OC Writers Anonymous: Step on a Jawa and break Shmi's Back

I'm writing that bit now. Once I finish the Dantooine scene I've got on more to do and then I'll organise it into something I can post over a few weeks.

 

JMT!! It's great to see you, you ol'sea dog, you!!

Loki!!! That was fantastic, Ale.

 

The Dantooine bit has been written. Once I've written the last part I'll go through the whole lot and re-write bits that need it. Question is, do I post it all at once or post bits of it every few days?

 

moosemouse, is it part of a larger story? The key here is just to show bites of the character's life using oqi's prompts. Usually nothing more than 1-2k words.

 

The finished thing will be six thousand words or so.

 

I think the general policy is that anything that long deserves its own thread in whatever era is appropriate.

 

What you could do mousemosse is post in whateve era it belongs, then post a link here!

 

It will get it's own thread, but whether it goes in one post or a few is something else.

 

Ophelia: haha - I have the perfect title for that short: "Full Metal Blasterbolt"

Ale: So Loki knows his way around a kitchen knife, sure...but how's he planning on cleaning up all those puns? It's like a massacre in there.


This is me, warming back into my namesake.
Excuse the cobwebs.

---

Anobis's cities are known for two things: their rampant vendor infestations, and their unusually high water pressure. We'll get to the second one in a moment. Right now, we're going to focus on the vending problem.

Conveniently, Yodimus was a vendor. So it actually wasn't a problem at all.

Inconveniently, the usual Commercial District street corners were already filled today. Yodimus suspected some holiday. Or a terrorist attack. Either way, all the early-rising vendors had snagged the best spots, and were guarding them like rabid angry starving Globules during hatching season. In other words: very poorly. Globules were dumb animals.

He walked up to the closest one, who happened to be puffing on something addictive. Yod went straight for the man, all business, putting on his most trench-coatiest air, "Hi, my name's Yodolayhee-mus Prime-hoo, pleased to meet you!" he shook the man's hand heartily. "And what is it you're selling there?"

"Um..Well, I just so happen to have the only -"

"OH MY GOD, WHAT THE HELL IS THAT?!" he pointed behind the man's shoulder.

"What?" he turned. While turned, Yodimus poured a travel-sized packet of rocket fuel onto the man's foldable stand.

"Nothing, turn around or you'll miss the rich customers, oh! Hey that looks like it's going out, I happen to have a whole pack you could use if you'll just stub that one out." he said as he discreetly slid the guy's ash tray off the table and into the gutter. The man then stubbed out his smoldering thing - still looking at Yodimus - in the place where his ashtray would have been.

As the table went up in the form of a small mushroom cloud, Yodimus turned toward the street and started shouting, "Flame-proof flak vests, thirty percent off! Today only! Get 'em while they're NOT hot! Ha ha!" he playfully elbowed the vender who's table he'd just set ablaze, "Made that one up just now, what'd'ya think?"

"Holy ManAmana, my arm's on fire!"

"Well I admit I'm no stand up artist." he agreed, cheerfuly collecting credits from a concerned mother. He then handed over a vest that looked more like military grade chest armor. Later inspection would reveal that it was military grade chest armor, proven by the fact that it still had the standard-issue grenades attached to the inside compartment. This would have been of only mild concern if she hadn't only recently seen her youngest son playing with an odd looking pin. As you might have expected, only the vest and the bathroom survived. As you might not have expected, it had nothing to do with the grenade. But that's a whole other can of worms that I don't want to get into right now. Can we get back to the story? Thanks.

"D-do something!" the man said, his voice cracking as he waved his arm about.

"Hold on, this guy is giving me exact change...wait...yeah...good. No, I need another one of those. Great, okay you're good." he waved him off, "Enjoy your vest!" he turned to the man, who now looked rather distraught, "So, what's on your mind now?"

"ARM!"

"Oh! Of course! Hold on, I got just the thing." he fumbled through his trench coat for a second, "Perfect!" he presented his find, "It's a garden hose. Wait right there." he ran to the nearest hydrant, found the connector that applied to his device, waited a moment for the installation wizard to pop up and guide him through the process, and then took aim at his poor, hapless victim.

"Hold still!" he then proceeded to spray the man's head off.

