violencewasmeditation
i am my master's weapon.
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Six word story.
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@inacoldembrace asked:
“ lord starkiller. i take it lord vader has already engaged the enemy? ”
he’d exited the shuttle first. mostly because he’d been on his feet as soon as they’d touched land, and he hadn’t waited for anyone else.
conditions on the ground weren’t significantly better than what they had been in the sky.
except they were no longer attempting to navigate a faltering ship, and given that his master wasn’t present---he supposed that was an improvement.
“ yes, grand admiral. ”
there was a habitual, partway distracted sort of formality in his voice.
his eyes narrowed a fraction.
of course, he didn’t have any way of being certain that his master had engaged the enemy.
but---considering that he hadn’t waited for them, and that the jedi were out there, somewhere---it seemed like a reasonable deduction.
he could feel that he was close---but also that he was drawing further away.
“ there’s too much inference for our sensors to be of use down here. ”
he said it less because any of them hadn’t already known that---and more to address the fact that nothing had changed.
a slight frown shadowed his features beneath the weight of his helmet.
he glanced over his shoulder---finding the older man amidst the darkening haze, and then he looked ahead---back to the unfamiliar landscape.
made all the more unfamiliar by the influence of this storm.
“ i’m going after him. ”
it was a statement---not a suggestion, or a request. perhaps it should have been.
generally speaking, the inquisitors acted separately from the rest of the empire’s forces---and when those lines of authority did cross, disagreement often followed.
most of the time, he tried to avoid it. when it couldn’t be avoided, he could usually maneuver past it---or relent, if the matter wasn’t that important.
this was important. but grand admiral thrawn also wasn’t a normal officer. he didn’t believe that he could have intimidated him even if he’d wanted to.
in any case---he didn’t have reason to believe that the older man would attempt to stop him, but---if he did, he would at least consider what he had to say.
the wind tore at their clothing. it wasn’t that the storm was unnatural---no, he believed that it was entirely natural---but it wasn’t normal.
it was something more. more alive---and more powerful. and he didn’t feel that it favored their presence here.
#|| he showed no sign of uncertainty // ic ||#|| the dark side flowed through him in a bloody tide // verse: imperial era ||#inacoldembrace
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got caught giving a fuck. embarrassing.
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@leadstosuffering asked:
“ enough. ”
the weight of his master’s voice ruptured the silence, filling up his head---calm, unfaltering----commanding every inch of the chamber they occupied.
one word banished any delusions that he might’ve entertained about fixing the jedi’s lightsaber---that he’d failed to properly recover.
he’d been sitting cross-legged on the floor---trying to reassemble it, but the broken hilt was in more pieces now than it had been when he’d started.
his efforts to clear his mind and connect with the weapon had been useless. it was as though he could feel the components resisting him at every turn.
which he supposed they were. he wasn’t used to that, and gradually---that sense of futility had made everything worse.
he’d been aware of his master’s approach---of course he’d been aware. they were bound together. he could feel him every moment---waking or dormant.
he shouldn’t have waited this long to check himself. he should have accepted the situation for what it was.
instead, he’d only tried harder---to enforce his will upon the saber---only to lose the pathetic amount of progress that he’d made.
his master would perceive that. he would perceive everything.
the fractured pieces fell out of his hands and clattered pointlessly to the floor---his ears rang almost numbly with the sound.
he turned, rising---pivoting to face the older man. his movements were not quite rushed, but---they were very prompt.
he could feel that his control was imperfect---and he resented that.
he wasn’t used to making mistakes.
“ ---i apologize, master. ”
he dropped immediately to one knee and lowered his eyes---distantly aware of the fact that his hands wanted to shake, though he could not quantify the feeling.
there was no reason for it.
he had failed, yes---and if punishment awaited him, then so be it---but, the jedi was dead. the weapon was inconsequential by comparison.
his master was rarely even concerned with such details.
this manner of reaction---this dread, of coming up short---was disproportionate. he could not make sense of it.
cold anxiety poured through his veins. he ignored it. what was the matter with him---?
