Nik Woverius Rillians
Moron by Day, Idiot by Night.
'My name is Nik Rillians and I’m in love. I’m in love with a leggy number over by the bar, I’m in love with the girl that was kind enough to share drunken kisses and wild passions with me last night. I love them, all of them, for as brief a time as they are willing to spend with a lowly mortal such as myself.
I've found joy, pain and sorrow among the stars in a Galaxy filled with wonder. It was a life I was never meant to have; I should have died in some low rent apartment on Corellia with a body ravaged by mediocrity, defeated by life and crushed under the weight of my own unfulfilled dreams.
Then I met her. My blonde one. The pint sized smuggler that took my life by the balls and twisted until I woke up to the reality of my situation. I've loved many women and I love them all with my heart and soul but she has me; truly, madly, deeply. Whatever makes me, ME, is hers and no one else can lay claim to that.
As I write this I’m bleeding to death. A sad end to a magnificent tale, no? Around me tables lie strewn and broken, bodies intermingling with the filth and unwashed surface that had, at one time, been considered a floor. My hands are shaking, the cigarra held limply in my other hand while this one taps out the words that no one will ever read.
I’m thinking of her again, that wonder girl that brought me to life in a bar not so dissimilar to this one in Coronet City. The way her nose creased when she smiled at my idiotic jokes, the flash of passion in those baby blues when we kissed. The world put to the torch. Utter abandon given form by the union of heart, body and soul.
I've found joy, pain and sorrow among the stars in a Galaxy filled with wonder. It was a life I was never meant to have; I should have died in some low rent apartment on Corellia with a body ravaged by mediocrity, defeated by life and crushed under the weight of my own unfulfilled dreams.
Then I met her. My blonde one. The pint sized smuggler that took my life by the balls and twisted until I woke up to the reality of my situation. I've loved many women and I love them all with my heart and soul but she has me; truly, madly, deeply. Whatever makes me, ME, is hers and no one else can lay claim to that.
As I write this I’m bleeding to death. A sad end to a magnificent tale, no? Around me tables lie strewn and broken, bodies intermingling with the filth and unwashed surface that had, at one time, been considered a floor. My hands are shaking, the cigarra held limply in my other hand while this one taps out the words that no one will ever read.
I’m thinking of her again, that wonder girl that brought me to life in a bar not so dissimilar to this one in Coronet City. The way her nose creased when she smiled at my idiotic jokes, the flash of passion in those baby blues when we kissed. The world put to the torch. Utter abandon given form by the union of heart, body and soul.
I miss her now, miss her so deeply that it overshadows the knife wound in my chest, the slick dark stain upon my shirt utterly forgotten in that one perfect moment of longing. She was my fire, my essence, she was everything I ever needed and I karked it up.
She told me once, as we lay in bed gazing at the ceiling of our little freighter in the cool darkness of space, she told me that perfection is a myth. That the most beautiful things, the purest things, are made up of mistakes and imperfect strokes.
That was us, wasn’t it? We were imperfect. Our brush was old and tarnished and our canvas the last wall standing of a bombed out building. It was raw and at times utterly hideous, but then the light would creep over the war torn horizon and hit that imperfect creation in just the right way and it stole the breath from your lips, brought tears to your eyes, set the heart to palpitate and primal urges to stir.
Imperfect, flawed, but in all the right ways. I can see her face so clearly now, as my head grows light and I feel the creeping darkness looming somewhere in the not so distant future. It hurts me to think about her but it terrifies me to forget her. I’m trying to hear her voice but my head is filled with a rush of noise, static of a dying mind trying desperately to understand its situation.
Its okay, I tell myself as smoke slips from my bloodied lips into the silence of the Cantina, you’ll see her again. You’ll hear her laughter, you’ll see love reflected in her eyes. You’ll touch that skin again....
This life is dull and grey without you. You took the rainbow with you and I want you back with that smell of home in your hair and promises of safety in your voice. I hope you know I loved you until my dying day and that I kept my promise.
I'm looking over the devastation, the result of that promise, to the bloodied knuckles that had only minutes before pulped a mans face beyond all recognition.
I’ll be with you soon Lainie, I just have to finish this smoke and I’m done...'
