It's not "what have I done". There's no such surprise at yourself. You know what you are and what you do.
It's all coming apart! Shhh, calm down
It's the man (who you signed on yourself) you forced out of this dimension by creating—forcing—a body into his place
Calm down. We'll be all right
(putting your muzzle so gently against his heart through his back with a hug)
It's: Him? How did he become "what I had to do" next?
—No time Move Recalibrate
Climb
Scale this wall Build new walls while running
Get the intel back Nothing else matters; not him, not me
They would have killed you, only slowly and painfully, and destroyed what you serve and love when they were through I did it to do the opposite of all of that That's the truth even if I don't feel it either
Cassian Andor reset his teeth, stuck his blaster in his belt, tugged his jacket over, and turned on his heel to launch himself at the wall—
—only to nearly slam face-first into a new humanoid— who literally hadn't been there one millisecond ago.
[ooc: so I'm thinking the Doctor didn't actually see Cassian kill Tivik but he can probably figure it out—only hopefully not immediately so Cassian can drag the Doctor back to his ship, first, 'cause Stormtroopers are coming?]
Dammit, no time to properly analyze… Was the man shouting to him or to alert the 'troopers? How much had he seen? If Cassian's blaster were still in his hand, would he have to shoot him?
—That at least he can answer. His blaster isn't in his hand, he's not going to take the time to draw it again, and he does not want to kill (again) if he can help it. Strategically, logistically, or personally. This isn't clear and he won't unless it's clear.
Okay, guy seems to be addressing Cassian, not yelling past him; seems trying to be helpful but not in on the full picture… including Tivik… A sympathizer? Fine, start with that. Get clear of troopers then decide how much else to share, like: his ship.
"Troopers coming," Cassian barked, already half past him and grasping the first of the exposed zigzagging pipes. "They'll shoot you just for being here so shut up and climb." Which Cassian himself started to do.
[OOC: sorry, I wasn't totally sure which way he meant or was going… for Cas, it has to be climbing the wall 'cause it's why he had to kill Tivik (who couldn't climb 'cause of a broken arm)—I should've explained! It's from the film. If the Doctor means "this way" into the TARDIS, please do grab Cas by the nape of the neck and shove him into it instead of letting him up the wall, etc!]
The Doctor makes a confused face at the word 'Trooper'and The Doctor is about to either grab the other to take to the Tardis or go up and join him. However, it's too late and The StormTroopers arrive and The Doctor puts his hands up.
When asked to identify himself, The Doctor takes out his psychic paper and they read that he's a commander and ask what are you doing out of uniform?
"Camoflaguing with the locals. Now! There's more important business to attend to back at the base. I'll take care of this and you get back, are we clear?"
Cassian made it up the wall. The plan was to keep running. But this new mystery element had him instead turn on his heel and flatten himself on the roof to look down and watch.
There were three bodies on the ground. The two troopers Cassian hadn't been able to talk out of leaving them alone, and so taken out necessitating the climb to escape; and Tivik who hadn't been able to climb. That should have made these new troopers shoot first. Instead, the newcomer got them to stop and… look at… at analog piece of flimsi. Which they did… and they heeded.
Who was this?
And why hadn't they arrived three minutes sooner, before the flash and Tivik—
The troopers left.
…Okay.
Cassian wasn't going to get back down into the blind alley with this guy. Neither could he leave them in the wind.
Cassian drew his blaster and turned on the laser sights.
Back on ground level, the Doctor suddenly had a red beam pointing right at his chest.
"Climb the wall to me." Cassian's voice was in a low enough register that, past the alley, it would blend with the ambience of the city; but loud enough in decibels for the Doctor to hear over that. "Try to leave, or draw a weapon, I'll shoot you."
(Of course, if he'd wanted to kill the Doctor straightaway, he wouldn't have turned on the laser at all, and the shot would be to the head. None of which was to say he wouldn't yet do it. See: again: three bodies on the ground.)
