OC-tober Day 22: Kisser Having A Difficult Conversation

OC-tober Day 22: Kisser having a difficult conversation

Recently, I’ve been working on a Star Wars fic with a higher than usual number of OCs. The fic isn’t posted yet, but I thought I might put a few of these out there.

Once again under a cut, what can I say

The original post is here by @icannotreadcursive.

Day 1

~+~

“Oh vod’iiiiikaaaa,” Kisser sing-songed in the manner of annoying older brothers everywhere.

“What.” Melt snapped. Her voice was muffled by the pillow she was attempting to smother herself with.

“Is that any way to talk to your favorite batchmate?” Kisser clicked his tongue in faux disappointment.

“Go. Away.”

Kisser would have continued to pester her, but instead his gaze caught a PADD on the floor, clearly flung in a fit of pique. He picked it up to find it unlocked and opened to a dense bit of legalese. He sat on the bunk, dangerously within kicking range.

“Do you want to tell me about it and keep your place on the page or let me figure it out on my own and lose it?” he asked.

Melt grumbled, “It’s not even about that. You won’t get it.”

“Fair enough,” Kisser settled in, locking the PADD and setting it aside. “I still want to help.”

Melt threw the pillow at him, but sat up. She scowled, but her eyes were tellingly red-rimmed.

“How is it,” she bit out, “that there are seven sisters in the 501st, but somehow I’m the only one in the fucking 212th?” 

Kisser winced. “Bad luck?”

Melt scowled at him, but accepted it. “Intellectually, I know that.”

“But it doesn’t feel fair.”

“Nope.”

They sat in silence for a moment. Before Kisser could figure out what to say, Melt spoke again.

“It’s like…I hear stories about other sisters who came out and because they were visible, other sisters realized what was up with themselves or finally felt like there was a word for it and they found each other. That happened for like…four of the 501st’s? But here, I’m the only one as far as I know, and it gets lonely, cause none of the rest of you can really relate and I don’t have anyone I can talk to who just gets it without me needing to explain.”

Kisser frowned. “Sounds like it blows.”

Melt snorted, nudging his back with her knee. “Yeah, it blows.”

“You can’t even punch the problem,” he said.

That got a bark of laughter. “I dunno,” she mused, “punching a Kaminoan might make me feel better.”

“I can draw one on the punching bag at the gym?” Kisser offered.

Melt properly giggled at that. “I’d love to see you explain that to the Commander.”

“If it lasts long enough for the Commander to see it, you aren’t punching hard enough.”

They didn’t go to the gym, though. Instead, Melt picked the PADD back up off the desk. “Did you know the legal requirements for a species’ eligibility for citizenship–besides, you know, approval by two thirds of the Senate–are sentience and sapience?”

Kisser desperately reoriented himself to the new conversational track. “Nope.”

“Do you even know the difference?” Melt teased, slightly too sharp but not hurtful–to Kisser, at least.

“Nope.”

“Sentience is about having sensations and emotions, sentience is about thinking and learning, basically. That’s the short version, anyway.” Melt highlighted a portion of the legalese as she spoke, like that was going to help Kisser any. Maybe it was just to have something to do with her hands.

“Makes sense,” Kisser said, mostly just to confirm he was listening.

“But that means they have to test for these things without being obviously specist,” Melt handed over the PADD, which Kisser politely pretended to skim. “So one of the tests is about extant socio-cultural structures and the capacity to interrogate them–not whether it’s punished to the point where no one does, that actually helps to prove it’s possible but gets into Sophont Rights issues.”

Kisser blinked, “Is that why the Kaminoans are so convinced we’re not sentient? They think we can’t philosophize?”

Melt laughed, “Kind of seems that way, doesn’t it? Anyway, an example given of this type of interrogation is ‘individuals assigned socio-cultural roles questioning, rejecting, and/or otherwise changing their assigned designations.’”

Something clicked into place. “Like gender?”

“Like gender.”

“So, by their own rules, we’re sophonts. And you’re literally proof.”

