Every time I read Ender's Game, I feel the need to write more drabbles. All concerning Petra Arkanian, whom I have come to adore. No telling why. No idea why. There will be at least one more drabble centering around her and Dink...and when Battle of the Books is over, I hope to read the other books she is forefront in...and thus write more drabbles...


by green see-through ghosts

That anger. The furry. It burned, like a roaring fire in her chest, and nothing she tried kept it down. It was worse than being frozen in the middle of battle, yearning to shout out commands and take down every son of a bitch who messed with her army, but unable to for the immovable stiffness of the battle suits. It was worse than the frustration she felt at Phoenix Army when they just couldn't get it. It was worse than anything.

Petra had known from the moment Ender had entered the Commander's Mess, that blankly smug expression on his face. Such a little punk, he was, and he didn't even know it. But, Petra could let that go. She could forgive him for being excellent, and stand-out, and goddamned adorable without any clue of what he was. But though she didn't hate him (yet), Petra knew they would have him take care of her next. She knew that the adults would pit Ender against her, just to show her how much she had left to learn. Phoenix Army was good, but they could be better. And though Petra spent hours trying to make this happen, there were just some things that wouldn't come together for her.

So they would do this, those adults. They would humiliate her and her crew by having them fight Ender's Dragon Army without giving her a chance to see how he had changed the style of the Battleroom fights. She tried to blame Ender, but it didn't work. She tried to blame her army for being slow and stupid and not adapting quick enough, but those words never even left her mouth. She tried, after everything else, to pin the blame on the adults that rigged the game to try to make Ender lose, knowing it would force him to win.

But the guilt for the loss never stuck unless she strung it on herself.