𝐉𝐚𝐢𝐬𝐲𝐧 ❝𝐉𝐚𝐧𝐞❞ 𝐒𝐨𝐥𝐨 (
forceshadowed) wrote in
helloeverybunny2019-06-23 11:20 am
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Entry tags:
OPEN RP POST • STAR WARS MINGLE ⭐️

whatever it is you've been doing
you are now in Canto Bight!
That's right. It's just like those jamjar games. One moment you're minding your own business, and then... poof!
You're in Canto Bight for no apparent reason.
(Or you've always wanted to be here, and you finally did it. Whatever, we're not the cops.)
That's not the weirdest part, though. Because you might be seeing double.
It's like the time-space continuum collapsed over the city
and now doubles and multiples of you or people you
So go have fun with that!
HOW TO PLAY:
- Toplevel your character. Different version/AU, different toplevel please.
- Add a short background or link to an info post, and indicate prefs. TELL US WHAT KIND OF SHENANIGANS YOU'RE LOOKING FOR. Shipping, smut, family reunions, dark side shenanigans, murder, a Ben Solo smackdown...
TrollReply to others.- Lather, rise, repeat.
- Please note that while the intent of this post is for characters from various Star Wars verses to mingle, you don't need a Star Wars character to play! All characters are welcome — characters AU'd into SW, characters having interacted with SW characters in games and memes, fandom OCs, ship babies, etc.
- Have fun and be excellent to each other! ♥
another sad jacket man
All your jackets are belong to us
that's why his coat's so big. it's full of secrets.
Oh my god, Kay, you can't just ask someone why they're…
we should totally just stab vader!
Get in, loser, we're infiltrating!
don't just spring these things on him, universe >:|
He spins on his heel the instant that fact registers, but the door snaps shut in his face. No going back that way, even if he were fool enough to try, and he flattens his back against the wall instead, waiting for the blow to fall.
Nothing happens.
He’s in a narrow lane, a blind alley to the best of his observation; no windows as high as he can see - and there are no buildings this tall, anywhere near the district he should be in. He should be, still. There was the usual obfuscation on his way in, unnecessary turns and stairs and switchbacks to throw off his sense of direction, but he’d swear he didn’t actually travel that far.
And the light is wrong, the angle and color of the sun, the quality of the air, as if he’s not even on the same planet. Which is not possible. (Is it?)
He stands there with his back to the wall and breathes, slow and even. Down the way there’s a glimpse of a shabby side street, the sound of unremarkable traffic. A shapeless pile of something or someone. Flickering of random shadows as assorted sentients pass by the mouth of the alley without pausing.
No.
Someone pauses. Someone turns in. Someone human or the next thing to it, who’s about his size, who moves like…
Cassian stays where he is. He leans against the wall like a man trying to get his breath or his balance back, and eases one hand beneath his jacket. Keep moving, friend. There’s nobody here.
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and when…
I do. Someone's listening.
Closing the vault door now. Goodbye.
There was too much there. Shut it out, for now. One thing at a time. Right now, pure logistics.
(If nothing else, to keep the grief at bay.)
He didn't feel like he was under the influence of anything. At the same time, he should be injured—ruptures, fractures, concussion—from being shot off the datacore, and he wasn't. Same time, again, this was not behaving like a dream or hallucination, and he kept not waking up.
Hard to fend off the lightheaded, superstitious wondering if the Force, somehow… through Chirrut's prayer or Jyn's crystal…?
Doesn't matter. The answers to those questions were important but weren't the first things to deal with.
There was an alley; he ducked into it.
Only to come up short, spine straightening, skin crawling. It wasn't as empty as he'd thought. But most people couldn't make themselves as invisible as…?
Slowly, Cassian turned, cursing himself for letting someone else be between him and the only exit. If he could, he'd just slip back out again, but…
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- he moves like a soldier. He moves like a killer. He's not some random stranger looking for a corner to piss in. It's possible - more than possible; likely - that he's here for Cassian. Or rather for Sira, who's become inconvenient to those in the building behind him, who's pushed a little too hard, who's clearly done something fatally wrong or he'd be where he's supposed to be, and -
Nothing. The stranger does nothing, as he watches under his lashes, except to hesitate and double back, and then hesitate again.
Which is weird, the way the guy himself is weird, incongruous, bizarrely familiar, and Cassian can feel the weight of his gaze, the two long heartbeats of his hesitation, and doesn't think he can count on a third.
It's nine-tenths instinct: brazen it out. Catch him off guard if you can. He puts as much boredom into it as his pounding pulse will allow. "Someone after you?"
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…but how is Cassian not going to recognize that voice?
(Even just hearing the same accent on a planet like this would catch his attention. This goes way beyond that.)
Somewhere between staring and frowning, Cassian angled his body away from the other man—not trying to impose, signaling a kind of deference and opportunity to escape—while simultaneously taking a subtle step closer to him. Not enough data, collect more… no matter how weird what he already just got… "Not at the moment. How about you?"
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I'm dreaming, he thinks, and What kind of sick sense of humor--? and I look like hell. Chaos in his head, a shuddering sensation deep in his chest: disbelief and rage and a kind of atavistic horror and something else, something worse, that might even be sympathy.
Only one of those is useful.
The third heartbeat passes, finally. Cassian shoves everything else down, and looks the other in the eye. In a voice as cold and even as fallen snow, he says, "What is this?"
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Cassian dropped any casualness and faced the… other, head on. "I was hoping you'd tell me."
The Clone Wars were in living memory. He'd fought on the side that used droids. Could someone have taken the biological data from him anyway? …There were ample opportunities, he winced to think. But why would any of them—anyone at all—bother with him?
He wanted to ask for name, rank, and serial number, but what if the point of this was to get such info out of him?
(Paranoia was exhausting.)
Finally, he said: "Where did your father die*?"
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But in the next breath his good sense reasserts itself, and he laughs a little. Of course that's the angle; wouldn't he do the same thing? Would he have the effrontery? Probably. "Good try," he tells the stranger with his face, flashes a deliberate smile. "But no. What is it you're really after?"
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(Same.)
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Watching him is disorienting, uncomfortably intimate - microexpressions he knows from the inside, movements whose every nuance he can feel in his own nerves, little tics he'd forgotten he has. On some visceral level he can't help but trust the man: I know you. On another, almost as deep, he can't help but distrust: I know what you're doing.
The speech patterns, on the other hand, are just barely less familiar, enough to steady him a little, remind him that he's not looking at a mirror out of phase. He keeps his own expression flat as long practice can make it. "I don't know any her." Not in that tone of voice.
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Finally: "It's 3277*, for me. You?"
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"Okay, sure. What am I doing here, then?"
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sorry in advance for the punch in the feels
If this guy can actually produce a counterfeit K-2, Cassian reflects, then being outnumbered two to one will be the least of his problems. But he doubts it. "Besides, if you really believed that, you'd have dealt with me already. At least I'd hope so."
occupational hazard with our guy ;-)
Goodbye.
(No, Kay, please)
Cassian's vision doesn't waver; but he doesn't hide the gravel in his voice. "Kay's not here.
"But there, again, I've given you a name."
And his blaster was in his hand and aimed at the other man. Possibly a poor move—escalation—but feke it. "Bring something to mind. Or I'm done talking."
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Abruptly he says, "That first question, that was just to get a rise out of me. See which way I'd jump. The answer wouldn't have proved anything to you. You don't need proof now, but you know you're going to get an answer anyway, because you know exactly how far I'll push you. Yeah?" And he raises his hands carefully, unhurried, to buy the moment he needs to steel himself.
"I got drunk when I was ten. Cried myself to sleep. Hated myself for that in the morning." He manages a thin half-smile. "Still do, sometimes."
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(Was this something like the kyberblast dropping him through space-/time-, or…? He and Kay had talked about the infinite dimension model, once… he hadn't really allowed himself to entertain it… what ifs were pointless enough as it was…)
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Cassian finally lowered his blaster, shaking his head and frowning. "Looks like Canto Bight. And I was here in '74. But I can't remember how I got here just now. I was just in the Outer Rim. Abrion sector." Still wasn't keen to give names that could affect things, like 'Scarif'. "And by 'just in' I mean literally—like ten minutes ago."
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The latter is almost casual, except of course that it isn't. They both know it. He does it anyway, reflexively, trying to fit the pieces together in his head.
Kay's not here. In that repressive, toneless voice. And, I was with her, as though it should be self-explanatory.
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cw: bit o' convenient headcanon - hope s'okay and please feel free to throw any of yours in anytime
I love headcanons almost as much as I love donating clothes out of spite
Mwah! ^_^
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it's CHRISTMAS IN MY INBOX omg
Heee! ^_^ Hurray! (If I ever go ahead too much, PLEEEEASE LMK and I'll always be happy to edit)
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that tag :') A++++
no u!! <3
^_^ ^_^ ^_^ <3
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now I want to pat his fuzz, dammit.
/purrrrrrr/
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I made a very embarrassing squeaky noise at this notif
:-D <3 Sorry for delay!
<3 not at all not at all
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>_> reports of my death have been greatly exaggerated
:-D \o/
god, these touch-starved sons of bitches
SRSLY
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OOC (A MONTH LATER OH JEEZ I'M SORRY!!!)
NOOO WORRIES
<333333 !!
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a tag entirely worth the wait (not)…
they can't all win pulitzers yo
/laughs/ True! but they CAN be full sentences…
in which we impersonate a classic CYOA book I guess
I do love those
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