Jyn Erso (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
kestreldawn) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
sixthiterationlogs2017-02-06 05:48 pm
kestreldawn) wrote in sixthiterationlogs2017-02-06 05:48 pm
I've Got a Bad Feeling About This - OTA
WHO: Jyn Erso
WHERE: At the fountain.
WHEN: February 6, night.
OPEN TO: OTA
WARNINGS: Grief, mention of death, depression, implied self-harm.
STATUS: CLOSED
Arrival
Blinding light.
That's the last thing that Jyn can remember. No, there's more: the wetness of tears, the feel of cloth and muscle and bone, the inevitable resignation at the end of her short life, and the reverberation of Cassian's heartbeat against her chest.
Cassian.
The name sears across her mind's eye like wildfire, a dagger in her gut, a sharp, hot pain that makes her body ache and her heart shatter. But before she can weep the way she wants to, before she can mourn the loss of him, of them, of the future ripped violently out of their grasp, she realizes she's in water. Her eyes open as widely as they can manage, but there isn't much to see, except the faint light overhead. Go up, she tells herself, her legs forcefully kicking with all of the residual strength she can muster. There's a way out, she can see it. Faint as it is, it's there.
When she finally breaks the surface, she's gasping and clamoring, the rush of the frigid air like needles in her lungs and in her throat. It almost makes her feel like she's suffocating, and the only thing she wants to do is get out of this -- thing. She thinks for a moment that perhaps it's a pond, or a lake, but as she stumbles out and off of it, she realizes that it's a fountain. A fountain? Her mind attempts to make sense of it all, but the chill of the air prevents her from doing so. All she can think now is to survive, that thing she's done so well her entire life, the thing she's so tired of doing. As she scrambles to her feet, it's then that she notices something strapped to her back. She pats the pockets of her drenched trousers, looking for her comm - not that she even imagines it might work in this place - but it's her first instinct to search for it. Only .. her pockets are empty. She's so disoriented that it takes her an embarrassingly long time to even realize that the clothes on her body are different. She considers plunging back into the fountain to see if her old ones are lost in the water, but even disoriented Jyn knows it's a bad idea. Who would she call, if she could find the comm? Who would hear her pleas and cries? There's no one left. She has nothing, not even the blaster she'd had those last moments on the beach.
Oh, the beach, she thinks, feeling her footing slip as she stumbles back into the darkness of her mind's eye. No, Jyn. Focus. You have to focus. She rummages through the pack and finds, much to her delight, a set of clothing for her to change into.
Change into dry clothes, she thinks, starting to create her checklist. Figure out where you are, find some food, find some shelter, check the area for danger, get some sleep.
There's a dull pain in her chest, squarely over what she thinks is her heart. It reminds her of what she's lost, it reminds her of what she might have had. It reminds her of her comrades, of Scarif, of Krennic, of Stardust. It reminds her of their mission. She presses palm to bone, willing the pain, the sorrow to leave. The ache pulsates with each beat of her heart, braying its despair. Emptiness, loneliness, it sings.
But there's no time to weep, the threat of tears beginning to sting the backs of her eyes. No, for now, she needs to survive.
WHERE: At the fountain.
WHEN: February 6, night.
OPEN TO: OTA
WARNINGS: Grief, mention of death, depression, implied self-harm.
STATUS: CLOSED
Arrival
Blinding light.
That's the last thing that Jyn can remember. No, there's more: the wetness of tears, the feel of cloth and muscle and bone, the inevitable resignation at the end of her short life, and the reverberation of Cassian's heartbeat against her chest.
Cassian.
The name sears across her mind's eye like wildfire, a dagger in her gut, a sharp, hot pain that makes her body ache and her heart shatter. But before she can weep the way she wants to, before she can mourn the loss of him, of them, of the future ripped violently out of their grasp, she realizes she's in water. Her eyes open as widely as they can manage, but there isn't much to see, except the faint light overhead. Go up, she tells herself, her legs forcefully kicking with all of the residual strength she can muster. There's a way out, she can see it. Faint as it is, it's there.
