helloeverybunny | OPEN RP POST • STAR WARS MINGLE ⭐️

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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 ~~like~~ ~~hate~~ ~~want to kill~~ know are appearing.
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...
~~Troll~~ Reply 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! ♥

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

More easily done for this Cassian, probably. He spread his hands to the manager and turned away, following his double.

"Anyway," he says as they emerge into the street and the hoarse muttering ("rassin' humans... like they own the place...") recedes behind them. "So what, you think you've come back? Not that I went ahead, or - sideways, or something?"

He eyes the distant roofline again. It's remotely possible, he supposes, that he's been maneuvered halfway across the planet, instead of halfway across the galaxy, but not much more likely. Besides, his... companion seemed pretty confident, and he's always had a good memory for places. Places he's actually been. "Or we both did."

Cassian shook his head. "I don't know. I just…" He stopped. Looked hard at his counterpart for a while. Finally shook his head. "I don't know."

Not going to say Unless you've been hit by a world-splitting blast of kyber radiation recently— Not going to touch on it at all. Not up on reliable theories of time travel but not mentioning certain things seems the safest bet. (Not just for himself but in case anyone else is listening.)

"But you're still where you're supposed to be. So…" Cassian rested his temples in his hand for a moment, then gestured. "If you need to get on with things, I understand. Maybe give me a heads up before you go offplanet…?" Who else should he stick with if not himself? Unless he was about to vanish away again. Was just here to deliver some sort of message…? …No. There was no purpose to anything in the universe. Don't start being superstitious now.

Oh. "I'm not where I'm supposed to be, that's my problem. You were here three years ago; I wasn't. I was in the Inner Rim, dealing with - anyway, I'm just as lost as you are. If not more."

He studies the other closely for a minute: it's still surreal, but the first shock has passed, and he's able to take in more details. Half in and half out of the damned grays, on the ragged edge of exhaustion despite his apparent good health (he knows the look, he's seen it reflected), and - off balance, in a way he can't put a name to. The thing that happened to me. He doesn't think that's just his usual caginess.

He frowned. "You're—" Okay. That was the half-formed nonsensical theories he'd had getting shot to hell.

He gave a long look at… really: reality. The sky around them and nothing or everything in particular.

Finally, he hung his head and let out a breath. "Then I guess our job is to find a way off this damn planet. Yes?"

(Because there always had to be a job. Otherwise…)

What if Jyn's here somewhere? …Then she wouldn't be waiting around for him to find her. He had to proceed too.

"Yeah. Looks like." He considers a moment, weighing his options. It's one thing to talk yourself into something; he's good at that, he's got experience - and another to try and talk around a self who's standing bodily in front of you, with his own agenda, looking like he's not convinced that dealing with you is worth the headache.

Which... okay, fair enough, but.

Cassian gives it up. "First we've gotta find you some real clothes," he says, straight to the point. "And a horizontal surface for the next few hours. I don't know what you've been doing, but whatever it was took it out of you, I can tell that much."

Cassian's shoulders slumped a little. Just like that, the subtext had shifted, and they'd committed to sticking together. That was… a relief. In some deeper way than just feeling obligated not to let this strangeness get away from him.

The next level, of feeling cared for… also extremely unusual. Including by himself.

He (other he) was entirely right on both counts, though. He (this one) could use some sleep. And he would love to be pfassking rid of these hateful clothes. The trousers could be burned, but good boots were not to be wasted, wherever they came from. …His mouth twitched a little at the thought of finding a homeless person, preferably someone nonhuman and/or female—basically: someone the Empire wouldn't be able to stand—and giving the boots to them.

"I don't have any credits," said Cassian, grimacing again. (Thing about being ready and expecting to imminently die…) "Do we know Ymya yet?" She ran a local escort agency (the only one he'd vetted that actually took care of its employees), where he'd become a favorite for several times hiring a companion for show, not sleeping with them, and still paying as if he had. She had a cot in the attic she might be inclined to let him collapse on for a few hours.

"I haven't been introduced, no." He reads some of his own body language there, and that in itself, he thinks, is a tell; he doesn't think he'd let on even that much, if he weren't at the end of his tether. (Would he? Watch that tendency, he thinks, distantly.) He starts them moving again, checking his pockets discreetly. "We should find that out. I've got something, but in a place like this I'm not sure how far it'll go."

This whole thing is strange enough that he feels a little like a kid again, a small person adrift in an unfamiliar universe; feels an echo of that old, directionless, frightened rage lighting up his nerves like a building storm.

But that kid didn't know what he was doing, was short-sighted and inexperienced and hard put to defend himself, didn't really understand, even, what he was looking for. He's not that kid now - whenever now is - and (he thinks, glancing sideways with a faint twitch of his own) he's not, precisely, on his own.

"All right." Step one was probably finding out what year it actually was. They could probably access a dataport in the casino without any trouble, despite this!Cassian looking a bit worse for wear. …And both of them looking alike. That part was strangely easy to forget. How quickly could either of them change their hairstyle…? Forget it. "Let's go into the casino long enough to find out the date. Then, if it's late enough she'll know us, we can go see Ymya and recoup a bit before figuring out the next move." Which would probably end up being stealing a ship, but it would be good if it were something else: hence, wanting a few hours' rest to get his brain back together. "Okay?"

That gets a real grin, tiny and wry and fleeting. "Yeah, okay. Think they'll let us in the door?" Which is a point; neither a two-bit gun-runner nor a recently-mugged Imperial officer is likely to be in significant funds, on the face of it. On the other hand, one of them knows his way around this particular galactic cesspool, and it isn't him, so. "Lead the way."

He returns the smile as fleetingly. "They usually wait until after someone does something worth kicking out. Lots of wealthies show up looking like they'd just passed through a gundark. If they go preemptive, we'll change the plan." Novel, to be with someone he knows exactly how far to trust re: adaptability.

Unless/until other!him does something different, this!him will lead the way to one of the busier entrances, so they can slip in along with a crowd. There are plenty of data terminals—mostly so users could check their finances—and the info Cassian's seeking doesn't even require codes. Today's date puts them a little between each of their… um… source points.

"Okay," Cassian muttered to his counterpart. "We know her. And present… us…" Skies, there was a third one of them out there. "…is currently undercover on Coruscant, so we're not likely to run into… um, him." Thank the Force.

That was about all the digging he was ready to do from a public terminal. He turned to meet other!him's eyes, checking in, before starting to lead the way to a different exit.

Cassian slouches against the wall beside the terminal while this investigation is in progress, keeping an eye on the milling crowd behind. Doesn't examine the odd sense of satisfaction that gives him. It's a simple enough precaution. "As long as she doesn't mind if you bring your good-for-nothing brother along."

The third data point is less encouraging, frankly. But he straightens, catching the look, and moves to follow. "Unless he's gone sideways too," he points out as they emerge onto the street again. "Considering the way today is going."

As long as she doesn't mind if you bring your good-for-nothing brother along. "Yeah. We may be able to do something about that, too." Their establishment would definitely have a razor somewhere. (As long as he didn't think about where else… shppft.)

Unless he's gone sideways too… Oh holy hell. Cassian kept his focus on navigating the currents of foot traffic and remembering the city's layout… but he did finally mutter to other!him: "Wouldn't I remember this? If you—" (and potentially the other one) "—are me in the past?"

"I'd have thought so." He's paying close attention as they go, noting the turnings and the landmarks, as the other one has presumably done before. (Briefly he wonders if the exaggerated decadence also gets on other-Cassian's last nerve the way it does his. Never mind.) "Clearly it's not that simple."

Whatever it is obviously falls under what he privately classifies as Spooky Force Shit. Also not an encouraging reflection.

"Clearly not." He half-tried to remember if he'd ever talked to Kaytoo about this. Dimensional theory, theoretical physics, whatever they'd dropped into here. Time travel. Cassian couldn't afford much in the way of what ifs so, no, not much—but maybe there was something, back there somewhere, about how changing something in the past wouldn't actually change the future, just branch off from it, so it was doubly not worth worrying about…? Kay wasn't in the habit of making things up (a) at all or (b) to spare feelings (definitely not) so…

There was the door they needed. Not thinking about how this was their first time touching, and whether that would cause them to implode or something, Cassian clapped a hand to other!him's arm to cue him in. (They didn't implode.) He ducked them both through the door without knocking.

The touch isn't strictly necessary - he's paying close attention to himself, too - and it doesn't trigger an implosion, but it does jolt him strangely. He couldn't say why, except that it's not strictly necessary, and he doesn't... do that. Doesn't touch people just for the hell of it, just because they're there.

Which isn't actually a reason, he reminds himself as the door falls to behind them and he looks around, blinking a bit in the sudden change of light. It's not that simple.

All the same, it disorients him enough that it takes him a heartbeat to fully register their surroundings. "--Huh." On reflection, he's not sure why he didn't expect a place like this - except that nothing is making a lot of sense right now, and why should possible-future-Cassian's possible future contacts be any different?

Focus, dammit.

Yeah, places like this tended to share a similar decorative style. With employees in outfits to match. Exhibit aurek: A tall, drapily-dressed woman was immediately in front of them with a winning smile. "Can I help you?"

Seeking to grab her attention before she could reflect too much on how they were identical, Cassian said, "Could you tell Ymya that Willix is here to see her?"

The woman tilted her head a bit, though her smile didn't falter. "She doesn't use that name anymore… but I'll tell her. Please wait here." She gestured toward a very plush couch. "Make yourselves comfortable."

Cassian returned her smile, but didn't sit down when she left the room. He looked over to check in with other!him. "Okay so far?"

Edited 2019-07-24 01:12 (UTC)

Cassian drops his gaze to the floor the instant she appears, his posture slackening subtly, unobtrusive as possible behind the other's shoulder. When she's gone he glances up again, purely amused. "I'm not going to faint, no. But thanks for the concern." Then, sobering a bit, "Just hoping the guy on Coruscant hasn't neglected to introduce us."

Because there's really no guarantee, is there - just because one of them is acquainted with Ymya doesn't mean apparently-no-longer-Ymya has ever laid eyes on them, and they don't have a lot of other resources at the moment.

"If I'm right about which year is which," he murmured back. Which, in his current mental state, was fair to second-guess. Assuming all his training and memory enhancing techniques hadn't gone completely to banthaspit—

"Will?" A curtain parted and a light-haired woman swept into the room, grinning. "Ha, you are back! We had a wager." She went straight for Cassian, gave him a solid kiss on the mouth, then stood back and looked at him critically. "No offense, dear, but you look terrible. No one's going to follow you in here, are they?"

"No," said Cassian, smiling back, though letting this one be less charming and more exhausted. "I guarantee they wont." (They're on a different plane on a different planet in a different year in a different dimension.) "I am here to beg sanctuary. We don't have many credits on us, but if my cousin and I could use a spare room for a few hours, to rest and maybe clean up…?"

"Your cousin." Her eyes only flickered back and forth between them twice, but enough to show she'd noticed enough to find it strange. But heck, lots of strangeness came through her door. That this was more inexplicable was offset by it also being pretty tame. "Sure, honey. You can consider it our repayment for your assistance with that Brushaun business. Just don't spread it around, all right? You'd be surprised how much business we do with people who really just want a nap."

"Not sure I would," he answered, taking her hand and kissing it. "Thank you."

"Don't technique me, hon. You don't play a player." Nonetheless, her eyes sparkled as she withdrew her hand, and gestured for them to follow her.

She led them to a back hallway, less lavish, bypassing many other doorways, which turned into a narrow stairway. At the top was a slant-ceilinged loft. It sported a wall-less 'fresher (toilet, washbasin with mirror, bathtub with feet, even what looked like an old clothing refresher) and a mattress on a wrought metal frame. She went to a corner filled with crates, opened one to pull out some blankets and pillows; opened another and left it so, nodding in indication to the two men. "Soap and such in there. Sorry there's no privacy." She mostly refrained from making any tonal innuendo, further questioning the cousins story.

"This is great," Cassian said immediately. "Thank you, Ymya. I owe you."

"Pffsht," she said. "No you don't; I already said, it's payback. Just make sure you say nice things about us when it comes up around town."

"Always."

She dropped the bedclothes onto the mattress and turned to leave. On her way out, she gave older Cassian a light shove in its direction. "Whatever's really going on, you'd better actually sleep. You look like you've had a med exam by a rancor."

"Need for sleep is absolutely what's going on," he replied, readable to his other self as genuine; also as resigned to knowing she probably wouldn't believe him. (Because she knew him and his circumstances well enough that, why on Fest would she? Ever?) "My love to the others—though maybe wait until after we're gone."

"'f course." She nodded courteously to the younger Cassian, with another piercing look between them, but didn't stick around to ask questions. "Let me know before you leave."

And she swept out as gracefully as she'd swept in, closing a door at the bottom of the stairs, behind her.

The latter ducks his head shyly, stepping aside to let her pass with a murmured courtesy. It's strange to watch himself at work, satisfying and unsettling at once, and he has to consciously resist the instinct to mirror other-Cassian's body language, his easy, affectionate manner with the woman.

She's pleasant, certainly. Like him (like them), she's good at what she does.

