An Answer to an Unasked QuestionAn Answer to an Unasked QuestionAn Answer to an Unasked Question by Morfinwen
The cantina was too crowded for Meaghan Caoilfhionn's tastes, which is to say, there were more than three people in it. Apart from the bartender and the serving droid, there was a Wookiee, an Ithorian, two Rodians playing an increasingly unfriendly game of pazaak in the corner, and ... something, with blue hair, a synthflesh device over half the face and a very long double-edged vibroblade strapped to the back.
And her. Funny how with everything she had once been - Jedi Knight, decorated general, war hero, mass murderer, world-destroyer, exile, thief, stowaway, captain, bounty hunter, target, bodyguard, victim, card shark, mark, smuggler, slicer, anything and everything a sentient could do on the edges of known space - she didn't even feel comfortable in a bar any more. Being around other people felt a lot like getting entangled in the tendrils of a Manaan stringfish: stinging and irritation, followed by a tight binding feeling around t
If I Am Ever in a Detective StoryThe Detective's RulesIf I Am Ever in a Detective Story by Morfinwen
1. The importance of a piece of evidence is directly correlated to its apparent importance to my Assistant; the less importance he attaches, the more it will bear. Inversely, the pieces of evidence I consider most important will invariably be undervalued by the others. Never mind; this will only further establish my genius as a detective when I am, inevitably, proved right.
2. No matter what it is I am called in to investigate, murder will always be involved somehow. Always.
3. Everyone is to be suspected -- everyone; especially beautiful, unattached women or dashing, gentlemanly fellows who pine after me.
4. On my person I will always have the following items: pocket camera (with batteries and film if required), pencil and paper, flashlight, gloves, and trusty pistol or revolver, and a knife. The one time I forget or lose one of these items is the one time I will need
You and Me (Part Seven)*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*You and Me (Part Seven) by Morfinwen
What day is it?
And in what month?
This clock never seemed so alive
It's their first real argument.
When they first met eighteen months ago, a mutual need for survival kept their sarcastic barbs to a minimum. He ripped her a good one verbally a few months later when she confronted him about the lies he'd been telling and secrets he'd been keeping from her, but she had taken it all in stoic stride, not even raising her voice as she pressed him for the truth.
People are always underestimating her, seeing only the compassionate, effortlessly good Jedi, forgetting that she was once Revan and Malak's top general. If they could see her now - eyes flashing, face set like flint, voice as intense as a lightsaber beam - they would either lose control of all bodily functions, or run screaming like a stuck mynock.
"This isn't up for debate, Atton. I'm going after Revan, and you're not invited."
He folds his arms across his chest. Under other circumstances, he would be
You and Me (Part Six)*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*You and Me (Part Six) by Morfinwen
Something about you now
I can't quite figure out
Everything she does is beautiful
Everything she does is right
It's been hours, and she still hasn't said a word. He's about ready to tear his hair out, scream, or curl up in a ball and cry. If this lasts much longer, he might do all three; which is not acceptable, not in the slightest. He has to do something.
How could he have been so stupid, so phenomenally stupid, to let her go alone?! He knew what Jedi were like - at least, the ones who weren't her, or weren't trained by her. He had seen the holo-image of her trial from all those years ago. He should have known it was going to go wrong. He should have known.
Six hours ago, she was fine; when anyone else would have been nervous and antsy, she was calm, composed, and in complete control of herself. Six hours ago, everyone was milling about the Ebon Hawk restlessly, maybe a touch anxious but mostly just waiting for her to c
Twenty: I'm afraid I'm growing oldi.Twenty: I'm afraid I'm growing old by oracle-of-nonsense
Coupons and sales magazines
have become more than just junk mail
and the holes in my pants
seem more patchable
and I wonder just how much
my sparse jewelry would fetch
if I said I saw the face of Jesus
in the glimmer of my pearls.
I am beginning to miss the sea I grew up on
so much that I will read bad poetry
just for the mention of a salty ocean breeze.
I feel landlocked and sometimes I'm afraid
that I will never see the world
until I have retired from it.
Faith says her life is full of asking.
I wish mine were full of answers,
but I too have many questions
and only Time will answer them for me.
My mother just turned sixty
and her eyes when she looks at herself
in pictures from the '70s
makes me realize
that my time, however long,