Eyes of a Tragedy

For Fandom, it had been a week.

For Sarah Kerrigan, Queen of Blades, it had been but a few seconds. The Xel'Naga artifact had taken her and her charge by the metaphorical balls and flung them across time and space bare minutes before something had wiped it from the skein of the universe.

And now it was spitting them out in a flash of blue between the trees.

The loss of her Swarm hit Kerrigan at once, sending her staggering to her knees on her way out of the tear. Her hands flew to her head and she let out a high-pitched whine as her senses compensated for the fact that her massive army had suddenly been reduced to one.

She'd be grateful that she made it to Fandom later. Right now, she'd need a minute.

[[ for one, and nfb. ]]

"You have corrupted her! Somehow you have poisoned her thoughts. Restore her to her rightful self, or you will pay dearly for this offense, Kerrigan!"

Zeratul's indignance, his anguish had been delicious, once he'd found what Kerrigan had done to his Matriarch. Had done a long time ago.

"With her as my puppet I was able to eradicate the Renegades on Shakuras, and use you to kill the Overmind. And as you can see, your leader belongs to me now. Not bad, huh?"

So maybe gloating had been a little... much. If she hadn't, then she might not have had to chase Zeratul's hide across Char all these weeks. You could say what you wanted about the Protoss, but they certainly knew how to make things difficult.

Like stealing the Matriarch from Kerrigan even after it had become pathetically obvious that she was beyond redeeming. Honestly, the one thing Kerrigan disliked about being here rather than in a Terran colony or on Fandom was the lack of a decent brand of aspirin.

Anyway, weeks of searching, and that brought Kerrigan to this point: with River at her side, amidst the ruins of a Protoss base, facing Zeratul as he clutched on to the stasis cell that held his wounded Matriarch.

"Damn you, Kerrigan, for what I must do!" the Dark Templar's psionic voice spat.

Great. Theatrics. The Protoss did always know how to make a scene.

Advil, anyone?

[[ for the girl ]]

They had been waiting long enough. She had been waiting long enough. Now, with Mengsk's troups moving in and setting up shop again back in Augustgrad, her plans were starting to bear fruit. Which meant it was time to engage in a little sweet, sweet action she'd been looking forward to...

She frowned at the viewscreen. It was thought, not complaint, that did it.

"River," she called. It wasn't necessary to differentiate between whether she was thinking or speaking the command. She expected it to be answered.

[[ for that girl ]]

Seated upon the creep, a Hydralisk's warmly breathing side against her palms, Kerrigan listened.

There was a turmoil in the Hive Mind, all the hallmarks of a war fought on Aiur, lightyears from here. The Protoss, struggling for the very existence of their species, of their home. It was a futile battle, of course. The Zerg's numbers were infinitely greater.

On Char, it was quiet. Too quiet. They'd returned here last week, on the Overmind's orders. And given the strength of their forces, they'd eradicated the last trace amount of Terran forces days ago. That left her nothing but the quiet of waiting, underlaid as it was with that rumbling of force and battle.

And that meant that Kerrigan was, for a lack of a better word, bored.

( River felt it, too. )

[ alternate POV on the events of the very last mission of StarCraft. This is where it really gets interesting... la la NFI NFB OOC-OKAY ]

The square was large: so giant it could go on for full football fields in either direction. Perched near its center stood a giant statue, newly chiseled, with the features of an aristocratic, proud man-- Arcturus Mengsk-- set out with sharp, laser-burned detail.

Behind it, the spires of a dazzlingly new city reached for miles into the sky, gleaming with light. Ships shot through the air, weaving their way between them. The blue light of this planet's sun cast interesting lines on the windows.

And the square? The square was covered-- in flowers, in chairs, in people. A small platform sat in front of them, and behind it, a dais for some yet-unknown purpose.

It was a funeral, then; but for a funeral, there was a strange vibe of excitement passing through the crowds.

( Death was too silent; Lee had learned about being stoic, and to Roy, this was all too familiar. )

[ nfb, nfi, parts ganked from the end of StarCraft's Terran campaign, preplayed with by the AWESOME stupid_toasters, moonbrain_tam and light_a_spark and OOC-okay! ]

Her fridge had been stocked up well enough, but Kerrigan had still found herself chowing back noodles more often than not over the past few days. Cooking just wasn't her strong suit, and she lacked the inclination to learn.

Christmas Eve had passed by unnoticed.

She was in the living room, running system checks on her armor and fiddling with the wires.

[ open to anyone who'd come bug kerrigan on christmas day; early due to sp later yay ]

Some people just didn't have a lot of 'thanks' in their lives.

Which is why, unlike a good chunk of the Fandom population, Kerrigan wasn't giving any tonight. She was in the kitchen instead, quietly sifting through her fridge to find enough materials to make something edible with.

The house was dark. As it usually was. Empty and quiet.

Almost like space. Just not quite.

She thought of Michael Liberty and Jim Raynor, talking on the Hyperion, and smiled -- a little bit -- at herself. Not with any particular joy, but with a rueful sense of place, affection for men she was starting to think she was likely never to see again.

[ wait for weetiny ocd of ocd UP. for one person in particular, with the exception of a certain sheriff who can visit at 10:00 or later if he waaants. up early because our timezone ROCKS yours ]

Sometime in the early morning, a redhead in tank top and cargo pants carefully slid into the office -- her office, by yet another random bout of providence, apparently -- and took a quick mental inventory of the place. Except for the chair, the desk, the computer and the bookcase, it all seemed pretty empty.

Kerrigan didn't really know why she expected otherwise, honestly. Pacing quietly past the walls towards the desk, she surveyed the entire office for bugs or anything else of note before sitting down gently.

The chair squeaked a little.

[ open like an open office ]