𝐉𝐚𝐢𝐬𝐲𝐧 ❝𝐉𝐚𝐧𝐞❞ 𝐒𝐨𝐥𝐨 (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
forceshadowed) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
helloeverybunny2019-06-23 11:20 am
forceshadowed) wrote in helloeverybunny2019-06-23 11:20 am
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! ♥
no subject
Ally. Stranger. Other self. The thought is natural, obvious; the actual offer shouldn't stick in his throat. He keeps his eyes on the floor, his expression neutral; the tension in his shoulders refuses to budge. "Would-- If you think you might sleep better this time, I could--"
--stay with you, sleep beside you, be a tangible presence to hold onto, a bulwark against the nightmares--
Oh. Of course. No wonder it feels unspeakable; it's too much like asking for himself.
no subject
>_> reports of my death have been greatly exaggerated
Or he's more tired than he thought.
(He doesn't, in any case, take his hand.)
:-D \o/
Only moreso because it doesn't feel strange. And it should. But it doesn't.
Hasn't he taught, as Fulcrum, techniques that say something like this…? Step outside yourself, externalize things within yourself, in order to fully realize and engage with them? Never meant half as literally, of course…
In situations where he's shared a bed in the past, he's been incredibly careful. If there's sufficient trust, give the other his back to preserve some degree of privacy. Get explicit verbal consent for anything different. Offer exit strategies even so. Make sure they're clear: Nothing you don't want.
With himself, now, he stays facing him. And, without asking, with casual ease, lops his arm lightly over the other's ribs.
"Okay?" he mutters, eyes half-closed already. Confident that if it isn't, the other won't be afraid to just shove him off.
god, these touch-starved sons of bitches
He shifts a little, settling more solidly into the bare mattress, and his fingers catch in the faded fabric of the borrowed vest. He leaves them there, a small, temporary theft. "We're fine," he murmurs again, and almost believes himself.
SRSLY
"Yeah," he murmured back. Letting himself slip under the waves of their joint breathing. Echoing: "We're fine."
no subject
The disorientation ebbs, then, back to a more manageable level, and he’s able to appreciate the chance to stretch out a little. It’s been a short day, subjectively, but the last few hours are catching up with him. Cassian breathes deep, shutting his eyes for a moment.
When he opens them he’s back in the sprawling office building, following the same tight-lipped Tholothian around corners, down curving corridors, up the narrow dusty stairs to Ymya’s attic, which has become another corridor, stretching out for miles ahead and lit by narrow, clouded windows. They’ve been walking for hours, he has no sense anymore of where he is or how to retrace his steps.
Then there’s a closed door, a dead end. In here, says his guide smoothly, and he knows in that moment that it’s a trap; behind the door is darkness, an alley at night, a lightless basement, a locked cell. But there’s nowhere else to go, he can’t turn back now, he can only stall -
Hold on, he says, I’m waiting for my brother, because that’s the most plausible story, the most likely to pass without comment, he’ll work out the finer points later if he has to, except that the guide has turned into K-2, who looks down at him with that sardonic tilt to his head and asks him what he’s talking about. For a moment relief floods him, because K-2 is safe, K-2 can get them out of here, back to where they’re supposed to be - but the Tholothian is still there, or there again, and he frowns hard at K and says You know--
This was not in the plan, K-2 says flatly.
My brother, he says again. We’re waiting for my brother. For Cassian. I’m not going without him, willing K to understand him; but then he realizes that he’s made a mistake, the name was a mistake, because he’s Sira and he can’t remember what name the other was using, he’s lost it, there are too many names, there are too many of him, he’s losing the threads and he can’t leave him here, not here, this is all going wrong. Just wait, he insists, but K-2 grabs him by the shoulder, twisting, about to drag him away bodily, and he
jerks upward with a gasp, like a swimmer breaking the surface. His heart is pounding. It takes him several seconds to get his bearings, and then he’s appalled to find himself still clinging to other-Cassian’s shirtfront like a fretful child.
OOC (A MONTH LATER OH JEEZ I'M SORRY!!!)
NOOO WORRIES
Which is to say, BACK ATCHA. ]
<333333 !!
no subject
…Jeron.
Not the semi-remembered mythical giant of Dad, who only appeared briefly between Academy childcare attendants; nor the flattened, empty face and collapsed body in the riot, before the Separatist who saved him pulled Cassian away. Not Jeron Andor who lost the accent mark—and the accent—and the language? and the family?—to fit in with the Core aesthetics of the Republic (proto-Imperial) Military academy. Jerón whatever-his-real-last-name-might-have-been-if-not-Andor, as a young man Cassian never knew; his own age or possibly younger; a face more disconcerting in similarity but not identical; looking him in the eye.
