sixthiterationlogs | La paz llegará, el amor siempre vivirá

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La paz llegará, el amor siempre vivirá—No me ames, mas quedate otro dia

WHO: Jyn Erso, Cassian Andor, Bodhi Rook, Finnick Odair (independent threads)
WHERE: Cabin 56, the woods, the spring, wherever else happens
WHEN: Feb 6 through now. "Ten days in the [new] life".
OPEN TO: Jyn, Cassian, Bodhi and Finnick
Quick apology for what a first-love middleschooler I've been being IC and OOC, with me neglecting and Cassian unable to gear shift at all away from Jyn! (Turns out we're super OTP, quelle surprise) Thanks for forebearance, and sorry, guys…!
This might help with moving back into the rest of the game from that first obsessed flush of her arrival. Mainly prompts for

kestreldawn and I to multithread several CR developments in a single post, rather than a slew of logs.
WARNINGS: PTSD (both helping and triggering one another—and worrying about that), exchanging war/life/traumatic stories, issues they haven't thought about in decades resurfacing 'cause this is so new and everything's getting unlocked, smut (though surprisingly happy/healthy), treating physical injury (possible self-harm convo), reproductive choices, panic attacks
STATUS: Open

1. the next moment (Jyn and Cassian in their cabin)

2. that night (same)

3. in the next few days (Finnick and Cassian at the spring)

4. in days following (Bodhi, Jyn and Cassian TBD)

5. today (Jyn and Cassian, cabin and forest)

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

He tries not to listen, none of his business, though he catches a word here and there. He did his best, and he accepts being outmaneuvered. He rakes his fingers experimentally through his hair while he waits for her to get back, more aware of his general shabbiness now that he's in a real building and everything around him is calm. His shellshocked scarecrow look feels a bit less appropriate than it did scrambling through a battlefield while it was on fire. Initial data says it's far too tangled for him to try to correct it in polite company, so he mostly leaves off fussing with it in time for Jyn to return, still absently spinning a few wisps around his finger.

That is the sort of question he'll have to ask eventually, and he should be talking about something and not just gazing into space. "It's... I... There are, um, there are only questions about this place." He's not even sure where to start. Not with the grenade thing, but there are a lot of other options he can't decide between. "Start me somewhere?"

Jyn tucks away a slip of paper in the vault at the back of her mind about some basic necessities perhaps she and Cassian can scrounge for the pilot. It feels like the simplest, littlest thing they can do for a man who'd effectively sacrificed his life, his well-being, his everything in order to see her father's plan completed.

There might be some underlying guilt in Jyn, whenever she happens to catch Bodhi's eye - but she's become quite good at burying it beneath layers of friendly indifference.

His question doesn't surprise her; she thinks that perhaps she should've just started by telling him something about the town, allowing his questions to spawn off of it like roots. She contemplates for a moment before finally saying:

"We've yet to figure out exactly where we are - whether we are in the same galaxy or some place entirely different. But the things we know, the things we are used to - don't seem to exist here."

It hasn't even crossed his mind yet that this is anything but another planet, however strange the circumstances of his arrival. It's strange and desolate, but a lot of planets are strange and desolate. And even kidnapping is fairly familiar to him at this point. He looks at her blankly for a long moment, trying to figure out what to do with the suggestion that they could be someplace entirely different from that galaxy. Beyond the Outer Rim somewhere, sure, much as that sounds like the beginning of a lousy holovid.

"I did notice... Things are missing." He doesn't know how else to put that. What else could encapsulate the vast technological desert he's found himself in. He's not exactly feeling like a productive member of this society so far. Not so many ships to fly.

"Many things," she confirms. "The first thing I'd noticed was the lack of weapons. I'd had my blaster when -" Jyn pauses, words catching in her throat. She and Cassian had discussed what was supposed to have been the last moments of their life, because they'd spent them together - but she realizes now that Bodhi hadn't been there, and she has no idea how he'd had the light snuffed from his. Her eyes flicker over to Cassian's form at the bar for the briefest of moments, a subconscious confirmation that yes, he's still here, he hasn't disappeared, before finding Bodhi's face again. She figures they'll have to discuss it at some point, but some time down the road - not now. "- Before I woke up in the fountain. The holster, the thing itself - they were all gone. Same for Cassian, same for the others who come through. Hence you witnessing my experiments with this thing," she says, tapping the spear on the ground with the tip of her shoe.

