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nemirutami · 6 years

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I'd like to know literally everything about Goro in this AU. What's he planning, what's wrong with his hands? /everything/

I can’t speak for straylize bc our two Akechi’s are very different, so I can’t answer your “hands” question since that’s strictly in her version of the AU. I can answer what my Akechi will do (spoilers tho) and some of his backstory. Tbh getting questions like this helps from writing long descriptions on art.

I’m going to ramble for a while bc when else is anyone rlly gonna ask me for Akechi content.

My Akechi ran away from a different region at a young age (reasons unknown) to look for a new home. A palace guard from the Arisato kingdom found him, felt sorry for him, and asked the king if he could take care of him. The king basically agreed only on the condition that 1) He be raised/groomed to serve the Arisatos and 2) He should be taught his place early on so he doesn’t break rules or overstep boundaries (since he was raised outside the kingdom prior to this and they’ve got no clue where he’s actually from).

Since my Akechi arrived at the palace when he was young, he got to grow up around Akira and Minato (although, not exactly to the same extent Akira and Minato did giving their relationship as prince and future retainer). He got to see the young nobles spend time at the palace (as a kid, he was curious when there were other kids around and wanted to hang out, understandably?) but there was always a kid in the mix that didn’t look like he belonged with the nobles, and that was Akira. It gave Akechi a sense of hope that, maybe, he’d make friends with Minato and Akira? And the other kids? Regardless of their ranks? Because Akira looked like an outsider compared to the prince, and yet he was the closest to the prince?

Minato and Akechi actually bump into each other during one of these meet ups because Minato runs off to steal popsicles for everyone from the pantry (Akira dared him jokingly and he took it seriously) and Akechi as a young child starts mouthing apologies and remorse over “I’m sorry! I shouldn’t have spied on you!” and Minato just “…” because man, Akechi got so scared of being penalized for peeking that he just ran his mouth for a straight minute. Minato offers him a popsicle before the guards interrupt them. That’s the only interaction he’s ever had with the young prince, and it’s at that early age. So, overall, Akira has no memory of Akechi or Minato ever meeting, but Minato and Akechi have an early fond memory to share when shit hits the fan later down the line.

Akechi basically spends his childhood longing for friendship he can’t have, while, once he grows up enough to climb ranks, spends every waking hour trying to get into the military (because that’s where Akira is the most, and he’s always wanted to have a casual conversation with Akira and ask him more personal questions. How are the nobles like? What’s the king like? Was it fun growing up with him? Do you have any hobbies? WANNA GO OUT FOR COFFEE I KNOW YOU LIKE COFFEE AM I SUBTLE ENOUGH YET? Etc.) but climbing ranks is very difficult and can take years.

That’s why, once Akechi manages to finally pass the test with hard work, he feels cheated when it’s taken away just because “the current king needs to approve of you, too”. To put more salt on the wounds, since they were attacked and a number of people died, they’re actually low on members. The military took a hit, so they do need new members, problem is, not only soldiers were killed in the hell that transpired during that war. Akechi’s forced to remain a kitchen attendant because there’s not a lot of people they can afford to train to know their way around such a complex kitchen right now. Even if Akechi can take the test, and pass again, it’ll at least be a year or two until the Kingdom collects itself before he can climb to the position of soldier and go outside to do field work like he wants. He grows so bitter over it, but he promises himself he’ll reach Akira one day.

The sad thing is, he never will.

Not with honest work.

Much like in themes of P5, the world, sometimes, can be really unfair. People who are born into the right family (IE- The Kurusu Family) get special privileges. People who keep in touch with them or work close to them sometimes benefit from knowing them or being kind to them. Connections help you climb ranks. Sucking up helps you climb ranks. Although, obviously, it only works selectively, and Akira’s time is really limited because of all the shit he has to do. So, when a kitchen attendant walks up to him to converse or ask for a favor, he won’t take it seriously, and will tell him to “go talk to someone his own rank” if he wants a favor, because to Akira- there’s nothing valuable Akechi can do for him in his position. The problem Akira doesn’t realize is that he’s keeping Akechi in his position by dismissing him, therefore rendering anything he can contribute to a clean zero. He’s not doing this to be a shit to Akechi. He’s doing it because that’s what the Kurusu’s were raised to do. A Kurusu’s only job is to act as the King’s human shield. Anything that looks like it might waste his time or pull him away from that will just be dismissed. What can a kitchen attendant do for him? What benefit will Akira have speaking to someone beneath him with no real ties to other nobles? He isn’t looking to make friends or socialize, so all he does is dismiss Akechi.

