The first thing that one sees when leaving the Inn is a huge room, held up by pillars, an intricate mosaic on the floor, and bright coloured tapestries on the wall. Nothing seems normal to Earth-eyes, everything is more lavish, and somehow indescribable. Oddly enough, as anyone would say, it isn't half as ornate as the temple on Coruscant. This one, however, has tiny little imperfections which indicate that it is a home for small children.

To the left is a hallway, to the right another hall, and in front is a huge stairway that would dwarf the one in Hogwarts. In contrast to the out-of-doors, the building is cool and inviting.

Every so often, children of various ages cross the entranceway, hurrying along to their next class.

It is a three-foot by six-foot rectangle of pure white fabric. Simple, but striking.

There's two sides to it, the right and the left. On the left, as a background, is the affirmation from Life Support (There's only us, There's only this: Forget regret or life is yours to miss. No other road, no other way. No day but today.) embroidered in a funky gold thread. It's funky because it's from Coruscant. Really space-shiny, and kinda heavenly-like. On top of that is an appliqued red ribbon. And below the ribbon's Angel's name in that same goldthread.

The right side has as a background the 'to music' litany toast. (To music, food of love, emotion, mathematics, isolation, rhythm, power, feeling, harmony and heavy competition!) On top of that is Angel. Ish. It's a figure in the same twirl-skirt pose as the Today For You intro for Mark's films. The skirt on the figure is a patchwork of fabrics. A old maroon-and-teal sweater, a frilly black lace, a bit of cow-print, an old t-shirt, and what looks like it might be the sleeve of a coat. The figure is outlined in the gold-thread again, giving it an almost heavenly quality.

So. It's a nice day out back. Valentine is leaning against a tree, reading a book. Not all that abnormal.

It's a couple days after the dinner. Much to Val's surprise, Derek was still at her apartment. Well, he'd left a few times to go to Senate, and she had to go to work, but he was, well, sorta living there. It was a wierd feeling, but it somehow strangely felt right.

Val hadn't stopped smiling.

Derek had gone to a Senate meeting, and Val was going to meet him in a couple hours for lunch, but she had a call to make. Pulling the flimsi out of her pocket, Val dialled Mara.

A lot happens in fifteen years. Governments rise, and shakily stand on their feet. A woman who used to be a holonews writer has turned to her first love, and is working as a political aide to a well-known politician.

Some things never change, though, and a small apartment on Coruscant is one of them. Sure, there might be a few more strange things from different planets, and the furniture has taken on the dust of someone who doesn't have either the time to clean, or the desire to buy more furniture, but it's all still there. An almost Bohemian shabbiness has come about the place.

Sitting on her couch, Valentine, once Valentine Wiggin, once Valentine Skywalker, now simply Valentine Janson of strange background, is reading the holonews. She just stares. The marriage of Luke Skywalker to Mara Jade is announced. Oh. So he had forgotten her. Shrugging, she flips through stories, till she finds a political one to read.

Because I happened by, and I think you deserve some love and some fic, I present you Enderverse fic, specifically, Valfic. It's actually an exploration of a couple lines in Ender's Game

"Valentine, would you please come up here?" The history teacher looked up from her desk, smiling at Val. The rest of the class stared. Rarely was the blonde girl recognized in class. She didn't raise her hand, and teachers rarely called on her, unless in an effort to actually get the right answer for once, when the rest of the class failed to understand.

Standing, Val walked up to the teacher's desk, expression flat. China was threatening a couple of its neighbors, and Demosthenes was, as usual, ranting against anything un-American. Needless to say, her mind wasn't exactly in the right place. "Yes, ma'am?" Standing in front of her teacher, she put her arms behind her back, green pen behind her ear, a quiet defiance of the constant typing on laptops.

"The principal would like to speak with you, Valentine, about one of your essays." The woman pauses. "You are free to go now."

"Yes, ma'am." Striding out of the class, Val blinked, Why would the principal wish to talk to her? She never ruffled anyone's feathers. Part of the job, really. She couldn't let people know who she was.

When she was finally in front of the principal, he grinned at her with that sort of beatific smile adults give to children who are going to recieve a great surprise. "Miss Wiggin, your history teacher showed me your comparitive essay on Locke and Demosthenes. It's excellent! I've seen college students who couldn't write like that. And your analysis is pointed and interesting." He pauses, blustering with fake grin. "I have a friend on one of the DC newsnets, and he would love to publish your column."