She told me once, as we lay in bed gazing at the ceiling of our little freighter in the cool darkness of space, she told me that perfection is a myth. That the most beautiful things, the purest things, are made up of mistakes and imperfect strokes.
That was us, wasn’t it? We were imperfect. Our brush was old and tarnished and our canvas the last wall standing of a bombed out building. It was raw and at times utterly hideous, but then the light would creep over the war torn horizon and hit that imperfect creation in just the right way and it stole the breath from your lips, brought tears to your eyes, set the heart to palpitate and primal urges to stir.
Imperfect, flawed, but in all the right ways. I can see her face so clearly now, as my head grows light and I feel the creeping darkness looming somewhere in the not so distant future. It hurts me to think about her but it terrifies me to forget her. I’m trying to hear her voice but my head is filled with a rush of noise, static of a dying mind trying desperately to understand its situation.
Its okay, I tell myself as smoke slips from my bloodied lips into the silence of the Cantina, you’ll see her again. You’ll hear her laughter, you’ll see love reflected in her eyes. You’ll touch that skin again....
This life is dull and grey without you. You took the rainbow with you and I want you back with that smell of home in your hair and promises of safety in your voice. I hope you know I loved you until my dying day and that I kept my promise.
I'm looking over the devastation, the result of that promise, to the bloodied knuckles that had only minutes before pulped a mans face beyond all recognition.
I’ll be with you soon Lainie, I just have to finish this smoke and I’m done...'
The cigarra fell from his fingers, hissing as it met the pool of dark crimson that gathered at the base of his seat. Brown eyes looked out at something no one else could see, a face with dirty blonde hair and a smile so angelic it outshone the stars. A smile tried to play across his lips, a twitch at the corner of his mouth, but it was all he could manage as a tear rolled through the grime and dirt upon his cheek. The datapad slid to the floor with a clatter. His head inclined forward, chin resting upon his chest.
Nikolas Woverius Rillians never looked up again.
* * *
Once upon a time...
Thats how the good stories always start right? How the fairy tale begins and when you hear that, you know its going to end alright for the people involved? No? How about the old saying 'Every good story is about a girl'? We have one of those to, right now she and her new 'pilot' are busting through the atmosphere of Corellia trying very hard to lose the criminal types firing pretty, but ultimately deadly, lasers at them.
Our pilot is Nik Woverius Rillians, up until half an hour ago he'd been chatting up some girl in a bar. This girl had turned out to be the aforementioned criminal types bosses wife. He hadn't known that at the time, how could he? He was a nobody, a jobless waste of space that sucked up all the oxygen some useful person could have been using.
His boss is 5'4", blonde, blue eyed with pale skin and a body you could swear was carved by a maestro. She's also really pissed off right now, namely because of the criminal types and because the guy she just hired as a pilot is screaming like a girl every time he sends the old freighter into an evasion. She'd be even more pissed to know that these 'evasions' are actually just Nik fraking up and using the controls wrong.
What? The guy has never flown before, give him a break.
"I knew I shoulda never hired you!" She yelled from the co-pilots seat, her body snapping to the left and pressing against the harness that held her in place. Blonde hair spilled across that side of her face and then fell away again as she righted herself.
"Its not my fault! I never said why I wanted to leave!" The Corellian's voice was strained with fright as he jinked the ship left and right, trying desperately to lose the ship behind them while lances of energy slid past the hull and out into the darkness of space.
"Shut up and fly you moron!" Lainie snarled, her blue eyes flashing with anger.
"Trying! Trying very hard!" And he was, his mind going a hundred miles a minute and whether by luck or fate, he appeared to be keeping them out of their pursuers gun sights. "Whats that light mean!?" Rillians screeched when he spotted a small flashing, utterly inoffensive bulb come to life on the control board.
"We've cleared the gravity well!" His boss yelled, never thinking to ask how a 'seasoned pilot of over five years' didn't know that already. "Punch it for hyperspace!" The look, the utter blank look mixed with extreme terror she got from her pilot made her mouth almost fall open. "You're kidding me, right?" The look persisted and she got her answer, her hand hit the hyperdrive activation button and as they surged forward toward lightspeed she hissed. "You are so fired, pal..."