Akechi, who grew up admiring Akira, wishing to be close to him one day, to be like him one day, begins to loathe him for what he’s become. Because true, Akira was different before he took on his retainer position, but that’s partly because Minato almost died and both their parents were murdered in the war. Enforcing that Rank policy was the only way to keep people organized and keep them within their own lane not to complicate his work.

Akechi asks about the position to join the military often, but Akira’s answer is always “The King is busy right now,” which is true, but dismissing Akechi’s problems like that is still cold.

It gets so bad that Akechi has to sneakily make his way to Minato personally without permission to ask him about the position. He’s breaking rules (something he only considers because he’s getting desperate). He’s afraid to get penalized, but he’s hinging his bets on Minato’s punishment being lenient since that seems to be a running theme and the talk of everyone around (given Minato’s not executed anyone as of yet regardless of their crime- so anything that isn’t a death sentence will be worth it to him HE DOESN’T CARE…).

Dumb boy actually mANAGES TO SNEAK INTO MINATO’S OFFICE SPACE AND CASUALLY STARTS WITH “Hi” like a dumbass and startles the hell out of Minato so much that Minato automatically reacts to shout for the guards. Akechi starts mouthing apologizes instantly like “I’m sorry, this will only take a minute!” and “I know I shouldn’t have snuck in, but-!” and it’s like something clicks in Minato’s mind like. This seems really familiar. And he just.Oh.You’re the kid that runs his mouth a lot.Ok gotcha, I don’t feel that afraid now lmao.

Akechi manages to tell Minato his rank and occupation before Minato makes a call for them, though, and it calms him somewhat. Seeing Minato so easily startled up close shows Akechi that his king is stressed and that something’s very wrong? But he doesn’t know what. During the early years, they’ve had a huge number of assassination attempts, most of which Minato is unaware of, but some of them, he knows pretty well because some actually came close. So, seeing Akechi just WALK IN… without a sound to boot… yeah.

Minato doesn’t penalize him but he does say something along the lines of “God, I will fucking slam that door in your face next time you enter without permission.” Not exactly like this, but he’s shouting this version in his head lmao and giving Akechi the kind version. Akechi tells him about his troubles, and Minato’s just “…This is the first time I’m hearing about it. Why didn’t you approach me sooner?” Minato he fucking tried ok it’s hard. Because at this point it’s been like… several years? Akechi’s been waiting it out as he was told, meanwhile, Minato wasn’t aware of his issues at all. Something always came first. It shows how fucked the system is for people who aren’t high enough on the list. The news never even reached Minato because so many other things took precedence over his issues.

Minato though, wanting to take action immediately as soon as a problem presents itself, decides to leave what he was doing to try and appease Akechi because… having to wait several years is a long waiting time just to join the military? Minato can’t promote him right away (given how much he actually has left to do) but at the very least, he gives Akechi a date where he’ll initiate it personally much like his father did for all new soldiers. Minato also apologizes to him? And it makes Akechi feel guilty because hey, look at that, Minato would have done the thing if he had just known. Makes him feel guilty for sneaking into Minato’s office without permission. Makes him feel guilty for not even getting penalized but for getting a promotion instead. His moral compass gets a little fucked at this point when he realizes that this is the first time he’s broken the rules, and it’s the only time he’s ever benefited. He shouldn’t feel guilty for getting what he deserves, in his opinion? It’s the method with which he reached it, but no other methods were working, so, was it really that bad of a thing?

It starts a downwards spiral of more things after he becomes soldier. Certain more experienced soldiers get sent on specific missions, while Akechi mostly tends to things within the palace again. He never gets to meet high ranked soldiers or people he thinks will help him up his rank to get closer to the king, and unless he actually does something extraordinary (of which the chances are very slim) he won’t be able to make a huge impression enough to get promoted above C rank (the lowest military rank).

So. He figures. Alright… I broke the rules that one time. I guess spreading a little rumor about this one soldier might kick him off field work for a while. So, he spreads a lie, feels a little guilty, but it’s easier than sneaking into Minato’s HQ. Plus, there’s no penalty just for a little rumor that they can’t even trace back to him for certain. Guy he’s spreading rumors about naturally has to step down from a mission, and one of the rookies has to take over. Akechi offers to go, and that’s how he slowly starts his manipulation streak to get to the top. It isn’t fair to others. But what did the others ever do to him? They ignored him for years just because he wasn’t important enough to them- so, they can go fuck themselves for all he cares.