"Even basic things like - quadnocs, for example. No one here, aside from the three of us, has heard of them, as far as I know."

At least he didn't have a blaster in the first place, but he is feeling the lack of a decently stocked vest and toolbelt. The clothes, while odd looking (and a color that seems very impractical indeed the way everything he's every owned has always wound up oil-stained within a week), aren't that different from the shapeless, practical flightsuits he's used to, but taking everything useful is definitely a problem. Leaving aside being helpless and expecting to be stymied in everything he might want to do, he feels a bit naked without the weight of emost of a mechanic's kit hanging off him.

But the way she puts it raises a new question. "I... I thought everything was just gone. They don't, um, they don't know what it is?" That's a different category of problems entirely.

"I'd thought the same, thought that perhaps I'd been - stunned, put under, had my weapons removed," Jyn replies, remembering as a chill runs down her spine. She'd immediately thought she'd been on Scarif somehow, that the sand and water from the planet that encased them and collapsed beneath them had travelled with her. It made no sense, thinking back, but how could she have known? "When I crawled out of the fountain, a few of the other villagers had come to help me because they heard the splashing. They explained that - no, everyone comes in stripped of everything but these," she says, pinching at and pulling the scrubs on her body. She assumes Bodhi would have realized the different colors by now, hers being red and Cassian's being black. He's the first she's seen with the turquoise. She isn't sure if that's comforting or upsetting.

"No, people here are - from different places. Some from different galaxies and star systems entirely, ones I'd never heard of. They don't seem to have the same technology we have," she continues, voice quiet so as not to arouse suspicion of another bar patrons. "But people have figured out how to procure some items - how, I'm not sure yet - and most are willing to barter for skills or other items of use." She thinks of the hairbrush and elastics that mysteriously showed up in the cabin the night before, how Cassian hadn't procured them, was just as clueless as she was. "Sometimes things also just .. show up. I haven't - figured that yet, either."

The idea of mysterious things from mysterious benefactors should be chilling and ominous, but it's not new information. That sounds exactly in line with the sort of person who'd go around kidnapping people from disparate worlds (he still doesn't really have his head around that, is thinking in terms of distant planets that may be backwaters or have odder than usual native sentients). Not to mention the sort of person who'd drop a stripped kidnap victim in the middle of a deep pool of water. He can't be the only one who just about drowned. Knowing there are forces at work acting outside view or reason is the important bit.

Which raises another concernin question. "So... So regardless of what's making it happen, um, the people here are--are just living here. We're on our own." He's not even sure if he wants her to confirm the thought. Would unknowable forces be better or worse than known powers that spend to choose their time dictacting strangers' fates? Because the latter just sounds like going back to with for the Imperials.

"As far as I can tell. Apparently some have - left? But then come back. Some have died and never returned," Jyn shares, voice quiet in subconscious reverence for those who'd fallen. She remembers Kira, that look in his eyes, the emptiness of them. She remembers helping him dig a grave. A tiny breath of a sigh escapes her as she shifts in the seat, angling her legs so that only the balls of her feet are pressed against the ground. "People have - jobs, tasks - for instance, there's someone here who runs the Inn, someone who cooks, there are people who hunt for game and food," she and Cassian included, "Everyone finds some sort of a routine. Goes about living their new life in one way or another.

But it seems that many are still trying to figure out how - and if - they can escape in a way other than dying. If - dying means you wake up in another fountain somewhere or - not." Jyn herself is conflicted on the idea. While this new world is severely lacking in many things, it also gave she and Cassian the opportunity to - be alive. Exist together. Share the life that was supposed to have ended on Scarif. She can't quite bring herself to hate a place that has done that. At the same time, she wants to understand the reason behind their strange teleportation. "Of course, Cassian has been here longer than I have. He knows more, has experienced more."

Well, this is clearly going to become more of a headache every new piece of information he adds. He's too overwhelmed to really respond the way he ought to, but he tries to store everything anyway. For obsessing over details when he's up to it. Strange cycles of life and death and neither, terrifying. Ordinary tasks being performed, good, rather a relief, honestly. Escape, well, he's neutral right now, considering. He's sure he'd be dead if he weren't here, or he is dead and this is the result, and he can't help suspecting the same is true for Jyn and Cassian, if only because logic suggests as much.

