Merry Christmas, Shanie!
Title: Secret Santa Vignettes
Author: glacial_witch
Fandoms: Fandom High, fh_wishverse, Star Wars, Strangers in Paradise, Buffy the Vampire Slayer, The Black Jewels, Xena: Warrior Princess,
So here they are, and I hope you enjoy them!
Consequences 161 words
Putting two people who had just discovered the joys of sex just down the hall from, well, Kennedy had certain unexpected (though not unforeseeable) consequences.
<< This is not a competition! >> Sookie’s voice floated through their heads.
"She's just saying that because we're winning," Kennedy said, smirking down at Tara, who blushed and giggled back. Snuggling into Tara’s arms, she pulled the sheets up to cover then and just relaxed for a moment, enjoying the afterglow.
<< I’ve been told to point out that it’s quality, not quantity, that counts, >> Sookie sent again, sounding a little aggravated.
"Problems, Boy Scout?" Kennedy didn't have telepathy, so she just settled for yelling through the door and down the hall. This is why they-okay, she-had paid for the privacy of a penthouse suite anyway. "I manage both!"
Sassing the mutant called Iceman? Also carried some foreseeable consequences.
"Huh. I didn't know he could make it snow from the other room."
On Love and Lightsabers 686 words
Meditation was tricky.
Tahiri sat in her room, legs folded and arms relaxed, her eyes closed as she tried to concentrate. Three crystals were lying on a pillow in front of her, waiting to be imbued with the Force, the last and final step before she could assemble a new lightsaber, to replace the one that had broken.
The lightsaber that would forever be bound to Anakin Solo in her mind.
She'd built it on the Errant Venture while she'd been recovering from the torture of the Yuuzhan Vong shaping. Anakin had been there with her, helping her, guiding her, holding her while she'd cried and snarled and screamed with remembered pain. His memory had infused every centimeter of her lightsaber. It had been an object of comfort as much as a weapon; it was like he was there again with her every time she thumbed on the blade.
Losing that lightsaber had felt a lot like losing him all over again.
She had felt broken, those first few days after it had shattered. Hadn't she already lost enough? Had it really been necessary for her to lose that last connection to Anakin, too? But as the pain eased, she realized, yes, it had been. Her lightsaber had been an escape, an excuse, a way for her to cling and deny that Anakin was truly gone. It had held her back, preventing her from fully healing and moving on. The pain she'd felt wasn't her breaking all over again-no, she was far to familiar with that kind of pain to mistake it for any other. It was the pain of healing; a broken bone being reset to mend cleanly, or a wound being lanced to let out all the poison.
Understanding that, Tahiri realized she felt…whole. The jagged edges of grief and despair at his lost had healed over, becoming part of her, just as Riina had. There would always be an ache when she thought of Anakin and his death, but it no longer helped to define her.
It was hard to be certain, but she thought that was why Ben's Tahiri had fallen to the Dark Side. She'd been unable to let Anakin go, and had focused on trying to fill the aching void in her heart that his death had left behind. She knew Jacen and how compelling he was; if he had come to her and made promises to ease her pain and her sense of loss, she’d have gone to him without thinking twice.
But even without knowledge of that dark future hanging over her head, Tahiri didn't think she would make the same mistakes her counterpart had. She was no longer lost or alone. No longer vulnerable because Anakin had died.
This lightsaber would be imbued with memories, too. It was not for her to mediate on the Force alone and have that be enough. But this one would be different. A lightsaber built on the memories of only one person? That too easily became a crutch. A lightsaber built on the memories of everyone she had known and loved at Fandom? That became a base for her to stand on, alone and proud and whole, able to face the darkness within and without by the light and belief of her friends, near and far.
Ben, eating ice cream and laughing. Firekeeper and Blind Seer with their wolfy wisdom and sense of humor. Jaina, both the one on the island and hers back home. Ender with his laptop and Hurley with his mouse-droid. Karla, throwing her a party to celebrate her Knighting. Even that annoying bard who liked to pounce on her and that loud dark-haired girl that never shut up and the angry blonde who smoked all the time. Memories of good times and bad, because what Jedi didn't know both? Laughter. Raining food. Friendship. Invasions. Trust. Craziness. Gremlin bites.
