Richard's Animorphs Forum
Animorphs Section => Animorphs Role Playing => Topic started by: Myitt on February 01, 2011, 02:02:01 PM
-
Hi everyone! Since Estelore had such a great idea with character backstory, dreams and visions, I think it'd be fun if we got to see a bit more of our characters' pasts. It'll be a great character development tool, and it'll help us build on our characters' storylines and rationales for doing what they do today in the Galaxy's Edge Space Bar.
To start off, I've provided little insights into events from the lives of three of my characters.
Yeah, most of it is pretty angsty, but hey. It's been a rough road. And I started out with something a bit more lighthearted.
---
It was warm.
Sun beat down on my back, my face. I aimed my Dracon very carefully.
“Clear!” I called, gesturing to the Hork-Bajir on the other side of the gigantic nawin tree.
The Dracon burned hot in my calloused hands, its cells worked to near full capacity.
CRRRRAAACKKK! The ear-splitting noise just barely made it through the waxy substance that protected my host’s hearing. It was louder than the Dracon blast that had melted the tree at the base, evaporating wood and boiling through hundreds of gallons of sap.
I hopped back on big reptilian feet, watching the massive living thing, over one hundred standard feet in circumference, teeter dangerously. It listed to the left for a moment, but I had done this before. The calculations wouldn’t fail me.
I watched as the gigantic tree fell and fell, taking branches of adjacent trees with it.
I could feel the ground rumble, nearly knocking me off my feet, as it hit the ground. I was standing almost eighty meters away, and still I had to settle myself with my tail.
A few hoots and calls of a successful tree-felling echoed through the vast woods, and I waved back to my people on the other end as they took to searing off half of the tree trunk.
A muffled voice from behind me. I peel out the ear protectors and arch my neck toward the sound.
“I said, ‘You’re getting better at it’,” repeats the male Hork-Bajir, standing behind me. His Hork-Bajir mouth is bared in a grin.
“Corliss Three-Eight-Two,” I reply, grinning back. “May the Kandrona ever shine and strengthen you, brother.”
“And you,” Corliss replies, turning to survey the destruction. “You may as well face the inevitable truth, however. You will never be as good a shot as me.”
“Is that so?” I say, stepping closer to him. His male Hork-Bajir host is a bit smaller than my female, just enough that I can glower down at him if I stand on the tips of my toes.
“Yes, it is,” Corliss replies nonchalantly, trying to match my height. “It isn’t all that difficult to shoot a gigantic tree, even at this distance.”
“I’d like to see you try it,” I challenge. This was an old game, one we had played even on the homeworld, barely out of grubhood.
Corliss tilts his head side to side in the manner of his Hork-Bajir’s tribe. An indication of boldness.
“All right, I will,” he says, drawing his Dracon from his shoulder strap and aiming it at a tree.
“Corliss!” I hiss. “You can’t be serious, if my commander finds out who--“
“Be quiet,” my brother snaps. “You’re breaking my concentration.”
My hearts feel like they’re hammering away in my neck as I watch him squint at the tree.
Corliss’ finger tightens on the Dracon trigger.
TSSEEEEEEEEEEEEWWW!
FWUMPH!
Something falls, dead and smoking, sixty meters away. A dead chadoo, only a few feet long, feathers still sizzling.
Corliss looks back at me with a look that can only be triumphant.
“Your turn,” he says with a smile.
---
Someone was screaming.
Tara sighed and plopped down on the couch. Another of her sister’s tantrums. She was nine, Cattie was four. There was medicine for the seizures, but not for the tantrums.
The doctors had told mom and dad that Cattie was lucky to be alive. Tara LaFauci was glad, because it could have been a lot worse.
“Honey, calm down,” said mom, in that voice that seemed to be the only thing that could break through the little girl. “It’s just bedtime. Do you want mommy to sleep with you?”
Screaming again. Wailing and kicking and crying. Tonight the voice wasn’t working.
Tara rubbed at her eyes and picked up the remote control, clicking on the television. Cartoons made everything better, right?
“Stay tuned, we’ll be back to the show after these messages!”
“Commercials,” Tara muttered, rolling her eyes. None of the commercials were good this late at night. They all asked for your credit card, and you had to be ‘18 years or older to order’. The only reason cartoons were on this late was because they were airing a new show. Trying to get a new demographic. Tara had learned that word in social studies. She wondered who at the cartoon studio thought any kid in their right mind would be up this late, without parents to usher them to bed?
Or without a little sister, crying and screaming in the other room, and dad out late at the office.
That was okay. Just get lost in the excitement of a new cartoon show. Maybe it would be as good as Ren and Stimpy. She smiled to herself, tapping her fingers together like an old TV villain. It was fun to pretend like that, to be the villain who really everybody liked, better than the hero.
Screaming.
“Oh, the popcorn!” Tara cries, bolting off the couch toward the kitchen. She coughs on the acrid smell of burnt popcorn, waving her hand in front of the white plastic microwave. She punches the door button and the waving becomes more vigorous, as she plucks the charred bag from the glass plate and tosses it onto the white kitchen counter.
“Ow,” she whispers, shaking her hand back and forth and sticking a finger in her mouth.
Something was still burning. Now there was the smell of burning meat, like on the barbecue over at grandpa’s.
She was going to miss the cartoons…
---
Myitt’s eyes snapped open as the memory flickered away. White walls. The powerful smell of antiseptic.
Her throat hurt. Something wet and warm was plastered on her neck. Her ear…not responding. More pain there, too.
She gasped for breath, her eyes rolling left to right in dry sockets.
Struggling, she tried to pull herself free from the restraints at her arms and legs. Nevermind the humiliation of opaque white tubes digging into her host’s veins. She was vaguely aware of how long she had been here, because of how many tubes were sticking in places she didn’t even want to think about. Had it been a week? Two weeks? Yes, certainly more than a week.
And they had kept her alive. Feeding her with a refined current. Not letting her slip away into blissful death.
What had she told them? What hadn’t she told them?
Pressure, under her chin. At her forehead. At the back of her skull.
The thing that was attached to her head. Yes, it was causing this pain. The starvation, that was its own little deadly spike in her sluglike body. This thing…with its slimy wires in her head…it was what was making her scream in agony.
Why? Why don’t they just kill me? she wondered desperately.
<I want to go home,> Tara sobbed. <Oh, God, I don’t want to die like this!>
The room turned bright orange, the floor rumbled up through the table.
Good, another dreamlike vision. Sink back into her host’s mind.
That was all right.
The last thing she heard through the ear that still functioned was the sound of voices shouting. Something loud, an explosion, nearby.
Warmth, baking down on her emaciated human body. It was so nice to be warm.
-
Claxter was a young Aristh in the military academy. The Yeerk war had been going on for decades, but the news was always optimistic. The Andalites would win. It was only a matter of time. Calxter's days were filled with training. Simulation after simulation. Obstacle course. His Prince Foosal Yelling at him. No matter how well he did Foosal always yelled at him.
<I think I did well today, prince Foosal.> He would say after a near perfect success.
<Who cares what you think? You're just a Arish. I'll tell you what to think. Run it again!>
Why did he have to get assigned to such a harsh prince? But finally the day came. It seemed to come out of nowhere.
<Claxter. I'm promoting you to Warrior. Today will be your first battle>
He was so happy. Finally a promotion! He galloped behind his Prince in anticipation, and looked with his stalk eyes to the other Princes and warriors there. Why did they looked worried? Shouldn't they be happy for him? One of the nicer princes pulled him aside.
<Claxter. Be careful out there. Personally I think this may be a little too much for you, but we don't really have the choice. Wear your new rank proudly.>
<I will sir.>
--------------------------------------------
Noises. Noises everywhere. lasers firing in every direction. Blood. So much blood. His friends were dead. He saw them die beside him, or run off and not come back. He had been fighting for...how long? How many Hork-Bajir had he seen? How many bugfighters or Andalite fighters had he seen fly over head or crash into the ground? Where was his Prince? Where was anyone!?
They were coming for him. Hork-Bajir looking to hack him to pieces like they had done so many times before. He ran. He had to find safety. He found an open hatch for a fighter, and ordered it closed. They tried to get in. Blasting the door with their dracons. He had to get away. He fired the ship up, and headed for atmosphere. It still wasn't safe, though. Bugfighters were everywhere. The only safety was Z-Space.
-
“I’m home,” I called into the entryway.
There was no response, something that struck me as strange—which immediately struck me as strange that it should seem strange. Even though my father had been practically waiting at the door for me to come home from school every day since November, it was impossible to forget how apathetic he had been during the first thirteen years of my life.
As I emerged into the living room, my father came hurrying towards me from his bedroom, radiating enthusiasm. “Hey, honey! I didn’t hear you come in!” He gave a big smile.
“I made as much racket as usual,” I shrugged and flopped onto the couch, turning on the television and flicking through the channels.
He eased into a nearby chair. I could feel his eyes on me. “Good last day of school?”
“Yup." Teenager monosyllabism.
He shifted. “I have some exciting news, Elayne.”
“Yeah?” He had my attention now. I turned to face him and muted the television, only dimly noting that it had landed on NBC.
“I’ve been offered a job in California.” Only in the past few months had he really started to care about his bioengineering career. I supposed the feverish pace at which he was speaking was just a physical manifestation of a new level of enthusiasm. “It’s a big advancement,” he continued, gesturing vaguely. “Enough that we could live very comfortably, even considering how expensive it is out there. But I didn’t want to accept the offer until I’d talked with you, to make sure you’d be okay with it.”
California, I had to admit, sounded... nice. Everyone said it was a nice place to live with nice weather and nice, multicultural cities. Besides, I did not feel any particular affection for the Colorado countryside in which I lived.
Still, the weird, nagging feeling I had been getting since November was tickling the back of my mind.
In an attempt to shove it away, I looked aside to collect my thoughts. My eyes darted reflexively to the television as the Friends rerun was interrupted by Tom Brokaw’s somber face.
Frowning at the untimely broadcast, I hit the mute button again, and words began to accompany his moving mouth. “—fatal disaster has struck the U.S.S. George Washington. Located several hours off the West Coast, the aircraft carrier suffered heavy damage; although no estimates have been made as to the death toll, it is almost certain that the lives of military personnel have been lost. These video segments have just been released to the media.”
His image was replaced with an aerial shot of the smoking carrier, which looked like it had been thoroughly scorched and bombed. The usually orderly lines of jets were in total disarray, and the tiny forms of men and women in uniform could be seen fighting their way through the wreckage to regroup and assist the prostrate bodies lying around them.
As the camera slowly zoomed in on the horrific scene, my eyes were caught by something odd—almost like a lizard, only huge—crushed by a toppled jet.
Abruptly, the screen went black.
“Dad, what—?”
“I can’t watch that. I’m sorry, Elayne,” he said in a gruff voice that would have reminded me of how he always used to speak, except now it was full of emotion. He must have picked up the remote control after I hit the mute button, because it was in his hand now. I caught a glimpse of moisture in his eyes as he stood and walked out of the room, setting the remote on a side table on his way.
He had fought in Vietnam. Depictions of war, particularly of American soldiers being killed, always bothered him. Still, I'd never seen him cry over it.
I stared at his back until he turned the corner. My sensitivity towards his grief was overshadowed by my interest in the horrible news story, so I turned the television back on with the sound muted.
Whatever strange image I had seen was no longer in the shot. I had probably imagined it, anyway.
-
((For the record: The "I" in the first one is the spirit, and "Fiona" in the second is the host. Yes, the spirit's part is meant to be that disjointed. XD))
The first thing I remember: Darkness. Heavy, suffocating darkness.
And the noise. God, the noise. Couldn't block it out. When I tried, instead of being muffled it became louder, somehow, until it reverbrated through my entire being. No. No. No, no, no!
And then...
Light. Shapes. Movement. Get away, get away, get away.
Move. Did I move? Must have. Panic, propelling me forward, away from the noise. I grab hold of something. Warmth! I cling to it, willing the noise back, away, and finally it fades.
Then... a new noise. Different. Loud. I push against it. It pushes back. I push again, harder this time. It yields, and after one more push it's silent. At last. For good. I'm alone.
