Random OC Mando Drabbles
These fics are rated: G through PG-13
Characters: just a bunch of oc Mando'ade
Warnings: violence, original female characters, kiddie-fic
Spoilers: for Invincible
Word Count: 700 (three singles, two doubles)
Feedback: yes, please! Concrit welcomed.
Distribution: archiving, linking or remixing ok, just credit me and drop me a line!
Author's Note: shamelessly ganked one of Han Solo's lines; it seemed to fit.
Cross-Posted were_lemur, skywalker_days, oya_manda
My FanFic Masterlist
Disclaimer: George Lucas owns Star Wars. I own a 22-year-old pickup truck. I hope that Mr. Lucas will accept this story as the tribute to his genius it is, and not sue me for what little I have. No infringement is intended, no profit is being made. Mando'a was invented by Karen Traviss and is also property of Lucasfilm.
Did you hear the one about ... ?
"I'm going over to Er-Teti's gallery tonight; she says she's discovered an interesting new 2-D artist."
"Two dimensional? How ... primitive."
"That's not even the best part. She says the artist is Mandalorian."
"Now I've heard everything. What medium does he work in? The blood of his enemies?"
"Oh, la, you're such a card. In fact, Er-Teti says he's quite good, in a naïve sort of way."
"I suppose she'd have to -- who would dare give a Mandalorian a poor review?"
"True. So I suppose you're not interested."
"Oh, quite the opposite. I wouldn't miss this for the galaxy."
Adoption
Mikkel was nine the day the Vong attacked -- though he wouldn't learn their name until later. All he knew, as he held down the trigger of his father's old blaster rifle with shaking hands, was that a monster was charging him. And then he was flying through the air, and something hurt his shoulder, and the monster stared down at him and he knew he was dead.
And then the monster was driven back by a flurry of blaster fire, and another monster -- this one in a metal suit -- picked him up and started to run.
It wasn't until the metal-suited monster set him down in a ship that he realized he should be fighting. He lashed out, catching it in the chest.
Instead of retaliating, the monster took of its helmet. To his surprise, there was a man inside. He said something in a language that Mikkel couldn't understand.
A woman's voice cut through the cabin. "You'd better strap him in, cyar'ika, or this'll be the shortest adoption in history."
Adoption? What was she talking about? His family was still alive outside.
And then a needle pressed into his neck, and the world went mercifully dark.
A Night Out
"You can't -- " The maitre d' looked at the young couple, his usually unflappable demeanor looking decidedly flapped. "This establishment requires formalwear."
"Formalwear?" the woman asked, as if it was a completely foreign concept. Which considering the Mandalorian armor she wore, it probably was.
The maitre d' suppressed a sigh. "Clothing you would wear to a formal event."
"Such as a meeting with a head of state?" the man asked.
"Yes! Exactly."
The woman cocked her head to the side. "If the Mand'alor called a Meeting of the Clans, this would be appropriate clothing."
The maitre d' gave up.
Birth Day
She gritted her teeth against the pain; if she made a sound, she was dead. Her armor was downstairs, her blaster was across the room, and the only weapon she had on her -- a leaf-shaped throwing knife -- would be no good against the Gammorean's thick hide or thicker skull.
She pressed her free hand against her swollen belly and thought, Bad timing ad'ika.
She heard the snuffling grunts as the Gammorean searched the room. Soon, even it would be smart enough to look under the bed, and when it did ...
She could deal with the thought of her own death; she would not accept that her daughter wouldn't even live to be born.
Now, while the Gammorean's back was turned, she eased herself out from under the bed. Pulled herself to her feet, and stood swaying. Another contraction nearly doubled her over, but she breathed through it, kept moving.
K'atini. It's only pain.
She tapped the Gammorean on the shoulder; when it turned around, she drove the knife deep into its eye. Gammoreans might not have much in the way of brains, but they needed what little they had.
It was dead before it hit the floor.
Evac
"When do we get to go home, Buir?"
His daughter looked up at him, her dark eyes big and somber. She was only four; just a child, though she could use a blaster and throwing blade. How could he explain that home was poison for her now?
"Ba'slan shev'la, " he said finally. Strategic disappearance.
"But no one else had to leave," she said. "Just us."
And how could he explain genomes and bioweapons and the fact that, because her great-great-grandfather had been cloned from the same man as the Mand'alor, they would never be able to go home again?
