- Joined
- Dec 8, 2007
- Messages
- 5,048
- Reaction score
- 1
Malas Prewett – Hapan Consort, War Hero, Chiss Head Admiral
Name: Malas Prewett
Faction: Chiss Ascendancy, formerly Hapes Consortium
Species: Human (Hapan)
Age: 29
Gender: Male
Height: 6’2”
Weight: 175 lbs
Eyes: Green
Hair: Brown
Distinguishing Marks: Hapan tattoos on his arms, small scar on his left temple
Force Sensitive: No
Faction: Chiss Ascendancy, formerly Hapes Consortium
Species: Human (Hapan)
Age: 29
Gender: Male
Height: 6’2”
Weight: 175 lbs
Eyes: Green
Hair: Brown
Distinguishing Marks: Hapan tattoos on his arms, small scar on his left temple
Force Sensitive: No
----- Caretaker -----
“Boys, line up! My word, you’ll never get a wife behaving like that!” It was a familiar saying by the elderly Caretaker, a mostly benevolent woman with a slight hunch and rather repulsive nose crook. Her statement went largely ignored- a pack of fourteen year olds scrambling past after a rolling ball. She had no patience today- bypassing her standard second warning; the Caretaker went straight to the extreme, jutting her walking staff out to catch the last boy’s leg. In a rough tumble, the pack of boys fell on top of each other. She stood impatiently, the tip of her staff tapping the ground rhythmically. In an awkward silence, the half dozen young boys untangled themselves and got in a military-precise line, shoulder to shoulder, a half-meter apart. In a plodding, menacing gait, the Caretaker walked down the row of students, correcting minor or imaginary errors in their posture.“Oh, that just won’t do!” She’d say, not so gently tapping a boy’s low shoulder or bent fingertips. She stopped at Boy 4, eyeing him up and down. “Do we have to do this today, Malas?”
“Every day, ma’am.”
The Caretaker sighed, eyeing the definite troublemaker of the group. He was a fine specimen- handsome, strong, healthy, and smart, with a natural air about him that reeked of power. He’d make a fine consort one day, if only he could learn to behave!
The Caretaker shook her head, moving to unfold Malas’es crossed, defiant arms. Instead, she whipped her staff around and cracked him in the side of the head, sending the boy down for the second time.
“Every time you make me do that, Malas, I lose money on my investment. I didn’t make a name for myself by raising stupid men, so get up.” She extended her stick down to the boy, and he stood. After a pause, Malas got in line with the rest of the boys, ignoring the aching in his skull and the trickle of blood down his cheek.
“I don’t deserve that.”
“Of course you do,” the woman scoffed. “A woman wouldn’t need such barbarism. But you… You’re just a man.” Malas decided not to respond, and the Caretaker decided she had walked away with a victory. She continued.
“Today is a big day, boys. Today, one of you goes to a House.” A murmur of uncontrollable excitement passed between the young humans, silenced by the staff’s tapping.
“Yes yes, big day. Solus, you’re first.” A boy stepped forward and the Caretaker waved to the small cottage. Out came a pair of finely garbed royalty- their House symbol was foreign to the sheltered boys.
“Oooh, his eyes are gorgeous, Aielan. Long hair, that’s good genes.” The young woman, perhaps no more than sixteen, tilted her head in response to her father.
“He’s okay, papa, but… What about him?” The Princess pointed to the infamous number four- a grimace on his face as he resisted the urge to wipe the severe amount of blood off his face.
“Well… My dear, he’s a bit of a trouble.” The Caretaker looked at Malas, fury in her eyes. The blood was meant to be a punishment, insurance of another six months of life at the home.
“But he’s just so cute!” A blush came across Malas’es face as he finally realized all eyes were on him. For the first time, he looked directly at his potential buyer… For the first time, he fell in love.