--
He's doing it again.
Fiona peeks over her textbook. Sure enough, there he is, pretending not be looking her way. She's caught him quickly looking down at his own book at least three times now.
She smiles. He's cute, she thinks. She wishes he'd just come over and talk to her. This was starting to get silly.
Fiona goes back to reading. After a moment, though, she glances up again, and this time catches his eye. She smiles. He returns it, sheepishly, before finally gathering up his books and crossing the lawn that separates them.
He sets his books down on her table. "Hi," he says. Up close now, Fiona can see the tops of his ears turning bright red. "Do you mind if I sit down?"
"Sure." She moves aside her textbooks to make room for him. "I'm Fiona." She sticks out her hand.
He shakes it, smiling. "Adam. Nice to meet you."
--
((Side note? Adam's... umm... "friend" needs a name. -_- So badly.))
-
Sub-Visser 12, known to some as Temrash 946, came out of the ship onto the battleground. He barked orders, and his plans were followed. They were attempting to secure a spot on a mountain for their prime ground base, and the Andalite battalion was attempting to intercept them.
<Sub-Visser 12! We meet at last!> An Andalite said as he approached.
"So, someone sneaked by my defenses."
<With your death, the forces will scatter, and I will have my revenge.>
"What is it with you people and revenge. Why is it that for every Andalite I kill, three more have to show up shouting for revenge? It's getting annoying."
The Andalite charged, and they fought. The rocky area was more suitable for Hork-Bajir, which was a big reason he chose this location. The Andalite fought hard, screaming for blood for his brother. However he slipped on the rocks, and fell.
"I never cared to remember the name of your brother. When another of your relatives or friends show up, I will have forgotten you as well." He said as he pushed the Andalite down the mountain. Three controllers came running up.
"Apologies Sub-Visser. We were coming to your aide as fast as we could."
"Go back to your post. If I need help I'll ask for it."
-
((This is perfect for Theta-Pi! How should I do this?))
-
((Just write a history, or a memory, or a vision he's had. It's easy!))
-
(There isn't a whole lot to say about Claxter because his stroy has barely begun, but I'll try to think of some stuff for Temrash. Does anyone remember the three things he once said when he was trying to explain how good he was? I might need to make up the names again.)
-
((Nope...sorry. He's your character. You might need to re-mold him. As I've been doing with Myitt for the last 12 years x3))
-
"...5...6...7...8-9-10," an impatient Teresa counted off the last few numbers at record speed. As soon as she hit 'ten' she spun around, turning away from the dark corner that she had been facing.
"Hmm..." she said, peering around at the seemingly empty living room. She began to methodically search through the usual hiding spots. There were plenty of places for a girl of about nine to hide. Under the couch, beneath the pile of dirty laundry. Behind the wastebasket, overflowing with empty beer cans and pizza boxes. Teresa went through each spot, but they were all empty. A small frown forming on her lips she moved into the next room.
The kitchen was in even more of a state of disarray. Pots and pans were strewn about the counter, leftover food still clinging to their surfaces. The pantry was nearly empty - a perfect hiding spot, really - and the cupboards held only the smell of mold.
"Tammy, where are you!?" Teresa cried, feeling a wave of frustration as she finished her search of the kitchen. Two rooms and no Tamora. Determined to win, Teresa moved into the main hallway, entering the first bedroom. It was clearly a boys room. The walls were painted blue and adorned with posters of Metallica and Rage Against the Machine. The bed was wrinkled and had not been made in some time. Teresa checked under the bed first - but there were only old crumpled school papers and forgotten bits of laundry. She moved to the closet which was, again, empty of her target. Teresa was beginning to get annoyed with this game. It was no fun if you weren't winning. The hairs on the back of her neck tickled, and she felt as though her sister must be watching her - laughing at her defeat.
"Tamora Elizabeth Rerin!" Teresa cried, trying to sound as much like her mother as possible, "Come out NOW!" She kicked the nearby dresser to punctuate her point and a sharp pain made her yelp in surprise.
"Ow!" she wails, falling onto her rear end on the carpeting. She holds her injured foot, tears springing into her eyes. "Look what you did!"
The door to the bedroom burst open at Teresa's cry, revealing a pale faced Tamora. The two girls were identical, with straw colored hair, blue eyes and a smattering of freckles. Tamora's hair was pulled back into neat pigtails, while Teresa's fell in knotted tangles down her back.
"Are you okay?" Tamora asked, her voice much softer than her sister's.
"I'm fine," Teresa says, sniffling loudly and rubbing her eyes with a sleeve before Tamora can see her tears. "Where were you?"
"I'm not telling," Tamora says, "I'm not giving up my hiding spot!"
"That's not fair," Teresa retorts, "I told you mine."
"So?" Tamora sticks her tongue out at her sister. Teresa is about to respond when a second figure appears in the doorway, behind Tamora.
"What are you doing in my room?" He is quite a bit taller than the two girls, with darker hair and eyes that narrow as they inspect his bedroom for signs of foulplay.
"Danny!" Teresa cries, "We were playing hide and seek and Tammy cheated!"
"I did not!" Tamora says, looking horrified at the accusation.
"Did so! And she made me hurt my foot!"
"Hey!" Danny snaps, "I don't care what happened with your stupid game. You know you aren't allowed to play in here. Go on, get back in your own room."
"But-"
"No buts!"
Abashed, Teresa trudges to the door, which Danny holds open just wide enough for her to slide by. She is about to follow her sister, already halfway down the hall, when a distant sound makes her stop. From the other side of the house a door slams and heavy footsteps can be heard making their way into the living room.
"Why the hell is it always such a mess in this damned house!?" A gruff voice shouts at no one in particular. Danny looks at his younger sisters, both frozen in place, mirror looks of terror on their faces.
"Come on," Danny whispers in a much gentler tone, urging them forward. "You can stay in my room for a little while. Just this once, though."
On tiptoes first Teresa and then Tamora re-enter their older brother's room. Danny peers down the hallway for a second, a look of consternation on his face, before firmly shutting and locking the door.
-
Blood, dripping down her chin.
Please...let it end, whispers a desperate voice.
Nothing but pain. Pain and heat. Heat and explosion.
-
Her name was Dafla 212. Temrash knew she liked him, but wasn't sure why. Was it just because he was her superior? Was she just sucking up to him? He kind of liked her too, and his host liked her host. His host had been spending time with her. He found himself going over the host's memories when he was bored.
<<Host body. It seems you are attracted to Dafla's host.>>
His body didn't answer. His will had been broken long ago, and Temrash had been ordered not to initiate speech with it. But paperwork had been so boring. Sure they tell you how exciting it is to command troops, but they gloss over the boring stuff. The host body had heard him, but was afraid to speak.
<<I made a statement, host body. You aren't ignoring me in there, are you?>>
<<N..no...I...not ignore. Y-you are ma...master. I...like her. Is that...ok?>>
<<You have my permission to continue spending time with her. By the Kandrona this is boring. I'd rather be fighting Andalites.>>
<<Me too. Want...um...>>
<<Revenge for your people? I can feel it. If it isn't one person, it's another. Why do people care so much about others that they'd obsess over stuff like that? Beats me.>>
<<I not...have answer. I...just care much.>>
Temrash felt he was starting to care for some people too. He wasn't sure if he should, though. So many people run off to battle and never return.
-
Smoke filled the bridge as Ossanlin scanned the nav-screen and tactical displays. They were on patrol in the Shiren-kal sector as one of their outpost monitoring stations had reported a Blade Ship passing through. Their intentions and objectives had been unknown, and the signal had been weak even for a monitoring station. The Galaxy Tree had been dispatched to investigate. What hadn’t been anticipated was a Blade Ship accompanied by a squadron of fighters and two destroyer-class capital ships.
The Yeerks hadn’t been expecting company, so the ‘ Tree had been able to take out one of the destroyers without a fight. The Tree had launched all of her fighters to combat the enemy squadron of Bugs, but the Tree was an older, smaller Dome Ship. Her complement of fighters was somewhat lacking compared to the newer models. Prince Sivuul, the ship’s first officer, had even taken his personal modified fighter out to attack. Sivuul had downed at least five bugs himself, in fact all of the Bugs had been downed, but so had Sivuul. The Tree had only two functional fighters left…make that one. It was trying to harry the Blade Ship, unfortunately the beast wasn’t taking the bait. Again and again the Dracons lanced through space, searing into the Tree’s aging hull.
The second destroyer exploded in a plume of flame and finally it was Dome Ship against Blade Ship. Unfortunately the Dome Ship was injured rather badly. <Prince-Lieutenant Ossanlin, what is the Blade Ship’s status?> War-Prince Caseel, the Tree’s Captain stood impressively.
Ossanlin had only just taken the TO position on the Tree a few standard months back. It was rare that someone so young and fresh out of the Academy (he had all but skipped the rank of aristh) be given such a high-ranking and sought-after position, but Ossanlin had been one of the most-promising students at the Academy, and it wasn’t as if the Tree was the fleet’s flagship. Ossanlin had earned his position, even if others thought he hadn’t…he was rather intelligent, even for a member of his species, he was one of the best tail-fighters at the academy, he was a good pilot, and he had shown a true mastery of strategy, not to mention his dedication. <The Blade Ship has only sustained superficial damage sir, we have lost 50 – 75% of our hull plating over 30% of the Tree. We have also lost z-space capabilities.> Ossanlin did his best to keep his voice calm, but things did not look good for the Tree, or anyone onboard for that matter.
<Very well, helm, set mark for 2.3 by …..> Crash…BANG! A huge explosion rocked the ship as one of the engine nacelles imploded and then exploded, throwing everyone on the bridge to their knees, smoke billowing more voluminously from damaged consoles. Ossanlin struggled to right himself and managed to climb back to his hooves. He scanned the bridge and saw Prince Caseel lying in a crumpled heap on the floor. Even from his position near the TO console, he could see the blood dripping from Caseel’s breathing slits and pooling beneath his ear. The bridge was in a state of near-total dis-array. Ossanlin ran to Prince Caseel’s side, kneeling. <Sir, you are wounded…we need to get you to the medical bay.>
<O…Ossanlin…there isn’t…time… I can…not…command…anymore. You…you must…take…command. I…believe…in…you.> The Captain’s breathing slowed and then stopped altogether. Ossanlin knelt stunned for several seconds before standing again. Him…command? He quickly ran back to the TO console, the flickering images difficult to read. <Warriors to your posts! Warriors, to your posts!> Ossanlin scanned the TO console and wracked his brain trying to think of an option that wouldn’t lead to hundreds of Andalite deaths…
Perhaps…perhaps it would work. <Computer, this is acting Captain Ossanlin-Rethin-Sephirel, transfer all command protocols to code GT1985.> [Command transfer complete.] Ossanlin uses his new command protocols to dial up a ship-wide comms announcement. [<All personnel, this is acting Captain Ossanlin-Rethin-Sephirel, begin dome evacuation procedures and prepare to separate, this is not a drill. I repeat, evacuate the dome immediately!>] The computer gave a sickly chime as Ossanlin closed the comm.
<Helm, move to bearing 259 by 107.3 with as much engine power as we can muster. Get us to the other side of that moon. Weapons officer, continue to return fire with the aft batteries, focus on their exhaust core, try to get rid of the shielding around it.> The andalites in question did not flinch at his commands, or even hesitate, they did as he said and the Tree began lumbering its way toward the small moon.
More explosions rocked the ship in the seconds that it took to reach the moon. The Tree began a close orbit. <Sir, the Blade's exhaust core shielding has been destroyed.>
Ossanlin nodded. <Good. And the dome has been evacuated.> Finally the explosions ceased as the Dome Ship put the moon between herself and the Yeekrs. <Helm, I want you to lay in a course for the dome to continue the standard path of orbit, I suspect that they will expect us to use the moon’s gravity to slingshot our ship to attempt escape or as a last-ditch to ram them. Set the dome to run on auto after it separates.> The helm officer nodded in return and began programming the route. Ossanlin looked at the weapons officer next. <Weapons, start hyper-charging the main shredder. Pull power from anything you can…shut down life-support on unnecessary decks, get as much charge into that cannon as you can. When we round the bottom of the moon, we should have a straight shot at the belly of the Blade Ship. Target the exhaust core, hopefully we can hyper-charge the plasma and overload their engine cores.> The weapons officer raised his eyebrows but didn’t question the orders…this truly was a last-ditch hurrah. If it didn’t work, the Tree and her crew would not be returning home.
<Helm, separate the dome.> Loud ‘thunks’ echoed through the ship as the sizable and most-likely damaged locking clamps released their charge. A small burst and the dome was free. It powered its thrusters up and continued to slingshot around the moon. <Helm, core section all-stop.> The lower section of the ship came to a halt on the far side of the moon. <Wait for it…>
<Sir, we’ve pulled as much power into the main Shredder as we can spare, but we can’t hold it long…the coils are starting to over-heat.> Ossanlin nodded in response to the weapons officer. <Helm, full reverse now! Take us back around the underside of the moon, try to stay in the moon's umbra as long as possible.> The Tree reversed her course and shuddered back along the underside of the small moon…if the Blade Ship had given chase, and Ossanlin hoped against hope that it had, the position and timing should be about right.
Ossanlin watched the TO screen as the dome-section rounded the top side of the moon, sudden heat signatures registered as high-power, over-charged Dracon shots melted through the dome and shattered it like paper-thin crystal. At the same moment, the core section of the Tree emerged underneath the Blade Ship, lined up perfectly with the exhaust core coils. <Weapons, FIRE!>
A blue beam so bright it appeared as searing-white lanced from the Tree’s main cannon, piercing directly into the exhaust coils. After a short delay, burning plasma burst from the exhaust core, the Blade Ship shuddering before shockwaves announced the energetic and complete destruction of the Blade Ship’s engine nacelles. After a few more seconds, the explosions spread to the rest of the Blade Ship before a burning white image burned its way into Ossanlin’s retinas as the Blade Ship’s reactor core breached and nova’d, ripping the Yeerk vessel and its crew into pieces.
<YES!> Ossanlin struck the air with his tail in jubilation as the shockwave slammed into the beleaguered half-ship that was the Galaxy Tree, knocking him to his knees again. Even as he stood, he saw from the TO console that the Tree, or what was left of her, was adrift.
<Sir, helm is unresponsive.> <The main Shredder is compromised sir, the emitter coils are completely burned out.> Alarm claxons continued to ring through the ship, but Ossanlin’s relief was not dampened. They had won…they were alive.
-
She had been promoted to a similar rank than him. They were equals, and there wasn't any reason for her to be sucking up to him anymore. Yet she still came by every day. Temrash knew then that she really did like him. He liked her too. Sometimes they would go for walks together and talk about topics that didn't revolve around the war. It was nice, and they were never bored around each other. She was the first real friend he had, since most of his superiors had always told him there wasn't any point in making close friends.
Then it happened. What he feared the most. She was killed while defending the base. Some andalite Prince known for his own viciousness in battle ended both their lives. Was this what it felt like to want revenge? Was this why so many Andalites went hunting after Yeerks who killed their friends and family. Temrash was filled with hatred when he saw the Andalite. He gloated that Dafla's lat words were that the "great" Sub-Visser would kill him. He was unafraid.
The battle raged on for a good hour. A crowd of andalites and Yeerks stood on either side, afraid to get into the fray but calling for blood. The Andalite struck a terrible blow to his chest, running his blade right through Temrash's heart. Some part of temrash knew he had been wounded, but he still fought. He hacked the Andalite's tail right off as it was caught in his host's chest.
The Prince saw fear for the first time in the battle, but Temrash wasn't done. Most of his battles ended quickly because he memorized where the Andalite's vitals were. this time he purposefully avoided the vitals. The Andalite would suffer long and hard as Temrash beat him to a bloody pulp. He didn't know exactly when the Prince died, but he just kept hitting until finally Temrash lost consciousness.
------------------------------------------------------
He woke up in the medbay, practically covered in bandages. He was inconsolable. His host was down too. They both spent a couple of days lying in bed, and in their sorrow they began having full conversation. Temrash saw through his host's memories that his parents named him Jagill, so he started calling his host by name. It was just between them.
After feeding he took another host. No reason for a Sub-Visser to remain inside a weakened host. He returned to Jagill after he got better. They were friends now. They would always be together for each other.
-
((Alright, my turn. :P To clarify: Joanne herself probably didn't even use cocaine, but she did sell it. Joanne was most likely after alcohol and opiates, being depressants. But she could probably tell what was good and what wasn't. ))
Joanne heard the first shots farther down the street than she had expected. For now, she had managed to dodge her pursuers. Joanne pushed herself against the back of a wall, breathing heavily. She slid down its base and clutched the bag of cocaine she had risked her life to get. She sniffed it carefully, smiling. Yeah, this is good. We can sell this for some great profit. Joanne clutched her heart uncomfortably. She was going to need a drink soon, and she couldn't risk running again.
The whole plan had been insane from the start. Her set hadn't been getting the money they needed because another gang had been encroaching on their turf. Damn bastards thought they owned the freaking town. The official word from the boss was that they'd kill one of their number in a week or so, right when they thought they were safe. But Joanne had had a better idea. Better to steal the good stuff, take what should have been theirs. .....the boss was going to beat her up.
Joanne then dashed across the street and slid up against a car. The bullets ricocheted off the front of the pickup truck just in time. Joanne grinned at her good fortune, but a sharp pain abruptly flew across her arm. Joanne clutched it in pain, wincing. "****, ****, ****," she muttered. "Not going to make it." Joanne ran almost blindly down an alleyway and away from the party sent to catch her, hoping that they'd get confused and turn the other way. Which, thank heaven, they did.
Joanne ran slowly and quietly away from them, trying not to be noticed by any stragglers until she made it to the corner. Every day, every day was one more challenge. One more fight. One more broken kneecap or lost profit. She didn't ask for this, but she didn't have a choice. If she didn't get a share of the good stuff, she'd go mad like anyone else. Her little...trick had earned her some respect despite her gender, but she knew it wasn't much. At any moment, they could decide she was a freak and get rid of her.
She had vague snatches of memory between the highs and lows, old hints of the life she'd left behind. But hurting them just wasn't an option anymore. They were good, straight. And they'd left her anyway. Maybe there'd be something in the future. It was a stupid hope. Or maybe it would simply be more of the same.
-
((some of Terenia's history is copied and modified from The Traitor, a fanfic about her life that you can find in the fanfiction section of the forum. I've modified it slightly though, so that those who haven't read the fic can follow.))
I was looking at myself. A ten-year-old girl with blonde hair and blue eyes, short for her age, with a smattering of freckles across her nose. It should not have been surprising - I saw myself every day in Tamora - but somehow it was. Perhaps it was because she was completely naked. Or perhaps it was due to the fact that I knew it was not my sister in front of me, but an imposter.
I turned away. I had more important things to worry about at the moment than the mimic of myself. Looking down at my arms I saw that they were covered in short, coarse purple fur. Trying to speak was impossible - my mouth was gone. Vision, on the other hand, was insane. I could see in all directions at once, an overwhelming experience.
The Andalite aristh Sireah had explained morphing to me before she had allowed me to use the magic cube. She had explained that the game we were playing would involve us turning into one another. It sounded fun, but now that I was not in my own body I felt nervous. Afraid.
It's alright, I reminded myself. This is going to be fun. Sireah will be able to pretend to be me while I have cool space adventures! Danny will be so jealous. My thoughts drifted to Tamora, still waiting for me to return home. It had been almost a week since I had run away, intending on hiding out at a friends house until dad calmed down. Needless to say, I had never made it. Instead I found myself on a spaceship owned by evil aliens called Yershks. No, Yeerks. That's what Sireah had called them. They were evil body stealers and the Andalites had saved me from them and wanted to take me home.
The only problem was that I didn't really want to go home. I didn't want to return to a house littered with beer cans, a mother who was absent and a father who saw me as a punching bag. I felt guilty for leaving Danny to care for Tammy alone, but...
<Sireah,> I asked slowly, <I will be able to change back, right? When I'm through exploring and want to go home. I'll be able to be myself again, right? I'll be able to go home and be with my sister and brother again and tell them about all the adventures I have, right?>
The Andalite named Sireah remained silent for a long moment before fixing me with a smile. Her lack of experience with a mouth made it look forced.
"Of course you will, Teresa."
Even after all I had been through, I never even suspected that she might lie. We set to work learning how to operate in our new bodies, and as the internal clock I had inherited clicked past the first two hours I thought nothing of it.
-
I can never read when I’m nervous.
I swing my legs back and forth, hooking and unhooking them from the metal legs of the chair. The book I’d brought with me, The Catcher in the Rye, was assigned reading for school. Usually that makes me want to read a book less, if it’s forced upon me, but this one I actually enjoyed. Something about the kid’s snarky attitude.
Anyway, it wasn’t going to help me now. It sits on my blue jeaned lap, bouncing erratically as I hit on a nerve in one of my legs. Nervous habit.
“You okay, honey?” says an older woman across sitting across from me in the little white office room. I’d seen her around before. She was black, maybe a little younger than my grandma, with shiny black dyed hair and a kind face. I think her name was Eleanor. Yeah, let’s call her Eleanor.
“Yeah,” I sigh, still fidgeting. “Just nervous, I guess. I’ve never really been in a club before, not since Girl Scouts.”
Eleanor smiles at me. We were the only two people in the room, and still the air felt close and crowded. It was the middle of winter and they had the heat blasting in the building.
“I’m sure this is just a formality,” she reassures me. “Probably some paperwork, ask a few more questions. Maybe set up a donation. After all the support they’ve given me after my Harry passed on, I figure it’s the least I can do to give back. I’m retired now, anyway, and this sure beats the Rotary Club.” Eleanor chuckles lightly.
I stare at the ground, smiling, and utterly confused.
There are two doors in the little room. One we came in, and another my guide Sarah had disappeared through twenty-one minutes before. I’d been checking my watch compulsively.
Sarah was blonde and bubbly, a little overweight with freckles. She reminded me of my friend DJ, all about the makeup and the Backstreet Boys. Normally I would only put up with that level of airheadedness with Deej, but for some reason Sarah hadn’t made me run screaming from The Sharing. She’d made me feel welcome, even though I was a total nerd and Sarah was one of those girls who probably would’ve teased me if we’d known each other in middle school. Besides, she was older, maybe college-aged. I was starting to get the impression people just didn’t care that much if you were a nerd once you reached college. I liked her, even though she was an airhead.
The second door opened, and Sarah stuck her exuberant face into the room.
“Hey, Tara!” she calls, louder than necessary. “You ready to go?”
I jump a bit, startled, feeling my heart hammering away.
“Sure,” I reply, grabbing my book and stuffing it in my big tan shoulder bag.
Eleanor winks at me. “Good luck, sugar. You’ll be fine.”
I don’t have time to nod back as I make my high tops cross the threshold without tripping over them.
“So, how was school?” Sarah asks, looking back at me as we head down a dim, cinderblock-lined hallway. It’s much cooler in here, and that’s nice.
“Uh, it was okay,” I mutter. “We got to eat pomegranate seeds in Latin. Woo-hoo.” I twirl my finger in the air, starting to feel a little more at ease. The door clicks shut behind us and I swallow, glancing back at it.
“Nice,” says Sarah. “What’s that have to do with, that myth with Hades and…what’s her name?”
“Persephone.” I find myself twisting the fabric at the bottom of my long black t-shirt.
“Yeah, we did the same unit in Bedford,” Sarah replies. “We never got to eat pomegranate seeds, though.” She laughs. “Lucky.”
“Sure,” I say, and I wince at how lame I sound.
Sarah stops us at a metal doorway, a big industrial thing. She looks over at me and smiles, bouncing on her toes.
“Okay, kiddo,” she says, pressing her hand against a flat black panel. Some kind of fingerprint reader? Weird. “Go on ahead through.” She claps a hand on my shoulder and gives it a squeeze.
