The Secret

I burn inside. My skin is aflame from the hurt I carry in my heart. The need to do something about this never-ending pain is so great that I am paralyzed, confused as to what I can do to end all this.

I am torn.

I am alone.

I am held within the tender blanket of a beautiful secret. It holds me close and keeps me warm and yet coldness seeps through the seams and into my very bones. I shiver and I close my eyes, wishing the darkness would grasp me and put an end to my misery.

For I fear there is no other way for the agony to pass…

There was a time when I enjoyed my life. I laughed, I cried, I yelled in anger and leapt for joy.

I am the daughter of an average farmer. I am nothing special.

I am just me. I am not tall and I am not of slender built. I am not beautiful, not in the grand sense, as some perceive.

I am smart.

I am foolish.

The secret begins many moons ago. I hear a pained groan from our shed, where my father keeps his machines for the farm. It is so small; I have to kneel to open the door. Moonlight pools around my feet as I step aside and peer into the shed. I am expecting an animal but what I see astounds me.

It is a human man and he is badly wounded. I see blood on his face, on his arms and hands. In the near complete darkness, I see his fingers are burned; his nails are a dirty russet color. A few nails are missing.

His lip is split. Drops of blood run down his chin. His eyes are swollen, his face bruised beyond recognition.

His hair is matted with his own blood and dirt. He is shaking. I feel his fear and I feel his pain.

“Dear Gods.” I whisper as I inch closer. He shies away from me, afraid for his life. My heart reaches out to this poor thing. Who could ever do something like this? It is beyond me.

“I wish to help you.” I whisper softly and I smile. “Please. You will die if you do not let me tend your wounds.”

He says nothing. I do not know if he is able to speak. His breathing is labored, his hands shake uncontrollably. I drop to my knees and I reach for him. The cold around me bites into my skin, the hard dirt underneath my knees scratches but I ignore it.

He is the important one and he needs my help.

“Please. I cannot bear the thought of you dying. Let me help you.”

He is young. Perhaps a little older than I and it hurts me to see him this way. “I will not hurt you. You are safe.”

There is a slight moan and then a gasp. I realize that he is sobbing, crying because of the pain. And I feel that he is not accustomed to kindness and he cries because he feels he can trust me.

I reach out my hand and after a very long while, he finally grasps it. I help him out of the shed and he leans into me, while I help him to the house.

To his haven.

To safety.

To the beginning of a secret.




It takes a full moon cycle for him to recover. I bathe him, I feed him and I talk to him. My father is not happy that I have brought a stranger into the house but I do not care. It feels right.

I watch the stranger sleep. I wish that he would open his eyes and tell me his name. But he is forever quiet.

He wakes up from nightmares. He shakes and quivers, he is afraid. His eyes are wide with fright when he wakes up. I never leave his side while he lies in my bed. I tend to him as best I can because…

…it feels right.




I read from old children’s books to soothe him. I realize that he relaxes when he hears my voice. It thrills me that I can help him with such simplicity.

It is the story of a lost young boy trying to find his family that seems to rattle him from his stupor. He turns his head and his blue eyes are…old.
“Stop.” He breathes and I am startled for he has so far not spoken to me.

I lay the tattered book aside and kneel by the bed. “You are awake.”

“Do not read that story to me again.” He says harshly, his jaw set firmly. I am at a loss for words.

The story hurts him I realize. He never tells me why.




Two days pass in which he will not eat. He will not speak. He is sleeping and yet I feel that he is awake. I talk to him and I read to him but never again the story about the boy trying to find his family.

His wounds are completely healed. The bruises are gone, his nails are growing and his skin is healthy. He seems healthy.

He is ill.

Ill at heart.

“Thank you.”

I glance up from my book and I smile. He is awake yet he stares at the ceiling, refusing to meet my eyes. “You are welcome.”

“Why?”

I am surprised by his question. I put the book aside and draw my knees to my chest. He is beautiful. Any woman would want him. His hair is as blond as the sun is golden, his eyes as blue as a vast ocean and he has the body of a warrior, a fighter.

I am nothing compared to him. I feel ashamed.

A farmer’s daughter has no business being near the likes of such beauty.

“I do not understand your inquiry.” I whisper, turning my gaze away.

