![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png){kind=small}
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
enlistingWHO: Cassian Andor
WHERE: The Fountain, The Inn, and around the village
WHEN: April 22-24 (Arrival and first few days)
OPEN TO: Arrival closed to Moana, everything else OTA!
WARNINGS: General warnings for this character/canon apply — mentions of war, trauma, death, all that cheerful stuff in the narrative
STATUS: Open
ARRIVAL (APRIL 22) — CLOSED
Cassian hasn't put much time into speculating about how he'd die, just lived with the knowledge that he would, sooner rather than later. If pressed, the scenario he'd come up with might be something like this: his luck running out somewhere behind enemy lines, without resources and his comlink gone dark, left to bleed out quietly, no one aware. (Ideal, if he's done his job well enough.) The presence of another person has never entered into the equation, nor has the feeling of a steady hand reaching for his, of holding onto something real and being held in return, of the warmth that comes with knowing that, for the rest of his life, he isn't alone.
In the end, he thinks, it's a good death. Better than he could've asked for, and, frankly, better than he deserves.
And then — it isn't.
He can't say with certainty what it feels like to be obliterated, just like Jedha, but he's sure this isn't it. There's only time to register that something isn't quite right before the wall of water hits him, knocks him backward with the force of an explosion. Reflex kicks in then, guiding him to push toward the light until his fingers grasp onto something solid and his head breaks the surface.
When he climbs out of the fountain, he finds no trace of Scarif — his feet stand on stone rather than sink into sand, the air is balmy and pleasant rather than hot and oppressive, the horizon is clear. There's no sound in his general vicinity other than the gentle bubbling of water behind him; blaster fire is as distant as memory. With a panic that starts in his chest and quickly spreads through the rest of him, he realizes that he's alone.
But panic, he knows, will do him no good. Even if it's difficult, almost impossible, because one name (Jyn) beats around his brain over and over again, he forces the next logical sequence of steps into focus. Take a breath. Regroup. Get a lay of the land. Keep moving forward.
He has no other choice.
RECONNAISSANCE (APRIL 22-24) — OPEN
Over the next few days, he does just that — he keeps moving forward, directs his efforts toward learning whatever he can about this place. Being idle has never suited him; that's still true now. A job is a job, even one that's self-imposed, and a job keeps his body moving and his mind occupied, keeps him from dwelling on what he can't afford to.
If there's a hub in this village, the Inn seems to be it. People continually filter in and out of the pub on the ground floor, and it's as good a spot as any to establish a base of operations, so to speak. As of right now, the locals are his best resource, one he knows how to tap into. He finds a strategic table in clear view of the front door, and employs various means of catching the attention of whoever happens to pass by — sometimes a nod, other times a polite smile, a conversational "What would you suggest?" for those who stop.
One location won't provide a complete picture, however, so he can be found out and about as well. He walks the streets, building a mental map as he goes, taking stock of apparent resource availability. Anyone in his vicinity may receive the same treatment as those who'd passed by him in the pub. He may not know who or what he can trust, if anything at all, but information is information.
He has to start somewhere.
[ooc: if you'd like a starter with another scenario in the timeline of these first few days, feel free to hit me up via PM or plurk, and we can hash something out! c: i'll add it as a top-level comment within this log]
WHERE: The Fountain, The Inn, and around the village
WHEN: April 22-24 (Arrival and first few days)
OPEN TO: Arrival closed to Moana, everything else OTA!
WARNINGS: General warnings for this character/canon apply — mentions of war, trauma, death, all that cheerful stuff in the narrative
STATUS: Open
ARRIVAL (APRIL 22) — CLOSED
Cassian hasn't put much time into speculating about how he'd die, just lived with the knowledge that he would, sooner rather than later. If pressed, the scenario he'd come up with might be something like this: his luck running out somewhere behind enemy lines, without resources and his comlink gone dark, left to bleed out quietly, no one aware. (Ideal, if he's done his job well enough.) The presence of another person has never entered into the equation, nor has the feeling of a steady hand reaching for his, of holding onto something real and being held in return, of the warmth that comes with knowing that, for the rest of his life, he isn't alone.
In the end, he thinks, it's a good death. Better than he could've asked for, and, frankly, better than he deserves.
And then — it isn't.
He can't say with certainty what it feels like to be obliterated, just like Jedha, but he's sure this isn't it. There's only time to register that something isn't quite right before the wall of water hits him, knocks him backward with the force of an explosion. Reflex kicks in then, guiding him to push toward the light until his fingers grasp onto something solid and his head breaks the surface.
When he climbs out of the fountain, he finds no trace of Scarif — his feet stand on stone rather than sink into sand, the air is balmy and pleasant rather than hot and oppressive, the horizon is clear. There's no sound in his general vicinity other than the gentle bubbling of water behind him; blaster fire is as distant as memory. With a panic that starts in his chest and quickly spreads through the rest of him, he realizes that he's alone.
But panic, he knows, will do him no good. Even if it's difficult, almost impossible, because one name (Jyn) beats around his brain over and over again, he forces the next logical sequence of steps into focus. Take a breath. Regroup. Get a lay of the land. Keep moving forward.
He has no other choice.
RECONNAISSANCE (APRIL 22-24) — OPEN
Over the next few days, he does just that — he keeps moving forward, directs his efforts toward learning whatever he can about this place. Being idle has never suited him; that's still true now. A job is a job, even one that's self-imposed, and a job keeps his body moving and his mind occupied, keeps him from dwelling on what he can't afford to.
If there's a hub in this village, the Inn seems to be it. People continually filter in and out of the pub on the ground floor, and it's as good a spot as any to establish a base of operations, so to speak. As of right now, the locals are his best resource, one he knows how to tap into. He finds a strategic table in clear view of the front door, and employs various means of catching the attention of whoever happens to pass by — sometimes a nod, other times a polite smile, a conversational "What would you suggest?" for those who stop.
One location won't provide a complete picture, however, so he can be found out and about as well. He walks the streets, building a mental map as he goes, taking stock of apparent resource availability. Anyone in his vicinity may receive the same treatment as those who'd passed by him in the pub. He may not know who or what he can trust, if anything at all, but information is information.
He has to start somewhere.
[ooc: if you'd like a starter with another scenario in the timeline of these first few days, feel free to hit me up via PM or plurk, and we can hash something out! c: i'll add it as a top-level comment within this log]