“Yup,” she popped the ‘p,’ “Like, we both already knew, it’s not a surprise to literally any Vode ever, but–proof positive. I could be Exhibit A. Me!”

“Damn,” Kisser breathed. “I see why you got mad.”

“Yeah.”

~+~

Day 23

Day 28: Taking some time to rest

Max enjoying a good book

Prompt list by @icannotreadcursive

Pirates of the Caribbean au! for Oc-tober b/c Kami and Kashi give major Elizabeth Swann and Will Turner vibes 🏴‍☠️

-Son of notorious pirate and good man Sakumo ‘the white fang’ Hatake! All Kakashi has left to remember him is a gold medallion that he’s “lost” along with everything and everyone. He is intelligent, loyal, fearless and kind. He redefines the rules to find what’s truly important, and he will stop at nothing to protect the people he loves.

-Daughter of Lord Orochimaru who would rather play pirate than be shackled to her fathers expectations, and those befitting her status. Follows her gut and her heart and gives up her privilege and status to do what she believes is right. She’s sharp, independent, manipulative and just as callous as the men around her. She will do whatever is necessary to keep herself and her loved ones safe.

Oc-tober prompt 11: ‘In a different story world or setting’

Prompts by @icannotreadcursive

OC-tober Day 21: Kisser exploring an unfamiliar subculture

Recently, I’ve been working on a Star Wars fic with a higher than usual number of OCs. The fic isn’t posted yet, but I thought I might put a few of these out there.

Under a cut due to length~ I got inspired~

The original post is here by @icannotreadcursive.

Day 1

~+~

The Aquatic District on Coruscant was not a particularly pleasant place. Despite regulations about water quality and the truly cutting edge filtration systems installed throughout its crown of all-water towers, much of the pollution sunk to the lower levels where filtration was expensive and the inhabitants poor. Coming from a predominantly oceanic world, Kisser didn’t know how Coruscant could possibly have restricted its livable waters to a single district. He was pretty sure he wouldn’t like the answers.

“Keep up,” Finley scolded him  on their internal comms, pulling Kisser’s attention away from the fact that he could barely see the people around him, let alone the buildings they were swimming between. 

The bastard was keeping a SCUBA trooper’s pace, though, so Kisser snipped, “I haven’t been in a suit since Kamino, jackass.”

“Weak,” Finley teased, but he did slow down. “We’re nearly there.”

“Thank fuck for that.”

“Aw, don’t be like that,” Finley laughed, “They have these snail-sucker critters that they keep around the market, so the water quality’s a lot better. Might even be cleaner than the air at the one near the Temple!”

What Finley didn’t bother to mention was the waterlock that separated the market from the street–Kisser would bet that helped as much as the filter-feeders.

When the water around them had been fully cycled, the doors opened to reveal a brightly lit space both like and unlike any market Kisser had seen. It was lit from every direction with colorful bioluminescence–Kisser couldn’t tell if it was painted on or cultivated or both–and stalls were arranged according to the hollows in a massive column of coral stretching vertically in both directions. The deeper levels decreased in brightness, while the ones above seemed to have something simulating sunlight in the furthest heights–barely detectable from their current depth. Plants and filter-feeders littered every surface not dedicated to commerce, ranging wildly in size and shape. The cacophony of colors substituted for the noise Kisser usually associated with markets, as most vendors and patrons were using various dialects of Republic Basic Sign. 

“Beautiful, isn’t it?” Finley said wistfully. “If the war ends for me, I want to get a place nearby so I can come here every day.”

Kisser simply nodded, still poleaxed by the unfamiliar beauty.

Finley quickly decided that was enough “gawking like tourists” and led Kisser through the market. They were technically there on assignment–an errand for Finley’s General, Fisto–but really it was a thinly veiled excuse to get them both out of their own heads. No use wasting shore leave thinking about their losses; they said Remembrances for that. It was an excellent distraction, and Kisser didn’t mind coming off like an idiot tourist. He was one, really.

