Not an Option (JA-era, Trett/Arwen, w/guest stars...)

Woo, you actually had me worried that Arwen wouldn't find her lightsaber!

I'd write more but I'm nursing the obligatory cold (Winter wasn't going to let me get away with not catching something this time), and my brain is pretty much fragmented jelly (that's Jello for U.S. types).

And it's very sad when the grumble takes up more space than the response. Sorry, Renata . Insert some comment about 'great writing as usual' to make up for it .

 

That was a good touch, about her shoulder and knee being more susceptible to injuries. And the part where Arwen discovered her lightsaber missing was very tense! What a relief that she found it again! Are her ivory-coloured diplomatic robes less warm than the normal bantha-wool cloak? At least in this colour, she can sort of blend in with the snow if needs be, to hide from the patrols.

 

Hooooo boy. I wonder what poor Rendell's gonna do now? Not to mention Arwen! A long walk to Noully prison without gloves. *shivers*

As it happens, I liked your 'mandatory' fight on top of the train! what with all the ice, and the fact that she *did* end up falling off in the end, it was quite unique, not to mention entertaining.

Particularly liked Arwen's use of Jerjerrod's gift (which I was wondering if she'd ever use it), her very familiar sounding decision about not killing anybody, the finding of her lightsaber, the faint sigh of frustration over her dress robes, and the realistic touch of her knee, etc. Now let's just hope they don't run into any *more* trouble!

Lucy has just pointed out to me that this is Trett and Istarri we're talkin' about here; their middle name is trouble! Not that it's their fault or anything... If everybody else would quit shooting at them, they'd be fine!

Lucy says the only thing she's hoping is that Trett doesn't give Arwen up for dead.

Sarah >^,,^<

 

Poor HaiGan! I am hoping my cold didn't get transmitted through the boards ( ). It did take me weeks to recover and I *still* have an intermittent cough. You're entitled to grumble; colds are the pits! *big hug* We'll get Jane to send An-Paj over with some nice chicken soup...

Hello, everyone else! Well, I'm glad the mandatory roof-fight passed muster. Arwen's cloak is as warm as the others; she just doesn't like cold weather! Here is the nice, long one I promised you. It's the end of Part One. (Don't panic, Part Two is all ready to go; I won't keep you waiting unless my server does screwy things...)

Um, it's sort of torture, but it's not graphic. I don't do graphic... and you do have your climbing harnesses? Yes? Okay...


* * *

He wasn't happy about losing the lightsaber, but there would be a way to get it back. The binders didn't bother him at all; the lock was old-fashioned, and these, at least, he could use the Force to get out of. Probably. His hand was throbbing with pain; broken bones, he knew it without question. And they'd worked the rest of him over pretty good, but no serious injuries there. What was more annoying was the black cloth bag slipped over his head. He wouldn't walk into things, the guards were roughly guiding him along the corridors of the prison and there was the Force, of course... but he chafed at missing important details that could help him escape.

They led him down a short flight of steps into a room. Trett sensed the others in the room before the bag was removed. He blinked only a moment, then quickly scanned the room. No windows. Old brick walls. Two dim glowpanels overhead.

The guards pushed him to stand on a metal plate of some sort, then punched a button. This was a problem. It was a containment field, reaching up to just above his knees. He couldn't move or escape, though his hands would be free if he could get loose of the binders.

There had been six guards escorting him, and there were six others here, mostly human or humanoid, all male. Mostly young. A man entered, and walked in a circle around Trett, surveying him in a leisurely way. Trett studied him back. Humanoid, with horned ridges protruding from his temples to the back of his head. Not Iridonian, but similar. His hair was salt-and-pepper, with the gray streaks more pronounced in his goatee. His eyes were black and shrewd, and he was in civilian clothes, a long, severely cut coat of dark gray piped in burgundy, over simple, black suit.

"So, you are the Jedi," he said quietly.

No point denying that. "I am Rendell Trett, of the Jedi Order. The Central Committee have agreed to release the Kazar and his family to me. I will then escort them offworld."

"So I understand." The man went to sit in a hard chair, facing him. "And you think I should release him?"

"It is the will of the People's Central Committee."

The man laughed. "And how much did you pay them to get them to agree to release the family?"

"Nothing," said Trett honestly. "They are hoping that the Kazar will be tried for his crimes before a Senate Court, so that the member systems of the Republic will recognize the validity of the Revolution."

"Come, come now. You expect me to believe that? The bureaucrats of the Central Committee do nothing unless their pockets are well-lined."

"I am telling the truth."

"From a certain point of view. Isn't that how the Jedi do it? Bending the truth or stretching the rules in order to accomplish their objectives."

Trett took a deep breath. It was true, that was sometimes the only way to get things accomplished. But not in this case.

"No, I am telling the truth. By anyone's standards." He looked the man up and down. "I suppose you are Commissioner Vardis? I had been told I would be speaking with Commissioner Trulle."

The man managed a tight smile. "No. Commissioner Trulle met with an...accident a few days ago. Very unfortunate." He cocked his head. "So. You didn't offer payment for the Kazar. Then you used the Force to manipulate them into falling in with your plans."

"No,"

 

This does not sound good for Trett, but at least they don't have Arwen yet. Hmmm, if he's in a brick room then he must not be on the train anymore, which means, I think, that they must have taken him off at the next station, the one Arwen is heading for. Hopefully they will not be separated for long.

 

So, this Vardis is not Iridonian? Interesting. He certainly seems interested in money. I liked the way that Rendell chafed at not being able to see the little details that might help him later, even though he could use the Force not to bump into things. And he knows they haven't caught Arwen--good.

*dangles in climbing harness*

What next?

 

Uh-oh. Methinks the new Commissioner thinks everyone is as twisted and underhand as he is. Of course Trett could have agreed quite readily to have the Central Commitee pay Vardis what Trett offered them... but that's not really Trett's way of thinking, is it? Poor guy, let's hope Arwen can get him out of this without running into trouble herself.

 

Oh, poor Trett!

I wondered how long it would be before I'd get to say those words.

This Vardis guy looks like he's going to be trouble. (Understatement of the year.) And I thought the detail about him not being Iridonian was very interesting, too. And he seems to know a lot about the Jedi, although I guess stories about the mind trick would probably be pretty common.

Looking forward to more!

 

*bounces slightly in her harness, freaking her poor cat out in the process*

LOL, sari! I suppose I will join you: POOR TRETT!! I'm not sure whether to urge Arwen on so that she can rescue him, or trip her up so that Vardis won't have a lethal bargaining chip to wave under Trett's nose... hmmm. The problem here (if it can be thus titled) lies in the fact that Trett's such a nice guy and will likely cave, or at least get himself into worse trouble if it looks like Arwen's gonna get hurt.

One thing I am sure of, though, is that Rendell has more skill than he gives himself credit for. Not to mention honesty.

Lucy wants more badly. For one thing, she wants to know what happens to Trett, and for another, she wants out of this harness!

Sarah >^,,^<

 

Good morning, all! I am doing a change up and posting in the AM. Probably not a good idea; it's usually a nice "carrot" to have, promising myself I'll go online after I finish all my chores, etc... oh, well. I just got the new Vanity Fair & in a SW mood.

Fab pictures; Ewan & SLJ are smoldering! Costumes for Amidala seem beautiful, but...costumey. The thing I liked about Leia in the OT is that most of the time, it seemed she was in stuff you'd actually WEAR.

Hope you're feeling a bit better, HG. The bug has struck down my sparring partner, too; missed her in practice this morning.

(Cats don't need harnesses; their claws enable to hang quite comfortably off the sides of cliffs! )

So... back to Our Hero, who is firmly esconced in the Dread Noully Prison...


* * *

Interlude

Several weeks later...


Moving was a mistake. He could just about open his eyes. That didn't hurt too much. Cautiously, Trett turned his head, and took a deep breath. That was a huge mistake. Pain shot through him, causing him to gasp, which only hurt more. It was like knives, plunged deep into his chest. Broken ribs, he was sure of it. Shallow breaths, then.

He closed his eyes. He'd been a prisoner before, but he couldn't remember being worried about it. Now, he was beginning to wonder if he was going to survive. The Malabrian guards were brutal. No two ways about it. He had to assume they'd learned their trade from their Imperial predecessors, the Kazar's Shadow Guard.

Trett had refused to send a message to the Council, begging for a ransom. It would be useless in any event. He refused to agree to use the Force to influence the other Regional Commissioners into allying with Vardis. Apparently, the man had plans to march against the Central Committee, and take power himself. And Trett was thwarting him. And was therefore punished.

Moving much more was out of the question. He lay back against the board that formed the cot, keeping his eyes closed, drawing on the Force to help heal himself. But it wasn't going to be nearly enough. He really needed a bacta tank, and a team of Healers.

They didn't want him dead, though. They'd been very careful, inflicting pain that penetrated to every cell in his body, without causing any injuries that would be fatal. Now they knew that they weren't going to be able to get him to side with them, so Trett had to assume they were simply enjoying the power they had over him. And they were feeding him... sort of. He turned his head carefully, looking at the tray placed on his side of the force field. Water, called "soup", which might once have had a vegetable rinsed in it, and a piece of compressed fiber with pretensions to bread that had something smeared on it. He didn't even want to think about what that might be.

He waited, drawing on the Force for strength and healing. He had no idea how long it took. But after a while, slowly, he pushed himself to a sitting position, and carefully swung his feet over the edge of the cot, cautiously testing the floor. He sat there like that for a while longer, fighting down pain, dizziness, and nausea. Eventually, he was able to stand and shuffle slowly to retrieve the tray. Survival was a duty, he knew, and as untempting as this was, it was a key to survival. But he doubted whether he could survive another month like this one. Now, he was simply a way for Ulun to amuse himself, until something better came along.

He took his time --the guards would be in no hurry to retrieve the tray-- and set it back carefully inside the forcedoor when he had finished. He glanced through the shield. There were still four guards outside, one to either side of the doorway and two opposite. The two observing him looked bored.

Trett straightened painfully, pausing for a moment to gather more strength, then made his way to the wall with the window set high up. Gritting his teeth as sharp pains knifed through his feet and calves, he rose to his toes to peer out, taking some small joy in the scrap of watery blue sky that he could see.

He didn't ne

 

Oh geez, I'm so ashamed to say I just found this...

I've only read a couple posts so far, so I better get back to reading. Just letting you know that I'm here .

 

Several weeks. Several WEEKS! There we all were, happily reading away, and she goes snd throws us forwards in time several weeks just like that?

Trett's thoughts were heartbreaking- the way that despite his own personal circumstances his thoughts mostly seemed to be with the Kazaret, the Kazar and their children, with his Padawan, and with the right way to resolve the situation.

*Psst, Trett! Don't ever let anyone tell you you're not fit to be a Jedi!*

Well, there's only one thing for it. I'll have to start the Society for the Prevention of Prolonged Cruelty to Trett.

I have only one question, though. What has Arwen been doing all this time??

 

Oh, dear, I'm afraid Rendell knows Arwen too well, too. I'm sure she really is out there, hiding in the cold snow, trying to find a way to rescue him. I got a little shiver when I read that Rendell knew that, on his own, he could take this treatment, but if he knew that they had Arwen ...

It's suspicious that he's only seen the Kazaret and the girls. Makes you wonder about the Kazar and his sons ...

 

He's been there a month????

Where is Arwen- She can get herself into tons of trouble in 1 day not to mention one month!

I got Vanity Fair today-- GEORGEOUS!!!!!

 

Yikes, poor Trett--again!

He certainly does know Arwen well.
I, too, wonder what she's been up to all this time.

Can't wait to read more!

 

Good morning again, everyone! Hi, FurryDuck, glad you could join us!

I am enjoying a veeery lazy Sunday morning, reading the paper and drinking too much coffee. I'll drag myself back to the dreaded chores (I think the Dread Balancing of the Checkbook is on today's list), but first we do need to sort Arwen out, I suppose.

(Georgeous! Hee hee, good pun, Kitara! )

* * *

The beggar huddled in a corner of the marketplace with the others, glancing over at the walls of the prison from time to time. Passersby paid little attention to the pathetic figures with wooden bowls in front of them, calling for food or coins. It hadn't taken Arwen long to figure out that people paid more attention to a young, attractive girl than they did to a sick, elderly woman. With a little judicious shadowing of her face, emphasizing creases, ashes to add grey to glossy black hair, and the juice of kimvo berries rubbed on to her cheeks and hands, she'd made herself downright repulsive. A month of hard wear had turned her simple robes into shabby, filthy rags. She sat there now, resisting the urge to scratch. Kimvo juice created an rash, angry red welts. From time to time she forced herself to pick at them, making sure they were crusty, oozing pus. People didn't like to look at old, ugly beings, and averted their gaze when they saw her, which suited her fine. She was reduced to begging for food, foraging among the waste bins, and lining up at the government soup kitchens. Not her preference, but her own rations had run out long ago and she had almost nothing left to barter with.

The big problem was that she had so effectively isolated herself that she couldn't get any information. A beggar woman, asking about security at Noully Prison would bring a death sentence on herself. Arwen stared into the crude wooden bowl in front of her. A plump farmwife had clucked sympathetically at her a little while ago, and tossed two thin, triangular coins into it. Much as she hated to admit it, this disguise had outlived its usefulness. It had got her to Noully, gotten her rides on the foddercarts or trade caravans of sympathetic traders. But it wouldn't get her inside those walls.

She looked around the marketplace. Most people were dressed simply, in worn clothing of grays and browns, bartering over goods spread on threadbare blankets. The only real color was from the street girls, making the most of whatever attractiveness they had. The young soldiers were far from home, lonely, and not very fussy. The faded skirts and tasseled headscarves of the girls were appealing to them, and the girls ate more frequently than most people in Noully. More important, they talked to the soldiers stationed in the prison and the fort.

Arwen closed her eyes. If she could come up with a better idea... but so far she couldn't. And her Master had been imprisoned a month now. She didn't know what was happening to him, but she could imagine. The Commissioner's men were beginning to get a reputation for themselves, and it wasn't a good one. The young Padawan glanced up at the sky. There was no way to get a message out; no way to call for help. She wasn't sure she'd want to. The last thing poor Trett needed was the Council pursing up their lips in disapproval at what they deemed his latest debacle. She had to try to rescue him, and the two of them could then salvage what they could of this mission. And maybe the Order wouldn't have to know the details.

The wind whipped fiercely around the corner of the buildings. She closed her eyes, and remembered... another Master, with crimson hair and long golden fingernails, dancing eyes, velvety dark skin, a throaty, bubbling laugh... Her chest ached and she shivered as the wind sliced through the thin robes. Arwen opened her eyes, staring towards the solid walls, and clenched her teeth. "I won't fail you like I failed her," she whispered. "I promise."

She settled back into a more comfortable position against the stone. It would take a few days to let the rash go down, and she'd have to scroung

 

Arwen sounds like she's come up with a good disguise for herself. She really is resourceful. I liked the way she had to force herself to pick at the sores to make them even worse. It's just a pity that the disguise has outlived its usefulness now. Is she going to become "one of the girls" in order to find out about her master? Uh oh...

 

*But Arwen had lost one Master already, and he had a terrible suspicion that she'd let her heart rule her head on this. He was afraid that instead of getting herself to safety, she'd followed the monotrack here, and was lurking nearby, trying to figure out how to rescue him. It was the last thing he wanted her to do. Alone, he could find the strength to stand up to Vardis's treatment. But if he knew they had her in their clutches... He closed his eyes, all too familiar with Ulun's... proclivities. Little one, get yourself far away from this place and don't worry about me.

The problem was, he knew her too well. *

*The wind whipped fiercely around the corner of the buildings. She closed her eyes, and remembered... another Master, with crimson hair and long golden fingernails, dancing eyes, velvety dark skin, a throaty, bubbling laugh... Her chest ached and she shivered as the wind sliced through the thin robes. Arwen opened her eyes, staring towards the solid walls, and clenched her teeth. "I won't fail you like I failed her," she whispered. "I promise."*

Know her too well? That's an understatement!

The two quotes above were probably my favorite bits of the past two posts; they just fit the characters so well!

Poor Arwen. She who never even liked *makeup*...!! And is this post-Bonds&Beauty? At least she can be sure of pulling it off, so that leaves only one question: What's poor Trett gonna do when she shows up in his cell??

And you feel so sorry for them both! After all the work they've put in, and all the trauma and pain and humiliation, etc., they're *still* worrying about what the council will say about their 'botched' mission! What do the council want, miracles?? Or maybe this will be the break that Rendell's been waiting for and they'll finally get off his back for a while.

Lucy liked the note about Trett's concern for the Kazar and family too. And as for the climbing, Lucy had to have her front paws declawed before she moved in with me and climbing isn't really an option for her. Still, now that the harness has been temprarily packed away, she's not longer quite so upset either.

Sarah >^,,^<

 

Oh yes, Trett knows his padawan far too well... except I did like Arwen's additional thoughts of trying to protect him from additional Council disapproval. Touching, even if it's probably not the proper detached Jedi view of the situation. It feels more real.

Better go, the other half wants the PC tonight.

 

It appears that Trett does indeed know his padawan and I suspect he's right to be worried. Guilt over her former master's death might push her to take chances she shouldn't. On the other hand I can see where she just can't let Trett stay in prison. I hope she's able to keep a cool head about her.

 

Good morning again! Tomorrow it's back to PM postings (I'm just not awake enough before I go to work).

Yes, I'm afraid our girl has a bit of a blind spot when it comes to Trett... So, on to Part Two, where things rapidly go from bad to worse...


* * *

Part Two


Arwen Istarri glanced quickly up and down the deserted street, then studied her reflection critically in the shop window. The faded full skirt, tucked up into her waistband at one hip, revealing a grimy petticoat with tattered lace... yes, that was fine. The thin blouse open almost to her navel... she eyed it, then unfastened another button. Blushing, she re-fastened it. Finally, she carefully wrapped a faded scarf around her head, making sure her hair wasn't showing. Not too bad. A month of short rations had made her face nearly as hollow-cheeked as the other girls in Noully. She smudged the ash on her eyelids a bit more, and made sure that the luksberry juice staining her lips hadn't faded. Cosmetics were an unheard of luxury on Malabra, and vaguely suspect as well. The local girls had learned how to adapt.

She gave herself a final examination, then made a face and unfastened the button again. The pleasure houses of Hoolaro and Cierzon would throw her out the servant's entrance. But the homesick boys pressed into military service weren't so picky. She looked exactly like the rest of the hordes of street girls, bartering themselves for a few coins or some food. Except... she cocked her head. She was used to thinking of herself as a kid. But she'd turned seventeen only a few days ago --another birthday missed!-- and she couldn't deny it anymore. She was most emphatically a young woman, with the curves to prove it.

Hoping that she wouldn't attract too much attention, she headed down the street, adopting the slow, hip-swaying walk used by the other street girls.

* * *

There were several bars in Noully. Like establishments the galaxy over, each had its own character. Arwen had quickly learned them all; the three with sedate atmospheres, destinations for merchants, farmers quenching their thirst after bringing their crops to the city for sale, and weary workers who wanted a quiet drink before heading home. There were the two housing the students and intellectuals, where impassioned debates about the future and government raged every night. One on the outskirts, a quiet, dark place, for those who simply wanted to get drunk quickly without bothering. Two even darker places, where certain business transactions were conducted in whispers, and where the regulars studied every move of strangers, refusing to speak until the stranger had left. And then there was the Scales.

An enterprising owner, centuries ago, had built it outside the Guards' Gate of the prison. Fifteen Kazars and a change of governments hadn't changed it as the first stop when the guards came off duty.

Arwen sashayed through the door, pretending not to notice the others, went straight to the bar, and slipped the bartender a coin with a smile. He nodded, winking slightly, and gave her a glass. She sipped it, turning to survey the room. It was lomin ale, so watered-down as to be unrecognizable. Most of the street girls drank either this or pierkke. When she'd selected her mark for the night, he'd buy her drink after drink, eager to secure her company, and she'd be able to polish off quite a few without any side effects. The bar would charge the poor fellow full price. An unofficial conspiracy that benefited two of the three parties involved.

Arwen let her eyes roam the room, swirling the ale in the glass. Corporal Leeran was her favorite to spend time with, well-informed and loose-tongued, but he was part of a group tonight, and Chalia was already sitting in his lap, giggling. There were a few others who were all alone tonight, and they were better marks. Her plan was simple and had worked well so far. She chose her target, settled down with him, flirting and teasing as he brought drink after drink... then she'd accompany him back tow

 

I continue to be enthralled by the plot and impressed by the writing, and the other half wants to use the PC.

 

Well, Arwen seems to have it all planned out, with the watered-down ale and the Jedi mind trick. Very good! I had to shiver at the mention of Ulun, though, the one who knew all about what had happened to Trett, and how dangerous he was. So, how well will Arwen do with this young Kupin?

 

Wrestled the PC back again!

'Another birthday missed' and yet somehow I get this sad little feeling that Trett will be somehow managing to feel guilty about not being able to give her a present.

Arwen's certainly resourceful, she's probably already spotted most potential problems and she's got her personalities well sussed out. I liked the little touches that showed that she was uncomfortable with what she was doing, but good enough to both conceal that and to carry on despite her personal feelings- the way she unbuttoned, re-buttoned and undid her blouse once more, her little pause before approaching Kupin. Trett would be proud, once he'd finished trying to tell her off for not having run back to tell the Council what had happened. Arwen's plans seem to have been laid well, though. Therefore, something is bound to go wrong.

 

*'Another birthday missed' and yet somehow I get this sad little feeling that Trett will be somehow managing to feel guilty about not being able to give her a present.*

That is so very true. Of course, then comes the question of: would we like Trett quite so much if he weren't like that?

I knew Arwen would be good at this part. However, I'm also glad that she felt uncomfortable with it at the same time. There again, she wouldn't be Arwen if she didn't!

Lucy particularly enjoyed the clever planning Arwen used to keep up her role and not run into any problems.

Oh, and what did you mean by *worse*?? You're not gonna tell me, are ya. *sighs and settles in to wait for the next post*

Sarah >^,,^<