Saga - Legends "Pale Iris"|Fanon AU Challenge Response|Complete 2/11/2017

Title: Pale Iris
Characters: Original
Timeframe: You'll see.

*This was written for the Fanon AU Challenge, and makes considerable use of Ewok Poet's fanon for the Legends planet Sacorria.

*I tossed in a few bits I made up as well.

*Oh, and: I have had to slightly edit the first post to keep it friendly enough for the boards--so if you want the full experience, the original version should be posted at my AO3 account in the near future.


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"Pale Iris"



1. “White”


Elvira was arrested for the second time a week after her twentieth birthday. She was walking along her usual route on the village square footpath, and--of course-- she was wearing a white shirt. It was a cloudwhite blouse with long-tongued white irises that her aunt had embroidered entirely by hand. But she was still wearing a white shirt—and the color stood out with the glare of spilled milk. Elvira had left school, without graduating, four years before, but she kept to the same assigned habits. She wore little lace-knit white socks, and hidden underneath her indigo-dark blue workcloth skirt, she wore pristine white underpants.

She had borrowed that skirt from her younger sister Anniké--she would never have owned it herself, and she had hardly the daring to wear it. Oh, she didn’t know how Rois Meek described a stormdark blue sky, with its pacing wind, in one of her better known poems. She had never taken to reading, and even the most rebellious orange shirts at school hadn’t ever heard of Rois Meek.

No: Elvira had always followed the rules precisely as they were given to her—and she did this with rigid thoughtless fear, and with hope. It was the only chance she had to remain unnoticed.

She stood locked in place exactly where the intelligence officer had stopped her. The nearby street was filled with the usual clutter of traffic—and while most of the people passing her kept their minds on their own concerns, some of them looked. She blinked her eyes back and forth, but it wasn’t any use. The rainfall of tears continued to slide down her face. She gave a whispered sniffle, but the sound still snarled too loudly in her ears.

Junior Officer Progressina stood watching on with her arms crossed over her chest. She snapped her tail with an irritated itch—and it was not just because Selonians do not cry in that fashion, and have never learned to understand it.

This young comradette was a tall well-shaped dust-corn blonde girl—and while she would have been short as a Selonian, she was taller than some of the human men Progressina knew—but she didn’t know how to use her height. Her shoulders were laid down in a slump, and her mouth shivered as her face started to break underneath the onslaught of tears.

“Comradette!” she said, her voice a whipped out bark—and Elvira jerked up to attention. She wiped at her nose with the side of her long ghost-white hand. “This is not progressive behavior, and it is most certainly not helping your situation. You should have outgrown crying years ago.”

Elvira tried: she cleared her throat, but her voice still had that tell-tale soggy quiver to it that she had never learned to hide. “I’m sorry.”

“And I am glad to hear that. But you need to--” And she turned around, along with Elvira, to see the official landcar with that distinctive Saygo engine whimper (and they both experienced that sudden, and inevitable urge, to buy one) that had heaved to a stop on the curb behind them. The door swayed open, and after a reluctant pause, the officer stepped out.

The man walking towards them was noticeably shorter than Elvira. He had his black boots polished into a sternly glaring mirror gloss, and he had black glareshade-glasses for eyes. He had the hard focused stride of a senior officer, and each of his footsteps punched the ground. He had stonedry white skin, and his colorless hair might have once been blond. He turned his blank glasses on them, and Elvira felt her mouth wobble into a smile.

As he reached them, he spoke: “Oh, we do live in the most progressive of societies when the only trouble we have to deal with on the street is the occasional rogue white shirt. Don’t you agree?”

“Of course, comrade,” Progressina said. “Well put.”

“I will handle this from here, Comradette Progressina.” Then he turned on Elvira, and even when he tilted his head up to glare at her in the eye, she was the one who was awkward, as though her height was a burden she carried poorly. Her doll-sized reflection cringed back inside the black eyes of his glareshades, but she knew better than to look away.

“Comradette,” he said. “Well, well—it seems you have been keeping yourself occupied today by wandering town at will.”

“I was walking home,” Elvira managed to say in a punched-out gasp.

The senior officer’s expression did not change, and Progressina said, her voice creeping into the opened silence: “Comrade, I think she is telling us the truth.”

“You have a point. White shirts don’t have the talent for lying.” Then he charged ahead into his next question. “Then what were you doing in town. Are you employed?”

Elvira opened her mouth—but though she knew she had to speak, and she could feel the correct words arranging into an answer, she had just enough dignity that she couldn’t stand to. She had indeed had a job as the housecleaner at the village bakery—until the previous week, when she had arrived to see the droid The Owners had bought busy at her work. She hadn’t found another position, and she had only just, that morning, gotten her final paycheque transfer.

“If you had a job, you would have told us by now. You’re not that stupid.” The senior officer clicked his teeth, but he seemed (and yes, she wasn’t imagining it) pleased.

“Perhaps we should handle the rest of this at the station,” Progressina said, her eyes snapping back and forth as she looked around them.

He continued as though he hadn’t heard her: “So! You were out today spending every last one of your remaining credits.”

Elvira shook her head, and blinked out freshly made tears. Her eyes were raw and bruised-sore—and while she knew she should stop, she never could. She could only loathe herself. She had given every last cred in that cheque, as she had with the rest of her insufficient income from the bakery, to her parents to pay for her right to live with them, in the small back bedroom she spent most of her days trapped in, and that she shared with Anniké. She didn’t have any money to spend.

She tried to speak, but the officer’s voice would not stop. “How exactly are you planning to get by without an income, comradette? You should be out searching for a job right now.”

“I don’t know,” Elvira said, her voice drowned in tears.

“You don’t know! Well, that is a very progressive attitude. I think I heard that one on a pronk song once. It was called “I Hate Myself and Want to Die.”

“That sounds disgusting, comrade,” Progressina wisely decided to say.

“But we’re not here to chat,” and he paused again for the effect. “Your identification card, comradette. And I hope you haven’t gone and lost it in the fresher bowl.”

Elvira looked down as she took her ID out of her skirt pocket—and that was when she saw something that put an end to her crying. The senior officer was quite excited indeed. She wiped her hand across the blurred curtain of tears in her eyes, but she already believed what she had seen.

Progressina had noticed as well—she turned her face discreetly to the side, and spoke again: “We really ought to get her back to the station.”

Elvira handed over the ID, and she looked straight at the senior officer as he snatched the card from between her fingers. Previously, she had only known of this response that human men could not help but have from the whisper-giggled gossip she had overheard at school—but now that she had seen it, she knew it for exactly what it was. And she had to bite down into her lower lip to keep from falling into an actual tittered laugh.

The senior officer was glaring at the information on the ID. “You’re twenty years old. I’m surprised even you didn’t try to wield that fact.”

He had never given her the opportunity, but she couldn’t tell him that. Progressina took the card and read it with a glance. “Comrade, I think we should let her go with a warning.”

“Yes, I think we can afford to be magnanimous with this one comradette,” he said—and permitted himself a plump smug sigh. He seemed even more pleased (and excited) now that he was conceding. “I know where we can get the rest of our daily quota.”

He paused yet again before he gave the final word: “Comradette Elvira Corr. You may consider yourself warned—and when I next see you, you had best be gainfully employed.”

Elvira knew what she had to say, even though she was already watching the slammed door of his back as he walked towards his waiting Saygo: “Thank you, comrade.”

They were letting her go. Elvira tucked her ID back into her pocket. She had to sniffle down the last loose snot in her nose, but otherwise, she was recovered from her tears. She turned back to the street—which would lead straight out of the village, and onto the dirt-track road in the midst of the crowded half-grown dust corn fields, where she would continue on for the four klicks to her family’s farmstead. She had taken the first step when she heard Progressina speak behind her:

“Wait, comradette,” she said. Elvira turned back before she could think why. Progressina had her tail relaxed behind her, and her whiskers twitched in a wave. “We should talk. Don’t worry—it’s nothing to do with that business just now. But there is something I can do for you.”

 

I had been waiting for this, so glad to see it posted.

Elvira's outfit - love the iris embroidery, by the way - could be the reason she was spotted by those two officers. For one, they could assume that she was a prostitute or, well, that she was - gasp - going to meet somebody without her father's permission. And even if they didn't think so, they could have gone for the skirt length and even the colour. Anything that can be related to subversive artists is a threat and Progressina and the Senior Officer know it!

Now, what else? Elvira is twenty. What if this man wants to romance her or something? Knowing your stories, he might arrest her to court her and, well, I guess that would be an interesting interpretation of the business of being progressive.

At the same time, Elvira puts on a convincing act. The establishment believes that white shirts are not intelligent enough, not capable of lying, yet she is clearly up to something. Perhaps she is even...trapping them in a way.

So ambiguous. So many options. HEADASPLODE.

As far as my Sacorrian fanon is concerned, you're killing this. Can't wait to see more of it.