The Doctor watches and waits to see what the troopers will do. The Doctor breathes for a moment in his mind and tucks the psychic paper back inside. He does notice the red beam pointed at his chest. Blimey, he just died, he really doesn't want to - again and is also sort of tired and frustrated with this setup but keeps it together. He gives a head nod in reply and begins to start climbing the wall. While, he starts, remarks, "Don't carry weapons, me."
Then - slips, and begins to slide back down, in a frustrated sound remarks to himself, "Need to get used to longer legs again."
Eventually, he does make it over and takes it slow with his hands up.
They mustn't stay up here too long, but this bizarre stranger has bought them a bit of time. Alone together on the rooftop, Cassian switched off the red beam but kept the blaster pointed—now between the Doctor's eyes.
(This close, there were signs—old scars and callouses, expert angle of arms and steadiness of hands, aim never changing even as his eyes darted ceaselessly—that someone of the Doctor's deductive level could identify Cassian as a sharpshooter. At this range, he would not miss.)
For Cassian, so many questions, that observation alone hadn't helped. (Cassian's deductive abilities were far below the Doctor's, of course.) But okay. Information always has hierarchies. —In this case, there was also potential for—
"Show me what you just showed them," Cassian said. He'd seen the Doctor pocket the paper, so Cassian gestured slightly with the blaster, both in instruction and to reemphasize the threat. "Take it back out slowly."
[Inconsistently—though you've not given up on me through even MORE inconsistent activity here (THANK YOU FOR THAT) so it's worth a try! I'll PM you my info!]
She's gonna think I'm a spy. You are a spy. Not against… Okay, fine. But if you're gonna say it, you have to really do it. You mean… I mean put on that breathing mask, Officer.
* * *
The smell throughout Stillwater was really living up to its name. You could especially tell the locals from the Wardens based on who had the easiest time breathing.
"Broken plumming!" Wardens unnecessarily shouted down the halls. Nice way to say shit everywhere. "Doubling up levels three and four. That means you'll be getting cellmates until situation repaired. No fighting unless you want your sentences extended."
For only the third time since she'd been incarcerated, Vi's cell door slid open, and for the first time, someone else was thrown in. Actually, kicked it: a boot square in the back. He failed to impress at catching himself, though he shot a fair enough glare as the door slid closed. And Vi was left with a stranger.
Male-presenting, coloring various shades of brown, not much taller than her and no broader, but the wiriness was deceptive. She could see from the relationship of his arms to his sides: his limbs didn't dangle, there was strength and deliberation.
The silver lining about growing up in the undercity? You can breathe through just about anything, and yeah, shit's still shit, but one can filter it out a little more. That's a fucking edge. And if you don't think about it? Maybe you don't even smell it at all for a little while.
She almost can't remember life before this endless stretch of days, hundreds upon hundreds - stacked up atop each other they might be high enough to climb the fuck out of this shithole - but they crash down into a jumble of time, little fragments of what came before, a flash of blue braids, a flicker of light, something else that hurts too much to recall so she'll just shake it off, fists against the cell wall quicker than the thoughts can come, quicker than the images - a steady stream of hits until she stops, tensing as the door slides back, someone's unceremoniously kicked through (okay, sure, there's some kind of ceremony in it) and she's standing, fists raised.
"How do you extend forever, anyway? Got some kind of special math for that?"
Forever is what it feels like, and she's got to stay on the offense. (Everyone's a threat. Everyone here's an enemy, yeah?) But it's the wardens she tosses the words at, not the stranger. What he gets, finally, is:
Still sizing him up, that's not exactly the reply she expected, and that's part of why she huffs a bit of a laugh - it's not good humour, not wholly, but it isn't particularly mean. She doesn't lower her fists, not yet - this could still be ...well, it'd be a hell of an elaborate trap, and sure, they're terrible, the Wardens, but they're not usually all that smart. Not a whole lot of long-game planning there, and maybe only a few braincells between them, she thinks.
"I'm looking for a lot of things, but a new roommate? Not on that list."
She'd tell him to get out, but just the idea of it is ridiculous. She doesn't quite let that laugh through, but she does clear her throat to cover it.
"Well, you could tell me to leave, but I'd have to disappoint."
