Discussion in 'Star Wars Community' started by Valairy Scot, Sep 4, 2012.
I won't have say it better myself, Ruth!
After reading finished the last chapter of The Gift, I want to write a new SiriWan FF. BUT I DON'T KNOW WHAT TO WRITE!!!!!!!!!! Darn it!
Nobody, to my best knowledge - which admittedly is far from comprehensive - has tried Dark Siri, with Obi-Wan having to hunt her down and kill her.
Gosh, I like that one so much I might call dibs.
Deb, I'm sorry, I haven't read anything of yours, but Ashley's last chapter of Miracle was sooooo wonderful! Seriously, if anyone hasn't read it, you're missing out on something special!
Thanks for your suggestion, Ruth. Just give me the start of the story, I'll manage the rest.
Thanks And you have to check out The Gift sometime That chapter of Miracle will be posted here on December 1st!
And then he turns her back at the end and they make up for lost time with lots of Obi-lovin'!!!
No, no, no... it ends with a duel to the death.
Here's the beginning. :
Some said the world would end in ice; some said in fire. But Iris Ichatachi favored neither opinion, her views on the matter forged against the unyielding anvil of bitter experience. The world, should it crumble into ruin, would sink beneath a tidal wave of smothering Dark, laughing maniacally as it drowned in its own blood.
In the meantime, she preferred to hasten the advent of her own personal apocalypse by means of drink, again neither fire nor ice. The toxic blend of fermented ixchtlatl and Chalcedonian rum slid into her twisting belly with a burning coolness, a numbing salve that almost – but not quite – muted the stirrings of long forgotten yearning.
Her hand went unconsciously to the place just below her belt – the tender stretch of skin where, beneath her close-fitting energy-dispersal bodysuit, the soft skin puckered in a thin scar, a memento of her attempted suicide so many years ago.
She had been young then, thinking her life was at an end merely because her heart was broken. The mewling and self-righteous fools who had saved her, calling upon their occult healing arts to salvage a broken soul from the embrace of peace, hoisting her from the sweet arms of oblivion back to pain-wracked waking, had done her a favor in the end.
They had made her live – and so, had taught her that Emptiness was a power and principality unto itself, a Code and a Way more seductive, more enticing than even the first, luminous object of her infantile passion had been. She had been rebuffed by Light, twice: first when it refused her heart and then later when it refused her death. Wandering in exile, she had found refuge in the Dark.
She had watched the republic slowly crumble into ruin – a slow destruction neither of fire nor of ice, but of inevitable rot and the cancer of obesity and age. And she had watched the tides of war rise relentless, looming blackly over the galaxy’s horizon, fire pitted against ice, abomination against soulless abomination, factory-born men against mechanical puppets, empty empty empty, every one of them, a gnawing horde ravening and devouring everything in its path.
Even the Jedi. Even the Light. Eventually, there would be nothing left.
And they would have peace.
She demanded another drink of the barkeep, smiling coldly when the fellow did not ask for payment. His wide eyes flicked to the weapon hanging at her side, battered and stained but lethally real, and he shuffled away leaving the bottle on the polished counter before her. She filled her glass to overflowing and watched the amber droplets spill upon the grimy surface, poison seeping past the crystalline walls of its prison.
She could feel him coming, even though he was well-shielded. So. It had come to this. She wondered, idly, whether it would be fire or ice, or neither, and downed the burning liquid in one go, slamming the empty glass upon the bar before pivoting upon the unsteady stool to face him.
“So. You found me. Took long enough, Kenobi.”
His eyes – those eyes! – took her in, then spat her out again, rejecting what they did not wish to find, like a child which turns over a rock to find a serpent coiled beneath. They rested momentarily on her ‘saber hilt, then settled, with all the finesse of studied distaste, upon her face. She stared into their depths, into blue-green ice crusted over pools of limpid fire.
Gods. It was to be both, after all. Her knuckled whitened, fingers closing round the smooth hilt of her weapon..”It’s been a long time.”
One of his brows twitched upward, sardonic. “How many lives have you taken in that time?” he asked, voice as velvet and husky as ever. A thread of pain girded it now, just as silver faintly adorned his beard, his temples. He wore premature grey well, in body and soul. Her belly stirred. “How many have you killed?” she shot back. “General?”
He winced, and the pain resounded across the Force, echoed in her viscera.
Wearily, he moved past her and poured himself a drink. A mere finger’s breadth of liquid, the priss. He tossed it back insouciantly, the elegance of his movement masking some inner turmoil.
“Have the rest. I’m finished,” she offered.