Oh, crap. Inwardly Val kicked herself. She'd tossed off that essay without thinking about it. That would teach her not to pay attention when she was doing homework. Taking a deep breath, she launched into a long explanation of why she did not want to be published. She didn't want more interest at her family. Peter was already four grades ahead, Ender was at battleschool. And, really all she wanted was to have a normal childhood, and be a normal little girl.

It took a while, but finally, she convinced him. Large grey-green eyes and blonde hair helped with the pretense of innocence, really. She was allowed to go back to class with a rather ill grace. However, she won. The newsnet that carried Demosthenes' column would not be carrying an essay connecting Locke and Demosthenes. That was too frelling close. Next time, she had to be stupider. It's the only way to keep up the facade.

It's a sunny day on Coruscant. Val's coming out of the offices of her holonews, reading the datapad from her meeting.

Stupid people, thinking that the Rebels were really gone. There was so much more cleaning up to do, that it wasn't funny. Val sighed, turning a few corners. She had thinking to do. Better go home.

The pity is that she doesn't watch where she's going.

Crossover: Ender's Game/The Virgin Suicides
Characters: Valentine Wiggin-Therese Lisbon
Prompt: Colourless

( I Don't Own Emotion, I Rent )

( Table under here )

There's a tree out back, behind the lake, behind everything which is covered with some odd slashes, which sharp eyes might see as being made by broken glass.
Like a comet pulled from orbit as it passes a sun...
Val was there, curled up in a ball. She avoided the greenhouse. She couldn't even look at it. Of all people. It shouldn't have been Meg. There was so much she'd done, so much she'd been to so many people.
So much of me is made of what I learned from you you'll be with me like a handprint on my heart
Val pulled the blanket closer around her, remembering her first few nights in the bar.

(Valentine's a nice name - isn't that a saint?)
I've heard it said that people come into our lives for a reason bringing something we must learn and we are led to those who help us most to grow if we let them
She shakes a bit. Meg. Marguirite-but-if-you-call-me-that-you-die Giry. The dancer. The life of the bar. Sister. Skywalker. Friend. There are no words, nothing can be said. Val bites her lip, mind wandering around in seven places. Everything that happened, everything Meg had been there for. Tackling her when she tried to run off, telling her exactly what she thought.

(People are far more bloody likely to fall without you than with you - merde, Val, you have responsibilities, you can't just run off. I don't care how bloody bad things are, that's taking the easy way out)
And just to clear the air I ask forgiveness for the things I've done you blame me for
There's nothing she can say, nothing that she can write, just sit there by a tree. By the tree where months ago, Meg found her, cutting her hands to pieces with bottles.
Who can say if I have been changed for the better, but because I knew you I have been changed for good
"I love you, Meg. Always did. Always will. My sister." And then, only then does she break, all of the emotional walls falling down, as she cries. She cries for the ballerina, for the girl, for the woman who knew and understood quite a lot more than most of the 'verse, and herself gave herself credit for. The life of the bar, a large portion of Val's life and heart. Meg.
I do believe I have been changed for the better
It's a long moment before she moves. The morning sun is peeking over the horizon, and she's still there. Broken, but knowing she has to get up and move on. That's the way of the 'verse.

[ooc: Whitetext from the song "For Good from the musical Wicked]

It shouldn't be this beautiful. Nothing in the 'verse had a right to be the beautiful. The 'vids didn't even begin to do it justice. The low country of Naboo stretched out before Val, as she stood on the balcony of a house. The Nabiere house, to be exacty. Of all of the kriffing people to meet in the square, tiny Sabe Nabierre would be the one who skinned her knee. The entire family was lovely, taking Val in for the week, giving her connections and access to anything and anyone she wished to talk to.

It was the times she was alone, however, when people were at school, at work, or simply taking an afternoon nap, that she really felt the peace of the place. It wasn't a wonder, she mused, that Padme came back here when she was chased out of Coruscant. Leaning on the balcony, letting the wind blow through the borrowed dress, Val's mind wandered back to over twenty years ago, when a couple were on a balcony, perhaps this one, perhaps another of the many in that house. As awkward as it all was, if the vids were even close to accurate, there was a quiet purity, a simplicity to it all that staggered Val.

