Saga Volshe's Archives - Short Stories, One Shots, Drabbles - 10/20 (First Sentence Challenge - Endgame)

Oh, yes. But not with her tongue, she need not do anything but stare. Her eyes also give windows that streak-free shine.

 

Oh my goodness Mary Sue haha

 

These are all great, and the Mary Sue one is a great laugh and brings to light many frustrations I have, though mainly ones that come out in Role Playing.

 

Luke's Other Mentor

"You don't know that."

Luke looked up from the ladder to the X-Wing's cockpit. Ben's shimmering figure stood a few meters away, beside a moss covered tree. Luke sighed.

"Even Yoda cannot see their fate."

"But mesa can!"

Luke snapped his attention towards the voice. Another figure shimmered into shape beside Ben. He looked bemusedly at the new ghost, having never seen anything quite like it. Long, floppy ears, a bill like mouth, large feet, stalked eyes...and wearing some robes that certainly went out of style twenty standard years ago.

Yoda looked at Ben and then to Luke.

"Engage him, you must not. Look at him, you must not."

"But who is he?"

"That is not important, Luke."

The ghost-figure skipped forward and seemed to smile brightly.

"Mesa Jar-Jar Binks! Mesa hopin' yousa not hearin' desa Jedi. Mesa berry berry important. Mesa berry bombad. Dassa truthies!"

Luke looked blankly at him. Just past his cerulean silhouette, he could see Ben with a palm to his face.

"Yousa must bein das ober Jedi! Luke! Mesa hearing all about yousa!"

"No, I'm not Luke, I'm..uh...Biggs."

"Biggs, mesa know Biggs! Yousa berry cool! MESA LUV YOUS!"

Luke took a couple of hesitant steps up the ladder.

"Where yousa going? Mesa only just meeting yousa, Biggsie! Wesa gonna be palos! Bombad palos!"

He stopped before staring at Ben.
What do I do? He mouthed to the old Jedi, who looked just as confused.

"Mesa know!"

Jar-Jar began to babble on

And on.

And on.

Luke hurried into the cockpit, hoping he could escape. As the thrusters fired, Jar-Jar materialized besides him.

"All mesa friends gonna be jelly! Mesa flying with Biggsie! BIGGSIE!"

He swung his arms around in excitement.

"What's dis switchie do, Biggsie?"

"That's the comm."

"Whassa 'bout dis one?"

"I don't know."

"How yousa don't know, Biggsie? Yousa da bombad pilot!"

Jar-Jar leaned close to him, staring with squinted eyes at his face.

"Yousa sure lookin' strange. Yousa sure yousa Biggsie?"

"Fine, I'm not Biggs. I'm Luke."

"Mesa knew! Mesa knew all da time! Now wesa can be bestest palos, Lukie!"

Jar-Jar began to scream excitedly before exclaiming how much he loved Luke.
Luke swung his head forward into the console of the X-Wing, hoping the collision would render him unconscious. To his chagrin he could still hear the constant spew from his billed mouth. He opened his eyes to blackness. Tatooine materialized before him. He recognized the scene - he was lying on his back in the streets of Anchorhead. It took him a moment to realize that he must have succeeded in concussing himself,

Suddenly, Jar- Jar's face appeared above his. He sat up.

"Oh lookies, yousa here with mesa! In da dreamie-worlds! Luke!!! Yay! Dis gonna be foosa times das funsies!"

"Great."

"Disen gonna be berry, berry, berry, berry, BERRY, berry, berry, berry, berry, berry, berry…"

Luke closed his eyes, trying to ignore the mind numbing repetition of berry.

"Mesa gonna teach yousa all da ways of the Jedi. Yousa nosa can escape mesa now! Mesa be yousa's mentor!"

He gazed into the distance, seeing Ben and Yoda standing behind a moisture evaporator.


Dear Force...why?

 

Admiral Volshe !!!!!!!! That is. Is. Totally! I didn't know anything could be so so funny! i may have to write an L/M piece where he confesses you don't wanna know who one of my would-be wannabe mentors was!

