The Long and Short of Jaina Solo
A quick, humerous 'fic, playing off the absurd inconsistencies in Jaina's official height. This started off just as a whimsical sketch in an e-mail; Thrawn McEwok figured it deserved a wider audience, and it does!
The shaper's headdress twists in annoyance at the young infidel girl bound to the bed biot in front of him. Her arms stretched taut over her head, lashed into place by the bed's tentacle-tongues. A second set are holding the girls ankles, pulling her body taut. He eyes her critcally, admiring the purplish-blue of the fading bruises that adorn her face, arms and chest.
"There's some problems here. An inconsistency of measurement."
The girl's head lifts slightly, it takes a second her brown eyes to lose their glazed quality and focus on him.
"Whu, who ... what are you talking about."
"You. You can't seem to stay the same height."
She licks her lips, and then gnaws on one of them for a second. "I don't ... I don't understand."
"Your height. We can't seem to get the same measurement twice. One time it's 1.32 hollekets, the next it's 1.54. The first means you're to short, and need to be sacrificed to the gods ... the second is an appropriate, though small, height for one of the Elite."
Her brow creases, lines almost like scars form on her forehead as she tries to comprehend.
"What does that have to do with me?"
The shaper leans close, until his face is centimeters from hers. Part of his headdress reaches out and caresses her cheek, pressing hard against the faded bruise.
"We're going to fix you."
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