AN: Before you read this, I must admit to something: this fanfic is pure self gratification, and I will not pretend otherwise. I'm writing this because, at the moment, my Jedi Consular can't get into Zenith's pants. I need an outlet for all these fangirly hormones, so here you go! A passably written story about Zenith and a girl.
Though now that I've put 99% of the people reading this off, she's not going to be SUPER KAWAII JEDI SUGARPLUM FAERIE, AKA The Worst Mary Sue Ever. I can at least promise you that much.
And now, on to the story!
This is completely un-betad and straight from the strange recesses of my brain. I own nothing except Magdelena.
UPDATE 20/07/2015 - I am slowly but surely working my way through each chapter and revising it. I started writing this years ago and a LOT has happened since.
The overall content of this chapter hasn't been changed. I'll put this little note at the top of each chapter I re-upload to let you know if anything of substance has changed or not :)
Also if anyone who has knowledge of the Consular storyline from Balmora onwards wants to contact me and share said knowledge, I will bribe you with sneak-previews of chapters and progression of this story.
There had never yet been a day Magdalena had been so glad to leave behind as this one. It had gone from a busy day to a bad one like that. There had been two euthanasias that day – one had been an emergency call in: the cat had been hit by a car, and on presentation she had informed the owners that it would not survive the night. The traumatised woman had held her cat as it relaxed into sleep and passed away. The second had been an aging cancer patient who had reached the end of its dignified and long life.
Now all she needed was to get home and sit down and cuddle her own cats and just cry, because a vet crying during a consultation was just not done. They had to be the strong, clinical one, with enough compassion on their faces to ease the pain of their clients and ensure that they knew this was the last choice a vet ever wanted to make, but it was the only one.
Magdalena scrubbed at her eyes, took a deep breath, and forced the sorrows of the day into the back of her head through sheer strength of will. She would not cry until she got home. She'd go all blotchy and snotty and people would look at her funny.
She loved her job, she really did. She got to work with fantastic people, doing what she loved, and there was no greater feeling than discharging a patient who had been really touch-and-go for a while. But losing them was hard. She hoped, in a quiet recess of her brain, that it always would be. It proved to herself that she cared enough to put her all into keeping them alive.
At least the clinic was close enough that she could walk home each evening. The evening itself was deeply pleasant, skies purpling across the sunset and a brisk southerly wind heralding the onset of winter. She huddled further into her coat as the wind tugged at her legs.
Magdalena heard the slap of feet on the footpath behind her seconds before she was slammed into the concrete. Her hands came up to protect her face, elbows eating the worst of the fall. She howled and rolled, curling her arms into herself. She was still partially covered by this odd weight, and it took her a few more moments to realise someone was rummaging through her coat pockets. She bucked and brought a knee up, he – it sounded like a male – grunted in pain and the weight lifted briefly.
A knife caught the last rays of the sun as the shadow brought it down. There was no time to scream. Just pain, flaming agony, then sweet black.
Even through the fog Magdalena could feel it. The knife had gone through her abdomen, just cranial to the tenth rib laterally on her left. Her elbows were, at best, badly bruised and scraped. At worst: broken. Her head thrummed. Her fingers twitched at her thought of applying pressure to the wound. Everything was too heavy to move.
A whuffling sound to her right. Adrenaline snapped her eyes open, hands twitched towards the wound. The movement set her nerves alight. She hissed. The responding hiss set a chill flying down her spine. She creaked her head to the right and her intestines turned to jelly. A lizard-like muzzle was deformed by a pair of tusks jutting up from its lower jaw.
One thing's for sure, her brain supplied, that thing ain't a herbivore. It sniffed in her direction, cautious, testing the new addition to its environment to determine the appropriate response – fight, flight, or eat. It jerked forwards. Smells like food, she thought. She moved her right hand carefully up to her chest. The nose looked soft, and with its apparent dependence on scent, it would likely have a high number of nerve endings there. The lizard thing was going to get a surprise before it got a chomp.
It was eager to get on with its meal, maw opened wide as it sashayed towards her, rows of manky teeth on display. It was terrible how her brain immediately began to figure out the best process for tartar removal as her fist clenched up, ready to smack its face.
She never got the chance. As it pulled itself up and back to strike, its head exploded. She jerked backwards and into the earth, blinking her eyes tightly as globules of lizard brains and bits hit her face. The body teetered for a moment. Collapsed onto her legs. Bile rose in her throat, side shrieking as she tried to roll over. She twisted her head to vomit, tears streaming down her face as her body wholeheartedly protested at the torment of contracting with a knife-wound in her side.
"Oh god," she murmured. A pair of boots slowly clunked into her blurred sight. "Please..." The blessed dark rose and claimed her.
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