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peachyqueenly · 3 years

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Alone

Sea Fairy has a favor to ask of Mocha Ray... and it may change both of their lives forever.

“... what are you suggesting, Sea Fairy?”

Mocha Ray could do nothing but stand there; dumbfounded at the suggestions being put forward. It was shocking enough that, of all the priestesses, she was called upon by the one and only Sea Fairy. Further shocking was where Sea Fairy had them meet—a frozen tower just above the surface she didn’t know existed until today. And... this suggestion that required the two of them to come to a spot so secluded from their home? Maintaining an air of calmness, the priestess continued, “I understand things might not be ideal right now... but, such a drastic action would be--”

“Unthinkable?” Sea Fairy nonchalantly finished Mocha Ray’s thought.

“I... yes.” Mocha Ray said. Unthinkable was exactly what this was. Sighing, she explained, “You are suggesting we, not only ask that the citizens of Sugarteara abandon their homes, but that I seal you within the temple... alone. With that pearl in its sorry state.”

“Yes, I am.” Sea Fairy said with a conviction unlike her. She did not like this idea any more than this up-and-coming Priestess did. Not only because of what it could mean for her own life, but because it could possibly mean she would never see her love again. The consequences of allowing the sacred pearl... no, not just the pearl. The consequences of both her heart and the pearl succumbing to darkness, however, were far more disastrous and unthinkable than anything else. Maintaining her conviction, she continued, “I know you and others in the temple have been trying your best, but I am the only one who can prevent the worse from happening. Because... b-because...”

“Because...?

“Because the darkening is my fault!!”

Mocha Ray could only stand in shock at this sudden loss of composure. This was the creator of Sugarteara, the normally calm and nonchalant Sea Fairy, showing a burst of emotion. Her emotions reaching their peak like an all too powerful wave crashing down. The priestess could not help but wonder if was she the only one to ever see this side of the sea goddess.

“I-I must apologize.” Sea Fairy, averting her gaze, quickly came back from her prior outburst. “But please... let me explain...”

“Of course, Sea Fairy. I am all ears” Mocha Ray stated, nodding her head.

Sighing in preparation, Sea Fairy looked back at Mocha Ray and said, “As you and the others of the temple know, the sacred pearl is a portion of my power given to the city. It is one of the many reasons why Sugarteara’s citizens revere me. But my gift is darkening; and to keep it simple, it is because my heart is as well.”

“Y-your heart?” Mocha Ray stuttered. What could that possibly mean? No one at the temple had considered the pearl’s current state could be a result of Sea Fairy. Let alone resulting from something like her heart darkening... whatever that meant. Still confused, the priestess asked, “If you don’t mind, what does it mean for your heart to darken?”

“I’m... not entirely sure myself.” Sea Fairy admitted. In truth, she had yet to figure out the full scope of the problem. She knew of the loneliness that resulted in this process; however, she could not fully grasp the scope of what this could mean for the entire ocean. After pausing for a second, she continued, “I know it stems from what one could call loneliness. And... I know it has been causing my powers to become more erratic and uncontrollable.”

“Loneliness? But... you are the most revered creature in the ocean!! The most respected--”

“Respect is not a cure for loneliness... in fact, it can cause loneliness when taken too far.” Sea Fairy stated, and then explained further, “I am deified to the point that no one would approach me for any reason other than worship and guidance.”

“I...” Mocha Ray wanted to say she was wrong. Wanted so badly to tell her it would be an honor for anyone in the ocean to be her friend. But... that desire to honor the goddess was the problem. And what was she, but the prime example of what Sea Fairy was talking about? A priestess who worships and only interacts with someone so powerful when called upon... as she was today. Knowing arguing was futile, she moved on to her next point, “I... See. And so, you believe the best course of action is to seal yourself within the temple and dedicate all your strength to preserving both the pearl and your heart?”

Sea Fairy nodded. This was her fault to begin with, and so it should fall on her to prevent the worse from happening. Even if it meant she would be alone. Even if... it meant she would never see Moonlight again. But, perhaps, using all her strength to maintain the ocean’s balance would outweigh her loneliness... she could hope, right?

“I assume the dangers your powers present is the reason you want the evacuation as well?”

“Yes... you would be right.”

“That makes sense. There is one thing I don’t quite understand, however.” Mocha Ray began to say, before offering her final question, “Why me? Why, of everyone you could talk to, did you choose to tell me?”

“Because I trust you.” Sea Fairy quickly answered. She did not come to this decision on a whim. Since the first meeting with her now lover, she felt her loneliness bubbling up to the surface whenever she couldn’t be with Moonlight. And, once she realized what was happening, the sea goddess began to keep an eye on those around her in the temple. Because... this would require one more person. Again, without hesitation, she spoke, “You have the greatest grasp on electric powers of all the rays. You are also resourceful and dedicated, and... I need someone like that to watch over the city in my slumber.”

“I... see.” Mocha Ray said. Now it made sense. The priestess was called here... because she was the one person who was not going to leave Sugarteara. In hindsight, of course Sea Fairy could not be left alone while devoting her strength to preserving the sacred pearl and her heart. But for her to be chosen...

“So, will help me?”

“Of course, Sea Fairy.” Mocha Ray affirmed with a newfound confidence. “I am still not entirely sure what all this means, but for the entire sea, I will devote my duties to your protection.”

“I’m Glad. However, there is one more thing you should know, however.” Sea Fairy could barely bring herself to say these next words, but she continued anyway, “If... we cannot find a way to push back the darkness and it consumes me. Please, somehow manage to remove this dagger from my hands. Doing so will turn me to sea foam... preventing the devastation of our home.”

“Wait!!! Sea Fairy, that would mean you--”

“Please! You must promise me you will not allow my powers to plunge the sea into darkness.”

“I...” Mocha Ray had devoted her entire life to the worship of the sacred pearl and—by proxy—Sea Fairy. Yet here goddess of the sea was—asking a priestess to basically kill her if need be. But... the sea was their home. And if it meant protecting it...

It took a while to muster the courage to reply, but Mocha Ray finally said, “You have my word, Sea Fairy. While protecting you, I will try to find a way to help. But... if all else fails, and you attempt to plunge the sea into darkness, I will do what must be done.”

“Thank you, Mocha Ray...” Sea Fairy said while sighing in relief. She knew this was a hard thing to ask for, but this was her burden to bear. And if this loneliness cost her own life, then so be it. Taking one last glace at the moon above them, she told Mocha Ray, “We should go back now. There is a lot to be done”

“Of course.” And with that, Mocha Ray followed.

Page Break

“This is your last chance to back down... and find another way.” Mocha Ray informed Sea Fairy. It had been a month since their initial conversation, and now was the time. Sugarteara had been evacuated, and the two of them stood before the sacred pearl. Turning towards Sea Fairy, she continued, “Neither of us even know if this will work. What if--”

“We have to try.” Sea Fairy said, interrupting Mocha Ray before she could cast further doubt on her choice. She already had so many conflicting emotions: from the possibility of her own death, to the idea of never seeing her love, Moonlight, again. She had become more and more doubtful of her choice as the days went on.

Moonlight...

Fighting back tears at the thought of never seeing her lover again, she approached the pearl, rising herself to meet it at its level. Once there, she couldn’t help but gaze into it. The darkness, while it could be seen moving from where Mocha Ray stood, seemed much more violent and erratic up close. As if... it could jump out and attack Sea Fairy at any moment. Could her own powers be twisted into such a violent force?

No—they did not have time for this.

Shoving away her feelings of fear and sadness, Sea Fairy wrapped herself around the pearl... and closed her eyes--

Suddenly, a bright light enveloped the room. If only for a second. Causing Mocha Ray to cover her eyes. A few moments later, she slowly lowered her fins—still scared of the possibility of further eye damage. Once uncovered, however, she saw the results of their decision.

Sea Fairy was within a bubble of her own design—frozen in midair as if she were encased in ice. Within it, she maintained the same position Mocha Ray had seen before the light seemed to seal her in place—her body wrapped around the pearl as if it were her life depended on it. As for the pearl itself... it had yet changed. The darkness was no longer moving within the sacred pearl, but it was still there. Though it was wishful thinking on the priestess’s part to hope things would change so soon. Mocha Ray just needed to give Sea Fairy time... right?

After what felt like an eternity, Mocha Ray finally turned around. The priestess did not have time to falter. Now, she had to fulfill her role in this plan—sealing the temple and making sure others could not enter. She started with the inner sanctum’s entrance and made her way through her once bustling home. The priestess’s shields were made of the electrical power unique to her species... one of the abilities Sea Fairy had based her hope in Mocha Ray on. Designed to block anyone who could not harness these abilities themselves, the shields would only allow those who could wield these electric abilities to pass through.

Meaning that only she could utilize the entrances and exits now. As the rest of the ray species had fled with the other citizens of Sugarteara... as she had requested. And there was no one she knew of who could disarm the shields.