Okay, now here is right about when that comment on Anobis's unusually high water pressure comes into play. This wasn't a figure of speech, he actually decapitated the guy with nothing but the jet of water being emitted by the hose. It turn

 

Hah. Wow, Yod. That was an incredibly amusing fic. I love all the rabbit trails. The lend to the general effect.

Death by liquid lightsaber...wow. I like it.

 

Thanks Rogue! And I'd love to see more! C'mon guys!
Kill people!


It's not that hard!


Honest!

 

This would have been of only mild concern if she hadn't only recently seen her youngest son playing with an odd looking pin. As you might have expected, only the vest and the bathroom survived. As you might not have expected, it had nothing to do with the grenade. But that's a whole other can of worms that I don't want to get into right now. Can we get back to the story? Thanks.



The hose, I've taken down pumpkins in similar fashion.



Oh, and Yod. Stop spamming random threads.

 

I only spam the ones I love.

 

You brought out Yodimus for this one!!!!
I love it!!!


C'mon guys, the body count around here is way too low.

 

I'm working on it, I'm working on it.

Well, actually, it's a vig I'm writing and it just fits. Would it be okay to post it here and give it a thread on the Saga board.

 

"You have come here to kill me?" I asked the apparition in front of me.

"Nv Shi Zhu Yan Zhong Le." The apparition calmly put his hands together, confirming my doubts. "Ni Shi Zi Xing Liao Duan, Hai Shi Yao Lao Na Dong Shou?"

The Audacity! I assumed an expression of incredulousity. "Why would I do that?"

"O Mi Tuo Fo!" The man chanted, and his entire garment, a simple cloak, billowed in a sudden wind that seemed to engulf his frame.

I was not impressed.

I switched on one of my lightsabers. The old one. The fingers of my left hand curled around it. It gave me a familiar warmth, like it did every time before it killed. I felt comfort, and I knew part of my grandmother is with me, and that I had her blessing.

The man flinched at the sight of the lightsaber. Externally, he did not show his discomfiture, but through the Force, I could feel his uncertainty.

Neither of us spoke for a good five minutes. Within that short period of time, the only sound discernable was the hum of my weapon and the drip of a body of water, splashing innocently on the stone floor.

Presently, the old monk abandoned his prayer lace, and furnished his weapon.

A Djarik board.

I knew it well. A flood of emotions came rushing forth. I deactivated my lightsaber, it grew cold as I put it back into its holster.

We sat down.

An old adage went through my mind, and I sat down on the floor, crossing my legs. I thought I saw the monk betray a faint smile on his facade before taking a place opposite me.

"Who should start?" I asked.

"I will, but you must let me move twice, before you can move your pieces." said the monk.

A cheater. "That's highly irregular," I said. "In any case, that's not how I was taught. My father taught me never to cheat, and I can't allow that luxury to others.

"Yet you must," said the monk. I stared at him. "Why?"

He gave me a small flimsiplast. I scanned the content written on there. I nodded.

"I came here to bring an end to the domination of the Killiks on Coruscant, the monk said, "My goal today is to bring an end to UnuSky."

"Of course," I knew about your plan. It was I who allowed you to enter into my sanctuary thus far unharmed." I paused, "I miss my sister."

"She is with the Force now." Said the monk calmly. I was surprised at how calmly the monk said the statement. I had expected at least a little hint of regret, yet there was none.

"We can help you." The monk said. "It's still not too late.

I stared into his eyes with my own, he didn't flinch. Through the Force, I could sense the truth, the sincerity.

We sat through the rest of the game in silence. In the end, we tied. I was always the better at the game.

The monk packed up the board, it disappeared into his cloak.

That settles the matter. I stood up. He did too.

"Come back with me," the monk said, "Let go."

Fool! Doesn't he realize that I have responsibilities? Doesn't he realize that it's not that simple? My sister would know what to do, deep down I knew she would do the right thing, like I earned to. Yet they never gave her the chance.

I made to embrace him, but caught myself. What did they say? "Chu Jia Ren Liu Gen Qing Jing." Pah! I didn't know whether the man in front of me was clean in all six types of his roots, but judging by the uncomfortable mien he is displaying now, I believe that was a no, though he's trying hard to be detached.