He sits up and I look at him from the corner of my eye. Golden strands touch his broad shoulders. There is no warmth in his face. There is no happiness.

There are no emotions at all.

He seems like a programmed droid. Just a hull of a human being.

“Why did you help me?”

I shift my eyes to the floor at my feet. “Because you were hurt. You were bleeding badly. I thought you might die.”

“Why did you not leave me to die?”

I am surprised by his words and surprised by the harshness of his tone.

“I could not.” I lift my head and I stare at him, my vision blurry because of an onslaught of tears I cannot hold back.

Silence.

All I hear for a very long time is our breathing and the echo of my heart.

Silence.

He slides off the bed and kneels before me. I am shocked and I cannot speak. He grasps both my hands and suddenly leans forward and kisses each of my knuckles in succession. “I thank you for granting me a second chance to live.” He whispers against my skin, his warm lips brushing along my fingers.

I am stunned.

I am not worthy.

I pull my hands away. “You are welcome.” I whisper, avoiding his eyes.

He reaches up and touches my face, his fingers trembling. I am confused. He is a force of nature, a powerful male and yet he trembles and shakes.

“Never avert your gaze with me.” He whispers suddenly. I stare at him, shivering from the look in his eyes.

Hope.

Despair.

Desire.

Longing.

“What is your name?” I ask him slowly. He pulls away from me and gets to his feet in a single fluid movement.

“I have no name. I am no one.”




Another moon cycle passes and he talks only when he needs to. He helps on the farm and my father is pleased with his work.

I am intrigued by him and intimidated at the same time.

He has yet to tell me his name.

I see him watching me sometimes. When I work in the field with the droids, I feel he is watching me.

I like when he watches me.

No one else sees me at all.





“Ianus.”

I turn around swiftly, startled by the voice behind me. The night is cool as I stand outside with a thick shawl around my shoulders, breathing in the cold air.

He stands at the door of the house, wearing my father’s old clothes. They barely fit him for he is tall and broad.

“I beg your pardon?”

“My name. I am called Ianus.”

I am speechless. After two moons, he has finally told me his name.

Ianus.

A beautiful name.

For a beautiful man.





The fire burns brightly, flickers in red and orange colors. I sit before it and warm my hands. My father is out for the night and only Ianus is there to keep me company.

He does not speak. He hardly ever does.

I sit and I read until the shuffling of his feet surprise me. He sits down in front of the fireplace to my side. “Read to me.” He says softly.

“What would you like to hear?”

“What are you reading?”

“A story about forgiveness.”

Ianus turns his head and closes his eyes. “Read to me.”




Hours pass while I read. I feel his presence near me; I feel his warmth even through the crackling flames in the fireplace.

I feel nervous. My voice falters while I read. The words blur and I must stop.

I look up from my book and stare into the flames. Dangerous, life threatening and yet the giver of life.

“How were you hurt?” I ask into the darkness. I feel Ianus stiffen. Minutes pass without a word. He does not answer.

I read to him.




“I must leave soon.”

His words shatter my world. I can only nod because words fail me. I do not want him to leave for I have come to care for him.

I am not worthy.

“I will see that you have clothing and food for your journey.” I want to pass him but he grabs my arm and turns me around.

His gaze is chilling. Cold.

“I do not know how to thank you.”

“Do not.”

He will not let me go. Ianus simply stares and then he smiles and my world tips to the side.

He is beyond beautiful and he is leaving.

“You saved my life.” Ianus whispers and he touches my hair, coiling strands around his long fingers. “I was badly injured and you cared for me. You fed and bathed me. You let me stay in your home. And you do not want anything in return?”

“How were you hurt?” I want to know the truth.

That is all I want in return.

Ianus sighs, lets go of my arm. I wish he had not. I like his touch, the warmth and the gentleness.

“I am a Jedi Knight.” He says and I gasp. I had never suspected! He is one of the legendary warriors, a fighter for peace, honor and freedom. A wielder of the magic power they call The Force.

I am truly unworthy.

I avert my gaze but his harsh hiss makes me look up. “Never turn your eyes away like that.” He says and I frown.

“You are a Jedi. I am nothing. It is not in my place to look upon you.” I stare at the floor.