A good hour or two later, Mocha Ray had finally made it to the final opening in the temple... the entrance. After this, she did not have much left to do except maintain watch and take care of herself. She would start the research into how to help Sea fairy tomorrow... as setting up the shields had been exhausting enough.

As she started to set up the last one, however--

SMASH

Stopping in her tracks, she turned around, seeing a cloud of dust forming from whatever crashed right in front of the temple. Or... whoever--

“YOU-- WHAT’VE YOU BEEN TELLING THE PEOPLE OF SUGARTEARA?”

Mocha Ray’s eyes widened. She knew that voice. She had hoped she wouldn’t have to hear that voice again... anytime soon, at least.

“Lobster...” the priestess said. Lobster...her friend. When Sea Fairy and herself were preparing to evacuate the city, Lobster was out with a survey team—tracking down and defeating a vicious beast that had gotten too close to Sugarteara’s outskirts. So, like all the other survey groups, they had sent a messenger out to tell them of the news. Mocha Ray had handpicked the one for Lobsters’ team and hoped—sincerely hoped— that her friend would have been convinced by them... and yet here he was. Maintaining her position at the top of the temple’s steps, she told him, “You should not be here--”

“I SHOULDN’T BE HERE?”

“Yes!! You need to leave—now!!!”

“Why? So you can TAKE ALL OF SUGARTEARA’S GLORY FOR YOURSELF?” Lobster yelled. This was their home... HIS home, and yet she expected him to abandon it? She was one of the first people to welcome him into the city; she did not look down on him no matter how beaten and damaged he became. This priestess in particular should understand his attachment to Sugarteara. And yet—removing the glistening claw from the crater he created, Lobster continued, “I don’t think so... this isn’t just your home to claim!! Take it back and allow the people to return to their homes!!”

“Lobster please!! Do you really think so low of me!?” Mocha Ray cried out. This was her colleague... her friend. She had known him since his first days within the city... she even gifted him the very claw he so rudely smashed in with. And now... Lobster really believed she was doing this out of some shallow desire for power. Suddenly, she heard her friend’s footsteps begin to move towards the temple’s stairs. And with every step, she felt tears well up in her eyes. She said, “Please Lobster, I do not wish to fight!!’

“I don’t wish to either... but if you are to stand against Sugarteara’s greatness, I have no choice!!”

“Lobster, pl--”

“IF YOU DON’T WISH TO FIGHT, RESCIND YOUR WORDS AND ALLOW ME TO BRING THE PEOPLE B--”

“THAT IS NOT POSSIBLE!! I”M SORRY!!!”

“Then... TAKE THIS!!” Lobster yelled, switching from thunderous steps to a sudden leap, he threw himself into the air. And as he plummeted to the ground, Lobster aimed his claw at who he could once call a friend.

Noticing this, Mocha Ray’s eyes widened. And within a single moment, she created the final shield to the temple... around it and herself. Protecting her and sending lobster back as the shock of her powers coursed through his body. Glancing down at his kneeling form, she said through tears, “Lobster, please stop this!!”

“NO!! LET ME IN!!!” He yelled—no, pleaded. This was his home; somewhere that accepted someone as rugged as him, and it was clear he was not going to just give up on it. Though he did not even know why it had to be like this. He knew nothing of Sea Fairy or the sacred pearl’s waning strength... but he would not listen long enough to learn.

She had prayed for nights on end that it would not have to be this way. However, deep down, Mocha Ray knew a prayer like this was too much for any god to answer. Lobster was always headstrong... and would defend Sugarteara with his life. He had given up a claw for the city, after all. The idea that it had to be abandoned for the safety of its citizens and the sea.... she had to have known Lobster would refuse such an obscene notion. But still, she did not want to view him as an enemy. So, she gave him one last chance, “... I know how you feel. I love our home too, but you need to understand—”

“IF YOU DON’T TAKE DOWN THIS BARRIER I SWEAR TO THE SEAS—” he continued to holler, dashing back up the stairs and banging on the shield even as its electricity coursed through his body.

“... fine.” Mocha Ray said, hanging her head down and turning her back to him. Her duty to Sea fairy and the seas came before anything else. If it did not, there would be no city for Lobster and her to fight over. So, as she began to walk back into the temple, she tried to hold back her sobs and said, “If you continue to try and invade the temple grounds, you will be treated as an enemy... even by the city guardians.”

And with that, she quickened her pace and entered the temple—Lobster's cries and screams echoing throughout its walls. Until, after some maintenance on her end, Mocha Ray began to hear the crashes and screams of lobster dealing with guardians... before it turned to silence. Lobster clearly unable to handle every single guardian. The priestess could only hope her friend fled rather than succumbing to the guardian’s defense mechanisms.

Mocha Ray had spent the entire time walking around the temple in an effort to ignore the chaos outside. But now that it was completely silent, she fell to her knees. Exhausted and finally allowing herself to sob loudly. At the end of the day, he was a friend. And she knew it would take a lot to ever repair their friendship. If it was even possible after what she had to do.

Over the past month, she had to say goodbye to everyone she loved. On this day, she had lost a friend. Now, all alone, she wondered... is this what hopelessness feels like? Is this the feeling that had consumed Sea Fairy’s heart? Between sobs, she started to ask why over and over again... to absolutely no one. Mocha Ray was all alone.

Yes, all alone...

#cookie run #cookie run overbreak #sugarteara #sea fairy cookie #mocha ray cookie #lobster cookie #writing #Alt title: Katie still has sugarteara brainrot in december

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saltylikecrait · 5 years

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Let's Stick Together

For this week’s @finnreyfridays; here is a one-shot that is meant to take place during the time-skip between The Last Jedi and IX. Since it’s a battle scene from Rey’s POV, it’s a little angsty.

Also, this is my first attempt at recoloring a lightsaber in a photo.

The problem with having the First Order always on the Resistance’s tail was that getting a moment of peace and relaxation seemed nearly impossible. Sometimes it felt like every other day an evacuation order was issued and the Resistance was packed into transports like a tin of flutterers and sent to inhabit more claustrophobic abandoned mines and makeshift shelters.

But perhaps what was even more tiring was how often battle was made between the two forces. It seemed like warfare came too soon and created a whole different sense of claustrophobia. The approaching scream of TIE fighters became all-too familiar and the smell of blaster fire and burning and fear became a stench that quickly brought back too painful of memories and the sinking feeling of high anxiety levels and terror. The Resistance was brave, yes; they were not cowards, but all sentients had an instinct that willed them to survive another day rather than to stand and fight. To not feel a little fear would be impossible in such a situation.

Rey rushed head on in the face of her own fears, lightsaber ignited as she hissed at her enemies like a predator waiting to pounce. Lightsabers, she had learned with practice and with trust in the Force, are spectacularly handy when deflecting blaster bolts but even she could be overwhelmed when it’s plainly obvious that the First Order has been ordered to target her specifically. She knew when she left the Supremacy that fateful day that Kylo Ren – for Ben Solo had ceased to exist the moment he betrayed his uncle and murder his classmates – would always lurk just around the corner, out for her blood and knowledge that the last person that could bring the Jedi was finally dead. Neither of them could know peace for as long as the other was still living.

This lightsaber was borrowed and all wrong. It felt wrong in her hands and the yellow glow of the blade looked wrong to her eyes. Not knowing what to do about the broken Skywalker lightsaber, Leia had scouted out one on her own on the black market – a leftover from after the first Jedi Order fell all those decades ago – and she got help in the form of an old friend that knew smugglers and traders. While Rey appreciated the effort that Leia and Lando had made for her sake, she wanted to figure out how to either fix the old lightsaber or build a new one; one that didn’t seem to say to her, “I am not yours,” and refuse to ignite at the worst possible time.

Today was unfortunately a battle that brought in not just the typical stream of soldiers and TIEs. The flat terrain of the fields of this uninhabited world was perfect for walkers of all shapes and sizes and the First Order knew exactly how to work this to their advantage.

Fortunately for the Resistance, they had Finn on their side and while he might not have gotten quite the amount of experience in the First Order’s ranks that would be ideal to intel; he did have a far better understanding of their tactics and their weapons than any of them even had a grasp on.

Unfortunately for Rey, she knew Finn sometimes used his knowledge in ways that got him into danger. She loved Finn’s compassion for others, but sometimes his insistence to offer stormtroopers a chance to defect drove her over the edge. No, he didn’t ask a ‘trooper to defect when they were firing at him, but any time hesitation was shown, he’d ask. Rey could not blame him for needing to do so - she knew that no one in the Resistance would have done the same for him had he been the one in the white armor behind enemy lines – but sometimes she wished that he exercised just a bit more caution.

Like right now, for instance.