(As if he'd read her mind?—or body language?—or the situation just spoke the same to them both.)
Giving up on his wrist, he bumped his back to the wall and sat on the floor. "Okay. I'm 429. In for theft but, you know, not really. What else do you want?"
Maybe it's because he was able to, you know, pick up what she was putting down? Maybe it's that. Maybe he reminds her of the kind of kids she used to run with, though he's not exactly a kid - they're of an age if she had to guess. Maybe she doesn't want to be reminded, but maybe that's better than beating the shit out of someone who (probably) doesn't deserve it.
A lot of maybes. Few certainties.
"This place is full of disappointments, so..."
She trails off, looking past the bars, and then back to him as he moves. The moment his ass hits the floor, she'll lower her fists, head tilting just a fraction before she shrugs and leans against the wall. Not sitting, not yet.
"...well, 429, I'm 516. Only not really. Name's Vi."
Fuck their numbers. She's graven it into her cheek, and if they don't like it? Well, "fuck them" is always the tune. And she doesn't say what she wants. That's ...nah, not giving that up just yet.
"So what'd you steal? Or not steal. Wrong place at the wrong time, or..."
He didn't resist as they threw him into the cell. Or rather, he just resisted enough as would be expected. With a roomful of blasters pointed at him and nowhere to go, making a serious break for it was pointless. He only flexed his arms and balled his fists so that the shackles would be looser when they finished putting them on. It wasn't enough to slip free, but it was enough to contort himself into a more comfortable position, and maybe avoid more scarring on his wrists.
It was raining outside. The prisoner found a leak in the roof and positioned himself below it. He put back his head and managed to get a mouthful of water to swallow. It reminded him of another captivity. He wouldn't be getting out of this one the same way.
When the door slid back open, Cassian made a show of scrambling to put his back against the wall. Narkina 5 had trained him well. As every interaction with stormtroopers had trained him that the deadliest thing about them was their fear of the unexpected and chaotic.
None of this was anything new. Jyn lost track a long time ago of how many times she'd been in this situation, how many cells, all different but functionally the same, how many identical sets of white armored guards, how many charges racked up under an assortment of aliases. None could be attached to her own name, of course. If this was bad, anything that would come of being identified would be much, much worse.
That thought, always there in the background, she ignored again, pushing it away just as she tried to push away one of the stormtroopers holding her. She wouldn't go quietly; she never did. Already a fresh bruise bloomed below one eye, darkening her cheekbone, a small spot of blood at the corner of her mouth. At least she could be comforted by the fact that, under that pristine white, the other guy'd doubtless looked worse.
Still straining against the stormtroopers' grip until the last possible moment, she bit back a grunt as they shoved her into the cell, her knees hitting the hard floor. She didn't waste an instant, though, before pulling herself to her feet. She wasn't alone in here, after all, and she sure as hell wasn't about to show any potential weakness to a stranger. Watching him with dark, guarded eyes, she waited until the footsteps of the 'troopers began to recede, then asked, "So what'd you do?"
He nodded to the troopers outside. "According to me or to them?" His voice and body language were nonthreatening, even amiable, all things considered; it was a non-antagonistic way of avoiding the question. He stretched out the shackles in her direction. "I don't suppose you pick locks? I promise I'm a nonviolent offender." (…This time.)
"That makes one of us," Jyn quipped, voice dry, just barely tinged with self-satisfaction. It would be unforgivably naive of her to take a statement like that at face value anyway, but where she was plenty wary and distrusting, she wasn't worried, not of him. She could hold her own if it came to that. So, with a deep breath, she reached up to pluck one of the pins from her hair, prying the sides apart to make it a functional lockpick. She hoped she wouldn't regret doing this, but she had a feeling she might regret it more if she didn't. Better to potentially have a temporary ally than an enemy. "Yeah, I've got it."
The joke could have been bluster, but he didn't think so. He got from the way she held herself and moved that she was a fighter, from her microsignals that his potential physical abilities didn't concern her in the least, and from her agreement that she was also up for possible cooperation. Wonderful. They were on the same page. He confirmed by craning his body submissively away as she worked the locks. When one clicked open, he grasped the chain of the other to relieve its tension. The second clicked, and he was free.