 

This is very intriguing; as Ewok Poet mentions, Elvira seems to have hidden depths. There are the hints here and there that she's not entirely as baffled by the world as the rest of her reactions would first suggest. And she's definitely much more observant than the system around her seems to give her credit for. (Or is she? I'm curious what Progressina is so eager to discuss. )

The name Progressina is so perfect, definitely goes along with the "comrade/comradette" and "buy Saygo" atmosphere of EP's Sacorrian fanon.

 

Ewok Poet: I had been waiting for this, so glad to see it posted.

Elvira's outfit - love the iris embroidery, by the way - could be the reason she was spotted by those two officers. For one, they could assume that she was a prostitute or, well, that she was - gasp - going to meet somebody without her father's permission. And even if they didn't think so, they could have gone for the skirt length and even the colour. Anything that can be related to subversive artists is a threat and Progressina and the Senior Officer know it!

Well, of course--progress is a fragile thing, and one must, as the Senior Officer would be pleased to tell you, be vigilant at all times in order to spot anything that might have a subversive element lurking under an innocent seeming exterior. Remember: a good comrade is a paranoid comrade!

Now, what else? Elvira is twenty. What if this man wants to romance her or something? Knowing your stories, he might arrest her to court her and, well, I guess that would be an interesting interpretation of the business of being progressive.

I would be shocked that you think me capable of writing that--except for the fact that I absolutely am. Sadly, the Senior Officer's "sex life" consists only of asserting his authority over the hapless white shirts and other local miscreants. Ten minutes after this scene ends, he will probably be applying a stun-stick to an adolescent white shirt Selonian boy, and-- Well, I should stop there, or I will have to go fetch a bucket.

At the same time, Elvira puts on a convincing act. The establishment believes that white shirts are not intelligent enough, not capable of lying, yet she is clearly up to something. Perhaps she is even...trapping them in a way.

So ambiguous. So many options. HEADASPLODE.

I'm tempted to give the truth away on this, but I'm going to listen to my better nature and leave the ambiguous options as they are.

As far as my Sacorrian fanon is concerned, you're killing this. Can't wait to see more of it.

I'm glad to hear that it works for you thus far, and there is more to come.

Thanks for reading and commenting!

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Kahara: This is very intriguing; as @Ewok Poet mentions, Elvira seems to have hidden depths. There are the hints here and there that she's not entirely as baffled by the world as the rest of her reactions would first suggest. And she's definitely much more observant than the system around her seems to give her credit for. (Or is she? I'm curious what Progressina is so eager to discuss. )

The system hasn't given Elvira much of any credit--certain authority figures decided, when she was still a child, that she was a white shirt, and therefore "doomed to fail." (And I get the distinct impression that the process for sorting children into the color groups is not entirely objective.) She has never really had a chance to show what she might be capable of.

The name Progressina is so perfect, definitely goes along with the "comrade/comradette" and "buy Saygo" atmosphere of EP's Sacorrian fanon.

I can't take the credit for the name--Ewok Poet has a character called that in one of her stories--but it is indeed perfect for the setting.

Thanks for reading and commenting!

 

My original plan was to put up this second post on Saturday--but I realized that, in order to have this story posted by the challenge deadline, I would have to speed up the schedule. There will be one last post after this, and that will go up on Saturday.

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2. “Yellow”

Several weeks later, Elvira was walking along the narrow path of an office floor corridor. It was lined with clear picture windows—as though there was not one secret lurking away from view—that glowed with the burning corn-rose yellow sunlight outside. She was accompanied by Nikola Grey Sandoval, the AARIS engineer’s personal assistant. He had messy dark curls (what Anniké would have called “bedroom hair”) and pale golden-brown skin, and he wore a black velvet frockcoat with his iris purple shirt and wing-tipped dance shoes. He moved with his hips forward in an easy, oblivious walk that had to be at least partly an act.

He had already stopped once to visit with the pair of comradettes from the third office in the row of blank beige book cover doors. He had flirted. He had arched his blackbird-winged eyebrows to go along with his point. He had hahaed. He had tossed his nightdark eyes.

Then when they had left, and he had turned back towards her, his demeanor changed: his mouth snapped back into place, and his eyes were glass-hard and indifferent again.

Since Elvira was nearly as tall as he was, she had to keep her shoulders hunched down in a slump, and she walked carefully to remain just slightly behind him. But she did endeavor not to stare down at the floor ahead of them—she wanted to have that much dignity around him.

There was no one else about now, and Comrade Sandoval looked over at her. She was still taken aback, with an firebug-electric jerk, when he actually spoke: “So, Comradette Corr. What do you make of DoTal thus far?”

Elvira’s eyelids shivered as she blinked back at him. She hadn’t quite figured out how to look at him: she had understood—almost as soon as she had begun to daydream about romantic scenarios—that she would never be able to marry. Masculine beauty made her nervous. She could smell his echo-faint cologne. It was some sort of dark musky scent.

But she managed to speak: “It’s a very progressive city.”

Comrade Sandoval grinned. He was aware that she was a white shirt, but he must have still thought she was hiding a decidedly unprogressive joke inside that sentence. “Oh, it is that.”

When she turned her face towards the windows, she could see—beyond Cobble Stone Square below—a glimpse of the buildings of Dorthus Tal City, and a salt-glitter off in the background that she imagined must be the sea. Thus far, she had only walked through the square, and she had not been able to stop long enough to see the blur of artworks at the booths. But it was possible that she could: and after she was paid, she could wander there knowing there were creds in her account.

One of the doors sighed opened ahead of them, and Klarina Bolt, the comradette who worked there, stepped out. She had plain brown hair dumped loose around her shoulders and lace-coarse skin, and her mouth was dark with defiantly bright red lipstick to go with her honey-yellow blouse. And she walked in the same fashion as the other workers: as though she were going about an errand of the utmost progressive, Sacor-shaking importance.

Elvira stood by while she spoke with Comrade Sandoval. She had to remind herself, as Klarina Bolt watched Comrade Sandoval talk with a drifting fond smile that seemed familiar, that she had her own position here, and therefore the same right to exist as she had.

She was the least intelligent of her mother’s children—and yet, somehow, she was the only one of them who would leave home. Oh, it was true that her elder brother Crixen had finished that one term at the Saccorata Tech before he flunked out (and purposefully—he had been an orange shirt), but now he was back at the farm for the rest of his life. Anniké had taken to saying this was her “gap year” before university—but even she couldn’t actually believe that.

When Elvira told her mother about her new position, she was glad she had taken Anniké’s advice to remain silent until it was a done deal. She had already obtained the permission that counted for the government, from their father, the day before. But he did not count in their actual household, and she had to enter the dark cave of her mother’s room, where she was reading her ancestral copy of The Book of Law. Elvira had never known her to acknowledge other books.

Her mother had taken a moment before she had spoken, and her voice had throbbed with her habitual smugly-hot fury: Good on you. Now get out of my sight.

Comrade Sandoval and Klarina Bolt were on the subject of sports—and in particular, some limmie match that had apparently been over years before. Elvira realized, and too late, that she was looking back down at the static-grey carpet, and her black silk shoes, again. She forced the flower stalk of her neck up, and tried to look occupied with her own thoughts.

Comrade Sandoval’s voice had come to a halt, and Klarina Bolt was looking over at her: “What did you think, Comradette Corr?”

“I’m afraid I don’t follow,” Elvira said.

“You know,” Comrade Sandoval said. “The goal, the one that must have only been Code:Red’s finest moment in an impressive career. Everyone saw it happen.”

Then Elvira spoke the most shocking words he had ever heard—and which would ensure that afterwards, he would remember to see her: “I don’t like limmie.”

She could still sense him sneaking glances at her as they entered their assigned door, the final one on the hallway—and into the rooms where Ceretha of R’vanye, one of AARIS’s finest (and most progressive) engineers, had hidden away to do her work; which—and the governmental orientation file Elvira had read was thoroughly clear on this—was of the utmost secrecy.

The front room would have originally been an open office space, but when Elvira had arrived, Ceretha had had it made over into a proper Drall library: the windows were closed, so the only light came from the iris-glass lamps, and the walls were covered with shelves crowded with the jumbled puzzle of Ceretha’s books. She had brought nearly her whole collection from her flat in Saccorata. The grey floor was covered with a rug with a sprawling dark flowered forest pattern, and Ceretha’s antique chrono sat hunched on display the corner bookshelf. Its heartbeat ticking stalked through each minute and each hour.

Ceretha was in her place at her work-table, glaring at the computer screen. Her thick-framed glasses glowed with its reflected white light. Comrade Sandoval joined her for their consultation, while Elvira went into the kitchen alcove.

She set the antique copper-mirror kettle on to boil for Ceretha’s tea. She preferred a hot black tea served in her artistic glass cups with a snowdust of sugar, and a scattering of the top secret angleberries stashed inside the refrigeration-box arranged around it on the saucer.

While she worked, she could hear Ceretha’s voice in the main room: “And it should have been the solution—but once again, it only led into another problem.”

Comrade Sandoval’s voice followed: “That is not the news Their Leaderships want to hear from you. I gathered that much from your last communication.”

“Oh, quite.” She must have begun to tug on the ring she wore, with a large black star-armed gem, on her left hand. It was only one of her nervous habits. “But unfortunately that is the only news I have at present to give them.”