Minor misdemeanors turn into actual crimes over several years where he loses himself more and more, becoming so corrupt he can hardly think about friendship anymore but about power and the benefit it will have if he manages to get close to the king. At Rank A, he has such bloodstained hands that he doesn’t care about Akira’s friendship. His only motive now is to find something incriminating on Akira to kick Akira down from his position. “Dethrone” a Kurusu? The Kurusus were special breeds, and he’s always wanted to put Akira in his place because he’s always struggled, but Akira was handed friendship, love, and yet treated everyone else like they were secondary. Problem is that Akechi doesn’t actually understand Akira’s purpose as Kurusu.

Akira’s purpose is to only really care for the King’s best interest, not anyone elses. So, anything Akira can do to make Minato’s life easier, he does, and not telling Minato about Akechi’s problems is just an extension of that sense of duty. It’s something Akira does to everyone because it’s how he was raised. King first, you second, nation last. The reason he comes second is because he’d sacrifice himself for his king, but not for his people. If he died for a civilian or a rank beneath him, Minato would be exposed to threats, and his life would be in danger. It’s something Akechi can’t know because he wasn’t raised knowing the ins and outs of the Kurusu family. So it creates a divide between them where Akechi constantly calls Akira out on how shitty he’s being to everyone who isn’t Minato, and Akira basically going “yeah, that’s my fucking job, asshole, i’m not here to please you or pat you on the head for doing a good job, go get friends your own rank if you want that” in not exactly those words lmao but something similar.

CLAPS HANDS. THIS HAS BEEN A LONG RAMBLE THANKS FOR COMING TO MY TAMTALK I’LL GLADLY TALK MORE ABOUT AKECHI because I love writing him and his descent into the most corrupted mindset just to get ahead. This isn’t even all of it, this is just the buildup to the shit that leads Akechi to become Minato’s second personal retainer…

That’s right Akira, Akechi is coming for yOUR JOB.

#tnt answers asks #rrau #this is fun ask me more about akechi #faux-hero

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tehlaen · 6 years

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Day 8: “Magnetic Interference” (Morality)

Day 8 of the 30 Day Star Wars OC Challenge from @smuggler-captain that I’m doing with @lessdenied! Previous posts are tagged with #30dayswchallenge.

This is a bit of a deviation from the listed thing; the prompt for Day 8 is “Morality,” but I already touched on that a fair amount in previous entries. Instead, I decided to share a bit of fic that show-don’t-tells Teh’s morality in action.

(Also, I’m a day late and possibly a little rambly, thanks to the mind-fogging effects of head colds and the cold meds meant to make them bearable. So, ya know, be kind!)

The system didn’t even have a name, so far as Teh’laen could recall. Just a seemingly random sequence of letters and numbers that some bored surveyor had assigned it before hurrying to put the unremarkable collection of mostly stationary rocks behind them. Pretty much described every spacer’s feelings on it, she reflected. It was conveniently located just off the major hyperlanes that connected Hutt Space and the portions of the Galaxy still occupied by the reeling Sith Empire. Aside from its location and a seemingly endless supply of asteroids full of useful, if common, minerals, it had absolutely nothing else to recommend it. Ships dropped out of hyperspace, fueled up and resupplied, then put the ugly little system out of sight and out of mind.

Teh’laen hated it, but it was a reliable source of income for her, so once again, she found herself cruising through at a leisurely pace, one eye fixed on the long-range sensors. A couple of passenger liners. Tiny mining pods and their motherships—some belonging to conglomerates, others operated by wildcat miners. A heavy cargo hauler looked promising at first; she swung around, paralleling the transport at a distance that could be considered mildly suspicious, but not outright hostile.

“Essix, peek in the window; let’s see if they’re carrying anything good.”

The droid toodled an acknowledgement and went to work. The comm panel lit up as Essix, through the subspace array, spat out an electronic handshake. The other ship’s transponder answered automatically; unless the crew was particularly astute, they probably wouldn’t even have noticed that their ship’s computers were being pinged. Essix used the handshake to piggyback on the signal to slice into the ship’s mainframe.

