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Short Love

 
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Short Love
 PostPosted: Tue Jun 14, 2011 9:50 am Reply with quote  
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  Darth Skuldren
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Rastaport was a descent space port as far as those in the Outer Rim went. Wannapa had seen much worse.

Kicking his feet in the dusty street, he found himself in an especially playful mood today. Flying deep space cargo haulers was a pretty boring job and it went against his natural being. Ewoks lived in the outdoors. Trees and green were the staples of their environment. To be locked away in a cramped cockpit with nothing to look at but sealed bulkheads was as dreary a fate as he could imagine.

Alas the pay was decent and there weren't many jobs he could get that allowed him to travel through the stars. For one, he was too short to actually fly the ship.

"Hey Wannapa, what say we jump in a hole and wet are whistles?"

Wannapa looked up at his captain. Egran was a weathered old human with little hair and fewer teeth. Still, he was a good companion. Wannapa hopped up and chirped in agreement.

***

The cantina was poorly lit. Each step was sticky and Wannapa could feel the residue of dried alcohol on the floor as it pasted to the bare pads on his feet. He was more than happy to hop on a bar stool and get his feet off the tacky floor.

"Bartender, two firewaters for me and my copilot."

The bartender, an Advozsec, gave Wannapa a long stare before moving to pour the drinks.

Meanwhile Egran glanced around the bar. The old pilot quickly spotted some women at the far end of the cantina. Egran flashed a smile but continued to survey the scene. "See anything you like, Wannapa?"

He was about to bark out a long tirade on match making and his opinion of Egran's taste in tall, pale, hairless females when something caught his eye. Over in a booth cloaked in shadows was a pair of glowing yellow eyes.

"Two credits." The bartender interrupted as he set down the firewaters.

Egran paid for the drinks and nudged Wannapa. "Go for it my furry little friend. Make sure to tell her you're a big chief in your village. Proud warrior...and how being a starfighter pilot on leave, you only have a few days..."

Wannapa squeaked a denial of such base intentions, but found himself hopping down off his seat and wandering over to the booth with his drink in hand.

"Can I sit?" He asked in Ewokese.

The girl flashed her beautifully bright golden amber eyes and waved a hand for him to sit. He climbed up onto the booth's wrap around cushion seat, careful not to spill his drink.

"My name is Wannapa."

The girl squeaked something that sounded musical to Wannapa. Like birds singing in the high trees on a bright spring day.

She shifted and her hood fell back a little revealing her furry cheeks. Wannapa suddenly found his little heart fluttering a beat.

Wannapa couldn't understand what the Jawa girl was saying, but it didn't matter. He looked into her deep glowing yellow eyes and found everything he needed. Those eyes told him what he wanted to know. He saw love.

He reached out a little furry paw toward her and brushed her hand. She said something else, something light and flute like. He took a swig of his firewater and relished the heat that jumped down his throat and crashed into his tiny belly, filling him with warmth. Building up his courage, he slid closer.

She returned the gesture, swooning into his shoulder, pressing an arm into his cuddly fur.

Pzzzow!

Wannapa flew out of the booth, his fur smoking and burnt and standing up straight all over his entire body. As he hit the floor he looked up to see what happened and saw his love, the beautiful Jawa girl he was sure was the one, holding an ion blaster with a small curl of smoke whifting out of the muzzle.

He slunk back with that final image in his mind. Somewhere in her sweet sounding words was a meaning he had failed to catch.

Somewhere she had told him, "No."
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"I believe toys resonate with us as humans, we can hold them them, it's tactile, real! They are totems for our extended beliefs and imaginations. A fetish for ideas that hold as much interest and passion as old religious relics for some. We display them in our homes. They show who we are. They are signals for similar thinking people. A way we connect with each other...and I guess thats why I do toys. That connection." -Ashley Wood


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 PostPosted: Tue Jun 14, 2011 10:04 am Reply with quote  
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  Mara Jade Skywalker
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Ha! Skuldren, that was most entertaining. Laughing
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 PostPosted: Tue Jun 14, 2011 2:28 pm Reply with quote  
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  Darth Skuldren
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Thanks. It started with me seeing people on Twitter talk about Fan Fiction, and then someone mentioning Star Wars romance. I then thought of an example of the worst, most cheesy Star Wars romance I could think of: an Ewok and a Jawa. Thought it would be funny to call it Short Love since they've both short. Then the ending came to me and I thought "brilliant!"

But just think of the language barrier. Neither species can speak basic. How would an Ewok and a Jawa even communicate? Would they actually use droids?
_________________

"I believe toys resonate with us as humans, we can hold them them, it's tactile, real! They are totems for our extended beliefs and imaginations. A fetish for ideas that hold as much interest and passion as old religious relics for some. We display them in our homes. They show who we are. They are signals for similar thinking people. A way we connect with each other...and I guess thats why I do toys. That connection." -Ashley Wood


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 PostPosted: Tue Jun 14, 2011 10:20 pm Reply with quote  
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  wookie_inked
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love it!


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 PostPosted: Wed Jun 15, 2011 3:58 am Reply with quote  
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  Life Is The Path
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Sign language?

Excellent story, Skuls!
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I am a Star Wars fan. That doesn't mean that I hate or love Jar Jar. That doesn't mean I hate or love Lucas, or agree or disagree 100% with him. That doesn't mean I prefer the PT over the OT, or vice versa. That doesn't mean I hate the EU, or even love all of it (or even read all of it). These are not prerequisites. Being a man is not a prerequisite. Being a geek is not a prerequisite. The only prerequisite is that I love something about Star Wars. I am a Star Wars fan.


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