Cassian Andor (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
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sixthiterationlogs2017-02-01 09:12 pm
candor1) wrote in sixthiterationlogs2017-02-01 09:12 pm
exhalation of the ambivalent god [ota]
WHO: Erik Lensherr, Percival Graves, Cassian Andor, and YOU NICE PEOPLE
WHERE: (i) The Greek ruins with Erik / TBD with Graves. (ii) The waterfall. (iii) The hospital.
WHEN: After Fin/Annie's Town Meeting through Now
OPEN TO: (i) is closed; (ii) and (iii) are OTA
WARNINGS: vet struggles, speculative projection of ECT +/ EMDR, reproductive choices, murder, self-endangerment, physical injury, and "too much exposition"[Urinetown].
STATUS: Closed
i. [closed, attn. Erik Lensherr and Percival Graves]
To a child of the Esoteric Pulsar, you must ask, "Show me the secret pages of the Book of Stars."
~ [Document #DN4624 ("Faith and the Force of Others"), fragment excerpted from the archives of the Order of the Esoteric Pulsar; author unknown.*]
You may not be able to get outside. The only escape is to another room.
War is made of experiences humans shouldn't be good at processing. If they did, the species would already have died.
The Alliance and the Empire had devised methods of getting around that, to prolong a soldier's shelf life. For the Empire: brainwashing. (Part of the appeal of cloning: it had the dual benefit of quick replenishment and neurological shortcuts.) The Alliance used STERC (stress trauma electroreconditioning) procedure. It didn't desensitize the subject to future trauma (as clone neurodesign did), nor removed the past trauma (as brainwashing could), but at its most effective, it lessened severity—made effects less extreme. One could remember events without reliving them. The pain could be felt without rendering one nonfunctioning. The problem was, it wasn't preventative, nor necessarily carried over if new trauma compounded the old. Other ongoing treatment was needed for the old memories, and new ones could need a whole new round of the procedure.
The procedure had been performed on Cassian twice.
It had done what it needed to. Kept him on his feet. Able to move forward.
What he'd never mastered was what to do if one ever stopped.
…He hadn't had to. It was an interstellar Rebellion. There was always the next problem. The next assignment. More than could possibly be accomplished. He'd probably avoided going through the procedure more than twice by diving from one mission into the next. Always moving forward.
Without a cause, we are lost.
Here was the first time he'd been without a galaxy-given cause, something to believe larger than himself, with external impact and infrastructure, since…
…? Huh. Ever.
Before the war subsumed all else, he'd still had something to serve and answer to beyond his own life. His father. His school. His father's school. Less life and death (…mostly) than the later things… but, happening before those bases for comparison, they'd still felt like it.
But surviving Scarif to have to go on without the others—and be out of the Rebellion entirely—was simply not a thing he could process.
To outlive the others and never know what happened next…
No.
He didn't know another exit. So, if no one would give him a "next assignment", he made one.
Since arriving, he'd been working on a map—making his own parchment on down. He'd shown it to a few people and hadn't hid as he worked on it from others, sometimes making notes in front of them, sometimes from them. When it didn't defeat the whole purpose. Which was: not to let others' discoveries dictate what he might see himself. Looking for something expected blinds you to anything un-. Well, they were stuck here, and "here" was small, so turn those into assets. In most locales, there would be too much ground and too many other variables to get as familiar with the terrain as would serve optimal strategy. Here, it seemed the root of many of the community's problems was pure not knowing.
All right. He might not find anything new, nor answer any questions. Given the diversity of the people who'd been working on the problem so far, that was likeliest. But disproving is a positive result. Narrowing down is progress. He could at least eliminate the possibility that he might be able to find more than had already been found.
So he spent the month combing over all the least-known parts of their canyon world. Taking what measurements he could without tech. Getting so familiar, he could choose the best vantage in any zone; possibly could have found his way around blind.
Which Chirrut could have done without the legwork. But Cassian didn't have… that relationship with…? the Force
For the most part, he avoided having company.
(Not entirely unlike how he was avoiding committing to indoor accommodations.)
But another wanting familiarize themselves with their new surroundings, too (which he couldn't begrudge); help explore (as far as was compatible with his parameters); or just see how he gathered his data in a metric they didn't know (he surmised)… exceptions were made.
He'd mapped the Spring with Johanna.
The day after the Town meeting, as planned—hoping the other man wouldn't find this attempt to preemptively learn more about him too calculating—he went to the Greek ruins to meet Erik.
The day after that, as promised—wondering if he should resist or enjoy how spending time with this relative stranger felt comfortably like spending time with Draven—Cassian went to Cabin 19 to call on Graves.
So far he hadn't picked up that anyone wanted to join him to prevent him from finding something. But he wasn't trying to map anyone's claimed territory, after all. If it was purely on this plane of existence, between them prisoners, he wasn't interested. Not until he had to explore the option that someone here was one of/a plant of their hosts. But that could get ugly fast, too much to be worth it when the field was still wide open. For now he preferred the other model, of them all as fellow prisoners. Hopefully not because it reminded him… of whatever he'd ever had… of home.
* * *
ii. [OTA]
To a faithless man, you must ask, "What power enables prophecy and sorcery in a world controlled by logic and law?"
~ [Document #DN4624 ("Faith and the Force of Others"), fragment excerpted from the archives of the Order of the Esoteric Pulsar; author unknown.*]
It happened at the waterfall.
Cassian was sitting on a large rock, his feet propped up on another to avoid the trickling water below. He'd just made a full sweep of the area, checking for any openings in the cliff wall or behind the falls, checking the depth of the pool and consistency of the water, and was jotting down final measurements and observations. He finished and broadened his focus to check the work. And belatedly noticed that, with that, he'd closed the loop. The map was finished.
He sat for a moment, looking down at it.
It was good work. He rarely got to do much like it. There were always more pressing things—too much ground to cover—too many other forces at work—insufficient stability—to indulge in such detail. But there it was. Their known world laid out and annotated in two dimensions. A single square of parchment.
His new life spread out on his hands.
The falls roared in his ears. Under him, he felt the spinning planet.
His hands were shaking.
.:. "So," came the voice across a narrow stream.
Cassian looked up. .:.
To an outside observer, Cassian was sitting all alone in that place, his head still bowed over his map. He wouldn't move.
.:. Cassian looked up.
General Davits Draven sat another rock a few meters away.
He was facing Cassian, one leg braced on the shore, a hand resting on that knee; an attitude of relative ease; but the set of his arms and shoulders always, as ever, were taut, at the ready.
"So," Draven repeated, "phase complete. What next?"
Cassian spoke low. "There wasn't supposed to be a 'next'. I was finished."
"I wish we got to decide when we were finished," said Draven. Gruffly unapologetic. They both knew there was apology at the bottom of it nonetheless. "You've learned your surroundings. That was to a purpose. This is a prison. The first responsibility of a prisoner is…?"
"No one has escaped," said Cassian.
"And you don't seem inclined to try," …said Chirrut Îmwe.
before the tide can go back out, you have to let it come in
The Guardian now sat on the rock where Draven had just been. Instead of a leg braced on the bank, it was his staff. He held it with both hands and stared sightlessly out past them, wearing his eternally knowing smile. "Indeed, you don't seem concerned with being imprisoned, at all. Do you know why?"
Cassian let out a measured breath and tried not to roll his eyes. "You said it was because—"
"—you carry your prison wherever you go," agreed Chirrut, turning that unseeing smile to the falls and the trees. "But you'd broken out at last. You and Jyn. She escaped her physical prison and you your metaphysical one. Where neither of you had ever made choices for yourselves. You made your own choice at last. You finished free. So why did the prison come back? When you came here?"
K-2SO: "When he didn't die."
Cassian looked in all directions for the source of the voice. But Kay was nowhere.
"I'm done with that," said Cassian. "I'm not back where I started when I first arrived."
"Yes because anyone can get over such loss in a single night," said Blue.
