Hello again. It's been a while.
This time, you can blame my computer. or, rather, me for breaking it.
It is now fixed. Yay.

We left it on a bit of a cliffhanger.
You know what else does that?
The Italian Job. The original, with Michael Caine.
I've got it on DVD, but I don't own it.
Nor do I own Star Wars.

Ah-ha! see what I did there?

Enjoy, folks.



Dad?
The one she had compared to Darth Vader?
This couldn't be good.

"Liza..."

"Oh, fuck a monkey and a porcupine into the equation. Killed and fathered in one day?" She glared at him.

He was a tall man, dark haired, pale skinned, eyes just the same as Lycire's. His accent was slightly different though- harsher and more lilting than hers.

"But... you're not." He looked down at us, perplexed.

"Not what?" She demanded belligerently.

"Not dead. Neither of you are."

"What... what makes you say that?" I asked, intrigued despite myself.

"I can watch you from here, Liza. And that Gretel thing didn't kill you. She sent you here, but you're not dead."

Not dead?
My heart leaped into my throat.
Not dead!

"Where is here, exactly? And wait- you watch me? That's just creepy."

"Here is whatever you want it to be. Except life. Welcome to the afterlife, Liza and...?"

"Sara-Lea Skywalker." I raised my chin, going with the confident persona, just in case.

He looked thoughtful. "Yes, I thought I heard that. Quite a fan of those films, aren't you, Liza?"

"Don't make out like you know me. And don't call me Liza. It's Lycire."

"You're my daughter. I'll call you what I want."

"You're dead, and I'm kinda happy about it."

My mouth dropped open. I couldn't help it. What was so terrible about this man that his own daughter could even think something like that?

"You're surprised?" He turned to me.

"Perhaps…" I said, not wishing to seem biased to either side.

Liz snorted. "Sara, don't read too much into this. Just because we're unfortunately related, doesn't mean I can't hate him."

Her father looked hurt for the first time. "You said you didn't hate me, last time we met."

"I never said I hated you."

With that reply, her voice should have softened. But the opposite happened. She kept her emotions bottled down in a really unhealthy manner.

"If you two would like some time-"

"I'd like time, but I doubt my daughter would agree to that."

"Cheers. Four years was enough. That stint last year was really pushing it."

"Oh, I do apologise… Liza."

I decided to step in before an argument arose- which, by Lycire's face, was in all probability about to.

"So, uh… Mister Swan..."

"Just Swan."

"Not your majesty?" Liz mocked.

"I figure I'll leave you that title, princess."

"Shut up."

I smiled. "Princess?"

"It's just a nickname." She hastened to correct me.

"You're heir to the Swan Kingship. You're the Lady Swan."

"No, I'm not."

"You really are."

"Out of us two, which one has managed to stay alive? That's right. Me. So, if you don't mind, I'll just go ahead and ignore you-"

"What can you tell us about this place?" I interjected, cutting off what would have no doubt been a long and highly creative insult tangent.

He closed his eyes for a moment, then sat- on nothing. It was a queer sight- I suddenly understood Lycire's earlier confusion. "Draw up a chair."

"Uh… how?" I asked.

"Think of it, and it shall be." He waved an arm grandly.

I concentrated on each individual feature of a hover chair- then reconsidered. If I could have any chair… why not go the whole length? I looked down at the comfiest seat in the Galaxy- Luke's.
If you're going to sit, sit in style. Just not if the chair's actually situated in the council room. Then things get boring.

I checked to see what furniture Liz had thought up, but found her sitting on, well, emptiness.

"Why can't I see what you or Sara conjured?" She echoed my thoughts.

"Anything you create is for you only. Except changes in appearance."

"Wait- changes in appearance?" I had been absent-mindedly scratching my palm when all feeling left it. Had I brought back my scars with my thoughts?

"Certainly. Here, you can age to whatever you like, as long as you live it. You can change anything about yourself, provided it at one time happened to you when you lived. You two could plausibly find out when you die by aging yourself until you find the limit."

"Well, that's cheerful." Liz beamed.

"Is that why my scars came back?"

"Depends. Did you think of them?"

"Yes."

"Then yes."

"Insightful…" She summarised.

He ignored her. "Look. There are three states of being."

She clasped her hands in fake delight. "Storytime!"

Swan drew a deep breath, either to remain calm or to start on a long spiel like Liz did. It turned out to be an explanation. "These states are the Present, the Perfect, and the Preferred. In your own life, you remain in the Present state. It changes with the passing of time, environmental factors and such. When you come here, you enter the Preferred state. You can change whatever about yourself, but only if it once occurred- or is due to occur- in your Present sate. The Perfect state happens when you leave your reality and enter another, in life. So, if you two hopped through a different portal, you would enter your Perfect states. The Perfect state is defined by everything you have experienced so far in your life…"

My head began to spin. This was more confusing than a Ki-Adi-Mundi lecture first thing in the morning.

If this was true, then my perfect state was without scars or injury, and, for some reason, longer hair. I hadn't thought about it before, because the regenerated nerves had seemed more important, but my hair had grown out and even straightened slightly when I had fallen into Lycire's reality.

I started when I realised Swan had stopped talking, having been cut off by Liz. Again.

"Hey- sorry to interrupt that thrilling speech, but it might be more helpful if you stopped telling us about alliterated states and maybe let us know where we are."

He sighed. "Basically, you're in death. It's called the void. There are different sorts of levels, for example, most of your lot-" he looked pointedly at me "-go up to their own special place. They can actually move through the void portals, back into the land of the living, as it were. I'm not so lucky- unless someone crosses over slightly, like you did, Liza."

"Don't call me Liza and I'll acknowledge that happy, happy time." The words 'happy happy' were dripping in sarcasm.

"Here, there's really only one rule. Kill or be killed; then live."

"What?"
"What?"
Liz and I spoke at the same time. Swan cast us a bemused glance and continued.

"Everyone who dies, in any reality, universe or whatnot, ends up here. Or in the special places like Christians... Vikings... or you Geedy-"

"-Jedi-"

"Whatever, died before Star Wars, give me a break."

"Shan't."

"So anyway, once we're all here, we hang around. Creating a world for ourselves, designing our physicality, and, well, we fight each-other."

"Trying to kill the dead. Sounds sensible." Lycire muttered a sardonic comment under her breath.

"If you die here, you leave. You live. When you get killed here, you get reborn, beyond one of the void portals."

"Sorry- these… void portals are… paths?" I asked tentatively, still a little unsure of this concept.

"More gateways. They're what links the void to every place things die in. The doors of the dead, as we like to call them."

"I'm sure it must be fun to call them that."

I watched Swan carefully as he rolled his eyes. It was clear he was very fond of his daughter, but evidently, was exasperated by her. I didn't blame him.


I allowed myself the luxury of annoying my father while listening to his insane explanation to our apparent not-death.

While it was true I didn't hate him, per se, I still wasn't bestest buddies with the vam.

"So... is this just for the dead of your reality?" Sara asked.

"Not by a long shot. I've even seen your type before." He jerked his head at Sara. "Not many, as they mostly go upstairs, but some. And I've also-"

"You've met Jedi here?"

My father gave his look that accompanied his annoyance at being interrupted. "Yes, I have."

"Did you kill them?"

"Two, a while back."

Her eyes widened. "Why would you do that?"

Clearly, she didn't know my father. Why wouldn't he do that?

"I'd just arrived. Killing a couple of fourth-years was something to gain notoriety... especially after I let one go."

"You?" I laughed. "You let one go?"

"The way he died, I felt he deserved some respect."

"All Jedi deserve respect. Especially those that have become one with the Force."

He put on his innocent face. "All I know is, those three died at the same time, but that one-"

Sara gasped. "How long ago was this?"

"I said, when I first arrived. I'd been here less than a week, I think." He shrugged. "Why?"

"How many years ago?"

I got it. Three Jedi simultaneously dropping dead wasn't a regular occurrence. She was checking for... "43. He died forty-three years ago." I supplied.

He sighed. "Seems like only yesterday, doesn't it?" I didn't laugh. "But they were fourth-years. They died four years before I did."

"Wow. I'd never have worked that out." I quipped, then turned to Sara-Lea. "How long ago was 66?"

She started, clearly not having guessed I'd work it out. "Forty-seven Galactic Standard years."

I paused. "Well done, Daddy dearest. You killed the betrayed."

"Betrayed?" His eyes looked panicked.

Betrayal was worse than murder in Vampiric society. Unless, of course, the murder was the betrayal. Re-killing a victim of betrayal was an unthinkable taboo for any self-respecting vam like him. I couldn't help rubbing it in a little.

"Re-lax, dead daddy. You're a traitor, too, so everything's fine."

Sara-Lea had her eyes closed, for some reason. Perhaps she was thinking. "Why weren't they with the Force? Upstairs? You didn't... did you... did you kill younglings?"

I couldn't help it. I almost pissed myself laughing. "Mm-hmm... notorious Swan, un-kills two kids. What a tough guy."

He ignored me. Sort of. "They said they were... Piddywands, or something. They weren't kids."

"Padawans. You..." She was at a loss for words. Three deep breaths later, she tried again. "Do you know who they were?"

He shook his head and shrugged. "I could show you their weapons."

She stiffened. "You kept their lightsabers?"

He shrugged again. "Had to. You only get what you're burned, buried or died with- or nick from someone else. Like I said, only physical appearance is discernibly altered. Do you want to see them?"

"Yes."

We fell into step behind the vam, sullenly and grudgingly (respectively) following his path.

"I keep my trove a little way from here." He explained.

I called up from next to the young Jedi. "If you only get what you die with, how did you get your blade? I mean, you were crispy barbecue a half decade before I even found the thing."

He glanced back over his shoulder. "When you stuck it in the Hall of the Fallen. I got it then."

"What did you do?" I could tell Sara was only asking me to distract herself.

"When I first met Vampires, I took his blade, marinated it in his ashes and thunked it in a wall. Don't ask- it's tradition."

"So... you carried along his knife and ashes for... how long?"

I greased her off, but her stare was resolute. "A few years."

"A few being...?"

"Here!" For once, I was glad of my father talking. He showed us a haphazard pile of assorted weapons- medieval axes, modern military rifles, a tolkien-style elven sword or two, even a shovel.

"In here somewhere..." He grunted, picking through the lot, finally grabbing out two lightsaber hilts. "Never used them. I got that a few days later." It was a bona-fide, jackie-chan style ninja sword. He kicked it back into place carelessly with a big toe.

"I don't recognise them. My friend Sp- wait, are these the only two you've killed?"

"Just them. Like I said, Jedi aren't too common around here."

"Why, misplaced someone at the Temple?" I nudged her, then stopped grinning at the stricken look on her face. Oh.

Maybe she had.


I've just realised how bloody long this chapter is.

Oh well, think of it as compensation for the bloody long wait.

:P