lek, and the agonizing fear that his moment of indecision had cost him a life he now realized he valued more than his own. -----signature----- My Ramblings: http://www.livejournal.com/users/xaara/ My lil bro/sis: Flyboy_7/Wyn_Fel Wyomé, Handmaiden of the Crest
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talkingbanana Registered: Jun '03	Date Posted: 7/14/03 4:45pm Subject: RE: Home In Time for Supper--Wraith Squadron story >>updated 07/14<<
	Together, the two lifted Nascha onto a hovercart and sped the vehicle through the remains of the crowd, leaving Jax with Rison and an injured Twi'lek. Rison, an injured Twi'lek, and the agonizing fear that his moment of indecision had cost him a life he now realized he valued more than his own. great update . . . but a costly one. you better post again, with some lighthearted event, to make up for it . . . -----signature----- How? Myn/Lara one-shot, Betrayal, slight AU http://boards.theforce.net/beyond_the_saga/b10477/28175766/p1/?0 Sometimes it's better to light a flamethrower than curse the darkness. - Terry Pratchett, Men at Arms
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LadyMairead Registered: May '02	Date Posted: 7/14/03 7:42pm Subject: RE: Home In Time for Supper--Wraith Squadron story >>updated 07/14<<
	Fantastic post, Xaara. Have to dash, but will be back later to edit in an actual response.
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Jane Jinn Registered: Jan '00	Date Posted: 7/15/03 2:00am Subject: RE: Home In Time for Supper--Wraith Squadron story >>updated 07/14<<
	I'm back, and I've just had a mammoth catch-up session. I'm sorry I can't reply to every individual post -- I just missed too many of them. But thanks for the dedication back at the end of May. I really appreciated that. So many suspicious things! Alahna's 'relationship' with Lucio, the problem with the tram, the suspicious brother of Moira, the Imp, or ex-Imp, I should say, the explosion leading to the fire fire, and now smoke escaping from Nasha's nostrils -- uh oh! All I can say is, I'm waiting eagerly for more! -----signature----- Mostly retired now Just making the occasional guest appearance
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Jaina_Solo_Durron Registered: Jul '02	Date Posted: 7/15/03 3:13am Subject: RE: Home In Time for Supper--Wraith Squadron story >>updated 07/14<<
	After not reading this fic for several weeks hangs head in shame i must say that was incredible! you captured the fear of the fleeing crowd really well...great stuff, Xaara! UP! -JSD -----signature----- Be nice to me, I might be your doctor someday.
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