She couldn’t always keep track of Finn in these situations because she needed to put her thoughts into keeping herself alive first and foremost. Even without all the years of Jakku influencing her, instinct told her to make sure that her survival was her own and only priority. Everyone else came second. She had asked Luke one night, appearing to her in a dream, if this was the right thing to be thinking.

“Following your instincts isn’t a bad thing,” he had told her.

“But shouldn’t I be trusting the Force?” she had asked.

Luke had smiled. “Who says they’re not one and the same?”

She had woken up after that and spent the rest of the day wondering if Luke had really appeared to her or if her brain was giving her advice which she had already known and just needed to be reminded of.

Still, Rey occasionally looked around the battlefield during a rare moment of respite from waves of soldiers and weapon fire, hoping that she could glimpse Finn for just a second through the smoke and dust kicked up from the heavy machinery. Just the relief of knowing he was still alive gave her a little more strength to keep going.

But this time she spotted the outline of Finn’s strong figure, blending in now that he wore a dark shirt and vest like all the other Resistance fighters, and felt her heart nearly drop into her stomach.

Finn faced a two-legged walker alone, staring up and yelling at the trooper controlling it to surrender. The walker was in a moment of pause in its fire to avoid overheating but its weapons were still aimed directly at Finn. Even with a shot as accurate as his, a blaster rifle was nothing compared to the weapons of a walker.

It was almost like she could sense the walker reloading and readying to fire. The world around her grew still as her vision focused only ahead of her.

“Finn!”

The scream made her throat feel raw. She didn’t even realize that it came from her until the world around her shook and she wobbled while trying to keep herself upright. Desperation growing, she reached out as if she could touch her friend from where she stood. She kept walking forward.

Turning around as the rumbling grew nearer to him, Finn looked at her in shock as the world seemed to try to tear itself apart at the seams. As if having a slight understanding of what was going on, he sprinted back towards Rey and barely dodged the blasts of the walker. Then he fell forward as the ground swallowed up his enemy.

Rey realized that this unnatural act of power was from her own doing and that by realizing this too late, she allowed herself to get caught up in its force. Dirt kicked up around her and she fell to the ground close to where Finn had landed. The world spun again and after taking a deep breath, her vision spotted until it went completely black.

She wasn’t sure how long it was before she came to, but she heard Finn’s voice calling her name before she registered that she was on the ground. The unpleasant feeling of mud and damp soil against her face was the next thing she was aware of before she managed to open her eyes and wait out the moments while her eyes and head re-balanced and the world finally stopped spinning.

It was Finn’s hand frantically shaking her shoulder that really brought her back to her senses.

“Rey! Rey? Can you hear me?”

At his urging, she sat herself up and looked around their immediate area. They looked to be situated in a shallow crater of an impact site. The dirt underneath them had been kicked up and blown away. Knowing that she was the one to do this, Rey briefly found herself amazed that the Force had allowed herself to become a weapon akin to a small explosive.

But Finn was still urging her to get up, and she struggled to balance herself on her feet. Suddenly it felt like the gravity on this world had been altered to make it feel like more weight against her. She looked at Finn’s face to see that mud and dirt was caked on his face and in his hair, which he had been growing out in the last few months. Rey guessed by the heaviness of her hair that she probably had dirt and mud collected into the ponytail she had hastily pulled her hair back into when the alarm had sounded.

The screech of TIEs overhead was enough of a startle to break them both out of their daze and cause them to search for their weapons. Rey had dropped the lightsaber when she fell over, but it landed only a few feet from her. Finn’s blaster however, was nowhere to be found. She guessed that during the blast he had dropped it or it had went flying out of sight.

“We’ve gotta get to cover.” Finn reached out for her hand and grasped it tightly in his. He would scout for safety; she would fight anyone that came in their way.

And for the first time in her life, Rey’s instinct wanted her to protect someone else instead of only prioritizing herself.

Just like back when they first met on Jakku, Finn and Rey found themselves dodging the attacks of TIEs overhead as they searched for a means to escape.

Finn pointed out the small entrance of a trench that he knew would lead to a tunnel back to the Resistance base. He needed a weapon to be of any real use, but if they jumped in, one of the TIEs might spot them and shoot at the trench and cause the tunnels to cave in.

No, they would have to find a spot to lie low until they could get in without being spotted.

Rey kept watch for any incoming ground troops while Finn skimmed the landscape, their hands still grasped together. For Rey, it was comforting to feel him so close to her when just a few minutes ago she feared that she was about to lose him forever.

A tug on her hand told her that he had an idea.

He nudged his head upwards. “There’s a ditch just ahead. It should provide enough cover.”

“They won’t see us?”

“Unless they spot us overhead or come from a direction other than west we should be safe,” he affirmed. “Just until they pass.” He looked around once more. “All the fighting seems to be piling up in a couple of location pockets. No one else is around.”

“Ditch it is,” Rey agreed.

They made a sprint for it and lunged to crawl into the ditch, rounded into a small incline in the landscape. It provided some cover over them, but to be safe, they would have to keep as still and unnoticeable as possible if any fighters passed overhead.

After a moment of quiet taken for them to catch their breaths, Rey looked over at Finn again and finally a little relief set in. They were alive. For now. Both of them.

Still, she came too close to losing him just a few minutes ago. She kept seeing the walker aiming for him in her memory, ready to strike. If she hadn’t been there, Finn likely wouldn’t have had time to get out of range. Her emotions were running haywire again as she realized just how real one of the worst possible scenarios she could imagine on the battlefield almost became.

Even if Finn hadn’t told her, Rey knew she had almost lost him back on Crait before they even got the chance to reunite. Rose had blabbed, explaining the situation of how she got injured during the battle and Rey recalled how she sat next to the bunk in silence, too shocked to make a sound. It hurt her that Finn had almost thrown his life away over a slight chance that the Resistance could have escaped unscathed. Rey would have returned to the Resistance for the one reason why she wanted to go back only to find that he had already made the ultimate sacrifice. She wouldn’t have gotten a chance to say goodbye, and she didn’t know what she would have done after that.

It also hurt that Finn hadn’t told her about this yet, even though she had fessed up to her own poor choices by thinking she could be as lucky as Luke had been with Darth Vader by convincing Kylo Ren to turn back to the light.

And they still weren’t safe.

She wished all of this would stop. Rey was tired of running and fighting all the time. Even the insecure life she led on Jakku was more stable than the life she was living now.

For a reason that Rey could not explain, she cried and she curled up with her knees against her chest as she tried to keep quiet. She hated crying in front of others. Unkar Plutt would have ridiculed her if he saw her now, like he did when she was a scared and hungry child.

And she could sense just how panicked it made Finn feel.

“Woah, Rey. Is something wrong?” He placed his hand against her arm, warm against her exposed skin. The feeling of being comforted, of someone trying to comfort her, made her only cry harder.

“Don’t do that. Ever again,” she sobbed.

Confused, he knitted his brows together.

Unable to control herself, Rey launched herself to him and wrapped her arms around his shoulders. She felt his hands against her back as his arms wrapped around her in return.

“I don’t want to live in a galaxy where you don’t exist. Not now. Not after all this…” Her voice was a whisper. She wasn’t sure what she was trying to say, either, to be honest. A life where Finn didn’t exist seemed like an unlivable future. There weren’t many people in the galaxy that she felt bonded to and there was certainly no one else she trusted the way she trusted Finn. If he were to suddenly vanish while they were in the middle of a war, Rey was not sure if she would be able to convince herself to keep going. Perhaps she could with a lot of self-convincing, but she believed any attempts would easily feel half-hearted with her dragging along through life again.

She could feel Finn take a deep breath and stroke a hand against her hair. The gesture was soothing but she could tell that he was at loss for words.

Then he finally spoke. “I don’t want to leave you alone either. Not during all this.”

Rey was starting to feel a lot better but the drain from the anxiety and the panic was now replacing her fear with fatigue. She drifted apart from him and reached into her pocket for her comm link.

“Poe? Rose? General Organa? Anyone?” She leaned against Finn and waited.

After a few moments of static, the comm crackled. “This is General Calrissian. Responding, Rey.”

“Finn and I are in a ditch away from the fighting. We were chased by TIEs and are too far away to see anyone. Can I get a status update?”

“We’ve taken out most of the ATs,” Lando replied. “But the TIEs are still a problem and there might be another wave coming. We’re evacuating now.”

Finn sighed at the mention of evacuation. They’ve gone through so many already.

“Where should we go?” she asked.

Another moment of quiet, then:

“You’re still out in the field, right? There are a few transports and Y-wings that don’t have pilots anymore. You can get to the platform and take one. Will be a tight squeeze, though.”

“Right,” she affirmed. “We can manage that. Thank you, general. We’re on our way.”

