i'm pinned down by the dark; makes my head pirouette

[kestreldawn]

WHO: Jyn Erso
WHERE: By the fountain/Jyn and Cassian's Cabin
WHEN: Future-dated to March 16, late afternoon/evening
OPEN TO: OTA/Cassian (Separate thread posted for Kira)
WARNINGS: Mention of war, blood (sort of self-harmy?), violence (Will update as needed)
STATUS: Open

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// OTA - By the Fountain //

It had been a mistake, realized too late: attempting to climb the precipice in the northern part of town. She hadn't been doing it for any reason other than pure curiosity - wanting to know first-hand whether the stories she'd been told held any truth ("no one can leave," "everyone who tries is struck down," "the only way out is by death").

Even more foolish had been her attempting to do it alone.

She'd reached about ten feet up when the first floating orb wafted by. She hadn't thought much of it until another one showed, then another, then another - until they practically congealed around her in a brilliant, blinding burst of light - and for a moment she thought, the air sucked out of her lungs -

Scarif. The Death Star. It's happening again.

And in her panic, she'd begun to flail her arms while trying to maintain her grip on the rock's surface, not realizing that this would agitate the insects - or that they would retaliate against her.

It had been one sting - a little zap of pain on the side of her neck. She swatted, bringing palm to skin with a resounding slap. Then it was another, on her left arm - then four more through the fabric of her shirt on the expanse of her back. She leapt down from the crag, covering the back of her neck as she tried to run away, tried to escape the incessant daggers masquerading as flying insects.

It's when she reaches the fountain that the hallucinations and paranoia begin to set in.

She is back at war, back in the jungles of Onderon. She reaches for the blaster at her thigh only to discover it's been lost - or worse, taken. She ducks for cover in a small patch of trees, heartbeat thudding loudly in her ears, breathing short and furious. She trembles, petrified of an unknown enemy, wondering where the kriff her comrades have gone off to; have they left her behind?

// Cassian - The Cabin //

She hadn't told anyone where she was going that morning - not even Cassian. Part of it was because she didn't wholeheartedly believe in the danger, despite the warnings she'd received. Part of it was because she knew the reprimanding sort of look he would give her if she had told him - the silent worry glittering like a galaxy behind the blackness of his eyes. She couldn't stand to see it. So, she'd ventured out alone - didn't lie or come up with an alternative excuse, just said she would be back later.

After the attack, she eventually finds her way back to the cabin - some dull, weak part of her brain remembers it - knows it's familiar. She still sees the jungle, still feels the oppressive heat and the stink of rotting vegetation, but there's something in her, underneath the layers of fever and projected surroundings, that knows this place is safe. Or safer than the rest.

She's crouching, hiding underneath their porch - taking cover from imagined enemy fire that feels more real than the dirt pressing against her belly. Mutters and curses to herself that she's lost her weapon and has been left defenseless, not realizing the volume at which she speaks.

Comments

. for kira .

[kestreldawn]

by the fountain

She needs to find cover, needs to keep moving. Stagnation is a sure path to being found, being captured, being killed. Eyes survey madly to find the next location - and as she goes to move, putting her full weight behind the lunge forward, her toes catches on a rock she hadn't seen, sending her crashing to the ground. She puts her hands out to break her fall, palms scraping against the rocky dirt, face angled to the side and caked in earth. She groans at the electricity of pain jolting through her body, the wind sucked out of her lungs.

[candor1]

He woke with a jolt and a sense of something wrong.

Fractured fragments of a dream…

Pero aquellas que el vuelo refrenaban
Aquellas que aprendieron nuestros nombres...

Las palabras ardientes a sonar;

mudo y absorto y de rodillas,
Como yo te he querido...

Tal vez despertara—

His fingers spread to seek her and clenched on the empty bed.

mi dicha a contemplar,
¡Tu no volveran!

He sat stark upright, stomach churning.

And realized he was fully dressed.

He paused. Squinting, blinking out the window.

Sunlight…

It was still the same day.

He'd fallen asleep in daylight. No. He'd never… Not that his circadians rhythms weren't long shot to hell, with time not existing at lightspeed (—thank you, astrophysics joke—) nor in space. But whenever he had the mercy of sunlight, he'd never unknowingly wasted…

…she had said goodbye. It was still the same day. She'd woken him on leaving. He'd gotten up shortly after her. But still exhausted from strenuous dreaming that had made sleep unrestful, he'd not gotten far in his day before he… surrendered and lay back down.

All right. All right.

So it was all right that she wasn't here.

…And yet… it wasn't.

Perhaps on a level of frequency even his trained ears couldn't consciously hear, but through some subliminal quantum vibration, she had managed to call to him. Perhaps it was the not waiting to detoxify his autonomic nervous sytem. Perhaps it was the Force.

Whatever it was. He found himself pulling on his boots and going downstairs… going to the door. As if pulled by the crystal pendant against his chest. (Or the muscle and blood behind it.)

Then he heard her. Sounding so unlike herself his hand convulsed (as it still did sometimes against his will going for an absent blaster). Perhaps it wasn't her at all but another waking dream…

But his senses checked everything—the light, the smells, the air—and he was awake and this was real and the voice persisted. Sounding as if it were right beside him… but there was no one…

Frowning, he shunted the autonomic and reactivated the agent brain.

Sound doesn't travel through space. It does through air. Through water. Flesh. Through…

wood.

Honing in on her signal, he stepped from the porch to the ground, his boots digging into earth, and knelt to look under.

"Jyn!" he called—though instinct kept the cry half-whispered. He instantly ducked and made his way under the porch toward her.

He stopped much shorter than he meant to. Much further away.

He wondered what had reined him in. He'd meant to go to… touch her.

And realized it was the autonomic brain once more—saving him this time. Recognizing in her body language—his muscles before his mind—that if he got too close she might flee or… strike.

…What? …Him? Her?

…And belatedly processed what she was saying.

His eyes widened. Heart behind the crystal stalled.

…He doesn't know what's happened. To make her dissociate. Take her away.

…this is how she feels whenever I…

…But he knows how to speak to a soldier mid-crisis, in this state.

"Erso," he intoned, low and gentle. A frequency pitched to soothe, opposite spectral end from blasterfire or warcry. Yet still clear enough to reach her. …And if that didn't work, more gently: "Stardust." Reasserting order in the universe: "Report."

[onlyeverdoubted]

Bodhi tends to avoid the fountain. No good associations with his near drowning, after all. But he does do a lot of meandering and hasn't steered himself away again before furtive movement catches his eye. He doesn't even recognize Jyn immediately, just the kind of motion that means a threat. He freezes for a moment, heart thudding in his ears, fighting the urge to cringe behind a tree himself, and makes himself stride forward with effort.

He's rewarded for the struggle when he does realize who he's following. He can't see what the problem is, but his first impulse is to assume she can, not that bug bites are causing hallucinations now. Trying clumsily to not be visible either, something he utterly fails at, he keeps a careful distance and pitches his voice low, vaguely remembering someone telling him that a whisper carries further. "Jyn?"

3/20/17 | The Spring

[3ofswords]

Every day, he would wake up, notch his bedpost at the inn, and slot the new number into his mind. There's a semblance of control in keeping track of the days, in knowing how long he's been here, even if it's not entirely accurate.

Their second day in the forest, he'd found and peeled the twigs from a decent branch, something to hold onto in the fog, something to test the path ahead with, pretend he might use to fend some one or some thing off. He should have taken the bat, should have taken the time for a lot of things--a note for Credence, a second search for Jyn--but his face had been throbbing, his throat aching, and Casey had been afraid.

Even after the fireflies, he'd only nodded and packed the rest of his things up from their room at the inn. If there was some delusional fever going around, he wasn't equipped to deal with it, and he knew holing up away from people was the only way to wait it out. At least with Casey and the dog, he felt safer out in the trees.

The branch is behind him, within easy reach, four notches at the top to add to the rest when they go back. And they will go back, he thinks, if things don't seem to be getting worse. It's too damp out, too cold at night, and the spring is a poor replacement for indoor plumbing.

It's also a bit strange, spending so much time with Casey. Every day, every night, feeling the double edged blade of his anxiety and relief. The forest seems to make sense to him, the edge of fear a familiar blanket he draws around them both. Kira's indulging it, glad to at least narrow his focus to one person, but he's stolen a bit of time for himself this morning, slipping south to the spring from their last camp. He takes the time to wash his face and sit for a bit, acclimating to a sense of the space, before he strips down to his underwear to get in. The heat of it helps combat the damp chill of sleep in a foggy wood, and getting in is the only relief for the lingering ache of his jaw, the bruising gone deep purple with green edges by now.

Touching it gingerly, after he's slid into the water and swum out from the shallow edge, he hopes wherever Jyn found to hide, she's alright. That the fever didn't burn her out, that she didn't lose her memories or sense permanently. There's guilt in staying away, but his ego isn't great enough to imagine he'd contribute much to the recovery. If she's gone or going, right now, he'd rather stay ignorant of it for as long as he's able.