His fingers lift up my chin and he smiles. “You are everything.” He whispers. “You are a life saver. You are generous. You are loving and caring. You are a worthy woman and any man should be lucky to have you.”

I want Ianus.

Does he want me?

“How were you hurt, Ianus?”

He swallows but he does not step back. He strokes my cheek and inclines his head, golden curls falling over his shoulder. “I was hurt on a mission. My friends died. I was captured and tortured for information. I was freed by a friend and I escaped.”

“Your friend did not?”

“He was killed.”

I nod. “And now you must leave to be with your kind again.”

“I must leave because it is my calling.”

He does not move as he speaks. He stares at me and I hold my breath as he comes closer. Ianus kisses me and I melt.

No man has ever touched me. For I am not beautiful.

I am nothing.

I am…me.





He stays one more night. My Jedi Knight stays with me for one night before he must leave. His memory will haunt me for the rest of my life. He is perfection and I am the opposite.

His good-bye to me is not hasty and I feel that he is saddened. Ianus’ eyes are glazed while he whispers words in such a beautiful language; they bring tears to my eyes. I have never before heard anything as beautiful.

I do not want him to leave.

He is my secret and I want to keep him.

His life awaits him. The life I have given him.

“Good-bye.” Ianus whispers before he turns away from me and walks down the path of his destiny.

My secret. Our secret.

It grows within me.

I would never see Ianus again.

What's doing?

Nothing. Same shit, different day. Ring a bell?

I still have a damned cold. Or, better yet, I can't get rid of this friggin cough. This has been going on for two months. Cold -- getting better -- getting sick again -- getting a bacterial infections -- another cold and now it's a cough.

Yay. Don't I feel peachy?

I wrote my very first book. Can't do anything with it but at least I have my first book standing on my shelf.



I am completely and utterly proud of myself. Only problem is the story sucks big time. But I can always re-write, which I won't because it's fanfic anway.
I've started on the second part which is WAY better.

But since I now know that I am capable of actually finishing a story, I think I might just try and come up with something on my own. Which is harder than you'd expect because you don't want to steal from the authors you love. You want it to be your own. So I have to do a whole lot of research. Because I won't be satisfied with a normal, typical, cute lovestory. I need something more. Something fantastically dark . I'd love to include fangs but hey -- too many books out there right now.

But I will definately invent one hell of a hawt guy. Betcha ass on it.

Today I realized that I feel like going out again. To an average club with average music. No ska or punk stuff, no goth or metal or alternative rock. Just every day normal kiddie music. Pop shit.
I really feel like doing that some time. I just need to find someone to go with me. And bring along a camera. You never know if eye-candy is out there or not, right?

I tortured myself at the gym today. Exquisite pain. Sounds sick, I know but it feels good, especially if you've been locked in the house for weeks. I feel so much better after the gym. Just a little tired. I'll be going back tomorrow, again.
I have to get used to it, after doing nothing for three months.

Anyway -- I'm headed to bed.
Night all.

Almost done!

Two or three more posts and I am done with my story. How friggin cool is that? I've never written anything in this length before and even though it sucks big time, I am proud of finishing it. I'm finishing a story!!! *grins*

There's a second part that I'm working on. It's much darker than the first because my heroine has gone through a lot and she isn't the sweet girl she used to be.
I mean, she leaves her man -- cuz she's stupid -- claiming she has to be alone for a little while, to clear her thoughts. She's been having dreams and nightmares and they all end up with Kyp dying if she stays.

Wanting to be safe than sorry, while he's out on a mission, she simply writes him a note and leaves. For the next five years, they hear nothing of each other.

Now I'm guessing if Kyp Durron were in love, he would do almost anything for this person. He would kill for this person, he would die for this person. He's lost so much in his life that he might even cling a little bit too much.
And having Liz leave him this way, would be a blow. And he would be pissed.

Of course he tried to talk out their differences but Liz would never say what was bothering her. She would close up completely, fearing that he would know about the dreams and do something about it. But what if they weren't just dreams? What if they were visions? Because all her dreams that felt real, were real.

Thank you, Force.