But no matter what Cassian said or asked or shouted at him, Jerón didn't respond.
Only at the last, did his lips part as if he was about to speak.
Then Cassian woke up like a shot.
He nearly sprang straight out of the bed, muscles tense for attack—but something kept him still. The awareness of another body beside him… holding onto him. Which, for a lightheaded moment—
—crumpled, toylike in collapse, the swirling skyscape of his face gone flat—the child tried to defend him with a toy blaster but larger bodies didn't notice him and knocked him aside—then She grabbed his hand—Leave it, he's gone, that's it, this way—
Jerón was long gone. This was…
…not himself. How did he ever mistake the younger man for himself? However they got here, however they overlapped or diverged—maybe it was because this was just too profoundly bizarre to accept—maybe because his own face was a relative stranger to him—maybe who the kark cares—
Cassian didn't leave. Instead, he put his arm more firmly around the other, tipped his face so their foreheads touched; matched their breathing, and tried to slow both of theirs by slowing his own.
"It's safe," he said quietly. "We're safe."
no subject
He hasn't had a dream like that, either, for a long time. Not since he was nine or ten, shaky and cold and furious with himself for being a baby, for needing...
Cassian slams the brakes on that train of thought, and breathes in slowly. Breathes out, in time to the other's exhale, and waits for his racing pulse to settle. It's another couple of breaths before he can say, with tolerable composure, "Sorry about that."
no subject
Cassian's hand reflexively ran up the other's back, almost cups the back of his head; at the last moment, remembers how weird this is and smooths back down.
He remembers, too, what the other had said when their roles were reversed, and echoes softly: "Wanna talk about it?"
no subject
He keeps very still - a neutral stillness, long practiced - careful neither to tense up nor pull away, nor to relax into the touch, although he sort of wants to do all three. (Bad enough he managed to wake the guy up again, rather than make it easier to sleep.) His head feels clearer now, and at the same time he feels more exhausted than ever - the kind of contradictory state in which it's easy to drift outside himself, to stop being Cassian or anyone else for that matter. A ghost. Eyes and breath.
After a moment he says mildly, to the mattress, "Well, it was worth a try, anyway."
a tag entirely worth the wait (not)…
they can't all win pulitzers yo
I'm not going without him. Like some selfless boy hero. His mouth takes on a faint, hard curve.
What happened to you?
(What happens to me?)
/laughs/ True! but they CAN be full sentences…
Kay had—
Policing his expression into a smile, (not lying just choosing,) Cassian moved his hand over the other's shoulder to give it a brief squeeze. "Got some REM sleep in there. I count that as a win."
He shifted aside enough to stretch his shoulders and glance at the light from the window. "Guess we should start to strategize." Which clearly he was looking forward to as much as a drunken ride on a gundark.
in which we impersonate a classic CYOA book I guess
He doesn't have room for that either. He levers himself up in one decisive move and says briskly, "Yeah. So, how desperate are we to get off this rock? Grab the first ship out, worry about the details later - or find a better base of operations to figure out a solid plan?"
I do love those
"Either way," he said, "we should nail down our objective first. Try to get either of us back to our origin point—" (either of us said for sake of argument); "try to coordinate with a contact—if so, Alliance or not; try to figure out exactly what happened to us, to see if we should set up somewhere entirely independent of all of that, or… try to reverse it."
(He wouldn't try to say he'd never had a death wish. Much of his career had been as much about serving as finding a good way to die. That wasn't how he felt right now… but he also… wouldn't fight it. Go back to Jyn and Kaytoo, as he'd been contented to be, and go out with them. A better death than he ever could have hoped for alone.)
no subject
Part of his mind hasn't caught up yet. Part of him is still back on Relatta, working out a route through the maze of promises, threats, deals, rivalries, that no longer exists. But that's fine, he can do this, this is what he does. Shut that down and put it away.
Objectives.
"Can't reverse what we don't understand. Not without more to go on. Retracing our steps might give us that, or not." Fingers tap against the cot frame. "It's not just the time frame. Right? It can't be, because we don't line up; when you were here, I was somewhere else. Whoever's in the Core right now, he can't be the same as both of us, because he can't have been in two places at once." His mouth quirks again. "We're good, but not that good."