One of the more doodads-and-trinkets style shops caught Kisser’s attention, so he swam over to it. When the shopkeeper paid him no particular mind–Finley had warned him to just leave any shop that seemed even a little hostile–he perused the half-flan bin. It was mostly a collection of flawed items: carved beads and clasps that weren’t quite up to standard, woven bracelets clearly done by a still-learning apprentice or a faulty machine, and a variety of other decorative bits and bobs.

He picked up one of the beads–a malformed little fish with luminescent stripes.

The shopkeeper came over and waved to catch his eye. “It won’t glow,” they told him. They were a slim Nautolan, reedy and animated.

“Sorry, again?” he asked, a half-step behind as he adjusted to using RBS in his suit.

They pointed up, then said, “In air, the paint can’t glow. It only glows when there’s enough water.”

“Got it, thank you,” he said, not putting the bead down just yet. “Are they all like that?”

The shopkeeper considered that for a moment, then answered by pulling out some iridescent pieces. “These are shinier when wet, but they’re still pretty dry. If I were making them for air, there’s a varnish I’d use to get the same effect.”

They chatted about materials for a while, until Finley appeared next to Kisser.

“I see you met Portia,” he signed happily. On comms, he said, “I thought you got lost. Glad you’re okay.”

“Sorry, I got distracted,” Kisser spoke, even as he signed, “They were telling me about shell inlays.”

“No worries, trouble’s not subtle around here,” Finley assured him. Outwardly, he said, “Oh, they’ll go on all day if you let them.”

“You let me,” Portia said playfully.

“I have a crush on you,” Finley replied, completely blasé.

Kisser blushed, but Portia grinned toothily and said, “Careful what you wish, little fish.”

Before they left, Kisser bought the bead for Finley.

~+~

Day 22

OC-tober Day 24

500 words and we're only just getting to the actual prompt (from @icannotreadcursive), which is "Being cared for by someone they love." But 500! words!! yay!

Verry left her boarding house after lunch on Saturday, not able to face an entire afternoon pretending nothing was wrong. She called Josie’s lodgings from a pay phone, but they still hadn’t seen her. So Verry bicycled around aimlessly for a while, and then found herself near Fred’s apartment and decided she might as well visit.

It was only after she had already gone in that she realized she hadn’t visited alone before, but the doorman didn’t look censorious. “Is Mr. Kennell in?” she asked.

“Yes, miss. Go right on up,” he said. Verry went, relieved; she didn’t think she could have stood an accusation of immorality today.

Fred answered his door quickly after her knock. “Oh, hello Verry,” he said cheerfully. “Looking for Tom?”

“I wasn’t actually. Is he here?”

“Well, as a matter of fact he is. Do come in and sit down. Would you like some tea?”

Tom was sitting on Fred’s chesterfield, holding a book. Verry started for the armchair nearby, but there was a newspaper on the seat so she sat next to Tom. “Oh, please don’t bother,” she said. “I just had lunch.”

“How are you?” Tom asked.

Verry replied politely and made conversation, about her bike ride and the weather and what was in Fred’s paper, but Tom kept giving her concerned looks. She realized she was tapping her fingers and got her crochet work out of her bag. She’d tossed it in without thinking when she left, and the hook had slipped out, so she focused on finding her place, which kept her hands busy.

“Fred said you met someone you knew at Rita’s?” Tom asked.

“Yes, Eileen,” Verry confirmed absently.

“Is she what’s worrying you?”

“No, I’m not worried,” Verry said. Tom frowned at her, not harshly but worried himself, and Verry sighed. “I don’t suppose either of you have heard from Josie?”

“No,” Tom said, looking at Fred.

Fred shook his head. “No, but I wouldn’t expect to. She wouldn’t have my address. Have you not heard from her?”

“Not since Monday,” said Verry, crocheting automatically. “And that was just a postcard saying not to worry about her. But I went to her lodgings yesterday and they said she hasn’t been there since Thursday. And she’s doing dangerous things, and of course we can’t ask the police for help, and I’m just dreadfully—worried, yes.” Tom patted her knee. “You’re sure neither of you have heard anything from her, or about her?”