 

Whatsa goen on in dis telo? Mesa berry, berry confused. Not sure if Jar Jar doen a mindfluck hair, or if dis una different realita. But my liken it!

 

Oh rich!

 

I can't even imagine the disaster TK training would be with Jar Jar as the mentor. Mother of god.

 

Fate

This is an alternate ending to one part of ROTS.

Padmé's head fell to the side, her strength waning. Her body struggled with every breath. Obi-Wan watched her for a moment, not yet able to believe everything that had happened. His stormy grey eyes met hers, both pairs tormented and filled with tears. He wished silently that she would have never come to Mustafar, that she would have stayed behind and trusted him. He knew deep in his heart - his aching heart - that it was never possible. She loved Anakin more than anyone could have ever known. She believed in Anakin more than even he had. Her faith in him was unshakeable, and she would have never stood by.

Obi-Wan placed his head in his hands for a moment, trying to calm the tempest of emotion within him. He had the blood of his apprentice - of his brother - on his hands. He could still hear the screams in agony. For all the things Anakin had done, he had never expected to leave him burning and slowly dying.

Padmé inhaled sharply next to him. He looked up, realizing she was even more wan, her cheeks grey. She was his friend, an ally. Someone he had met when she was filled with youth. Her once rosy cheeks were tainted with death now. A short sob broke free from his chest.

"Obi...Wan," Padmé breathed, reaching up a trembling hand. He guided it back down and tried to hide his sorrow. He tried to reach into to the Force to gain some control. It swirled about them, filled with darkness. His throat felt tight as he tried to delve into it, trying to find the familiar warmth. He only found frigid blackness. It chilled him to the very bone. Padmé was even shivering. Her fragile body - once filled with great determination and strength - could no longer resist the violent storm within the Force. Obi-Wan placed a hand on her shoulder, trying to relieve the pain that he felt ripple through her. It was pain no droid could ever heal. The pain of betrayal, of loss. Anakin had broken her heart. He had thrown away everything, forgetting his family and friends for power and darkness.

Despite his best efforts to quell them, he still felt the stabs of guilt and sorrow that reached deep into his heart. But he could feel Padmé's torment as well, the agony she was going through. It was nothing compared to his own.

Obi-Wan took his sleeve and dabbed at her cheeks, erasing the tracks of her tears. Her breaths were uneven now and her eyes were glossy, the life ebbing from them. He took her hand and did his best to send warmth through the Force, to remind her of all the things she had accomplished, to help her be strong again despite her imminent fate. It felt futile, just a drop of water in a sea of suffering, but he could not let her go through it alone.

Her eyes fluttered and her chest struggled for a new breath. He squeezed her hand again, hoping she realized he was still there.

"Obi-Wan...I know..." Her words were barely audible. She breathed heavily, her eyelids struggled to stay open, "I know there's...still good in him." She paused again, her head lolling.

"I love..." Her voice was barely a whisper, "I...love..."

Her head fell, her eyes fell shut. Obi-Wan closed his own eyes, trying to fight the wave of sadness that crashed over him.

Images began to flash before his eyes, voices echoed in the room. Padmé's. Her memories and dreams, all released by the Force. He hung his head down and slowly set her hand onto the bed. It fell limply.

Anakin, you're going to be a Master one day. You're strong, brave, caring. I believe in you. Believe in yourself. Please.

We'll be the best parents, Anakin. Imagine running through the meadows with the baby, when they're old enough. I bet they'll love that.

The voices stabbed through his heart. He tried to drown them out, not ready to face it. Padmé had wanted so much, things Palpatine had taken from her. She would never be a mother, she would never see Anakin - the true Anakin - again. She would never stand before the Galaxy, fighting for peace and justice. She had passed with her entire world shattered to pieces. The Galaxy crumbling and Anakin consumed by darkness.

He had failed. He had let Anakin fall astray, let him throw everything away until he was no longer himself. In time he would have been a strong Jedi Master. One of the finest. Yet he had failed him. And in that, he had failed Padmé.

He fell back against the wall, and buried his head in his hands. For once, he forgot his Jedi teachings. It was more than he could handle. He let the tears escape and the heavy sobs roll through him.