Teh had paid out the nose for Essix’s slicing module—top-of-the-line, military-grade, the kind of thing that made planetary governments both envious and deeply uneasy. It had cost a small fortune, but it’d proven a worthy investment time and again. (And, if she was being honest, she couldn’t say no to Essix and adored spoiling the little rustbucket.) Bypassing the cargo ship’s firewall was child’s play, and data began streaming across a secondary monitor as Essix plundered their quarry’s files.

Teh’s lips curled down in a frown. Agricultural products, medical supplies, some heavy construction equipment and prefab structures...Its manifest was chock full of goods that were neither especially portable nor valuable, and certainly not at the ratio necessary to justify the risk and effort… or, for that matter, the ethical implications of stealing food, medicine and building supplies from people who probably needed it.

With a sigh, Teh’laen peeled off, increasing speed to clear the hauler’s comfort zone. If she wasn’t going to steal from them, there was no reason to hang out uncomfortably close and make the crew nervous.

Her wandering flightpath took her through the farther reaches of the system--close enough to scan ships dropping out of hyperspace, but not so close she had to worry about getting run over by some mega-transport like an insect on a speeder’s windscreen.

Her control board lit up and Essix bleated a warning; another ship apparently had had the same idea as she had and was prowling the vicinity.

Active scans, but no intrusion. Good.

Since they’d already been rude enough to hit the Yime’Dizoh with active scans--the spacecraft equivalent of bracketing her with a spotlight and scrutinizing her with macrobinoculars--she felt no compunction against returning the favor.

A three-dimensional mockup of the other craft sprang into existence, the results of her scans highlighted with orange and red arrows. Heavy weapons, reinforced shields, plenty of cargo capacity… She had a sinking feeling in her gut, and a glance at the ship’s registry confirmed it: It belonged to the Labor Alliance, the largest consortium of slavers in this region of space.

Both Teh’laen and the slavers altered their course in an unspoken, apparently mutual decision to leave each other be. Under other circumstances, this sort of detente could have been construed as professional courtesy; on those occasions when she and another thief had bumped into one another while targeting the same mark (a situation that occurred more often than one might think), they almost always came to a similar arrangement and went their separate ways.

By now, the slavers would have had time to make their own assessment of Teh’laen’s ship and its decidedly atypical outfitting, and they had likely come to the (accurate) conclusion that she was a pirate, engaged in similar activities to theirs. She suspected that they let her be as part of that unspoken professional courtesy... In the Twi’lek’s experience, slavers often saw themselves as pirates specializing in a very particular commodity; their counterparts rarely appreciated the comparison, and Teh was most definitely among those who resented any such equivalence. Thief, sure; slaver, never.

On Teh’s part, at least, the decision not to attack was purely pragmatic; she relished the idea of erasing a few slavers from existence. But the two ships were probably evenly matched, which made the potential conflict decidedly not to her liking.

“Essix, keep an eye on them; lemme know if they do anything interesting.”

The droid chirped an affirmative, and a little halo surrounded its blip on her sensor readout as Essix tagged it.

Another ship dropped out of hyperspace and Teh glanced at the sensor readout. What she saw elicited a grimace: a decrepit medium freighter, with weak shields and engines that looked to have been cobbled together in a junkyard.

“Faithful of Bezhil, huh? I dunno what a ‘Bezhil’ is.” She glanced at Essix questioningly, and the droid chirped in agreement. He, apparently, had no idea either. “Alright, this is almost certainly a waste of time, but check it anyway.”

Essix repeated his feat, slicing into the Faithful of Bezhil’s computers effortlessly. The manifest scrolled across her screen; as expected, nothing but passengers.

“I’m going to assume that they’re not passengers worth robbing,” Teh said dryly as she looked at Essix. “Nobody would choose to travel on that piece of junk if they could afford not to.”

A strobing flash out of the corner of her eye drew her attention to the sensor readout; the icon representing the slaver ship had changed course and was set to intercept the Faithful.

Oh, shit.

Teh’laen chewed on her bottom lip as the slavers came up on their target’s stern and roared past with barely five hundred meters separating them. The pilot of the passenger ship goosed the throttle, and it lurched forward. Even an idiot could tell that there was no way the Faithful could outrun the slavers; even with its burst of speed, it crawled like a drunken Hutt in comparison to the raider that had it in its sights.

The slaver vessel pulled up in a lazy loop, then dove at the passenger ship, laser cannons blazing. Hard light chewed through the weak shields like a blowtorch through butter.