Love.
Tahiri opened her eyes to see three crystals glowing with an inner warmth and light. She knew that no matter what happened, she would never truly be lonely again.
And this was a lightsaber that would never break.
A Distant Scream 487 words
(Takes place in fh_wishverse; lyrics by Terry Moore)
Katchoo had made herself something of a nest, here in the remains of Strokes of Genius. It was comfortable, stuffed with canvas, and easy to clean, lined with plastic sheeting. Not that Katchoo worried about cleaning up all that often, but when one had guests, it was only polite.
Her current guest was huddled in the middle of the nest, though from the trembling and whimpering, you'd think that Katchoo had left it as it had been, streaked and caked with the reds and browns from her last project. But she wouldn't do that! Not for Francine! Francine liked things tidier and so before collecting her this evening, Katchoo had made sure to replace the plastic sheets and kick the remains of her last bit of art off into the shadows.
Francine was worth the effort.
"Shh, shh," she soothed, standing behind an easel. "I'm trying to sketch you and you're interrupting my concentration, Francie."
The woman in the nest let out a muffled sob, once again straining against her bonds. A little bit of struggle was fine-in fact, that most recent jerk had sent her dark hair tumbling into a most charming disarray and Katchoo hurried to sketch that before it was gone-but she did hope her guest didn't move about too much. That could ruin the whole effect and then Katchoo would be forced to take steps. A still life wasn't as good as a portrait, but sometimes artists had to suffer for their work.
"Peeze," the woman begged through her gag. "Peeze et m' go."
"Don't be silly, Francie," Katchoo said absently, moving on to the graceful curves of her arms. "We're going to be together forever. Just the way I've always dreamed we would be."
"'M n't Fancy!" the woman cried. "'M Nina! 'M Nina!"
In an eyeblink, the easel was flung aside and Katchoo was at the nest, holding the woman by her throat, the bindings that had been holding her fast torn and dangling from her limbs. "I know you're not," she hissed. "But keeping quiet might have let you live a little longer." Her face changed as her fangs jutted out. A moment later another gout of blood sprayed over the plastic lining. So much for tidiness.
Her hunger satiated and her guest now…indisposed, Katchoo tossed what was left in with the other art supplies that had proven themselves inadequate...and went back to her easel, leaving bloody handprints on the paper. Fortunately, she'd been mostly done and what was left could be drawn from memory. Francine's face, her smile, the lily tattoo on her breast. The stand-in had been good enough while she lasted and that was all that really mattered.
The next morning, Francine would find another love token tucked away for her. A sketch, covered in another woman's blood, with a poem scrawled on the side. A promise of forever, if only she would take it.
These days
Are spent in hot desire to be the way I was
To ride the magic bus
To try and stay in touch.
Afraid
My face is just a memory to those I knew.
An influential clue
To what they have to lose.
I guess I'll always be
The losing side of you.
Your mismatched other shoe
Your after midnight blues.
Love is a mystery.
To me a distant scream.
In Memoriam 600 words
Even a year later, Agio was still deserted. The landens that had survived had scattered as soon as they were capable of moving and no one else had moved in. Too much pain and death and fear lingered on, trapped in the walls of the buildings, the cobbles of the streets, even in the earth itself. The harvest that year had been amazing; glutted on blood spilled into the soil. Every last plant had rotted in the ground, untouched.
Coming back had been Gabrielle's idea and, for awhile, she and Karla were the only ones who could do so. But even they avoided Agio, instead focusing on the other villages where the survivors had fled to try to remake their lives anew. They visited each of them in turn, Karla providing what Healing she could, and Gabrielle talking to them, asking about their families, their stories, their experiences. Not a single family had emerged whole and unscathed by the Jhinka attack and the list of the dead that Gabrielle kept grew ever-longer.