 

Exquisitely poignant! Plausible too.

 

So heartbreaking. I'd never thought about how Palpatine had taken everything from his former colleague, Padme. And this had all started in an attempt to save her.

 

Thank you divapilot and Ny!

I wondered how Obi-Wan actually felt, beneath his calm exterior. He saw all of this and felt all of this first hand, with a personal connection to both of them, so it seemed the perfect chance to ask..."what if?"

 

You did quite a lot of A New Hope reimagination in She Shall Rise Again, in ways that make the official novelisation look like a Daily Mail article. Subsequently, here too, you are challenging a novelisation that IS better than the previously mentioned one, but what you have breathed into it is a whole class of its own.

And with so many authors who decide that Padmé is nothing but a weakling and decide not to explore her, I love seeing her appear in your stories to this extent. Sure, she is helpless here compared to SSRA where she is using her mind to make up for what her newly awoken body is lacking; but there is a parallel I am noticing in both stories, that Revenge of the Sith sort of failed to portray so it transmits to *everybody*: her anxiety, her delicate and fragile state and the general feeling of inner claustophobia, loss of breath, to the point where I can even imagine how she would speak in your stories.

Obi-Wan, however, is completely new to me in this light. The only stories where I saw him show emotion to this extent were pointless mushy things that pop every now and then; and that is nowhere near this. This is just perfect. He lost everything, his best friends and the world he believed in. Of course that NOBODY would remain completely stoic and there is a way for a Jedi to grieve without surrendering to the Dark Side.

Thanks for a wonderfully depressing read that left me with the feeling of suffocation. As Kafka once said, we need to read books that wound us and stab us, otherwise there is no point to reading.

 

Wow! Such a review. Thank you, thank you!!!
I'm so glad you enjoyed it.

 

A/N: This is my first attempt actually writing anything Ysanne Isard, so, I'm open to concrit (via PM please!!).

It's slightly AU

This is also a part of the First Sentence Challenge, created by the wonderful Chyntuck!!

Era: 0 BBY
Characters: Ysanne Isard, the Emperor Palpatine
Synopsis: Ysanne approaches the Emperor regarding her father Armand's travesties - and has concocted a plan to be rid of him.

One-shot.

-

Endgame

I have entered upon a performance which is without example, whose accomplishment will have no imitator.

Ysanne Isard mused to herself in the hoverlift. For years, she had dreamed of the power of taking over Imperial Intelligence, earning her place within the Inner Circle. If it hadn't been for her father Armand's high standing with Palpatine, she would have achieved it long ago. Despite the Emperor's preference for her, she could not merely take her father's place without probable cause. Now she had that. Rather, she had created it. A sly smirk creeped across her lips just as the hoverlift coasted to a stop. A faint bell sounded, notifying her of the hoverlift's arrival. She was already through the doors by the time it had faded.

She stepped through one last corridor, bowing ever so slightly to the guards clad in red just outside every doorway. At the end of the hall was a final set of doors, reaching towards the ceiling. The ebony doors slid open, almost as if they were expecting her. She slowed her pace ever so slightly as the interior - basking in shadow - came into view. There was only one thing she had to remember: her thoughts were no longer her own. The guards beside the door followed her as she crossed the threshold. Her eyes followed the darkened path to a raised platform with a throne set upon it. In it sat the Emperor himself. His face was a mere spot of white among the soaring walls of crimson and shadow, buried beneath his luxurious robes. The air was frigid, lightly scented with some exotic herb. She did not bother to look around. She had been here many times before.

This time, I will leave with my goals realised, unfettered by none. I will succeed.

She erased the smile from her face, replacing it with faux disdain. There could be nothing that could even hint at untruthfulness. His power, his abilities, were honed to a razor sharp point. Any slip of the mind would be detected instantly. Yet she had an advantage. Any other would stand before him, no different from a sand flea. They would be miniscule in his mind, worthless. She knew her own power was not only in her mind, but in the way she could bend his emotions. Even the most powerful Sith Lord was still human, though he would try to claim otherwise.

Her heeled feet clicked against the glossy floors as she started across the walkway. The shadows grew darker with each step. A trick of the light, or simply an effect of his darkened core, she hadn't figured out. She pulled the datachip from her pocket as they drew closer. Its golden surface glinted ever so slightly, the remaining light snaking through its many grooves. She stopped.

"Ysanne," Palpatine said, his voice floating eerily in the room. Ysanne bowed deeply as the guards stepped away. There was a pause, filled with the hum of the palace around them and nothing more. "What has brought you to me?"

"I bring word of my father, something only suited for your eyes," Ysanne began, twirling the datachip in between her fingers.

"What word?" The Emperor looked quizzical for a brief moment, before his face fell back to its usual cold stare.

"I'm afraid he's no better than the Rebellion," she almost growled the name. "I have seen his communication logs, dozens of messages proving he craves your throne. He is treasonous, Lord."

She let her mind fall silent, knowing that he would be scouring it for any hint of dishonesty. Her father had served him for years, since the Clone Wars. The sudden betrayal was not unheard of - but it was unusual.

"How did you discover this?" He motioned her forward, a simple gesture that most would miss. She took a few steps into a thin beam of light. Her hand stopped twirling the 'chip almost simultaneously.

"I overheard a conversation during our mission to Corellia. I noticed he spoke of the Kuat Drive Yards, that he placed calls to Druckenwell. Suspicious, for one who has nothing to do with the armed forces." The lies escaped her lips easily, her words soft but venom-tinged. Her father should have known better. He should never have treated her with such disdain. Nor should he have ever sent her on that mission to Darkknell. She restrained her anger with a breath, hoping the Emperor saw it as understandable for the situation. "He had us all fooled. Years of this plotting, acting as though he truly loved the Empire."

"Perhaps he did, Ysanne," the Emperor replied, "Too much for his own good."

"I have every message and file here, on this chip." Her hand rose into the light, revealing it to him. He held out his hand. She approached quickly, though she did not lose her posture for even a moment. Her slender hand pressed the datachip into his own. His skin was frigid, as always. It sent a buzz through her; a thrill blossomed in her chest. She was one of the few who had ever so much as been that close to him, who had even felt the chill of his skin. For a second, his eyes flashed to hers. Though scarred and sickeningly yellow, she did not look away - and he did not either. She stepped back and dropped her hand to her side. It fell against her crimson uniform. His gaze still lingered.

The Emperor held up the chip, pulling his eyes away to inspect it. Ysanne had already taken care to record every bit of information on government media, far from her own data. She had breathed a word of it to no-one, compiling it all herself. If he was looking for an error, he would not find it.

Satisfied, he slid the chip into a small slot on his throne, built for communications. The small holoscreen flickered up and glowed an icy blue. His weathered fingers flicked through some of the data, using the armrest's controls. His expression remained unchanged, the shadowed and scarred eyes now shining in the blue light. A few minutes of silence was all it took. He switched the screen off and rested both arms back on the throne.

"How...unfortunate,” the Emperor studied her face for a moment.

“I placed my greatest trust in him,” Ysanne remarked. She pressed her lips together, wearing a mask of disappointment despite her silent pleasure. “I never believed he would be capable of such a thing.”

“Power is something even the most loyal crave. When you stand above them all, you can trust no one.” With that the Emperor stood, stepping down from the platform. Every one of his movements was calculated, just as his every word was. He stepped beside her. Despite his aged frame, he stood taller than her. “Come.”

He started towards a pathway behind the throne, one of three. All were darkened, stretching over what seemed to be an unending abyss. Small glowlamps dotted their surface and cast small spheres of light onto the glossy durasteel. Ysanne fell to his left, yet slightly behind, him.

“Your father will be dealt with,” Palpatine began, his focus on the archway just ahead. The night lights of Coruscant filtered in through a picture window just beyond its wide frame. Ysanne’s eyes flashed with delight. She did not attempt to hide it. As they stepped through the arch, into the weak moonlight, the Emperor stopped. “You seem most satisfied.”

