Owen Lars drabble
Jan. 22nd, 2011 10:19 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
anghraineI have Spanish homework. Awesome Spanish homework, but after I'd spent an hour trying to come up with a way to use parecerse, I decided it was probably time to stop.
So instead, I have this. Which also doesn't use parecerse, but it might if it weren't in English.
---------------------------
Title: Flashback
Fanverse: canon-compliant or Revenge
Blurb: That's what you said last year!
Pairings/warnings: none
Length: double drabble (203 words)
--------------------------
“But you said - ”
Owen draws a swift breath. Luke’s resemblance to his father is always startling, but never more so than in these flashes of temper. The set of his mouth, the blazing blue eyes, even the restless movements of his hands are pure Anakin.
Luke finally locks them behind his back, every line of his body stiff with fury. Owen feels twenty-three all over again: grief-stricken, helpless, and half-cringing away from a teenage boy.
This is Luke, he tells himself. Not Anakin. Luke.
And Luke can’t go to the Academy. Owen’s seen him shooting down rodents with careless precision, catching his tools a moment too fast. Oh, one boy might fly under the radar for awhile, but how long before someone notices that he’s too quick, too good for a raw recruit? For a human? The Empire, whatever else one might say about it, rewards talent – and once Vader heards the name Skywalker . . .
Inexplicably, he thinks of Cliegg Lars, his own father, sitting at this table – and saying, if you don’t like the deal, change it.
“I need you on the farm,” he says, his voice steady. “You can apply to the Imperial Academy next year.”
He’ll come up with a better excuse then.
So instead, I have this. Which also doesn't use parecerse, but it might if it weren't in English.
---------------------------
Title: Flashback
Fanverse: canon-compliant or Revenge
Blurb: That's what you said last year!
Pairings/warnings: none
Length: double drabble (203 words)
--------------------------
“But you said - ”
Owen draws a swift breath. Luke’s resemblance to his father is always startling, but never more so than in these flashes of temper. The set of his mouth, the blazing blue eyes, even the restless movements of his hands are pure Anakin.
Luke finally locks them behind his back, every line of his body stiff with fury. Owen feels twenty-three all over again: grief-stricken, helpless, and half-cringing away from a teenage boy.
This is Luke, he tells himself. Not Anakin. Luke.
And Luke can’t go to the Academy. Owen’s seen him shooting down rodents with careless precision, catching his tools a moment too fast. Oh, one boy might fly under the radar for awhile, but how long before someone notices that he’s too quick, too good for a raw recruit? For a human? The Empire, whatever else one might say about it, rewards talent – and once Vader heards the name Skywalker . . .
Inexplicably, he thinks of Cliegg Lars, his own father, sitting at this table – and saying, if you don’t like the deal, change it.
“I need you on the farm,” he says, his voice steady. “You can apply to the Imperial Academy next year.”
He’ll come up with a better excuse then.