Jyn doesn't have friends. Has she ever? She thinks of her toys, left behind on Coruscant and in the dirt on Lah'mu. Thinks of the characters in the holodramas she'd loved. Her Mama, her Papa. They'd been her friends.
And they'd all been taken.
No, she had no friends. She had her comrades in arms, the men and women she'd been forced to rely on to keep her alive as they had with her. She had Saw, a terrible surrogate to Galen but a surrogate all the same. He'd started losing his grip on reality long ago - more and more distant as the years wore on. She'd seen the looks, heard the whispers, knew the beliefs about her that circulated around the camp.
They'd started to figure it out. Figure her out.
Friends. What a ludicrous idea.
"How could you be a friend? I don't know you," she seethes, each word accented acutely with the click of tongues and teeth. She's managed to slide herself close to the outer edge of the porch, and with a considering glance towards the man (why does he look so terribly sad?), she rolls her body to the right and springs up as soon as there's no cover over her head. Doesn't take the time to dust herself or spit the grains of dirt and sand in her mouth, feels them against her teeth and under her tongue. Something about sand gnaws at the back of her mind; sand .. beach .. planet ..
But is quickly shut down by the fever.
Hands come up, balled and ready - knowing now he won't let her leave without a fight.
"The same side," she scoffs, snorting her incredulity. "You aren't on my side. You aren't on my side!"
no subject
Friend.
Jyn doesn't have friends. Has she ever? She thinks of her toys, left behind on Coruscant and in the dirt on Lah'mu. Thinks of the characters in the holodramas she'd loved. Her Mama, her Papa. They'd been her friends.
And they'd all been taken.
No, she had no friends. She had her comrades in arms, the men and women she'd been forced to rely on to keep her alive as they had with her. She had Saw, a terrible surrogate to Galen but a surrogate all the same. He'd started losing his grip on reality long ago - more and more distant as the years wore on. She'd seen the looks, heard the whispers, knew the beliefs about her that circulated around the camp.
They'd started to figure it out. Figure her out.
Friends. What a ludicrous idea.
"How could you be a friend? I don't know you," she seethes, each word accented acutely with the click of tongues and teeth. She's managed to slide herself close to the outer edge of the porch, and with a considering glance towards the man (why does he look so terribly sad?), she rolls her body to the right and springs up as soon as there's no cover over her head. Doesn't take the time to dust herself or spit the grains of dirt and sand in her mouth, feels them against her teeth and under her tongue. Something about sand gnaws at the back of her mind; sand .. beach .. planet ..
But is quickly shut down by the fever.
Hands come up, balled and ready - knowing now he won't let her leave without a fight.
"The same side," she scoffs, snorting her incredulity. "You aren't on my side. You aren't on my side!"