Immediately—more signals for her—he backed away and set about rubbing his wrists, keeping his hands away from her. "Thank you." And hazarded, "What can I call you?" (Not what's your name? unless she wanted to be free with that.)
The phrasing of the question might have been deliberate, or it might not. Jyn wasn't about to try to guess one way or the other. Her answer would be the same regardless: "Tanith," rolling off her tongue as easily as if it was the name she'd been born with. As a teenager on her own in the galaxy, she'd learned the hard way that she needed to have answers ahead of time, to be able to talk about herself without actually talking about herself.
Tanith Ponta was Alderaanian, comfortably middle-class until her parents died in a speeder crash. After that, she'd been shuttled between disinterested relatives, eventually setting out on her own. There were no roots put down anywhere and no one close enough to turn to if she was in trouble.
She and Jyn Erso had that last part in common.
Jyn, as Tanith, watched him, the way he leaned away from her, movements telegraphed as if to reassure her. She still didn't trust him, but it wasn't personal. She didn't make a habit of trusting anyone.
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timeasmymeasure
for borntolove
Date: 2022-10-31 02:05 am (UTC)IC:]
A flinch. A flash.
Others don't understand
(still-inexcisable nausea)
Shhh
It's not "what have I done". There's no such surprise at yourself. You know what you are and what you do.
It's all coming apart!
Shhh, calm down
It's the man
(who you signed on yourself)
you forced out of this dimension by creating—forcing—a body into his place
Calm down. We'll be all right
(putting your muzzle so gently against his heart through his back
with a hug)
It's: Him? How did he become "what I had to do" next?
—No time
Move
Recalibrate
Climb
Scale this wall
Build new walls while running
Get the intel back
Nothing else matters; not him, not me
They would have killed you, only slowly and painfully,
and destroyed what you serve and love when they were through
I did it to do the opposite of all of that
That's the truth even if I don't feel it either
Cassian Andor reset his teeth, stuck his blaster in his belt, tugged his jacket over, and turned on his heel to launch himself at the wall—
—only to nearly slam face-first into a new humanoid— who literally hadn't been there one millisecond ago.
[ooc: so I'm thinking the Doctor didn't actually see Cassian kill Tivik but he can probably figure it out—only hopefully not immediately so Cassian can drag the Doctor back to his ship, first, 'cause Stormtroopers are coming?]
Re: for borntolove
Date: 2022-11-02 01:10 am (UTC)"This way!"
There's a look of you, 'you can explain' while we run before someone takes off ahead. Try to keep up.
no subject
Date: 2022-11-02 05:24 am (UTC)Dammit, no time to properly analyze… Was the man shouting to him or to alert the 'troopers? How much had he seen? If Cassian's blaster were still in his hand, would he have to shoot him?
—That at least he can answer. His blaster isn't in his hand, he's not going to take the time to draw it again, and he does not want to kill (again) if he can help it. Strategically, logistically, or personally. This isn't clear and he won't unless it's clear.
Okay, guy seems to be addressing Cassian, not yelling past him; seems trying to be helpful but not in on the full picture… including Tivik… A sympathizer? Fine, start with that. Get clear of troopers then decide how much else to share, like: his ship.
"Troopers coming," Cassian barked, already half past him and grasping the first of the exposed zigzagging pipes. "They'll shoot you just for being here so shut up and climb." Which Cassian himself started to do.
[OOC: sorry, I wasn't totally sure which way he meant or was going… for Cas, it has to be climbing the wall 'cause it's why he had to kill Tivik (who couldn't climb 'cause of a broken arm)—I should've explained! It's from the film. If the Doctor means "this way" into the TARDIS, please do grab Cas by the nape of the neck and shove him into it instead of letting him up the wall, etc!]
no subject
Date: 2022-11-04 01:25 am (UTC)When asked to identify himself, The Doctor takes out his psychic paper and they read that he's a commander and ask what are you doing out of uniform?