At first, Karla had tried to dissuade Gabrielle, saying that these people probably didn't want to relive the worst days of their lives, and certainly not to someone who was almost a stranger. But Gabrielle proved the wiser, and the stories poured forth in a torrent, as people excised the horror that had been the Jhinka attack.
The next time Karla tried to convince Gabrielle to stop, it had been for her own good. Gabrielle's sleep grew troubled as the stories she recorded invaded her dreams, and she grew pale and thin. But she would not give up. "I can't," she told Karla. "Someone must remember for them. Someone has to make sure this is never forgotten."
By the time a full year had passed since the Jhinka had invaded, Gabrielle had spoken to everyone, collecting a journal full of names, facts, and reminiscences. Together, she and Karla had also managed to convince everyone who had been there those last few horrible days, Blood, landen, and Fandomite alike, to return one last time.
And now, as the sun set on the tiny, once-peaceful village, Karla gave a nod and five hundred torches dipped, setting the wooden cottages afire. Agio had been a home, a battleground, and a tomb. Now it was a pyre, releasing the souls of those who had been trapped outside the shield.
"I sing a song of fighting, of bravery, and hope." Gabrielle’s voice soared above the crackling of the flames, audible even to those on the other side of the town. "I sing of men and women who gave their lives to protect others, of children cut down before their time. I sing of lives lost, but not forgotten, of hope waylaid, but found again. I sing of Khevin and Netta, of Jervais and Cleff, of Sofia and Malcolm and Ren..."
She listed off over fifteen hundred names that night, all from memory. Told stories of heroics, of heartbreak, of sacrifice, of love. One or two of the stories were even funny, surprising a choked laugh from amid the tears. As the flames died down, so did her voice, until she was raspy and hoarse. "I sing a song of comfort," she finished quietly. "Of a town that was lost, but whose people still live on, to learn and laugh and love. I sing a song of springtime, of growth and change, of moving on and becoming ever stronger. I sing a song of remembrance, for as long as these words remain, so to do those we have lost."
"I sing the song of Agio."
Author: glacial_witch
Fandoms: Fandom High, fh_wishverse, Star Wars, Strangers in Paradise, Buffy the Vampire Slayer, The Black Jewels, Xena: Warrior Princess,
So here they are, and I hope you enjoy them!
Consequences 161 words
Putting two people who had just discovered the joys of sex just down the hall from, well, Kennedy had certain unexpected (though not unforeseeable) consequences.
<< This is not a competition! >> Sookie’s voice floated through their heads.
"She's just saying that because we're winning," Kennedy said, smirking down at Tara, who blushed and giggled back. Snuggling into Tara’s arms, she pulled the sheets up to cover then and just relaxed for a moment, enjoying the afterglow.
<< I’ve been told to point out that it’s quality, not quantity, that counts, >> Sookie sent again, sounding a little aggravated.
"Problems, Boy Scout?" Kennedy didn't have telepathy, so she just settled for yelling through the door and down the hall. This is why they-okay, she-had paid for the privacy of a penthouse suite anyway. "I manage both!"
Sassing the mutant called Iceman? Also carried some foreseeable consequences.
"Huh. I didn't know he could make it snow from the other room."
On Love and Lightsabers 686 words
Meditation was tricky.
Tahiri sat in her room, legs folded and arms relaxed, her eyes closed as she tried to concentrate. Three crystals were lying on a pillow in front of her, waiting to be imbued with the Force, the last and final step before she could assemble a new lightsaber, to replace the one that had broken.
The lightsaber that would forever be bound to Anakin Solo in her mind.
She'd built it on the Errant Venture while she'd been recovering from the torture of the Yuuzhan Vong shaping. Anakin had been there with her, helping her, guiding her, holding her while she'd cried and snarled and screamed with remembered pain. His memory had infused every centimeter of her lightsaber. It had been an object of comfort as much as a weapon; it was like he was there again with her every time she thumbed on the blade.
Losing that lightsaber had felt a lot like losing him all over again.