The orientation file had not revealed any details of The Project, which Ceretha had referred to aloud as the Starkiller—but then, that was information Elvira did not need to know. But she did know that Ceretha spoke, at least once per day, with an Imperial engineer: she had overheard the drone of his static-snarled voice, and once she had seen his small blue-lighted image standing on the table holopad during one of these conversations.

Ceretha had returned to examining her work when Elvira walked out carrying the tray balanced with the tea and a plate of the biscuits she had bought at the bakery downstairs. “Thank you,” she said, to the computer screen, as Elvira set the tray down in its place.

She stepped back into the dustsoft shadows and watched as Ceretha ate through one of the biscuits in several thoughtless bites. Ceretha may have been particular about her beverages, but she saw food merely as necessary fuel, and she was fine with whatever Elvira brought her. And: after the first few days of her position, Elvira had found that she took to having the run of the kitchen. She had chosen these cream-stuffed pink biscuits in part for the color.

Ceretha sipped at her tea, and then took a wrinkled cigarra out of the table drawer. She lit it with a tiny whipcracked spark and stared at Comrade Sandoval. He had been working through a flimsy thin stack of documents, but he knew exactly when to look up.

Then she let loose a drag of smoke: “It’s quite simple, comrade—but then it usually is. I can see what I need to do. But I haven’t yet come up with the actual way to accomplish it.”

Her voice was loose with thought through the veil of her breathed-out smoke. “The Imperials shouldn’t have dropped this one on us. They aren’t that stupid—they knew that one little imperfection was there in the design, but they chose to overlook it. Well, I learned a more progressive approach. We used to say of my one instructor at the tech that he experienced literal physical pain if he was around a machine that wasn’t functioning properly--”

She turned around in her chair, the cigarra dangling between her teeth, and her white glasses glared at Elvira. “You! I haven’t consulted with you yet. What do you think of all this?”

Elvira had stepped back before she could think better of it, and her hands felt like useless white doll-skin gloves at her sides. “Um—even the smallest flaw is unacceptable.”

“Of course,” Comrade Sandoval said.

“Of course, indeed. You have learned a few things here, Comradette Corr. And now I must move to put an end to this one flaw, however insignificant it may look.”

Then: she left her cigarra on the holopad edge while she sipped at her tea, and Comrade Sandoval turned back to his flimsies, and Elvira left them to it. She walked back into the garishly lit kitchen and straightened up. The building droid would manage the cleaning later. Then she opened the refrigeration-box door, and took out the windowpane jar of plump golden angleberries. She took one out, and crushed it into juice and seeds between her teeth. It was not the first time she had dared to do so. It wasn’t as though Ceretha got much out of them.

Spoiler

Code:Red--former limmie player and present inept politician--is one of Ewok Poet's OCs. His co-worker, known as Code:Blue, gets all the attention for that blasted "baby burp" goal, but I figured that Code:Red must have his own famous triumphs on the field.

 

Very, very well crafted world and lives that you have created here, albeit that you are adapting Ewok Poet's OCs and material.

I have the same species identification problems that I have with EP; when you refer to men (not sure if you have mentioned women, girls, boys), and describe color hair; I don't know if you are referring to humans or Selonians.

The white shirt clearly has some sort of significance in the first chapter, putting me in mind of a Youtube trailer on the Divergence movie perhaps? Chapter Two starts explaining what the drokk is going on there, eg. that the authorities believe white shirts incapable of lying.

I did like the unconscious urge to buy the senior officer's car model.

The short piece on the family unit was very well explained, bringing the user in; but I encountered a thematic conflict with Elvira being the only member of her family to leave home. In the earlier explanation of her last credits from the bakery job, handed to parents "to pay for her right to live with them".

Without more income, wasn't she leaving anyway?

Descriptions of the AARIS' environs, and particularly Ceretha's workspace, were a tour de force - very well done there.

Without any follow-up from them, unless it happens in the third chapter, I fail to see what the (human?) senior officer was so gosh darned pleased about, or why Progressina became so sympathetic at the end. The impression was that she had detained the white shirt voluntarily; not that her hand had been forced by citizens calling the Sacorran equivalent of 911.

Good clothing, fashion, and conversations. You did a better job at adding depth than most sinkholes!

Excellent job. EP is right; you are killing it.

 

She expanded on it, created a couple of new characters and a ridiculous rule or two and, in fact, I will credit her for it. I'm humbled.

Unless the character's species is a part of some sort of a plot twist or meant to be revealed later on purpose, I'm pretty sure that a lot of people just assume that the characters are Humans. I know which of my stories you're referring to, and in that one, the character's species was written in the opening post, alongside with a short biography.

It's far worse when one cannot figure out what is actually going on in the story, or which character is speaking. I had a little problem with the latter, a lot of people all around common fanfic websites have a problem with the earlier. So, this one's not a huge issue, methinks.

Pandora linked to my fanon entry in the OP. If you read it from any device, you'll get the answer on the white shirts. If you read it from a computer (not a mobile), you'll get the unconscious urge to buy Saygo, too. I shall say no more...you'll see, you'll see.

Love it when we agree on things.

So, comment on chapter 2:

JUSTICE FOR CODE:RED! I mean, yup, he too had many, many career-defining moments, but he's more about quantity than quality. I envisioned him as the type who nonchalantly hangs in the corner and then scores a goal after some good passes from his team-mates, and Code:Blue would be the hyperactive one who's the MVP, but also more about "the beautiful game".

Nikola Grey Sandoval is quite a looker, at least from what I have pictured in my mind, after having read your description. One of those Mediterranean-like sun-kissed types. Now, why can't Elvira marry? Does she think she is out of his league, or is her biological father dead? Or did something in the censored part of the first chapter (which I'm looking out for, but have not seen yet) that would result in [hl=black]an unwanted child from Progressina's senior officer[/hl]? If so, I'm definitely concerned.

Now, for Ceretha's project...

...this is where I have to say that...HUGE SPOILER FOR ONE OF MY STORIES AHEAD.

Spoiler

this is precisely what happens to Gredda in The Black Star - she is kidnapped to work on the Death Star II's superlaser.

So, now we know that this is the Sequel Trilogy and that somebody is going to be sent to that converted planet near Rakata Prime/Lehon. Ouch. OUCH. But whatever happens, we have this...awesome library of Ceretha's to gush over. I loved that description, and the one of the Dorthus Tal Sea.

Lovely, lovely Sacorrian paranoia. Always with you, always within you.

Eagerly awaiting for the resolution!

 

Sith-I-5: Very, very well crafted world and lives that you have created here, albeit that you are adapting Ewok Poet's OCs and material.

The world (and its varied madnesses) is Ewok Poet's work--but I have messed with it a bit, and with the exception of the character mentioned in the footnote, I am responsible for the characters.

I have the same species identification problems that I have with EP; when you refer to men (not sure if you have mentioned women, girls, boys), and describe color hair; I don't know if you are referring to humans or Selonians.

I think I can safely say that this is a question I have never before encountered in regards to my work. But yes, the men here are humans. If this helps, if they were Selonians, I would have described their fur color, and perhaps had them lash their tails about. There is no point in having a tail if you don't use it.

The white shirt clearly has some sort of significance in the first chapter, putting me in mind of a Youtube trailer on the Divergence movie perhaps? Chapter Two starts explaining what the drokk is going on there, eg. that the authorities believe white shirts incapable of lying.

As Ewok Poet said, the color coded system (which would explain the significance of the white shirt) is explained in her fanon post.

I did like the unconscious urge to buy the senior officer's car model.

That's the effect of Saygo propaganda! Actually, I thought that line might have pushed the tone a bit too far, and was considering cutting it out. But then I just wanted to buy a Saygo instead.

The short piece on the family unit was very well explained, bringing the user in; but I encountered a thematic conflict with Elvira being the only member of her family to leave home. In the earlier explanation of her last credits from the bakery job, handed to parents "to pay for her right to live with them".

Without more income, wasn't she leaving anyway?

Elvira was only able to leave home because--by a fluke chance--she got this job. She probably only worked part-time hours at the bakery, and it was definitely for very low pay (and probably, as I have heard is the case in the US, as a part-time worker she would not have been legally entitled to even the minimum wage--and the bakery owners took full advantage of that until they decided to save even that money by using a droid). It would have been difficult enough in that situation for her to save up money for the future, even if she hadn't given nearly all her wages in rent to her parents. I suppose I could have explained the family situation more clearly, but basically--the mother dominates the household, and it seems she wants all of her children to stay home and under her control.

Descriptions of the AARIS' environs, and particularly Ceretha's workspace, were a tour de force - very well done there.

Thanks--though I should point out they aren't at AARIS, which is located in another city. This project is far too top secret for them to handle at the regular offices.

Without any follow-up from them, unless it happens in the third chapter, I fail to see what the (human?) senior officer was so gosh darned pleased about, or why Progressina became so sympathetic at the end. The impression was that she had detained the white shirt voluntarily; not that her hand had been forced by citizens calling the Sacorran equivalent of 911.