The room we step into is much more brightly lit than the hallway, and much warmer. More humid.
Great, I think, this is all my hair needs. I idly start to pat down the mat of frizz in front of my pony tail.
The first thing I notice is a big metal tub, like a Jacuzzi only raised up on a sort of concrete pedestal. There’s a folding table ringed with metal chairs, at the end of which sits my guidance counselor—the old wrinkled creature that we all joked they had built the school around. She could never remember my name, and the lady was in charge of my damned future.
“Hey Mrs. McCabe,” I say with a little wave.
“Hello,” says Mrs. McCabe, glancing down over giant black glasses at a sheet of paper. “Tara. So glad you could join us. You understand this is an important commitment?”
I nodded. “Yeah, and like you said, it’ll be good to have…you know. Community outreach stuff. For when I apply to college.”
McCabe nods, beaming. “Good, good. This won’t take long, I promise.” She gestures to Sarah, who also smiles at me, leading me to the edge of the big metal tub.
“Sit here,” she says, and I’m surprised when she presses my shoulders down into a chair that’s bolted into the ground at the edge.
“What’s all this about?” I stammer, glancing back at McCabe. She nods encouragingly.
“Don’t worry, my dear,” McCabe replies with a smile that couldn’t be faker if it was plastered on a mannequin. “You’ll find out soon enough.”
My gaze darts back to the metal tub. To the liquid sloshing around inside it. It looked like dirty gray swamp water, and it roiled with some kind of current.
“Put your hands in here,” Sarah says, directing my right hand to a clamp at the edge of the tub. Something inside the tub whirred and I felt my wrist become encircled with a soft metal.
“Why?” I whisper.
Sarah looks at me squarely. “Listen. Would I do anything crazy bananas? Anything to hurt you?”
Hesitantly, I shake my head.
“Of course I wouldn’t. You just need to do this one thing, just this one little ritual, and you can be a full member. Put your other hand in there.”
I try to swallow, but my mouth is dry. It makes me nervous again, and I realize my palms are sweating.
“Okay,” I say, clearing my throat. “Okay, and then I’m in?”
Sarah nods. “Then you’re in. That’s it. Think of it as a kind of experiment.”
Was I being tested? I couldn’t help but wonder if this was some kind of weird IQ test, or just a hazing like they talk about on the news. Why would a community club want to haze people?
I place my left hand into the restraint.
“Now your head,” says Sarah encouragingly.
I frown down at the big metal clamp in front of my head.
“It looks like it should go sideways,” I say, confused.
Sarah nods. “That’s right.”
With a second glance at Sarah, I lean forward and place my chin on a soft pad set into the metal frame.
Instantly the rest of the metal clamp slides down around my head, pinching my pony tail.
“Ow!” I cry, wincing.
“Sorry,” says Sarah hastily, maneuvering my hair out of the way. “Is that better?”
I try to nod, but it really isn’t much good. “Yeah,” I manage to say. “Yeah. Thanks.”
There’s another round of mechanical whirring, closer this time. Then my head lowers slowly down. Slanting down and down until my left ear is touching the warm gray liquid. It hurts my neck, but there’s a weird ringing sound and I realize my fingers are tingling. I think I’ve forgotten to breathe.
Then something warm and wet touches my ear. Writhes…oh, God, into my ear? I’m no stranger to earaches, and this was the worst I’d ever had. I don’t even realize I’m whimpering until Sarah slaps me on the back.
“It’s all right,” I hear her say from far away. “It won’t hurt for long.”
She’s right. The pain is still there, still horrible, but it’s like it’s been deadened.
Whatever it is…it’s still working its way deeper and deeper. I can feel it through the numbness, like…like a worm, inching along, drilling through my skull.
“What…what is it,” I gasp, on the verge of tears from the pain and the shock. “What…”
And then, an icy feeling in the pit of my stomach. I try to open my mouth to ask the question.
What’s happening to me? I demand. I try to struggle against the restraints, to maneuver away from the water’s surface.
I can’t move.
I’m paralyzed!
Then, my eyes blink rapidly. On their own. I definitely did not do the blinking.
I must be losing my mind.
I feel…strange.
And that’s when I start hearing voices in my head.
<Ah,> says the voice. It sounds like a woman. Or maybe a young man. Maybe neither. <I finally understand. Lie, lay, lain.>
<What?> I think.
<Hm,> says the voice. <Not a very articulate language.>
Then my mouth opens. I suck in a breath.
“She’s mine,” says my mouth.
From far away I feel the restraints being removed. I feel myself stretch my back, rub my neck. My eyes track to Sarah, and I nod.
Then I slide out of the chair, taking a couple of shaky steps before finding my balance.
As if my body were some kind of machine, and I wasn’t in control of it anymore.
I bow my head. “Sub-Visser,” my voice says to my guidance counselor. “Myitt One-Nine-Five of the Taiyon Yerralash pool.”
“This is your first human host,” McCabe replies. Not McCabe, not anymore. Sub-Visser Thirty-Nine.
An alien.
A Yeerk.
A slave in her own head, just like I was now.
Forever.
I feel myself nod. “Yes,” my voice replies. “I am honored to receive a post on Earth.”
“You had your choice of hosts, after your promotion,” McCabe…the Sub-Visser…replies testily.
I glance at Sarah. “You’ve chosen a good host, Fenreth. I think she will do just nicely.”
Sarah smiles coldly back at me. “I thought she would,” the thing I had known as Sarah replied. “I am glad that you approve.”
<Wait a minute,> I demand. <Wait just a damn minute. You’re telling me that…that…>
<Yes. There is an alien in your head,> replies the sluglike thing called Myitt, offhandedly. The thing that now controls my every movement. The thing that is peering into my memories, flashing them before my eyes. <You aren’t too bright, are you, human?>
<No,> I whisper. <No, no, this can’t be happening…>
“Myitt?” McCabe. The Sub-Visser. “Are you able to report?”
My attention focuses back outside of my head.
“Yes, Sub-Visser,” my voice says, constricting my throat with fear. I feel sweat prickle out on the back of my neck.
And I start to scream. Alone in the cage of my head, alone with nothing but this thing for company.
Aliens are real, and I can’t even tell anyone.
-
I was not an obsessive girlfriend.
I had every right to know this. And it wasn't like I could just ask him. "Adam, honey, are you really an alien slug?" This wasn't because I cared, or anything. No, this was pure self-preservation. The last thing I needed was somebody trying to make a host out of me.
There was probably a perfectly logical explanation for why he left for work so early. Four hours early. And I wouldn't have known this at all if he hadn't forgotten his lunch.
If he was with some other girl, or doing something else, I'd just turn around and go home.
Except... except why was he pulling into a McDonald's? He hated McDonald's. Something about dating a vegan in high school. So what the hell was he doing here?
I parked my car as far from his as possible, and waited. An hour passed. Who spent an hour in McDonald's?
Finally I decided to hell with it. I got out of the car and started for the building. If he was in there, I'd... I don't know. Buy a coke or something. Whatever.
I pulled open the door, walked through, and looked around. Nothing. No Adam.
I made a frustrated sound and stormed out. Standing in the parking lot again, I looked around. Sure enough, there was his rusted Chevy, sitting in the same spot. Same license plate. Same peeling parking sticker. Same "University of Toronto" decal on his back window.
That answered that question, didn't it?
-
"Hey Tamora," a voice said. I did not look up to see which of my few remaining friends was attempting to talk to me. Eyes down, head down, lunchbag held tight to my chest I moved into the cafeteria. I shifted my gaze upwards just long enough to locate an empty table in the corner. I made a beeline for it, weaving in and out amongst my middle-school peers. The noise was incomprehensible. Screaming, laughing, jeering, cahorting. It hurt my ears, but I tried to ignore it as I deposited my lunch on the lone table, abandoned due to a faulty leg that made it lurch at the slightest touch. Unwrapping the brown paper bag I took out each item and laid them side by side. Peanut butter and jelly sandwich. Apple. Oreos. Juice box.
"Tammy?"
I jerked my head up at the sudden intrustion. A boy was standing there, vaugely recognizable, grinning widely. Searching my mind a name floated to the surface. Dylan. He was in my Geography class.
"Don't call me that," I said, the words coming out harsher than I meant. Immediately I could feel my ears turning red as I hastily attached an apology. "I mean...sorry, I just...don't like being called Tammy. Tamora, please."
"Tamora then," Dylan said, nodding as if my blubbering made perfect sense. "Can I sit with you?"
No, no you can't. I thought, Can't you see that I came to this corner, to this broken table, to be along?
"Sure," I squeaked, forcing a smile. Dylan grinned like I had just offered him a golden throne and plopped his lunch tray down on the table. I carefully, methodically, unwrapped my peanut butter sandwich as he took a seat.
"So Tamora," Dylan said, flashing that grin at me again. I began folding the saran wrap that had held my sandwich into neat little halves.
"Mm?" I asked, pretending to be distracted by my folding.
"I've noticed that you always sit alone."
"You have?" My face was turning red again, I could feel it. I hastily unfolded the saran wrap and began again.
"Yeah, I have," Dylan said, ignoring my obsessive folding. "I wanted to see if...you know...if everything was alright."
Fold, fold. Stop. Hesitantly I looked up from my work.
"Huh?" I asked, not quite understanding.
"Well, I had heard about your sister and all..." Dylan squirmed in his seat as my stomach churned. "And, you know, I just wanted to say that I'm sure they'll find her eventually..."
"It's been almost six months," Tamora responded quietly, her voice suddenly tight with familiar tears.
"Hey, I'm sorry," Dylan scooted his chair over, looking alarmed. "I didn't mean to make you cry. I just...I wanted to say that I don't think you should spend all of your time alone, shutting everyone out. That's not going to help anything, you know?"
No, I don't know. I don't know anything. I don't understand. She promised me that she would be back. She promised... Dumbly, I nodded.
"Right," Dylan said, seeming to gain courage. "Well, listen, I was hoping you'd go with me to this meeting, then."
"Meeting?" I asked thicky, not entirely understanding his transition.
"Yeah, uh, I thought it might, you know...help you take your mind off of things." Dylan bent down and unzipped his backpack, pawing through the mess that was within. I watched, not entirely sure what to think.
"Here it is," Dylan said victoriously, pulling out a brightly colored flyer. He passed it over to me. Dropping my saran wrap I took the folded paper, looking at Dylan suspiciously. The boy was already climbing to his feet.
"It's a lot of fun," Dylan said, grabbing his untouched tray. "It'd be really cool if you came." He gave me a conspiratorial wink and turned, heading off to a group of his friends before I could ask any questions.
That was weird... I thought, looking down at the paper. I unfolded it and smoothed it out on the table top, reading the words printed in bold face curiously.
The Sharing: Making the World a Better Place.
-
<Come on, give it a rest,> I said. <She's leaving the freaking planet. It's over. Let her go.>
Carris, as usual, wasn't listening. He was... packing. Or whatever you'd call filling a backpack with essentials.
<No girl's worth this much trouble. Remember Gabby?> I paused for his answer. He didn't give one. Of course. <'Course you do. Isn't she a sub-visser or something now?>
Carris zipped up the backpack and slipped their arms through the loops.
<Come on, man,> I wheedled. <You know what sounds good right now? Pizza. And video games. How long's it been since we played some video games? Forget about Fi and let's go to Pizza Hut.>
Carris sighed. <Adam.>
<Yeah?>
<Please. Shut up.>
-
((Here's Mar's bit now. Note that Mar is basically a name he pulled out of his butt for convenience. :P ))
The world spun out of control, only righting itself for moments before slipping into another round of fresh agony. He'd survived, somehow. He couldn't even remember what in the world it was he had done. He had somehow managed to take the darkness into him, to pull the Oblivion close to him like a cloak in order to survive. He glanced up dimly at the bright morning sky above him. He was not mortal, but it still felt as though the Light burned his eyes. That fact alone was painful. I am not the same now.
Zuhnto slowly stood up, scanning the area of the World he had fallen into. Yes, that was it. His new Name. Zuhnto. The Name change did not indicate good things.The chaos of the War had spread here as well. He could smell it, from the way that the air had become colder and more forbidding. The War had changed everything, and he had instigated it. In his new state, the thought gave him a strange pleasure.
The forest was large and formidable, with deep green evergreen trees framing a brown, earth-scented floor. His best guess was some version of Earth. judging from the colors used and the tone of the auras here. Getting out of here was paramount, despite the horrible pain in some part of him that seemed to be his wake-up call. But before he could leave the universe, he spotted the avatar of one of his men lying prone on the ground. It was Belpheron, one of his associates.
<Bel!> called Zuhnto, looking over his hideous condition. Vast portions of him were missing, his aura bleeding out into the scenery. His avatar here was hardly better, bearing wounds that matched on this humanoid body. <Bel, are you able to stand? Are we the only two with projections here?>
<I...I think so.> Bel's tone sounded weak, fragmented. The images were not clear. Belpheron seemed to think they had gotten here by accident, as a side effect of being close to Zuhnto when...it...happened. <Luc...your Name's different. What in the world happened to everyone else?>
<I don't know,> muttered Zuhnto irritably. <I can't sense them at all. I can't sense anything. It's as if all our strength is gone. I only knew you were here because the stupid projection saw you.>
Belpheron chuckled slightly, as if he were being an idiot. <....I don't think we're powerless, exactly. I feel something. First priority to me is figuring out what we're doing, and maybe locating the others. New Game, new Rules. Careful. If we want worship, we have to work for it don't we?>
<Y...Yes. If you can afford to change your focus in that state, we'll do so. I don't want to stay in this place longer than I can help it. I feel...empty. Wasted.>
Bel looked out at the forest mournfully. <I get the feeling that we're going to be feeling that way for a long time, boss. We left Him. Get used to it.>
-
Entry #2
Ossanlin watched out the viewscreen from the decks of the Scission as transport shuttles made their way to and from the smoldering wreckage of the Galaxy Tree. She had been a grand ship in her day, but the staggering amount of damage on the core section coupled with the loss of her dome made her none other than scuttle material. The Tree had seen her last tour of duty, but she had done well. Ossanlin had only been on that ship for something like seven months, but he had already formed a bit of a bond with her, and it pained him to see her in such a condition. She would be remembered most certainly.
<Ah, Captain Ossanlin…I had thought it would be a few more years at least before I got to use those words in the same sentence.> A thought-speech voice echoed from behind Ossanlin.
Ossanlin’s stalk eyes had caught the entrance of another Andalite into the small gallery room, but it wasn’t until Ossanlin heard his voice and turned his main eyes to regard the other that he realized just whom that other Andalite was. <Prince Raigar! What are you doing away from the Academy?>
Ossanlin’s old instructor and friend eye-smiled in greeting before speaking again. <Well, I was summoned on a special mission, Captain.> The wide eye-smile continued.
<Please Prince, that title is not deserved.> Ossanlin shook his head, keeping his main eyes on Raigar. It most certainly was a surprise to see him so far from the Homeworld.
<From what I’ve heard Ossanlin, that title is more than deserved. I read through your reports and those of the surviving officers aboard the Tree. You showed no hesitation in taking leadership of the vessel. You devised a brilliant strategy, won against incredible odds, and saved hundreds of lives in the process.> Raigar chuckled a bit before continuing. <I knew you were good Ossanlin, but this is astounding. For all intents and purposes, the Tree was dead, the Blade Ship unscathed, and that’s the way it should’ve ended.>
Ossanlin shook his head again. <The Tree was damaged severely when I took command, but she was still salvageable…now she’s not worth the metal in her hull-plating.>
<Psh…there would’ve been less left of her now if you hadn’t taken the actions you did, not to mention the countless Andalite lives that would’ve been lost. Besides, you’re still the acting Captain of the Tree, it’s the proper title for you.> Raigar stepped up to the holo-table in the middle of the room, replaying the computer simulation of the battle with the Yeerk Blade Ship.
Ossanlin turned back to the view-screen and watched as the cruiser Karnak and Dome Ship Voidguard moved closer to the Tree. Ossanlin furrowed his brow. He had ordered the crew of the Tree to leave enough antimatter in the Apix Collider to cause the ship to nova when they had all salvageable crew and materials evacuated. The three ships should be moving away from the Tree, not towards it.
<Prince Raigar…I had assumed the Tree would be scuttled. I informed the salvage crew that we’d left enough antimatter in the Collider to chain-nova on command.> Ossanlin looked back at Raigar.
The older Andalite looked up from the holo-table and then switched its view to show the current situation. <She will be scuttled, Ossanlin. But after realizing limits upon our resources, we’ve begun to salvage even more from old ships. The Bay on Featheria is fully functional now. The Karnak and Voidguard are going to tow her there to be further disassembled and scrapped.> He paused at Ossanlin’s furrowed brow and smiled a bit. <Don’t worry, they’ve removed the rest of the antimatter. The collider is harmless.>
Ossanlin watched as the two ships locked towing fields onto the wreckage of the Tree and began lumbering into motion. He turned and made his way to the holo-table, watching for a bit as the graphical display showed a three-dimensional projection of the tow ships. <Prince…it looks as though the Scission won’t be assisting in this operation. Why did the hierarchy send three ships to assist when two are obviously enough to accomplish the objective?> Ossanlin returned his main eyes to Raigar.
Raigar looked up from the holo-table and sighed before trotting a short distance away, the room not allowing a lot of space to roam. <Yes, you are correct of course. The Scission will not be assisting with the scuttle operation. In truth, the Scission was sent to collect…you.> Raigar looked up with his main eyes, meeting Ossanlin’s gaze.
Ossanlin furrowed his brow once again. <Me? Why send another ship for one person? Certainly I am not of much consequence. I could’ve simply ridden with one of the tow ships and then taken a transport from Featheria.>
Raigar held Ossanlin’s gaze for a few seconds before taking a deep breath and commanding the gallery’s door to shut. Ossanlin glanced at the door before looking back to Raigar, puzzlement muddling his features.
<Ossanlin…the fact is, Prince Sivuul was a very valuable ally. He was a skilled pilot, a competent commander, and he…thought…as you and I do.> Raigar allowed the speech to hang a bit before continuing. <Sivuul’s accolades and accomplishments weren’t unnoted. He was due to be promoted in fact. I’m sure you’ve heard that the new Mark III Dome Ship prototype Tyrennian is due for launch in a few short months. Prince Sivuul was to be her Captain.>
Ossanlin took a surprised breath. He had known nothing of this. The new Dome Ship, yes, of course…everyone knew of that. But Sivuul was going to be her Captain? He hadn’t spoken a word of it, but then Sivuul had always been humble.
<His loss weighs heavy, as does the loss of Prince Caseel.> Raigar looked back up into Ossanlin’s eyes as he continued to speak. <The plan had been to have you assume the role of First Officer aboard the Galaxy Tree. The Electorate has been impressed with you throughout Ossanlin, they wanted you in an officer’s insignia right out of the Academy, but they knew that such disregard of procedure would not go over well with certain individuals. That and there wasn’t an opening at the time. I’m sure you realize by now that your two months as an aristh were merely a formality.> Raigar trotted a bit closer, placing a hand on Ossanlin’s shoulder. <<Ossanlin, do you remember what we talked about in the reflection room at the Academy? All those talks, have you thought about them?>> The older Andalite had switched to private speech.
Ossanlin glanced down at the holo-table and then back up at the Raigar. <<You mean, about thinking for one’s self? Yes, I have thought about it quite a lot. Many Yeerks seem to be evil, Prince…the Imperials covet power and control. They strip every freedom from the Galaxy. But I believe I understand what you mean, about how not everyone is the same. I…think it is wise to reserve one’s opinion about another until one has seen his character…that it is unfair to make judgments about others based on what or who they are.>> Ossanlin took a deep breath. That opinion was very uncommon amongst Andalites, and it was potentially fatal to a young soldier’s career.
<<Even Yeerks?>> Raigar urged.
<<…Yes Prince…even Yeerks. They are not…inherently evil.>> Ossanlin kept his thought-speech incredibly quiet, even for a private thought. Those words were near blasphemy for most Andalites.
<I’m glad.> Raigar switched back to open thought. <In answer to your question…The Scission was sent as a transport for you because the Electorate want you back at the Homeworld as soon as possible. What I’m about to tell you is classified information, so keep it to yourself.> Raigar looked around the room, gesturing with his hands. <The Scission is quite literally the fastest ship in the entire fleet. She’s experimental, the only one of her type.>
Ossanlin furrowed his brow again, looking around the room as well. <But speed is relative, Prince. It doesn’t matter how powerful a ship’s thrusters are, two ships will move through z-space at the same speed regardless, and that is really the only way speed differential would make a measurable difference.>
Raigar grinned a bit. <Ah, you tell the truth Warrior, but the Scission is different. You see, the Scission is equipped with two quantum gravitic generators.> His grin grew a bit wider.
<Gravitic…generators? As in devices that modify gravity?> Ossanlin looked confused.
<Not so much modify as exert gravitational forces in a directed, controlled manner.> Raigar raised his eyebrows, waiting to see if Ossanlin would catch on.
<Exerting artificial gravity on a quantum scale? I didn’t even know that was possible.> Ossanlin ****ed his head as the gears turned. <But theoretically, if one could do such a thing…well…one could…oh, no that’s impossible!> Ossanlin looked back at Raigar, his eyes wide with surprise. <If one could direct a quantum gravitational force…project it in front of a ship, it could actually compress z-space! It would actually allow a ship to accelerate through z-space!>
Raigar beamed. <Exactly! I knew you’d understand Ossanlin. You were always my brightest student.>
<But…there would be a void-wake so one would have to…dilate z-space behind the ship. That’s why there are two generators of course! This is remarkable! If what you say is true, Prince, why are not all the ships in our fleet equipped with this technology?!> Ossanlin’s thoughts burned with the possibilities. Such an advance could easily tip the war in their favor, they’d be able to cut the Yeerks…Imperials…off at every turn!
<Well I won’t go into the intricacies, Warrior, but so far our capabilities produce a maximum threshold. This ship is equipped with six Apix 2 matter coils.>
<Six?!> Ossanlin exclaimed, unbelieving. The newest ships in the fleet were powered by the Apix 2 Coils instead of Colliders…the Apix 2’s were much more efficient and trustworthy as energy reactors than the old Colliders. The Mark III Dome Ship prototype had two Apix 2 coils, and that was more than enough to power all ship systems simultaneously according to the news. This ship was a mere fraction of the size of the Mark III…for it to have six Apix 2’s was ridiculous bordering on ludicrous.
<Yes…nearly all of this ship’s space is filled by reactor coils and the gravitic generators, there is very little habitable space even at this scale, and the energy consumption for the technology is parabolic in nature. I don’t know the exact math but to gain any measurable speed enhancement on a Dome Ship…one would need something like five-thousand Apix 2 coils. This, of course, greatly overtakes the mass of the Dome Ship in the first place…so until we have a more-efficient energy source, the Scission is about as large a ship as we can produce that can utilize this technology.> Raigar swished his tail a bit before continuing. <But as for a speedy transport, research vessel, or spy ship, this works rather well.>
Ossanlin commanded the holo-table to bring up the Scission’s blueprints and looked through them in disbelief. <There truly is little but machinery on this ship.>
Raigar nodded before trotting over to look out of the view screen. <Yes, so there you have it. A remarkable ship, one that’s pushing the limits of our capabilities.>
Ossanlin looked up from the holo-table to regard Raigar’s stalk eyes as they endlessly scanned the room. <It’s an impressive ship, and expensive, but that doesn’t explain why it was sent, or why you were sent.>
Raigar took another breath and nodded slowly, turning to face Ossanlin. <You should know the rest Warrior, I won’t mince anymore words. You remember how I told you that Sivuul was slated to be the Captain of the Mark III Dome Ship Tyrennian?>
All of a sudden, Ossanlin’s hearts were pounding as he nodded slowly, blood rushing through his ears, almost deafening.