They exchanged glances. “Verry,” Tom said gently, “I’ve met her once. If you haven’t heard from her, she won’t have written either of us.”

“Oh, I know,” said Verry. “I’m just worrying. I know it won’t do any good. Let’s talk about something else.” She got to the end of a row and looked down at her work. She’d crocheted a solid line of blocks right in the middle of the pattern. “Oh, damn!” she said, and then she burst into tears.

“Poor dear,” Tom said, wrapping his arms around her. Verry sobbed onto his shoulder.

Eventually there was a clunk, and Verry looked around to see Fred putting a tea tray onto the side table. “Here you are,” he said, smiling awkwardly. Tom offered Verry his handkerchief. Verry wiped her eyes and blew her nose and took a cup of tea when Fred offered it.

OC-Tober Day 23: Enjoying a nice drink

Prompt: Enjoying a nice drink

I used the OC-tober list made by @icannotreadcursive

Link here

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OCs: Sylv and Zid

Sylv sighed as he leaned back in his pilot chair. He rubbed at his forehead, watching as the distant stars sped by. His fingers twitched as he felt a dull throb starting up. He gave a dark mutter as he tried to rub his headache away. A soothing smell drifted into the cockpit, and he looked over his shoulder.

Zid was standing in the cockpit doorway. “Tea. It helps with headaches.”

Sylv held his hand out, and Zid passed him the mug. “Thanks.” It probably won’t help, but he’ll try anything before it gets worse.

“At least we were able to shake them.”

A hum left Sylv as he took a sip, letting the taste of the tea fill his mouth. He looked over to see Zid sit in the co-pilot seat. He reached over to pull out the tablet that Sylv uses for their jobs. “I’m worried something is hidden in the cargo to warrant that dog fight.”

“As long as we don't get a fine or arrested. I don’t want to know.”

“Yeah, but they said there wasn’t anything dangerous on board.”

“Trust me, Zid. Sometimes, ignorance is bliss.” Sylv took another drink before muttering. “I need to stop taking cargo runs.”

“We need the money.”

“Shame.” He took another longer drink. “This is good.”

“Mom’s favorite brand. I had some bags left in my stuff.”

Sylv gave a hum as he looked at the mug. “You get headaches?”

“When I get overstimulated from noise. I was hoping to get more, but it looks like I’ll run out before then.”

Reaching out, Sylv gave his hand a pat. “We don’t know that.”

Zid gave him a smile before turning to the viewport and closing his eyes as he leaned back in the seat. “I don’t mind.” He looked at Sylv. “I like traveling with you. I feel like I’ve made a home here.”

Sylv paused in taking another sip to look back at Zid. There was a content smile on Zid’s face. The warm feeling Sylv had in his chest had him looking back at the mug. As he took a drink, he let a small smile appear on his face before suppressing it. “Well, if your cooking continues to improve. Then you can stay as long as you like.”

Zid huffed a laugh, “You’ll miss me if I wasn’t here.”

“It would be quieter. Less running from dangerous creatures.” Probably too quiet, but the gasp Zid made had him hiding another smile into the tea. “I’ll miss this tea.”

Zid rolled his eyes before passing the tablet back to Sylv. Sylv took the tablet to place back into the side pocket. “I would miss this.”

Sylv finished the tea before placing the mug on the ledge next to his seat. “I might miss you.”

A laugh slipped out when Zid threw his hands in the air. “I’ll take it!” Zid leaned over the arm of his chair. “How’s the headache?” A second passed before Sylv looked at Zid in surprise. “The tea works.”

“The tea works.” Sylv leaned back in his seat before picking his mug up to show Zid. “Is there more?”

Zid stood up and took it from him, “I can make more.” He gave Sylv’s shoulder a bump with his fist. “Be back.”

Sylv watched as he walked away before looking down at his shoulder. He placed his hand over the spot, but it felt cool to the touch. So why did it feel warm?