That's probably on me--I don't like info-dumps, so perhaps I left things too vague. I can say the human senior officer just enjoys (and far too much, as the original unedited version makes painfully clear) flashing his petty authority around. He is actually based off a certain highway patrol officer in my state who was parked right at a speed trap, lights already flashing, just waiting for the chance to pull someone over. As for Progressina, she pulls over white shirts because it is her job, with an implied daily quota, not because she wants to. She also probably didn't expect the Senior Officer to show up and take over the proceedings.

Good clothing, fashion, and conversations. You did a better job at adding depth than most sinkholes!

Excellent job. EP is right; you are killing it.

Thank you, and thanks for reading and commenting!

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Ewok Poet: So, comment on chapter 2:

JUSTICE FOR CODE:RED! I mean, yup, he too had many, many career-defining moments, but he's more about quantity than quality. I envisioned him as the type who nonchalantly hangs in the corner and then scores a goal after some good passes from his team-mates, and Code:Blue would be the hyperactive one who's the MVP, but also more about "the beautiful game".

Code:Red might not have had the flashy (or silly--that darned "baby burp"!) moments, but the true fans would have noticed the ones he did have.

Nikola Grey Sandoval is quite a looker, at least from what I have pictured in my mind, after having read your description. One of those Mediterranean-like sun-kissed types. Now, why can't Elvira marry? Does she think she is out of his league, or is her biological father dead? Or did something in the censored part of the first chapter (which I'm looking out for, but have not seen yet) that would result in an unwanted child from Progressina's senior officer? If so, I'm definitely concerned.

He is hotter than Sacor, in my obviously biased opinion--so I'm glad that came across. He is probably out of Elvira's league (he was an orange shirt, and it has been well-established that she is a lowly white shirt, though I'm not certain how much that matters after school ends). Her father is still amongst the living, though he is such a non-entity that he only warrants a brief mention. No, Elvira is not pregnant with the Senior Officer's dominating fetus. I actually only made slight edits to that first post, and I only altered several sentences that are there--I didn't cut anything out, and certainly nothing so major as that. But I should have the original version up at AO3 tomorrow at the latest, so you'll see.

So, now we know that this is the Sequel Trilogy and that somebody is going to be sent to that converted planet near Rakata Prime/Lehon. Ouch. OUCH. But whatever happens, we have this...awesome library of Ceretha's to gush over. I loved that description, and the one of the Dorthus Tal Sea.

I can say now that this is not the Sequel Trilogy--for the obvious reason that I haven't seen The Force Awakens, which means those planets are just unfamiliar space opera style names to me. You'll find out soon when it does take place. But whatever happens, Ceretha still has that great library.

Lovely, lovely Sacorrian paranoia. Always with you, always within you.

"When you can't escape something, give in and embrace it."

Eagerly awaiting for the resolution!

You won't have much longer to wait. Thanks for reading, and responding!

 

And--the conclusion.

ETA: Findswoman: Just a quick note to say that I am working on a comment on chapters one and two and that it's halfway done... but I'm enjoying this very much and think you did a great job with the fanon! More coming soon, hopefully in an hour or two...

Thanks (and apologies for now instantly dropping the next, and last, post just as you were catching up)--and when you have your comment readied, this thread will be here.

-----------


3. “Orange”

It was on her fourth visit to the artists’ quarters in the square that Elvira noticed the painting. She wondered if it had been there before: she only knew that that day, it was displayed openly against the side of the booth just behind the northside fountain. The artist was engaged in conversation with a tourist, so Elvira went over to examine it closer up. It depicted a flower, a tall ghost-pale white iris growing from the empty floor of a fallow field. The night sky overhead was filled with the white stabbed marks of stars. There were really too many of them, but Elvira didn’t think that was a message about unity. The painting did not seem to be telling her one thing.

And it was an actual painting—Elvira could make out the brush strokes on the solid door of canvas, and she thought she could smell the faint smell left of the thick oil paint.

The tourist’s shadow was walking away, and she took a step back from the white iris and the howling night sky in the painting to watch it from a more socially acceptable distance. She had only ever seen holopictures made of static light and dust-motes before this—and she realized now there was a reason she hadn’t ever liked them: they looked like the memories of pictures. They looked like she could destroy them with her breath.

“Do you see something you like?” the artist’s voice suddenly said. It took Elvira a minute to make out the words over the rushing creek sound from the fountain.

She was standing just behind the painting, but she looked directly at Elvira. Several of the other artists were strange beings Elvira had to believe now existed, but this offworld woman was human—she had grey-dulled brown hair done up in a swollen braid crown, and wore a sweeping flower-blotched skirt that bounced over her little feet. She smiled, and her teeth were the yellow of overripe dustcorn. Her mind might as well have been that strange sky in her painting.

Elvira shook her head, and then—since she had no reason to be irritated, and the woman had to speak with her as part of her role: “No. I was just looking.”

“Look all you want,” the offworld woman said.

Elvira had seen Comrade Sandoval—he had appeared across the square in his dark iris petal velvet coat, the sunlight burning in his hair. He hadn’t seen her. He was with another one of his friends, a dust-blonde comradette from the right-side building. Elvira hadn’t ever spoken with her, and Comrade Sandoval had not mentioned her by her name. She looked back down at the painting. It had been years since she had endured a drawing class at school, and she had never learned much about art. “What—is the title on that one?”

“Oh, I don’t use titles for my work,” the woman said, her voice pushing through the fountain noise. “Not even Untitled. That stood out even on Aurea. It’s for sale if that interests you.”

Elvira knew what she had to say—though she felt vaguely disappointed all the same. The painting reminded her of the hole, the “dead” space, in her chest she had begun to think she had been born with. “Thank you, but I’m afraid I can’t afford it just now.”

“I can understand that,” the woman said. “But if you like, I can put it on reserve for you until you have the credits. Maybe you saw something there that you already knew.”

When she left the booth, Elvira had just transferred the creds for the down payment on the painting of the pale iris. She didn’t feel anywhere near the guilt (or hear her mother’s snarled voice saying, deciding for her, You don’t need something like that) she had expected.

She stood in front of the fountain, where she had the long view of the square: of the man spinning a cloud grey vase into being in front of a group of tourists, and the Saygos sauntering along the avenue, and the people who she did not know, and would never see again, moving about through the sugarsweet sunshine on their progressively important, and urgent, errands. The wind made her dark brown swing skirt rustle like the long-eared dustcorn leaves.

She hadn’t expected that she would see Comrade Sandoval again. She never saw him when they were out of the rooms. But only moments later, when she was walking along the seaside-path, she saw he was walking ahead of her with the blonde comradette: she saw his distinctive coat, and the wind blew his voice back past her. The blonde was nodding along with him. Obviously, she had taken the advice given in more than a few Empress articles: Remember—let him do the talking!

Then she saw that he was holding her hand caught up in his, and in public. Once, she would have wondered at why Comrade Sandoval fancied this comradette: she was short with a plain white topato face, of average height, and forgettable weight. She had a silk corn-rose tucked into her dull hair, but it only looked like a garish bruised wound.

But now she understood well enough—Comrade Sandoval didn’t mind at all that she wasn’t as pretty as he was. He liked (even if he never consciously thought it) that about her.

Elvira had time to think as she walked. She could do that, and none of the people around had any reason to tell: her face looked blankly pleasant as the echo-voice in her mind floated from one thing to another. She had even looked at the tall shadow of the Watchtower Base near the horizon, and wondered if any of the subversive stories she wasn’t to know about it were true. She thought on how she would use the credits in her first paycheque. But then—even on this day, even with the fresh memory of the painting, she would think over to a bad memory.

There were far too many of those—though this one was the year she was thirteen, when the yard-teacher made her stand in the corner with her face to the wall. It was her own fault—it was always her fault. She had collapsed into sticky, pathetic, weak tears in the first minute. Then Iason, one of the orange shirts, told the others she had wet herself.

It might as well have happened only the other day—the fact that it was nearly seven years away in the past didn’t matter enough to help. Elvira hurried her walk into a hard march.

She had slowed down when her new com buzzed into life with a grain-fly snarl, and the first ring leapt out. She slapped at her skirt pocket—as this was only the second call she had received since she had activated it—before she grabbed it out of her purse and shook it.

Then she heard it: the echoed-small com ring behind her. She turned to see that Comrade Sandoval had his own little penknife-silver com out and snapped open.

She stared at the message written out silently on her com screen: “AND I HAVE BECOME DEATH THE DESTROYER OF WORLDS.”

Elvira held the com locked inside her fisted fingers—she had never read those words before, and yet, she recognized them. She had always known them. They had always been there hidden away inside the secret she couldn’t quite see.

Comrade Sandoval had left his girl friend, and was walking towards her, his com hidden away inside his fisted hand. When he joined her, he leaned in close to speak, so close she could feel the kissed warmth of his breath: “I think we should get back to The Rooms.”