----- Consort -----
The Princess’es Consort
“Malas! Oh, Malas? Where are you?!” The Princess Aielan ran down the palace corridor, calling for her consort, her confidant, her only true friend in the entirety of the galaxy. She burst into the garden, shielding her eyes against the bright sunlight that shone through the exotic treetops.
“Malas, my love?”
Within moments, his arms were around her waist and her arms around his neck, pulling him into a passionate kiss. Moments later, the pair separated and Malas looked into his Princess’es eyes- a face of honest concern. His Princess looked down at Malas’es exposed, wet chest- he had been swimming, and her million-credit dress was now likely soaked. She thought nothing of it, and buried her face in his shoulder.
“Oh Malas, it’s horrible, just terrible!”
“What is it, Princess? Tell me and surely it can be fixed.”
“My mother- she has selected a husband!”
It took a second to sink in, but when it did Malas was sure he had been shot- was sure his stomach had turned to stone. Breathless, he stepped back from the Princess Aielan, hands grasping at the pain in his chest. He couldn’t focus on her next words, couldn’t see past the thought of losing Aielan, losing his purpose- the past two years of his life. He saw her lips moving, her look of sorrow, and his purpose forged past his pain- he was there to protect her, to serve her… Nothing more.
“That’s wonderful, Princess. Ah… Perhaps you’ll be Queen by your twentieth birthday.” She wanted nothing to do with it, and grew furious at the suggestion. She charged him, slamming weak fists into his chest.
“You fool, you idiot, you… You moron!” Malas grabbed her wrists and pulled her close, her sobs muffled by his skin. “Shh, shh Princess… It will be okay.”
“No, it won’t Malas! This is marriage! I don’t love him, I love you!”
“I love you, Princess, but what can we do? It’s your mother’s will, and no-one stands against your mo-“
“YOU THERE, CONSORT! STAND DOWN!” Again, Malas’es stomach churned, but instead he grabbed tighter to the Princess as she grabbed tighter onto him. Reflex told him to kneel before Her Majesty, and passion told him to stand with his One.
“No, mother! NO!” After one quick squeeze, the Princess broke away from her consort and stormed towards the Queen, the two meeting in the middle. Guards swarmed past the Princess and seized the consort’s arms, holding them out in a wide position and exposing Malas to the third guard’s drawn vibrodagger, a centimeter from his heart.
“Mother, I love him!”
“Love? LOVE?! He’s a slave, a consort! I’ve told you time and again, he’s just a man!”
“He’s not just a man, mother, he’s mine! He’s my choice as a husband!” It was a heavy statement, and one that caused the Queen’s rage to subside, if only shortly. After a moment of contemplation, the Queen shook her head.
“Aielan, it cannot be. You have already been given to Prince Kardan.”
“I know the laws, mother- so does Malas. It can be settled with a duel.” Another heavy statement, one that would not go unanswered.
“Pft- I’ll do it.” A twenty-two year old noble stepped forward, looking at the much younger sixteen your old Malas. “It will be little more than an inconvenience.” And so it was- the garden was cleared, and the combatants placed in a hastily drawn ten-meter circle. A pair of ancient, ritual daggers hung from the combatant’s hips- awkward for the noble and natural for the consort/bodyguard.
“First blood, isn’t that right, slave?” A sneer of disdain that needed no response. The rules were well known to any familiar with the Hapan Royalty- first blood was the technical victor, though these duels frequently ended in murder. Malas had no intention of being on the wrong side of the dagger.
It was a long wait- both combatants sizing each other up, measuring arm lengths, lethal range. Both were skilled, but Malas was faster- the boy charged his opponent, dagger in his right hand. His opponent was ready and the weapon was drawn- a swipe at Malas’es head gave the consort plenty of room. He ducked under his opponent’s arm and dove to the right, dragging his knife across the Noble’s bare side and drawing first blood. A gasp went through the crowd at the lightning round, and Malas stood from his prone position to brush himself off.