“ i have not done as you requested. ”
his voice was low and steady---detached from himself. but his master would know. it would not make any difference.
the fact that he had somehow become this consumed by the incident was inarguably worse than the failing itself.
silently, he clenched his teeth.
“ it will not happen again. ”
#|| he showed no sign of uncertainty // ic ||#|| the dark side flowed through him in a bloody tide // verse: imperial era ||#leadstosuffering
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I am forever chained to myself; that’s what I am, and that’s what I must try to live with.
Franz Kafka, from a letter to Felice Bauer written c. November 1912.
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@diebraverthanmost asked:
“ did i do it? ”
“ you did something. ” he murmured this---somewhat distractedly, but there was nothing inherently critical about it.
he frowned a little and brushed off his shoulder---narrowing his eyes against the stark influx of light, as the aftermath of the explosion settled around them.
unceremonious, but---effective, so far as he could deduce.
they could have done it together---obviously, but ezra had wanted to try his hand at blasting their way out of here by himself, so---that was that.
he could smell the bitter tang of dust and burnt wreckage. not the greatest smell. but there wasn’t much getting around that.
the point was, he could see a way out---and they hadn’t buried themselves alive.
and they didn’t need to go back the way they’d come, which might’ve taken hours.
his gaze shifted to the other boy and he stopped, his brow furrowing----a sigh manifesting somewhere in his lungs.
“ hey. open your eyes. ”
he took hold of ezra by his arm and hauled the other boy upright, setting him firmly back on his feet.
and dusting some of the refuse out of his hair. he wasn’t hurt. but he probably had surprised himself.
“ see? good job. now let’s go. ”
he swiped a hand beneath his nose and looked back at the rough opening---now that his eyes had adjusted, he could see that daylight was fading.
with a loose wave of his hand, he cleared a couple more chunks of debris from their path and started forward, leading the way out.
#|| he showed no sign of uncertainty // ic ||#|| the dark side flowed through him in a bloody tide // verse: imperial era ||#diebraverthanmost
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You are the one and only person in the whole world that I have wanted to believe in me,
Nikos Kazantzakis, from a letter to Galatea Kazantzaki c. December 1922.
#|| among all the dark thoughts in his head // musings ||#|| deciding with his heart rather than his head // ezra ||
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@diebraverthanmost asked:
“ he started it. ”
the two of them were alone---well, except for proxy.
but the droid had already been with him before he’d come across ezra---and the mess that he allegedly hadn’t started.
or rather---before he’d gotten a bad feeling, and had decided to go looking for ezra.
proxy was following along behind them now---quietly, for the moment.
the droid had shared a few choice opinions when he’d lent a hand in breaking up the fight. opinions that were---frankly, understandable.
if not all that helpful.
but he hadn’t been interested in hanging around to hash out the situation. he’d moved against the fifth brother first.
probably with more violence than had been warranted, but something inside of him had a way of snapping when ezra was involved.
then he’d grabbed ezra and left.
“ if you say so. ” there was nothing inherently believing or disbelieving in his tone. because he didn’t feel one way or the other about what had been stated.
aside from the fact that it was a childish point to make.
it could’ve been a lie. it could’ve been the truth.
it could’ve been somewhere in the middle. the other boy was likely beneath the impression that it was at least somewhat true.
he didn’t really care either way.
not about that part. he’d considered saying as much---but he didn’t suppose that would’ve had the desired effect.
besides. it was nothing that he hadn’t said before.
there wasn’t anything unusual about the inquisitors scrapping amongst themselves. it was just pointless, and he made a point to avoid it.
there weren’t usually consequences either---unless something got really out of hand. but---he knew that things were different for ezra.
because ezra was different---and the other inquisitors knew it. and that had a way of making everything worse.
he cast a sidelong glance at the other boy---appeared to think it over, and then he moved in closer and took him by the arm.
gently---seeing as how the disclosure of injuries was never high on anyone’s list.
his voice was low, and quiet.
“ come on. let’s get out of here. ”
#|| he showed no sign of uncertainty // ic ||#|| the dark side flowed through him in a bloody tide // verse: imperial era ||#diebraverthanmost
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Violence, too, is a teacher.