They looked to each other as the comm link was disconnected and then peeked their heads out briefly to survey the area. Like what Lando had said, the walkers were almost all downed, but the TIEs definitely posed a threat. Those weren’t coming anywhere near their area, favoring the spots where more of the action was happening, which meant that Finn and Rey had space to make a run for the platforms without being spotted.

“Rey?” said Finn.

Her gaze found his.

“Let’s stick together from now on, OK?”

That was the best idea she heard all day.

#finnrey #finnreyfridays #my stuff #aesthetic #finnrey aesthetic

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mosylufanfic · 7 years

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Personal Effects

O hai! Guess who's reading the end of the Rogue One novelization? *sob*

Personal Effects

Private Jessuk Ordan, Second Class, had mouthed off to the wrong person and got put on grunt work. While most of the base scrambled around in after-battle madness, he was stuck cleaning out the rooms and bunks of people who had died at Scarif.

Traditionally, battle buddies or superior officers picked up this duty. But today, nobody had the time except for a couple of wet-behind-the-ears privates who didn't know enough to help anywhere else.

It was dull, brainless work, packing and folding and discarding. Morbid, too, he supposed, but only for the first few rooms. After that, you got used to it - filling bags of trash for the huge industrial recycler and boxing up personal effects to be sent home.

For her part, Private Doriya Argita, also Second Class, thought it was interesting to see the things that got left behind. The notes scribbled on pieces of paper, the mementos of missions long-over, the cheap, broken necklace tangled up in dust in the corner, the coin or two that had sneaked under the bed, all of them last touched by hands that were gone.

"Just things," he said, tossing the necklace into the bin bound for the recycler, and making a note of the coins before stashing them in the valuable-objects envelope.

She was a very new private, her enlistment papers barely registered in the Alliance's heavily coded databanks.

(She had decided to join the Alliance six months ago after seeing the assassination of the Imperial governor whose policies had crushed her family's farm and livelihood. She'd watched him crumple from a sniper's gun during a live broadcast, and something like life, or rage, had flickered awake in the hopeless ashes of her heart. The Empire could be hurt. Stabbed. And she had decided in that moment that she was going to be one of the knives.

Nobody ever learned who the sniper was.)

Jessuk shook his head at her shiny-eyed idealism. A few more duty rounds like this one would knock some of that out of her, he thought world-wearily, ignoring the minor point that the clothes he'd packed up in the last room had seen more action than he had.

He checked his datapad for the next room number as they wended their way through the barracks. "Okay, it's this one."

"Private quarters," she noted with envy. "Must've been an officer."

"Yeah, it says captain here." He tapped the code into the door and it zipped open.

She stepped in, brows raising at the plain, neat room. Their little helper droid trundled after them, supplies swaying on its back. No personal effects, no holos or notes or clutter. "Huh. Are you sure we haven't been here already?"

"This one was Intelligence. They're never here, anyway."

Her eyes brightened. "Intelligence?"

He snorted at her. "You won't find any spy secrets, newbie. Draven's people have already been through." He surveyed the small room, eyes flicking over the desk with a couple of books and a few pencils stacked up, the bed neatly made, the drawers in the chest tightly closed. "Shouldn't take long."

She unfolded a sheet of plastic from the droid's bin, folding edges and fitting tabs together until it stood up into a cheap, flimsy box that she set on the desk. He printed out a label from his datapad and stuck it on the lid. Quartermaster, she noted. It meant the dead man hadn't had anybody to leave his things to.

That wasn't uncommon. People who joined the Rebel Alliance often broke all ties with home, and while every attempt was made to return possessions to the survivors, where security permitted, this room wasn't even the first one this hour to be labeled with that destination.

The box would go to the quartermaster's depot, where the contents would be cleaned, sorted, and the ones with use in them still would go to Rebels who needed them.

They stripped the bed, which was all Alliance-issue - no worn quilt or knitted blanket - and bagged it up for the laundry. There was a small, dark stain high up on the left side of the mattress, Doriya noted, and eventually decided it wasn't quite large enough to get special attention. She wondered what had happened.

(He had come back with a less-minor-than-he-wanted-to-admit blaster wound in his shoulder. He'd broken the scab open when he rolled onto his side in his sleep. He'd been so tired that blood had seeped quietly into the sheets for several hours before he woke up and went to get it tended to.)

Jessuk pulled the drawers open and tugged out worn shirts, patched here and there, the collars and the underarms starting to go yellow from old sweat. Most of them were borderline. A few tended toward new, still unstained and crisp. One particularly ragged one went right into the recycler.

(He had worn it to the Ring of Kafrene. The freshest tear, in one of the cuffs, was from where a rough edge of the ladder had caught the cloth as he was scrambling up and away from the stormtroopers, Tivik's body cooling on the plascrete below.)

Pants fared better, only a few of them frayed around the cuffs or worn at the knees. Most of them could be used again. On the other hand, several of the socks were so full of holes you could see daylight through. Most of them went into the recycler after the shirt. The underwear followed.

Doriya cleared the shelves of equipment, packing them into the box. A few extra blaster packs, each of them for a different make and model of weapon. A vibroblade ankle sheath, one strap broken. It could be repaired, probably.

(It would be, but not well. In a few years, it would break again and fall off a soldier's ankle, to be left behind in the icy corridors of Echo Base as the Rebels evacuated.)

A flask. A backpack with a few ration bars and a half-depleted medpac inside. Heavy leather gloves. An infantry helmet, the metal scarred and dull.

(In three years, it would be vaporized, when its wearer would be struck full-on from an AT-ST's cannon in the forests of Endor.)

She moved to the hooks on the wall and took down a dull brown jacket with a few fresh tears in odd places. She poked at them before folding it into the box, wondering if secret spy equipment had been sewn into the jacket, then removed by Draven's people sweeping the room.

(They had.)

Next was a long, heavy blue coat with a thick fur collar. It smelled damp and musty and a little smoky, from rain and explosions on a distant planet.

(After a thorough washing, it would go to a SpecForces sharpshooter, who had always coveted it but hadn't wanted to get it like that. Still, he would wear it through years of missions. Many, many years later, long after the Empire was gone, his daughter would cut the tattered mess of a coat into pieces. Most of it would go to rags, but the fur around the collar was sewn into a stuffed animal for her first baby, who would love it to pieces.)

Jessuk checked the shelf at the base of the nightstand and found a metal can full of pebbles. He looked up at Doriya. "Rocks?"

She shrugged. "Paperweights?"

(One from each planet he visited, in his early days. He'd always picked up the most colorful, interesting pebble he could find. He would line them up on sleepless nights, remembering the planets he'd been to.

He'd stopped doing that somewhere around his nineteenth year, when the pebbles became too numerous, too heavy, and he could no longer remember where they were all from, and he no longer cared to.

He kept the old ones, though.)

Jessuk started to drop the can into the bag for the recycler, and the droid made a little warning sound. The recycler's mechanisms couldn't handle stone.

He dumped it out the window instead. The pebbles pattered to the ground outside, soon lost in the gravel at the base of the building. He dropped the empty can in the recycler bag and the droid let it go by.

She checked the drawers at the desk. "You think it's true?" she asked. "About the Death Star?"

"The higher-ups seem to think so." He shrugged, as if to say that whatever the higher-ups thought was above his head, although he'd been listening to the gossip as avidly as she had.

She pulled out a toolkit with tiny, delicate screwdrivers, pinky-nail-sized gears, and welding torches that produced a pinpoint flame. She eyed it for a moment, then dropped it into the half-full box. She'd ask the quartermaster for it later. Maybe if she bought them a drink.

(He'd used it to work on Kay-Too, tinkering with mechanisms, adding some features, taking others away, repairing what got broken. The edges of the kit were worn shiny from living in his pocket. He'd left it because he hadn't foreseen any use for it, and thought somebody might be able to use it.

Doriya would.)

"They say that's why the fleet went to Scarif," she told Jessuk. She squinted up into the sky, still vaguely envious of the people who'd seen battle. But the edge of that envy had grown duller and duller today, as she packed up the remnants of peoples' lives.

"To see the Death Star?"

She dropped her voice. "To get the plans."

(How many people in the Rebellion really know that a rogue band of deserters went there first? How many people remember the man who pulled strings, called in favors, whispered in ears for a few feverish hours, just days ago?

In twenty years, the Republic's official history will call Scarif a planned and coordinated attack, because reality is a far messier thing than histories would like to admit.)

"Did they?"

"I heard yes."

(Deep in the bowels of the tower, listening to Kay-Too die over comms, flinging himself out into the dark, the burn of a blaster shot to his side, falling, lying on the cold steel grating dizzy with shock. Then, climbing, climbing through the cloud of pain that his body had become. His finger slippery with his own blood on the trigger, his arm trembling with exertion, but his aim true as he fired into Krennic's back. Holding himself up against a steel strut and watching Jyn throw the lever to transmit, then turn to him with the light of triumph in her eyes, and feeling peace well up like a cool, clear spring in his gut.

