Star Wars - Jacen Solo - "Lashes"
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driftinginninesTitle: Lashes
Fandom: Star Wars: Expanded Universe, post-Dark Nest
Characters: Jacen Solo
Word Count: 327
Date Finished: February 2, 2006
Author's Notes: When this was written I was a part of a group where members would pick a fandom (or pairing, or character, etc. -- I picked Jacen/Tenel Ka shockerrrrrr) and you'd have to take your fandom and write a short snippet or story inspired by a song -- which changed every week. This was a snippet I wrote for the song "Black Sheep" by Sneaker Pimps.
Lashes
He knew he put the Solo name to some sort of shame with what he had done. He had to get as far away from them as possible. Farther away from everything he ever knew, farther then he knew was it possible to go. The mother of his child had died. She had been assassinated.
So had their daughter.
He hadn't seen them in months. Didn't even get to say goodbye. Couldn't show up to pay his respects. He had been occupied. He had been in the ruins of the Jedi Academy on Yavin 4. Throwing things. Destroying things.
A display of emotions he was taught never to let take control of him.
And now here he was on New Coruscant, tattered cloak around his gaunt shoulders, the torn hood over his mop of dull brown hair. His eyes were quickly darting around his surroundings -- and while they moved fast, they were the most lifeless eyes the galaxy had ever held. Half-lidded, glazed. People along the street would inch away from him as they passed his wandering form.
Glitterstim littered his cloak pockets. Spice lined the compartments of his jumpsuit. He made an uncontrollable retching sound as he passed through a group of people, pulling the hood further over his head.
Jacen Solo slipped into an alleyway, slamming his back against the wall of a bar. He could feel the beat of the music against his body, shaking the exterior of the building. It seemed to match the irregular thumping in his chest.
If he had a single credit for every time he pulled that comlink out of his jumpsuit and went to contact his parents...
He couldn't.
They wouldn't want to talk to the coward again. The one who had lost everything, then had lost himself. They would want nothing to do with him.
They had lost both of their sons. One to a war and one to madness.
He was no hero. Especially not now.
Fandom: Star Wars: Expanded Universe, post-Dark Nest
Characters: Jacen Solo
Word Count: 327
Date Finished: February 2, 2006
Author's Notes: When this was written I was a part of a group where members would pick a fandom (or pairing, or character, etc. -- I picked Jacen/Tenel Ka shockerrrrrr) and you'd have to take your fandom and write a short snippet or story inspired by a song -- which changed every week. This was a snippet I wrote for the song "Black Sheep" by Sneaker Pimps.
Lashes
He knew he put the Solo name to some sort of shame with what he had done. He had to get as far away from them as possible. Farther away from everything he ever knew, farther then he knew was it possible to go. The mother of his child had died. She had been assassinated.
So had their daughter.
He hadn't seen them in months. Didn't even get to say goodbye. Couldn't show up to pay his respects. He had been occupied. He had been in the ruins of the Jedi Academy on Yavin 4. Throwing things. Destroying things.
A display of emotions he was taught never to let take control of him.
And now here he was on New Coruscant, tattered cloak around his gaunt shoulders, the torn hood over his mop of dull brown hair. His eyes were quickly darting around his surroundings -- and while they moved fast, they were the most lifeless eyes the galaxy had ever held. Half-lidded, glazed. People along the street would inch away from him as they passed his wandering form.
Glitterstim littered his cloak pockets. Spice lined the compartments of his jumpsuit. He made an uncontrollable retching sound as he passed through a group of people, pulling the hood further over his head.
Jacen Solo slipped into an alleyway, slamming his back against the wall of a bar. He could feel the beat of the music against his body, shaking the exterior of the building. It seemed to match the irregular thumping in his chest.
If he had a single credit for every time he pulled that comlink out of his jumpsuit and went to contact his parents...
He couldn't.
They wouldn't want to talk to the coward again. The one who had lost everything, then had lost himself. They would want nothing to do with him.
They had lost both of their sons. One to a war and one to madness.
He was no hero. Especially not now.
