SHANNON O'HARA
Gunslinger
Morellian Justice
37 Years Old / Heart O' Gold / Not Force Sensitive
1
PLAYFUL
Gunslinger
Morellian Justice
37 Years Old / Heart O' Gold / Not Force Sensitive
1
PLAYFUL
She slowly rolls her cigarette while eyeing the man sitting in front of her. He can't see her pale-blue eyes, the upper-half of her face is hidden in the shadow of her hat. He patiently waits for her to start speaking, but his cool demeanour is a mask. He does not feel at ease in this smoke-filled common room of this shady saloon, with all these grim-looking patrons sitting around and chatting about everything that's amiss in the galaxy according to them. But he came here to see her, and it would just be rude to walk away now. Hell, it would even be rude to say what he thinks of the place. Not that he would dare, or anything.
Finally she's finished and she puts the cigarette between her lips. She lights it up and takes a deep drag, and a few moments later she lets grey smoke escape her mouth. She tilts her head slightly and gives him a faint smile—he isn't sure whether it's a genuine smile or not.
"So," she says in her pleasant, warm, soft voice. "You're here at last."
"Aye," he says. "Thanks for . . . for meeting me."
"No problem." She takes another drag, and seems to enjoy it. The smoking, that is.
"So, um . . ." he begins. "Where are you from?"
It's silent for a while, but at last she says, "Morellia. Why is that important?"
"Oh, I don't know. Just trying to get to know you a little better, I suppose."
"I see. You a smuggler, too, right?"
He nods, suddenly really nervous. He doesn't know why, isn't this a place full of smugglers? Isn't he safe here from the authorities?
"Okay. And where are you from, if I may ask?"
"Naboo," he answers. "Yeah. From the plains a little south from—"
"I like Naboo," she cuts him off. "Like it a lot. I've always wanted to visit Naboo, you know. I never had the chance, though, it's a shame. But who knows? Maybe some day."
"Yeah . . ." he brings out. "Um."
"Um?" She smiles again, warmly this time, as though she's really amused. She raises a hand and then takes off her hat, and when he finally sets eyes on her his heart skips a beat. She really is beautiful—at least he thinks so. And her smile only adds to the beauty.
"Yeah, I uh . . ."
"Is there something you would like to ask of me, pard?" she asks in a Southern Morellian drawl.
"Oh, I . . . well. So, you're from Morellia, eh?"
"Didn't I already tell you this?" The smile's still there. She's still amused. Or so it seems.
"Well . . . what happened?"
"What do you mean?" She takes another drag.
Sweat begins to fall from his forehead and he really doesn't feel at ease. He cannot explain his feelings, he doesn't even really know why he had come here in the first place. But he did want to meet her. Or rather, he had to. He shoots a quick glance over at the bar, then looks back at her and for some reason it shocks him to see that she's still as beautiful as ever.
"Say," she begins, "would you like something to drink?"
"Um, yeah. Sure."
She signals for the waiter to come over, and asks him to get a Corellian Ale for this bloke. The waiter comes back a few moments later with the drink and the bloke accepts it with a shaking hand.
"So, what did you mean by that?" she asks.
"When I asked you, 'What happened'?"
"Yeah."
"Oh, um. Well . . . why did you . . . y'know. Why did you become . . . um—"
"Why I became a smuggler?" She sits back in her chair and takes another drag. Then she reaches with her left, free hand for the glass that's on the small, round table beside her chair. She brings it to her mouth and takes a small sip from the scotch, then puts it down again and looks back at him. Her eyes seem to glow in the lamplight.
The guy nods, and quickly takes a sip from the ale. There's a lump in his throat that doesn't seem to go away.
"Well . . ." she starts off. "That ain't just a simple question you're asking me, pard."
"Oh, well, if you don't want to answer—"
"But I'll tell you a few things. You can . . . consider this a fair warning." And she chuckles when she sees the shocked expression on his sun-bronzed face. "I am the daughter of this wealthy rancher, ye ken. And my daddy had this friend . . . or maybe I should say acquaintance. Anyway, his pard had this son. The son and I were . . . promised."
"Promised? As in, you were supposed to—"
"Marry him, yes. But let's not go into that. You didn't ask for my childhood, did ya? Or do you want me to tell you about that as well? It's boring, though."
"Oh, uh . . ."
