#this idea's half based off a story idea I've been pondering lately

[drowning-in-cacophony]

dead and (un)buried

Written for @flashfictionfridayofficial Prompt 253: pushing up daisies

[Summary: what's dead won't necessarily remain buried]

“What do you remember?”

Slow blinks, like the sighing of stone statues: an eternity in between every beat, and every one seeming like something impossible. There’s a streak of mud over a porcelain delicate cheekbone; her shoulders are still aching, and now her thighs too from the crouching. Better to be at eye level though.

Time elapses; in time-lapse, perhaps these seconds building to minutes will seem instant. Nature program footage of flowers, slowly unfurling, and those blinks like daisies, opening and shutting for the night.

“Blood.”

The first word; almost the last word too. Bloody- and then it was choked off, speared tuna style, skewered. Blood, and is that a descriptor or half an echo of that last word? A throat works, moisture a long gone thing, dried to nothing months ago. She waits, does not blink: if the blinks are daisies, then her stares are the sun and moon, eternal discs in the sky that watch everything, beyond judgement.

The eyes flicker, flutter. Downwards, with a hand that twitches in the same way. Towards a chest, towards what is neatly hidden under the shirt picked out especially. Washed and starched to a better standard to anything they would wear ordinarily, but that’s sort of the thing with funerals. Everyone comes best-dressed.

Even the corpse.

She nods: less of the moon’s smoothness, more of the tide’s choppy nature, lashing harshly against a beach. Her tongue feels like the sand, the words rough glass-blown shards that stick to the sides of her mouth. “That’s where it happened.”

A confirmation for them. Maybe she should have waited for them to ask – surely that’s what the others might think – but the hand motion, the eyes. That seems close enough for her, and she always has known them best.

Eyes, flitter again. No, not flitter – lash like her tides. Bright and accusing now, volcano feverish. She grimaces, a sour twist in her throat. Words aren’t needed to understand that look: it screams loud enough on its own. An eruption can be heard for miles away, and so could this look. Why, a thousand times chanted, each time a different meaning. The main ones spill down her palms like the spurts of blood that had swam down their chest, off the tip of the sword. Why would you do this, why did it happen, why would they let this happen. You and it and they all flexible concepts. You meaning her. You meaning the person who plunged the blade. Why, and it comes down like the rain, sharp needles to pierce through her flesh until she’s in ribbons. She almost wants to drop the look – glance away in the bubbling pink shame, threatening the edges of her cheeks. Why, and maybe the only real question is why would she agree to do this. The heat curdles under her skin, as painful as the grief, the anger in the seconds minutes hours days months that followed, a reed-grass woven basket of torrid emotion. She doesn’t look away though. She holds it, even as the accusation burns her, hot coals to delicate skin. She’s never been the type to back down; they deserve someone who’ll accept the blame instead of curling under the guilt.

They breathe, a little heavy in their upset. It’s like the heavens kissing her ears.

“Do you remember everything before?” Her next question. A cloud rolls in somewhere on the horizon, as grey as they’ve been for the last week. Funnily enough, they only started to get grey once she’d agreed to this. The whole time before, even in the terrible horror of the funeral, it’d been beautiful blue skies.

Daisy petals quiver as bottom lashes pull up, a faint narrowing of eyes. Not in concentration – that’s a different infliction. It’s a warning, as grave as the stones around them. It’s this isn’t over. It’s I don’t forgive you.

Unblamed for saying, by her. She wouldn’t forgive either.

As grating as the metal’s shovel had been to the cold, hard ground: they nod. Three bobs up and down, each dragging down her spine uncomfortably. She swallows, with more moisture than they’ll have for a while.

“Good,” she says, the guilt stinging the back of her throat. Another swallow won’t do anything; this is a burn she’ll carry for the rest of her life, and whatever comes next if she’s the one on the other end next time. “We’ve still got some work to do.”

She climbs to her feet, slowly and steadily, and extends a hand down to them. The sunbeams, reaching down to grace the flower; they don’t take their slow blinks off of her face when they take it. Not the leaves soaking in the energy, but the ivy choking the life out of another plant just to survive. She hefts them up, standing in the hollow of their own coffin – the only good thing here is how shallow they’d been buried. Like this had always been the logical next step, despite everything telling them no.

When they take their first step out of the coffin, finally over eye level to her, she’s the one gazing up, looking for the sun. Pushing up out of the ground for that bright burst that’s been staining the sky all this time since.

Their eyes stand where the sun should. The sky is still all stormy greys.

