Patreon LogoYour support makes Blue Moon possible (Patreon)

Star Wars Universe - Seeking a Trooper for the Lady

Status
Not open for further replies.

Chookfi Ishki

Meteorite
Joined
Jun 21, 2016
Location
Missouri, U.S.A.
I need a Stormtrooper tale fix, rife with smut, if you please. Admittedly, I write only original characters, and I have the one...

Pallas is a woman who enjoys the free life, living on the edge of systems, skirting the Empire and most folks for that matter. She makes ends meet with her small ship, salvaging wrecks in space, and answering distress calls - all between making ship modifications, occasional builds, and other things that have the enjoyable use of metal saws and welding tools. No one's nailed her down yet, and she has no intents to be.

There's just one thing...

She's found a ship. A ship with a very dead person on it, and no sign who that person is. But whomever that person is, they certainly have some really nice weapons on board, and a few things with the Imperial logo on it.

Yeah, they're hers... at least for now.


I tend to post paragraphs, and work either in Email or the Private Messages up here. I haven't done it in a long time, but I could even use the Google chat thingie, though it doesn't really allow for editing very well. I also tend to write daily, and prefer that my co-gamer/co-writer enjoys themselves, too.

About Star Wars - I'm not going by any sort of Cannon, and I'm not going to force anyone to adhere to it, I just want to use it as a backdrop, and a playground, and frankly I just rather like the look of troopers in their armor, especially with the most recent movie - they're a hell of a lot better shots now! So, I'm looking for a male Imperial to go toe-to-toe with this gal, maybe get her back to "civilization" as it were.

Here's a bit of writing for the tale:

On the fringes of the Empire, and the known galaxy, Pallas could do whatever she wanted to, from salvaging wrecked ships to reclining on a beach at the edge of a blue sea sipping a nice cool drink. Right now, though, the only thing she wanted to do was keep from screaming.

Wandering the edges of the systems, avoiding the main trade routes in favor of what others thought were short-cuts she had always made a killing finding an abandoned ship, or, better yet, the yacht of a very wealthy soul ever so thankful that she had answered their distress call first; there were always hazards outside of the regular routes and runs, and not all of them listed. Sure, salvage made money, but a rescue made contacts, alliances, and mutually beneficial relationships, and though she was leery of the strangeness of the signal to the call, she responded, and made her way as fast as her ship possibly could move.

Was that a length of a small or large intestine she saw hanging from the electrical piping in the ceiling of the small cargo bay, she wondered, amazed that so much blood, let alone so much tissue could be strewn about the area.

Curiosity and logic were the only things holding terror and disgust at bay, tamping down the normal human urge to either scream or run. Someone had died, horribly, and by the looks of the pink ear pinned to the near wall, it had probably been human like her. Covering her nose and mouth with a sleeve, she tried to ward off the heavy smell of blood in the air as she began to move about carefully, trying to find the cause of death, the source of so much destruction. And yet everything else in the cargo hold looked whole, spattered with blood and other things she tried not to imagine, but whole and remarkably undisturbed. There was no evenness to the disbursal of blood and remains and no sign anyone else had been on the craft.

Loathe as she was to touch blood, Pallas pulled out one of the cargo containers out of its bay, a durable thing only as high as her knees, and about as long as herself, but not very heavy. When she opened it, she immediately knew why, for tucked neatly into pillowing that had been shaped to its parts was a very nice, very new, and clearly very specialized blaster. No, not a blaster, a hand-held cannon, she thought.

Salvagers’ rights. Finders keepers. Yeah, she was keeping this.

Time meant something, which had her headed for the small craft’s cockpit, a straight shot as the thing was far from being a yacht owned by the wealthy. Maybe it was a far-shot system jumper, she wondered as she climbed the steps into the narrow hall that led to the cockpit. A door to her left read lavatory, the door to her right she felt no inclination to open, but after not hearing a response to knocking, instead moved on to the communications console in the cockpit. All she was obliged to do was announce that the distress call only led to a dead ship, and she had salvage rights; there was no law out here in the middle of nowhere, and she doubted an Imperial officer or magistrate would care to investigate someone’s death.

A search for a ship’s manifest or log turned up nothing, and any of the usual recording devices used to keep flight data had been purged, or erased. She had never seen this ship type before, and without looking at the engines themselves, she could not even guess who had manufactured the damn thing. It could have been a one-off for all she knew, or a kit, odd as it sounded. Even in the lone cabin, there was no sign of personal effects, not even clothes.
 
Status
Not open for further replies.
Back
Top Bottom