#bluemns

[excaliabur]

⤷̲ correspondence with, @bluemns as seladon ... ❝ how am i supposed to trust you? ❞ :·

                        the question halts him mid-stride, with boots grinding as he pivots back toward her, brows drawn in tight. ❝ i don't understand why you'd doubt our reasons for being here, your highness?   ❞ anakin says, ❝ we're delivering aid supplies, that's all. leave the politics for the senate.   ❞ it's a deflection, as much as an answer.

he is not ignorant to know how the giefling people see the galaxy, how they interpret this war, their views on the jedi order and its teachings. the force is strong here, much more loud and alive than he's ordinarily used too. it presses against anakin's senses, vibrating through him like a strong current. since first stepping foot upon thra a day prior, it has continued to cloud his thoughts, and pull strangely at him.

❝ you don't have to trust us, believe whatever you want about the jedi, about the republic. but let us help you.   ❞ he continues, with tone lowering to something not so direct as often he takes. ❝ it's not a bribe, if that's what you're worried about.   ❞ gloved hand comes to settle upon his hip, while the other rises to pinch the bridge of his nose, a gesture against the strain. ❝ in fact, senator amidala of naboo insisted on this supply run. so, here we are.   ❞

[ragedagainst]

❛ i had real suffering and i lost everything, my vocation, my faith, my family… ❜

all war does is take. this is a story that jyn has heard time and time again from sentients across the galaxy. she has felt loss so keenly and so frequently that it feels normal, has learned not to hold too tightly onto something that will only be ripped away. the empire has ruined hundreds of thousands of lives and killed just as many -- a lesson she'd been taught at a young age.

( ' you're not the only one who lost everyone. some of us just decided to do something about it. ' )

" welcome to the rebellion, " jyn says dryly, though not unkindly. it's not that she doesn't sympathize, but there are people here who have lost their entire planet. she crosses her arms over her chest, looking the other up and down. she doesn't really have time to play tour guide right now, but she can spare a minute in the spirt of ' finally deciding to do something about it. ' she raises a brow. " you lost ? "

[blacknoch]

' ℑt is my mother's braid. ' she tells her while her fingers thread together seladon's hair in patterns taught to her by her sister long ago. committed to memory they've been, her hands moving thoughtlessly though not imprecise, a weaving that has become like a second nature to her. what an obsession it had been to the little girls when first tildha had schooled their hands, child's fingers threading together their hair until they wound up with knots far too foreboding for the combs meant for the daughters of lords and ladies. for a moment she is there again, and what pangs it brings, turstin will find no wanting for laments. ' taught to her by her mother, and so forth. '

@bluemns

[sanitatcm]

he stops - surprise slowing his steps at the realization that the garden is already occupied. he would not venture to guess what sent her to hide from the gathered company. but for his part, he had started to weary of the crowd. to be looked at expectantly as a potential dance partner - knowing full well that he would only disappoint whoever might be so unfortunate as to stand up with him. it was growing... uncomfortable.

he has asked himself a hundred times already what had possessed him to accept this invitation. he cannot pretend he does not regret it - not when his patients have occupied far more of his thoughts than any of his fellow guests. he is hardly the best company tonight. though, by all appearances, company may not be what his companion wishes for...

" you needn't fear - i will not be the one to betray you, " he says, a knowing smile on his lips.

starter call -> @bluemns

[saintsdawn-a]

↬ @bluemns says, “ i am no green child to believe what i am told without proof. ”

what did they expect? if a face that is barely known begins to spit out story after story of living mist and undead dragons woven with vines, they would react the same. even so, it doesn’t change that each story is true, or that their smile has dipped at the corner.