He snapped his fingers open, and clicked the image stalled on his screen into motion—it showed a lush greenlit moon floating underneath the side of a blood orange gas giant. Then it showed a laser whip of lighting shooting out from an unknown source. And a second later, that moon was blown apart, with a slow breath of fireworks, into a cloud of light.

4. “Red”

The Death Star, the Destroyer of Worlds, hovered in the night of space above Vagran. It had already been waiting there when the Arcadia pulled into orbit. Elvira watched it through the viewing window in the guest parlour. It was the size of a asteroid-moon, and it faded back into the darkness around it—until she noticed the numerous firebug lights from the windows. Her ghosted reflection swayed along with her as she looked down at the sunlit world underneath it. Vagran glowed inside the halo of its atmosphere with sapphire-wine oceans, and swirling dreamwhite clouds. Elvira had not even had this view of Sacorria in the moments before the Arcadia leapt into hyperspace: this window had only faced the space in front of them.

(Oh, and then Comrade Sandoval had become spacesick, and she had looked at the wall and closed her eyes when he jumped up with a throaty couched retch. A mouse droid had waited just behind his feet while he had finished vomiting. But he had taken a bacta pill for that.)

Comrade Sandoval had returned to stand next to her, but he turned to speak to Lefftenant Thule, the officer who had been assigned to them. She was a dark young woman with a constellation of blistered pimples on her chin—but she also wore several blood-ruby rank bars pinned to the bodice of her grimly proper grey uniform. She never quite saw them when she had to speak, and he had only made that one attempt to flirt with her.

He kept his voice as distantly flat as he could: “But why did she pick Vagran?”

Lefftenant Thule had been standing in a parade statue position, but now she shrugged. Elvira noted that she spoke with a faded Curheg accent when she said: “I heard the Admiral had a bad experience when she was on holiday there, and she’s still holding the grudge.”

“Oh, I see,” Comrade Sandoval said—he would wait to tell Elvira later on, when they were alone, his opinion on that. He had beautiful sun-blurred memories of the two weeks he had spent at an oceanside town there after he graduated university.

“It isn’t very progressive of her,” Lefftenant Thule said, thoughtfully staring ahead. “But this is what she wants, and the Grand Moff can afford to give her the favor. They have just dealt those Rebels the death blow—and they have Their Leaderships to thank for it.”

She looked back at the room, and at them, before she continued: “Anyhow, there won’t be any need to blast the rock to pieces—the grannos gave way at the first communication. I believe I told you both that was how it would happen. We should make the landing soon. I have heard that this bay near the spaceport is especially pretty. Well. I suppose we’ll all find out for ourselves.”

Comrade Sandoval was looking forward to living on Vagran. He had already processed the filework for his mother, and two school-aged orange shirt sisters, to join him. As for Elvira, she hadn’t so much as commed her family with a short note. Oh, she had thought of her sister and brother—but she could not risk helping them. They would tell her mother, and she would know the exact words to convince them to bring her with them. But she hadn’t told Comrade Sandoval about her family, and he hadn’t known to ask. That meant she didn’t have to lie to him.

Elvira had never so much as imagined living on another planet before. She had learned when she was still a child that it was best not to imagine, or want, anything.

This wasn’t how she would have wanted it to go: Ceretha of R’Vanye had committed suicide (or she had taken tea poisoned with the purple dust from a Sacorrian Iris, and they were supposed to think she had) only the day after the Death Star destroyed the moon with the rebel base. Her two nieces had descended from Saccorata to fight over her library, and Elvira had taken the chance she had with Comrade Sandoval—he had returned to his governmental department, and she went with him.

“Yes, we don’t have any cause to complain,” she said, staring Lefftenent Thule directly in the eye. Then she smiled. “We have been quite lucky.”

She turned back to the scene outside the window. She thought of the room she would live in at the dreamed image she had of the town by the sprawling skygrey bay. She would hang the painting of the ghost-iris on the wall where no one else would have to see it. It was lying where she had hidden it at the bottom of her luggage, and it was one of the few things she had from her life thus far. It is (of course) the progressive thing to look away from the past, and towards the future.

Comrade Sandoval reached his hand out, and she took it in her own, and tangled her fingers together with his. Yana, his girl friend, had chosen to remain on Sacorria—and she could see, logically, that she was his preferred type. Elvira had always known she would die alone. And now, and soon, she would finally learn the mysteries of a man’s body. Anything was possible at this point.

*

Spoiler

The Star Destroyer Arcadia is Ewok Poet's creation. Now: I could not say if her OC, Admiral Gordi Gauree, would actually be petty enough to use the power of the Death Star to scare the living **** out of these grannos/hippies over a minor grudge, and is therefore the unnamed female admiral in this story--and since this is now firmly an AU, all bets are off.

The magazine Empress (think Cosmopolitan in Space) is also her fanon.

 

I am extremely late and I apologise. There have been some things screwing up my concentration and I did not think of myself as worthy enough of finally leaving this comment.

Orange

This iris plant makes an odd symbol of unity - a pale plant in front of a ...starfield? It's more likely to be a symbol of loneliness, but as we know, everything can be explained in a different way over on Sacorria.

Now, this part intrigues me, especially knowing that it's an iris...on Sacorria.

Hmmm, is this something new? [hl='black']A narcotic painting?[/hl]

The OT-era specieism is all there. She does not even understand the beings exhibiting her work. But, like @Findwoman said, it's hard to determine when and whether Elvira's opinions are informed and if they are ever real, which makes this ever so more layered and interesting. That painting is, in a way, her approach to individuality, which might not be all that much for somebody from some other star system.

Now, I am not sure if something indeed was in this painting or if Elvira is rebelling only when it's about her own gain and causes, but she is definitely doing something to attract comrade Sandoval (who is totally hot, by the way, but I said that already) and then, the connection with irises on her painting and his coat, both the things designed by somebody else for them and the message they both get just...shows something.


Red

Lots of small lights and Elvira's reflection looking like a ghost - that somehow depicts her perfectly. She is not what she is, she is what others think she is and, on top of that, she is certainly a ghost compared to somebody from the planet that she can see through the viewport. Most of her fellows comrades and comradettes are. And funny enough, if those things are those other irises, and Vagran is the eye where Death Star is an iris - then she is, in a way, blind. And if those things reflect straight in her eyes, that is like she is being fed her new views, new place to live, new man to be by her side - everything new.

Gordi Gauree - feel free to name her - WOULD have been crazy enough to do something like this - she is committing adultery like there's no tomorrow and her son is as flippin' mad as she is. Scarring the Grannos just to get a kick out of it? Like, why not? She knew that they would do anything to preserve their beautiful planet and its unique ecological habitats, so she could be, in a way, doing this as a tribute for poor Ceretha, while it's really a favour she is doing to herself and nobody other than herself.

Of course, because...

1) ...he has SOME personality there and the reflections cannot completely take it away from him;
2)...he is leaving Sacorria behind in his own little way;
3)...he doesn't get to travel that much. Nobody does on Sacorria.

And Elvira's eventual behaviour is...jarring. She doesn't care about her own family, she doesn't actually want Nikola's body, she understands that sex is a procedure and she doesn't care about anything the slightest. The freedom she now has doesn't mean much, because, at the end of the day, she is a thing.

A superb story and definitely one of the best things to come up on this message board in 2017 so far! Thanks for doing the justice to my fanon and expanding it. I will take these characters' names and have them appear in my continuity, as passing mentions, as a little hidden tribute to this story.

 

Findswoman: OK, here at long last is the comment I’ve taken way, way too long to write up and post. It’s been an immensely hectic past few days. But my tardiness in no way means I don’t appreciate all the work and artistry you’ve put into this, and I thank you tons for your patience!

It's been months (I think I shall refrain from actually counting them up) since I posted this story, so I am quite tardy indeed in replying to your comment. But I'm here now--and while I can't promise that I'll do justice in my response, I can at least say that it shall likely be the length of a short story.

First of all, WOW. This is some seriously incredible work you've done here with @Ewok Poet 's Sacorrian fanon—I don't think I've come across a story that integrates another writer's large-scale fanon work so fully, with so much panache and nuance. You really threw yourself into this and made it your own while staying completely true to the spirit of EP's lore. Color me immensely impressed, though I'm by no means surprised.

This is the first time I have ever worked this extensively with someone else's fanon, so I am glad to hear that I didn't mess it up. I was aware, particularly as I was preparing to write the story, of how I'm approaching this fanon--which comes from a very personal place for Ewok Poet--from a considerably different cultural position. I did consider just going with that, and giving it a flavor of bad ol' late cold war capitalist paranoia (basically, the 1980s America-in-Space as a dystopia--and I still think that would be quite easy to do) but it didn't work out that way.

Now I'll go chapter by chapter—and I'm noticing that the chapter titles correspond to the shirt colors used to represent people's levels of aptitude on Sacorria, which is a very cool and immersive touch (and also puts me in mind of that Trois couleurs film trilogy by Krzysztof Kieślowski). Though as soon as I saw you were only planning three chapters, it occurred to me that one of the four colors would have to be missing. My guess was that red, the color of progressive perfection, would be the one left out, and it turns out I was right—and that’s definitely very symbolic, since “falling short” is one of the themes that pervades the story from the start.

