Musebox

[fulcrum3]

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[fulcrum3]

"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?"

[faceblocks]

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..."

[fulcrum3]

“Doran.” True just scrambled. What’d he steal? “The ignorance of those who listened.” One always hoped. —oh: “And a few volumes’ shimmer.

“You?”

[faceblocks]

(A name doesn't define you, not always. Not as if the Undercity isn't rife with aliases, right? What you attach to the name, if you make good on your word - that's what really matters.)

Huh. It takes her a moment, unsure at first if he's trying to catch her with wordplay, but it's not a riddle - it's ...yeah. That's a thing you can steal if you think about it the right way. "So you're a fast talker with fast hands. I can see it, I gue---."

A storm flickering - shadows of memories and a hard-swallow as her breath catches. "Shimmer. You stole it from Silco?" Not letting an answer in, as her thoughts race to fill in the blanks with the worst possible scenario - and one that's familiar enough that it isn't too far of a reach. "How'd you do that and still stay alive? You work for him? Is that why you're in here?"

[fulcrum3]

There was no transition: no process of getting to his feet. He was just sitting, then he was standing. He spat the ground between them. “I do not work for him.” …well, sure, being in here possibly more evidence of that.

“Something from you, now. Who are you to just like that say that name?”

[faceblocks]

That kind of movement's impressive - she's done her fair share of it, and it's been a long time since she's seen it mirrored like that. He's quick to bristle at the suggestion, too. That's ...something.

"It's a regular revolving door of whoever comes in here to beat the shit out of me, half of which are probably on Silco's payroll, so I make sure to tell 'em to thank their master for me. I spend a lot of time saying 'fuck Silco', and it's never not worth it."

The slow flex of fingers before curling into a fist - but no further movement.

"That enough for you, Doran? Or ...do you want something else?"

[fulcrum3]

He shakes his head, slow and heavy. "That's enough. Sorry."

He doesn't raise his palms to her but they are open where they hang. He shuffles back into the wall. When he speaks, info freely given is a peace offering. "It's Silco's cronies put me here. They wanna know what I did with the shimmer. I told them outright. They don't believe me. I'm in here until I 'tell the truth'. So… y'know. If I can get a better idea than waiting for them to accept it… but spreading the truth is kinda the point."

for nextchance

[fulcrum3]

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.

[nextchance]

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?"

[fulcrum3]

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.)

[nextchance]

"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."

[fulcrum3]

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.)

[nextchance]

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?"

[fulcrum3]

"Will," he answered. J'din Willix was the name on his intake—if any of them out there had bothered writing up papers, which he doubted. Willix was a petty smuggler, not terribly good at it, who'd been busted for his cargo. The actual mission was to be arrested to get into the base where he was about to be transferred. This time, he'd be given help with extraction. He knew Tanith wasn't that help, but she'd been helpful anyway.

And very engaging.

What? Stop.

Equally possible she was a plant set to rout him out—though that would require them suspecting him, which seemed unlikely. Be cagey anyway. As, at this point in his life, came naturally.

"This is a first for me," he said, his hands moving as if nervous. "What do you think comes next?"

[nextchance]

He seemed nervous, fidgety. If this really was a first for him, as he said, then that made sense. She'd been nervous the first time, too, sixteen and newly alone in the galaxy. Now it was mostly just a matter of biding her time until she could find a way out, although she wasn't about to say that to a stranger about whom she knew nothing. There was every chance he'd yell for the stormtroopers and tell them in the hopes of it leading to some sort of leniency.

They would both be out of luck, in that case. Imperials and leniency weren't concepts that generally went together.

"If experience is anything to go by?" That trace of wry amusement, barely there but audible, was back in her voice. "They keep us waiting as long as possible. The Imperial wheels of justice—" This veered more sarcastic, accompanied by an eye roll. Justice was something Imperials seemed less interested in than leniency. "—turn very, very slowly. Then a transfer or two. Somewhere in there, you'll be sentenced. If you're here, they've already decided you're guilty."

[fulcrum3]

Yes, yes, and yes. Even an outfit as far-flung and sloppy as this was part of the pipeline to places like Narkina and Wobani. It wasn't about justice, it was about labor. Anyone potentially useful could and would be targeted.

Cassian found himself disappointed that he'd decided to play naïve. He found himself wanting to commiserate with his cellmate. Why? You just met, you have nothing to go on… But everything about her just… clicked. Except that he couldn't tell if… if it was his finely-honed sense of when someone might be a candidate for recruitment, or if his analytics were getting fouled up because she was… well… cute. That had never happened before, but he couldn't rule it out.

At least Cassian could use that to swallow and shoot an anxious look out the door. "Dammit. Dammit." He tore his eyes back to her. "You seem awfully calm about it."