She pulled a wrap from a coat tree, and mused as she walked out of the house, that it might have just been a 'droid. Walking, no more like meandering, eventually she made it down to the side of a small stream, where she dipped her toes in the water, and leaned back. It really was a lovely planet. She'd go back to the house eventually, as she had a meeting with a few people later, but for now, sitting by the side of the stream was enough. Or, really it would be enough if she wasn't alone.

Naboo. Everything led back to Naboo. Or at least that's what Val thought. So, that was why she was sitting on a bench in the middle of Theed's main square. Her editor had sent her there to write on the rebuilding of the planet's infrastructure after the Clone Wars.

Thus, she for a week, was up to her ears in roads, and skyways, aristocracy, and Political Youth programs. There was a boy or two who reminded her, perhaps a bit too painfully of Peter. Driven, passionate, and willing to do just about anything. It was these Political Youth who has streamlined most of the rebuilding of the plant. Always the youth who took control and pushed things through, when the adults were too reeling to do anything.

Putting a couple finishing touches on her story, she leaned back against a tree, and watched people wander around the square. Across the open area, a child falls. Standing, Val wanders over, and offers the little girl a hand up.

"Are you alright, little one?"

"Um, yeah. I'm just stupid. Fell over my own feet." The girl's knee was bleeding, and Val ripped a sleeve off of her shirt, tying it around the wound.

"There. Now, let's get you home to your family."

"I'm at Youth Leadership Camp. My family's down in the low country. Camps' over for the week, though. I was just waiting for our 'droid to come take me home." The girl looked up at Val, an earnestness in her eyes. "If you take me home, you can tell me about offworld things. It's obvious you're not from Naboo. You're too, well, I don't know, but you're not from here."

Val grins and hold sout a hand. "Alright. Let's go rent a speeder, and you can tell me where to go."

So, you know stuff, I don't. Tell me things about my characters that I don't know.

Valentine Wiggin-Skywalker
Mark Cohen
Biggs Darklighter
Qui-Gon Jinn
Lucius Malfoy
Artoo Detoo
See Threepio

It only took three tries to find the perfect flat. Already furnished in a simple, but comfortable style, with a main bedroom, looking out over the Senate, and the living room to the ruins of the Temple. Or what Val thought was the ruins of the Temple. It made sense from the placement. She'd gone shopping with her advance, gotten a speeder, a datapad, and some food. Perhaps something that passed for food. She'd explored all over the place, and still no door to the bar. So, logically, there was little she could do but set up shop and write.

Three days more found her researching crazily on a theory that the Emperor himself had dealings with the cloners, not to clone more Stormtroopers, but to clone himself.

Bastard. The holonets were only slightly different from her 'nets back at home. She'd tried to poke around, and get herself some papers. Valentine Janson, late of Alderaan currently of Coruscant, somhow seemed innocent enough. However, four hours later, she was no better than she was. Swearing to herself, she made a note on a datapad to make Artoo hack into a couple networks for her.

Her mail beeped, and she read a note from one of her new contacts, wishing her to meet him in a cantina-dance club to share information in a couple hours. Tossing off a couple articles, one complete BS, another almost the truth, she changed clothes into a pair of rather tight leather-ish pants, arm bands, and a purple shirt. Something which would blend in while she was in the cantina. Luke's blaster she strapped to her side in a holster she'd gotten when she realized most people didn't go about unarmed, and if one did, they were assumed to be too naieve to carry a weapon. She wasn't trusting anyone at the moment.

Out the door, into a speedertaxi, and out again, at the cantina. Music was playing all around her, and Val suddenly wished that Luke was with her. Biting her lip hard, she stepped in, grabbing a drink before leaning against a pole and watching everyone gyrate about in what seemed to be time with the music. Languidly, she tried to figure out what sort of species everyone was. It was frelling hard. Finally, her eyes were caught by something in the corner. A small door toward the back of the cantina had an odd carving on it:



Blinking, she walks over, tracing the carving above the door. The End of All Things. Couldn't be. It had to be an illusion.

A stormtrooper walked over. "That's a supply closet, miss. Someone carved that above the door years ago, and no one has been able to figure out why. It just stays there while people try to figure out why the end of everything holds brooms and mops and cantina supplies."

"Well, you never know. There might be something strangely accurate about that." She leans against the door for a while, until the troopers leave, then throws the door open. Home. She had never been so happy to see a bar in her life.