“Unidentified ship, this is the passenger ship Faithful of Bezhil!” Teh cursed as the panicked shout of the transport’s pilot blared through her earpiece. “Please, we are unarmed, break off your attack!”

Unsurprisingly, their pleas did not have the desired effect; a second strafing run, this time with ion cannons, left the transport drifting, its vital systems disabled or destroyed. Its subspace comm array, at least, was still functional: “I repeat, we are unarmed! We are transporting religious pilgrims on a holy voyage, we have no valuables to steal!”

Teh’laen glanced at her comm panel. The stricken vessel was broadcasting on an open channel--either because the pilot had flailed at their console in a panic, or as a calculated ploy to beg assistance from any vessels within comm range.

If they’re betting on charity in this part of space, they are sadly mistaken, Teh’laen thought to herself. And yet…

She sighed and brought the Yime’Dizoh around in a lazy loop. Essix trilled a question at her, and she didn’t bother glancing over as she answered. “Yeah, I know. Just be ready.”

With its shields and engines disabled, the pilgrims’ ship floated, helpless, as the slavers grappled and docked at the port airlock. Teh kept her eyes on the controls and the holographic mockup of the slaver ship and steadfastly refused to contemplate what was happening aboard the Faithful.

The Yime’Dizoh orbited the two joined vessels, just out of weapons range of the slaver ship. Coupled to its quarry like this, it couldn’t bring most of its armament to bear even if Teh’laen’s vessel was in range, though a couple of turrets tracked her as she flew past.

Her scanners swept the attackers and she started to formulate a plan of attack. Slavers were a predictable bunch, and this crew was apparently no different. The raider’s shields and weaponry were top of the line, but the people making the purchasing decisions didn’t bother to consider less straightforward angles of attack. The ship’s electronic-warfare and countermeasures suite was hopelessly, hilariously outdated by modern standards.

Teh’laen’s lips parted in a predatory grin, baring gleaming, sharply pointed teeth. “Essix? Let’s have some fun.”

As expected, Teh’laen and Essix quite enjoyed what followed, and the slavers--likewise according to Teh’s expectations--most definitely did not. With the Yime’Dizoh docked to the Faithful’s starboard airlock and thus shielded from the slavers’ weapons by the transport’s bulk, and with unfettered access to the slavers’ electronic systems, the confrontation was over in a matter of minutes.

Seated in her ship’s lounge, booted feet kicked up on the holotable and munching contentedly on a slice of beto melon she’d found in the galley, Teh’laen’s fingers flicked casually over the simulated control panel that Essix projected for her. Opening and closing the correct blast doors in the correct sequence shot most of the slavers out into vacuum before they even realized what was happening. By the time a couple of the brighter slavers--contradiction in terms, that--caught on, they were cut off from their ship. One grabbed a hostage, hauling him by his long, braided hair through the corridors, trusting that his unseen assailant wouldn’t space both attacker and victim. Which, Teh had to admit, was true.

That said, she reflected, if one were counting on a hostage to save one’s life, best to keep that hostage close and not drag them along a corridor with one’s arm outstretched. Particularly when a slicer had control of the blast doors and hatchways.

When she’d finished, the only trace of the slavers still aboard the pilgrim ship was a length of the late hostage-taker’s arm, severed just above the elbow. The hostage was having a fit; but, she thought to herself, better to be having a fit on this side of the airlock.

Teh’laen rose to feet, double-checking the charge on her blaster as she strolled to her ship’s airlock. “C’mon, Essix, let’s go clean up.”

The droid toodled at her derisively and she smirked. “Not literally. These poor fools want the blood mopped up, they can do it themselves.”

The Faithful of Bezhil was a mess. Passengers from more than a dozen different species sat, slumped or lay about in varying states of distress. Their clothes were rough, almost certainly hand-made, and their possessions were few and strictly of sentimental value.

“Vow of poverty, I guess,” she remarked dryly to no one in particular as she picked her way carefully among the pilgrims. They looked up at her with expressions ranging from guarded optimism to gratitude to mortal terror to near reverence, and it was the last that she found most discomfiting.

None of them had any symbols indicating rank, and since their clothes were uniformly shabby, she couldn’t even rely on the otherwise universal rule of “better clothes, higher status.”

She sighed and opened her arms, careful not to accidentally point the blaster held loosely in her right hand at any of the already traumatized passengers. “Anybody want to tell me who’s in charge or what the hell’s going on here?”

Faces turned in the direction of an old Zabrak, the tattoos on his face faded with age and the horns atop his head weathered and chipped. He gave Teh’laen a warm smile and stepped forward, holding out both of his hands to take hers.

She didn’t oblige, instead planting her left hand on her hip and letting her right arm dangle by her side, blaster pointed at the floor. “You in charge?” she asked coolly, one eyebrow arched.

He smiled and Teh’laen’s eyes tightened. “Our deity, the Great Consciousness Bezhil, is who’s ‘in charge’ here, Captain, as They are in all aspects of our lives.”

Fucking great. A sermon. No good deed, huh?

Teh’laen holstered her weapon with perhaps more force than was necessary and crossed her arms over her chest. “Fantastic. So can I talk to Bezhil? Or is there someone a little more corporeal that I can have a little chat with.”

A startled murmur rose from the Zabrak’s congregation and Teh set her jaw. Showing more sense than she would have thought, he bowed his head politely. “I suppose that would be me. My name is Hagen and I lead this group of adherents.”

Teh’laen glanced about, scanning faces, then returned her gaze to Hagen. “Okay. That answers my first question. My second question, though, still stands.”

The beneficent smile on the old man’s lips faded somewhat. “I apologize, Captain. What question was that?”

She sighed heavily. “What the hell is going on here? More to the point, what the hell were you thinking, traipsing through one of the most dangerous regions of space in a ship that, if I hadn’t personally seen it drop out of hyperspace, I would have mistaken for space junk?”

His smile grew again, and Teh’laen couldn’t fully keep the scowl off her own face. “Ah. As I said, we are pilgrims. This,” he waved around, indicating his flock and their vessel, “is but a test of our faith. In search of the enlightenment that will make us one with The Great Consciousness Bezhil, we travel the stars, trusting in Them to watch over us and provide what we need.”

“Right,” she replied dryly.

“Because we rely strictly on Their largesse, we do not keep any but the most rudimentary supplies on hand. Truth be told, I am not certain why those pirates attacked us; as we tried several times to explain, both before and after they boarded our humble ship, we have nothing of value to steal.”

“Idiot,” Teh ground out between her teeth.

Hagen looked at her with eyes wide, and shocked gasps came from the pilgrims closest to them. “I beg your pardon?”

“They weren’t pirates, you stupid bastards.” Her voice was less a recrimination than a dejected sigh, disappointed in their naivete. “They were slavers. They weren’t after credits or jewelry. You’re all poor, but the one thing they want, you possess in abundance.”

An expression of horror dawned on Hagen’s face and dozens of voices began to shout over one another. Teh’laen stood there, arms crossed, until the cacophony diminished.

The group’s leader recovered his composure first, and he bowed his head toward her. “Then we are doubly grateful for your assistance, Captain. Truly, Bezhil has rewarded our faith with protection.”

The Lethan Twi’lek shifted her weight from one foot to the other, losing patience. “Maybe next time you should ask Bezhil for blaster cannons, deflector shields and engines that actually work.”

Hagen’s smile turned almost to a smirk, and Teh’s hands tightened on her arms to keep herself from reaching out and slapping it off his face. “No need, Captain. They sent us you.”

That does it.

Teh’laen lunged forward, grabbing the shoulders of Hagen’s roughspun tunic and bunching the fabric up in her fists. “Are you stupid?” she spat. “Your god didn’t send me. I’m a pirate. The only reason they took your ship instead of me is because you’re poor and don’t have anything I feel like taking from you.”

The look of panic on his face set off a guilty twinge in the back of her mind, but she didn’t let it show on her face. Good. Maybe he’ll realize that he can’t count on someone coming along to save him and his friends.

She released her grip and took a step back, then turned in a slow circle to take in the other pilgrims. “I scanned the damage to your ship; it’ll take a day or more to get your engines operational, and at least that long for shields. If it’s even possible to repair this thing. I’m not sticking around that long. I’ll be leaving in a little under two hours; anyone wants a ride, I suggest you be at the starboard airlock before I return. Only what you can carry. Though,” she added after a moment, “I guess that shouldn’t be a problem--vow of poverty and all.”

The quiet ripple of laughter heartened her, and she looked at Hagen. “Anyone injured?”

He shook his head. “Not seriously. We have medicine enough to treat them.”

“Good. I’ll be back.”

The slavers had been busy.