"Artoo!" I called for the astromech droid. It came by my side. I told him he was to return with the nice monk. By the way he Dwoo'd, I'd say he was sad.

The monk presented me with the instrument of destruction, his, or mine.

"Nv Shi Zhu Hai Shi Zi Ji Dong Shou Ba." The monk instructed me.

I longed to join my sister in the Force. I picked up the knife. Curled my fingers around its handle. I realized then that it was the same knife that joined my sister to the Force.

They gave her a choice after all. They did!

Shakily I tested its blade against my other index finger. The blood that gushed forth was no l

 

I apologize in advance to anyone who is or has just finished eating.

---

Barely a meter long, weighing over a hundred kilos. A few hours ago, this had been a living, breathing being called Grabba the Hutt.

A few hours ago, the mouth had swallowed a roasted mynock whole and had declared it unfit for compost. A few hours ago, the nostrils had flared in anger at her lack of culinary talent. A few hours ago, the eyes had tried to flay her with a scathing look.

Now it was anybody's guess what those eyes were looking at. Unfortunately for Feria, they seemed to be focused on a point a few centimeters behind her head.

[i]Most species,[/i] she thought, [i]have the decency to close a dead man's eyes.[/i]

Then again, Hutts weren't men. They were quite adamant about it, in fact - "We are superior beings. Don't even [i]think[/i] about comparing us to other so-called sentients."

They went to great lengths to drive the point home, too. For example, they spoke a language that sounded like intestinal disorder. Their sense of ethics seemed to be centered on doing unto others before they did unto you, and with as much cruelty as they could imagine.

And, of course, there was the way they prepared their dead for the afterlife.

Or rather, the way they ordered others to do the preparations for them.

"We do not burn our deceased as though they were biotoxic waste," Granda the Elder had lectured her. "Nor do we bury them to be ravaged by insects. No, we Hutts practise the only civilized form of burial."

[i]Civilized,[/i] Feria thought glumly. She looked at the grand arsenal of kitchen utensils hanging from their specialized hooks on the wall. They all gleamed with an unnatural light, as though to say, "Use me! Use me! C'mon, let's make them a dish they'll never forget!"

[i]Civilized. Yeah, right. Sure.[/i]

Even after being in their employ for more than a decade, she still had little idea what Huttese religion was like. She was pretty sure they believed in credits and food in great quantities, but that was about it. If asked to speculate, she might have said something about the great dinner table in the sky. She would never have guessed reincarnation.

And it wasn't just spiritual reincarnation, either. Apparently, Hutts believed that the soul was inextricably bonded to the body. This was why they had such an aversion for normal funeral rites.

If you follow that line of thought to its logical - or possibly [i]il[/i]logical - conclusion, then you get what Hutts do to their dead: they eat them.

Not whole, of course, and not raw. Hutts may find other Hutts attractive and desirable, but there are some lines even they will not cross. Thus the need for Feria and her well-equipped kitchen.

She looked at the body on the slab again. It looked back at her. She looked helplessly at the non-Huttese guards who had been posted to make sure she didn't do anything to desecrate the deceased. They merely looked amused at Feria's discomfort.

Sighing inwardly, she chose a vibro-cleaver with a long, heavy blade.

[i]Sorry, Grabba,[/i] she said silently.

Then she set to work at the sacred task of preparing the Hutt for his last rites, pausing to throw up only when his head fell to the floor.

 

I think this one wins for the most disturbing, Lazy.
"ew" doesn't even begin to cover it.

"ew"


New topic--wait, did oqi say topic?


Fellow Revolucionaries it's time to think about why you're a member of the OC Revolucion.
Why do you write the big bad OCs that you do?

 

Well, Oqi, I'm glad you asked.
I didn't really come up with Lintai Skywalker and her sister, Xin. We have Darth Mu to thank for that. What I can answer is why I write her, and continue to write her...

Lintai started out as a secondary character, a evil twin of the good sister, Xin. I'm not sure what Darth Mu envisioned, but I wanted a character that can stand up on her own. This is why I plan to grow her up, maybe write for her a buildungsroman or something, to further complicate her character so that she's not so flat an evil villain. I guess you could say I'm trying to write a Nen Yim here. Apologies to Darth Mu, maybe he'll hunt me down IRL.