So five years later, they meet again. Sexual tension en masse. Inuendo but no touching. Oooh, much fun.
Liz dreams of a young man begging for help. She hears him call and she finds him in the Outer Rim on a ghetto planet. The baddest slums ever. She has to fight her way to him and get him off the planet but she's had plenty of teachers and she knows her way around weapons now. She's a fighting machine with sexy heals. *laughs*

The boy, she knows, is Force sensitive and she feels that he has a destiny to fulfill. So they -- her manly girl-friend Ashaya -- plot a course to Yavin 4. On a stolen ship, though. And since the Jedi and the government work together, sort of, they have to impound the ship and Liz and Ashaya are taken into custody.

And Kyp watches. He stares at her at the ramp. His eyes blaze with anger. Carefully controlled. She can feel he's pissed. And she never keep staring back. Their eyes never leave each other.

This scene is my favorite actually:

Liz is in the brig, a la Star Trek. Forcefield in front and she sits on a cot, waiting. Kyp comes up and he just stands there, watching her. She watches back.

She knows what's on his mind. The questions of why.
A dialogue ensues and then:

"Oh yeah. It's what you do best, isn't it? Leaving." Kyp shrugged. "At least you had the decency to leave a note." Sarcasm leaked from his voice as he smiled begrudgingly and folded his arms in front of his chest.

Liz cleared her throat. Slowly she got up from the cot, walking towards the force field. Her heels clicked on the stone floor with every slow step she took -- a rhythm similiar to her heartbeat. "I didn't want to see the hurt in your eyes when I left. I didn't want to witness what I did to you." She sighed, letting her arms fall to her sides. "I was afraid to face you."

She smirked as she stood only centimeters away from the force field. Had it not been in the way, she would have felt his warm breath tickle her skin. She could have breathed in the spicy scent she remembered so well, the very scent that could arouse her instantly.

"Evidently now," Her eyebrows rose while she stared him down. She wasn't afraid anymore -- she'd left fear in her past. "I am not."

I'm going to have to rewrite this, I suppose. But this are parts of my notes right now and I'm loving it. Giving Liz an edginess, a bitchiness. I want her to fight with Kyp, I want them both to know that they can't leave without each other. God -- the fightscene with be hot, too!

Liz landed on the mat butt first. Her teeth clattered and the fighting stick twirled through the air, skittering across the gym floor. She stared daggers at Kyp, grinding her teeth and narrowing her eyes.

Kyp circled her, twirling the stick in his hands in a figure eight motion. "Get up." He all but snarled at her. "I know I taught you better than this."

And obviously there'll be kissing and stuff. *grins*
So much fun!

And not to forget, Lassiter will be back, too. He's even mean. Not that he wasn't mean before but this is vileness at its best. And he wants her and he'll do everything to get to her. But this time, all he wants is his revenge and he wants her to suffer.

Duh-duh-duh-duuuuuuuuuuuhhhhh.

*sighs* I'm content now.

Ah yes, I forgot about this pic. Me at the toy store! Mel and I were having fun playing with Legos. Grey legos -- Imperial grey, mind you.

Are you sure you weren't just dreaming?

Title: Are you sure you weren't just dreaming?
Author(s): Ceillean
Timeframe: /
Characters: Ben, Luke, Mara
Genre: Humor
Summary: Ben meets a Ghost
Notes: This is for the Professor Literati's Christmas Roulette Challenge.

Somewhere in your vignette or short story you must include a character with the name, Tiny Tim. You must also include a ghost in your story.
The sentence I used was: Again the specter raised a cry and shook its chain and wrung its shadowy hands

Enjoy.

---

Ben sat against the headrest of his bed and pulled his knees to his chest. He didn’t know what time it was and he didn’t much care – his new game was way more interesting than sleeping. Uncle Han had given him an early Life Day gift, the new Gamer1300! He could hide it anywhere he wanted because it was so small!

Mara and Luke hadn’t been too happy about the gift because they feared it would keep Ben from his school work and Jedi training. He’d promised to keep up his work and so far he had. But his parents didn’t know about his late nights playing “Rebel Alliance vs. The Empire”.

Ben snickered as his holographic figure shot up a Stormtrooper and the white armor exploded into a hundred oddly shaped, glittering pieces. Ben was a really good player – and it was kind of astral getting to play his Dad in a real hologame. The name Luke Skywalker hadn’t come up of course – Ben guessed it had to do with legal reasons; grown-up stuff; boring stuff – but who else would be the hero of the Rebel Alliance? At least Ben had never heard of another Jedi Knight who’d blown up a Death Star.