Teh’laen focused on the task. She refused to count the beings crammed into the hold, or speculate at their ages, or think about their injuries beyond what sort of treatment they’d require and whether she could provide it.

The controls for the shockcollars affixed to their necks was a closed circuit, not linked into the ship’s other systems, but once she and Essix had physical access to it, the droid’s slicing protocols made quick work of them.

Her voice was softer, but still briskly professional, as she swept her eyes over the freed slaves. “I’ll be leaving shortly. If you’d rather not stick around, you can get a ride to some place with a medical facility, maybe even a Republic embassy. I can’t promise th….”

She trailed off as she spotted a Devaronian near the very back. Something was off about him; Teh’laen’s eyes narrowed to slits of amethyst and she pushed through the crowd to face him. He cringed and shied away from her.

Too clean. That was it. She grabbed one of the Devaronian’s horns with one hand, wrenching his head around so that her other hand could pull down the neck of his freshly-laundered shirt.

“No shockcollar, hmm?” Her scarlet lips, pressed into a thin line, paled to a sickly pink.

“N-no, they j-j-just captured me!”

“Uh huh.” Teh let go of him and he straightened his shirt, looking around warily at the freed slaves starting to press in upon them.

A small vibroblade dropped into her palm with a flick of her wrist, and she reached up and rent the fabric from navel to collarbone.

The Devaronian clutched the ruined cloth around him, trying desperately--and futilely--to conceal the tattoos that marked him as a proud member of the Labor Alliance.

Teh’laen regarded him coolly. The former captives watched their former captor with bloodlust, but they glanced at the tall Twi’lek before they made any move.

She shifted her weight to one hip, holding one elbow in the palm of her hand as she inspected her nails with studied indifference.

“Hm.”

Nearly a hundred eyes stared at her.

“I’m leaving shortly,” she remarked offhandedly, then turned for the hatch. “Make it fast.”

#my writing #teh'laen #essix #space piracy #swtor #swtor oc #30dayswchallenge

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bouncingtigger10 · 5 years

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What happened in France: The author's story

How long does it take to research a topic before you write? And for this book?

I write in two different genres: crime fiction and romantic comedy and ordinarily, I’d say crime fiction requires a lot more research. I spend weeks on the internet checking details and facts and also speaking to experts in Forensics or those in the police force. However, given What Happens in France hinges around a crazy game show set in France, it required a substantial amount of research in the form of applying for auditions and then actually be selected to get onto a few televised game shows, as well as several weeks driving around France, learning about the regions in the book. It took almost two years in total to gather all the information I needed.

I met some extremely interesting characters during auditions and on shows who gave me the inspiration for some of those in the book although I never met anyone like ballet dancer Oscar, owner of the show-stealing pug, Biggie Smalls.

What resources do you use? In general and for the last book that you wrote?

I use the internet all the time and am a member of various crime writer groups where I can post questions for the experts in the group, but for this book I drew on my own experiences. This is how I invariably write romantic comedies. If a character does something in one of my humorous books then the chances are I’ll have tried it out first. One book saw me doing a zip wire, belly dancing, eating locusts, zorbing, and diving with sharks, while another saw me take up stand-up comedy. This book was a breeze by comparison although I did have to go one those game shows and make an idiot of myself. (Again!)

How many times have you been rejected before your first novel was accepted or before this book was accepted?

Goodness, I could paper every wall in my house with all the rejection slips I’ve received over the years.

My first efforts were children’s stories aimed at teaching 3-5-year-olds French. It was back in the days, before you could do everything online, when you had to plough through the Writers and Artist’s Handbook to find agents or publishers you thought would be interested in your work, write an accompanying letter, then remortgage your house to pay for the printer ink and stamps so you could post your weighty manuscripts to them.

When I turned my attention to the adult market in 2010, things had changed and I submitted to various publishers online. After nuerous rejections, I gave up. I didn’t want to wait years to get it accepted. I’d only intended writing the one book, Mini Skirts and Laughter Lines, because it was on my bucket list. I had no idea it would be the start of a new career for me. I looked at self-pubbing and I was given the chance to self-publish it with FeedaRead for a very tiny fee, I chose that route. I also published it with Smashwords and Amazon and could never have imagined how well it would have performed. Five months after publication, I found myself featured in Woman’s Own Magazine as a best-selling author and following that, a small publishing house took me on. The rest, as they say, is history and I now write for Bookouture/Hachette and Canelo. What Happens in France is my 18th book to be published although I’ve managed to write a further four books since I completed it which are yet to be released.

Would you recommend self-publishing and building an audience before approaching a publisher? If so, what benefits do you see that it might have for the aspiring novelist?

Although I chose the self-publication route, I wish in many ways I’d been more patient and waited for a lucky break with a publisher.

The workload involved in self-publication is huge. You not only have to write, edit, format, design covers and get your book published, you have to market it. I found marketing took up all my time and prevented me from writing further books.

I would agree it is imperative to build an audience before you self-publish or approach a publisher. I ran a humorous blog (like Amanda Wilson in my debut novel) for over a year, writing posts daily until I had several 1000s of followers. When I launched my debut novel, I held an all-day virtual party on the blog with games, competitions and jokes. I spent all day and night, chatting to the virtual guests. That party sold copies, got reviews and propelled Mini Skirts and Laughter Lines into the limelight and gave me the start I needed. Without my followers and the friends I made online, that wouldn’t have happened.

Publishers like to see you have an online presence – that you are committed to your brand, if you like, and are active on social media. It is something that every author should continue to keep up, no matter what stage they are at in their career. Your readers deserve interaction and social media gives them that chance.

Does writing provide sufficient income to live on? And how long did it take before this happened?

If you’d asked me this 3 years ago, I’d have said an emphatic no. The first 7 years, I made a dismal amount of money, in spite of success with my first novel and my non-fiction humorous book, Grumpy Old Menopause which not only won The People’s Book Prize Award but saw me sitting on the BBC Breakfast red sofa, chatting to Bill Turner and Susanna Reid about it. Even with the air time and further magazine exposure, I still only brought in enough to pay for a decent holiday. The turning point came in 2016, when I signed with Bookouture. Because they’re a digital publisher (like Canelo) they can turn around books faster than a traditional publisher. So in theory, the more you can write, the more you can potentially earn. 2017 was the first year I earned sufficient to actually pay household bills. It came at the right time because my husband is now retired, and we live off his pension, so my writing income is a real boost.

What is the funniest thing that happened to you on a book tour?

Not so much on a blog tour but in my early days when I did my own publicity, I managed to secure several radio interviews during the launch of one of my books. I had all the times and dates written down in my diary (very professional) and had agreed to be interviewed on a popular radio show in the USA. The interview was to take place by phone and I was very excited about the opportunity to chat to new, potential readers in the United States. On the actual day, I suddenly realised I had agreed to be on a show that would be broadcast live at 2 a.m. my time not 2 p.m. as I had thought. It was too late to change the date and I didn’t dare tell my husband, Mr Grumpy, who goes to bed punctually at 9.30 p.m. every night and does not like being kept awake, so I stayed awake and tiptoed downstairs at quarter to two in the morning to wait for the phone to ring. I was frightened to talk loudly and wake up my family, so I whispered to the presenter who kept telling me to speak up and then halfway through the interview, Mr Grumpy turned up in a foul mood, shouting, ‘Who the f*** Is on telephone at this time of the morning. Tell them to f*** off’ Unfortunately it was a live broadcast and the listeners got to hear every word. To cap it all, he grabbed the receiver from my hand and shouted a few more obscenities before putting it down. I emailed my apologies but I wasn’t invited back on the show!

Which author had the most influence on your writing? Your writing style? Your writing genre?

Alison Kervin OBE and author of The WAGS Diary (2009) and WAGS at the World Cup WORLD (2010) I picked up her first book from a ‘living bookcase’ while on holiday and it had me in stitches from start to finish. When I finally put it down, I decided I wanted to produce something that entertaining. I spent the next few months writing my first novel and emailed Alison to tell her she had inspired me. She replied with a very encouraging email. Had I not read that book, I doubt I would have had the confidence to start writing.

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Author Bio:

As a child Carol Wyer was always moving, and relied on humour to fit in at new schools. A funny short story won her popularity, planting the seed of becoming a writer. Her career spans dry cleaning, running a language teaching company, and boxercise coaching. Now writing full-time, Carol has several books published and journalism in many magazines.

Carol won The People’s Book Prize Award for non-fiction (2015), and can sometimes be found performing her stand-up comedy routine Laugh While You Still Have Teeth.

Twitter: @carolewyer

#authorinterview #blogtours #canelo #CarolWyer #WhatHappensInFrance

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