Maggie Smith, from “Stone″, Goldenrod.
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@inacoldembrace asked:
“ this braid you wear——it is symbolic, of this status? ”
it wasn’t the sort of question that he would have expected.
mostly because the people who might have asked him, would already know what it meant. and the people who didn’t know---likely wouldn’t have asked.
not directly, anyway.
but the man speaking to him now wasn’t most people. and, so far as he could determine---had never been intimidated by him.
that alone made him unique.
he had always assumed that it had something to do with admiral thrawn’s rapport with his master. but more than that, he tried not to assume anything.
“ yes. ”
his voice was low and quiet. he paused---appearing to consider his own response. then he idled a gloved hand.
“ in a manner of speaking. ”
unlike the origins of the practice, there was nothing altogether official at work in this case.
“ i will keep it until my training is complete. but i will never become a sith. ”
his eyes were lowered. but there was nothing outwardly troubled about his demeanor.
ironically, it was something that came first and foremost from the jedi. but the jedi were gone and they held no power over their former culture.
he gave a negligible shrug.
“ i guess it could be said that inquisitors have no tradition. ”
#|| he showed no sign of uncertainty // ic ||#|| the dark side flowed through him in a bloody tide // verse: imperial era ||#inacoldembrace
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At night I did not sleep. The headache began. What did I believe in, anyway?
Christa Wolf, tr. by Jan van Heurck, from “Cassandra: A Novel & Four Essays,”
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@diebraverthanmost asked:
“ you look the same to me. ”
he lifted his eyes and tilted a dry, vaguely dubious glance in the other boy’s direction. appearing less than convinced, but not all that surprised.
whether or not the memories were his to claim, there were nonetheless some things that he could remember---vividly, at that.
more vividly than anything he’d actually done as himself inside the facility. and it seemed like most of those things had to do with ezra.
so, despite the fact that he’d been ill-prepared for the other boy’s overall reaction to him---a lot of what he was hearing now didn’t catch him off guard.
“ very funny. ” his voice was equally monotone. he shook his head and looked back down.
he wasn’t moving. he wasn’t visibly uncomfortable either. but there was some indecision in his posture. in the way that his hands rested in his lap.
like he didn’t quite know what to do with himself, which---really, he supposed might have been putting it leniently.
he’d known that he wanted to find ezra---whatever that entailed. and that he needed to make amends. anything beyond that was like shooting in the dark.
“ you look different---your hair. ” he sounded as though he might have been serious, but his features were clouded and difficult to read.
without glancing back up, he idled a hand---sort of gesturing in the other boy’s direction.
he thought about reaching out further. he thought about touching him---in that moment. but he couldn’t ignore that feeling of doubt.
it was always there, shadowing everything he did---gnawing away at the back of his mind. for all he knew, it was a good thing.
he lowered his hand---staring down at nothing.
“ it’s better. ”
#|| he showed no sign of uncertainty // ic ||#|| the dark side flowed through him in a bloody tide // verse: imperial era ||#diebraverthanmost
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Margaret Atwood, from “He shifts from east to west”, Power Politics
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@leadstosuffering asked:
“ we shall wait. ”
he barely recognized the sound of his master’s voice. no---it wasn’t that simple. he could recognize it.
despite all of the distortion---the interference, the damage that had been done---the irregular lapsing between his processed voice, and what remained of his real voice.
he could still recognize it---and that recognition chilled him to the bone.
“ yes, master. ”
the response came numbly from his tongue---instinctive, and yet detached from himself---like a reflex that he couldn’t feel anymore, but hadn’t lost either.
words that he’d spoken hundreds of times---reduced to seeming empty and meaningless in the scorched air between them.
perhaps it was his own voice that he could no longer recognize.
there was a dull ache pounding through his limbs. his hands hurt. he could feel a deep burn on his arm where maul’s lightsaber must have made contact.
but he wasn’t paying attention to any of that.
he shifted---stiffly, as though someone else were moving his body, and sat down across from the older man.
since he’d found him, he’d been standing close---but there was nothing left to guard him from now.