She had felt broken, those first few days after it had shattered. Hadn't she already lost enough? Had it really been necessary for her to lose that last connection to Anakin, too? But as the pain eased, she realized, yes, it had been. Her lightsaber had been an escape, an excuse, a way for her to cling and deny that Anakin was truly gone. It had held her back, preventing her from fully healing and moving on. The pain she'd felt wasn't her breaking all over again-no, she was far to familiar with that kind of pain to mistake it for any other. It was the pain of healing; a broken bone being reset to mend cleanly, or a wound being lanced to let out all the poison.
Understanding that, Tahiri realized she felt…whole. The jagged edges of grief and despair at his lost had healed over, becoming part of her, just as Riina had. There would always be an ache when she thought of Anakin and his death, but it no longer helped to define her.
It was hard to be certain, but she thought that was why Ben's Tahiri had fallen to the Dark Side. She'd been unable to let Anakin go, and had focused on trying to fill the aching void in her heart that his death had left behind. She knew Jacen and how compelling he was; if he had come to her and made promises to ease her pain and her sense of loss, she’d have gone to him without thinking twice.
But even without knowledge of that dark future hanging over her head, Tahiri didn't think she would make the same mistakes her counterpart had. She was no longer lost or alone. No longer vulnerable because Anakin had died.
This lightsaber would be imbued with memories, too. It was not for her to mediate on the Force alone and have that be enough. But this one would be different. A lightsaber built on the memories of only one person? That too easily became a crutch. A lightsaber built on the memories of everyone she had known and loved at Fandom? That became a base for her to stand on, alone and proud and whole, able to face the darkness within and without by the light and belief of her friends, near and far.
Ben, eating ice cream and laughing. Firekeeper and Blind Seer with their wolfy wisdom and sense of humor. Jaina, both the one on the island and hers back home. Ender with his laptop and Hurley with his mouse-droid. Karla, throwing her a party to celebrate her Knighting. Even that annoying bard who liked to pounce on her and that loud dark-haired girl that never shut up and the angry blonde who smoked all the time. Memories of good times and bad, because what Jedi didn't know both? Laughter. Raining food. Friendship. Invasions. Trust. Craziness. Gremlin bites.
Love.
Tahiri opened her eyes to see three crystals glowing with an inner warmth and light. She knew that no matter what happened, she would never truly be lonely again.
And this was a lightsaber that would never break.
A Distant Scream 487 words
(Takes place in fh_wishverse; lyrics by Terry Moore)
Katchoo had made herself something of a nest, here in the remains of Strokes of Genius. It was comfortable, stuffed with canvas, and easy to clean, lined with plastic sheeting. Not that Katchoo worried about cleaning up all that often, but when one had guests, it was only polite.
Her current guest was huddled in the middle of the nest, though from the trembling and whimpering, you'd think that Katchoo had left it as it had been, streaked and caked with the reds and browns from her last project. But she wouldn't do that! Not for Francine! Francine liked things tidier and so before collecting her this evening, Katchoo had made sure to replace the plastic sheets and kick the remains of her last bit of art off into the shadows.
Francine was worth the effort.
"Shh, shh," she soothed, standing behind an easel. "I'm trying to sketch you and you're interrupting my concentration, Francie."
The woman in the nest let out a muffled sob, once again straining against her bonds. A little bit of struggle was fine-in fact, that most recent jerk had sent her dark hair tumbling into a most charming disarray and Katchoo hurried to sketch that before it was gone-but she did hope her guest didn't move about too much. That could ruin the whole effect and then Katchoo would be forced to take steps. A still life wasn't as good as a portrait, but sometimes artists had to suffer for their work.
"Peeze," the woman begged through her gag. "Peeze et m' go."
"Don't be silly, Francie," Katchoo said absently, moving on to the graceful curves of her arms. "We're going to be together forever. Just the way I've always dreamed we would be."
"'M n't Fancy!" the woman cried. "'M Nina! 'M Nina!"
