Kessel Run, Week 3: Write a set of 5 drabbles (exactly 100 words each), using one of two sets of prompts. (Mira gave me two sets to choose from, and me being me, I decided to write for both sets.) My first (and very Regency-flavored) set of prompts were: Parvenu, Auspice, Tambour, Perturbation, Cotillion. My second, more random set of prompts were: Tempest, Reflection, Grasp, Sting, Dissuade.
The title for the second set is taken from Edmund Spenser's The Faerie Queene
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The Houses of Skywalker and Solo
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Parvenu
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"Sir Han—"
"Captain Solo."
"I beg your pardon, Sir Han, but I cannot address you—"
"Of course you can. It's simple. You open your mouth, and the words 'Captain' and 'Solo' come out of it. Even someone as fussy as you should be able to figure it out, Goldenrod."
"Sir Han—"
"Captain…"
"—I really must protest—"
"You really don't have to."
"—since you have been made a baronet, I cannot address—"
"Listen, Goldenrod, if you want to keep your position here, it's Captain Solo or nothing."
"But sir!"
"All right, enough. Go… clean something, I don't know. Boring conversation anyway."
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Auspice
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"They seem to be in good spirits."
Allana clutched her grandmother's hand, watching silently as a group of children ran to the back door of the orphanage and pulled on hats and scarves. One of the older boys laughed as he pushed the door open; the others followed him outside.
"They have their good days, my lady. Most have taken well to their studies, as you predicted."
"I am glad to hear it. Children have such a capacity to learn."
The last boy to leave held a book in one hand. Allana watched him, and wondered what he was reading.
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Tambour
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"What are you embroidering today, Grandma?"
Leia looked up from her stitchwork, needle poised over the white muslin as she met her granddaughter's curious gaze. "It's a handkerchief for your great-grandmother. Would you like to see?"
Allana nodded and sat down beside her, fingers reaching out tentatively toward the embroidery hoop in Leia's hands. Her granddaughter lightly traced the soft blue stitches. "They look like waves."
Leia smiled fondly as she remembered her own childhood trips to the seashore. "Your great-grandmother has a deep love of the sea."
Allana continued to trace the waves. "I'd love to go there someday."
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Perturbation
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Allana jumped down from the carriage without thinking. It didn't matter that such behavior was shocking and unheard of in a well-bred young lady, nor that she was wholly unfamiliar with London in general, let alone this part of it. The little boy's cry for help had pierced the fog of her companion's polite conversation and stabbed directly at her heart, and she felt an urgency and compulsion to act that had hitherto been unknown to her. She chased after the boy and his assailants, unaware of how that one impulsive moment would forever alter the course of her life.
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Cotillion
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"You've outdone yourself, my dear."
Luke watched his wife turn away from their full, resplendent ballroom, a mischievous glint in her green eyes. "All in service to a singular goal," she replied.
"Oh?" Luke stepped closer and took her hand in his. "And what is that?"
Mara lifted one eyebrow, a previously hidden smile quirking her lips. "To wear my favorite gown, and dance with my husband as much as possible."
Luke looked out at the lines of dancers and grinned. "Shall we show them how it's done?"
Mara was, as ever, eager to embrace the challenge. "Indeed, we shall."
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Poor Orphans in the Wide World Scattered
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Tempest
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The storm, they would later discover, was one of the most violent in the city's history. Perhaps it was Providence, for without the confusion wrought by the leaking roof and the deafening crash of thunder masking their movements, their escape from the doctor might have utterly failed.
They climbed out one of the highest windows and traveled across rooftop after rooftop, a journey made even more perilous by the pouring rain and lightning-forked darkness. The sky felt impossibly close, as if they had become one with the storm: creatures of fire and water long chained and now, finally, set free.
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Reflection
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"You say you're twins?"
Dorian exchanged a glance with Veeran. They'd been careful not to mention that fact; twins were rare enough around here, and they couldn't afford to call attention to themselves.
"No," Veeran said quickly. "Just brothers."
The mill foreman looked them over with a skeptical eye. "You look like twins."
"Well, we're not."
The man grinned and gestured between Veeran and Dorian. "Like looking in a mirror, ain't it?" He nodded at Veeran. "You look like a strong lad, at least. You the oldest, then?"
Dorian cleared his throat. "No," he said with a smirk. "I am."
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Grasp
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Dorian heard the child's cry for help just as he was leaving for his shift. It echoed faintly down the alley, and he felt it shiver up his spine. He could have kept going – he was already late and couldn't afford to lose this job – but he knew that voice. He had been that voice, once.
He followed the shouting, until he ran smack into a small boy of seven, maybe eight. "Please, mister." The child clung to the front of his jacket. "Help me."
Dorian looked past the boy at his pursuers. "Stay back," he said, "and don't watch."
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Sting
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"Ow! What the devil—?"
She tried to stifle her laughter, but he could practically feel it bubbling out of her. "Why, it's… it's only a bee."
He blinked back at her. "A what?"
"A bee," she repeated, still trying not to laugh. "You've been stung by a bee, Mr. Starskip."
He rubbed the inflamed skin of his hand. "So it seems."
"I hope it won't put you off country living. Only I promised once that you would love it here."
How becoming she looked just then, in the sunlight. "No," he said quietly. "It hasn't put me off, Miss Solo."
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Dissuade
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"This is a terrible idea. You know that, don't you?"
"You say terrible, I say inspired."
"I think you mean idiotic. Where did you even get these clothes?"
"I'm not sure I should tell you that."
"Remember who you're talking to, brother."
"Quiet, and help me tie this thing."
"Why on earth would I know how to tie a cravat?"
"I'm impressed that you know what it's called."
"You shut your mouth."
"It doesn't need to be fancy—"
"Oh, it doesn't need to be fancy… You look ridiculous, you know."
"As long as it gets me in, I don't care."
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