When she finally breaks the surface, she's gasping and clamoring, the rush of the frigid air like needles in her lungs and in her throat. It almost makes her feel like she's suffocating, and the only thing she wants to do is get out of this -- thing. She thinks for a moment that perhaps it's a pond, or a lake, but as she stumbles out and off of it, she realizes that it's a fountain. A fountain? Her mind attempts to make sense of it all, but the chill of the air prevents her from doing so. All she can think now is to survive, that thing she's done so well her entire life, the thing she's so tired of doing. As she scrambles to her feet, it's then that she notices something strapped to her back. She pats the pockets of her drenched trousers, looking for her comm - not that she even imagines it might work in this place - but it's her first instinct to search for it. Only .. her pockets are empty. She's so disoriented that it takes her an embarrassingly long time to even realize that the clothes on her body are different. She considers plunging back into the fountain to see if her old ones are lost in the water, but even disoriented Jyn knows it's a bad idea. Who would she call, if she could find the comm? Who would hear her pleas and cries? There's no one left. She has nothing, not even the blaster she'd had those last moments on the beach.
Oh, the beach, she thinks, feeling her footing slip as she stumbles back into the darkness of her mind's eye. No, Jyn. Focus. You have to focus. She rummages through the pack and finds, much to her delight, a set of clothing for her to change into.
Change into dry clothes, she thinks, starting to create her checklist. Figure out where you are, find some food, find some shelter, check the area for danger, get some sleep.
There's a dull pain in her chest, squarely over what she thinks is her heart. It reminds her of what she's lost, it reminds her of what she might have had. It reminds her of her comrades, of Scarif, of Krennic, of Stardust. It reminds her of their mission. She presses palm to bone, willing the pain, the sorrow to leave. The ache pulsates with each beat of her heart, braying its despair. Emptiness, loneliness, it sings.
But there's no time to weep, the threat of tears beginning to sting the backs of her eyes. No, for now, she needs to survive.
no subject
His compliment makes her pause for the briefest of moments. Never once in her life has anyone ever made such a statement, and she isn't sure if she's unreasonably furious or overwhelmingly flattered. Her eyes pierce into him all the same, and there's the faint light of appreciation behind them.
"I - am one of those people, apparently," she says quietly. "I've no idea where or what New York is, or America. I was born in 3255 LY."
no subject
He wonders what happens in the year 3255 with children--with names, specifically. Mulls it over. Jyn. Maybe they're all three names? Maybe they're all just one syllable.
"I've never--" He falters audibly and visually: he's just realized Jyn is looking at him, really looking, and for all of the light hearted amusement behind her eyes it's still quite unnerving.
"--Sorry," He mumbles, and drops his gaze and tries again. "I'm from 1926. It's a very long time ago from you, I suppose."
no subject
The man is certainly odd in some ways, she's realizing. But there's no need to make him feel needlessly uncomfortable if it's in her power to prevent it. He's been kind so far.
"Over 2000 years, I imagine - if our calendars and measurements of time are the same," she notes thoughtfully. "What are things like, in 1926?"
no subject
Not yet.
"2,000 years is a very long time," He murmurs softly. The inn is within viewing distance, and he shrugs towards it as if that is a fair replacement for pointing. "It's--busier than this," He manages. "And people are a little ruder. But the buildings are tall and they light up at night, and it always smells like some sort of food." A pause. "Except for garbage day, in the summer. It doesn't smell quite as good."
no subject
His comment about garbage manages to elicit a tiny bark of laughter. She isn't sure if he'd meant it to come off as a joke, but the simplicity of the observation is amusing.
"I'd imagine not, no." She angles her face towards him - not straight-on, but enough to show she's listening, engaging him. "It sounds very much like a planet called Coruscant, in my galaxy. Called an ecumenopolis, was capital of the galaxy for a thousand years. The whole planet is a giant city - with multiple layers, and the further down you go, the more dangerous and seedy it becomes."