[nextchance]

"Yeah, well. Like I said, experience," Jyn said, her shoulders lifting in a far more relaxed shrug than the situation called for. More relaxed than she actually felt, for that matter. It wasn't that she worried about what was going to happen to her or what came next. Confinement had always made her uneasy, though, small, cramped, dark spaces bringing memories to the surface that she preferred to keep buried. She didn't want to be stuck waiting; she wanted out.

But as before, that was a potential weakness she wasn't going to show. Besides, it wasn't dishonest, though it wouldn't have bothered her if it was. This was practically a routine by now. One of them might as well stay calm, and it might as well be her, even if underneath that was a familiar roil of tension and anger that had become a constant and a comfort over the last few years. Anger was good. Anger was safer than fear or hurt.

"Nothing to do about it from here, anyway." She chose her words deliberately. He could read into it what he wanted to, and she'd have plausible deniability if he turned on her.

[fulcrum3]

Either she really was that calm, or she had a beautiful Sabacc face without identifiable tells.

"No," agreed Cassian, slumping. He hadn't counted on having anything to do right now except wait. This person's presence, though, offered a side mission—because he always needed one, right?—and his default one: assess for recruitment. If he failed, he could probably keep them from coming to blows; he just had to be careful in case, contrary to the perfect things she'd just said, she was there to betray him. "Sorry if I'm… I'm sorry. I just… You mean you have experience with this already? And you got out?"

[nextchance]

That, Jyn knew better than to answer outright, with words. Instead, she arched an eyebrow, lifted a shoulder again, as if to say, Sounds that way, doesn't it? She'd known him for a matter of moments — didn't know him, really — and even if he'd been an old acquaintance, she wouldn't be inclined to openly discuss such things in an Imperial holding cell. With his question hanging in the air, though, she felt for the first time that maybe they were on the same page, both engaging in the careful dance of discerning what to make of someone new.

If he were for some reason a plant, or an Imperial sympathizer looking for something to use against her, she doubts he would ask something like that so blatantly. It wouldn't be the smart play. First time for him though this might have been, she got the impression that he was smarter than the circumstances suggested.

"Plenty of things can happen in transit," she settled on, what still seemed vague enough. "And bucketheads don't make the best wardens."

[fulcrum3]

And there was more or less his current plan in a khadi-shell, one stop shy. Maybe she was planning something similar. Maybe he shouldn't be trying to make friends lest she successfully break out and take him along and he never made it to the base. This and other scenarios flashed fast through his mind and he shelved them as not yet relevant. An unusual amount of projections, though. There was something about her.

"Well." Cassian—no, Will—settled back against the wall and sat down, draping his elbow over his knee, as if her answer had helped him relax somewhat. "What do you do in the meantime?"

[nextchance]

As he sat, so did Jyn, a semi-conscious mirror and a way of keeping them on an even playing field. She didn't need him to trust her when she didn't trust him, but it was as she'd thought before: an ally would be better than an enemy. Maybe having someone else working with her would help. Or maybe he'd turn on her the first chance he got, but that was seeming less likely for reasons she couldn't quite put her finger on. Probably it was just that he hadn't done it already, or tried to push her to say something regrettable.

"Wait," she answered, and this time, she actually smiled, slight but real. "Imagine all the different things I'd do to those 'troopers if they hadn't taken all my weapons." That was a lie — there was still a small knife in her boot that she'd managed to conceal — but she didn't need to go broadcasting that.

[fulcrum3]

Cassian returned her slight smile; Willix turned it into a grimace. "That sounds… incredibly stressful. What do you do when there's someone else with you?" (As if it were a matter of course that there would be.)

[nextchance]

"Have a slumber party and braid each other's hair," Jyn deadpanned, not missing a beat. It was something she'd only ever seen in various holos, young girls on wealthy planets doing things like painting their nails and playing stupid games. Her life had never had room for that sort of frivolity. Where they got party games, she got war stories; where they got fancy hairdos and nail lacquer, she got sharpened knives and cleaned blasters. She didn't regret that. Maybe it was because this life was the only one she'd ever known, but the thought of that sort of sheltered, oblivious upbringing made her stomach turn.

"I don't know. Usually everyone keeps to themselves." She couldn't tell why, but at least so far, she wasn't minding him being an exception to that.

[fulcrum3]

"Is that what we should be doing?" He (Willix) added immediately, "Please say no. I was going crazy in here. Which I'm sure is doing most of their work for them."

[nextchance]

"In that case, definitely not," Jyn replied. Her brittle edges and general distrust seemed unlikely to contribute to anyone's sanity in a positive way, but if they did, then it had to be better than the alternative. "We wouldn't want to give them what they want."

With possibly breaking out no longer the subject at hand, plausible deniability didn't seem necessary anymore. Instead, she was being cautious in a different way, trying to gauge where he stood without revealing too much about herself.