Cassian's shoulders hunched as he recoiled in on himself.
it's better than not letting it
Blue now sat in the place of Chirrut who'd sat in the place of Draven. Unlike both of them, who'd leaned forward, she was leaning back on the boulder on her palms.
She met his glare expressionlessly.
"You're overdue for treatment," she said.
"Go to hell," he said.
"Even if she came here," said Blue. "Even if a dying moment could translate to the beginning of… anything. If she wanted a new start with you. Freedom. A life like neither of you ever had while living. Do you think you'd know how? Could either of you could stop being who you've always been? You wouldn't buy it. …And would that fantasy involve children? Would she care you couldn't give her any? You made sure—"
He muttered, "Callaté, Azúl."
"You don't even hallucinate my name, huh? I did it to save you."
He made a derisive choking sound. "No you didn't. I meant nothing to you."
"Who means anything to anyone?" said—
—Tivik.
walked away from something I'd want to forget
He was braced against nothing, his good arm cradling his bad one. Cassian's last contact, who'd set Fracture in motion, whose intel would end in Rogue One, looked over both his arms at Cassian with baleful, accusing eyes.
I couldn't live with myself
—You look your terrified source up and down. A man who's just given you valuable information. A man who's done his job in spite of his own nature because he shares your cause. A man only standing here because you personally recruited him. Trained him. One of your people. An ally. A human who is weaker and more frightened than you because he actually has something else in his life. A man who can't possibly escape or withstand what's about to happen no matter what and there's only one way to make any of this worth it.
—"Hey—" you touch his shoulder, gently now, voice stripped of all force. "Calm down. Calm down. You did good. Everything you told me—it's real?"
"Your job," said Tivik.
Without a cause, we're lost
"Was to give your life to the Rebellion. And die with her."
—They will catch you, Tivik. You will be broken and you will die and neither of us will be able to deliver your message.
Cassian could barely hear himself.
"I did."
"So," said Tivik quietly, "do the next one."
—His confused eyes and faint voice are those of a frightened child. "It's real." .:.
That outside observer would see only Cassian sitting bent over his clasped hands, over the map. Its exhaustive intricacy and detail. It had taken weeks of reconnaissance and study. Other people here had been involved in making it and expressed appreciation of it. He'd toyed with the idea of giving it to Kate to have at the inn for anyone to use.
.:. —Cassian turns to the stormtroopers and puts on a winningly guileless smile. "Of course. Just… my gloves?" .:.
The observer would finally see a change. Cassian sitting up straighter.
.:. —You soothe Tivik, with genuine care, once more, "All right. We'll be all right." .:.
Cassian slides off his boulder, splashes down into the stream.
.:. —You turn your gentle grip on his shoulder into a half-embrace, putting the warmth of your body against his. .:.
And rips the map over the rocks.
The parchment's too good. It won't tear into shreds. But slamming it against the rocks leaves it sodden and tattered. While turning the water red.
.:. There are no med droids here, Draven would ream him out. Stop. Think. All your childhood injuries were on your right because everyone's involuntary reflex is to shield themselves with their dominant arm. Even instincts can be changed. You learned better. Do better. .:.
Stopping, panting, on his knees in the stream, Cassian curled his wet, bloodied fingers around the map, and the map around a stone, and pulled them up.
He tossed the map, wrapped around the stone, into his left hand.
.:. —With your other hand, put your blaster gently to Tivik's back .:.
He stood.
.:. —And shoot him through the heart. .:.
And hurled the stone-weighted map into the falls.
Then as now, he watched the
stone, body
fall.
.:. —you hear the sickly electric squawk, smell burning fibers and worse as Tivik falls to the ground. Lets out one last little groan, like he'd been troubled in his sleep, and goes still. .:.
Cassian's motionless except for trembling.
.:. —Hands shaking, he launched himself up to the handholds he'd already scoped out on the wall. Pulling himself along pipes and stained sills. Kicking the surface for support. .:.
Cassian looks up now at the cliff face and the falls. Slippery, unsecure rocks. Delicate roots. Inverted planes and uncertain destination. And knows he'd never make it.
He takes a running start at them anyway.