Characters: just a bunch of oc Mando'ade
Warnings: violence, original female characters, kiddie-fic
Spoilers: for Invincible
Word Count: 700 (three singles, two doubles)
Feedback: yes, please! Concrit welcomed.
Distribution: archiving, linking or remixing ok, just credit me and drop me a line!
Author's Note: shamelessly ganked one of Han Solo's lines; it seemed to fit.
Cross-Posted were_lemur, skywalker_days, oya_manda
My FanFic Masterlist
Disclaimer: George Lucas owns Star Wars. I own a 22-year-old pickup truck. I hope that Mr. Lucas will accept this story as the tribute to his genius it is, and not sue me for what little I have. No infringement is intended, no profit is being made. Mando'a was invented by Karen Traviss and is also property of Lucasfilm.
Did you hear the one about ... ?
"I'm going over to Er-Teti's gallery tonight; she says she's discovered an interesting new 2-D artist."
"Two dimensional? How ... primitive."
"That's not even the best part. She says the artist is Mandalorian."
"Now I've heard everything. What medium does he work in? The blood of his enemies?"
"Oh, la, you're such a card. In fact, Er-Teti says he's quite good, in a naïve sort of way."
"I suppose she'd have to -- who would dare give a Mandalorian a poor review?"
"True. So I suppose you're not interested."
"Oh, quite the opposite. I wouldn't miss this for the galaxy."
Adoption
Mikkel was nine the day the Vong attacked -- though he wouldn't learn their name until later. All he knew, as he held down the trigger of his father's old blaster rifle with shaking hands, was that a monster was charging him. And then he was flying through the air, and something hurt his shoulder, and the monster stared down at him and he knew he was dead.
And then the monster was driven back by a flurry of blaster fire, and another monster -- this one in a metal suit -- picked him up and started to run.
It wasn't until the metal-suited monster set him down in a ship that he realized he should be fighting. He lashed out, catching it in the chest.
Instead of retaliating, the monster took of its helmet. To his surprise, there was a man inside. He said something in a language that Mikkel couldn't understand.
A woman's voice cut through the cabin. "You'd better strap him in, cyar'ika, or this'll be the shortest adoption in history."
Adoption? What was she talking about? His family was still alive outside.
And then a needle pressed into his neck, and the world went mercifully dark.
A Night Out
"You can't -- " The maitre d' looked at the young couple, his usually unflappable demeanor looking decidedly flapped. "This establishment requires formalwear."
"Formalwear?" the woman asked, as if it was a completely foreign concept. Which considering the Mandalorian armor she wore, it probably was.
The maitre d' suppressed a sigh. "Clothing you would wear to a formal event."
"Such as a meeting with a head of state?" the man asked.
"Yes! Exactly."
The woman cocked her head to the side. "If the Mand'alor called a Meeting of the Clans, this would be appropriate clothing."
The maitre d' gave up.
Birth Day
She gritted her teeth against the pain; if she made a sound, she was dead. Her armor was downstairs, her blaster was across the room, and the only weapon she had on her -- a leaf-shaped throwing knife -- would be no good against the Gammorean's thick hide or thicker skull.
She pressed her free hand against her swollen belly and thought, Bad timing ad'ika.
She heard the snuffling grunts as the Gammorean searched the room. Soon, even it would be smart enough to look under the bed, and when it did ...
She could deal with the thought of her own death; she would not accept that her daughter wouldn't even live to be born.
Now, while the Gammorean's back was turned, she eased herself out from under the bed. Pulled herself to her feet, and stood swaying. Another contraction nearly doubled her over, but she breathed through it, kept moving.
K'atini. It's only pain.
She tapped the Gammorean on the shoulder; when it turned around, she drove the knife deep into its eye. Gammoreans might not have much in the way of brains, but they needed what little they had.
It was dead before it hit the floor.
Evac
"When do we get to go home, Buir?"
His daughter looked up at him, her dark eyes big and somber. She was only four; just a child, though she could use a blaster and throwing blade. How could he explain that home was poison for her now?
"Ba'slan shev'la, " he said finally. Strategic disappearance.
"But no one else had to leave," she said. "Just us."
And how could he explain genomes and bioweapons and the fact that, because her great-great-grandfather had been cloned from the same man as the Mand'alor, they would never be able to go home again?