“MALAS!” His Princess’es voice- on instinct, he turned and flung his dagger at his opponent- two steps closer to him than he should have been. The Noble’s attack stopped short, and the Prince looked down to the handle jutting out of his chest. With a thud, the Noble hit the ground, and Malas stood over him awkwardly. He looked up at his Princess, at his Queen, and knelt before them, unsure what his punishment would be.
“I demand the consort’s head!” the Prince’s father shouted, stomping his foot hard on the lawn.
“No,” the Queen said slowly, watching the kneeling consort in wonder. “No, he’s the future King of our House.”
----- Shatter -----
Princess Aielan Prewett, circa age 22
Princess Aielan Prewett, circa age 22
“Divert two Nova Battlecruisers to Raedin from our forces in Sector G-2. Replace them with a couple squadrons of our reserve Miy’tils.”
“Yes, sire, right away.” The attendant hurried out of the Command room, leaving the King alone to his thoughts. He was young for his position- only twenty-two years old, and still he had led the family’s navy into an advantageous spot over many others. Working behind the scenes in support of his Queens decisions, the pair had forged a new future for the Hapes Consortium, uniting the lower Houses in the first stage of a grand plan to build a unified race. He smiled at the thought of his Queen, and stepped away from his console, turning and heading towards the dim room and out into the moonlit hallway. As he walked, he checked his wrist chrono- 2230. Oh, how upset she’d be! He doubled his pace, heading towards their quarters.
Quietly, Malas opened the door and slipped in, avoiding the creaky board that had betrayed him so many times before. With the grace of a cat and the eyesight to boot, Malas pulled off his shirt and pants, kicking off his shoes and leaning into bed with a sigh.
“You’re late again.” Malas smiled as he felt Aielan’s soft hands slide around his waist, and he moved into her embrace. Through all the years and the tension of a consort merging with nobility, the pair had remained dedicated and very much in love. He smiled, kissing her softly.
“How’s the war?” Her voice, while tender, had a hint of worry in it. Recently, house Prewett had gone head-to-head with the former superpowers and brought them to their knees- only weeks remained before they would become the sole power in the Consortium. It was an exciting time, but not time for error.
“Skirmish, my love. A war is bad for the Consortium. Still, it goes well- we’ve gained two planets in the last thirty six hours, with six more soon to follow.” Malas felt her hand on his cheek.
“And it’s all thanks to you.” She smiled at him, her knight in shining armor. “Thanks to us, Aielan. I’m nothing without you.” He smiled back, forever his Princess. The two drifted off to sleep, together in their sanctuary against the turmoil of the universe.
“MALAS!” The shrill scream pierced through his dream, and the King of House Prewett shot out of bed, clutching the sheets in anxiety. In a panic, Malas swept the room- his Queen wasn’t here. He rolled out of bed and reached under the mattress, pulling out the high grade Verpine Shatter Pistol. Leaping over the bed, Malas went to the next room.
Their living area was in tact, though off. Something wasn’t fitting, something off- a lamp had been tipped and a table flipped. Malas clicked the safety off of his pistol and ran further into the room.
“MALAS!” Again the scream, and Malas turned to face the balcony to see a sight he’d never forget. On the balcony, his Queen, his lover, his life… They made eye contact for a long, painful moment, shattered by the whine of a blaster’s discharge. Malas’es vision flicked over to the successful assassin and away from his tumbling wife as she fell against the balcony. A second too late, Malas leveled his pistol and fired, hitting the assassin in the shoulder, the chest, and finally the head, forcing him over the edge of the balcony and into the repulsortrap below. He ran to his wife’s side, pulling her ragdoll body tight against his chest. Tears streamed down his face as he stroked hers, trying to warm the flesh, trying to work some life into her expression, some breath in her chest. He looked to her bluing lips and a sobbed escaped, and he pulled her close. As attendants and security officers filled the apartment, the King of House Prewett sat holding the shattered pieces of his heart.
Last edited by a moderator:
