LOVELY,
infjanus / taichi·:
( ... )
he quickens his pace, the noise of his crew unrelentingly louder now, fingertips coiling around the gun he’d stolen from a tec soldier eight years ago. the motions come too easily, the barrel of the gun pressed against the back of the intruder’s ( as though he wasn’t one himself ) head.
nine years ago and he wouldn’t know what to do with a gun in his hands. but in this moment, all taichi can think is that it really is time—he should cut his hair.
“who are you?”
he doesn’t do search-and-rescues. not usually, not like this.
finn is not a bounty hunter. finds them distasteful, most of the time. the stars know he’s helped enough fugitives escape their clutches to start a new life. besides, he can’t be arsed to chase people across the galaxy to collect a bounty when half of what he’ll earn will get eaten up by the fuel he has to waste to track his targets in the first place. transport is a lot easier: get crate x to location z, deposit person w at safe house y. a straight line and a simple job with decent gains, enough to get him where he wants to go.
search-and-rescues are, in a word, chaotic. there are no straight lines here, just zigzangs and dead ends. maybe you’ll find a lead if you’re lucky and persistent enough, and maybe you’ll end up finding who you’re looking for. maybe you’ll even get paid for it! or (more likely), your bounty will shiv you in your sleep and hijack your ship. that particular dream haunted him for several nights during a job last year, but finn’s mostly over it now. still—not a fan. but when the advent lady he’d helped get fake papers for last year begged finn to help find the son she’d been separated from when she fled her home, he found it too difficult to say no.
( he may have a soft spot for lost boys ).
brushing his sweat-matted hair out of his face, finn squints down at the flickering marker on his screen. it took leveraging his entire contact network to even get a hint of his target’s location, but now that he’s here, finn thinks he might’ve fucked up. or gotten fucked. a combination of the two, definitely. this derelict ship does not look like the sort of place an advent would be taking refuge in. it hardly looks like the sort of place finn wants to be in, but he supposes he can’t leave until he does a full sweep of the place. each shadow out of the corner of his eye, each stray noise sends his pulse racing. an old ship like this is bound to have its ghosts. he thought he wasn’t easily spooked, but—
“shit,” he mutters. those faint, far-off voices are not figments of his imagination. not ghosts either. finn switches to a different display on his screen and watches the heat signatures spike. “shit,” he repeats, more emphatically. there are other people here, but not the sort he’s looking for. not the son of his advent client, that’s for certain. probably looters, scavengers, maybe even pirates. spin the wheel and pick your opponent for the night! a fresh horror awaits you at every turn.
finn knows the type: they’ll shoot first and ask questions later. the last thing he wants is to get into an altercation here. he collapses the screen and reaches for the blaster clipped to his belt. he may not be the type to shoot back, but maybe seeing the weapon in his hand would be enough of a deterrent to any would-be attacker.
straightening up as soundlessly as possible, he emerges from his hiding spot, intent on making a beeline for his ship. following winding pathways and deftly stepping over strewn debris, the din grows louder with each step, echoing in his ears and causing him to grit his teeth in frustration. there are a lot of other people here—definitely not the advent—a rowdy group finn doesn’t want to encounter. he can talk his way out of a lot, but this might be too much for him to handle.
well, he’s managed to dance his way out of bigger messes, and if there’s one thing finn is assured of, it is his fleet-footedness. he knows he can—
the cold impression of a gun to the back of his head causes finn to freeze in his tracks. shit, shit, a thousand times shit. he should’ve been more careful, he should’ve stayed away, he should’ve stayed hidden, at least until the others left. thoughts race through his mind at a mile a minute as a bead of sweat rolls down his back. finn calculates how quickly he’d be able to spin and take a shot. probably not quick enough; his trigger finger isn’t the steadiest. at least his captor seems willing to talk. “alright, let’s be cool, friend,” finn says, letting out a nervous laugh. “i could send you my contact details if you really want them. there’s no need to shoot.”
he does a half-turn on his heel and—
the world stops spinning for a moment. zero motion. zero gravity. finn’s shoulder throbs, old pains that are nothing compared to the twisting of his heart. his arms are slack, the blaster slipping out of his grip. “y—” maybe he’s dreaming. maybe he has finally, finally lost his goddamn mind. “t—” why can’t he say something. finn was supposed to be cool, suave. he was supposed to have a witty introduction poised on the tip of his tongue when he finally met the one person he’s been searching for all this time. instead, all he can manage is, “i almost didn’t—recognize you. the mane.” he gestures to his hair with his good arm. “you need a haircut, taiyu.”
taichi.
( there is a roaring in his ears that refuses to abate. finn thinks, after all this time, it’s you ).