“Of course. My father’s treasonous behaviour will be ended. The Empire will grow stronger,” Ysanne replied, gazing out the window. The Jedi Council building stood just ahead, its ruined spires glazed in darkness. “And the Rebellion will be crushed.”

A group of patrol speeders roared by. Ysanne cast a glance to the Emperor. His lips had curled into a smirk.

“I expect nothing less. Director.” His attention turned to her. She stifled a grin, smothered the sparks of gratification that threatened her facade. She nodded and met his eyes yet again.

“Thank you,” she replied. Her words were short; she did not want to betray any emotion. She was one step closer to her goals - one step below the endgame. The thought of it was tantalising. The great power she would have was beyond even her wildest dreams, and here she was, standing just beside the Emperor himself. Only the Grand Vizier stood in her way. He was the last one rivalling her. She clasped her hands behind her back. For a moment, brilliant crowds stood in the plaza kilometres below, waving banners plastered in the Imperial insignia. They cheered for the Emperor and...for her. A smile tugged at her lips, her cold, scheming heart warming at the notion.

“The offices and his flagship shall be yours,” he continued. “You will serve as he did, from Imperial Centre.”

Ysanne furrowed her brow slightly, knowing her father had spent much of his time off-world. His offices had remained staffed, working like a well oiled machine, yet he had rarely been there. She would not argue this point. Not when she was so close. Lightning flashed in the distance, the city far below evanescing for a split second, the buildings all coming to life as if it were day once again. Realisation came over her just as quickly. He was not commenting on her father’s work - he was requesting her continued presence.

“Of course,” she responded coolly, watching the storm continue to brew on the horizon. The moon was surrounded in black clouds now, mirroring the Emperor’s visage. She allowed her smile to show ever so faintly. She met his gaze once more, his eyes almost glowing beneath the shadows. “My father must be dealt with.”

“Indeed. Yet he must be kept alive.” The Emperor turned back slowly, towards the skyline. “His co-conspirators must be revealed.”

“It shall be done,” Ysanne replied, bowing again quickly. “Long live the Empire.”

She turned on her heel and left, her crimson uniform fading into the shadows. She allowed herself few thoughts as she headed to the hoverlift. One hung in her mind, resonating through the eerie silence.

And, oh, how grand a performance it is.

 

I cannot tell you how much I love this couple. They are so delightfully creepy and evil, it's amazing.

 

Bravo! Excellent use of the first sentence prompt. And Ysanne is every bit as manipulative and devious as I always imagined! Great contest of wills and secret agendas.

 

Thank you so very much!!! I love them too. Am I weird? Maybe. But then, you must be weird with me!

Thank you!

Aww, you're so kind!!

I figured their relationship would be the same as their personalities, marked by scheming and hearts more drawn to success than other beings. Of course, there are always exceptions. These two are always plotting, no doubt. They similarly understand each other more than the other wishes to admit...which could make for some very interesting outcomes in the future. The Emperor has already achieved his goals, Ysanne is attempting to achieve her own - yet the dynamic between them is as mysterious as their own selves, as well as complicated by what some might consider a strange relationship. But neither party knows the entire truth.

Oh yes, there will be more. This is one of the facets of one of my other stories as well. Once I finally get that working.

Thank you!!

 

AB-SO-LU-TE-LY CREEPY.

I was kinda skeptical about the idea of this 'ship, but now I've seen the light. Palps and Isard flirting discreetly while trying to manipulate each other... I could read an epic the size of the Odyssey about that. Please make sure you tag me when you write it (I know you will!)

 

So.deliciously.creepy. You took all those tropes common for late 1980s/early 1990s "psychotic girl" flicks and played with them like there is no tomorrow, turned them on their heads and - essentially - mocked the heck out of them...all of that while 100% on spot with your characterisation of Grampa Palpsy and Ysanne Isard.

They do make a strange kind of a power couple, but what fascinates me most is your fanon on how she basically purified her mind to fool him. And, of course, the fact that they have a common fetish: manipulation. Whether it's against others or against each other, it turns them on...not in a classic way, but it does.

And the idea of acting Sithly, but not being a Sith is an extremely cool one to play with, too.