Rather than asking her to speculate further about dying (who needs more of that) he tries to fasten onto something practical. "There's... there's work to do? Is it posted anywhere, what needs doing?" He still doesn't quite get it that there isn't some central organizing principle. Having someone be in charge has been a constant all his life, though who that is has been in flux a lot lately.

She's keen on the expression on Bodhi's face, the distant glaze in his eyes. She can see that, in an attempt to be helpful by providing information, she's beginning to overload his harried mind with data. But she lets him process as she needs, lets him take the time to think and store away what he needs to. She glances briefly to Cassian, another visual confirmation of his continued existence, then back to Bodhi.

"There is work," she replies, her expression soft at his question. "I've not seen anything posted, but that doesn't mean it isn't. My general understanding so far is that if you have a skill, you can offer it where you think it'll be most useful." A slight tilt of the head as she considers him. "I think many of the buildings here are in need of repair; I'm sure your skills will be very helpful."

He follows her gaze to the captain, just for a moment. Not for the same reason, of course. If Jyn is here, it's no stranger that she isn't here alone. It's just reassuring, knowing where the man is, that the brave and resourceful rebel officer (who apparently also has to serve as the expert for this place, poor man) is there if they need him.

He looks back to Jyn with a shallow, one-shouldered shrug. "Buildings, um... Not very much like ships." But he doesn't look discouraged. It's a small thing, but being busy is important to him. Having a purpose. He knows himself when he's got long stretches with nothing to do--that's most of the life of a long-distance cargo pilot--and he'd better avoid it for a while. If he's in a good place, it's peaceful and soothing, hours and days with no one but himself to deal with, but when there's something weighing on his mind... And everything is weighing on his mind now. He doesn't dare be idle.

When Bodhi glances to Cassian, she can't help but wonder if he feels their eyes burning into the back of his skull - if he doesn't feel the weight of what they've placed on him, of what she has placed on in particular. She knows he's strong, capable; she wonders if he's strong enough to bear the weight.

"No, but there are bound to be some fundamentals in common. You are intelligent - and quick-witted. I have no doubt you'll figure them out, Bodhi. And I'm sure you'll do it quickly." Jyn's words are meant to be encouraging, but they are also full of truth. She isn't the type to say things only for the sake of saying them, or to purely stroke the ego - there has to be conviction behind them, and she does - for all of Bodhi's idiosyncrasies - believe him to be exceptionally intelligent, in many ways. "But we - Cassian and I - are here, so you needn't figure it all out on your own."

With uncanny timing, that was when Cassian received his tray from the bar. He returned and set down in front of them a smattering of warm food items and cold drinks that could be as easily polished off by a very hungry one as subdivided among a more nonchalant three.

"I decided I'm in the mind to commemorate, so you two are going to keep me company," he said, to forestall any protestation at the spread. He picked up a glass of water, handed it to Jyn; then picked up two glasses of something a bit more colorful (with more biting aroma) in either hand, presenting them to Bodhi to him to choose his own. Cassian wasn't much more for recreational drinking than Jyn was. He didn't like the swirling, dulling of his senses; in of itself, and because over the years he'd grown to associate it too particularly with a need—when nothing else was available and senses must be dulled. Usually in farewell. Posthumous or preemptive.

But they did indeed have some farewells to say. And if Bodhi hadn't been a total outcast among pilots in Cassian's experience (and he had indeed spent time among Imperial ones too), he'd be an ascriber to the ritual. And sometimes rituals had value. And Cassian wasn't going to let either of them do it alone.

Holding out his glass, in salute both to the other two and to the air, with sudden graveness, Cassian—who had turned it over and over in his mind, then decided yes it was worth trying to say aloud—said, with the weight of every individual name behind it: "Rogue One."

Edited 2017-02-20 01:28 (UTC)

It's hard to think of eating right now. Not because he's not hungry, but because he hasn't spared a thought for things like hunger for a long time. Especially like this. Sitting down to nibble on things at a cantina with a few friends is something that belonged to the Bodhi Rook before secret missions, before desperate scrambles to salvage a rebellion he'd come to have a rather mixed impression of, before Galen. That man hardly seems to exist anymore, and Bodhi has trouble reaching for his experience.

Not that he has much of a chance to dwell on it. He's not exactly eager to follow Cassian's line of thinking, but at least the Captain softens the blow. Rogue One. It lets him think of things with a little necessary distance, of the ship, the mass of volunteers, the mission to save everything and everyone would they or not. It doesn't force him to think Tonc, Chirrut, Baze, K-2, though of course he does anyway. It's entirely his own doing that he also thinks about all the better plans he didn't come up with in time, the ways he might have saved the ship and some of the crew, all of them... It doesn't matter that he can't actually come up with what those better plans would have been. A better pilot would have, and that's the inescapable part.