As you know, there is a fourth "red" chapter--since it was the shortest chapter (and maybe there is some unintentional symbolism there, but I'll leave it to the critics to debate that) I included it in the third post. But yes, the structure of the story was meant to symbolize the main character's rise--as much as she does rise, that is. I haven't ever seen the Trois couleurs trilogy--but I have heard enough of it to see the title similarities.

1: As the others have said, there is definitely more to this White Shirt protagonist than meets the eye. She’s wearing the Sacorrian Color O’Shame—and yet her white shirt has these beautifully embroidered iris patterns, and her socks are pretty and lacy. I wonder if that (in addition to her tears) is part of what gets Jr. Officer Progressina’s attention—the fact that she has the temerity to beautify ( ) the lowest of the colors. And of course I have to wonder what she is crying about… just her lot in general, with its pennilessness and unemployment, or something more specific?

Elvira tends to cry easily. It's considered another sign of her inferior status--weeping, even in private, is not ever the progressive thing to do. A good comrade keeps their spirits up in the worst of circumstances, with "Fields of Golden Grain" on repeat in their heads. But yes, she has plenty of things to cry about beyond her present humiliating situation. On a minor note, she does have a pretty shirt--I have a fondness for pretty white embroidered shirts, so it is too bad that only the lowly can wear those on Sacorria.

But Progressina seems to have more to her than meets the eye, too. She almost seems to be defending Elvira to the other officer who comes along; of course, totalitarian creep that he is, he twists it into something inslting: “white shirts don’t have the talent for lying.” (I almost hear him speaking in the voice Ben Mendelssohn used for Orson Krennic in Rogue 1.) His interest in her seems slightly creepy from the start, and that’s confirmed with his 20-years-old comment (and that in connection with your note at the start that there’s another version of this forthcoming at AO3 makes me go “ulp”). Meanwhile, Progressina has this nebulous “something she can do” for Elvira—to help her, or something else entirely? Indeed, there are so many possibilities here… I’ll just have to see what the next chapter holds.

As I mentioned in an earlier comment, Progressina did not expect the Senior Officer to show up and take over the proceedings. He is a classic little man taking every advantage of what authority he has, though--not having seen Rogue One--I don't know if he sounds like Krennic. He certainly enjoys taking her to task--and if it seems slightly creepy, there is a reason for that, which is painfully obvious in the unedited version on AO3.

And naturally, as others have said, the “sudden, and inevitable urge, to buy [a Saygo]” is a perfect and hilarious touch, and very much in the spirit of EP’s fanon lore. Saygos are just like that somehow, aren’t they?

I did think that was a bit much at first, but then so is Saygo propaganda. And it seems to have worked.

Off to a fantastic start, and I’ll be curious to see how this will end up changing the course of the saga!

2: Oh, oh, oh—I begin to see now where things are likely to go! So Progressina has hooked Elvira up with a job in the office of a very learned Drall engineer working on a project of the utmost secrecy (which puts me in mind immediately of a similar scenario in EP’s The Black Star, which I see she referenced in one of her responses… nice tie in there. And of course it doesn’t take us long to surmise which project it is, especially once the word “Starkiller” comes up and once the talk of tiny flaws comes up… because I know exactly which flaw that is. (Galen Erso may or may not be turning in his grave!)

Yes, I was pretty certain people would know what project, and its "one little imperfection," I was referring to without actual names being revealed. (Though--given that I haven't seen the movie--you can assume that none of Rogue One happened here. Well, it is an AU.)

This bit here is absolutely chilling:

“The Imperials shouldn’t have dropped this one on us. They aren’t that stupid—they knew that one little imperfection was there in the design, but they chose to overlook it. Well, I learned a more progressive approach. We used to say of my one instructor at the tech that he experienced literal physical pain if he was around a machine that wasn’t functioning properly—“​

…because it’s where the Sacorrians out-Imperial the Imperials—which indeed we knew they were capable of doing form the moment we first met them. Those Imperial engineers had better be prepared to be schooled in a way they’ve never been schooled before—Ceretha of R’vanye (a familiar clan name!) has got their number.

Well, the Sacorrians definitely have more experience running a totalitarian racket than an Empire that didn't even last thirty years. ("Progressive" rim-shot.) I'm fairly certain that Ceretha didn't hold back when schooling those Imperial engineers either. She may be part of an evil government, she may even be evil herself, but she is exceedingly competent--but then, that's only what one would expect from a red shirt Drall woman.

I’m of course very curious to see what role Elvira will end up playing—right now she’s serving tea and acting as a general yes-woman, though I sense that a turning point might be in store for her too. At very least she has gotten some tasty angleberries out of it (which I noticed are golden/yellow too). Finally, as others have mentioned, I too am glad to see Code:Red getting a moment of glory too—there’s got to be a reason he is as famous as his teammate!

Given Elvira's white shirt status, she is extremely limited in how far she can rise. In fact, this job is better than anything she had previously hoped for. (And of course, she had learned not to hope at all, but I may go into that more later.) I actually originally imagined angleberries as looking like mulberries/blackberries until Ewok Poet described characters as having "angleberry blonde" hair. But it is a happy accident that they then work so well in the "Yellow" section.

3: Here in the painting is the "pale iris” of the title, and it’s also where we realize that the irises on Elvira’s outfit (and on Sandoval’s) are a leitmotif of sorts, though I don't know if I'll know what it's a leitmotif of until the end of the story. Even though Elvira insists that the painting doesn't say anything to her at first, it clearly is, in a pretty elemental way. On one hand, it leads to the triumph of her spending her own money without worrying about being guilted by her mom (who, I've noticed, speaks in italics ). On the other hand, it almost feels like a premonition of the Galaxy-shaking news she learns at the end of the chapter. And I have to say—what a wrenchingIy poetic code phrase they chose (I am guessing Ceretha was the one who came up with that), and I think I know exactly which gas giant and green moon that is on the screen.

Personally, I see the iris motif as meaning different, various things throughout the story--so the iris in the painting is not the same iris as the doomed Yavin 4. (I may as well name it, since it was as recognizable as I had hoped it would be.) The pale fragile iris in the dark background of the painting does speak to Elvira in a way she doesn't have the tools to really understand or describe.

I figured that the quote from Oppenheimer misquoting (or so I read somewhere, so I may be wrong on this) the Bhagavad Gita would be instantly recognizable. One can only wonder if similar words ever crossed Tarkin's mind--though in a different tone--as he stood on the bridge of his Death Star.

And now the era is totally clear to me, along with the nature of the AU. And it's totally plausible, because this is Sacorria we're talking about here!

4: I had to reread this one a few times to make sure I understood it aright... this is one heck of an ending! I have to say, I was worried about Vagran for a moment there—I'm glad they were spared, and I guess that shows that being a hippie Granno can pay off sometimes! (Both and .) I'm not sure whether I should be sorry to hear about Ceretha's death, or if I should feel she got what she deserved. And there again is the iris leitmotif: the flower functions as a harbinger of death and destruction, just as it did in the previous chapter, and Elvira is near-totally oblivious to it.

The admiral (who may well be Gordi Gauree) just wanted to use the Triad's new toy to psychologically torment the hippies of Vagran, so I don't know if the planet was ever truly in danger. But she was probably pretty convincing, so for a while there, they had reason to think it was. As for Ceretha, she got what she got. The iris here is definitely not the pale fragile flower of the painting (which, I ought point out, was painted by a hippie artist straight out of Aurea who was probably not thinking of destruction in the least). As for Elvira, she may see the iris imagery, but she doesn't do much to interpret it. Leading on to:

And hey, isn't that a theme of this whole thing too: Elvira doesn't realize the implications of basically anything that happens at any point of the whole story, does she?She doesn't look either back or forward really ever; even at the end, on the brink of her new life (!) with Sandoval, she doesn't even bother to think of her family (though, significantly, he thinks of his), she doesn't bother to imagine (much) what the picturesque place they're going to might look like (and we know just how picturesque it is from EP's stories). She only selfishly thinks of how she now is going to get to know a man's body, etc.

I think (if I may say as much as the author) that the sentence that sums Elvira up is this: She had learned when she was still a child that it was best not to imagine, or want, anything. That indicates that there was a time when she did want things, and wasn't able to have them--for example, I considered including a bit about she tried very hard for several years to advance to yellow shirt status, and failed, before she gave up--and so she stopped wanting anything at all. Hence, after years of that, her imagination is rather stunted and numb. She has only ever just endured and survived. It's not surprising that what she wants now is rather shallow and limited--and it's still more than she ever expected to get.

As for her family, Elvira does think of them--she does the unforgivable for a protagonist and deliberately, coldly decides to abandon them. She does feel bad about leaving her brother and sister to their fate, but--as she was going to reflect in a line I couldn't get to work--while they are smarter than she is, they lack guts. Nikola Grey Sandoval comes from a much more functional family--that is another reason why he has self esteem and she has none.