There had only been one Death Star, hadn’t there?

Ben wrinkled his nose and paused his game. One Death Star or two? He’d been forced to sit through boring history lessons with Master Tionne and the topic had come up but he couldn’t quite recall…

He shrugged and continued to play, his little figure jumping into an open X-Wing.

Ben giggled. “On to blow up the bad guys!” he whispered in the dark of his small room. And just as the X-Wing lifted off towards space, Ben heard something that had nothing to do with the game. He stopped moving, stopped breathing and switched off the Gamer1300, listening intently. At six years old, he’d learned how to focus the Force on his surroundings and as he did so, he felt something was out of the ordinary.

Leaning across towards his nightstand, he flicked on his light and scanned the room with his eyes. His closet was ajar and he saw a few of his shirts in a messy pile – he grimaced. Mara wouldn’t like that too much and the cleaning droid would want to strangle him! Maybe it hadn’t been a good idea to give the droid an emotion chip. She was one moody machine!

A few of his toys lay scattered on the carpeted floor, a plasteel cylinder in the corner showed his collection of stuffed animals. The tidiest place in his room was in fact his desk and only because he hardly ever used it.

Everything looked normal but it didn’t feel normal.

Slowly, Ben kicked the covers off and swung his legs over the edge of the bed. His toes barely touched the floor as he sat there, listening.

A rushing sound and then something rattling…

Ben frowned as he jumped to the floor, narrowing his eyes. With tiny steps, he moved away from his bed towards the open closet doors. He scowled at the mess – yeah, the cleaning droid would have his head for this!

When he turned around, he stopped, gaping at what met his eyes. A shimmering form of a boy his age sat atop his mattress, dressed in rags with disheveled hair. He looked like a mixture between a hologram projection and a Force ghost, the ones he’d seen on the holonet a few times already. And yet something was amiss.

Maybe the fact that this ghost-apparition-thing was holding his Gameer1300! Force ghosts couldn’t hold things could they? And neither could hologram projections!

“Who are you?” Ben asked acidly, folding his arms in front of his chest. “And why are you on my bed playing my game?!” If Mara had been there to see him, she would have been so proud!

The boy looked up and smiled. Ben found it a bit disconcerting that he could look through him and tell the time on his chrono standing on his nightstand.

“You don’t mind, do you? I’ve never seen anything like it.”

Ben glared and hurried forward, snatching his Gamer1300 out of the boys’ hand. “It’s mine! Who are you?”

The boy shrugged his shoulder and jumped off the bed. “Does it matter?”
“It matters to me. How’d you get here anyway?”

“I wander the area at this time of the year.”

Ben arched a brow. “Huh?”

“Life Day!” The boy frowned. “Are you mentally impaired?”

Ben’s eyes widened. “Huh?”

“Everyone knows about Life Day!”

“Yeah, so do I.” He raised his voice just a fraction. “Who are you?”

The boy walked closer and smiled brightly. “The name’s Tim. And who are you?”

Ben wrinkled his nose, as he looked the boy up and down. “Ben. Are you a ghost?”

Tim shrugged. “Looks like it, don’t it?”

“A Force ghost?”

“A what?”

“A Force ghost.”

Tim raised his brows. “What’s that?”

“I’m guessing that’s what you are?”

“Uh-uh.” He shook his head. “Never heard of it before. I’m just a ghost. I visit people on Life Day.”

“Why?”

“Just because.”

“Why?”

Tim turned on him and narrowed his eyes. “Stop saying that!”

“Why?”

“Because I’ll hurt you if you don’t!”

Ben’s lips quirked up into a little half smile. “I’d really, really like to see a ghost try and hurt me.”

“Well – “ The boy huffed out a breath. “I could curse you!”

“Curse me how?”

Tim took a step back and plopped back down on the bed. He seemed sad, Ben thought. Alone, maybe? “All ghosts can curse the living. I’ve never done it before.” His voice was quiet. “But you’re annoying so you might be my first!”

“What would you have to do?”

“Say a few words and wave my hands around.”

“Well, then say the words.”

