| Author |
Topic:
The Broken Gear (OC, Drama, PreANH) Vignette
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oqidaun
Title: Manager Emeritus
Registered:
Jul '05
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Date Posted:
6/29/07 12:08pm
Subject:
The Broken Gear (OC, Drama, PreANH) Vignette
- Date Edited:
6/29/07 12:26pm (1 edits total)
Edited By:
oqidaun
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The following vignette contains mature themes.
Title: The Broken Gear
Author: oqidaun
Timeframe: Shortly before ANH
Characters: OCs
Genre: Drama
Synopsis: A bureaucrat finds the meaning of life in loss.
I hate quiet rooms full of quiet people waiting for miserable news. I hate the stale smell of such places, the texture of the chairs, the wrinkled pages of out of date media flimsies and the cheap faux flora that’s never been dusted. Most of all I hate the reasons that we go to such places. Those quiet rooms would not exist if we did not have the reasons to go there.
There was an empty seat between me and a fat faced woman with eyes red from pointless tears. She held tight to the cracked handle of a dirty handbag with her little sausage like fingers and tried not to look at me. I turned away from her and her poverty. Years ago, when I was younger, such a pathetic creature full of misplaced hate and xenophobic pride would not have possessed the arrogance to glare at my blue skin and imagine me a monster. She would do better to hate this room, to hate the very existence of this room, instead of hating me.
I did not have tears to shed. The stoic and noble Chagrian race does not cry. We are the ultimate bureaucrats, the prefect justices, the most loyal servants of any regime willing to reward us for our attention to detail and obsessive concern with rules of order. We have no tears to shed. Thus, I cried somewhere deep inside my stomach and I must have shed tears with razor edges.
The paneling on the walls was warped and uneven. What kind of craftsman would allow such imperfection in a room destined to filled with people incapable of doing nothing more aside from staring at the poorly finished walls. Craftsman? Did I think craftsman? I meant lowest bidder. Understandably on paper, it makes little sense to put comfort into a room where you hope your darkest nightmares will never lead you.
Number 254.
As soon as the disembodied voice called the number, the uneasy looking man near the door got up and shuffled to the counter. All eyes in the ugly quiet room were fixed on him, but as soon as he reached the counter the same eyes quickly darted back to the numbers on the blinking bits of plastiform held in sweaty hands. I knew my number as I knew my own name. I still know that number. Yet, I looked at it all the same.
The man at the counter signed a few forms and with each his shoulders slumped further. I distracted myself with my personal datacomm. I failed to cancel two appointments with senior justices when I rushed out of my office and irritated messages awaited me from their assistants, chastising me for forgetting. I hold no grudge. I told no one where I was going. I thought perhaps if I never said the name of the place, it would all turn out be a bad dream—a bad dream to talk about over tea at breakfast. He would laugh at me.
The media feed was full of stories of Rebel plots, narrowly adverted disasters, new laws limiting the interaction of humanoids and aliens, and a dozen vicious editorials concerning the scandal about a well known politician and his attractive lover at an upscale hotel in the Coco District. CorSec found them eating desert cakes and drinking wine after a bellboy tipped off a vice officer. An altercation ensued and both were shot to death. The officer responsible for the double homicide received a commendation from the Emperor for his efforts to enforce public morality. The families were denied the bodies and charged a heavy fine. Pundits and moral authorities cried for stricter punishments for such “behavior”. The media leapt on the story like a starving Krayt Dragon. The public salivated and anyone vulnerable to such scrutiny joined the masses feigning outrage. The Imperial witch-hunts expanded to include, yet another group. I read no further.
I looked at the fat faced, teary-eyed woman and I wondered if she knew.
Number 255.
My heart stopped. I looked at the plastiform in my hand. The room stared at me as I stood. I felt exposed. I could not hide. However, I wanted this moment to last forever simply because if it did the next moment would not happen.
There were fourteen steps from my seat to the counter. I passed two dusty plants, the fat faced woman and a cheap lopsided end table with a pile of discarded media flimsies. The bureaucrat at the counter shoved a datapad at me before I had a chance to speak—before I had a chance to tell her it was a mistake, an error. Errors happen all the time.
An incorrectly entered reference number.
A transposed character in a name.
Another being with the same name.
Errors happen all the time, but when I looked at the image on the datapad my illusions of an error evaporated like so much mist—like a weak flame extinguished by a gale. My mouth went dry. My hearts froze. I felt the Galaxy stop turning and the Universe come to a horrible abrupt stop.