“ you are right, and it is smart to be skeptical. an ancient undead is a story told in taverns. living mist with the desire to hunt is what you tell children to keep them in their beds. “ i would show you, ” and here is when florence’s smile returns, albeit sardonic, “ but i fear it would mean trouble for us both. ”

[blacknoch]

𝔈𝔳𝔢𝔫 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔰𝔭𝔯𝔞𝔶 𝔱𝔥𝔞𝔱 𝔣𝔩𝔢𝔠𝔨𝔰 𝔣𝔯𝔬𝔪 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔰𝔢𝔞 𝔱𝔞𝔰𝔱𝔢𝔰 𝔡𝔦𝔣𝔣𝔢𝔯𝔢𝔫𝔱 𝔴𝔥𝔢𝔫 𝔦𝔱 𝔥𝔦𝔱𝔰 𝔥𝔢𝔯 𝔩𝔦𝔭𝔰 . the world before her is a thick soup of blustering cloud and mists all at once as night sloughs off their constant sky , and the drowning gale of the she - beast's wings as she rakes talon and sheer force of will through the condensation swathing them both . to be free from the endless rains of the fortnight and it's freeze , slickened scale steaming in thick rivulets that runnel from off her thorny neck , and scatter from the great yawn of billowing membranes ! the green blight boils beneath turstin's seat , a shift in the current in her magma heaving itself upright as the great dragon's blood quickens with effort , the back end of her dipping , and groping for purchase . ozgog was landing . she smells soil . an end to this endless sea !

𝔄t first , she thinks the dragoness to be taking them into an abyss ; it shimmers and sifts in plumes come the next beat of ozgog's wings , and the illusion dispels as the last of the cobwebbing clouds are rent free . it is a beach of black sand , shuddering as the full weight of her dragon impacts . ozgog yowls , a ripping and ugly noise , pronouncing the gooseflesh to prickle up turstin's spine as it resounds . so was proclaimed the end to the sunset sea , the lingering question of what came from the west !

@bluemns // plotted starter

[adamanteine]

here, in ha'rar, everything seems different than what she is used to. her ears note the difference of the wind and the sounds that follow and she blinks. it's not the same, but the same sacrifice seems to sing aloud across the air and all she can do is listen to it. but what does it mean to three suns? bloodshed is of little significance unless thra is the reason behind it, unless there is sanguine dripping from her claws, flooding an already dry land of worship. shams thinks little of it these days, deems it unworthy if it does not surround itself by the promise of goodness that she believes in. she sits there sometimes, apathetic (even if she does not wish to be). how superficial this all is in relation to the greater picture, another supposed act of celebration that won't truly matter in a thousand trine. and yet, she herself is another sacrificial pawn that kneels before her fate. in the middle of a revered cycle of life and death, she is still.

she was granted a life never meant for living and one would think she'd be so desperate, but there is something in the way that she forces herself to look straight in the eye of life, an anger so present that anyone can feel their existence strengthen from it, that she does everyday. there is a laugh, an echo chamber of malice and unspoken beginnings and ends, a red string of fate that knows nothing else but the hollow of her ribs and a nearing tragedy. in her mind, the three suns show themselves in three little events for her— her birth, the trial of the daeydoim and the taking of her wings. it's shameful of her to think this way, but what is religion to someone that no longer had the means to keep her faith strong? her head shakes at the thought, eyes focusing on what's in front of her. she's not in the desert or the wellspring at the moment. her head tilts slowly as she takes a note of seladon and smiles. there was no song, but she could feel the air still and her ears relax for a second. ❛ the air around you is different this time, all - maudra. ❜

starter call, @bluemns.

[ragedagainst]

@bluemns : ‘ we don’t all have the luxury of deciding when we want to care about something. ‘

" then you're a coward, " jyn hisses, puffed up on naive bravado and the fire of the separatist cause flowing through her veins. all of that pride makes it easy to spit in the face of the other like this -- in this moment, in her mind, they're not senator and child soldier, but equals in the face of an impending war. had jyn grown up sheltered, had she grown up under anyone else but the leader of the onderonian resistance, maybe she would've been able to sympathize -- stars, perhaps she would have thought the same. but the fact of the matter is this : she'd lived through the consequences of king dendup's neutrality and now suffers under the constant threat of the separatists.

" i have no love for either side, same as you, " she continues. " but it doesn't matter. look at what's happening all across the galaxy. look at what happened to onderon. " look at what happened to steela. jyn swallows down her grief with a clenched jaw, pushes forward. " if you don't pick a side, then your neutrality, " she sneers at the word, " will get you killed. then you won't have the luxury to do anything. "