He set the glass down, disdainful. “Yes, you are. I’ve come to arrest you. Or, failing that…” he trailed off, gaze slipping into an unfocused distance she knew to be anything but a sign of inattention.
“Failing that, what?” she laughed. “Walk away again, like the coward you are?”
Instantly those eyes were focused again, glittering seas momentarily revealing a near two-decades’ of buried regret. Fire smothered in ice, melting the façade from within until only this most fragile shell remained, the thinnest ephemera of duty. And yet, it held. “I will do what I must,” he murmured, the words edged in murderous ice, laced with raging fire. Control. Conviction.
She leaned backward against the bar, arching her body suggestively. “Why don’t you start where you left off, then?”
He did not move. Of course not; a Jedi never started a fight… though he could finish one. She slid off the stool and closed the gap between them. “Coward,” she taunted him, raising one hand to brush at the unfamiliar beard, the familiar freckle on one cheekbone, the tiny scar on his left temple, the thick sweep of hair behind. Her fingers closed hard, twisting among the strands. The end was nigh, the manner of destruction hers to choose..
She began with fire.
He tasted of spice and sweat and the alcohol and Light. And he let her have her fill of it, poison overflowing the fragile bounds of control, intoxicating as the fermented brew. She drank deeply of this last draught, savoring the forbidden honeyed warmth of it, belly and thighs thrilling with molten fire.
And then she released him. “I’m not coming with you,” she said. “And you’re not walking away this time.”
Ice. Blue and terrible, the two saber blades leapt from their hilts.
Have at it, my friends.
Iris Ichatachi being Siri's dark-side pseudonymn. Gotta go love up my brother, it's his birthday! Till later....
Oh, no, nothing to do with it at all.
No, you see, it's this way. Ash and I are merely trying to balance out the tortures and suffering poor Obi goes through in your fics with some sweet loving for him in ours...
He's so good with the sweet loving Sigh.... I love your story Deb, almost caught up! Yay!
Y'all are incorrigible. Somebody should do a crack!fic wherein Obi Wan reads his own fanfiction to learn all about. The amorous arts. He might be scarredhe experience, of cours, when he finds out just how varied and broad his own exploits are.
I like that idea. Obi-Wan is sent through a portal into our world where he stumbled onto our fanfic...
Also Dark Siri...in intriguing idea.
Also, a lesser dark Siri, where she is taken by a Sith who wants to hurt Obi-Wan, and can't think of a better way to do it than to not kill Siri, but turn her. Will Obi-Wan save her before it's too late?
I love the idea of a grey Siri! Maybe they're at odds at the beginning, they fight, but there's a part of Obi that doesn't want to give up on her. Later in they might have to work together... Or maybe one of them gets hurt or something and old feelings start to surface... Siri might not see the point of even trying, but Obi might be able to show her the light. And of they were given the chance, a pure love might change things between them and for her
Gracious, you guys are popping out bunnies like - like bunnies pop out babies. Just keep popping and writing...I'll read 'em; no point in writing any myself.
Plot-bunnies can be a pain sometimes. I've got another three ideas I want to write. The trouble is, what one shall I do next after I've finished my current fic? Which hopefully will be done by the end of January. Of course balancing Uni work and fic writing is difficult, but I'm managing so far. Blurgh.
Why not, Val?? I was thinking of you as one of the possible writers of one of these bunnies. Go get your bunny trap and catch one if you want to.
Roguegirl here.how do you like my new avatar? Wait,what happened to the info? What do I do,I'm not familiar with the new layout of the forums.any suggestions is much appreciated.and where do I find the emoticons?
Oh,there you are.thanks,admin.
I can tell you that there are many women in this thread for obvious reasons...that being Obiwan /Ewan.
It used to be Ewan for me.... but now its just the character of Obi-Wan rather then the actor who portrays him.
It's both for me. Like Ash said the other day, Ewan is so cute & handsome, but he's a real person with a lovely family, and I have a great deal of respect for him for that, and also for just being a genuinely nice guy. Love that about him. And his great acting/musical talents also.
But Obi-Wan...we can take whatever story line (JA period, Menace, AOTC or ROTS or later, and take certain liberties with him, and he's just adorable where ever we put him..but it's thanks to Ewan that we even feel this way about Obi-Wan (to a large extent) ....
Am I going to write that??? Or is that FF already written?
Hey guys! I got a better idea about those FF! What don't everybody comes with their ideas, and we gather it toghether to one huge FF? Your guys come with the I ideas, I'll write!
Hi JMK!. This is the place many plot bunnies are born...I believe they are open to whoever wants to tackle them..and I don't think it's any problem if more than one does...seeing different takes on the same ideas would be interesting. (thats where challenges come from I think).