Yes.

They had got the plans.)

"And they say there's a weakness," Doriya went on. "That it can be defeated."

"If there's a weakness, why aren't we hitting it now?" Jessuk asked.

"Because the Princess received the plans, and she's been captured." She gave a little nod. "But we'll get her back. There's already missions in the stars to find her and retrieve her. That's what I hear."

Jessuk shook his head at her. "People say a lot of things around you, don't they?"

She lifted a shoulder and let it drop. "I listen."

(In about six months, when she'd added the skill of silence to her aptitude for listening, Draven would offer her a position. She would accept.)

Doriya looked around. "Miss anything?"

He checked under the bed, in the drawers, behind the desk. "All clear."

(He would survive the war and retire gratefully to civilian life, telling stories of his time in the Rebel Alliance to get free drinks at bars and snare the attention of good-looking men. After his marriage, he would take a government job, on Hosnian Prime.)

She closed the box and sealed it, setting it outside the door. A cargo droid would be along to scoop the box up, scan the label, and convey it to the quartermaster. He added the bag for trash (black) and the bag for the laundry (white).

They departed, leaving the door open. The helper droid whirred around for a few moments, sucking up dust and dirt, before it trundled out the door too. The faint whine of its motors faded into the distance.

The air in the room stirred and settled. The glare of the gas giant spilled orange light across the clean floor and the bare desk, the stripped bed and the empty drawers.

Like all good spies, Cassian Andor was gone, as if he'd never been there in the first place.

(The Death Star will explode.

The Rebellion will fight on.

The Empire's banner will be torn down.

This is not too high a price to pay.)

FINIS

#Cassian Andor #angst #fanfiction #mosylufanfic lives up to her damn name #canon compliant #I apologize for this and all future affronts to your heart #star wars

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thephotowalla1 · 7 years

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Momentum

I started to think of my first day of riding a motorcycle, rain had lashed the Himalayan valley throughout the night and I was scared to be completely alone in the world for the first time. The clouds sporadically sprinkled rain drops on me while I packed up the bike that morning. Thunderstorms had battered the mountains in the past days and I wondered if I was leaving on a wave of ambition rather than the calming thought of sensibility. It was the biggest decision of my life, to ride a motorcycle through a landscape so isolated that a moment alone here wondered if regret had ever really existed at all. I’ll never forget the moment when I kicked the bike over, gently eased it into first gear and rode off to a place where I wasn’t reliant on anything except the blurry line between my own truth and an ultimate destiny. I know now that to succumb to natures principles requires the humility of an unapologetic heart...

The sun peaked through the parting clouds as if the arms of comfort had engulfed me; I had found the person that I forgot to notice. I knew only one thing at that time, and that was everything from this point forward was based entirely on my decisions, my actions and my knowledge as a human being.

The morning was not too different than anything previous, a chia and a cigarette started the proceedings and with a little anxiety creeping in, a toilet break was definitely in order. I had packed my gear the night before, the new mode of travel meant that there was no particular time in which to be ready, no departure hour had infiltrated my thoughts, it was just me and my machine. A 1981 Royal Enfield motorcycle adorned my confidence, I didn't know it then but somehow she was going to become one of the truly great loves of my life.

A pair of old wooden doors lead out to the back garden, an extraordinary view welcomed my entry to the day as the Sun slightly bared its shine. My saddle bags were draped over my shoulder and I wondered where this day could possibly take me, what this decision in life could possibly show me. Then, it was just me, the world and a bike named Michelle.

The clouds had started to culminate into a darkness I was not prepared for, the water drizzled continuously throughout the early morning’s preparation, puddles already full from the days previous overflowed creating a less than ideal start. But for an instant, that thought was overshadowed by the immense beauty that inspired a conclusion that fear is only there to betray a foundation of faith in living the ultimate dream. I felt an overwhelming feeling of surrender come over me, here I was, a boy from a conservative blue collar town about to embark on the adventure of lifetime.

My mind was purely influenced by the quest for a liberation from restraint, unshackling a philosophy of contentment and a reliance on no other. My intelligence refused the invitation of a comfy room where the outside elements were forbidden to enter its tranquillity. I was packed and I was ready, ‘only God could stop me now’, I thought, negotiating the phrase several times to myself.

The condensation escapes my mouth with every breath, the high altitude keeps reminding me that life up here is at a much slower pace and it takes a couple of deep breaths before I kick over this splendid machine. The engine rolling over with its deep thumping sound fills me with anticipation, and sitting here any longer will only prolong the inevitable. The clutch is released, the engine beats its drum, the driveshaft crunches into gear and it all comes together as the romance of such a journey embellishes the moment. It is the beginning of another chapter in a life of living aimlessly.

Shouting words of exhilaration into this mountain expanse was now a regular feature of my vocal expression. The brisk air rushes in and around my helmet, the open face does not give any relief from the sprinkling rain that continuously perpetuates this moment of my entity. I look around at the mountain summits that rise sharply, disappearing suddenly into the dark and stormy clouds. It’s hard to concentrate, the beauty is unequal to anything I have ever witnessed.

It is a dry and desolate place where the earthly colours of the mountain ranges are only broken by the green cultivations of the valley floor and the glacial ice on the highest peaks mirror the bluest of skies. My fingers were numb as they gripped the handles of the 350 Bullet, venturing into the unknown was as pure as the crisp August air. Not in my wildest dreams could I have imagined that this day would turn into a six month, twenty thousand kilometre odyssey that would take me to the untamed reaches of the Indian Himalaya to the coconut fringed beaches of the Sub-Continents south. That day has changed my understanding of the freedoms within. The ice covered peaks materialise momentarily as the clouds part for a few seconds and summon my eyes to look deep into their stunning grandeur. The immense beauty that surrounds me of unexplainable beauty taunts my happiness to lose control momentarily.

The Indus river flows beside me as I rumble along the tarmac, the rain over the last few days has brought a level of flooding that makes me temporally question my decision and just as suddenly the sun breaks through the clouds and eases my anxiety to a point where my smile returns undefeated. “Those clouds look ominous up there”, thinking out loud as I see my first high mountain pass on this four hundred and fifty two kilometre pilgrimage. The road is not much more than a single lane track as it winds its way through the valley floor. From valleys of green agriculture to rock covered gorges the road sees no boundaries and my bike, although ageing, seems to caresses every corner with ultimate ease.

Ascending the Taglang La, a five thousand metre mountain pass is the first real feeling of aloneness, the wind howls through the rock strewn landscape, occasionally drowning out that deep thumping sound of this machine which reverberates hypnotically in the air around. ‘It’s getting really cold up here?’ The thought pondered for a while, I questioned if it was the fear of conquering such a mountain pass or the reality of the weather that had masked my judgment, but an answer comes quickly enough. It started to snow, with the warmth of my jacket the snow melted, only to freeze again in a matter of seconds. ‘It was definitely getting cold!’ my teeth suddenly chattering as the words spill from my mouth. I could see the gap between the giant peaks, at five thousand three hundred metres above sea level I wasn't expecting any miracles but I was hoping for a little respite from the snow. It wasn't heavy and it wasn't accumulating so this was a good sign that the ground had still not frozen and my fearfulness dissipated very quickly.

Prayer flags adorn the mountain vista, rippling wildly in the wind, I wondered how it was possible I had only found this now. The Himalayas spectacularly rise all around me, the snow had eased enough for me to park the bike up and feel the presence of mother nature circling the boundaries of myself that have yet to be uncovered. Valleys retreat into the distance from both sides of the pass and I find myself lost in a moment of discovery, falling slowly like the snow flakes around me I ease myself into this moments truth. My eyes closed softly and my head tilted back I let my existence be swept away as if another universe had emerged. I gradually made my way to the bike, glancing constantly and the environment around me I reluctantly let the journey continue.

The sweeping road cuts into the side of the mountain faces as I descend in the valley below. My heart beats heavily as I emerge into a place so astonishing that my emotions are swept through my body like the ocean meeting the land. I feel I am in some sort of dream state, a sub conscience kingdom welcoming me like Knight returning from battle. I hear a roar of energy echo off the valley floor dragging me deeper into fearlessness, I reach out and grab the heavens. My conscience returns and an understanding is revealed, its all real, I’m not dreaming, this is our home and I feel alive.

It was getting late, my goal was still many hours away and I wasn't sure whether to stay in the makeshift tent where I was drinking chai or have a crack at getting to my desired destination. It was then an Indian rider pulled up and give me the news. “Where are you trying to get to?” he said with a startled look in his eyes. “Pang”, I replied with a little cause for concern. Pang is also a tent city some 50kms form where I am “You can’t get there, mudslide last night and the road is blocked!”. “Oh what the Fuck!”, was my initial response as the thoughts of what to do feverishly began tearing holes in my brain. I asked what he was doing and he suggested that I return to Leh as quickly as possible!