“Can you identify this individual?”
Identify?
Identify? Ask me if I know him. Ask me if I know his favorite color. Ask me if I know how he takes his tea. For the love of all things holy in the Galaxy, ask me if I know what makes him happy, but don’t ask me to identify his body.
“Can you identify this individual?”
I know not where I found the strength to nod my head, but I did. She consoled me with another form. The details were brief, too succinct even for my proclivities. It was an accident. He slipped off the platform and died from blunt trauma to the head at Mirvabeaux Station.
Although rendered mute by agony, my mind screamed accusations at the cold woman. An accident? He was sure footed. Slipped? Why was it slick? Did someone see? Mirvabeaux Station in Coco? There’s been violence there. Will there be an investigation? An accident? I want answers!
But, I knew there would be no investigation. The world had changed into a cruel place. A cruel place with no room under its glittering sky for people like us. There would be no investigation. He was just another… I couldn’t think the things that others might have thought about him, about us. All I could do was sign the form.
And she gave me another.
My hand cramped around the stylus.
“Your name, sir?” She prompted, concerned more about the time I was wasting than the fact my world had just ended. “Sir?”
“Amedda.”
She perked up. The name still meant something. My father had been powerful and his funeral well publicized two years before. I surmised that since she was in the business, she watched a lot of funerals.
“And how are you associated with the deceased?” A slight smile surfaced briefly before she returned to her previous demeanor.
The deceased was my life. He was my brightest star, the source of every smile. I would have died for him, but now I found myself signing a datapad identifying his body. My association? There are few people so blessed understand the “association” we had. He was the other half of my soul. He was my reason for waking.
“We were…” I glanced at the options on the document available to me. “He was my friend. He was…my very best friend.”
“Very well, Mr. Amedda.” She nodded curtly turning to catch the flimsy that printer spat at us. “His effects will be relinquished to you at the office down the hall and to the left. Take this form.”
“To the left?” My broken heart dulled my intellect.
“To the left,” she replied flatly. “And Mr. Amedda,” her voice lowered to a whisper, “you best be careful what you insinuate about…him. The Empire does not tolerate such things and it could earn you a hefty fine.”
Each morning when I wake up alone and each night before I close my eyes, I think about that day. For every meal I take in solace, I think of that day. Every time I go to the opera and look at the empty seat beside me, I think of that day. And every time, I let little bits of information slide through my fingers at the Imperial Courts I think of that day. Every password I share, every door I leave unlocked, each amnesty I forge has been inspired by that day. I remember his smile when I read about the Rebellion and I know that I’ll find peace the day this twisted Empire collapses.
-----signature-----
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VaderLVR64
Title: Fan Fic Manager in Combat Boots
Registered:
Feb '04
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Date Posted:
6/29/07 1:01pm
Subject:
RE: The Broken Gear (OC, Drama, PreANH) Vignette
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Incredibly moving. I hardly know what to say.
“And how are you associated with the deceased?” A slight smile surfaced briefly before she returned to her previous demeanor.
The deceased was my life. He was my brightest star, the source of every smile. I would have died for him, but now I found myself signing a datapad identifying his body. My association? There are few people so blessed understand the “association” we had. He was the other half of my soul. He was my reason for waking.
“We were…” I glanced at the options on the document available to me. “He was my friend. He was…my very best friend.”
“Very well, Mr. Amedda.” She nodded curtly turning to catch the flimsy that printer spat at us. “His effects will be relinquished to you at the office down the hall and to the left. Take this form.”
“To the left?” My broken heart dulled my intellect.
“To the left,” she replied flatly. “And Mr. Amedda,” her voice lowered to a whisper, “you best be careful what you insinuate about…him. The Empire does not tolerate such things and it could earn you a hefty fine.”
Gorgeous!  
-----signature-----
If you have to choose between tears and laughter, remember that laughter burns more calories.
Proud New Army Mom - off to bootcamp!
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Suzuki_Akira
Registered:
May '03
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Date Posted:
6/29/07 2:27pm
Subject:
RE: The Broken Gear (OC, Drama, PreANH) Vignette
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Oh, gay love stories are allowed now? Cool.
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God is great, the Lord of all. "I find your lack of faith disturbing..." Those who dare oppose us will stand knee deep in the blood of their children. http://profile.myspace.com/index.cfm?fuseaction=user.viewprofile&friendid=158008483
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VaderLVR64
Title: Fan Fic Manager in Combat Boots
Registered:
Feb '04
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Date Posted:
6/29/07 2:35pm
Subject:
RE: The Broken Gear (OC, Drama, PreANH) Vignette
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NOT exactly. No canon characters can be portrayed as gay, and any homosexuals OCs must be CAREFULLY portrayed, with such relationships only hinted at, as shown here.  For more information, you can PM a mod.
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If you have to choose between tears and laughter, remember that laughter burns more calories.
Proud New Army Mom - off to bootcamp!
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Healer_Leona
Registered:
Jul '00
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Date Posted:
6/29/07 3:26pm
Subject:
RE: The Broken Gear (OC, Drama, PreANH) Vignette
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oqiduan, stunning work. Bravo!
Oh, gay love stories are allowed now? Cool.
LOL You'd be surprised that even some mods weren't aware of what was allowed in fanfic. Always glad to be able to point things out in the
Slash:
Slash fiction ("Fanfic featuring people of the same gender romantically involved"--definition from the TFN Archive lexicon ) is not permitted for publication at the JC. This includes fiction of other genres that while not technically 'slash' contain some of the elements that make up a slash fic. As they are used in officially released material, allusions and innuendo are permissible, so long as they remain ambiguous and are in reference to original characters.
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Still crazy after all these years.
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DarthBreezy
Title: Retired Mos Everett Cantina Founder & JMPR
Registered:
Jun '02
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Date Posted:
6/29/07 5:33pm
Subject:
RE: The Broken Gear (OC, Drama, PreANH) Vignette
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Leaving the other stuff out as the story thread is not the place... (but my position is well known!)
This was truly a moving piece my dear. A haunting conclusion to "Thursdays", and now our friend is all alone in the galaxy .
Lovely, haunting work my dear... Just wonderful.
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Although the singer is silent, There is still the truth of the song. http://boards.theforce.net/beyond_the_saga/b10477/28747916/p1/ Sailing little Boats - with GoldenJedi Anywhere is possible.
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Commander-DWH
Registered:
Nov '03
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Date Posted:
6/30/07 9:26pm
Subject:
RE: The Broken Gear (OC, Drama, PreANH) Vignette
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This piece made me sad on a lot of levels. Beautifully written, as usual. It's good to see things far outside the norm, and you never disappoint.
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oqidaun
Title: Manager Emeritus
Registered:
Jul '05
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Date Posted:
7/2/07 4:38pm
Subject:
RE: The Broken Gear (OC, Drama, PreANH) Vignette
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Thanks for reading. 
Kim: It was one of those stories that just fell out of my head. I'm glad you liked it.
Suzuki_Akira: Thank you for reading. Yes, this story falls with in the boundaries of what we allow here. It was all implied. You might want to visit some of the Mature Themes Threads hosted on the FanFiction Resource board by the lovely DarthBreezy, such as Mature Themes Thread and to see how other writers have worked within the acceptable limits here, you might want to visit the Rainbow Challenge.
Leona: Thank you for reading, I appreciate your compliments.
Breezy: I'm happy you made the Thursdays connection. Thank you so very much for reading.
DWH: It was a very sad piece to write. You know me, I'm not one for normalcy.
Thank you, KIM and LEONA for providing the excerpt from the Fan Fiction FAQ.
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Kestrel_Kenobi
Registered:
Sep '05
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Date Posted:
7/2/07 5:31pm
Subject:
RE: The Broken Gear (OC, Drama, PreANH) Vignette
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ah, lovely writing.I thought you did a great job with this.
The deceased was my life. He was my brightest star, the source of every smile. I would have died for him, but now I found myself signing a datapad identifying his body. My association? There are few people so blessed understand the “association” we had. He was the other half of my soul. He was my reason for waking.
Beautifully subtle and painfully sad.
Bravo
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I had a baby girl! July '08! Proud Padawan to the elusive Jennifer_Lyn! Together again... http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0443701/
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correllian_ale
Title: Manager Emeritus
Registered:
Jun '05
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Date Posted:
7/2/07 5:54pm
Subject:
RE: The Broken Gear (OC, Drama, PreANH) Vignette
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Magnifico! What a touching scenes. That other "thing" didn't effect me one way or the other.
My heart stopped. I looked at the plastiform in my hand. The room stared at me as I stood. I felt exposed. I could not hide. However, I wanted this moment to last forever simply because if it did the next moment would not happen.
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Consider this my "throw back" jersey...  I govern my life around my own personal code of ethics, and I suggest that you do the same.
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LLL
Title: TFN Fan Fiction Archive Editor
Registered:
Jul '00
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Date Posted:
7/2/07 8:47pm
Subject:
RE: The Broken Gear (OC, Drama, PreANH) Vignette
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This is just really, really lovely.
I don't think you can write a bad story ...
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BigE
Registered:
Jul '02
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Date Posted:
7/2/07 9:13pm
Subject:
RE: The Broken Gear (OC, Drama, PreANH) Vignette
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Very beautifully written.
And now I can see how dense I am - didn't pick up on the suggestion at all, I thought he was identifying his father's body.
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Aha! That's it. Hold it right there.
Pronoun trouble.
It's not "he doesn't have to shoot YOU now," it's "he doens't have to shoot ME now."
Well I say he DOES have to shoot me now!! So shoot me now!
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Jennifer_Lyn
Registered:
Jun '05
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Date Posted:
7/13/07 8:44am
Subject:
RE: The Broken Gear (OC, Drama, PreANH) Vignette
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bravo!
like Breezy said, awesome continuation of Thursdays.
sad and beautiful, with all the neat views of life inside the Empire as Palpatin tightened his grip.
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Forever in search of the perfect Obi-Wan quote but it remains something... elsewhere. Elusive. Secret agent in the OC revolution Proud Master to Kestrel_Kenobi A Stirring in the Bones - http://boards.theforce.net/b/b1/24526219/p5 - updated 8/30
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Pandora26
Registered:
Apr '05
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Date Posted:
9/2/07 7:48pm
Subject:
RE: The Broken Gear (OC, Drama, PreANH) Vignette
- Date Edited:
9/2/07 9:19pm (1 edits total)
Edited By:
Pandora26
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This is definitely the same narrator from "Thursdays with my father." Though I only really knew who he was when he mentions that he's Chagrian, I recognized his voice almost at once. It's the same voice from the previous story, except it's not quite the same. The narrator has changed. He has been (for lack of a better word) broken.
The room in the story seems like a sort of nightmare purgatory, to match the narrator's inner state, as he faces his own nightmare. And once again, he is faced with a lie he knows the truth behind, a truth he can never reveal.
He knows his partner's death most likely wasn't an accident. Just as he knows that is the only official explanation there will ever be. This is where the Evil Empire proves why it's evil. There's always another group of beings who can made into the Other, into the Enemy. The narrator already knew, from his father, that Palpatine's takeover was a lie. But it takes this crushing blow for him to finally turn, even in secret, against the machine of the Empire.
For me, this line sums up how the narrator feels best:
The world had changed into a cruel place. A cruel place with no room under its glittering sky for people like us.
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Shiny. Let's be bad guys.
--Jayne
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Luton_Plunder
Registered:
Jun '06
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Date Posted:
9/2/07 8:32pm
Subject:
RE: The Broken Gear (OC, Drama, PreANH) Vignette
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oqidaun, you have a wonderful style that is succinct and vivid at the same time. I really enjoyed this vig, and actually you've gotten me thinking about the GFFA on the whole in a different way. It never occurred to me that this might be the case:
oqidaun posted:
“And Mr. Amedda,” her voice lowered to a whisper, “you best be careful what you insinuate about…him. The Empire does not tolerate such things and it could earn you a hefty fine.”
But you know, it makes alot of sense. The Empire would be all about propagating the human race above all others, so I can see how a couple that couldn't further the species would be discouraged. That's given me something to chew on for my own stories, so thankyou
And above all, very moving. Lyrical without ever coming close to being over the top. Fantastic job!
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The Musical Jedi
Registered:
Dec '99
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Date Posted:
9/3/07 9:38am
Subject:
RE: The Broken Gear (OC, Drama, PreANH) Vignette
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Fantastic, oqi! I also thought this was the character from Thursdays, though I wasn't sure until he gave his name. I also liked the details of the story that make the room, as well as the horrible associations with that room. Nice innuendo about the non-accident. Makes you wonder how many people actually watch the things you don't think anyone notices...  His little defiances at the end are also a nice addition. Maybe he'll make a difference in his own quiet way.
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Real heroes were like the characters in that man Tolkien's story, who did what they had to even if they hated it, even if it took their own lives away from them.
-- Otherland: Mountain of Black Glass, Tad Williams
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Lord help our Colts.
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