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saphyriaSo, that Daily Entertainment idea was one I really liked. But my computer was away being fixed when that one was posted, so I wrote the scene I came up with during class. (Shhh!)
I was kind of proud of how well it translated, actually. It's totally unedited or altered. Just typed up from what I had written in between bouts of notes for class.
~*~*~*~
"The prisoner, Admiral."
"Good. Sit him down," she replied, not turning from the view of the warships of the 7th Alliance fleet afforded her by the wide windows. "And you are dismissed, sergeant."
"Ma'am."
Hearing the soft whoosh of the doors closing behind the sergeant, leaving the two of them relatively alone, the Admiral turned from her view of the black to take her first look at the prisoner. The young man sat in the only chair in the room, arms tightly bound behind his back. His pale skin showed the bruises clearly, the uncut hair shading his eyes. She could see the signs of malnutrition and hard living on his frame, but clearer still were the signs of sullen contempt in his stony silence.
"You've been found aiding, hiding and transporting deserters from among our troops, young man," she stated, as clear as an accusation made in court. A court the prisoner would never see. "From among the Independents as well, interestingly enough," the Admiral added as she strode over towards him.
The prisoner gave no response, neither lifting his head nor making a sound.
"Some of them had been good soldiers, with promotions ahead of them. Pity that they shall all be executed as deserters because of you."
"Not because of me," the prisoner rasped in a quiet monotone, not looking at her. "I don't make people fight for causes they don't believe in."
"For those that can't see the bigger picture, we like to hope that we can help them see it," replied the Admiral, secure in her belief.
The prisoner did not acknowledge her.
"Do you not see the importance of this war?" she tilted her head, gazing almost incredulously down at his inscrutable, expressionless face. "Can you really not see beyond your own situation to see the good we are trying to do? The peace we are seeking to create and that the Independents are seeking to destroy?"
After a long moment, the pale prisoner lifted his head to look up at her. His voice, rough from disuse, was a quiet growl. "I believe we all are doing what we feel is right."
"You are leading people to their deaths, aiding deserts, prolonging the war," she snapped, stepping quickly forward to grab the prisoner by the throat, forcing his head back so that he had no choice but to look at her. "You could help end it quickly, but your short-sighted selfishness keeps you from seeing it. You could do... so much good." Her voice faltered at the last, almost changing her accusations to a plea.
"What good can one make, if it is created through the merciless sacrifice of unwilling victims?" The prisoner hissed at her, gaze blazing fierce and rebellious. The Admiral could feel the tendons in his neck, tight with strain, under her hand. "What good is there to be found in something built upon the blood of those who had different definitions of Good? What ends are there that can justify those means?"
Their gazes held one another, each unblinking, one collected but strangely tinged with sorrow, the other suffused with fury. At last, the Admiral dropped her hold on the prisoner's neck, letting him fall forward.
"Does this mean you won't volunteer?"
"You know I won't."
"No," her voice was quiet, her eyes rested on his bowed form with sadness. "I know you won't."
The Admiral took a breath, held it, and let it out. "But you will wish you had."
He looked up at her. The sorrow was gone from her face, hidden behind the cold authority in her eyes. "You had built quite an elaborate system of hiding places and transport lines in such a short time. Almost commendable, really. Your lines of deserter-smuggling stretched across eight worlds, across both Alliance and Independent lines, and you were certainly not the only one involved," she stated, looking down at him as coldly as a judge. "You will be telling us the identities of your accomplices and the locations of all your hiding places, and the names of all the ships and captains who were helping you transport the deserters from one place to the next. You will be helping us find the deserters and put an end to it, helping us end this bloody but necessary war, and thus helping us do some good in this 'verse."
Her gloved fingers gripped his hair, pulling his head up and back once more. "You will be," the Admiral enunciated very clearly, "a fully contributing and upstanding asset to the Alliance's cause."
"Never," the prisoner growled, his pale face flushed with anger.
"Sooner than you think," she answered softly, her palm resting gently against his cheek for a moment, "my dear brother."
He didn't see it, but there was hurt in her eyes when he jerked his head away.
The Admiral's voice rose a moment later in a command. "Guards." The doors opened again with their sterile, metal whoosh. "Take the prisoner to Room 101, for processing."