The chai was absorbed at break neck speed, the sun was shining her late afternoon light on the valley as I descended from the pass and with that came the knowledge of the approaching sunset. It was four o’clock in the afternoon, it had taken me six hours to get here and with only three hours of sunlight left my self imposed evacuation had to get underway immediately. By the time I had started to ascend the pass a dull light blanketed the mountainside, I knew that the retreating suns rays were all but consumed by the day.

Lost in as many thoughts as the mountain peaks around me, I had given up on the importance of concentration and I felt like I was floating in a dream. Crunch! It was the emptiness of the widening trench that gave my mind enough time to consider the options that were about to unfold, but not enough time to do anything about it. In the ensuing darkness I realised I couldn't see a bloody thing and the anxiety of trying to get back to the village of recommendation was fast becoming an overwhelming sensation. I was pushing more and more and then without a clue as to what I had cannoned into, I was airborne. I could only brace for the impact, willing the bike to fall softly like a feather drifting through the tranquil air. The end scenario was a far different story and by the time the dust settled had a bruised ego, broken chain and a luggage rack completely in bits.

The ideal place to break a bike was a long way away from where I was perched high on the dark side of the mountain. I found solace in the fact that the day could not be more unsympathetic to my cause and rather than contemplating in a zen like fashion, I freaked the fuck out and sweated balls for a good ten minutes. “Christ!”, I muttered to myself, ‘day one and I am already looking for my tool kit.’ Of course me being of outstanding intelligence packed the tools somewhere near the most inaccessible section on the bike. After virtually stripping the bike to get them, I found it. As I laid out the tool roll my eyes lit like a child in a lollie shop, I shouted to the gods “there you are, my savour!”.

I was regularly told from a friend of mine, always carry in your tool kit a spare spark plug, a few tools and a couple of exceptionally rolled joints. Why they have to be exceptional I wasn't sure at the time, but in that moment I understood those fine words of wisdom. Its when you see an exceptionally rolled number in a crisis then all the worries seem to disappear for a while. I lit the joint and drew back a long and tiresome breath, the stone hit me with a sudden wave of euphoria. Collapsing under the breathtaking scene my troubles had momentarily disappeared.

But eventually you need to come out of that delusional stupor and try and get back on the road. A couple of Indian men turned up in an old worn out jeep and give some advise, pointing fingers, giving orders. There were so many sets of hands grasping at things that I nearly passed out from the confusion. In the end I let them take care of it and prayed that their accomplishment be in my favour and I make it back to the journeys original departure point.

Twilight in the Himalayas is an extraordinary experience, by the time I made it back to the pass for the second time that day the sky had turned a deep orange, pink and purples splattered the evenings canvass as I was caught between the progressive motion of my motorcycle and this moments emotion thrown together by circumstance. The mountains lit up in a rainbow of colours with the hint of clouds still lingering in the distance. I was absolutely awestruck, again, I wasn't sure what to think anymore, seeing, feeling, experiencing all what I have had on this first day was a frightening sensation. “How am I going to deal with all this?”, was a very frequent question revolving in my head. But it was here, on this mountain pass I had started something special and still so very far from realising it.

A group of riders joined me on this spectacular afternoon, they were heading in the direction I had just come from. Formalities were exchanged and the conversation soon evolved into the present predicament. I told them about the story of the mudslide somewhere near Pang, I left them to deliberate their own scenario as I had a few more moments to lose my grip on reality once again.

I said my goodbyes and good-lucks, mounted my machine and headed back toward Leh. I was in a rhythm, concentrating on this evenings greatest excuse to ride like the wind. An over exaggeration I must say but at the time I felt like a surge of air holding tightly to this mountain road, cascading thoughts driven by its desire to combine an invincibility to the inevitability and all the while patrolling the outer edges of my boundaries spectrum.

By the time I reached the bottom of the valley, the riders I met on the Tanglang La had an undisputed ambition to get to Leh as fast as possible.They passed me before I could lift my eyes from the darkening road. The sunlight had all but disappeared into antiquity and with still many hours of riding ahead of me I decided to hold up in a small village that I had passed earlier in the day. The coolness in the air was substantial enough to abandon the thought of taking a cold shower and I unpacked my gear and collapsed onto my bed. Catching thoughts of an extremely tumultuous day my energy just seemed to disappear in an instant and with my eyes effectively closed, I knew I had to eat something before I drift off into another fantasy.

I walked through the corridors ducking in and out of rooms until I found the eating area. The electricity had been non existent for a while so the glow of candles were my only source of direction as I fumbled my way into the kitchen. ‘ Namaste’ I said softly, trying not to frighten the woman cooking over the gas fired stove. An older woman turned first, smiling as I asked about the possibility of food.

‘Namaste bhai, thali you want?’ The woman cooking replied and with very little time to draw breath I responded with a very hungry yes.

I wandered through to the eating area and come across the group of riders I had met on the Tanglang La only a few hours before. The initial surprise succumbed quickly to relief as I joined their discussion on the situation that had unfolded and we had found ourselves in.

The stillness of the night had already surrendered to the fast approaching storm, the lightning that flashed was a constant reminder that not everything goes to plan when riding through these unpredictable mountain valleys. But I was so drained that after the initial thoughts of the approaching storm were quickly overwhelmed by the tightening of my already starved stomach. The storm closed in, raindrops started pounding the straw covered ceiling and the feeling of a very long night had started to ease into my thoughts. By the time the food was finished and conversation done, a hardy weariness had gatecrashed our bodies and effectively ushered all of us to our awaiting beds.

The water rushed in, my saddle bags placed upon my mattress huddled around my body. The light bulb flickers anxiously above as the moisture from my breath is caught within the darkness that momentarily exists between the shimmering glow.

The overflow of the lashing Himalayan thunder storm had not only caught me by surprise, I could see through a small gap in the mud and stone wall where the Ladahki family were also huddled together on an elevated surface. Making sure my kit was relatively dry I made my way through the ankle deep water. The candle light paved my vision as I stumbled to see if the situation could get any worse. They told me to stay away from the water and off the floor, afraid of being struck by lightening I was hurried back to my sleeping quarters. I was puzzled by their reaction but the language barrier had me not questioning their motives and I quickly stammered back to by bed and tried to sleep off the brutal storm.

The day had started with a nervous smile, it radiated to the world that this is the day I abandon all the trepidation that I had bestowed on myself and accepted the moment of infinite probabilities. The ghosty saturation of the flickering light and rumbling echo around me had me staring into the nights mystic. A perception of how I see myself had penetrated my thoughts, from within a place that awakens the real truth of who I am. My mind wanders as my heavy eyes close, brushing away realities and replacing them with reverie.

It’s the hardest thing of all, trying to see yourself from the inside rather than the outside. It seems that every time I step out of the last place I laid my head I put on a mask, a kind of false realisation that I think other people expect. Like the smile on the outside and a sadness within or that seemly grumpy attitude for a moment in the day will be perceived and judged by some as a weakness rather than a truthfulness. So I needed to put myself away from yesterday and ask myself if I have really connected with the truest form of my inner being, today.

Riding alone on those days where nobody really knows where you are or who you are, just you and two wheels on some of the remotest, dangerous and exceptionally beautiful roads in the world and all you can do is talk with yourself, studying the reactions of the world outside, contemplating your deepest feelings because your whole world at that moment is on the finest of edges. You put yourself into another dimension, practicing every minute on your ability to communicate with yourself and the incredibleness around you. There are a million snapshots of life bombarding your brain at any one moment, not knowing if the next vision is going to kill you or going to save you. Then at the end of it all you make it, like another day in a perfectly normal life you only think of the bed that will lay your emotion filled body for at least this night. So as I pulled down the mosquito net on my bed that night and thought of the experience no one else has shared, I realised I am capable of doing almost anything that this life throws at me.

#himalayas #india #ladahk #leh #manali #motorcycle enfield #royalenfield #adventureriding #mountians #rivers #tanglangla #pang

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readbookywooks · 7 years

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23 Who the woman was calling to remains a mystery, because after searching the apartment, we find she was alone. Perhaps her cry was meant for a nearby neighbor, or was simply an expression of fear. At any rate, there's no one else to hear her. This apartment would be a classy place to hole up in for a while, but that's a luxury we can't afford. "How long do you think we have before they figure out some of us could've survived?" I ask. "I think they could be here anytime," Gale answers. "They knew we were heading for the streets. Probably the explosion will throw them for a few minutes, then they'll start looking for our exit point." I go to a window that overlooks the street, and when I peek through the blinds, I'm not faced with Peacekeepers but with a bundled crowd of people going about their business. During our underground journey, we have left the evacuated zones far behind and surfaced in a busy section of the Capitol. This crowd offers our only chance of escape. I don't have a Holo, but I have Cressida. She joins me at the window, confirms she knows our location, and gives me the good news that we aren't many blocks from the president's mansion. One glance at my companions tells me this is no time for a stealth attack on Snow. Gale's still losing blood from the neck wound, which we haven't even cleaned. Peeta's sitting on a velvet sofa with his teeth clamped down on a pillow, either fighting off madness or containing a scream. Pollux weeps against the mantel of an ornate fireplace. Cressida stands determinedly at my side, but she's so pale her lips are bloodless. I'm running on hate. When the energy for that ebbs, I'll be worthless. "Let's check her closets," I say. In one bedroom we find hundreds of the woman's outfits, coats, pairs of shoes, a rainbow of wigs, enough makeup to paint a house. In a bedroom across the hall, there's a similar selection for men. Perhaps they belong to her husband. Perhaps to a lover who had the good luck to be out this morning. I call the others to dress. At the sight of Peeta's bloody wrists, I dig in my pocket for the handcuff key, but he jerks away from me. "No," he says. "Don't. They help hold me together." "You might need your hands," says Gale. "When I feel myself slipping, I dig my wrists into them, and the pain helps me focus," says Peeta. I let them be. Fortunately, it's cold out, so we can conceal most of our uniforms and weapons under flowing coats and cloaks. We hang our boots around our necks by their laces and hide them, pull on silly shoes to replace them. The real challenge, of course, is our faces. Cressida and Pollux run the risk of being recognized by acquaintances, Gale could be familiar from the propos and news, and Peeta and I are known by every citizen of Panem. We hastily help one another apply thick layers of makeup, pull on wigs and sunglasses. Cressida wraps scarves over Peeta's and my mouths and noses. I can feel the clock ticking away, but stop for just a few moments to stuff pockets with food and first-aid supplies. "Stay together," I say at the front door. Then we march right into the street. Snow flurries have begun to fall. Agitated people swirl around us, speaking of rebels and hunger and me in their affected Capitol accents. We cross the street, pass a few more apartments. Just as we turn the corner, three dozen Peacekeepers sweep past us. We hop out of their way, as the real citizens do, wait until the crowd returns to its normal flow, and keep moving. "Cressida," I whisper. "Can you think of anywhere?" "I'm trying," she says. We cover another block, and the sirens begin. Through an apartment window, I see an emergency report and pictures of our faces flashing. They haven't identified who in our party died yet, because I see Castor and Finnick among the photos. Soon every passerby will be as dangerous as a Peacekeeper. "Cressida?" "There's one place. It's not ideal. But we can try it," she says. We follow her a few more blocks and turn through a gate into what looks like a private residence. It's some kind of shortcut, though, because after walking through a manicured garden, we come out of another gate onto a small back street that connects two main avenues. There are a few poky stores - one that buys used goods, another that sells fake jewelry. Only a couple of people are around, and they pay no attention to us. Cressida begins to babble in a high-pitched voice about fur undergarments, how essential they are during the cold months. "Wait until you see the prices! Believe me, it's half what you pay on the avenues!" We stop before a grimy storefront filled with mannequins in furry underwear. The place doesn't even look open, but Cressida pushes through the front door, setting off a dissonant chiming. Inside the dim, narrow shop lined with racks of merchandise, the smell of pelts fills my nose. Business must be slow, since we're the only customers. Cressida heads straight for a hunched figure sitting in the back. I follow, trailing my fingers through the soft garments as we go. Behind a counter sits the strangest person I've ever seen. She's an extreme example of surgical enhancement gone wrong, for surely not even in the Capitol could they find this face attractive. The skin has been pulled back tightly and tattooed with black and gold stripes. The nose has been flattened until it barely exists. I've seen cat whiskers on people in the Capitol before, but none so long. The result is a grotesque, semi-feline mask, which now squints at us distrustfully. Cressida takes off her wig, revealing her vines. "Tigris," she says. "We need help." Tigris. Deep in my brain, the name rings a bell. She was a fixture - a younger, less disturbing version of herself - in the earliest Hunger Games I can remember. A stylist, I think. I don't remember for which district. Not 12. Then she must have had one operation too many and crossed the line into repellence. So this is where stylists go when they've outlived their use. To sad theme underwear shops where they wait for death. Out of the public eye. I stare at her face, wondering if her parents actually named her Tigris, inspiring her mutilation, or if she chose the style and changed her name to match her stripes. "Plutarch said you could be trusted," adds Cressida. Great, she's one of Plutarch's people. So if her first move isn't to turn us in to the Capitol, it will be to notify Plutarch, and by extension Coin, of our whereabouts. No, Tigris's shop is not ideal, but it's all we have at the moment. If she'll even help us. She's peering between an old television on her counter and us, as if trying to place us. To help her, I pull down my scarf, remove my wig, and step closer so that the light of the screen falls on my face. Tigris gives a low growl, not unlike one Buttercup might greet me with. She slinks down off her stool and disappears behind a rack of fur-lined leggings. There's a sound of sliding, and then her hand emerges and waves us forward. Cressida looks at me, as if to askAre you sure? But what choice do we have? Returning to the streets under these conditions guarantees our capture or death. I push around the furs and find Tigris has slid back a panel at the base of the wall. Behind it seems to be the top of a steep stone stairway. She gestures for me to enter. Everything about the situation screamstrap . I have a moment of panic and find myself turning to Tigris, searching those tawny eyes. Why is she doing this? She's no Cinna, someone willing to sacrifice herself for others. This woman was the embodiment of Capitol shallowness. She was one of the stars of the Hunger Games until...until she wasn't. So is that it, then? Bitterness? Hatred? Revenge? Actually, I'm comforted by the idea. A need for revenge can burn long and hot. Especially if every glance in a mirror reinforces it. "Did Snow ban you from the Games?" I ask. She just stares back at me. Somewhere her tiger tail flicks with displeasure. "Because I'm going to kill him, you know." Her mouth spreads into what I take for a smile. Reassured that this isn't complete madness, I crawl through the space. About halfway down the steps, my face runs into a hanging chain and I pull it, illuminating the hideout with a flickering fluorescent bulb. It's a small cellar with no doors or windows. Shallow and wide. Probably just a strip between two real basements. A place whose existence could go unnoticed unless you had a very keen eye for dimensions. It's cold and dank, with piles of pelts that I'm guessing haven't seen the light of day in years. Unless Tigris gives us up, I don't believe anyone will find us here. By the time I reach the concrete floor, my companions are on the steps. The panel slides back in place. I hear the underwear rack being adjusted on squeaky wheels. Tigris padding back to her stool. We have been swallowed up by her store. Just in time, too, because Gale looks on the verge of collapse. We make a bed of pelts, strip off his layers of weapons, and help him onto his back. At the end of the cellar, there's a faucet about a foot from the floor with a drain under it. I turn the tap and, after much sputtering and a lot of rust, clear water begins to flow. We clean Gale's neck wound and I realize bandages won't be enough. He's going to need a few stitches. There's a needle and sterile thread in the first-aid supplies, but what we lack is a healer. It crosses my mind to enlist Tigris. As a stylist, she must know how to work a needle. But that would leave no one manning the shop, and she's doing enough already. I accept that I'm probably the most qualified for the job, grit my teeth, and put in a row of jagged sutures. It's not pretty but it's functional. I smear it with medicine and wrap it up. Give him some painkillers. "You can rest now. It's safe here," I tell him. He goes out like a light. While Cressida and Pollux make fur nests for each of us, I attend to Peeta's wrists. Gently rinsing away the blood, putting on an antiseptic, and bandaging them beneath the cuffs. "You've got to keep them clean, otherwise the infection could spread and - " "I know what blood poisoning is, Katniss," says Peeta. "Even if my mother isn't a healer." I'm jolted back in time, to another wound, another set of bandages. "You said that same thing to me in the first Hunger Games. Real or not real?" "Real," he says. "And you risked your life getting the medicine that saved me?" "Real." I shrug. "You were the reason I was alive to do it." "Was I?" The comment throws him into confusion. Some shiny memory must be fighting for his attention, because his body tenses and his newly bandaged wrists strain against the metal cuffs. Then all the energy saps from his body. "I'm so tired, Katniss." "Go to sleep," I say. He won't until I've rearranged his handcuffs and shackled him to one of the stair supports. It can't be comfortable, lying there with his arms above his head. But in a few minutes, he drifts off, too. Cressida and Pollux have made beds for us, arranged our food and medical supplies, and now ask what I want to do about setting up a guard. I look at Gale's pallor, Peeta's restraints. Pollux hasn't slept for days, and Cressida and I only napped for a few hours. If a troop of Peacekeepers were to come through that door, we'd be trapped like rats. We are completely at the mercy of a decrepit tiger-woman with what I can only hope is an all-consuming passion for Snow's death. "I don't honestly think there's any point in setting up a guard. Let's just try to get some sleep," I say. They nod numbly, and we all burrow into our pelts. The fire inside me has flickered out, and with it my strength. I surrender to the soft, musty fur and oblivion. I have only one dream I remember. A long and wearying thing in which I'm trying to get to District 12. The home I'm seeking is intact, the people alive. Effie Trinket, conspicuous in a bright pink wig and tailored outfit, travels with me. I keep trying to ditch her in places, but she inexplicably reappears at my side, insisting that as my escort she's responsible for my staying on schedule. Only the schedule is constantly shifting, derailed by our lack of a stamp from an official or delayed when Effie breaks one of her high heels. We camp for days on a bench in a gray station in District 7, awaiting a train that never comes. When I wake, somehow I feel even more drained by this than my usual nighttime forays into blood and terror. Cressida, the only person awake, tells me it's late afternoon. I eat a can of beef stew and wash it down with a lot of water. Then I lean against the cellar wall, retracing the events of the last day. Moving death by death. Counting them up on my fingers. One, two - Mitchell and Boggs lost on the block. Three - Messalla melted by the pod. Four, five - Leeg 1 and Jackson sacrificing themselves at the Meat Grinder. Six, seven, eight - Castor, Homes, and Finnick being decapitated by the rose-scented lizard mutts. Eight dead in twenty-four hours. I know it happened, and yet it doesn't seem real. Surely, Castor is asleep under that pile of furs, Finnick will come bounding down the steps in a minute, Boggs will tell me his plan for our escape. To believe them dead is to accept I killed them. Okay, maybe not Mitchell and Boggs - they died on an actual assignment. But the others lost their lives defending me on a mission I fabricated. My plot to assassinate Snow seems so stupid now. So stupid as I sit shivering here in this cellar, tallying up our losses, fingering the tassels on the silver knee-high boots I stole from the woman's home. Oh, yeah - I forgot about that. I killed her, too. I'm taking out unarmed citizens now. I think it's time I give myself up. When everyone finally awakens, I confess. How I lied about the mission, how I jeopardized everyone in pursuit of revenge. There's a long silence after I finish. Then Gale says, "Katniss, we all knew you were lying about Coin sending you to assassinate Snow." "You knew, maybe. The soldiers from Thirteen didn't," I reply. "Do you really think Jackson believed you had orders from Coin?" Cressida asks. "Of course she didn't. But she trusted Boggs, and he'd clearly wanted you to go on." "I never even told Boggs what I planned to do," I say. "You told everyone in Command!" Gale says. "It was one of your conditions for being the Mockingjay. 'I kill Snow.'" Those seem like two disconnected things. Negotiating with Coin for the privilege of executing Snow after the war and this unauthorized flight through the Capitol. "But not like this," I say. "It's been a complete disaster." "I think it would be considered a highly successful mission," says Gale. "We've infiltrated the enemy camp, showing that the Capitol's defenses can be breached. We've managed to get footage of ourselves all over the Capitol's news. We've thrown the whole city into chaos trying to find us." "Trust me, Plutarch's thrilled," Cressida adds. "That's because Plutarch doesn't care who dies," I say. "Not as long as his Games are a success." Cressida and Gale go round and round trying to convince me. Pollux nods at their words to back them up. Only Peeta doesn't offer an opinion. "What do you think, Peeta?" I finally ask him. "I think...you still have no idea. The effect you can have." He slides his cuffs up the support and pushes himself to a sitting position. "None of the people we lost were idiots. They knew what they were doing. They followed you because they believed you really could kill Snow." I don't know why his voice reaches me when no one else's can. But if he's right, and I think he is, I owe the others a debt that can only be repaid in one way. I pull my paper map from a pocket in my uniform and spread it out on the floor with new resolve. "Where are we, Cressida?" Tigris's shop sits about five blocks from the City Circle and Snow's mansion. We're in easy walking distance through a zone in which the pods are deactivated for the residents' safety. We have disguises that, perhaps with some embellishments from Tigris's furry stock, could get us safely there. But then what? The mansion's sure to be heavily guarded, under round-the-clock camera surveillance, and laced with pods that could become live at the flick of a switch. "What we need is to get him out in the open," Gale says to me. "Then one of us could pick him off." "Does he ever appear in public anymore?" asks Peeta. "I don't think so," says Cressida. "At least in all the recent speeches I've seen, he's been in the mansion. Even before the rebels got here. I imagine he became more vigilant after Finnick aired his crimes." That's right. It's not just the Tigrises of the Capitol who hate Snow now, but a web of people who know what he did to their friends and families. It would have to be something bordering on miraculous to lure him out. Something like... "I bet he'd come out for me," I say. "If I were captured. He'd want that as public as possible. He'd want my execution on his front steps." I let this sink in. "Then Gale could shoot him from the audience." "No." Peeta shakes his head. "There are too many alternative endings to that plan. Snow might decide to keep you and torture information out of you. Or have you executed publicly without being present. Or kill you inside the mansion and display your body out front." "Gale?" I say. "It seems like an extreme solution to jump to immediately," he says. "Maybe if all else fails. Let's keep thinking." In the quiet that follows, we hear Tigris's soft footfall overhead. It must be closing time. She's locking up, fastening the shutters maybe. A few minutes later, the panel at the top of the stairs slides open. "Come up," says a gravelly voice. "I have some food for you." It's the first time she's talked since we arrived. Whether it's natural or from years of practice, I don't know, but there's something in her manner of speaking that suggests a cat's purr. As we climb the stairs, Cressida asks, "Did you contact Plutarch, Tigris?" "No way to." Tigris shrugs. "He'll figure out you're in a safe house. Don't worry." Worry? I feel immensely relieved by the news that I won't be given - and have to ignore - direct orders from 13. Or make up some viable defense for the decisions I've made over the last couple of days. In the shop, the counter holds some stale hunks of bread, a wedge of moldy cheese, and half a bottle of mustard. It reminds me that not everyone in the Capitol has full stomachs these days. I feel obliged to tell Tigris about our remaining food supplies, but she waves my objections away. "I eat next to nothing," she says. "And then, only raw meat." This seems a little too in character, but I don't question it. I just scrape the mold off the cheese and divide up the food among the rest of us. While we eat, we watch the latest Capitol news coverage. The government has the rebel survivors narrowed down to the five of us. Huge bounties are offered for information leading to our capture. They emphasize how dangerous we are. Show us exchanging gunfire with the Peacekeepers, although not the mutts ripping off their heads. Do a tragic tribute to the woman lying where we left her, with my arrow still in her heart. Someone has redone her makeup for the cameras. The rebels let the Capitol broadcast run on uninterrupted. "Have the rebels made a statement today?" I ask Tigris. She shakes her head. "I doubt Coin knows what to do with me now that I'm still alive." Tigris gives a throaty cackle. "No one knows what to do with you, girlie." Then she makes me take a pair of the fur leggings even though I can't pay her for them. It's the kind of gift you have to accept. And anyway, it's cold in that cellar. Downstairs after supper, we continue to rack our brains for a plan. Nothing good comes up, but we do agree that we can no longer go out as a group of five and that we should try to infiltrate the president's mansion before I turn myself into bait. I consent to that second point to avoid further argument. If I do decide to give myself up, it won't require anyone else's permission or participation. We change bandages, handcuff Peeta back to his support, and settle down to sleep. A few hours later, I slip back into consciousness and become aware of a quiet conversation. Peeta and Gale. I can't stop myself from eavesdropping. "Thanks for the water," Peeta says. "No problem," Gale replies. "I wake up ten times a night anyway." "To make sure Katniss is still here?" asks Peeta. "Something like that," Gale admits. There's a long pause before Peeta speaks again. "That was funny, what Tigris said. About no one knowing what to do with her." "Well,we never have," Gale says. They both laugh. It's so strange to hear them talking like this. Almost like friends. Which they're not. Never have been. Although they're not exactly enemies. "She loves you, you know," says Peeta. "She as good as told me after they whipped you." "Don't believe it," Gale answers. "The way she kissed you in the Quarter Quell...well, she never kissed me like that." "It was just part of the show," Peeta tells him, although there's an edge of doubt in his voice. "No, you won her over. Gave up everything for her. Maybe that's the only way to convince her you love her." There's a long pause. "I should have volunteered to take your place in the first Games. Protected her then." "You couldn't," says Peeta. "She'd never have forgiven you. You had to take care of her family. They matter more to her than her life." "Well, it won't be an issue much longer. I think it's unlikely all three of us will be alive at the end of the war. And if we are, I guess it's Katniss's problem. Who to choose." Gale yawns. "We should get some sleep." "Yeah." I hear Peeta's handcuffs slide down the support as he settles in. "I wonder how she'll make up her mind." "Oh, that I do know." I can just catch Gale's last words through the layer of fur. "Katniss will pick whoever she thinks she can't survive without."

#Mockingjay

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