Tim frowned. “You do know what a curse is, right?”

“I’m not stupid!” Ben said indignantly.

“Fine! But don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

“I’m not scared.”

Tim grinned and then shook his head. “Again the specter raised a cry and shook its chain and wrung its shadowy hands.”

Ben arched a brow. “That doesn’t sound like a curse.”

“But it is!” Tim’s voice sounded squeaky to Ben’s ears.

“What does it do?”

“What does what do?”

“The curse, you stupid ghost!” Ben shouted, feeling exasperated with him. He could hardly believe it! He was arguing with a ghost!

Tim shrugged. “I dunno. I just read the line in a book last time I was here. Can we forget about it?” He asked, trailing his finger along the covers of the bed. “Can’t we just play? I’ve been bored for so long.”

“How long?”

“A few hundred years.”

“Seriously?”

Tim nodded. “Yeah. You’re the first boy I’ve visited in a long time. Can we play or not?”

Ben shrugged and sighed. “Fine.” He gestured for the ghost to join him on the floor while he sat down cross-legged.

“My friends used to call me Tiny Tim, by the way.” The ghost said with a wistful smile.

“Because you’re short?”

He nodded. “Yeah.”

“I’m short, too. Who cares?”




Luke stretched tired muscles – wincing at the audible pops – and leaned back in his chair. Mara sat opposite him at the table, sipping at a cup of caf while skimming through the latest news on her data pad.

He jumped suddenly, as he heard Ben pounding down the hall like a crazy-boy, “I saw a ghost last night!” He exclaimed with a bright smile as he hurried to take his usual seat at the breakfast table.

Mara arched a brow and gave him a peculiar look. “A ghost?”

“Yeah! He was a Life Day ghost! He tried to curse me but it wouldn’t work. We played the Gamer together! It was astral!” Ben grabbed a box of cereal and poured it into his already waiting bowl, which had small pictures of roaring Wookies all around it. “He promised to come back tomorrow night! He could be my very first best friend!” He poured milk over his breakfast, oblivious to his parents’ amused yet concerned glances.

“Are you sure you weren’t just dreaming sweetheart?”

“Uh-uh.” Ben shook his head. “Because he told me everything I wanted to know. Including the gifts you’re getting me!” He smiled brightly.

“You peeked?” Luke asked with raised brows.

“No! I swear! Tiny Tim told me!”

“Tiny Tim?” Mara echoed, placing her data pad on the table.

Ben nodded vigorously while stuffing a spoon full of cereal into his mouth. “And thanks for getting me a game for the Gamer1300!” He exclaimed before taking a drink from his juice and jumping up off his chair. “I need to get dressed. Master Tionne will be so mad if I’m late!”

He gave his parents a quick kiss on the cheek and ran back into his room, closing the door behind him.

Mara frowned at Luke and cleared her throat. “Where’s our son?”

Luke smiled. “Seems he had a lively dream.”

“I’ll say.”

“And he peeked.”

Mara shrugged, taking another sip from her caf and directing her attention back to her data pad.

Upside Down

Title: Upside Down
Author: Ceillean -- the Kyp-crazed crazy woman
Genre: Humor
Characters: Wes Janson, Corran Horn, Garik Loran, Kell Tainer
Notes: Second Annual Winter Holiday Fic-Gift Exchange Fic-gift for Miraluka Jedi. Merry Christmas! I really do hope you like this. It was hard to write -- it's been years since last I read a Rogue Squadron book so I mixed them up with the Wraiths. Enjoy!

The fic-gift you are writing is for: MiralukaJedi

They requested:
1.Wes Janson trying to set up a really elaborate prank
2. Light-hearted fun
3. Who it is played on though, I leave up to whoever gets this in the end

I don't want: Drama (it wouldn't work with this one I think)

Characters: Janson (obviously), a member of Rogue Squadron or two

---

“How much longer?” Kell Tainer asked while making a face. His voice was laced with ultimate whininess, like a kid wanting a lollypop and being denied one.

Wes rolled his eyes. “Stop being a baby!”

“Well, if you’d at least give me something to blow up!”

It grew quiet for a moment and the way Wes creased his forehead and pursed his lips, Kell could see that he was actually contemplating his suggestion. A small grin spread over Kell’s face and his eyes twinkled with mischief. “I get to blow something up!”

