albinomilksnake | STAR WARS: possible spoiler warning

[And somehow they survived.

It shouldn't be as shocking as it is. It's not like he didn't go into every fight expecting to come out the other end, and it wasn't like he hadn't just survived two impossible situations, face to face with the hand of the First Order and then plummeting to an almost certain death on a planet at the ass-end of the Galaxy.

But here he was. Surprised. Glad, he'd lost some of his squad, but not all of them. He'd sent that shot right where he needed to. And Finn, his impossible friend, he'd succeeded.

Not exactly unscathed, though. Hell of a hole through his jacket. He'd managed to stop the med Droid from throwing it away, but making it useful again was in his admittedly less than capable hands. The callouses on his fingers for perfectly to the controls of an x-wing, but they provided very little defense against the sharp silvery needle that was currently stitching the long slit along the back of the leather closed.]

Ah- [He manages to choke off the pained noise, somehow harder to do than stand against torture.]

I'm starting to think I should have let someone else handle this.

[Spoken, cheerful enough, in the direction of the sickbed.]

Edited 2015-12-24 08:20 (UTC)

[First Order? They keep their ships cold. Cold as their rules and regulations, cold as the planet they hollowed out to its core, slow-rotted like a tooth without its root. So it doesn't bother him the way it probably does her, the cold of space, hunkering down in his seat as stars drift by - an endless ocean of pitch spattered with vibrant color.

He can't sleep; it's just nothing to do with the temperature of the ship, or the backdrop behind them. Keeps his hands to himself, tucked up under the edges of his-- well, not really his-- jacket, afraid that he might brush up against one of the hundreds of buttons and switches scattered literally all around them.]

Did you uh, did you check the scanners again?

[She's awake because she can't sleep - the cold sticks way down in her skin, but no more than night on the sand, really; what really has her awake, sharpened to a point, is the tug on her of the planet they've left behind. It's quiet and still and for every minute she sits behind the array of buttons and levers and small, blinking lights is a minute too long gone from where she should be. It's easy to think that in cold, half illuminated cockpit as she chews the inside of her cheek and stares out into the darkness, to the patchwork of stars. She hadn't had an option. Escape was the only way to survive the First Order's assault on the outpost and she's agreed to take BB-8 to where he belonged. She'd sworn to him that she'd do it. What had she expected to happen? Of course that would lead to leaving the planet.

What was she thinking? What if this was the moment someone came looking for her? What if she missed her one opportunity by flying off at the drop of a hat?--

His voice beside her doesn't shake her, but it does make her blink - dulls some of that point that has her so focused on the view of the stars beyond the stolen ship's viewing window. It's a small flicker, no more obvious than resetting her jaw, but it still feels like she's been caught in a sensitive moment. So for a second she doesn't answer, forcing herself to calmly reach out and make the same small adjustments to the manual navigation that she's been doing for the past three hours.]

Of course I did.

Hey, you want to trade, I'm all in. [Said, unsurprisingly, without context thanks to the fact that his eyes are still pinched shut, fingers flexing and unflexing against what passes for a blanket by the rebellion's standards. His back feels raw, even with the painkillers they've (thankfully) stuffed him full of, like all the flesh is gone, leaving only bone and nerves and-- whatever else there is pressed to the mattress. Tendons maybe. He doesn't know.

It's the first time he's been awake, really awake, since staring down Kylo-nightmare-in-the-dark- Ren: he's no medical professional, but he's fairly certain it's way, way too soon.]

No thanks. I'm allergic to lightsabers. Why do you think I spend all my time in the air?

[Not true. He spent most of his time in the vacuum of space. Far, far away from the air, the way it would drag you down and weigh on your ship and leave you slow and dull and vulnerable.

But it's just a saying.

He jams the finger into his mouth for a second, needle halfway down the cut and pierced through still. Glances up from under his eyelashes at Finn, practically grey from exhaustion and whatever meds they were pumping him full of. But alive. There was always that.]

Have they tried to give you a rank yet?

Edited 2015-12-24 09:33 (UTC)

I'm just saying they're pretty quick, you know? [He's seen it firsthand, and it's there, that tension in his shoulders when he stops to look at her for just a second-- downgrading to watching her via his peripheral vision. Tie fighters snapping up their prey, scouts first, then the relay, then the destroyers - old relics still breathing in the fumes of a scorched Empire. Replays it in the back of his skull, sees the glint of polished metal out there between planets where there's nothing but void.] These guys don't mess around. I've seen it happen a hundred times-- maybe more.

I have it under control.

[She can. She know she can. She might not know this ship, but she knows it components - she knows the kinds of wires that go into it, the connections those wires meet, what they power and how much draw those pieces push and pull. She knows the value of parts and what they're good for which is, she hopes, just as good as knowing how to run. That part she isn't an expert on.

But this isn't running, she reminds herself. They're going toward something and that's different. It still has something beating irregular behind her rib cage, but she refuses to listen to it.]

Honestly? No idea. [One eye, then the other, all careful in exposing himself to the sharp, jarring ache in his skull that comes with artificial light. When the last real, coherent memory you have is your heart hammering up in your throat, it's easy to want to wipe it out - replace it with the face of someone familiar. Someone you like.

Funny, how long he'd spent living his life as a number alongside numbers. A friend he couldn't really call a friend, not even after he died. It should have been easy to run at the first sign of freedom (he'd already done it once, hadn't he?) and instead...

Instead he's here. Screwed up and patched up, and there's got to be something wrong in that somewhere, but he can't find it. Doesn't want to.] Maybe once they figure out whether or not I can still walk.

[If they're anything like the Imperials, he'll get a bigger promotion if he can't. Gunnery assistant. Targetting technician. Maybe something better if they like him; one of the generals got his salary from blowing off an arm when one of the evac droids went volatile. Bad programming.

Lucky break.]

[Finn manages to open his eyes, and that's hard. Poe knows it, so the least he can manage in return is a smile that reaches all the way to his own. It's not hard.]

Of course you can. [He says it like it'll make it true. Maybe it will. He was about as force sensitive as a stone but there had to be some power, even in him. And there were plenty of other people who were hoping for the same. One of them, at least, more in tune with the force than he was.]

Back during the first rebellion- do they teach this stuff to you guys?— they had a big ceremony after the death star was destroyed. The first one, I mean. It was a turning point. People could start to see the light again. Picture a better future.

[He looks back down, picks up the needle again. In, across, out.]

It gave people hope. You did, too. That monster was a lot worse than the death star.

Edited 2015-12-24 10:03 (UTC)

And I believe you, okay. I do. [One hand pressed to his chest, finally meeting her stare to try and impart a little directness-- a little weight to the conversation where she might opt to otherwise brush him off. The Lieutenants did it, Phasma did it: he's not an actor, but he grew up watching humans twisting themselves under pressure, creating pressure, cycling it all back around again. He knows how to fake it.

Probably.]

That's why I trust you with BB-8, and that's why I had your back back there. But this mission? It's huge. We're talking survival of the rebellion huge, and that-- [He taps the panel between them, instantly recoiling when it beeps like something's been pressed before recovering his own figurative footing.] means scan it again.

[There's been very little down time since the destruction of Starkiller Base, not that anyone expected any different. There were plenty of casualties, and still are plenty of fighters--both of the human and X-wing variety--out of commission.

Though BB-8's programming assigns him as a mechanic as one of his primary directives--the same for all astromech droids--he still manages to find brief moments to check in on Finn, twittering at him in concerned binary even when he's not conscious.

Sometimes, he might bring him things, like he does with Poe, though most of his gifts for Finn are vacuum-packed food squares. Humans need sustenance to repair themselves, so it's his way of helping, sort of.]

[Of course he believes her. She got them out of Niima and off Jakku. Or-- he got her onto this garbage heap of a ship and that got them off the planet. Or-- look, it doesn't really matter who got who where, just that the three of them were here on the ship and they all knew what they were doing. Kind of. She knew how to fly. BB-8 knew where to go. And Finn--

Is setting off the buttons on the center console. She makes a small noise, waving his hand away so she can reconfigure the settings on what he's pushed into the wrong position. Stop that.]

Fine. I'm scanning. Again.

[And she does. Beep boop beep.]

Edited 2015-12-24 17:32 (UTC)

[It should feel good, hearing that. In a way it does, something small and warm that's all quickly overturned by the nausea that comes with hope-- other people's hopes and dreams-- resting on his own shoulders where he's only ever felt like a splinter against the grain. He isn't sure he deserves it.

But there's still the wan flex of a smile written over the white of his teeth.] Thanks, man.

I was just-- [Stops again. Thins his lips to the tune of his own heartbeat, throbbing away in his veins, his skull. If he's tired of anything by this point, he's tired of lying. Opens his eyes again, and there's a clearness to it that doesn't run parallel to all the drugs or medical equipment.] I didn't-- do it for them.

I mean I knew it was the right thing to do, but I didn't go back pretending I was a hero. [One beat:] I went back for her.

[Alright, yeah, the drugs are definitely still in there.]

[With Starkiller Base little more than space dust and the First Order momentarily in shambles from the aftershock, the Resistance has a narrow window. It isn't much of one - everyone knows that, they must; it won't be long before they rally, before they retaliate - but hopefully its enough of an opportunity to do what's necessary. The map to Skywalker is complete; she knows what she has to do as much as everyone else seems to know she's exactly who has to do it--

--(How did she get to this point? How did she end up with Skywalker's saber at her side and the hope of the Resistance pinned beside it? does it matter? It's true now like lots of other things are true, no matter how wild and unbelievable. She tries not to think of Han Solo saying those words to her, but sometimes she does anyway. It's true. 'It's all true.')--

--But more significantly, everyone knows exactly what has to happen to get her to Skywalker and that's patching the countless holes and sheared off metal and busted pieces the Millennium Falcon had scraped by with while popping out of hyperspeed and all but crash landing on the surface of the base. It's work that needs to be finished as quickly as possible and it seems like every spare hand has been turned to the ship's repairs. Rey herself is elbow deep (literally) in one of the interior panels, stripping and rewiring fried components. It's simple, quick work, but rote in a way that helps her focus - helps her clear her mind. She isn't thinking about Skywalker or how to get to him. She isn't thinking about Finn unconscious, the scent of burned flesh and scorched leather. She isn't thinking about Kylo Ren or Han Solo or Jakku. All she's thinking about is where the end of wires fit.]

BB-8, pass me those wire cutters.

[The astromech droid's been rolling around near her for enough time now that she doesn't think twice to call after it - doesn't even look up when she does it. Besides, her hands are currently engaged with winding the wire around the conductor post.]

[The droid hums an acknowledgement and rolls to where the wire cutters lay, picking them up with its extended grabber-arm. Were the droid able to fit in the interior panel that Rey's working on, he could simply use one of his sequestered tools to snip the wires, but they're in a somewhat awkward position for a two-foot diameter ball.

BB-8 rolls carefully back to hand off the cutters, inquiring with a series of shrill beeps and chirps as to what Rey plans to do next.]

[It's a truth like the way a ship blows in space. You get a small hole and then everything comes bursting out, turns the metal and the plastic inside out, leaves a pilot in the vacuum if they'd survived the pressure and the flames. Then again, it wasn't a very small hole, and Finn was a surprisingly poor liar. He didn't want to be, is the thing. That's what he figures. He thinks he went too long lying to the Empire and now be wants to tell the truth.

A good man, like he said.

So maybe it's delicate, but Poe doesn't waste any time with his answer. Rushes in head first and trusts his instinct. That was what it was to be a pilot.]

Here's what I think. You may not have been trying to be a hero, but you went to save your friend, and that seems pretty heroic to me.

[He has, by this point, heard all the stories. Even the ones most people didn't. It was one of the few things his parents had to tell him, when he was very young, and the General was forthcoming, at times. He knew the tales about the friendship that saved the Republic. Even when it seemed like they were being foolish. And besides-

The smile fades, for a second, and he looks up again from his worm, eyebrows lifted. He was a picture of sincerity, but he was being sincere.]

It's probably not a coincidence that all your friends are good people. Heroes. If those are the people you're choosing to protect, you're probably on the right track. Birds of a feather, right?

[He can't resist the smile that settles in the corner of his mouth. It's close to playing himself up as a hero, but hell, he was the best damn pilot in the rebellion, and the only mission he'd failed turned out alright in the end. Barely haunted him at all.]

[It's not like he's lost his Droid. Not this time, at least, and after last time he's pretty sure that BB-8 would come home from anything. Besides, almost all hands were on deck for the repairs on the legendary Falcon, still in the air despite the loss.

It's a strange feeling. He doesn't- didn't- know Han Solo all that well. Not comparatively. But he knew the General, and his parents knew everybody. They talked about them like you'd talk about family. He understood that, with his squadron he understood it now better than ever. Almost enough the years he went without seeing his parents faces for longer than a week or two seemed forgiveable. They'd lost a hell of a lot more than a symbol. But they'd gained-

His fingers skate along one of the Falcon's struts as he pokes his head around, looking for a telltale roll. Plenty of people at work, but no custom Droid to be found. The hatch was open, though, and it was inviting, even if this ship wasn't exactly his kind of ride.

He takes a single breath before he ascends, like crossing a church mantle, footsteps more even and less rushed than usual. Inside is a mess, too, and honestly he's a lot more pilot than he is mechanic but even he knows it's going to take a lot of work. So he's not surprised to see his Droid lending a hand. He's a little more surprised to see who he's lending a hand to. Not that it shows. He doesn't get starstruck by Jedi. Even pretty ones.]

There you are- [He'a kind enough to make sure her head isn't in a place that jerking back will earn her a nasty bump, that she's not doing anything too delicate with her hands. Attention to detail was important.]

[It's fortunate timing, really. If she knew much of anything about Poe Dameron, maybe she'd have a passing thought along the lines of 'Typical.' But she doesn't really. As it is she has time to secure the wrapped wire, close her hand almost blindly around the wire cutters held to her by BB-8, to experience a momentary clench of adrenaline in her belly over the droid's question, and then-- then they're being interrupted by a pilot and it doesn't matter what her stomach's doing or how she doesn't really have an answer for that beyond 'Find Like Skywalker.'

Rey flicks him little more than a look. Her expression is drawn, naturally pinched and set. Then she turns the wire cutters deftly in her spare hand and dives back in to jam the sharp ends where they can do their job, snipping the extra wiring - stripping what she needs at the base of the main strand to finish securing it. It's an easy one, two motion. There. Done. Next wire. She's rapidly running through the coil in her lap.]

There's another set of wire over there. [Jerks in the direction with her temple, but doesn't look up as she measures the remaining length against what she needs, finds it suitable, strips one end and begins braiding it in.] Bring that over, would you?

[Whether she's talking to the droid or a pilot is anyone's guess.]

[BB-8 swivels its head to visually locate the indicated wire before retracting it's arm to roll in that direction more easily. The droid doesn't ignore Poe, of course, but being intent on helping Rey repair the Falcon cuts any potentially more lengthy greeting to a more staccato acknowledgment. Droids, especially of the already eccentric astromech variety, have a tendency to be somewhat single-minded.

As BB-8 retrieves the coil and returns to Rey's side--somewhat awkwardly, with its arm extended--it chirps at Poe that maybe, as someone with hands, he might lend them to their efforts.]

[His smile doesn't waver even in the face of her closed, serious look. Jedi were supposed to be serious, right? Maybe she'd been practicing. He didn't know much about her besides that, either, other than the short bursting tales BB-8 had managed to impart. She was a good pilot, apparently.

He turns his head to glance at the wire but the Droid is already rushing to comply, making his eyebrows raise slightly. He could almost be jealous, loyalty like that.]

Well, nice to see you too pal. You've seen my handy work before, I'm not sure you want to out the Falcon's life support system at risk like that.

[Cheerful cheerful. But for all he's talking to his wobbly little friend his eyes are still firmly on the new hero of the resistance.]

We haven't really met yet, have we?

[There's a very narrow pull at the corner of her mouth, something like fondness for the droid's suggestion. She tips her head to the grating beside her, not looking up or pausing the task her hands are currently employed at.] Thanks. Just set it there. [She braids the wire - over, under, over, under--]

Not really. [Her hands do slow then, still. She makes to glance back at him - looks at his boots on the Falcon's deck, then his face. She slowly resumes her task without looking, habitual more than thought.] You're Commander Dameron, right?

PILOTING THE FALCON

CAUGHT IN TRACTOR BEAM

GETTING SHOT AT

FUCK THAT HURT

[The droid could bring up Finn's ability to help despite his inexperience in mechanical repair, but refrains. Protocol isn't in BB-8's programming, but all it takes is a certain level of attachment to inform on whether or not bringing up a gravely injured friend is appropriate. Instead, he complies simply by setting the wire where Rey specifies and makes sure to be ready in case she needs something soldered.

He also takes a moment to introduce Poe to Rey, in a manner of speaking. Or, more accurately, in a manner of beeping. It's the kind of off-handed introduction one gives about someone who's been spoken of at length. This is the one I told you about in so many words.]

STAR WARS: possible spoiler warning

4 the bae

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jams breathing room between jakku and getting kidnapped by han solo

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you read my mind

fingerguns

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FINN

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steals avali's rp space and laughs - 4 poe and bb-8 - also idk bear with this timeline fuckery

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the only other emo kid on the block

surprise me tbh

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