Certain death made atonement feel so simple. No longer. He raises his own glass in silence, eyes distant and troubled.

Jyn's tongue is pressed against the roof of her mouth, already set to protest the collection of food Cassian's gathered - but at seeing the hunger in Bodhi's eyes (although, she recognizes and realizes that it is not the hunger of the body he feels; it's the hunger of regret, and guilt, and pain - of wishing for different outcomes despite everything) - and feeling the own dull ache in her, combined with Cassian's explanation of his bounty, that submits her to a quiet sigh of resignation. It's one that Cassian knows well, and she flicks her eyes over to him to both facetiously "scold" him and thank him.

Her eyes flinch at the sound of it. The name Bodhi had given them, the gift he had given them by bestowing them with the title of Rogue One. It felt undeserving now, almost - somehow. The town felt distant enough, different enough that although the weight was one they all carried, was one they couldn't escape - and although the scars of their lives remained engraved into their skin - they could almost convince themselves it had been nothing more than a fever dream.

But the distant, dark glaze over Bodhi's eyes reminds her in an instant: it hadn't been. All of the things they had done, the chances they took (and the next, and the next, until our chances are spent ..), the choices they'd made .. had happened. There was no healing the ache at her chest, reminding her of what they'd lost.

"To Rogue One," she echoes, voice reverent and soft, lifting her glass towards her companions. She knows there's more that should be said - individual praises for the comrades they'd lost, trusted, cherished. But nothing would feel right - nothing would feel enough for them - so instead, she stays silent, bringing her glass to her lips, reaching a hand out to gently rest on Bodhi's forearm to remind him - we're here.

Edited 2017-02-20 06:10 (UTC)

Cassian looks into the glass and uses the optical distortion to let his eyes unfocus. Open, but not seeing what was here.

Basteren. Calfor. Casrich. Îmwe. Kappehl. Malbus. Mefran. Melshi. Pao. Rostok. Sefla. Tonc.
Andor. Erso. Rook.

He had their names. Their faces. Their files. Their shared experiences, missions, and stories. He'd known and worked with each of them.

He might be literally the only person in any universe who now, or had ever, possessed that list.

No one else aboard that shuttle had known all of the faces around them. No one else had actually worked with each component of this team. The two people beside him here had only met the others and each other within the last 48 hours. Some of the agents and soldiers had never met one another at all. They hadn't logged anything when they left. There would be no one to submit a report.

Draven would probably be able to assemble the roster after the fact. (Whether or not anyone else wanted him to.) But perhaps incompletely. Cassian left behind his report of Fracture, but was that enough for Chirrut and Baze, who had been officially unaffilliated to either side, be remembered by name…?

Our names don't matter. We don't matter. The cause matters.

They didn't do it for memorial. No one need remember it was them. As long as it got done. As long as the Rebellion survived.

And all of these were structures they didn't apply to anymore. He, Jyn, and Bodhi were outside of it. And trying to carry the weight of it here with them… had no impact whatever on what mattered. Which was those things, back where they belonged, carrying on without them. In some small part, because of them. But without them.

Eyes briefly closing, Cassian reinstated the one omitted name. The one other who would have kept all their names. But who himself would too likely be left off any memorial even if it were made.

Kay.

And downed his drink.

Quietly set the glass down.

That wouldn't be the end of it in his own blood and mind, of course. It needn't be the end between the three of them… if the others brought it up. He wouldn't. (Shirking his responsibility, perhaps, as initiator of this ritual, to follow it up with the kind of storytelling the alcohol was meant to let loose. But it wouldn't be a shared experience. Again: they'd all barely known each other. And reading the body language of the other two, it didn't seem it would aid in cleaning the wound. Not yet.)

So, clicking easily into place, a different one. Owning the dissociative awkwardness of being bound by the intimacy of service and self-sacrifice to someone with whom you never actually got any level of familiarity.

Cassian turned in his seat to Bodhi. "You realize we have a chance now to actually meet." With some deliberate self-mockery, Cassian extended his hand. "Cassian Andor. Fest via Outer Rim. Lapsed imperial infantry brat. You?"

Edited 2017-02-20 08:12 (UTC)

Bodhi blinks owlishly at him, wholly incapable of shifting gears like that. Maybe for the Captain it's possible, but his thoughts are still roiling with fire and death. The air sizzling for all the blaster fire, the ground shaking with AT-ACT footsteps, merciless sun shining through the mist on blood and debris. Voices, sharp and bright and indistinguishable, in pain and rage and desperation. A hand on his shoulder, a gruffly kind offer disguised as an insult, good nature and attention that seems directed at him despite what he is that burns like the bone-deep sweet fire of whiskey on the tongue when he thinks of the body on the ground. A boot half-melted to his foot from bolting through one of the fires on his way to secure the wire. The dead and the dying, so many of them his fault.

It was never part of his life the way it was Cassian's. War would find you on Jedha, but war wasn't the same as taking part in the battle. Crouching against a market stall and begging the Force to keep the worst away never felt like this. Bystander and player are very different roles.

After far too many heartbeats he tries to answer. "Um. I--you know, though. Cargo pilot." He forgets to add defected. "NiJedha." He pronounces the proper name (not "Jedha City") with a native's soft grace, reverence built into the word. "Mid-Rim. You... you were there."

Cassian gives Bodhi a gentle smile. Not wanting to make him feel they were laughing at him, Cassian refrains from shooting an inside-joke glance at Jyn. (As well as the inside joke being something they'd rather not bring out here to share with anyone else. You were there for it.) …But that's not a congruous feeling to entertain right now, given Jedha's fate. It wasn't back there, going on without them.

Not just about retroactively trying to build more foundation—more cushion for the harder things to talk about, if/when they need to—but also with the interest of a common pursuit: "What made you become a pilot?"

Nothing from his past is free of discomfort right now, but the effort to turn the conversation to softer subjects is appreciated. "I wanted to fly." Truth, if only the beginning of a truth. He can feel so many justifications waiting behind the words, that there wasn't any local work to be had, that the junk stall that was all the war had left of an elegant tea shop couldn't support even the three Rooks who were left, that there was immense pressure for families to do their part and demonstrate loyalty, especially families who'd been regulars at the temple back before the war. It was a choice. Pretending otherwise is self-serving. "I was good enough for a cargo license."

There was a risk Bodhi might think Cassian was laughing at him, which he wasn't, but Cassian couldn't help it. "I haven't met many war heroes as self-deprecating as you," Cassian said. With pointedness and warmth. As if defending Bodhi from… Bodhi. Yes, trauma, uncertainty, the impossible, grief… but they were bound together by mutual self-sacrifice, and if Bodhi didn't realize he was absolutely anyone's equal… he deserved to.

It was a nice gesture. It just felt wholly undeserved. The kind of war hero who missed all but a few days of the war. And made it worse for the right side for all that time he missed. Right. "I don't remember doing a lot of difficult flying," he said dryly, eyes on his drink. "Actually, um, I think it was all covered by a general shuttle license."

Jyn's been respectfully quiet, preferring (as usual) to listen rather than speak. Although she and Cassian are still discovering each other - past lives included - he's more familiar to her than Bodhi. They've had more time together. Part of her wants to let forth a barrage of questions about who Bodhi was, before - before Rogue One, before Jedha, before -

She wonders if he's still struggling with the effects of Bor Gullet, if the fountain managed to mend some of those broken mental strings. She knows better than to ask.

The other part of her, of course, adheres to the self-protective protocol of her life and knows there's no real need to know all the details of his life, not in the greater sense, anyway. Certainly it shows interest, it shows respect for himself as an individual with a lived life behind him. But it's not as though she has some greater purpose for the intel.

Still, she decides to pursue the latter part, a bit.

"Were you anything prior to being a pilot?"

Edited 2017-03-05 08:41 (UTC)

He shifts in his chair a little, eyes still down. He's being irrational and he knows it. The questions are perfectly ordinary, questions he's answered in cantinas over drinks with dozens of pilots, mechanics, and landing pad crews. Questions he'll probably answer here plenty of times, too. It's how people get to know each other. Sometimes he can even cue himself close enough to the script to ask the same questions back. But it's different with these two. His life is such a small, banal thing beside theirs, and talking around the parts he doesn't dare talk about isn't the same with someone who knows something of them already.

Wanting to escape this conversation is just as cowardly as everything else he's ever done, though, and he stays put. "Kept accounts for my mother?" Bad idea thinking about her. There's no reason at all to think she wasn't in the city when... "I wasn't quite, um, eighteen when I--when I left for the academy. Not a lot of chance to..."

It doesn't take a spy's skill set to tell that this is backfiring.

Hard or impossible as it may be for Bodhi to think so yet, Cassian has no negative judgment for what Bodhi's apparently feeling. "Normal" conversation can turn so easily to interrogation… even for someon who hadn't so recently, literally, brutally been interrogated. As Bodhi had. If anything, seeing Bodhi's difficulty gave Cassian a renewed sense of regard for him. Yes, passing for normal could be hard work indeed. Passing or failing, ideally, wasn't the metric that mattered. Just taking on the task was heroic.

So… for all he was intent never again to outright lie, it was okay to choose to play. It wasn't quite working to bring Bodhi out to where they (mercifully) were; time to try joining Bodhi where he was.

Which was… to see himself as inferior, outside.

All right. Simple countermove. Instead of trying to draw Bodhi out to build him up, Cassian could work on humanizing himself.

All of which assessment took about the span of a heartbeat.

First and easiest; Cassian slung his arm over the back of his chair. It was a conscious choice, but still natural—remembering to counteract what was unnatural. But by practice had become default. It was subtle enough but broke all the straight lines of his too-honed posture. They didn't have to wait here to be given permission to be "at ease". But if any part of Bodhi was still considering Cassian a superior officer, then it's okay, he was granting it.

Hopefully none of this would actually catch Bodhi's (or Jyn's—though she had caught onto him too quickly even the first time round) conscious attention. Cassian wasn't trying to manipulate him. Just help modulate the scenario.

Next: force himself to share something he wasn't particularly comfortable with. …And Bodhi had been talking about the Academy, and not feeling he'd made enough of himself… and had just had that flash in his eyes mentioning his mother…

For all it's his tactical brain making these suggestions… it doesn't mean that when Cassian follows them, the results aren't genuine.

They are.

Looking into his glass, gently swirling the contents, Cassian managed to keep his tone amiable. But there was also the air of mutual confession. "I understand, I think… I was a kid but I was raised at the Academy. Sort of. Circumstances intervened when I was still pretty young." They probably both know how young. "But my father took me there with him, before I was old enough to remember anything else. The one thing I probably did understand fully was how it left him no time, no room, for anything else. Didn't really want him to be an individual person. Not even for a son. He was training for Imperial intelligence." A somewhat shamefaced smile, focused on Bodhi, with an including glance at Jyn. "I don't know if that's irony or not." He'd certainly found it hard to swallow when that was the track he was headhunted for with the Rebellion.

The shift in Cassian's posture isn't unnoticed, but she doesn't draw attention to it. She subtly mirrors, not in an overly conspicuous way, but allows herself to relax. Sits back to press her body against the rear of the seat, casually crosses her legs at the ankles, rests the butt of her glass in her lap. She's picked up the same uncomfortable, nervous tension that Cassian has. For all of the things he did for them, the last thing Jyn wants to do is make Bodhi more anxious than he already is.

She bites the tip of her tongue, trying to will herself to share bits of her own past with Bodhi (Cassian already knows some of it), and is grateful that Cassian goes first. Listens to him intently, admires and respects his willingness to share and open himself up. Softens her expression when he glances at her, brings her attention back to Bodhi. Inhales to fortify herself.

"You already know my father," Jyn starts, stops, corrects herself, "Already knew my father. I'd been born on Vallt, in a separatist prison. I don't remember any of it, but I was told we'd gone from Vallt to Coruscant to Lokori and then back to Coruscant. I remember the second time." Her eyes go somewhere distant, recalling the memories. "Then we escaped to Lah'mu. Lived peacefully for a few years, until -" She shifts in the seat, eyes falling to her glass. "Krennic came, found us. My father had me run, tried to save my mother and me, but my mother went back. Shot Krennic in the shoulder and then was shot by his troops. I ran to a bunker he'd created, hid. They took my father." It's all a list of rather sterile facts, and there's only a slight wavering in her voice to betray the stoic exterior she's displaying - but after she's done, she clears her throat, shifts again in her seat, takes a long sip of water. Shrugs somewhat weakly. "Just once, I want to hear about someone who's had a good childhood," she mutters, a bitter laugh following.

La paz llegará, el amor siempre vivirá—No me ames, mas quedate otro dia

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