"Camoflaguing with the locals. Now! There's more important business to attend to back at the base. I'll take care of this and you get back, are we clear?"
no subject
Date: 2022-11-04 07:39 pm (UTC)Cassian made it up the wall. The plan was to keep running. But this new mystery element had him instead turn on his heel and flatten himself on the roof to look down and watch.
There were three bodies on the ground. The two troopers Cassian hadn't been able to talk out of leaving them alone, and so taken out necessitating the climb to escape; and Tivik who hadn't been able to climb. That should have made these new troopers shoot first. Instead, the newcomer got them to stop and… look at… at analog piece of flimsi. Which they did… and they heeded.
Who was this?
And why hadn't they arrived three minutes sooner, before the flash and Tivik—
The troopers left.
…Okay.
Cassian wasn't going to get back down into the blind alley with this guy. Neither could he leave them in the wind.
Cassian drew his blaster and turned on the laser sights.
Back on ground level, the Doctor suddenly had a red beam pointing right at his chest.
"Climb the wall to me." Cassian's voice was in a low enough register that, past the alley, it would blend with the ambience of the city; but loud enough in decibels for the Doctor to hear over that. "Try to leave, or draw a weapon, I'll shoot you."
(Of course, if he'd wanted to kill the Doctor straightaway, he wouldn't have turned on the laser at all, and the shot would be to the head. None of which was to say he wouldn't yet do it. See: again: three bodies on the ground.)
no subject
Date: 2022-11-05 09:15 pm (UTC)Then - slips, and begins to slide back down, in a frustrated sound remarks to himself, "Need to get used to longer legs again."
Eventually, he does make it over and takes it slow with his hands up.
no subject
Date: 2022-11-07 06:51 am (UTC)(This close, there were signs—old scars and callouses, expert angle of arms and steadiness of hands, aim never changing even as his eyes darted ceaselessly—that someone of the Doctor's deductive level could identify Cassian as a sharpshooter. At this range, he would not miss.)
For Cassian, so many questions, that observation alone hadn't helped. (Cassian's deductive abilities were far below the Doctor's, of course.) But okay. Information always has hierarchies. —In this case, there was also potential for—
"Show me what you just showed them," Cassian said. He'd seen the Doctor pocket the paper, so Cassian gestured slightly with the blaster, both in instruction and to reemphasize the threat. "Take it back out slowly."
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Date: 2022-10-31 03:02 am (UTC)no subject
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Date: 2022-11-01 12:03 am (UTC)for Vi
Date: 2024-02-29 02:21 am (UTC)You are a spy.
Not against… Okay, fine. But if you're gonna say it, you have to really do it.
You mean…
I mean put on that breathing mask, Officer.
The smell throughout Stillwater was really living up to its name. You could especially tell the locals from the Wardens based on who had the easiest time breathing.
"Broken plumming!" Wardens unnecessarily shouted down the halls. Nice way to say shit everywhere. "Doubling up levels three and four. That means you'll be getting cellmates until situation repaired. No fighting unless you want your sentences extended."
For only the third time since she'd been incarcerated, Vi's cell door slid open, and for the first time, someone else was thrown in. Actually, kicked it: a boot square in the back. He failed to impress at catching himself, though he shot a fair enough glare as the door slid closed. And Vi was left with a stranger.
Male-presenting, coloring various shades of brown, not much taller than her and no broader, but the wiriness was deceptive. She could see from the relationship of his arms to his sides: his limbs didn't dangle, there was strength and deliberation.
He pushed himself upright and looked at her.
no subject
Date: 2024-02-29 02:45 am (UTC)She almost can't remember life before this endless stretch of days, hundreds upon hundreds - stacked up atop each other they might be high enough to climb the fuck out of this shithole - but they crash down into a jumble of time, little fragments of what came before, a flash of blue braids, a flicker of light, something else that hurts too much to recall so she'll just shake it off, fists against the cell wall quicker than the thoughts can come, quicker than the images - a steady stream of hits until she stops, tensing as the door slides back, someone's unceremoniously kicked through (okay, sure, there's some kind of ceremony in it) and she's standing, fists raised.
"How do you extend forever, anyway? Got some kind of special math for that?"
Forever is what it feels like, and she's got to stay on the offense. (Everyone's a threat. Everyone here's an enemy, yeah?) But it's the wardens she tosses the words at, not the stranger. What he gets, finally, is:
"Who the fuck are you?"
no subject
Date: 2024-02-29 02:58 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2024-02-29 03:11 am (UTC)"I'm looking for a lot of things, but a new roommate? Not on that list."
She'd tell him to get out, but just the idea of it is ridiculous. She doesn't quite let that laugh through, but she does clear her throat to cover it.
no subject
Date: 2024-02-29 03:46 am (UTC)(As if he'd read her mind?—or body language?—or the situation just spoke the same to them both.)
Giving up on his wrist, he bumped his back to the wall and sat on the floor. "Okay. I'm 429. In for theft but, you know, not really. What else do you want?"
no subject
Date: 2024-02-29 04:09 am (UTC)A lot of maybes. Few certainties.
"This place is full of disappointments, so..."
She trails off, looking past the bars, and then back to him as he moves. The moment his ass hits the floor, she'll lower her fists, head tilting just a fraction before she shrugs and leans against the wall. Not sitting, not yet.
"...well, 429, I'm 516. Only not really. Name's Vi."
Fuck their numbers. She's graven it into her cheek, and if they don't like it? Well, "fuck them" is always the tune. And she doesn't say what she wants. That's ...nah, not giving that up just yet.
"So what'd you steal? Or not steal. Wrong place at the wrong time, or..."
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From:for nextchance
Date: 2025-05-03 07:49 pm (UTC)It was raining outside. The prisoner found a leak in the roof and positioned himself below it. He put back his head and managed to get a mouthful of water to swallow. It reminded him of another captivity. He wouldn't be getting out of this one the same way.
When the door slid back open, Cassian made a show of scrambling to put his back against the wall. Narkina 5 had trained him well. As every interaction with stormtroopers had trained him that the deadliest thing about them was their fear of the unexpected and chaotic.
no subject
Date: 2025-05-03 08:37 pm (UTC)That thought, always there in the background, she ignored again, pushing it away just as she tried to push away one of the stormtroopers holding her. She wouldn't go quietly; she never did. Already a fresh bruise bloomed below one eye, darkening her cheekbone, a small spot of blood at the corner of her mouth. At least she could be comforted by the fact that, under that pristine white, the other guy'd doubtless looked worse.
Still straining against the stormtroopers' grip until the last possible moment, she bit back a grunt as they shoved her into the cell, her knees hitting the hard floor. She didn't waste an instant, though, before pulling herself to her feet. She wasn't alone in here, after all, and she sure as hell wasn't about to show any potential weakness to a stranger. Watching him with dark, guarded eyes, she waited until the footsteps of the 'troopers began to recede, then asked, "So what'd you do?"
no subject
Date: 2025-05-03 08:46 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2025-05-03 08:57 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2025-05-03 09:10 pm (UTC)Immediately—more signals for her—he backed away and set about rubbing his wrists, keeping his hands away from her. "Thank you." And hazarded, "What can I call you?" (Not what's your name? unless she wanted to be free with that.)
no subject
Date: 2025-05-03 09:53 pm (UTC)The phrasing of the question might have been deliberate, or it might not. Jyn wasn't about to try to guess one way or the other. Her answer would be the same regardless: "Tanith," rolling off her tongue as easily as if it was the name she'd been born with. As a teenager on her own in the galaxy, she'd learned the hard way that she needed to have answers ahead of time, to be able to talk about herself without actually talking about herself.
Tanith Ponta was Alderaanian, comfortably middle-class until her parents died in a speeder crash. After that, she'd been shuttled between disinterested relatives, eventually setting out on her own. There were no roots put down anywhere and no one close enough to turn to if she was in trouble.
She and Jyn Erso had that last part in common.
Jyn, as Tanith, watched him, the way he leaned away from her, movements telegraphed as if to reassure her. She still didn't trust him, but it wasn't personal. She didn't make a habit of trusting anyone.
"You?"
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