It had been about three days since Val was on Tatooine. The little girl, whose name turned out to be Karina Plainsman, was the daughter of a rich merchant, who booked her passage to Coruscant, in addition to giving her a place to sleep for the night, and food for the trip. They had insisted as well on getting her some new clothes, so she could present her article to the holo-news people in style. When she left, she smiled to herself, hoping she could get back and thank the lovely people sometime.

On her way there, Val tried to be reasonable, to figure out how the hells she was going to get home. Eventually she realized that if she was stuck here, she might as well make a few connections. She smirked and decided to jump in with both feet. It was time to use her talents and write.

Val was now in the offices of the largest holo-news agency, armed with, an article on the current political climate in the falling-apart Empire that she'd written on a public terminal and found someone nice enough to lend her a few credits to put on a cheap little datapad-disk. She'd already shown it to about five levels of people, somehow convincing them that she needed a job, and some credits quickly. As with all beurocrats, one person passed her to another, until she ended up sitting in the office of the head of the department which dealt with political correspondance.

"Miss Janson? He'll see you now." The secretary-droid was the model of efficiency. Val stood, and strode into the office.

The man behind the desk, one Mister Trappano, was a sturdy man, who looked Valentine over. "So, you think you have what it takes to write for us, Miss Janson."

Not even flinching, Val crosses her arms exuding a confidence that she doesn't exactly feel. "If you do not hire me, sir, with all due respect, I can find another paper who will better appreciate my talents. There are quite a few other news organizations on this planet, and in the galaxy."

For a moment, Mister Trapanno actually looked a bit nervous. "Oh, no, Miss Janson. Do not think that I will ignore your obvious talents so quickly. However, it is a question of compensation, really. This organization is under quite a lot of stress..."

"Sithspit. No, you're not, and you know it. Just like any other media group, you have more credits than you know what to do with, they are just all going into the pockets of the executives and the editors. Writers get nothing, and we do all of the work for you." She smirks. "Perhaps I should go back to freelancing. I know a few places who would pay quite a substantial amount for a story on the corruption of the media...."

Trapanno sighs, a weary sigh of a man who loves money quite a lot, but is forced to give it up. "No, Miss Janson. You won't have to go back to freelance. I would like to offer you a job as a correspondant on the war. Figure out what in the hells actually went on in the Death Star, who's taking over for the Emperor, and what is going on with the Alliance. Write up a good story, and we'll publish it. I'll even give you extra if you can get an interview with that Skywalker brat. Rumour has it that he's saying he's a Jedi now." He pauses. "All expenses paid, of course, a reasonable flat here on this planet, and a good salary." A smirk. "That is, if you can handle undercover."

Val beams. "Oh, I can handle it, sir. I'm wondering, though, if you all can handle me." A smirk. "Shall I find my apartment today, then? So you can sign the lease for it?"

"Of course, of course. I wouldn't dare ask you to start work right away or anything." He grins. "You're a firey one, Janson, I'll give you that."

"I try my best, sir. Reporters have to be." With that, Val walks out to get details from the secretary 'droid. This was going to be fun. The back of her head, however, was still nagging at her. She had to get home, and soon.

As the door shut, it was almost as if things were going in slow motion. "Oh, kriff. Threepio... no!" She made a mad grab for the door, but she fell through, not onto the wooden floor of the bar, but to the hard-packed earth on the floor of Chulman's Cantina. The occupants of the cantina looked up, laughing, and commenting in a score of languages. Standing, she brushed herself off, glad for once that she was not wearing a t-shirt. An obscene gesture, and Huttese swear later, she had stepped back out into the hot sun of Tatooine.

This was a problem. A large, hot problem. First, she rummaged in her apron, hoping for something, anything to trade, for perhaps some credits. Nothing, save Luke's blaster. Holding it for a moment, she decided against hawking that. She might need it. Looking up, she squinted at the suns and wondered for a moment if there was such a thing as hitchhiking in this galaxy. Then again, where would she go? How could she contact Luke, and tell him that she was stuck? This was -not- looking good.

Wandering down the street, attempting to look like she knew where she was going, a small girl beckoed to her from a shelter on the side of the street. Thank the Force that she knew Huttese.

Why're you out now? Sandstorm's coming.

Val turned, looking surprised and responding in Basic. "How do you know?"

The little girl pointed at the sky which was barely starting to darken. "You're not from around here, are you?"

She shook her head. "No. I got stuck here. I'm a reporter." Close enough.