he tried not to look at him. out of respect---and because he didn’t want to look at him.
he’d known of his master’s disfigurement---of course. he’d seen glimpses of his face. but this was different.
part of his mask had cracked open. his armor was broken in places. he was in pain. a great deal of pain---more than usual.
he could feel it---emanating from him.
a strange, unnerving sensation had overtaken him at some point---one that made him feel as though he wasn’t quite awake. he didn’t know why.
but he was vaguely aware of it.
they were waiting for assistance. that made sense. what else could they do? the rebels were gone. he couldn’t detect them anymore.
the fifth brother and the seventh sister were dead. the eighth brother was probably dead too. he swallowed with some difficulty.
he thought that he’d felt ezra, somewhere---but he’d never seen him.
not that any of that mattered. his master had said they were going to wait, so that was what they would do. what he would do. the emperor would send help.
that made sense.
but---was there nothing else that he could do? that he should have been doing?
there was always silence after destruction, wasn’t there?
the labored intake of his master’s respiratory system was the only thing that he could hear.
and it was a terrible sound.
he could tell that his master was calm---despite what had happened to him, and despite what surely amounted to a loss. that should have been good enough.
but, the straining---the constriction---the erratic struggle of that sound filled his ears until it was nearly deafening.
he’d never seen his master in this state before.
until this moment, he wasn’t sure that he had even realized it was possible. and that made him feel something that he could not explain.
something cold.
could his master die this way? was he dying right now?
another part of his mind countered that he was being ridiculous.
his master had overturned the full power of the detonation. he had stabilized himself despite the malfunctions of his armor.
it would have taken far more than this to destroy him.
he was distantly conscious of the fact that he might have been shaken.
from seeing this, from the deaths of his associates---and from his own encounter with maul.
he’d never faced someone of maul’s ability in a real fight before. it had taken all of his focus to keep pace---and even that hadn’t been enough.
had things gone differently, he might have been killed.
he hadn’t been thinking about that then. he’d engaged his opponent confidently. he’d done everything within his power to keep him away from his master.
absently, he squeezed his hands shut---and found there was a faint tremor in his fingers.
barely perceptible, and yet---utterly foreign to him. he wasn’t even sure when it had started. he stared emptily down at them.
and waited---as his master had said.
#|| he showed no sign of uncertainty // ic ||#|| the dark side flowed through him in a bloody tide // verse: imperial era ||#leadstosuffering
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Because no matter where you run, you just end up running into yourself.
Truman Capote, Breakfast At Tiffany’s
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@leadstosuffering asked:
“ if you wish him to accompany us, then you will be responsible for him. ”
“ yes, master. ”
there was no hesitation or disquiet in his voice. only acknowledgment, brought forth with steady, innate deference.
it wasn’t an unexpected stipulation. it didn’t bother him either. it would have bothered ezra, but he wasn’t going to hear it put that way.
unless it happened to be repeated later. in which case he would simply have to stomach it.
his eyes were lowered beneath the darkened confinement of his visor. nothing more would be said on the matter. that was evident.
if his master had any further thoughts on the matter, he couldn’t discern them.
but---in all likelihood, he just didn’t care.
they had paused briefly to speak in the hallway. now his master turned without a secondary glance, resuming their previous pace toward the bridge.
he did not lift his head. he simply fell---methodically, into step behind the older man. the drapes of his tabard stirred in his wake.
“ there will not be an issue. ” his tone had not changed from before.
the weight of their footsteps echoed down the corridor. they were given a wide berth. everything was normal. he drew one hand behind his back as they walked.
ezra wanted to partake in more things of importance. he would be happy about this. provided that he didn’t manage to perceive it as some kind of charitable gesture.
but he didn’t intend to present it that way.
not that it should have mattered. if his master had been inclined to disagree, there was nothing that he could have said to change his mind.
and he wouldn’t have tried.
#|| he showed no sign of uncertainty // ic ||#|| the dark side flowed through him in a bloody tide // verse: imperial era ||#leadstosuffering
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Ada Limón, from “The Unspoken”, The Hurting Kind
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