She chuckles again, it's a very pleasant and pretty sound, but for some reason it's also a bit unsettling. The bloke quickly takes another sip, then looks around the room for the umpteenth time. It's crystal clear to her that this man just wants to leave now.
"So," she continues. "I was around twenty and he was a year older than me. We were in his room, just chatting for a bit. He was also showing me that pistol his dad had given to him earlier that day, and he seemed to be kind of proud of it. But, y'know . . . I guess he really fancied marrying me because at some point he sat down beside me on the bed and actually tried to kiss me. While I did consider him to be one of my best friends, I sure never really wanted this to happen."
"Really?"
"Yeah. So, I tried pushing him away but that's when this thing began to escalate."
"Escalate?"
"Yeah. Up to a point where he forced himself upon me and tried to take advantage of me."
"Hang on . . ." the bloke says, his eyes wide with surprise. Surprised she's so open about this. Is she even telling him the truth or is it just another of those . . . well . . . could it be a lie? Why would anybody lie about this?
"What's the matter?" she asks casually.
"Did this guy try to . . . y'know . . ."
"Yeah." She nods, still smiling, as if it's all all right. "So I had to defend myself. And I did. His gun was there right beside the bed on the night stand, and because he was really forcing himself upon me I saw that as my only way out."
"So you shot him . . . ?"
"I killed him."
He was already trembling, but now it's gotten worse. He can't take his eyes off of her, he can only stare at her. Just who is this woman? Is she a cold-blooded killer? The way she's so calm, and speaks of this as if it's one of her daily activities . . .
"Naturally," she goes on, "everybody accused me of murder while it was actually just a matter of self-defence, ye ken. I didn't kill him because I wanted to; I killed him because if I didn't, he'd have raped me. Yet nobody believed me and so I ran.
"They sent a man after me. He was a Morellian Enforcer, ye ken. A Duro. And he chased me down, found me and captured me, but he was willing to listen to my side of the story. Apparently he saw reason where many didn't, and in the end he let me go."
"And that was when . . . ?"
"And that was when I started to wander the galaxy. I hitched a ride on public transport, away from Morellia, and I ended up on a space station frequented by smugglers and the like, and so I finally ended up becoming one myself."
"I . . ."
"Hush, sugar," she says, "you don't need to say anything." She smirks now and then nods at somebody behind the bloke.
The bloke quickly looks over his shoulder and straight into the eye of a big Wookiee. The Wookiee grimaces and bares rows of razor sharp teeth.
"Hey, mister," the young woman says, and he looks back at her. "Yeah. You've come to the right place. It is me you've been looking for. Name's Shannon O'Hara. Don't you think I haven't seen through your disguise yet? I know you are a copper, and I know that's why you're so ****ing nervous. You did well, though, you managed to stay in-character for a long time."
"Are . . . are you gonna hurt me?" he stammers, fear now getting the best of him.
"Yeah." She says it as if it's the most obvious thing in the world. "Of course." Then she takes another drag from the cigarette.
"But . . ."
"Gave ya a fair warning, didn't I?"
The guy suddenly attempts to rise to a stand, probably to run to the nearest exit, but the Wookiee puts his paws on his shoulders and he can't get away. The Wookiee won't let him.
"My friend here will take care o' ya," she says. "Y'know I ain't no real killer, and we won't kill ya. The thing is just that I'm kind of tired of all these so-called Imperial lawmen chasing me down, thinking I'm a ****ing criminal or something. So."
She rises to a stand, slowly, with the cigarette in her mouth, the glass of scotch in her right hand, and her hat in her left. She puts on the hat, her face once more shrouded in the shadow, and she walks away.
"Catch ya on the flip-side, baby," she says as she passes by. "Long days n pleasant nights."
——————
2
SORROWFUL
SORROWFUL
theme
Hey. Are you okay?
I . . . I'm afraid they got me.
Oh my God, are you wounded?
Ugh . . . it's a slug.
Here, let me open your shirt and take a look.
. . .
Oh God . . . oh no . . .
Am I ****ed?
Oh, no . . . it's too much. I don't know if I can help you.
It's okay, Shannon. Stay calm.
But your entire stomach's . . .
Shan.
I have to help you. I can't let you—
Shannon! Please.
No, I—
Shannon, look at me! Look at me. It doesn't matter. You are all right, that's all that matters.
I have to find a doctor.
There's no time. You have to go, Shan. You must leave me here, I would only slow you down.
But . . .
They're coming, Shan. You must go.