"Come home with me. Daddy's rich. He can get you a transport to Coruscant."

"Dear, I can't..."

"Of course you can. What else are you going to do? Stand out here and get pummelled by sand?"

"Well..."

"You're not Luke Skywalker. You're not a Jedi, so you can't survive in the sand."

Somehow, Val wondered if even Luke could survive a sandstorm, but she kept silent. "So, if I come with you, will you tell me how you know about Luke? I'm writing a story on him, actually."

The little girl grinned manaically. "Really? Oh, I wanna hear all about him. I only know a bit. I'm always on the holonets." Reaching over and taking Val's hand, the little one led her off to a good-sized house off the main street. "I'm a part of the rebellion, you know. Or at least as close to a part of it as I can get. I sent them my allowance for two Standard months. This is home. Come on!" With that, she threw the doors open.

Val took a deep breath and walked into the house. At least it wasn't the biting sun.

The door to the Skywalkers' bedroom opens with a sigh, and Val stalks in. "Luke, come on. We're going exploring. And talking to people." She has a stack of papers in her hands and a twinkle in her eyes. "Can't stay in idleness on the Heart of Gold forever."

It's strange, really, being out in all of the people, learning customs and traditions on the fly. It's not overly hard, though. Val's done it before. Memories of one specific planet which had changed deeply, just between the time she and Ender had left their previous stop came to mind. However, with a basket, a story and an innocent look, Val was wandering the marketplace, talking to people. Soldiers, wives, and if she got brave, one or two people who might be considered to be aristocracy. Most of -those- people sneered at her, dismissing her as 'just a commoner.' Secretly, Val liked it that way. She couldn't seem to be too strange, too different. Coming to a stand which to Val's eye seemed as if it sold some sort of fruit, she smiled gently at the other woman poking at the fruit. The woman smiled back. It was like so many conversations which had been, so many which were to come.

"Good afternoon, milady."

Val smiled and waved off the title. "I am no Lady, ma'am. I am but the humble wife of a soldier." Soldier-pilot, farmboy, Jedi Knight.

The other woman smirked slightly. "Ah, well, then I can understand why you are in -this- market. Pitiful how they treat soldiers these days."

Val's mind perks slightly, but she shakes her head, attention seemingly on the fruit. "Makes one wish for King Zan, neh?"

The woman stares at her for a moment. "Oh, don't go off on all of that. Everyone's talking about the posters from the podium, how a couple nutjobs have taken it into their heads to debate about him." The woman pauses. "Amidala's right, though. Life -was- better when King Zan was ruling."

Now that was what Val wanted to hear. All it takes at first was an admission. One tiny thought. Her lax attention never falters, though, from the inocuous fruits in front of her. "Perhaps a return to that would be better for everyone." She picks up a fruit and examines it. "Should the chance arrive, that is."

"Which it won't. Because King Zan is gone. And he can't come back." The other woman pays for her fruit and shakes her head. "It won't happen. It just won't."

Val buys some fruit as well. "Never say never. Just keep that in mind." She shuffles away, to the shock of the other woman.

Time after time, the conversation was similiar, only the venue changed. Street vendor to street vendor, Val picked up scraps of this, and scraps of that. Above all, her writings changed accordingly. There was still those who grumbled, darkly grumbled something about the wrath of Kivar on whomever wrote the trash on the board, but people listened. Other intrepid writers had taken up the torch as well, arguing almost without Val's help. She smiled wryly towards the board. Hopefully it was enough.

We the people...
(No, it can't be people. Personages? Sentient beings? Antarians? Strange coloured things... Blue. Purple. No green. So very little green.)
In order to form a more perfect planet...
(Utopia. Not possible. Everything can't be alright. Nothing is ever alright. Ender. Starlight. Never alright. Kriffing word...)
Establish justice, insure domestic tranquility...
(Who am I kidding? Justice? Tranquility? Frelling impossible for sentient beings.)
Provide for the common defence, promote the general welfare, and secure the blessings of liberty
(But what happens when liberty dies? When things fall apart as they always do? Will the common defence be good enough? Will atrocities be prevented? It must be so. Things must be provided for.)
Do establish this constitution for the planet of Antar
(Will it be enough to establish? Will it be there in centuries to come, will it stand the test of time? It must be strong, like the Antarias, it mustn't have loopholes to take advantage of.)

Article I: All legislative power....
(And now to the fun part.....)