[wanderinginksplot]

Warriors in Red Armor

Next | Masterlist

Chapter One

Hound I

"So, are we going to 79's tonight?" Hound asked. He had meant to be subtle about it, but the question burst out of him the moment his well-worn boots crossed the threshold of the small break space allotted to members of the Coruscant Guard.

As break spaces went, the one designated for the Coruscant Guard's clone troopers was an embarrassment. Some determined being had managed to cram a table and a handful of chairs inside, but it was a tight fit. If more than a few fully armored troopers went inside at the same time, none of them would get back out without removing some armor to clear the traffic jam. The lights flickered, the faucet leaked, the floor was always sticky, and the stuffy air held a hint of the chemicals that had been stored there years ago. Since then, the previous break space had been renovated into an office for one of the few nat-born commanding officers and this one had been created for the clone troopers.

Still, the smell of caf was stronger than the smell of chemicals most days and the light from a nearby advertisement screen lit the room so brightly that the flickering lights didn't give any of the troopers a migraine anymore. Hound always was a man who liked to see the glass as half-full. Maybe even a little more than half, if that glass was sitting under the dripping faucet.

Thire snorted at Hound's question, leaning back in his chair until gravity threatened to topple him. "Well, boys? Hound wants to know if we're going to 79's this lovely Friday evening. What do we think?"

Thorn glanced around the room, looking unamused by his brother's antics. "We think I'm the only other one here, di'kut."

"Exactly!" Thire said in triumph, obviously determined to ignore his fellow commander. "It's the weekend! Why wouldn't we go to 79's?"

"Because you've finally realized that it's a glorified zoo?" Thorn snapped, tone venomous. "79's is where civvies go to stare at clone troopers so they can feel like they're being daring. In reality, they're being irritating."

Having spoken his piece, Thorn tossed back the last of his cup of caf, always consumed as dark as his mood. Hound shuddered at the thought. Corrie Guard caf was brewed at the approximate concentration of speeder fuel and could eat through duracrete. Only a trooper who hated himself would drink it black.

Thorn always drank it black.

"So you don't want to go?" Hound asked again, sounding heartbroken.

"No, I'll go," Thorn told him. "Zoo or not, 79's still has the cheapest booze on Coruscant that doesn't use poison as a mixer."

"Well, that's the most excited I've heard Thorn get about anything for a week, at least," Thire smirked. "Commander Fox, you want in on this?"

The Head Commander of the Coruscant Guard, having just stepped into the break room to fill his mug with caf, shook his head. "No, I'm on duty tonight. The Clone Rights group has been cleared to march and the Chancellor wants an extra Guard presence. Stone will be stuck here as well, monitoring any new arrivals."

"Ugh," Hound said, summarizing everyone else's point of view. "Well, we'll be thinking of you both, Commander."

Fox lowered the datapad in his hand to shoot a look in Hound's direction. "Sergeant, don't you have that ARF PR stunt tomorrow at 0800?"

Hound shrugged. "Yeah, but I can do both."

"Make sure you don't miss it," Fox ordered sternly. "The last thing I need is to have to report to the Chancellor that you missed a chance to give the GAR a boost in civil opinion."

Hound saluted and Fox turned his attention to the other break room occupants. "Thorn, if you let your stubble get any longer, it'll be considered a beard and subject to facial hair regulations. Thire, sit on the chair like a normal being, would you?"

Thorn nodded and Thire grinned as he let the chair's legs slam onto the floor. Fox rolled his eyes at their antics, refilled his cup of caf, and left the break area. Hound idly wondered how many of the gray hairs appearing at the Head Commander's temples were due to the commanding officer team. Still, the Chancellor had let Fox choose his own team of COs, so there was no one to blame but himself.

"Meet at 2100?" Thire asked. "That's prime time for 79's and there'll be plenty of talent. I'll go ahead and apologize, vode. When you look this good, you automatically get your pick of the females."

Thire brushed a hand back across his hair - meticulously trimmed to maintain the subtle horizontal lines shaved into the otherwise regulation cut - and grinned at the other two. Hound and Thire rolled their eyes, but agreed anyway.

---

Kai I

"Hey, do you guys want to go to 79's tonight?" Kai asked, perched on the desk she was supposed to be sitting behind. She was always restless and neither of the other women blamed her for the odd choice of seat - even though it made inter-desk communication a bit of a pain.

Arkularia - who, for the sake of Kai's sanity, allowed the others to call her 'Ark' - was the first to respond. "79's? The clone bar?"

"Do you want to drink, dance, or find a one-night stand?" Ransom asked from behind her expansive tech setup. "Because there are better places for any of those. Closer, too."

"No, I want to go to 79's," Kai said, kicking up her chin. "And as for what I want… I want all of them. All three options, please and thank you."

"Did you just try to order a night out? Like from a menu?" Ransom asked. From the tone of her voice, Kai had managed to earn a rare smile from her boss. Of course, that was only a guess since Ransom didn't emerge from her den so Kai could verify the expression.

"No… but can you imagine how much easier that would be?" Kai asked in her own defense.

"It would take some of the fun out of it, I think," Ark said slowly.

Kai chucked a wad of flimsi at her friend and co-worker's head, cheering to herself as it connected and bounced off of Ark's white-blonde hair. "I know that, Ark! C'mon guys, do you want to come to 79's with me or not?"

"I'm out," Ransom said immediately, shutting down the projector option on her desk. She was still illuminated by the ambient light from the schematics on her datapad. The cybernetic implants in Ransom's arm gleamed in the blue glow as she dragged a hand over her shaved head. "I have to work late if we have any hope of finishing our next job on time."

"Ark?" Kai asked, not too proud to sound like she was begging.

Ark sighed, pale eyes hopeless in the face of Kai's wheedling. "Fine, I'll go along."

"Yes!"

"Ransom, are you sure you can't come, too?" Ark asked, her voice a bit desperate.

"I really do have to stay and work on this," Ransom apologized, gesturing at her assortment of datapads. "My condolences."

"We're going to a club, not facing a firing squad!" Kai admonished. "Besides, I just want to find someone fun."

"Like that last guy?" Ark asked, squinting a bit as she applied her prodigious memory to her own question. "What was his name?"

"Not sure," Kai admitted. "But he was so much fun! Great tattoos."

"So you are looking for a hookup! I knew it," Ransom crowed.

Ark frowned. "Why a clone trooper? They're never on-planet for long before they have to leave."

"Exactly," Kai said with a wink. "Love 'em and leave 'em."

"Didn't the last one stick around for a while? I thought I remembered seeing him more than a few times…" Ark pondered.

"Hardcase! His name was Hardcase," Ransom remembered. "He came by every day of his leave."

"Strange name," Ark commented.

"Strange guy," Ransom said with a shrug.

"But he was hot," Kai countered, folding a piece of flimsi to look like a tooka. At least it did in her imagination. "And so much fun. I need another someone like him."

"What happened to him?" Ark asked curiously.

Kai would have blushed if she had any shame - too bad for Coruscant that she didn't. Instead, she pouted. "He moved on with a Zeltron who works at GAR headquarters. That's the best place to meet troopers, but they don't give access to civilians unless they have official business."

"Hardcase didn't seem like the type to ghost you out of nowhere," Ransom mused.

"I… may have freaked out about him asking me to be his girlfriend," Kai admitted. "I don't want anything serious, you know? Besides, I'm the one who introduced him to the new girl. She's a sweetheart. He adores her and she's the same about him. Can't be too upset with that."

Ark and Ransom exchanged loaded glances, but Kai had no interest in a therapy session. "Right! So, Ransom, you're still out?"

"I have no interest in coming along and I have work to do here."

"Well, that was almost nice," Kai congratulated. "Ark, it's you and me. When should we go?"

Ark shrugged. "Why don't we just stop there on the way home from work?"

"Are you kidding?" Kai asked, aghast at the idea. "We aren't exactly wearing Senatorial dress, but we're still too professional for a club! No, we need to go home, change, and meet there. How long do you need?"

"I don't know… half an hour?"

"How long do you need to find an outfit that makes sense in a club setting?" Kai rephrased her question.

"Two hours," Ark corrected herself, sounding sheepish.

"That's more like it," Kai said, satisfied. Her look turned wicked as she said, "Now, let's talk about makeup…"

"Are you sure you don't need any help here, Ransom?" Ark asked their boss, her eyes widening with hidden significance.

"No, it's too late!" Kai denied. "Meet me at my apartment and I'll help you. Let's say eight."

Ark glanced back at Ransom, who gave a sympathetic shrug. Ark sighed. "Fine, eight."

---

A/N - Hello, and welcome to yet another Clone Wars-based story! I can't leave these poor guys alone. They deserve so much more than they got! So, you may have noticed that some of the characters are a bit different from the way they are normally portrayed in fan fiction. The first fic I read with the Coruscant Guard had Thire as a happy joking guy and Thorn as a serious doom-and-gloom trooper. I'm coming to realize that is not typical for fanon interpretations, but those characterizations are embedded in my mind. I hope you didn't find this too jarring!

I'm experimenting with a new Game of Thrones-style POV tracking format. Hopefully that will keep things from getting too confusing as we bounce back and forth across eight different POVs! I apologize for the short length of this chapter, but it's just a simple introduction of (most of) the characters.