Not without you! I won't leave you here, I won't! We came here to save those people! We weren't meant to be defeated by some . . . some—
Shannon, listen to me. You did so well. You fought so hard. No, look at me. Look at me! You are the reason! You inspire them to fight for their rights—for their lives. You inspire them. You are a hero. You showed them the way! You taught them to believe in themselves.
I'm not going to leave you.
Be reasonable, Shan. I'm bleeding . . . bleeding out. I can't get up. Just . . . just promise me you won't give up. Promise me you'll keep fighting. Don't let this all go to—
Why fight for a universe that's already beyond saving?
Oh, don't say that . . .
But . . . I couldn't save you. I couldn't save them. And even if I could . . . why try to protect the weak and the poor if I can't change anything . . . their sorrow is sempiternal. Their sorrow is all they know. I could save their lives but I could never fill their hearts with joy. I could shine some light on em, but the darkness will never go.
Shannon. Please.
I could fight forever, I could fight until my very last breath but it ain't gonna change nothing. Not as long as they keep their eyes closed and turn their backs on the sheer, grim reality that makes us, that shapes us . . . that kills us.
You couldn't save them. Their world went up in ashes, and you, my angel, ran as fast as you could and you tried. I know you tried, my love. You tried so hard and it was all in vain . . . it was all for nothing. I know you are in great pain and I know the shadow that looms over you, that weighs you down and makes it so hard to keep going. So hard.
But it's okay, my love. Dry your tears. Dry your beautiful, angel-blue eyes and smile at me for the last time, because when I go I want to remember your smile. I want to take the image with me in my thoughts as I ascend to heaven. I want you to remember me for who I was, and what I have done . . . not how I died. I want you to smile when you think of me; I don't want you to cry when you think of me.
But . . .
It is hard. I know.
. . .
Oh, my sweet angel, I love you so much. So much.
It hurts . . .
I know that it hurts. This is the thing that hurts the most of all. This is the thing that could stop us from moving on, that could make us stop in our tracks and wish that we were out of breath. That we would collapse and feel the life force flow out of our bodies.
I can feel it now . . .
But I don't want you to cry for me, Shannon. I want you to smile at me.
You are so beautiful. Please. One last kiss before I go . . . and then a smile.
. . .
Please look into my eyes and smile for me. Your smile is all that matters. Your smile is the only thing in the world that matters to me. Because I love you to death.
No! Don't go! Don't leave me!
I'm so sorry, my love . . .
Stay . . .
Hold me, Shan . . . I . . .
. . .
I love you!
. . .
I love you . . . I . . .
Please.
Come back.
Come back from the dead, please . . .
I can't live without you . . .
——————
3
FAITHFUL
(The Fiddler and the Hero)
FAITHFUL
(The Fiddler and the Hero)
"Gunslinger?"
Shannon looked up from her meal and saw a middle-aged man coming to a stop on the opposite side of the table she was sitting at. The man held his hat in both hands in front of his chest and had an apologetic glimmer in his eyes for some reason. He was probably afraid that he would be bothering her. She was having her dinner, after all.
"Is something the matter?" she asked in a soft, cautious drawl, fixing her luminous angel-blue eyes on his browns, trying to figure out what might be causing the man's distress. She put down the spoon beside her bowl of soup and wore a concerned look on her pretty face.
"Well," the man began. "Well . . . you see. It's kind of hard to explain." He seemed at a loss.
"Are ya hungry, pard?" the gunslinger asked, already picking up the bowl and putting it down right in front of the man. She placed the spoon beside the bowl. "Have some of that," she said. "It will do you good. Gives ya back your energy, ye ken."
The man took a seat and gratefully started to eat. At first he wasn't sure whether or not he could have it all, but after she reassured him that it was all right he ate the rest as well. After the meal he looked up and she saw a somewhat fearful glimmer appear in his eyes this time.
"Would you tell me now?" she asked.
"I would," he said. "I ask you not to tell anyone else, though. It's . . . a—"
"I understand."
"All right." The man cleared his throat and told her what was wrong.
She listened closely, taking in every word he uttered and never interrupted him. Finally he finished speaking and he asked her, "Gunslinger. Would you aid me?"
She sat back in her chair and pressed her lips and narrowed her eyes, thinking it all over. She understood that this was a pressing matter, and something had to be done soon lest it would be too late. In the end it was her inherent sense of justice that made her promise the man that she would indeed help him out. Her mission was to right all wrongs in the galaxy and this was one of those wrongs.