Would you like me to tell you the odds of this going against you?
He grabs at the rocks and roots and crevasses and moss, and actually gains a hold. Something sharp catches his already smashed-up hand and he lets out a sound.
Do you think anyone's listening
He actually makes it a little way. But the inevitable asserts itself and he falls
shot off the datacore by the man in white
If we come here through water, can we leave the same way
He doesn't go in the water below the falls. Slowed by a branch, scraping him on the way down from his wrist to the side of his face, he lands more softly than by any justice he should, in a mossy hollow. The impact only hurts, not damages. But enough still to force out of him a louder sound. This one…
with the water and the planet pounding in his head…
Jyn. Kay.
Don't leave me behind.
…a sob.* * *
iii. [OTA. attn. medical professionals (Claire? Ravi? Rory?) & anyone]
I ask you to believe this not because it is true, but because it is a beginning.
~ [Document #DN4624 ("Faith and the Force of Others"), fragment excerpted from the archives of the Order of the Esoteric Pulsar; author unknown.*]
Maybe someone's on medical duty that evening. Maybe whoever had helped Cassian back into town had to run to fetch them. But whoever answers the call to the hospital is greeted by Cassian Andor, favoring a smashed, bloodied hand; face almost as bloodied with an ugly but would prove to be superficial (just plant-matter-crusted) head wound; and sodden head to toe with water, chlorophyll, and mud.
"I'm here for medical assistance," he says blandly.
WHERE: (i) The Greek ruins with Erik / TBD with Graves. (ii) The waterfall. (iii) The hospital.
WHEN: After Fin/Annie's Town Meeting through Now
OPEN TO: (i) is closed; (ii) and (iii) are OTA
WARNINGS: vet struggles, speculative projection of ECT +/ EMDR, reproductive choices, murder, self-endangerment, physical injury, and "too much exposition"[Urinetown].
STATUS: Closed
i. [closed, attn. Erik Lensherr and Percival Graves]
~ [Document #DN4624 ("Faith and the Force of Others"), fragment excerpted from the archives of the Order of the Esoteric Pulsar; author unknown.*]
You may not be able to get outside. The only escape is to another room.
War is made of experiences humans shouldn't be good at processing. If they did, the species would already have died.
The Alliance and the Empire had devised methods of getting around that, to prolong a soldier's shelf life. For the Empire: brainwashing. (Part of the appeal of cloning: it had the dual benefit of quick replenishment and neurological shortcuts.) The Alliance used STERC (stress trauma electroreconditioning) procedure. It didn't desensitize the subject to future trauma (as clone neurodesign did), nor removed the past trauma (as brainwashing could), but at its most effective, it lessened severity—made effects less extreme. One could remember events without reliving them. The pain could be felt without rendering one nonfunctioning. The problem was, it wasn't preventative, nor necessarily carried over if new trauma compounded the old. Other ongoing treatment was needed for the old memories, and new ones could need a whole new round of the procedure.
The procedure had been performed on Cassian twice.
It had done what it needed to. Kept him on his feet. Able to move forward.
What he'd never mastered was what to do if one ever stopped.
…He hadn't had to. It was an interstellar Rebellion. There was always the next problem. The next assignment. More than could possibly be accomplished. He'd probably avoided going through the procedure more than twice by diving from one mission into the next. Always moving forward.
Without a cause, we are lost.
Here was the first time he'd been without a galaxy-given cause, something to believe larger than himself, with external impact and infrastructure, since…
…? Huh. Ever.
Before the war subsumed all else, he'd still had something to serve and answer to beyond his own life. His father. His school. His father's school. Less life and death (…mostly) than the later things… but, happening before those bases for comparison, they'd still felt like it.
But surviving Scarif to have to go on without the others—and be out of the Rebellion entirely—was simply not a thing he could process.
To outlive the others and never know what happened next…
No.
He didn't know another exit. So, if no one would give him a "next assignment", he made one.
Since arriving, he'd been working on a map—making his own parchment on down. He'd shown it to a few people and hadn't hid as he worked on it from others, sometimes making notes in front of them, sometimes from them. When it didn't defeat the whole purpose. Which was: not to let others' discoveries dictate what he might see himself. Looking for something expected blinds you to anything un-. Well, they were stuck here, and "here" was small, so turn those into assets. In most locales, there would be too much ground and too many other variables to get as familiar with the terrain as would serve optimal strategy. Here, it seemed the root of many of the community's problems was pure not knowing.
All right. He might not find anything new, nor answer any questions. Given the diversity of the people who'd been working on the problem so far, that was likeliest. But disproving is a positive result. Narrowing down is progress. He could at least eliminate the possibility that he might be able to find more than had already been found.
So he spent the month combing over all the least-known parts of their canyon world. Taking what measurements he could without tech. Getting so familiar, he could choose the best vantage in any zone; possibly could have found his way around blind.
Which Chirrut could have done without the legwork. But Cassian didn't have… that relationship with…? the Force
For the most part, he avoided having company.
(Not entirely unlike how he was avoiding committing to indoor accommodations.)
But another wanting familiarize themselves with their new surroundings, too (which he couldn't begrudge); help explore (as far as was compatible with his parameters); or just see how he gathered his data in a metric they didn't know (he surmised)… exceptions were made.
He'd mapped the Spring with Johanna.
The day after the Town meeting, as planned—hoping the other man wouldn't find this attempt to preemptively learn more about him too calculating—he went to the Greek ruins to meet Erik.
The day after that, as promised—wondering if he should resist or enjoy how spending time with this relative stranger felt comfortably like spending time with Draven—Cassian went to Cabin 19 to call on Graves.
So far he hadn't picked up that anyone wanted to join him to prevent him from finding something. But he wasn't trying to map anyone's claimed territory, after all. If it was purely on this plane of existence, between them prisoners, he wasn't interested. Not until he had to explore the option that someone here was one of/a plant of their hosts. But that could get ugly fast, too much to be worth it when the field was still wide open. For now he preferred the other model, of them all as fellow prisoners. Hopefully not because it reminded him… of whatever he'd ever had… of home.
ii. [OTA]
~ [Document #DN4624 ("Faith and the Force of Others"), fragment excerpted from the archives of the Order of the Esoteric Pulsar; author unknown.*]
It happened at the waterfall.
Cassian was sitting on a large rock, his feet propped up on another to avoid the trickling water below. He'd just made a full sweep of the area, checking for any openings in the cliff wall or behind the falls, checking the depth of the pool and consistency of the water, and was jotting down final measurements and observations. He finished and broadened his focus to check the work. And belatedly noticed that, with that, he'd closed the loop. The map was finished.
He sat for a moment, looking down at it.
It was good work. He rarely got to do much like it. There were always more pressing things—too much ground to cover—too many other forces at work—insufficient stability—to indulge in such detail. But there it was. Their known world laid out and annotated in two dimensions. A single square of parchment.
His new life spread out on his hands.
The falls roared in his ears. Under him, he felt the spinning planet.
His hands were shaking.
.:. "So," came the voice across a narrow stream.
Cassian looked up. .:.
To an outside observer, Cassian was sitting all alone in that place, his head still bowed over his map. He wouldn't move.
.:. Cassian looked up.
General Davits Draven sat another rock a few meters away.
He was facing Cassian, one leg braced on the shore, a hand resting on that knee; an attitude of relative ease; but the set of his arms and shoulders always, as ever, were taut, at the ready.
"So," Draven repeated, "phase complete. What next?"
Cassian spoke low. "There wasn't supposed to be a 'next'. I was finished."
"I wish we got to decide when we were finished," said Draven. Gruffly unapologetic. They both knew there was apology at the bottom of it nonetheless. "You've learned your surroundings. That was to a purpose. This is a prison. The first responsibility of a prisoner is…?"
"No one has escaped," said Cassian.
"And you don't seem inclined to try," …said Chirrut Îmwe.
before the tide can go back out, you have to let it come in
The Guardian now sat on the rock where Draven had just been. Instead of a leg braced on the bank, it was his staff. He held it with both hands and stared sightlessly out past them, wearing his eternally knowing smile. "Indeed, you don't seem concerned with being imprisoned, at all. Do you know why?"
Cassian let out a measured breath and tried not to roll his eyes. "You said it was because—"
"—you carry your prison wherever you go," agreed Chirrut, turning that unseeing smile to the falls and the trees. "But you'd broken out at last. You and Jyn. She escaped her physical prison and you your metaphysical one. Where neither of you had ever made choices for yourselves. You made your own choice at last. You finished free. So why did the prison come back? When you came here?"
K-2SO: "When he didn't die."
Cassian looked in all directions for the source of the voice. But Kay was nowhere.
"I'm done with that," said Cassian. "I'm not back where I started when I first arrived."
"Yes because anyone can get over such loss in a single night," said Blue.
Cassian's shoulders hunched as he recoiled in on himself.
it's better than not letting it
Blue now sat in the place of Chirrut who'd sat in the place of Draven. Unlike both of them, who'd leaned forward, she was leaning back on the boulder on her palms.
She met his glare expressionlessly.
"You're overdue for treatment," she said.
"Go to hell," he said.
"Even if she came here," said Blue. "Even if a dying moment could translate to the beginning of… anything. If she wanted a new start with you. Freedom. A life like neither of you ever had while living. Do you think you'd know how? Could either of you could stop being who you've always been? You wouldn't buy it. …And would that fantasy involve children? Would she care you couldn't give her any? You made sure—"
He muttered, "Callaté, Azúl."
"You don't even hallucinate my name, huh? I did it to save you."
He made a derisive choking sound. "No you didn't. I meant nothing to you."
"Who means anything to anyone?" said—
—Tivik.
walked away from something I'd want to forget
He was braced against nothing, his good arm cradling his bad one. Cassian's last contact, who'd set Fracture in motion, whose intel would end in Rogue One, looked over both his arms at Cassian with baleful, accusing eyes.
I couldn't live with myself
—You look your terrified source up and down. A man who's just given you valuable information. A man who's done his job in spite of his own nature because he shares your cause. A man only standing here because you personally recruited him. Trained him. One of your people. An ally. A human who is weaker and more frightened than you because he actually has something else in his life. A man who can't possibly escape or withstand what's about to happen no matter what and there's only one way to make any of this worth it.
—"Hey—" you touch his shoulder, gently now, voice stripped of all force. "Calm down. Calm down. You did good. Everything you told me—it's real?"
"Your job," said Tivik.
Without a cause, we're lost
"Was to give your life to the Rebellion. And die with her."
—They will catch you, Tivik. You will be broken and you will die and neither of us will be able to deliver your message.
Cassian could barely hear himself.
"I did."
"So," said Tivik quietly, "do the next one."
—His confused eyes and faint voice are those of a frightened child. "It's real." .:.
That outside observer would see only Cassian sitting bent over his clasped hands, over the map. Its exhaustive intricacy and detail. It had taken weeks of reconnaissance and study. Other people here had been involved in making it and expressed appreciation of it. He'd toyed with the idea of giving it to Kate to have at the inn for anyone to use.
.:. —Cassian turns to the stormtroopers and puts on a winningly guileless smile. "Of course. Just… my gloves?" .:.
The observer would finally see a change. Cassian sitting up straighter.
.:. —You soothe Tivik, with genuine care, once more, "All right. We'll be all right." .:.
Cassian slides off his boulder, splashes down into the stream.
.:. —You turn your gentle grip on his shoulder into a half-embrace, putting the warmth of your body against his. .:.
And rips the map over the rocks.
The parchment's too good. It won't tear into shreds. But slamming it against the rocks leaves it sodden and tattered. While turning the water red.
.:. There are no med droids here, Draven would ream him out. Stop. Think. All your childhood injuries were on your right because everyone's involuntary reflex is to shield themselves with their dominant arm. Even instincts can be changed. You learned better. Do better. .:.
Stopping, panting, on his knees in the stream, Cassian curled his wet, bloodied fingers around the map, and the map around a stone, and pulled them up.
He tossed the map, wrapped around the stone, into his left hand.
.:. —With your other hand, put your blaster gently to Tivik's back .:.
He stood.
.:. —And shoot him through the heart. .:.
And hurled the stone-weighted map into the falls.
Then as now, he watched the
stone, body
fall.
.:. —you hear the sickly electric squawk, smell burning fibers and worse as Tivik falls to the ground. Lets out one last little groan, like he'd been troubled in his sleep, and goes still. .:.
Cassian's motionless except for trembling.
.:. —Hands shaking, he launched himself up to the handholds he'd already scoped out on the wall. Pulling himself along pipes and stained sills. Kicking the surface for support. .:.
Cassian looks up now at the cliff face and the falls. Slippery, unsecure rocks. Delicate roots. Inverted planes and uncertain destination. And knows he'd never make it.
He takes a running start at them anyway.
Would you like me to tell you the odds of this going against you?
He grabs at the rocks and roots and crevasses and moss, and actually gains a hold. Something sharp catches his already smashed-up hand and he lets out a sound.
Do you think anyone's listening
He actually makes it a little way. But the inevitable asserts itself and he falls
shot off the datacore by the man in white
a heartbeat before transparisteel rushes up to meet him
he thinks he hears Jyn yell his name
If we come here through water, can we leave the same way
He doesn't go in the water below the falls. Slowed by a branch, scraping him on the way down from his wrist to the side of his face, he lands more softly than by any justice he should, in a mossy hollow. The impact only hurts, not damages. But enough still to force out of him a louder sound. This one…
with the water and the planet pounding in his head…
Jyn. Kay.
Don't leave me behind.
…a sob.
iii. [OTA. attn. medical professionals (Claire? Ravi? Rory?) & anyone]
~ [Document #DN4624 ("Faith and the Force of Others"), fragment excerpted from the archives of the Order of the Esoteric Pulsar; author unknown.*]
Maybe someone's on medical duty that evening. Maybe whoever had helped Cassian back into town had to run to fetch them. But whoever answers the call to the hospital is greeted by Cassian Andor, favoring a smashed, bloodied hand; face almost as bloodied with an ugly but would prove to be superficial (just plant-matter-crusted) head wound; and sodden head to toe with water, chlorophyll, and mud.
"I'm here for medical assistance," he says blandly.
no subject
Skies he needs to break something… break himself free… his ribs are too tight… he needs a way out of his own skull and roaring blood.
At the fountain with Finnick, he'd also been asking a beautiful stranger to kiss him or kill him.
…But Margaery had offered neither (as Finnick had purported to) and Cassian wouldn't ask it first.
But he can't be trapped in himself a moment longer. No harm in helping yourself… the harm was in being himself.
The prison you carry with you—
"Tell me about you," he said, raising his eyes to her; words and eyes making it a supplication. "About your world before you came here… anything you're willing to share. Anything to remind me… reality is wider than… what I know about."
no subject
The parts that were wise to share, at least.
"I come from the Seven Kingdoms of Westeros. I'm of the Reach, from a palace called 'High Garden'. It is where the crops are grown that help feed the rest of the kingdoms. It's lush and beautiful, always smelling of fruit and flowers. Our palace was on a hill with three stone walls around it. Protecting it was a large bramble maze that outside soldiers couldn't navigate, but when I was a child, I would play in alongside my cousins."
It was a warm memory, one that she had forgotten in King's Landing. "I was later married and lived in the capital, King's Landing, alongside my husband. It was very crowded there and the smell was strong, but it was near the ocean. It could be beautiful...at times."
no subject
He must resist the desire to sleep. That was the cold and the shock. He mustn't make her an accomplice.
"I've been many, many places," he murmured. "I'm not sure I've ever been somewhere like that."
The only points of reference he can dredge… are Yavin IV and Scarif.
But neither had had flowers.
He let the story and the mental images calm him. But there was only so slow he could allow his respiration to get. All right. Move out.
Stirring himself, he pushed himself once again to his feet.
"Thank you," he said. "You're right… time to go indoors."