Before - Legends Saga - PT Saga - OT Before the Saga Saga - Legends Findswoman's Fragments & Miscellanea (assorted short stories)

This thread is for my various miscellaneous drabbles, vignettes, and one-shot stories, including entries for the Edited challenge. All are in the “Saga—Legends” timeframe category unless otherwise noted.

So here goes—enjoy!

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Index
of all stories in this thread:

Early Morning Thoughts of a Hutt's Gardener (Edited Challenge; below)
Pandemonium at a Hutt's Garden Party (Edited Challenge)
Of Urgent Transmissions and Curious Dropped Objects (Edited Challenge)
"Dearest Delphine!" (Writer's Block Challenge, Week 2)
Box of Visions (Writer's Block Challenge, Week 3)
"There is no death!" (Movie Quote Challenge)
Opus Sixty-Six (2015 award-fic for Chyntuck)
The Chronomaker and the Findsman (Summer 2015 OC Challenge; fic-gift for Kahara)
In Search of a Hutt's Dinner Music (part of Κρεμμυδανθοί [Onion Blossoms]: A Bouquet of Fic-Gifts for Chyntuck—links out of thread)
[Before—Legends] Just Ask Dad; or, Talking Things Through on Taris (KOTOR, humor)
[Before—Legends] A Lesson under the Arboray Trees? (2015 winter fic-gift for earlybird-obi-wan—links out of thread)
The Spacer's Song (Autumn 2015 OC Challenge; First Sentence Challenge—French Literature Edition)
Commence Orbital Bombardment! (fic-gift for Admiral Volshe and Shira A'dola)
A Blaze of Blasé (birthday fic-gift for Ewok Poet)
Between the Porch and the Altar (Summer 2016 OC Challenge—links out of thread)
Hoses, Masks, and Canisters (Poetry Inspiration Challenge)
[Saga—PT] The White Stuff (part of Dear DAIRY Challenge—links out of thread)
Graceful as Water (Celtic Songs challenge)
[Before the Saga] Beautiful, Inexactly (OTP Thread Romance Quotes Challenge)
[Saga—OT] Insert Tab A into Slot B: A Story about Kanan's Lightsaber (Rebels, humor)
[Before—Legends] In Your Vault, In Your Mists, In Your Song (Celtic Songs challenge, ad-hoc entry)
[Saga—OT] Turn Your Head and Cough; or, The Checkup (Rebels, humor)

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Edited, round 1:
a garden
muddy boots
a broken toy

Early Morning Thoughts of a Hutt’s Gardener

Nestled deep in the verdant meadowlands outside Gebroila, Nal Hutta, the grounds of the palace of Bonvika Deseradii Feolla were renowned for their magnificent display gardens. Great Bonvika, notorious among her people as a patroness of the fine arts and a connoisseur of any and all things beautiful, had bade her agents bring rare and beautiful plant species from all over the galaxy to adorn her grounds, and for a small fee visitors could come and admire the breathtaking vistas, sparkling fountains, and shady, gazebo-dotted groves surrounding her historic villa.

As the pale orange morning twilight hovered at the edge of the sky, a broad-shouldered female Weequay in dark green coveralls and silt-caked rubber boots made her way along a walk lined with red-leaved flowering trees, trimming back with a large vibroshears any and all branches that looked the slightest bit too long. It was important that the garden look its best today: Great Bonvika would be hosting a gala garden party to welcome a visiting Geonosian noblewoman, the Grand Duchess Peascodd. Word in the servants’ quarters was that a weapons deal was in the works. The grand duchess was in a position to supply Great Bonvika with the munitions the Hutt desperately needed in her ongoing territorial conflict with her third-cousin-by-marriage, the unscrupulous Gardulla Besadii. Meanwhile the Geonosian, a well-known doll collector, stood to receive five hundred cases of the much-prized CoCoToys Deluxe Edition Ultimate Braids Bastila. Bonvika’s agents had scoured the finest Coreworld playware emporiums for these prized collectible dolls, and the promised shipment now sat waiting, neatly palletized, in an unused hangar bay.

The Weequay chuckled to herself, for she alone at Bonvika’s court knew what would happen next. Just before sunup she had gone to that very hangar bay and planted the TB-47 time bomb that, punctually at midnight, would “accidentally” reduce the entire delicately clothed, immaculately coiffed shipment to powdery, hand-painted smithereens. Gardulla would be proud . . .

With a jaunty flourish of her long topknot, she clipped an unruly branch from the last tree on the right, then turned down the stone path toward the Sunken Garden. The everlilies needed deadheading. ¶

 

Thank you all very kindly. Yes, I thought you KOTOR aficionados would appreciate the name of the doll! And indeed the amazingly awesome Butchart Gardens was one of several fantastic gardens that I had on my mind during the writing of this (along with the botanical gardens in St. Louis, Chicago, and Kew, and Olbrich Botanical Garden here in Madison)—I do love places like that, so I was thrilled to get that prompt.

And now for the next installment...