I daresay her compatriots might attribute her nebbish attitude to her white-shirt lack of aptitude, but I tend to blame the Sacorrian upbringing that has forbidden her from thinking and imagining and wanting—it's not really her fault because she doesn't really know anything different. And the way you portray that whole ethos on this story is absolutely A+.

Elvira is indeed what her culture--and her family--has made her to be. It is possible that once she is actually on Vagran, the place will blow her mind, but it takes a great deal to get the Saccoria out of the Saccorian.

This was a real tour-de-force—thank you so much for sharing and for being part of this challenge.

Thank you, and thank you for commenting!

-----------------

Ewok Poet: I am extremely late and I apologise. There have been some things screwing up my concentration and I did not think of myself as worthy enough of finally leaving this comment.

I am quite, quite late with this comment, and (queue Wayne and Garth) it is not worthy! not worthy! But I shall try to get some words put together in some sort of reasonable order.

Orange

This iris plant makes an odd symbol of unity - a pale plant in front of a ...starfield? It's more likely to be a symbol of loneliness, but as we know, everything can be explained in a different way over on Sacorria.

Now, this part intrigues me, especially knowing that it's an iris...on Sacorria.

The artist is an off-worlder, and a hippie from Aurea at that, so whatever meanings she intended for the painting, they wouldn't be of the Sacorrian variety. (They definitely wouldn't be very progressive.) But it is being seen, and interpreted by Sacorrians, so perhaps that changes it.

​

And it was an actual painting—Elvira could make out the brush strokes on the solid door of canvas, and she thought she could smell the faint smell left of the thick oil paint.​

Hmmm, is this something new? A narcotic painting?

I think it is just regular paint, but who knows.

The OT-era specieism is all there. She does not even understand the beings exhibiting her work. But, like @Findwoman said, it's hard to determine when and whether Elvira's opinions are informed and if they are ever real, which makes this ever so more layered and interesting. That painting is, in a way, her approach to individuality, which might not be all that much for somebody from some other star system.

This is probably the first time Elvira has ever really seen off-worlders in person, so it isn't surprising that she has uninformed opinions, that hardly count as opinions at all, about what she sees. As for the painting, it is her tiny little stab at individuality, and while it wouldn't be a big deal elsewhere, for her it is one.

Now, I am not sure if something indeed was in this painting or if Elvira is rebelling only when it's about her own gain and causes, but she is definitely doing something to attract comrade Sandoval (who is totally hot, by the way, but I said that already) and then, the connection with irises on her painting and his coat, both the things designed by somebody else for them and the message they both get just...shows something.

Elvira probably only does rebel for her own causes--as Findswoman says, she lives in a world without much of a past or future. Her past is naught but bad memories not worth thinking on, and she can't really imagine the future. In general, she can't really see the galaxy-sized picture. Or when she does, it's too big to be relevant to her.

Red

Lots of small lights and Elvira's reflection looking like a ghost - that somehow depicts her perfectly. She is not what she is, she is what others think she is and, on top of that, she is certainly a ghost compared to somebody from the planet that she can see through the viewport. Most of her fellows comrades and comradettes are. And funny enough, if those things are those other irises, and Vagran is the eye where Death Star is an iris - then she is, in a way, blind. And if those things reflect straight in her eyes, that is like she is being fed her new views, new place to live, new man to be by her side - everything new.

As I wrote in my previous response, Elvira is what her world has made her to be--or you could also say she has become what she is in response to her world. She hasn't gone to Vagran because she wants to. I don't think she knows enough about it to even have an opinion on it, and she has certainly never believed before that she could travel, and hence hasn't imagined the possibility. She's there because, as she survives and endures, this is where her path has led her. But who knows, maybe the place will blow her mind, even under Sacorrian occupation.

Gordi Gauree - feel free to name her - WOULD have been crazy enough to do something like this - she is committing adultery like there's no tomorrow and her son is as flippin' mad as she is. Scarring the Grannos just to get a kick out of it? Like, why not? She knew that they would do anything to preserve their beautiful planet and its unique ecological habitats, so she could be, in a way, doing this as a tribute for poor Ceretha, while it's really a favour she is doing to herself and nobody other than herself.

Somehow, I'm not surprised to hear that about Gordi Gauree. And she did indeed scare the **** out of the Grannos/hippies just for fun, just for kicks, when she was playing with her Death Star access card.

And Elvira's eventual behaviour is...jarring. She doesn't care about her own family, she doesn't actually want Nikola's body, she understands that sex is a procedure and she doesn't care about anything the slightest. The freedom she now has doesn't mean much, because, at the end of the day, she is a thing.

As I mentioned in my response to Findswoman, she deliberately abandons her family--and I can't really blame her for not wanting to bring that mother, and her verbal abuse, along to her new life. It does seem rather sudden and cold, but Elvira left them, and she doesn't look back. I think that she does want Nikola's body, even if she isn't much good at wanting things, but she also knows that he doesn't date girls who are as pretty as he is--and well, if you look at the description of his ex-girlfriend, Elvira is his type.

So yes--she has ascended from the place she was in at the story's beginning, but it's hard to be free when you have never even learned what freedom is.

A superb story and definitely one of the best things to come up on this message board in 2017 so far! Thanks for doing the justice to my fanon and expanding it. I will take these characters' names and have them appear in my continuity, as passing mentions, as a little hidden tribute to this story.

Thank you, and I'm glad you enjoyed my work with your fanon. I'll be interested to see these characters appear in passing in your continuity, though I imagine their lives will be quite different in the canon universe.

Thank you again, and thank you for reading and commenting!

 

Why have I not commented on this before?

I love the way you write; your descriptions are so vivid and your word choice is lyrical. Elvira is an intriguing character. She spends most of "white" as a pathetic, terrified little mouse, desperately trying to hide her tears and her height. She quite literally grows throughout the story. By the end of the story she is standing next to (not behind) Sandoval, there is no mention of her trying to minimize herself, and she is off to another existance, away from Sacorria.

The Saccorian fanon here is outstanding, btw, and a wonderful complement to Ewok Poet's already exceptional creation. (When I finish typing this I will go out and buy myself a Saygo.) Elvira is the perfect brainwashed little progressive comradette.

As with a Pandora fic, you have a wonderful way with color. The first color - white - is the color of shame on Sacorria. But it's also the color of innocence and purity; it's a blank slate, a beginning. Elvira is lost here. She has nowhere to go and no money. Then we have yellow - the color of honey, and the chapter has all the imagery of food and taste. Elvira allows herself the forbidden swiping of Ceretha's golden angleberries. She's getting a little more daring. Then we have orange (progressing chromatically) and she does the unheard of thing of being entranced by a painting - of a white iris. She actually purchases it, even though she can't afford it. A painting, something that has no practical value. But it has beauty and to Elvira, just important, it has authenticity. She can smell the paint on it. She met the artist. It's real. in a society where everyone is the same, this is a brilliant assertion of individuality. Finally, red - the color of the gas giant around which the destroyed planet (Poor Endor!!) revolved. The color of passion and danger. Here she is literally free of Sacorria, although its deeply ingrained indoctrination will never really leave her.

This part is really interesting:

So Elvira never imagined anything or wanted anything. But we know that isn't true. She wanted Sandoval - it wasn't overt but the attraction was definitely there. She wanted that painting and, in fact, brought it instead of her siblings to Vagran. Maybe she doesn't recognize her desires because she has been programmed to not desire anything, so she doesn't see them, or doesn't want to see them. (Which brings me to EP's thoughtful comment about the dual meaning of "iris," as both a flower and as a part of the eye.) Then the little bomb about Ceretha's death. She committed suicide by drinking tea laced with poison from an iris. But who prepares the tea? Who actually cares about what goes into the food? Elvira. Elvira murdered her, the day after Ceretha's weapon destroyed Yavin (or is it Endor?). Ceretha, who sabotaged Galen Erso's sabotage. Is this Elvira's revenge for Ceretha's role in the demise of the rebellion? Did she do it as her own act of rebellion? And then she claims Sandoval for herself.

Elvira is no longer a pale iris. She is more complicated and strong than she gives herself credit for.

Really, this is a brilliant piece. Exceptionally good work here, Pandora!

 

divapilot: I love the way you write; your descriptions are so vivid and your word choice is lyrical. Elvira is an intriguing character. She spends most of "white" as a pathetic, terrified little mouse, desperately trying to hide her tears and her height. She quite literally grows throughout the story. By the end of the story she is standing next to (not behind) Sandoval, there is no mention of her trying to minimize herself, and she is off to another existance, away from Sacorria.

Elvira probably isn't the usually expected choice for a protagonist--she is, as you say, a terrified (if tall) mouse when the story starts, and she never becomes an Ass-Kicking Strong Female Character. tm. But she does grow throughout the story, if in more subtle ways, and she does leave Sacorria, though the story ends before she reaches Vagran, and the next step of her journey.

The Saccorian fanon here is outstanding, btw, and a wonderful complement to @Ewok Poet's already exceptional creation. (When I finish typing this I will go out and buy myself a Saygo.) Elvira is the perfect brainwashed little progressive comradette.

This is, as I mentioned in an earlier reply, the first time I have worked this extensively with someone else's fanon creation, so I'm glad to see it appears to be working. Also: what color Saygo did you get?

As with a Pandora fic, you have a wonderful way with color. The first color - white - is the color of shame on Sacorria. But it's also the color of innocence and purity; it's a blank slate, a beginning. Elvira is lost here. She has nowhere to go and no money. Then we have yellow - the color of honey, and the chapter has all the imagery of food and taste. Elvira allows herself the forbidden swiping of Ceretha's golden angleberries. She's getting a little more daring. Then we have orange (progressing chromatically) and she does the unheard of thing of being entranced by a painting - of a white iris. She actually purchases it, even though she can't afford it. A painting, something that has no practical value. But it has beauty and to Elvira, just important, it has authenticity. She can smell the paint on it. She met the artist. It's real. in a society where everyone is the same, this is a brilliant assertion of individuality. Finally, red - the color of the gas giant around which the destroyed planet (Poor Endor!!) revolved. The color of passion and danger. Here she is literally free of Sacorria, although its deeply ingrained indoctrination will never really leave her.

Usually, I don't consciously think too much about how I use color in my writing, beyond making sure a description has another layer to it besides the obvious (and that's probably just as well, or I would be too self-conscious about what I'm doing), but this story--especially given the colored coded system in the Sacorrian schools, which goes all the way through university--is an obvious exception. The colors both have the meanings they have in Sacorria, and a sort of echo of the meanings they have in other cultures. There is probably more of that here than I'm even aware of myself.

As for the oil painting, it is important to Elvira that it's real: everything in Star Wars seems to be holo this and holo that. The version of photographs--sorry, holopictures--that you see briefly in Padmé's bedroom at her family's home in one of the AOTC deleted scenes are these fuzzy moving static things. I have to say that I prefer the photographs that we have, even if they don't move, just as I prefer actual paintings on actual canvas compared to the fuzzy blurred holo things they probably have in some CANON thing I haven't read.

This part is really interesting:

Elvira had never so much as imagined living on another planet before. She had learned when she was still a child that it was best not to imagine, or want, anything.​

This wasn’t how she would have wanted it to go: Ceretha of R’Vanye had committed suicide (or she had taken tea poisoned with the purple dust from a Sacorrian Iris, and they were supposed to think she had) only the day after the Death Star destroyed the moon with the rebel base. Her two nieces had descended from Saccorata to fight over her library, and Elvira had taken the chance she had with Comrade Sandoval—he had returned to his governmental department, and she went with him.​

So Elvira never imagined anything or wanted anything. But we know that isn't true. She wanted Sandoval - it wasn't overt but the attraction was definitely there. She wanted that painting and, in fact, brought it instead of her siblings to Vagran. Maybe she doesn't recognize her desires because she has been programmed to not desire anything, so she doesn't see them, or doesn't want to see them. (Which brings me to EP's thoughtful comment about the dual meaning of "iris," as both a flower and as a part of the eye.)

Oh, she was attracted to Comrade Sandoval, though she couldn't admit that as readily as she did her wish for the painting. And even then she had to do so defiantly against her cultural and familial programming. I wrote this story before Ewok Poet went into Sacorrian sexual mores in her 2017 diary--namely, their belief that women do not like sex (and does that ever sound familiar, oh wait)--but I had that exact same aspect in mind in the story's background. Anyhow, that means both Elvira and Comrade Sandoval--who she will hopefully start calling Nikola once they've slept together--are coming to this relationship with some messed up attitudes they might be just finding out, courtesy of their lives on a Whole New World are in fact messed up.

Then the little bomb about Ceretha's death. She committed suicide by drinking tea laced with poison from an iris. But who prepares the tea? Who actually cares about what goes into the food? Elvira. Elvira murdered her, the day after Ceretha's weapon destroyed Yavin (or is it Endor?). Ceretha, who sabotaged Galen Erso's sabotage. Is this Elvira's revenge for Ceretha's role in the demise of the rebellion? Did she do it as her own act of rebellion? And then she claims Sandoval for herself.

I have to admit that I hadn't intended that reading of Ceretha's death, but if the text supports the reading-- (And there is never a sequel to say otherwise--)

Elvira is no longer a pale iris. She is more complicated and strong than she gives herself credit for.

Really, this is a brilliant piece. Exceptionally good work here, Pandora!

Thank you, and thank you so much for reading and commenting!

 

Also wanted to up this thread today...because...I wondered if you used the name Sandoval because I like Hope Sandoval, as we discussed back in the music thread?

 

@Ewok Poet: Comrade Sandoval is indeed named after Hope Sandoval, though in large part just because I like the name. I knew that you like her music at that time, but I don't remember being consciously aware of that when I used the name.

 

Wow.

I loved this story, with it nuances and layers of subtext about society and people in general. I haven't had the chance to read much of @Ewok Poet 's longer stories (partly because there is so much great material in her fanon that I feel intimidated - meep!) so I'm sure there is a lot that I didn't pick up on. The comments above put things far more concisely than I ever could, so this will be a fairy short response which in no way reflects the regard in which I hold this story and the author.

Firstly I love your use of expression and imagery. There are too many great lines to list them all here but expressions like "gut-punched" response to a question and "blackbird wing" eyebrows are wonderful, along with your description of the painting, which described not just the form but also the feelings it evoked in Elvira. The "progressive" society feels fleshed out and solidified, which is not only a testament to your great writing but also to EP's fantastic world-building. The tone of the world is disturbing and dark, and while I'm sure your not-so-family-friendly version of the story is just as good I really like the restraint you showed when describing the officer's "excitement". For me, understating that moment made it so much more powerful.

There was simply too much to love here, so I will echo the comments already made and leave it there. Thanks so much for posting (and so glad it was bumped up as I've not been around for a while and might have missed it!)

G

 

If you don't give 'em a go, Imma make a compilation of myself pulling a Florence Foster-Jenkins, but with pop and rock hits. YOU.HAVE.BEEN.WARNED. Fate worse than death!

Preview:

She's also one of the most beautiful people, ever.

OK, I ruined one of my favourite threads on the board.

 

gaarastar58: I loved this story, with it nuances and layers of subtext about society and people in general. I haven't had the chance to read much of @Ewok Poet 's longer stories (partly because there is so much great material in her fanon that I feel intimidated - meep!) so I'm sure there is a lot that I didn't pick up on. The comments above put things far more concisely than I ever could, so this will be a fairy short response which in no way reflects the regard in which I hold this story and the author.

As I have told myself at least several times, there is nothing wrong with shorter responses (after all, brevity sometimes really is the soul of wit, even if Polonius was a sniveling hypocrite). There is a lot going on here, I know--and even more in @Ewok Poet's fanon which I drew from--and I admit that I tend to expect readers to figure out stuff from context, which means I avoid "info-dumps" to the point of being overly subtle.

Anyhow--all that rambling aside, I'm glad you liked the story and the experience of reading it.

Firstly I love your use of expression and imagery. There are too many great lines to list them all here but expressions like "gut-punched" response to a question and "blackbird wing" eyebrows are wonderful, along with your description of the painting, which described not just the form but also the feelings it evoked in Elvira. The "progressive" society feels fleshed out and solidified, which is not only a testament to your great writing but also to EP's fantastic world-building.

I do try to accomplish several things with description, beyond just saying what something looks like, so I'm glad to hear it is working here. As for the "progressive" society ("I do not think that word means what you think it means"), Ewok Poet deserves much of the credit for that, but I have added some of my own work on it.

The tone of the world is disturbing and dark, and while I'm sure your not-so-family-friendly version of the story is just as good I really like the restraint you showed when describing the officer's "excitement". For me, understating that moment made it so much more powerful.

I was looking at the not-so-family-friendly version (available to read on Archive of Our Own) a while ago, and I only removed one sentence, one rather short sentence, to make the story acceptable here. But even without that sentence making matters bluntly clear, I figured people would get the deal with the officer's "excitement."

There was simply too much to love here, so I will echo the comments already made and leave it there. Thanks so much for posting (and so glad it was bumped up as I've not been around for a while and might have missed it!)

Thank you, and thank you for reading and responding!

---

Ewok Poet: OK, I ruined one of my favourite threads on the board.

Don't worry--there is no damage possible that I then cannot make up for.

(Regarding Hope Sandoval: I'm assuming you know about the reference to her, as "the star of mazzy," in the Red Hot Chili Peppers's song "Aeroplane" from the notoriously inferior made with Dave Navarro on guitar album One Hot Minute. So: is there going to be a Steamy Wasaka Stew version?)

---

Finally, I want to note that this story is up in four categories in the current Fanfiction Awards (Best Alternate Universe, Best Legends, Best Response to a Challenge, and Best All Around). I would like to thank everyone who nominated it.

 

I love you. Marry me. I shall be your handmaiden.

That baboon and his coming onto pretty much every woman...

Time to give Sassvar Graba, the Zabrak, a spotlight, because I never talked about Steamy Seconds.

Just wait until you meet the little...I mean...the exact opposite of Ezra Bridger. Mwahahahahaha! PH34R.