<Since he is no longer with us, we need someone else to step into the role.> Raigar held Ossanlin’s gaze with his main eyes. <It is the desire of the Electorate to promote you to Officer grade War-Prince and offer you command of the new flagship of our fleet, the Dome Ship Tyrennian.>
Ossanlin gripped the holo-table with both hands, his knees going a bit weak as he let out a long breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. <Are you…are you certain of this?> Ossanlin’s eyes remained wide with disbelief.
<Yes Ossanlin, will you accept the promotion and appointment as Captain?> Raigar held Ossanlin’s eyes hard with his own.
<I…I don’t…> Ossanlin mumbled a bit before falling silent and pulling himself together. He firmed his legs and let go of the holo-table, standing at the attention-to-duty position. <With honor and humility, I will accept the promotion to grade War-Prince and the appointment of Captain in command of the Dome Ship Tyrennian.>
Raigar smiled and held his hands out, grasping Ossanlin’s forearms in a firm gesture of camaraderie. <Well then, congratulations War-Prince Ossanlin. The formal ceremony will take place once we reach the Homeworld. In the mean time, might I suggest to a peer that he perhaps study documents and blueprints pertinent to the ship and crew he is to assume command of?>
Ossanlin nodded, relaxing a bit as the space outside the viewscreen jumped from speckled black to blank white. The Scission hummed with the activation of multiple reactor coils. <I believe it would be wise for me to do so, thank you Prince Raigar.>
Raigar nodded, still smiling. <You are most welcome, Prince Ossanlin.> Raigar emphasized the title quite heavily for effect.
Ossanlin commanded the gallery door to open and made his way to the small guest quarters, trying hard not to display the jumble of emotions raging through his head. He would be very busy over the next few months, that much was certain.
-
((Just a little tidbit from Efaen's childhood. Haven't done much backstory on her, so I thought I'd throw a bit out there. :) ))
It was dark out. Early. Araeinis, the first sun, had yet to crest the horizon. On a typical day I would not have roused from my scoop yet. But today was far from typical.
<Are you prepared, Efaen?> Father asked, his main eyes surveying my young, female body, always critical.
<Yes, father,> I said, trying as hard as I could to keep the eagerness out of my thought-speak. I should sound casual, aloof. That is how a true warrior sounded.
<Very well,> War-Prince Purinial-Estret-Laeryn, my father, turned and began to canter away at a pace far too fast for my shorter, less muscled legs. Eager, not wanting to be left behind, I kicked forward, throwing up divets of grass behind me as I took off in pursuit.
I tired quickly, and soon my father was out of view. Determined, I continued to gallop as fast as my legs could carry me until, muscles screaming in protest, I was forced to slow to a walk. Slick sweat matted my fur to my sides and my breath came in short, harsh gasps.
<You are slow as well as small,> My father's thought-speech cut through me like a knife, and I saw him emerge from the trees beside me.
<I thought you were in front of me,> I said, confused.
<I was,> Father said, walking alongside me at a much more manageable pace. <Until you could no longer see me. You are thinking in far too linear a fashion, Efaen. Just because I began running straight that does not mean I will continue to do so. Do not let your enemies outsmart you so easily, my daughter.>
<Yes, father,> I murmured, abashed. I was angry with myself for being tricked so easily, but hardly surprised. Much of my childhood had been filled with small little games such as this, where my father would test my ability to think on my hooves. I always failed. But today was different. Today I had to succeed.
<Efaen, today is an important day for you,> Father said, echoing my thoughts.
<Yes,> I responded.
<You will be named an aristh.>
<Yes.>
<You understand the rarity of this, correct?> Father pulled to a stop, and I followed suit. His main eyes were like tiny black holes, boring into me, seeing everything. <You are not strong, you are not quick. You are scarcely bright enough to pass the entrance exams. The only reason that you have been given this chance is because you are my daughter and my name carries weight yet at the Academy.>
<Yes, father,> I said, my stalk eyes drooping in submission. I did not need my father to remind me that I was small for my age, small for even a girl. I was reminded of it every day on the school yard. It stung worse, though, coming from the man who I called father.
<You will honor our family, Efaen,> my father went on, starting forward again.
<Of course, father,> I said. The thought of anything else sent a shiver down my spine. How could I ever dishonor my family? I was a good Andalite, a proper Andalite, and through the Academy I would finally be able to prove that when it comes to war, size is not everything.
<Come then,> my father said, and the hint of a smile shone at the corner of his eyes. <Let us go make you an aristh.>
He moved into a graceful trot, deliberately keeping his gait slow enough for me to keep up with. Eagerly I followed, relishing the pre-dawn. The first sun was just beginning to turn the horizon into fire, lighting up the Homeworld with orange and red.
Today, I told myself sternly, glancing at my father with a stalk eye. Today, I will show my father how honorable I can truly be.
-
I walked into a room. It was all blue. Cube. It was as if I was trapped INSIDE the escafil device. It glowed though, and it was a rich royal blue. It was known as a Telepathic Mind Synchronizer. Once you establish a telepathic link, it absorbs all of your memories and displays them from the moment you wish.
My name is Gremytt-Pekulon-Thelan. Up until very recently I was known by my Alvie designation; Theta-Pi or Theta. But over the years I've become increasingly accustomed to my individuality. This is one more step in the right direction; remembering my past. It's what makes one themself.
<Computer, begin program Theta-47 from previously specified time index.>
~Affirmative~
The room filled with a holographic projection of my history. This was when it all began; when I boarded the Serenity bound for Jaegis IV...
Gremytt-Pekulon-Thelan ran towards the transport Serenity. It was bound for the Eregen colony on Jaegis IV. I was ordered to go there to meet with the WarVeteran, my new ship.
Well, not my ship. War-Prince Xaero-Oligar-Ulahaan's ship. But I was aristh Gremytt-Pekulon-Thelan, and I was under his command. He'd just asked for my services. And I was excited as ever.
The WarVeteran, to get straight to the point, is not an obscure ship. Besides one or two others, that domeship is the most famous in the fleet. And war-prince Xaero himself asked me to serve with him!
I ran up the ramp, and it started to close as I was half-way up. I was on my way to Jaegis.
As I started to walk down the single aisle to the cabins in the back, the Captain, known only as Hetrock, grabbed him.
<As much as I realize your eagerness to get under way, I need your name and rank to add to the crew manifest when I transmit it to the WarVeteran.>
I nodded, <Aristh Gremytt-Pekulon-Thelan, sir. Where are my quarters?>
Hetrock laughed quietly, <You military folk don't waste time do you. Your cabin is level 2 cabin D.>
<2D, got it.>, without bothering to thank the Captain, I turned and ran down to Level 2. Once I found Cabin D, I ordered the door open and found the modest quarters I would be staying in.
Compared to what Arisths get on a Dome-Ship, this was luxurious. 14 feet in width, by 14 feet in length, by 10 feet in height. You could actually turn around, contrary to what I've heard of Dome-Ship quarters.
I ordered the windows, <Transparent.>, and got a magnificent view of the planet we were taking off from. The Serenity was already almost out of the atmosphere in the minute it took me to get to my quarters. I felt like the Ellimist was giving me my big break, pulling me out of atmo to get to my destiny.
Was that a desperate attempt to be poetic, Aristh? No time for that.
My father told me his mother was a poet. He told me that when I was very young. I tried to be a writer for a little while. Needless to say, that was before I knew about the Yeerks. Now it's my duty to fight for my people. But...sometimes I wonder...
If you could've been a poet? Did you not HEAR what you said a second ago? That was...not even poetic.
I laughed despite myself. I looked out the window again, after arranging my quarters. Stars. I loved the stars. But I wasn't going to be making a poem about them any time soon.
I sighed and walked around the grass on my floor. Feeling refreshed after that, and dipping my hoof in a pool in one of the corners, I headed back for the bridge to talk to Hetrock.
-
((I've been meaning to post this for... umm... ages. :P I never get to write from real-Fiona's point of view. XD))
I rolled over onto my side, squinting at Adam next to me. He was curled into a ball, facing the window. He'd turned up a few hours ago, looking like a wreck, then fell into bed without a word.
Weird how normal that seemed.
I had been laying there next to him for awhile now, staring at the ceiling, trying to will away my pounding headache. I sighed and got out of bed, careful not to disturb Adam, though he slept like the dead anyway. I went into the bathroom, shutting the door behind me. I leaned against the sink, glancing at my reflexion. Ugh. Charming. And I'd thought Adam looked bad. I looked like I hadn't slept in days.
I opened the medicine cabinet. I picked up the bottle of Advil, giving it a shake. Empty. Of course. I tossed the bottle in the trash and closed the cabinet. I glanced briefly in the mirror again. "Holy--" I whirled around and...
There was no one there. I shook my head. I wasn't even sure I'd actually seen anything. "I need sleep," I muttered. I reached for the light and just as my hand connected with the switch I stumbled forward, losing my balance. "What the--" I batted at the wall, trying to regain my balance as my vision blurred. "No!"
Tripping, falling toward the floor. Then nothing.
--
((And... POV change. Spirit-Fiona.))
I pulled my legs to my chest, panting, leaning against the bathtub. I close my eyes. Listen. Nothing. No horrible voices coming for me. No internal voice. It's just me again.
"Fi?"
I jump at the sound of Adam's voice from the other side of the door. I'd know him instantly, even if I hadn't been following this body around for the last few days. It's all right there. Adam Kohl. Nineteen years old. University student. Part-time waiter. Half-Jewish and not particularly religious--this was important. He was the least likely person to give me any trouble. Right then I knew everything I needed to know. I was safe again for awhile.
"Fi? Are you okay in there? I thought I heard--"
"Fine," I call out, making sure my voice was perfectly level. "I'm fine. I'll be out in a minute." I listened to him leave, then finally let myself relax. It was over. For now, anyway, I had time.
-
I walked up on the bridge. Hetrock was busy with his practiced movements preparing to jump to z-space.
<Hetrock.>
He turned one stalk eye, still tending to the controls, <Ah, aristh. What can I do for you?>
<I woukd like a passenger manifest, if you wouldn't mind. These are fellow arisths and warriors after all. I should get to know them.>
Hetrock laughed, <You don't get to know someone by looking at a manifest.>
<I am aware of that, Captain. I only meant I wish to familiarize myself with their names.>
He nodded and pressed a few keys with his right hand while keeping the controls steady with his left.
<The manifest has been sent to your quarters. Is there anything else?>
I turned to leave, <That is all, thank you for your assistance.>
I stepped on the lift and waited as it went down to the second level. As I walked to cabin D, I encountered the first of my colleagues.
<Hello, I am Aristh Gremytt-Pekulon—>
<Gremytt-Pekulon-Thelan. The last one to arrive. I was wondering how long the Serenity would have to wait for you.>
I was silnt for a moment. The other warrior said nothing either.
<Oh, how rude of me. I am Warrior Chugilor-Waheen-Rethis. And I need to get to the upper deck, so if you will excuse me...>
Chugilor brushed past me just as impatiently as he had cut me off. I stood there dumbly for another moment, trying to figure out what was going on. Then, <Nice to meet you too...I think.> I told no one.
I walked back to my quarters. I initiated the wall terminal and read the manifest. It was sorted by rank and name.
Warriors
Chugilor-Waheen-Rethis; well, I knew him already. Wish I did not, nut there was no going back.
Vetaq-Karmesh-Fenigal; I had heard about him. He was a tactician. Wasn't much for relstionships though, nobody expected him to ever take a mate or have a child. I mean seriously...who wants to live with a mate with a name like Karmesh?
Arisths
Gremytt-Pekulon-Thelan
Irigow-Bethepat-Morfes; just another warrior-in-training.
Pizali-Nehmin-Quiara; a female? In the military?
Sewitan-Jaheed-Lekhin; a scientist
I nodded to myself and tried to memorize the information...just then the ship rocked. I looked out the viewport. We had translated to z-space. It would be another month until we arrived at Jaegis IV. I had plenty of time to memorize the manifest...
-
The haunted house had been Void's idea, obviously. Prospero had shot it down almost instantly, largely because there was almost no way it could turn a profit in the drug-addled Underdome and because it made a mockery of Void's powers and of their young organization. Young as in the membership was them and three other guys Void had brainwashed in a bar. But Void was confident, oh yes. It wasn't like he was planning to make a base out of this thing.
