Patin’s Lessons to the Prophets, Vol. 12: Vengeance

Posted on Tue Oct 7th, 2025 @ 5:39pm by Patin

1,297 words; about a 6 minute read

Mission: Character Development
Location: Celestial Temple

The Temple shimmered, folding and unfolding like a slinky possessed by hyperactive children. Patin paced with her hands shoved deep in her many-pocketed jacket, jingling with assorted tools, vials, and a few improbable bits of metal she claimed could “blow up a Cardassian cruiser if you squint just right.”

“All right, listen up, you glowing eternity puddles,” she barked. “Lesson twelve: vengeance. The good stuff. Sweet, messy, and explosive. Not like Time — that was all sappy with its slow-brewed firebrand and long sighs. No, vengeance is about action. About letting the universe know you’re not a damn doormat.”

The Prophets hummed, light folding in contemplative waves.
Explain.

Patin snorted. “Explain? No. I’ll show you.” She flicked an imaginary spark that somehow seemed to ignite from the tip of her finger. “Let’s start with the basics. Vengeance is like baking a cake. Except this cake has live spiders in it, and when it pops, it explodes all over your enemies. Bonus if it smells terrible. That’s the Bajoran way. Sweet, calculated, and a little terrifying.”

We are intrigued.

“Of course you are.” Patin smirked, pacing now, jingling the contents of her pockets. “Story one: the Gul who thought he could enslave me — just one Gul, mind you. Thought I’d be his personal ‘girl.’ Big mistake.” She pulled out a tiny vial of glowing liquid, swirled it between her fingers, then pocketed it again. “He didn’t last long. Let’s just say my friends call me Thumper now. It involved a little gas, some patience, and a big boom that echoed across the Southern peaks. He’ll haunt dreams for centuries, probably. Poetic, right?”

You enjoy harm to others?

“Not just harm, my sparkly friends. Justice. Satisfaction. Closure. The thrill of seeing a plan work perfectly. And the boom. Never underestimate the boom. It’s cathartic. Nothing says ‘I’ve been wronged’ like a crater where someone’s arrogance used to be.” She waved her hands toward the Temple’s shifting walls, as if illustrating the explosion in mid-air. “Oh, don’t worry, the crater’s metaphorical… mostly. Or maybe not.”

Clarify metaphorical.

Patin laughed. “Ah, see, that’s where you lot are hopeless. Metaphor and reality are… flexible. Just like time.” She twirled an imaginary wire between her fingers. “Anyway, story two: Nozzie. Little Nozzie and I once had to deal with a Brotherhood squad — twelve of ‘em, armed to the teeth. I rigged a sled with enough charge to flatten a small moon. We took the bastards down, slid through the snowy pass, and laughed the whole way. She called me a madwoman. I called her lucky she had a friend with a flair for the dramatic. And yes, the boom was glorious.”

Your joy is tied to destruction.

“Only if it’s deserved! And well-executed!” Patin barked, pacing faster. “Look, vengeance isn’t random, it’s precise. It’s like cooking a fine stew. You add the right spices — timing, patience, a dash of fire. Wrong ingredient, and you poison yourself. That’s the trick. And sometimes,” she added, lowering her voice, “you throw in a little improvisation. Like the time we had to handle — yes, actual dinosaurs.”

The Prophets tilted, light flickering like curiosity.
Dinosaurs?

“Don’t look at me like that. I said improvised. Some local planet — Sunfire got a little off course — and suddenly, we’re herding giant horned beasts while trying not to crash the ship. Nozzie’s face was priceless. And my vengeance? Well…” She grinned wickedly. “Nothing beats watching a tyrannosaur trip over an improvised mine while trying to eat your shuttle. Boom. Justice, prehistoric edition.”

You find delight in chaos.

“Yes! Chaos is the seasoning!” Patin yelled, spinning in place. “Vengeance without chaos is like soup without salt. Bland, unsatisfying, and disappointing. You must enjoy it. Relish it. Watch the sparks fly and the world straighten itself, one little explosion at a time.”

She stopped abruptly, pulling out a small mechanical device shaped vaguely like a beetle. “Story three: the infamous Cardassian transport. Full of spies, full of arrogance, full of stupidity. I rigged it with a timer that would make it seem like the ship had a mind of its own. Took them an hour to figure it out. The rest of the hour? Priceless. The boom was delayed, but oh, the sweet, slow-build of it…” She closed her eyes, inhaling imaginary smoke. “That’s the real vengeance: letting anticipation do half the work.”

Anticipation is part of your philosophy.

“Exactly. Never rush it. Rush it, and it’s amateur hour. Let the tension simmer like my favorite firebrand. Then — boom. Perfection.” She paused, grinning at the Prophets’ collective shimmer. “Speaking of perfection, lesson four: teamwork. Even vengeance needs it. Nozzie and I, we had moves, timing, coordination. One wrong step and you’ve got molten metal on your own boots instead of your enemy’s. But done right? Art.”

Art through destruction.

“You finally get it! See, vengeance is art, chaos, patience, and, most importantly, boom.” Patin stomped an imaginary boot, making the Temple’s light ripple. “Story five: post-occupation. I had this ‘fun’ little job where I liberated some abandoned ammo caches, rigged them for maximum surprise. The Jem’Hadar thought they were safe. Not a chance. The explosion echoed for kilometers. No casualties, mind you — only morale casualties. And I swear, it sounded like the mountain itself laughed with me.”

Morale casualties are acceptable?

“Sometimes,” she said with a shrug, “if it teaches a lesson. Revenge isn’t just for rage. It’s for teaching people they can’t screw with you. And if they do, make it fun for everyone involved. Nothing like a little educational pyrotechnics.”

Patin paused, then leaned in conspiratorially. “All right, confession time. Some of my favorite vengeance stories are… small. Tiny booms, personal satisfaction. The Cardassian who nicked my favorite spider eggs? Little flamethrower. The corrupt bureaucrat stealing water during the drought? Chemical stink bomb. Slow, sweet, and symbolic. That’s the real heart of vengeance. Big bangs are fun, sure, but it’s the little ones that make you grin the widest.”

Your focus is on satisfaction, not mere destruction.

“Damn straight.” She picked a small vial out of her pocket, spinning it like a globe. “Satisfaction is the goal. Boom is the language. And the stories? That’s the poetry. You lot may exist outside time, but let me tell you, there’s nothing more satisfying than a little patience, a clever trap, and watching justice — explosive or otherwise — unfold.”

The Temple shimmered, contemplative.
We understand… the pleasure is in the design.

“Finally! You’re learning something.” Patin gestured wildly, scattering imaginary sparks that danced like fireflies. “Remember this: vengeance is sweet, precise, chaotic, and artful. It’s not just revenge — it’s justice delivered with style. And if someone asks, yes, I may have a tendency to enjoy the boom a bit too much. But hey, we all have our quirks.”

She paused, letting the words sink into the luminescent folds. “Class dismissed. Next lesson? Loyalty. And don’t even think about skipping it, or I’ll make you experience the slow burn of a mountain firebrand. Figuratively speaking. Or not. Depends on the mood.”

The Temple rippled with light and an almost imperceptible vibration — a mixture of laughter, approval, and chaos.

Patin tilted her imaginary cigar, smirked, and muttered, “Vengeance. Taught in style, with a little fire, a little grit, and a lot of love for making things go boom. Now, go on. Ponder that until I decide you’re ready for the next lesson.”

 

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