Below, the door shuts with a click. He checks the stairs again, reflexively, before he moves further into the loft, and raises eyebrows at his counterpart. "You heard the lady," he says lightly. "Unless you want to clean up first." I would, he doesn't bother saying aloud.

Kinda equally weird to do the thing with someone he knew understood it perfectly—himself—watching. Ymya understood pretty well, of course, but she wouldn't get every detail of what he was drawing on, what he was ignoring, using or shoving down…

Likewise, interesting to just trust someone else's work without double-checking. He notices his alternate checking the stairs, so doesn't bother himself; just sits on the edge of the bed to pull off his boots.

"Guess I should, huh?" He doesn't want to enumerate all the things he smells of. (Here it goes anyway: fright sweat of the Imp they'd pulled this clothing off, engine grease of Yavin, crisped electronics of the blasterfight on the data core, further sweat and grease from pulling himself up it, his own burned flesh and blood, the Scarif sand that poured out of the boots and dusted off him everywhere, and maybe maybe the slightest hint of Jyn…)

Higher priority, timing-wise, is to clean these clothes, to be less conspicuous when they got back out there. Now that resting in a bed is so close, the thought is more exhausting than getting here had been; but he can stay conscious a little longer to save time later. With a grunt of resignation that was almost a word in Shyriiwook, he forced himself to stand again. He stripped off his clothes to throw (with actual force for the uniform trousers) into the clothes fresher. He was either too tired to worry about modesty, which he usually did care about, or on a molecular level really got—felt that they were the same person.

Most of his scars, the other would know (and share). Of the new marks, the most dramatic were the bruises to his ribs and the shine of blasterburn in the hollow between shoulder and chest. Of course: they were extremely fresh. (He hadn't stopped to wonder how he wasn't debilitatingly injured, here, as he'd been an hour ago. For now, just one less thing to worry about.)

He leaned on the fresher to start the process, pointing to the crate Ymya had said held cleaning supplies. "Sorry, can you grab that? And anything you wanna throw in?"

In fact he's already moving to do just that, which is another little jolt of unexpected satisfaction, the uncomplicated pleasure of a mechanism working smoothly. He digs out the soap, along with a couple of cartridges for the wash cycle, and passes them. "Not at the moment. Might do another round later, keep myself out of trouble while you're napping." Future-Cassian is looking worse for wear, he notes, though not as badly as he'd claimed he ought to be; nothing that needs immediate attention. Just as well.

That settled, he sets to making up the cot with the provided linens, keeping half an eye on the 'fresher in case of sudden collapse. It occurs to him that he'd hate that, if he were the one naked and bruised - cut it out, K, I'm fine - but he does it anyway.

(Kay's not here. The words keep recurring to his mind, with that raw edge of finality, a nagging unease.)

"Thanks," for both the cartridges and (Force, thank you) setting up the bed. On his own, Cassian would have just collapsed on the bare mattress.

(Yet another pang for Kaytoo, who would have done such a thing for him…)

Debates cleaning himself, too, before implosion; but that will take time on either side of the rest, whereas the clothes can clean concurrently, so leave it for later. Especially if he's going to try to do anything with a blade. Cassian slapped the panel to start the 'fresher going, belatedly grateful for the background noise, and dragged himself at last over and onto the bed. He had just enough wherewithal left to drag up the sheet to cover himself.

"S'big enough if you want to sleep, too," he mumbled, making sure to stay on one side to leave enough room. Already half asleep.

(They must be the same person or he wouldn't be this trusting.)

And that's strangest of all, strange beyond reckoning. It's the sort of straightforward kindness he's used to offering, when he needs to, when he can afford to; never receiving. It's the kind of trust he works to win from people, wishes he could deserve, never, never allows himself to place in anyone else, ever. Time travel, dimensional rifts, infinite realities all seem commonplace, compared to this: the possibility of being gentle with himself.

His eyes sting. He smiles crookedly down at his double, shakes his head. "I'm okay for now," he says easily. "Someone's got to keep an eye on the laundry, right?" On the stairs, on the narrow skylight. Search the attic for bugs, for traps, for any hint of possible treachery.

Have a bath, himself, maybe.

On an impulse too sudden and strange to suppress, he leans over, brushes the other's hair away from his face. "Get some rest, coz."

For a lightheaded moment, the standing figure—the voice and the touch—are Jeron.

(When you only dimly remember someone, you can make them do whatever you want. Especially things they never really did.)

Cassian turned his face into the touch and murmured in their shared language, "Be here when I wake up?"

But was asleep before being answered.

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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++++