Void paced along the empty warehouse, checking the dimensions of the walls he'd ordered carefully. He looked up at the short staircase he'd constructed that, in theory, went into an entire other wing from the perspective of the people touring the house but in practice just went to four other rooms they'd hastily built in. The East Wing and West Wing still needed significant work if they were to function the way he'd intended, because the two hallways needed to funnel into one another without actually appearing to do so to the participants.
"Do you have the sound system working yet?" Void called up to a minion on the ladder. "We need to have perfect coverage throughout the entire warehouse or the whole attraction falls apart!"
The minion on the ladder, sweating in response to Void's own tone and anxiety, called down nervously with, "I'm sorry that it's taking so long, sir! We have the East Wing and West wing speakers clear down both halls so far as they're complete, but complete coverage for the upper is taking a lot longer! Prospero says----"
"I'm right here," said Prospero pointedly, putting a hand on Void's shoulder. Void nearly jumped a foot in the air. Prospero sighed. "And what I said was that you had the angles on the hallway wrong if you want to project his voice correctly. The way they're set up now, the feeds from the speakers will blend into one another."
The guy on the ladder saluted, and darted down the ladder, running across the floor to relay this information to the group on the second floor. He nearly tripped on the staircase as he went up. Prospero and Void both chuckled.
"They're so fast, Derek, to do whatever I want," said Void. "They just..." Void folded his arms behind his back and fell silent.
Prospero smiled and shrugged. "This is what you wanted, isn't it? Eventually, we'll have an entire army at our beck and call. The triumphant return of Mind Melter the Malicious after six years of absence and sobreity."
Void chuckled. "Oh don't call me that again, Derek, we've long since moved past our childhood! We are young men with a glorious future ahead!" Void shot his fist up into the air. Void had to swallow down his fear that he was doing the wrong thing.
"Hey, don't get ahead of yourself, we've got a long way to go--- You're still not certain they will see what you want them to see, and fall into your control," said Prospero. "Remember: You have only tested this method on me. And I am much more likely to listen to you."
"True, true, but if I can't be confident I sure can't inject it into other people, you know?" said Void, gesturing outward with his hands in an exaggerated shrug.
"Yeah, I know," said Prospero. "You do need to keep it together for the show. Even if I'm still not convinced it'll work, Jeffrey. By you, or anyone else, despite how convincing you can be. This place is not the same as the Upperdome where we grew up together."
Jeffrey laughed. "Oh come on, how bad could it be?"
Jeffrey, as always, underestimated it.
-
Verdana and a Plant Monster named Flowey sat in a basement lab, working on a machine.
"Lots of people accomplish things in their lifetimes. So I'm going to accomplish something too." Verdana said.
"You're still a little kid. you have plenty of time, especially since you're part Boss Monster." Flowey said.
Verdana kept tinkering, while Flowey handed him tools and such as he needed them. He didn't really have permission to be down here, but flowey didn't care about rules. He kept watch while Verdana crawled in and out of the thing. Suddenly, the machine started making noise.
"I can't believe it. Verdana, did you actually get this thing to work?"
Its humming grew louder, and they could see light forming inside.
"So....do we tell Sans now?" Flowey asked.
"Yeah. Go tell him. He might need to be woken up first."
Flowey left. Suddenly the door to the machine opened. Inside, Verdana could see a strange sight. He took a tentative step inside.......
-
"William Charles Bridgeport." The stout, burly man didn't look at the prisoner as he recited the name. His small, beady eyes were on the substantial crowd. What had started off as a morning trickle of interest had slowly swelled throughout the day, filling the town square with the atmosphere of a festival. Peddlers had brought out their carts, several musicians were playing for coin, their separate melodies battling for priority over the crowd, and dozens of townfolk milled about, sharing gossip.
This continued for hours, but now the main event was at hand. At the appearance of the stout man, a knowing hush fell over the crowd. Mothers bent and silenced their children. Fathers lifted toddlers up on their shoulders for the best possible view. The man grinned, sensing their attention, reveling in it.
"William Charles Bridgeport," he repeated, and with a flourish he gestured at the man behind him. "You are hereby convicted of piracy, extending from the southern coast of Georgia through the waters of Canada. Do you have anything to say for yourself?"
The prisoner stood straight and tall, wearing simple britches and a white shirt, both dirtied from weeks spent in the town's single damp prison cell. His long, blonde hair was gathered into a simple tail at the nape of his neck and, despite his tired, rumpled appearance, he held an air of nobility about him. At the moment, his hands were restrained behind his back with a length of rope. Just behind him a far more sinister rope dangled from the branch of a large oak tree.
William's blue eyes cut to the announcer and his lips twisted into a smirk. "You forgot the English coast," he put in lightly. "I didn't cross the Atlantic five times to be denied recognition."
This drew several gasps and many more laughs from the audience. The stout man looked flustered by this, and William shot the crowd a winning smile.
"Very well," the announcer said briskly. "No less than seventeen counts of piracy within the United States of America and Canadian territories. An untold number of counts along the coast of England."
"The Caribbean too," William added, tilting his head thoughtfully. "And I suppose if we're adding it all up, we should count Spain and Portugal as well." The laughter was growing now, and William paused to wink at a woman in the front row who giggled nervously. Then he turned back to the stout man. "All told, Mister Richards, I'd say it's a hundred counts at least."
Richards' face was beginning to grow red as the crowd turned from him to William, placing its attention in the more entertaining of the two. "Yes, yes, a hundred counts!" he cried. "We can all agree you are quite the terrible man and have done a disservice to many reputable towns!"
William opened his mouth as if to say more, but then simply closed it, inclining his head regally.
With a huff of irritation, Richards stepped forward, willing the attention of the onlookers back to him. He took a deep breath and began again. "William Charles Bridgeport. On this day, the twentieth of April in the year of our Lord, seventeen-ninety-nine, you are hereby sentenced to death by hanging," he said. He paused, letting the sentence settle into the minds of the crowd. His words had the intended impact, and almost every pair of eyes moved to the noose, swaying gently in the spring breeze.
"I suppose it is," William said, though this was murmured quietly, meant for only himself. The words tasted bitter on his tongue. Hardly fair that someone like me should find himself at the end of a rope, he thought indignantly. His jaw set, and he fought to keep a look of casual indifference on his features.
"If there is nothing more to be said, let us proceed," Richards continued, turning around to leer at William. The pirate could tell the executioner had been looking forward to this moment. The moment when William's mouth would be shut forever, unable to sweet talk or cajole his way out of trouble. Two weeks in the town's prison had made him somewhat of a celebrity. Despite the death sentence hanging over his head he had earned a small following of admirers, and it irked Richards to no end.
When William said nothing, Richards went to the noose, drawing it over William's head. The thick rope immediately began scratching the soft flesh of William's neck, and it took the prisoner a great effort to keep his expression calm.
"Wait," William said quickly, as the man moved to push William forwards, off the platform. The word shook more than he would have liked.
Richards paused, a leer spreading across his face. "Yes?" he asked sweetly. "Do you wish to atone for your sins before God? Perhaps to beg for your life?"
William's lips pressed into a tight line and he shook his head once. "I wish to make a confession," he said lightly. "So I can leave this world with a clear conscience."
He could sense the interest of the crowd as it hushed further, seeming to draw closer to the crude platform on which William and Richards were standing.
"A confession?" Richards demanded, surprised. "Beyond piracy?"
William smiled thinly, doing an admirable job of looking unconcerned. "Of course. Men are simple flesh, and apt to commit many sins, are they not?" he asked.
Richards hesitated, then gave a small nod of ascent. William forced a smile onto his face, ignoring the rope around his neck. "I wish to confess to the crime of fornication," he said, speaking loudly enough for his voice to carry over the crowd. "The other night, as I lay in my cell, I was visited by a young woman of good birth. She seduced me and I lay with her as if she were no more than a common ****."
This drew a surprised murmur from the crowd, and William's grin settled more firmly into his features at the sudden outbreak of conversation. Men and women looked around, as if the perpetrator may already be wearing a scarlet letter. Even more satisfying, William saw Richards swallow nervously. A sin committed with another would require two names. To lie with an unmarried woman of good birth could ruin a family in a town this small.
"And will you reveal the name of the woman who lay with you?" Richards asked formally. The onlookers fell silent once more and the air became thick with anticipation. William let the moments drag on, ensuring he had the attention of each and every one of them.
"Why, Miss Annabelle Richards, of course," William said smoothly. "Your daughter, I believe?"
There was a collective gasp from the crowd, and William had the benefit of seeing Richards' face turn from red to purple. The silence broke and a wave of excited chatter suddenly filled the air as everyone tried to find the woman in question.
"I do hope you don't punish her for my weakness," William went on, though his voice could scarcely be heard over the crowd. "I wouldn't want --"
A sharp, enraged fist to the gut cut William off in mid-sentence. The prisoner doubled over, which only pulled the rope tighter around his neck. Before he could recover, Richards delivered a single, forceful push.
The sound of William Bridgeport's neck snapping was loud enough to quiet the first few rows. The remainder of the crowd died down, their attention brought back to the platform, and the man who now swung before it, a small smirk still playing over his lips, even in death.
-
((Here's an adorable, childish excerpt from Tales from the Dome :3 )):
------
Void left the house in the middle of the Umbral Time, taking care not to wake Rosie as he shut the door behind him. Most of the Upperdome’s traffic and bustle had cleared out, although the False Sun was still as bright as ever. On occasion, perpetual day had its problems. The Upperdome’s citizens, however, had adapted. Heavy curtains were drawn over the windows, and some people kept entirely pitch black rooms that shut out light. Void walked through the empty streets with only the nighttime crowd and his own kin, the Heroes and Villains, awake.
Void had a specific destination in mind, but he was going to take his time about getting there. He wanted to cross away from the main streets and bustle of the city, towards the manicured and manufactured parks and forests of this part of the Dome. The people here, as rich and urban as they were, occasionally wanted to get in touch with their wild side without entering the Agricultural or Pastoral Domes. After all, who wanted to spend time near those rustic peasants? He wanted to reminisce in the largest of these preserves. He wanted to see the first base he had ever made, the place where he had spent many years with his best friend.
The grass in the Dome seemed greener back then, and the False Sun’s light shone gold through the trees in the Dome’s national park. Void, a child in those days, saw the streak of blue darting across the forest floor toward him and smirked. Derek was coming. Void hurriedly ran over to the back of the treehouse and threw on a dirty black coat he had stolen about a year ago, which he felt added to his villainous presence. He then picked up the two long, sharpened wooden daggers he used as weapons. They were decorated with considerable care and attention to the hilts. As a finishing touch, he smoothed out his hair and put on a papier-mâché mask he had made in class. Void’s artistry assured that the art teacher wouldn’t question where he lived. He then stood menacingly over the entrance to the treehouse.
“Ahahahaha-haha, and so you have come, Static!” Void said, letting out his best evil laugh. He was aware that it needed some work. “My doomsday device is almost complete!”
Standing below Void, a few feet away, was his friend Derek. The kid was wearing makeshift cardboard armor hastily painted white and a rather feminine-looking circlet around his forehead, from which it kept slipping. It actually belonged to Derek’s mother. He pointed a
plastic sword directly at Void. He had an unusually serious look on his face, although he was resisting the urge to smile.
“I know what you’re planning, Mind Melter!” he said. “You want to use your Millenium Death Ray to fry the brains of everyone in the Upperdome so that the adults become your mindless zombie army! I, the great hero Static, will destroy you before that happens!”
Void put his hands on his hips.“Come at me, then! I’d like to see you try!”
He then leaped onto the ground skillfully, in a way taught to Derek by his parents. The two boys crossed weapons and began smacking each other over and over with them in a haphazard fight. The battle went around the treehouse in an almost precise circle. They weren’t really watching where they were going. At one point Void had his dagger triumphantly pressed against Derek’s throat, but Derek grinned and used his powers to dart out of the way before Void could blink. Void looked around rapidly for Derek, and he was surprised when Derek slammed into his chest and knocked them both to the ground. Void cried out in a combination of joy and surprise, trying to turn Derek around to the other side so he could get the upper hand. Derek lightly kicked Void and he went rolling across the ground. It took him a moment to get back to a kneeling position.