“Well, not exactly.” Wes jumped from the ladder, eyeing his greatest work to date. “When’s Corran due back anyway?” He asked, smiling slightly as he shifted his attention to Kell.

Kell stood leaning against the wall, looking bored and yet he managed to pull off the stance of a man ready to spring into action at a moment’s notice. In this case planting a bomb in Corran Horn’s quarters. Although it was hard to imagine Corran finding it amusing if a part of his quarters were to blow up into a few hundred itty-bitty pieces. The look on the man’s face would be worth it, though.

“Depends on how long Face needs to get him as drunk as we need him. Could be a few more hours.”

Wes nodded once then rubbed his hands together with a bright, evil smile on his face. This was the sort of smile Kell knew meant trouble, the sort of smile where you backed away from Wes Janson while holding up your hands – palms up – pleading your innocence. “Did you bring it?” He asked in a dark, sinister voice. Only thing missing was the matching laugh – the one where the bad guy would throw his head back and exaggerate like a crazy man over and over again.

Ha ha ha ha ha ha – Ha ha ha ha ha ha…

At least in Kell’s mind Wes could pull it off.

“Yeah. It’s lying in the back waiting to be mauled, as usual.”

“Well then plant a confetti bomb in his stomach.”

Kell wrinkled his nose. “That’s not even remotely the same!”

“It’s all you’re gonna get! Now help me finish this up before Corran gets here.”

Grumbling something incoherent under his breath, Kell pushed away from the wall. Wes scrambled back up the ladder, grabbing a hydrospanner from his tool belt and reaching up to tighten another bolt that would hold the sofa in its designated place.

This place being the ceiling.

An old, stained caf table, the bookshelf (the little reading material Corran owned was glued onto the wood with reversible adhesive), two lamps, Corran’s small one-man bed (the poor sod) and now the sofa found their new homes to be quite fascinating. Kell had pulled out the ugly grey carpet, rolled it up and carried it into the small makeshift kitchen while Wes had laid out a large piece of Inolia, to make it look like the ceiling. A small grey lamp, which would usually give off an ugly dingy yellow glow, was attached to the middle of the floor.

Corran would love it!

Wes had already planted a few holocams all around the room so he wouldn’t miss a single second of his friends’ reaction.

This would so be worth it.






“You need to stand in order to walk.”

Corran ripped his eyes open and smiled – at least the lift of his lips was supposed to look like a smile, as far as Garik Loran was concerned. And even though Corran was short compared to him, he had to weigh at least a ton! His feet barely touched the ground as Garik held him up by his shoulders, pulling him along the corridor towards his quarters.

“You know…” Corran hiccupped while trying to stand up straight. If Garik’s sight had been impaired by an angle of about forty-five degrees, it might have seemed like Corran was actually standing. “I watched a movie the other night.”

“Did you now?” Garik asked, dragging Corran along the corridor. Overall it would have been easier to hoist the man over his shoulder but he would leave alone what little dignity still remained.

“Mhm.” When Corran started to giggle like a young girl, Garik knew Corran was far beyond drunk. This was completely, utterly and devastatingly wasted. “You, my friend, were one of those guys.”

Garik blew out a breath and counted the last few steps until he’d finally reached the entrance to Corran’s small quarters. “I was, huh?”

“Yep.” He smacked his lips. “You were so funny.” Corran threw his head back and laughed while Garik shook his head and wondered if he was like this when he was drunk. Force, he hoped not!

Just as he was about to touch his fingers to the controls of the door, Corran’s knees gave away and he slumped to the ground like a wet sack of…well, Corran. Garik couldn’t help but laugh at the scene that met his eye. Here lay one of Rogue Squadron’s best and fiercest pilots, passed out and drooling all over the floor.

Garik dug through his overalls and extracted a tiny holocam, one he’d used countless times while spying on people he wasn’t supposed to be spying on. It was almost ridiculous how much information he’d gathered on certain individuals – including his colleagues – to blackmail them. Who knew, maybe the pictures would come in handy some day. The thought made him grin like an idiot.

He snapped a few shots of the drooling wet sack of Corran, stuck the holocam back into his inner pockets and palmed the lock of the door. It hissed aside, revealing a brightly lit upside-down room. Garik laughed as he dragged Corran inside by the hem of his collar.

“You’ve overdone yourself this time.” Garik commented, dropping Corran as he surveyed Wes’s fantastic work of art. An upside down room – who would have guessed.

“How long will he be passed out?” Wes asked, coming forward with his hands stuck into the pockets of his pants. He seemed so nice and innocent the way he stood there, as if he were the nicest guy in the entire galaxy.

Yeah, right.

“Definitely a few hours. Where do you want him?” This time Garik did hoist Corran onto his shoulder.

“Right underneath the bed, of course.” He inclined his head towards the nearest corner. “We can watch him from next door. The holocams are all on and running, including four separate motion detectors to let us know when he’s finally awake. Kell’s already at his station keeping watch. ”

“Sounds like a mission to me.”

“Yeah, well.” Wes rubbed his hands together. “Look up.”

Garik drew his brow into a suspicious frown. Still, he tilted his head upward and couldn’t help but chuckle. “What happened to his face?”
Wes scratched at his head. “He had an unfortunate accident with Kell. He’s a menace by the way.”

Garik snapped his head around. “Look who’s talking.”

They laid Corran onto the floor and draped a blanket over him. Slowly and grinning wickedly, they left him in his alcohol induced slumber, eagerly awaiting the time Corran woke up. And they would tape everything – oh the joy!




Corran hoped he was only dreaming. One part of his brain was trying to wake him while the other was still sluggish, dealing with the fact that he’d had way too much to drink. Strangely, he remembered being with Garik and normally Garik was the one to pass out… Had he been awake, he would have realized that there was something out of the ordinary and he would have gotten suspicious.

Instead, he blinked away the remnants of the hazy dream (being gobbled up by a zoo animal) and turned onto his back. He didn’t dare open his eyes yet even though he wondered why in the world his bed was suddenly so hard. He tapped his fingers on the mattress and then realized it wasn’t a mattress at all.

Slowly, slow motion slowly, he opened just one eye. Minutes passed by and he didn’t move a muscle. He had to think this through and it was hard. So Corran was lying on the floor while his bed was up there? No, wait… that wasn’t right, was it? It didn’t make sense.

Grunting, he turned back onto his side and closed his eyes. Yeah, he’d had too much to drink and now he was hallucinating. He’d kill Garik for it later, once he was sober. Wouldn’t take more than a day or two, he supposed. And so Corran slept on, oblivious to the fact that Wes, Garik and Kell were watching him and laughing their asses off.



Five hours later Corran’s brain was at least half way functional. Or so he thought until he sat up and came face-to-face with a mauled Ewok. Its face was slashed in various places, showing white foam sliding down its dark brown fur. Corran’s eyes widened and he jumped back with a loud screech that could have shattered the windows.

The Ewok’s eyes blazed with anger as it stared at him, its face contorted into a mask of – wait a minute…

Corran inched closer and reached out with a finger. He pushed at the Ewok hanging from the ceiling and watched as it swung back and forth, back and forth. “Yub, yub.” It said with a very mechanical voice and although Corran’s brain worked slowly, still even he could figure this one out. “Kettch.” He said to no one in particular.

But then came the part of the “Why” and “What the kriff?”. He tilted his head upward and his jaw dropped. He had to be hallucinating! Why was he laying on the ceiling? How was he laying on the ceiling? Why was his stuff up there?

What the hell had Garik put into his drink?

Knowing it would make no sense to think about it any further, he decided to lie back down. But as he did so, he noticed the ceiling lamp not too far away from him…

He wasn’t hallucinating. This was real.

It took him a very long moment to piece everything together – Kettch, furniture on the ceiling, lamps on the floor… wow… Wes had done a perfect job this time!

Corran sat up and pursed his lips. From a distance, he heard wicked, evil sounding laughter. So they were watching him, were they?

Already his mind went into overdrive -- oh sweet payback.

Before he was able to scramble up though, Kettch made the most peculiar sound. A slight pop and then a hiss – and then the Ewok’s insides spread all over Corran. Some kind of sweet smelling red goo stuck to his hair and skin, running into his mouth, underneath his shirt and down his arms.

Oh yeah.

They were so gonna pay.