Now why is she so evil? Well, She was or is, or will be, depend on the time frame, a Joiner. It was an accident. But then she got influenced by our favourite Hapan (Tenel Ka) The Hapan Queen in Canon), and started to act evil.

But Out of Universe, I want to write evil mostly to blow off steam, and I'm pretty sorry to pick on her, and am doing my best to redress matters.

Edit: I'm kind of at a loss that my vig didn't produce any effect on readers at all. I mean, I did chop off Luke Skywalker's head. I killed Luke and no one cared. This allows me to form a new theory that people didn't really care about Luke per se, just the L/M relationship.

I knew I should have had Lintai assasinate Mara instead.

 

Luke? Luke who?

 

Damned if I know...

 

Fellow Revolucionaries it's time to think about why you're a member of the OC Revolucion.
Why do you write the big bad OCs that you do?

Well, for starters, they all stemmed from a video game, and RPGs such as Knights of the Old Republic encourage a level of identification with the main characters, especially your player character, far beyond that of any movie. This is due to narrative control, limitation of knowledge, effective use of the conventions of the medium against the player... look for my book on the matter in a few years.

Ahem. Anyway, due to that garbled mess above, I felt a certain kinship with the game characters, and especially with my female PC. Unfortunately, I got the sequel, and realised they'd taken the character in a completely different direction than I had. So indignant was I that I dissociated her with the canon, made her even more quirky and rebellious, ported her into a universe with a male PC... and Leiraya Moran as we know her was born. Which may not seem to relate to the initial babble I gave you, but it totally does- I went on a journey with this character, even if I had to go back and rewrite it. We're pals. And once she was her own character, she needed backstory! And why stick with the canon that betrayed her so harshly when you can make up a completely new community?

So yes. I started writing OCs because KOTOR 2 pissed me off and I refused to let the franchise do that to my character. I kept writing OCs because it's a lot of fun.

I think I may have just lost any coolness points I may have ever had.

 

Just imagine..if Lucasarts had given Obsidian an actual, reasonable amount of time to develope kotor2, rather than one retarded year...Leiraya might well have never come to be.

I'll bet you are not alone in feeling a certain amount of kinship with the characters you've created. I'm the same way with Yodimus. I take him everywhere throughout fiction, and one day I hope to find him a nice, originally-created home for him to settle down. Until then, he goes everywhere with me. Sometimes, as life happens, I imagine he's sitting there in the back of my mind, MST3King the hell out of whatever's going on in the real world.

We OCers, we have a different relationship with our characters than pure canonists do. Our OCs aren't just characters that we bring to life, they're like our peers in a way. In forging them, we befriend them. You just don't get that same closeness with canon characters. They're already there. You aspire to portray them in accurate detail like a sculptor making a statue, or you kidnap them and make them do what you want like little puppets or slaves beholden to your will. And sure, you can get pretty close to those guys, and really identify with them. But it's just. Not. The same.

 

Fellow Revolucionaries it's time to think about why you're a member of the OC Revolucion.
Why do you write the big bad OCs that you do?

I write OCs because I enjoy creating new characters, and figuring out their quirks. I also like building them outside the normal mold. (For instance, a Jedi who happens to be a [small] lizard, and his apprentice whose mother was a healer on a backwater world.) I also like not being stuck with the cannon characters. There's only so many ways you can portray the Skywalkers and the Solos, because of the way they've been developed in the books and movies, and most of them have already been used by someone somewhere. I like having a fresh slate to start with.

Also, I write OCs because I'm tired of the galaxy being saved over and over by the Skywalker/Solo clan. Let someone else have some action, huh?

 

Seconding what everyone has said basically

The main reason that I write OCs is because Canon characters are limited to a certain set of story types. Jedi Luke can't really solve murders on Corellia, nor can Han or Wedge or anyone. You can put them in those stories, but it's kind of like casting DeNiro as third guard from the left. People would get carried away with the star power of the character as opposed to the story itself. With OCs you create them specifically for the story you want to tell, and they support the story rather than steal it.

Or so is my two cents anyway