"Aye," she said. "I will."
——————
That had taken place a few days ago in a small hamlet on the western plain of Corellia. The man had wanted to come with her but she had told him it would be too dangerous. What he needed was some rest and a good night's sleep; he needed to restore his energy instead of running off to save a friend. Shannon had promised him that she was more than capable of pulling this off successfully. She was a gunslinger, after all.
She had travelled to the old base by landspeeder and had left the vehicle at the foot of a hill, out of sight from any watchmen who might be standing in the watch towers, keeping an eye on the plains surrounding them. She had left her duster in the vehicle, along with her hat, and wearing only her light armour she waded through a small river that led up to a cavern which would grant her access to the base and would allow for her to infiltrate it with relative ease.
Shannon silently took out a number of guards in the cavern system, one by one, but she had not killed them. Her sense of justice and righteousness had kept her from taking their lives; it seemed too cruel to her to sneak up on them and slit their throats. Instead she had knocked them out with the butt end of her revolver.
Soon she was in the base itself and she sneaked along the walls—one with the shadows. It started off all right but then she turned around the corner and saw a group of heavily armoured guardsmen, all armed to the teeth, standing about. Quickly she retreated and pressed her back up to the wall, raising her pistol in her left hand and clenching one of her knives in her right. The guardsmen had not seen her yet. She was lucky.
She stood there awhile, unsure of what to do. Aye, she could engage in battle with them but she doubted she would come out victorious. Not necessarily because she was outnumbered, but the armour that they wore would make all the difference. But she had to pass through here in order to get to the holding cells where she would find the man she had come for. She bit her lip and thought about this.
The solution came in the form of a mouse droid.
Shannon heard the annoying sounds that such droids make and a moment later she saw it moving down the corridor. She quickly knelt down beside it while tucking her weapons back in their holsters. The gunslinger lunched out her hands and grabbed the droid, lifting it off the floor and was intensely grateful that the stupid robot wasn't making any noises.
While holding it in her right arm, she lowered her left hand to her belt and grabbed a small detonation pack which she then stuck to the mouse droid's left side. She quickly put the droid back on the floor and watched it roll onward, into the hallway where the guardsmen stood. Why the mouse droid hadn't started to freak out was beyond her.
She closed her eyes for a moment, knowing that this might inflict some nasty wounds on the guardsmen and she felt somewhat bad about it. However, there was no other way. She had to get to those cells to rescue an innocent boy yet if she would step into the hallway she would be torn apart by the bullets of the guards. She wouldn't be able to talk to them because she was an intruder. They wouldn't let her speak a word. They would shoot first and they wouldn't even bother asking questions. Shoot first and clean up later. Yeah.
But at least they wore armour and the explosion would not be so big that it could kill them. It would just knock them unconscious.
She pressed the red button on the detonator.
——————
Finally she had made her way down to the holding cells. There were more prisoners here and she saw how they all clutched the bars of their cells and shot pleading glances at her. Could she save them all? Should she let out all of them? But what if not all of them were innocent?
She moved on, looking at all the prisoners, while a group of guards rushed to the hallway where they had heard an explosion. She knew that she wouldn't even have the time to save all these people and that alone offered her a tad bit of comfort, but only a tad.
At last she halted in front of the holding cell in which sat the boy she had come for. She knew his name. She knew of his background. She could only hope that he would trust her and not cause too much trouble further down the road. They had to act and move fast if they were to pull this off in one go. She realised that that almost sounded like they would be given a second chance in case something went wrong but of course that was out of the question. It was either a successful prison break or death. Those were the only two possibilities. She grimaced at the thought.
She took a deep breath and finally said, "Hello, Caleb. I'm a gunslinger and I was sent by a friend of yours. I'm here to get you out of this shithole."
The boy sat in the back of the cell, half in the shadow, and although he looked up to see who she was she could not see his face. But she knew it was him; it had to be him. None of the other faces she had seen matched the description of Caleb Fel . . . he was't just the only human here, but also the only teenager.
——————
THE GUNSLINGER'S JOURNEY
Oh, no. No, no, no!
Devil Hunt [In progress]
Survival Shooter [In progress]
Cloak and Dagger [In progress]
----
I don't take credit for the pics, of course. Credits go to the artists who created them.
Last edited by a moderator:
