STARTER / PLOTTING CALL !! aka i wanna write w/ y’all let me love you
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STARTER / PLOTTING CALL !! aka i wanna write w/ y’all let me love you
( forcewith )
as time passed, chirrut had slowly been able to learn and adapt into the street merchant lifestyle in JEDHA CITY. it’s no life he desired to live, but he has no choice now. all is as THE FORCE wills it to be.
THE EMPIRE brings its fair share of troops to harass, interfere, and destroy the spirituality of the planet. but there’s always one or two who were escorted more or less like him into an unwanted existence, such as the woman standing not too far from him, who’s thoughts focused intently on the fallen temple. a statue that had once seemed indestructible.
chirrut splits from his position for a brief period of time to follow her energy. something there. a target of opportunity. a common interest in THE FORCE. his staff guides him to her, inside a small shop. he reaches out and feels the familiar touch of art. she looks at art.
❛ why buy it if you can see it for yourself ? ❜
THE VOICE SURPRISES HER, but it is a soft surprise - like leaving the shade & finding rays of sunshine falling warmly upon your shoulder; she must have realized someone was near her, engrossed as she was in her study of the artwork. She turns slightly, feet sliding over the dusty ground to form a right angle as her torso twists, her gaze searching. There was something about this VOICE that stirred something, & rather than shy away from it, she decides to listen to that stirring & perhaps strike up a conversation. There is nothing to fear, of course - even thought there is a certain UNBRIDLED animosity towards someone who, like her, wears an Imperial uniform, there are enough stormtroopers around & ... she does not get the sense that he is accosting her with malevolent intent.
‘I am sure that it is swarmed every moment by people who wish to see it for themselves ...’ she replies, her tone has lost the cold edge she so often wears as armor on board the Accuser. ‘There is some beauty in the way this artist depicts such desolation,’ she returns her gaze to the piece of art, ‘there is something like HOPE, I think. But also some sadness. Don’t you think?’ she turns to look at him again, then notices his blindness. Heat rises to her cheeks as she instantly grows embarrassed by her lack of observation. ‘Oh, my apologies.’
( jediscariot )
❛ i did not ask for your opinion, i asked for your obedience. logistics are better in the hands of your betters. ❜ AND WHO IS BETTER THAN ME? he watches her, calculates the shift and surge of every nerve as the spark beneath her skin. human fear, anxiety, that is what fuels him, drives him forward, deeper into the darkness, that allows the knife between his ribs to plunge ever deeper to the GAPING MAW that was once his heart.
with hands clasped at the small of his back, a predator’s eyes wander from HER to whirring engines, to statistics, to the intricate map lain out before them in the stars. unfeeling. cold. space was reliable.
❛ time is a tool. manipulated by the powerful. ❜ a turn at his chin, ❛ not the weak willed. focus on your task at hand. it may EASE your MIND. ❜
EVEN THOUGH SHE SUPPOSES that she deserved the harsh cold of his words ( they are like ice on her fingertips, ice in her heart ), she resents them. Not him, she does not dare to do that -- but she knows that what she says has WEIGHT & substance. There is validity, even if it is ... hidden. But it is not her place to speak any more out of turn that she’s already done.
Exhaling slowly, lips thin, eyes downcast, she nods. ‘Of course, Lord Vader, I apologize.’ But the URGE to correct him burns her insides - her father had always named her his INCORRIGIBLE CHILD, always being pert, always speaking when she should remain silent. She knows that this day will not end will with them, as surely as she knows her own name. There is no way to verify her dread, however, & no way to give ample evidence.
She wonders if he KNOWS this feeling she has, if he can recognize it - he is powerful, she knows that from what her parents had told her when she was small, the stories she had heard, the whispers. But she does not understand the workings of the FORCE, not fully.
( @forcewith )
THE SOUNDS OF THE MARKET overwhelm her - she stands at the corner of building, watching as hundreds pass before her, imperial troops & traders, locals & pilgrims ... it reminds her of home -- not the atmosphere, nor the landscape, but the feel of the air, the babbling sound of thousands of voices. It is the first time since she left that she wishes she were back on Vos. But now is not the time to think of home. She is here, now, on shore leave for only a few hours; she must make the most of this.
She turns, breathing deeply the scent of spices, and walks with measured step to the nearest booth - a collection of canvas, covered in different vistas of Jedha City & the surrounding areas ... she studies one that calls to her, an image of a statue fallen to ruin, crumbling in the dust of this world.
( jediscariot )
she knows i’m watching her. though, without eyes, without expression, how could any truly be sure? FEAR. a cold chill, desperate and primal, that put even the strongest on edge. farther than the edge. somewhere no one can save them. he comes behind her, a shadow, LOOMING, ❛ i must admit, lieutenant. ❜ words too scathing, too harsh for the moment, the situation ( do NOT tell the king how to rule ), ❛ even with our advantage, you seem unsettled. ❜ an unseen eyebrow raised, ❛ is battle not enough to pique your INTEREST? ❜
SHE BREATHES, fingers pressed against the cold metal of the console - there is a sense of floating, of something apart from her & from this moment ... perhaps it is the dark figure behind her. In his PRESENCE she cannot help but feel -- anxiety, curiosity, & memories of sighting him when she was nothing more than a child then over & over again along the corridors of this star destroyer. But now is not the time to dwell on such memories, nor such feelings. She has been asked a question - & though she knows her superiors tire of her supposedly unfounded analyses, she will not lay down & roll over. She does not look at the man staring her down across the room - he knows that she will tell Lord Vader of her suspicious, but his stares will not prevent her.
‘It is not the battle, Lord Vader,’ she utters with feigned confidence ( she has no basis for this dread, & she does not understand why every night for the last month she has seen this day, it could be simply anxiety with her posting, but she cannot remember a time when such vivid dreams were proved wrong ) as she turns to face him, ‘I am confident in our strategy ... that is not the problem. I think we will be too late.’
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Rinko Kikuchi photographed by Erik Madigan Heck
it’s not obedience, mr. becket. it’s respect.