In an eyeblink, the easel was flung aside and Katchoo was at the nest, holding the woman by her throat, the bindings that had been holding her fast torn and dangling from her limbs. "I know you're not," she hissed. "But keeping quiet might have let you live a little longer." Her face changed as her fangs jutted out. A moment later another gout of blood sprayed over the plastic lining. So much for tidiness.
Her hunger satiated and her guest now…indisposed, Katchoo tossed what was left in with the other art supplies that had proven themselves inadequate...and went back to her easel, leaving bloody handprints on the paper. Fortunately, she'd been mostly done and what was left could be drawn from memory. Francine's face, her smile, the lily tattoo on her breast. The stand-in had been good enough while she lasted and that was all that really mattered.
The next morning, Francine would find another love token tucked away for her. A sketch, covered in another woman's blood, with a poem scrawled on the side. A promise of forever, if only she would take it.
These days
Are spent in hot desire to be the way I was
To ride the magic bus
To try and stay in touch.
Afraid
My face is just a memory to those I knew.
An influential clue
To what they have to lose.
I guess I'll always be
The losing side of you.
Your mismatched other shoe
Your after midnight blues.
Love is a mystery.
To me a distant scream.
In Memoriam 600 words
Even a year later, Agio was still deserted. The landens that had survived had scattered as soon as they were capable of moving and no one else had moved in. Too much pain and death and fear lingered on, trapped in the walls of the buildings, the cobbles of the streets, even in the earth itself. The harvest that year had been amazing; glutted on blood spilled into the soil. Every last plant had rotted in the ground, untouched.
Coming back had been Gabrielle's idea and, for awhile, she and Karla were the only ones who could do so. But even they avoided Agio, instead focusing on the other villages where the survivors had fled to try to remake their lives anew. They visited each of them in turn, Karla providing what Healing she could, and Gabrielle talking to them, asking about their families, their stories, their experiences. Not a single family had emerged whole and unscathed by the Jhinka attack and the list of the dead that Gabrielle kept grew ever-longer.
At first, Karla had tried to dissuade Gabrielle, saying that these people probably didn't want to relive the worst days of their lives, and certainly not to someone who was almost a stranger. But Gabrielle proved the wiser, and the stories poured forth in a torrent, as people excised the horror that had been the Jhinka attack.
The next time Karla tried to convince Gabrielle to stop, it had been for her own good. Gabrielle's sleep grew troubled as the stories she recorded invaded her dreams, and she grew pale and thin. But she would not give up. "I can't," she told Karla. "Someone must remember for them. Someone has to make sure this is never forgotten."
By the time a full year had passed since the Jhinka had invaded, Gabrielle had spoken to everyone, collecting a journal full of names, facts, and reminiscences. Together, she and Karla had also managed to convince everyone who had been there those last few horrible days, Blood, landen, and Fandomite alike, to return one last time.
And now, as the sun set on the tiny, once-peaceful village, Karla gave a nod and five hundred torches dipped, setting the wooden cottages afire. Agio had been a home, a battleground, and a tomb. Now it was a pyre, releasing the souls of those who had been trapped outside the shield.
"I sing a song of fighting, of bravery, and hope." Gabrielle’s voice soared above the crackling of the flames, audible even to those on the other side of the town. "I sing of men and women who gave their lives to protect others, of children cut down before their time. I sing of lives lost, but not forgotten, of hope waylaid, but found again. I sing of Khevin and Netta, of Jervais and Cleff, of Sofia and Malcolm and Ren..."
She listed off over fifteen hundred names that night, all from memory. Told stories of heroics, of heartbreak, of sacrifice, of love. One or two of the stories were even funny, surprising a choked laugh from amid the tears. As the flames died down, so did her voice, until she was raspy and hoarse. "I sing a song of comfort," she finished quietly. "Of a town that was lost, but whose people still live on, to learn and laugh and love. I sing a song of springtime, of growth and change, of moving on and becoming ever stronger. I sing a song of remembrance, for as long as these words remain, so to do those we have lost."
"I sing the song of Agio."