“Dammit!” Void said, glaring at Derek. “You always get me before I can hit you!”
Derek chuckled. “That’s because you’re bad at fighting, Void.”
Void grumbled. “Oh yeah, well—” Void looked off in an imaginary different direction.“What’s that? The death ray is almost ready to fire? Excellent, my minions! Ahahahaha!”
Derek’s eyes widened. “Oh no!” He began to scramble towards the tree house to stop the imaginary death ray.
Before he could, Void said, “Stop. First, I use my amazing mind melter powers on you. Do the chicken dance.”
Derek pretended to be scared and did the chicken dance. He was clearly better at fighting than dancing.
“Countdown ten, nine….Say strawberry ice cream is better than chocolate,” Void said, an evil grin forming.
“What?! No way, man...I…” Derek rubbed his forehead. “...maybe? No fair, Void!”
“Oh come on, it really is,” Void said. “Eight, seven…”
“Must… resist… evil powers born from Netherworld…” said Derek, making quite ashow of stumbling around drunkenly. Void laughed out loud. “Six… five… And then Derek triumphantly broke free of the villain’s grip!”
Derek’s mind snapped back into focus and he pushed Void hard in the chest, sending him tumbling onto his butt. “And the Hero totally punched Mind Melter in the face!”
Void pretended to be gravely injured. “Cough cough… You may have defeated me in battle… but the countdown is almost finished.The death ray is… like… coming out of the top of Mind Melter’s secret base. The console is inside; hurry! Four… three…”
There was a ripple and a humming noise around then, and Derek’s smile grew broader. This was easily the best thing about playing the game with Void. Derek was suddenly tall and muscular and powerful, and Void’s treehouse was a spiky metal monstrosity with a massive laser mounted on the top. Void couldn’t do it for more than a few seconds, but neither boy had met another Esper who could create such realistic illusions at all. Derek rushed toward the base at top speed, trying to outrun Void’s limit so that he could actually “see” the console.
“Two… one…” said a feminine robot voice from inside the base. Derek then overloaded the machine in front of him and jumped out the front of the treehouse, rolling along the grass.
“And BOOOOOM, boooosssshhh, explosions everywhere! The crowd goes wild!” said Void, wiping sweat off his forehead. He had taken off his paiper-mâché mask.
Derek looked up at the treehouse, and it was just a treehouse again. “Aw man,” he said, somewhat disappointed.
“S… Sorry,” said Void, awkwardly. “I haven’t been able to make it that far.”
“It’s okay,” Derek said, putting an arm around Void’s shoulder. “Next time we’ll get it for sure.”
They never really did “get it.” By the time Void could hold an illusion for long enough to produce a vision of the explosion, the two boys had begun to plan bigger and better things. Nonetheless, they spent many an Umbral hour sketching their costumes and chatting about
everything and nothing, fake weapons and real dreams beside them.
-
Hope this is suitable, any feedback would be appreciated! This is about Forlin. :)
My name is Collin. At least, that is the name I chose for myself.
I did not know who or what I was. I still don't fully know who I am...and what is negligible. I crashed on Earth in the 90s. At least, I think it was around that time. I was in bad shape, and so was my ship. I recovered some things from it -- a picture of what must have been my family, a datapad, and a sort of ray gun. I had a bandolier of sorts that I could keep them safe in for now.
I fled the sight of my ship. I don't know why, I was just filled with some sort of...dread. I ran, and ran, until I collapsed, exhausted, in the forest.
I lived in the forest for a while, feeding off the strange, alien grass. It took a while for my body to get used to it. And when I was feeling better, I started to search more. I came to a strip of black material. It did not taste good. And wheeled vehicles came hurtling across it. I hid when I saw them.
I did not know how I managed to happen upon the human habitation. There was another strip for driving vehicles across, but it was thinner and surrounded by trees, hidden. I had tentatively approached the building, eating the grass as I approached. I hid in the forest, and watched the people living in the building. I listened to them enough that, somehow, I could eventually understand them, and make contact.
His name was Christopher. He was a Junior, which I learned was a rank in his schooling. 'High school', he called it. He seemed very accepting of me (or as he called it, 'totally chill with the telepathic blue alien centaur', though he said that his parents probably wouldn't be, so much. He even let me 'change' into him. It was a strange experience, but not unenjoyable. He taught me how to dress my body in clothing, and speak with a mouth. He got kind of worried when I began to eat everything in what he called a refrigerator, however...
I helped him with his chores and his homework. I had a mind for the academics, it seemed, and I sometimes overdid it with his mathematics homework...his mathematics teacher had been shocked at his work. I helped him where I could, and he taught me human things and gave me different foods to sample. I passed for a Chris quite well, as long as they didn't see the two of us together. Chris didn't have a twin.
Eventually, I was discovered. They found the two of us, me in my Chris morph. His parents weren't exactly happy, but they weren't about to throw me onto the street, either. They eventually came to accept me as part of the family, even helping me to get a unique human morph and an identity. I made a lot of human friends. I enjoyed spending time with them. As long as I wasn't at an all-you-can-eat buffet, too, I passed pretty well for a human.
Chris graduated a long time ago. Eventually, he moved to California. He'd gotten a job offer there. I joined him, and eventually applied for university in the area.
University was quite an experience. I was good with my academics, but sometimes, people would get to me. I never really completed it due to constantly flip-flopping with my degree, but I intended to go back when I got a chance. It would give me a better opportunity of getting a job.
Meanwhile, I'd noticed a lot of strange things going on. There were reports of wild animal attacks, and various disappearances. I had acquired some birds before -- a vulture and an owl. I used these morphs to scope out the city.
And that was how I found out about the Yeerks.
-
A little backstory for Luke, my character in GESB. AU by deliberate design.
The Yeerks had won, where I come from. Not just on Earth, but the entire region of the galaxy. The Andalites had left Earth for dead... and I can't really blame them. After all, humans were pretty self destructive before the Yeerks.
There were holdouts. Scientists and their military protection, hastily reorganized from their pre-war loyalties and nationalities. Whether the remnants were more level headed or lucky is up for debate.
As a Marine, I was assigned to secure one of the few starships captured or retrofitted from alien technology and existing human vessels. We were running scared and everyone knew it. Desperate times and measures go together.
Some scientist and officer got the bright idea of traveling back in time, attempting to warn the others. If it had been normal circumstances, my vehement protests might've had me drummed out for insubordination. Instead, since I seemed to have a grasp on the potential consequences, in addition to being fairly knowledgeable and completely expendable, the geniuses in command chose me to pilot this experimental drive, throwing me right into a star to use its immense power to break space and time.
I knew it wouldn't work right. I figured I was done for. Now I'm stranded on some random world with nothing to my name. I'm still trying to decide whether it's good or bad luck that I survived.
One thing's for sure. I'm not laying down. This might not be my universe, but my principles never change.
-
Here's a link to Morgan's interview from a few years ago. Since this interview: Morgan's wife Andromeda has passed away, and he is unaware of the location of his daughter. He's given up being a pirate and got a job as head of security on a space station. Morgan also learned that he's always been a minotaur, and the memories of being a human that was experimented on are implanted false memories. He's currently traveling with Julian (minotaur-like but horse instead of bull). Julian is a prize winning, champion sword fighter and has been a friend of Morgan's since they were kids. Considers himself a ladies man.
http://animorphsforum.com/index.php?topic=8356.msg651484#msg651484 (http://animorphsforum.com/index.php?topic=8356.msg651484#msg651484)
-
(( I had.... HAD.... to put in my two cents. Even though that's all I managed to contribute to the GESB as a whole... I never forgot about you guys. And Sonji is alive and well to this day, living out his days helping raise chocobo with his human companion, an ice mage by the name of Anna. So! Let's do a little deep dive in to Sonji's back story, and where he was back in.... key-rhist.... what was it Myitt... 97? 98? ))
Sonji-Radumar-Hushai hadn't had the easiest time of his military training at Academy. He was too curious, they said. Too eager. Unpredictable when he needed to be predictable and predictable when he needed to be random. He had the mind of an artist and the curiosity of a scientist. That was until the loss of the Dome Ship "The Elfangor" that Sonji had even begun taking his enlistment seriously.
The Elfangor had it's place in history. Their history. It was a sign of honor, of power, and of intelligence. Something every young Andalite wished to be a part of and something those who were alive before it's inauguration could remember as a momentous rememberance to one of their heroes. Whispers were abound, of course, about it's namesake and what certain schools of thought deemed worthy to judge of the War Prince's decisions, but Sonji was one of the ones who had looked up to that persona for most of his life. Once the dome ship had been destroyed, and a new war waged against them with the aid of these... Saiya-jins... the science officer decided to take his role in Andalite society a little more seriously.
He set to study. Not the books, he'd already read them. He immersed himself in combat. Where he had been agile and quick before, he started becoming acurate and strong. He signed up for missions on the front lines of the war. Not in the least because he wanted to get his hands on as much 'data' as possible but he wanted to put his skills to the test against things that weren't simulations or instructors who were told to hold back. He didn't develop a bloodlust.. but an insatiable need to understand the physical aspects of combat. Timing, distance, tempo, how to tell when his opponent was getting weaker or stronger due to his attacks. By the time he had reclassified his military service from Science and Xenobiology to Infantry and Special Operations, Sonji-Radumar-Hushai had managed to make a name for himself on his Dome Ship, "Excelsior" (( R.I.P. Stan Lee )) and began his new operation schedule in the distant fringe sector of the 'Outer Rim' where there was reported Saiya-jin activity.
Perhaps it was a solar flare, or cosmic winds, or something with the Z-space dampeners. But where he arrived was not where he believed he should have been.
It was like a dome ship. Only... just the top of it. A massive platform of what looked to be an amalgamation of nature and technology, a large structure in the distance being the only real above ground, visible building around. There was a massive lake.. some would call a sea, but he figured it fit more in the lake category since the place was obviously made by some intelligent species or another. To the south there was the large field and hills for what looked like miles, and woods to the west that seemed dense enough to support some forms of life but his sensors couldn't pick up anything. The place may as well have been deserted according to his instruments. The building took particular note because it had landing platforms around it. Five, conservatively, though if people just parked wherever then there was no telling how many ships could touch down at the same time. The building itself had three floors, from what it looked like outside. The building was partly overgrown, but the places the vines climbed up the walls were on trellises that could be seen in between a leaf here and there. What "wear" or time lapse the building may have had in use was engineered. Being a creature of beauty he could acknowledge that. Being an Andalite, it made him doubt that the place was nearly as deserted as it was being made to look.
The very first time the would be "Prince" Sonji made his way in to the Galaxy's Edge Space Bar... there was a fight. A particularly nasty knock-down, drag-out brawl with a very obstinate Saiya-jin who had gotten himself infected with a slug. Without any combat form yet, Sonji was limited to using the speed of his tailblade and ability to fight forward or backwards to best his opponent, and absorb his DNA for use at a later time when he had the energy to test it out.
After the initial confrontation, Sonji was a little less shy. With the power of one of his new enemies at his disposal, he had but to unlock it's talents and not wind up getting stuck in that form for too long. It was then Sonji started making allies. Another Andalite, Nalasin-Unica-Carincu, would be one of his first associates. She managed to counter his personality, and make him constantly watch how he behaved around the place. Eventually, he took quite a liking to her.
Myitt and a number of Jedi were his other associates. They were serious and about their business. He was remarkably less serious, but equally about business when it came to get something done. It didn't make for the strongest of alliances but when there was little more to be done but practice, or drink, some combination of the misfits could usually be found hanging about.
After conflicts with one Sith Lord and a handful of Vissers, Sonji left the Space Bar in order to continue his hunt for the battlegrounds he had been sent to discover. After months of training, picking up an entire catalogue of new tricks, and very nearly falling in love, the Andalite proceeded deeper in to the unknown space beyond.