— — —
Edited, round 2:
Feathers
A pointy object
Yellow liquid
A full moon or moons

Pandemonium at a Hutt’s Garden Party

It was the perfect evening for a garden party. Hanging lanterns and luminarias of all shapes, sizes, and colors adorned the grounds of Great Bonvika’s palace. The exotic flowers sent up their multitude of odors, attracting tiny luminescent insects to their embrace. Gentlebeings of all descriptions milled about, some mingling over delicacies offered by slave girls, some strolling along winding garden paths, some secluding themselves in vine-wreathed arbors. The soft music of a tri-harp and a Rindao double viol emanated from a gazebo at one corner of the Malreaux Rose Garden, with the purl of the fountains forming a gentle counterpoint. Overhead, all five of Nal Hutta’s moons shone full and round; even dingy, gray Nar Shaddaa never looked so radiant as when it was lighting up the skies over the Gebroila meadowlands.

In her custom-built pavilion at the center of the Great Lawn, Bonvika herself reclined on synthsilk down-filled cushions, loudly scarfing large green bonbons from a box. Beside her, on a sofa brought out specially for the occasion, sat a middle-aged female Geonosian, her arms laden with jeweled bangles and her tridactyl hands clutching an empty glass.

“Oh, and Peascodd, dahling,” began the Hutt in the midst of a mouthful. “If you could perhaps consider throwing in some of those mahvelous incremental sequence bombs you sold dear Borvo that time . . . Quinfruit petti-bon?”

She reached one of the green sweets over to the Geonosian. It was cracked, sending a goodly quantity of runny yellow filling oozing out onto the floor.

“No, thank you,” came the stiff reply.

Wolfing the petti-bon herself, Bonvika continued. “Well, as I was saying, dear Borvo was absolutely enchanted with them, and I was thinking they would be just the thing for dealing with Gardulla’s naughty, pesky bounty hunting scum. Always barging their way in here in the middle of my noonday salon concerts—”

Peascodd drew herself up, her bangles clinking coldly. “Borvo,” she rejoined, “was able to offer me fifty cases of Silken Elegance Visas in addition to the latest CoCoToys Deluxe Edition. If you are prepared to match his offer—”

“Oh, yes, well, certainly something can be arranged, dahling . . . Why, your glass is empty! We must remedy that!” Bonvika snapped her large, clawed fingers loudly. “Oh, Kiri-Aki! Come over here, won't you please!”

The broad-shouldered female Weequay, her green coveralls now changed for a flowing sleeveless gown of peafowl-blue taffeta and her garden boots for red stiletto heels, sidled into view.

“Yes, Great Bonvika?”

“More trig-berry cordial for the grand duchess!”

“Right away, Great Bonvika.”

Kiri-Aki ascended the steps to the pavilion, not seeing the slimy-sweet yellow puddle underfoot . . .

And then several things happened at once. Kiri-Aki slipped and fell violently backwards. The long, knife-like heel of her shoe drove into one of the Hutt’s cushions, which exploded in a cloud of wispy, gray-green feathers. Grand Duchess Peascodd jumped, dropping the glass, her mouth clacking open in shocked surprise. And Great Bonvika let out a laugh that shook the pavilion.

“Kiri-Aki, dahling,” she bellowed, “you are ridiculous!”

“Yes, Great Bonvika,” answered the Weequay, hoisting herself slowly to her feet.

“Absolutely ridiculous!”

“Yes, Great Bonvika.”

“A buffoon!”

“Yes, Great Bonvika.”

Smoothing out her gown and brushing off a few stray feathers, Kiri-Aki strode off toward the refreshments tent in the Fountain Grove. She glanced quickly at the palace’s tower chrono: it was only a matter of hours before that bloated old battle-axe would finally get hers . . . ¶

 

Thank you again, everyone! This is turning out to be great fun.

And now here is round three, which, once again, ended up continuing the story of rounds one and two (but by no means concluding it)...

— — —
Edited, round 3:
A malfunctioning communicator
A half-eaten meal
A hyper youngling
Something frozen
A discarded bandage

Of Urgent Transmissions and Curious Dropped Objects

“Glockel here. Go ahead.”

“The cargo has been ffrgbg. Brrggrb rggrbbr brb brgbrgrrrg.”

“What did you say?”

“She said—Bsgrrsb grgbsrr HISSSS grrbrrbbrrr.”

“Oh, blast it, you’re coming in funny again . . .”

In a secluded, rose-twined nook in the Naboo Formal Garden, a young female Human guest with two red-blond braids, clad in a ribbon-festooned gown of blue and white, whacked her wrist comlink soundly with the heel of her hand. The silly thing had been acting up ever since she had arrived on Nal Hutta: every incoming transmission would come in clearly for about five seconds, then suddenly garble up. Sometimes the issue could be solved by a spot of “percussive maintenance,” but usually not. And this was a particularly important transmission from her partner, who had just discovered (or “intuited,” as she was fond of saying—whatever that meant) the location of the cargo of which their contact had told them . . .

It was frustrating. Indeed, their entire time on Nal Hutta had been frustrating. Glockel and her partner had arrived a week before in answer to Great Bonvika’s call for treasure hunters, which had been broadcast on all the usual public comm frequencies in Hutt Space. It was well known that this aesthetically minded Hutt could never have too many agents hunting down rare holocrons, ancient weapons, or historical musical instruments to add to her many and varied collections. Or so they had thought, for the Hutt had yet to give them so much as the time of day. Over the course of the week they, along with numerous other hopefuls, had been shunted between salon concerts, poetry readings, and gallery tours at the Hutt’s historic palace. Eventually they had managed to obtain a short audience with Bonvika’s majordomo, a rather harried purple-haired Theelin by name of Diva Marquisha. She had wrangled them an invitation to Bonvika’s garden party, but not much else had been accomplished. For Marquisha, who had apparently not been able to engage a babysitter that afternoon, had spent about three-quarters of their meeting chasing and scolding her early-school-aged daughter—possibly the most rambunctious and unruly youngling Glockel had ever had the displeasure of encountering.

And then, while her quirky partner had gone off who knows where to investigate some strange hunch about hidden cargo (she had always been prone to strange hunches), Glockel had stood patiently and expectantly at a cocktail table on the Great Lawn, waiting the right moment to approach Great Bonvika and introduce herself. But the Hutt, stang and blast her, had spent the entire party gabbing with that old bag from Geonosis. All Glockel could do was stand there and wait, for she knew from previous experience that it was eminently unwise to interrupt Hutts conversing with honored guests.

And then suddenly the comlink had beeped to life with the urgent call from her partner, and she had hurried off down the winding stone path and over the duck bridge to the Naboo Formal Garden—because obviously she didn’t need the Hutt’s entire court hearing her talking about things like secret cargoes. All that way, only to have the accursed thing go all higgledy-piggledy again. She thought darkly of the delicious plateful of confit de quadduck à la Coronetisi that she had left behind, half-eaten, on that cocktail table. Well, perhaps those pesky little light-up gnats were enjoying it, anyway . . .

“OOH! HEY!”

The youthful, high-pitched voice exploded on Glockel’s consciousness. To her absolute horror she recognized before her the curly purple head of the wiggly Theelin child she had met earlier that day.

“Why hello, Soozoo,” Glockel said as calmly as she could manage.

“You’re the lady who talks funny!” Soozoo was bouncing excitedly on the balls of her feet, pointing a manicured index finger at the Human woman.

“Why, yes.” Glockel let this remark slide. She spoke with the silvery, lyrical accent typical of her little-known Outer Rim homeworld, and she knew well her speech sounded odd and comical to most Basic-speaking Humans in this sector.

“Where’s your little friend with the big eyes?”

“Ah, hmm, well . . .” Glockel did her best to let this slide too, since the child had almost certainly never encountered one of her partner’s kind before. “She just went for a walk. She likes to take walks. Say, Soozoo—

Just then Glockel’s commlink crackled to life with a blood-curdling sound like cramponed boots crunching through an iced-over puddle.

“KKRKRK-K-K brgrrrgrbr rrrgbgr bay five-besh grgrbbgg immediately repeat KKKHHHH.”

Glockel’s heart pounded as she jumped to her feet. Even if most of the words were garbled, she knew this was the transmission she had been waiting for. Her partner had found the cargo—or at least she had found something. And it was the perfect opportunity to make a quick escape . . .

“Oh look she’s calling me I’ve got to go meet her we’ll chat some other time Soozoo okay? Bye!”

And with that she lifted her skirts and took off as quickly as she could down the garden path, over the duck bridge, across the Great Lawn, and from there to the service road leading (if memory served) to the hangar bays—only to realize, upon reaching this last, that the Theelin girl was bounding excitedly along behind her.

“Hey! Wait for me!”

Glockel halted in her tracks and muttered a curse in her native language. Was there no way to be rid of this purple-haired pest? She would ruin the whole thing . . .

Just then her eye fell on what looked like two frayed strips of fabric lying on the pavement. Both were white with orange stripes, though one appeared to be spattered with blood. It appeared to be one of those designer-series Eca self-adhering compression bandages that had been torn in two. What was more, Glockel could have sworn she had seen it on someone at the palace earlier that day . . . maybe that ponytailed lady handing out programs at the salon concert who’d said she’d wrenched her ankle while transplanting nova lilies . . . ?

“Hey, Soozoo. Do you want to do something really, really nice?”

“Yeah!” came the jubilant reply.

Glockel handed her the clean half of the bandage. “Will you take this to your mama, please? And tell her—”

“ALL RIGHTY DOO!” Before Glockel could finish, Soozoo grabbed the bandage piece, spun on her heel, and sprinted off toward the Great Lawn.

Breathing a sigh of sincere relief, Glockel pocketed the bloodstained bandage piece, then hurried down the service road toward her rendezvous. Between hangar bays, Eca bandages, and bloodstains, things were looking most intriguing indeed . . .

Bonvika, if word ever got back to her, would be proud. ¶