~*~*~*~
:D?
I was kind of proud of how well it translated, actually. It's totally unedited or altered. Just typed up from what I had written in between bouts of notes for class.
~*~*~*~
"The prisoner, Admiral."
"Good. Sit him down," she replied, not turning from the view of the warships of the 7th Alliance fleet afforded her by the wide windows. "And you are dismissed, sergeant."
"Ma'am."
Hearing the soft whoosh of the doors closing behind the sergeant, leaving the two of them relatively alone, the Admiral turned from her view of the black to take her first look at the prisoner. The young man sat in the only chair in the room, arms tightly bound behind his back. His pale skin showed the bruises clearly, the uncut hair shading his eyes. She could see the signs of malnutrition and hard living on his frame, but clearer still were the signs of sullen contempt in his stony silence.
"You've been found aiding, hiding and transporting deserters from among our troops, young man," she stated, as clear as an accusation made in court. A court the prisoner would never see. "From among the Independents as well, interestingly enough," the Admiral added as she strode over towards him.
The prisoner gave no response, neither lifting his head nor making a sound.
"Some of them had been good soldiers, with promotions ahead of them. Pity that they shall all be executed as deserters because of you."
"Not because of me," the prisoner rasped in a quiet monotone, not looking at her. "I don't make people fight for causes they don't believe in."
"For those that can't see the bigger picture, we like to hope that we can help them see it," replied the Admiral, secure in her belief.
The prisoner did not acknowledge her.
"Do you not see the importance of this war?" she tilted her head, gazing almost incredulously down at his inscrutable, expressionless face. "Can you really not see beyond your own situation to see the good we are trying to do? The peace we are seeking to create and that the Independents are seeking to destroy?"
After a long moment, the pale prisoner lifted his head to look up at her. His voice, rough from disuse, was a quiet growl. "I believe we all are doing what we feel is right."
"You are leading people to their deaths, aiding deserts, prolonging the war," she snapped, stepping quickly forward to grab the prisoner by the throat, forcing his head back so that he had no choice but to look at her. "You could help end it quickly, but your short-sighted selfishness keeps you from seeing it. You could do... so much good." Her voice faltered at the last, almost changing her accusations to a plea.
"What good can one make, if it is created through the merciless sacrifice of unwilling victims?" The prisoner hissed at her, gaze blazing fierce and rebellious. The Admiral could feel the tendons in his neck, tight with strain, under her hand. "What good is there to be found in something built upon the blood of those who had different definitions of Good? What ends are there that can justify those means?"
Their gazes held one another, each unblinking, one collected but strangely tinged with sorrow, the other suffused with fury. At last, the Admiral dropped her hold on the prisoner's neck, letting him fall forward.
"Does this mean you won't volunteer?"
"You know I won't."
"No," her voice was quiet, her eyes rested on his bowed form with sadness. "I know you won't."
The Admiral took a breath, held it, and let it out. "But you will wish you had."
He looked up at her. The sorrow was gone from her face, hidden behind the cold authority in her eyes. "You had built quite an elaborate system of hiding places and transport lines in such a short time. Almost commendable, really. Your lines of deserter-smuggling stretched across eight worlds, across both Alliance and Independent lines, and you were certainly not the only one involved," she stated, looking down at him as coldly as a judge. "You will be telling us the identities of your accomplices and the locations of all your hiding places, and the names of all the ships and captains who were helping you transport the deserters from one place to the next. You will be helping us find the deserters and put an end to it, helping us end this bloody but necessary war, and thus helping us do some good in this 'verse."
Her gloved fingers gripped his hair, pulling his head up and back once more. "You will be," the Admiral enunciated very clearly, "a fully contributing and upstanding asset to the Alliance's cause."
"Never," the prisoner growled, his pale face flushed with anger.
"Sooner than you think," she answered softly, her palm resting gently against his cheek for a moment, "my dear brother."
He didn't see it, but there was hurt in her eyes when he jerked his head away.
The Admiral's voice rose a moment later in a command. "Guards." The doors opened again with their sterile, metal whoosh. "Take the prisoner to Room 101, for processing."
~*~*~*~
:D?
