Commander Cody

Commander Cody

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Chapter 8

Title: Tell Me That Your Soul Lies Now

Relationship: Sev/OC/Scorch

Rating: Teen

Characters: Jessa, Sev, Scorch, Walon Vau

Warnings: Mentions of past violence and betrayal.

Summary: Things are getting serious… seriously frustrating. Jessa deals with nightmares, Walon deals with not being nearly as heartless as he thought, and Scorch deals with an uncomfortable situation.  As always thank you to my wonderful @crimson-dxwn​ for letting me bounces ideas off of her and for her beta'ing. Thank @fractiouskat​ for being an A+ cheerleader and thank you to @royalhandmaidens​ for the greatest banner ever!

The flow of information in and out of Tillamau had always been a trickle. Closely guarded by the ruling religious order, the priests serving the one Goddess believed in filtering the outside world to the citizens in small carefully curated doses. 

The galaxy was a vile place, see?

A Goddessless, murderous place full of heathens, see?

The Holonet was unheard of. In fact, Jessa hadn’t glimpsed her first bit of holomedia until she’d landed on Kappa Black and she’d happened upon one of the guards with a small handheld holo. The price he’d offered to allow her to watch was too steep for her to agree but the small taste had been intriguing. Tiny moving pictures brought to life in the palm of the Trandoshan’s hand, the story clear but blurred around the edges. Real and not, all at the same time.

Like what she was seeing now, rewatching the worst night of her life as if it were a commercial free holodrama.

She wills it away. Not again. Please Maker, not again.

Like a specter, a ghost hovering, she’s unable to look away. She’s unable to control what’s about to happen. She’s along for the tragic ride with hindsight’s 20/20 vision.

Jessa sees herself, the girl she’d been and would never be again, pacing across the dark floors. Her bed, a confectionary pink with its down-stuffed pillows like tiny dollops of cream, holds court in the middle of the room, piled with luggage. Her footsteps are soft, belaying the rigid stiffness that had taken hold of the rest of her. 

As if she was truly there and not trapped in a dream, she can smell the stink of her parents’ home, drifting under her door as it burns out from under her. It stings her nose, makes her face contort and scrunch as if that alone would make it go away. It’s not just the smell that hits her though… 

There was supposed to have been a party. The guests had already begun arriving. Jessa was wearing the pretty new dress her mother had commissioned, deep green and soft velvet that best showed her off. The musicians had just begun tuning instruments when the first shouts and sounds of blaster fire had erupted. Then came the screams.

Yelling and shouting still wafted up to her, filtered through the door, interspersed with an agonizing shrill cries. There’s no reprieve. She’d tried her pillow and then her hands but nothing blocked the sounds. Was it her parents? Their guests. The help? Surely by the volume it was all three. 

Where was Ma’duo? Jessa needed her. She’d told her to lock herself in and pack a bag. Jessa - never one to question the woman who raised her - had done so dutifully and waited. Still waiting, she notes that the screams were becoming fewer and farther between. 

Jessa the voyeur remembers the false hope she’d felt. Things must be ok if it was becoming quiet again. The Goddess would protect her home and her parents because they were devout. They followed the one word and they had been rewarded for it. Had they not had a daughter? The Goddess wouldn’t choose to frown on them now.

When the knock comes she watches her former self run to the door and throw it open. How foolish and naive she’d been. She could have invited death without even a “who’s there?” 

Ma’duo trundles in under a thick cloak. She’s distracted and tense, her body taut and her ears are seemingly unable to hear the rapid fire questions Jessa throws at her. 

Watching it unfold, Jessa can’t hear the words but she remembers them. Questions about her parents and who was trying to hurt them. Was she safe? What did she need to do?

Ma’duo holds up a hand. Easy little love. She can read the plump painted lips. She can see the corners of her mouth curl up into a beatific smile.

Keep reading

Body Language Cheat Sheet for Writers

As described by Selnick’s article:

Author and doctor of clinical psychology Carolyn Kaufman has released a one-page body language cheat sheet of psychological “tells” (PDF link) fiction writers can use to dress their characters.

SW pre-production art - continued - STAR WARS   Episode  I   The Phantom Menace

concept paintings by  Doug  Chiang

Day 5 | Rest and Recovery

On the days he needs a break, Cody brings out his special mug. If anyone tries to ask a question, they get the ole visor glare and a face full of

‘I don’t give eeffoc’

@commandercodyweek

The writer's blessing:

May you write 1,500 words with ease. May your characters be lively and not cardboard. May you need little editing. May your muse visit you as soon as you sit. May the Internet not distract you much. May your phone lie dormant while you write.