what's left to protect [personal prompts + OTA]

[candor1]

WHO: Cassian, Veronica, Kay, Jyn, and YOU!
WHERE: De Chima [closed] + Maurtia Falls [OTA]
WHEN: Over a week, in this order for Cassian, but whenever's best for you!
WHAT: Catch-all log, and 'cause I'm me and have to have a theme, this one is: transitioning from HOPE to Haven.
WARNINGS:

1. exposition: Maurtia Falls [images + full descriptions for setting of #5]

2. De Chima 003 [closed to Veronica Sawyer]

3. De Chima 003 backyard [closed to K-2SO]

4. De Chima woods [closed to Jyn Erso]

5. Maurtia Falls, sidewalk [multithread OTA!]

Comments

1. Exposition - Maurtia Falls (not intended as prompt but if you can make it one go for it!)

[candor1]

A parent of one of the HOPE students cryptically sent him an address. Cassian followed it to a poor part of Maurtia Falls—far more Kafrene than Coruscant—and a row of mid-height buildings. The ground floors on either side were shops. Looking through the metal grate over the glass front, Cassian could see an open space: exposed beams, padded and rope-bound columns, wall-length mirrors, empty racks, grab bars, benches, a few punching bags, and light streaming in from smaller bar-grated windows at the back. Even without the sign on its door, it had obviously been vacant for some time.

The residential door between this space and the grocery store opened. A couple came out, turning to the store to unlock its grate. They looked over at him warily. Cassian took his hands out of his pockets to hang (visibly empty) at his sides. He nodded to the empty space. "What is this place?"

"That was the dojo," the woman called back.

"I don't know that word."

The man and woman looked at each other; did that kind of subtelepathic conferring that could happen between people who'd cohabited for a long time. The man came over to point through the window toward a wall hanging, inscribed in either abstract art or an alphabet Cassian didn't know. "A training center. Martial arts. Got in teens, mostly. They learned self-defense. But was also… dunno, a spiritual thing. Dojos are, what, part of temples? Next to temples? Not here, obviously, but…"

Chirrut and Baze swirl into mind. "Why is it empty?"

The woman finished pushing aside the grating, locking it into its open position. "The old sensei—teacher," she translated, "died or moved away… we're not sure, we didn't speak much. It's a shame, though, we liked having it next door. Made us feel safer too. Brought some business. And just… I don't know. Was good for people."

The man nodded agreement, joining her to help move some of the sidewalk displays out from where they'd been behind the grating. "A lot of local kids used to come here."

"Was nice," said the woman; "helped, I think, to have someplace for them that wasn't part of the… trap."

Cassian thought about Kafrene. About Jelucan. About Maurtia Falls's own underside. The various ways people could get used. Who was always most vulnerable.

He glanced back through the window. Got the momentary sensation he'd had discovering a deactivated KX droid in lockdown. "Who owns this building?"

"Same landlord as ours," said the man, getting an encouraging look from the woman. "You want the number?"

2. De Chima 003, indoors [closed to Veronica Sawyer]

[candor1]

Cassian's absence from 003 overnight was expected. He'd been planning some night-time-survival-related thing for HOPE for two weeks. He came back to De Chima mid-following-day. Being planet-bound meant the possibility, however unused he was to such a thing, of a regular sleep schedule, so the plan was to stay awake until that night. He's had to stay continuously awake for longer stretches.

But, despite the outing having gone well… Cassian feels discomfort in his skin and skull—the gravity anomaly in his chest—an aversion to having to engage with himself or anything to do with himself. Wanting an exit.

(Because following the new idea meant giving up those lessons. Saying goodbye to those kids.)

Being alone in the woods was too much time with himself right now. The house would probably be empty, no one to talk to; no task currently provided by anyone else, and those he could create for himself too relevant to either issue.

Maybe he'd forget circadian rhythm and try to sleep. He might be subjecting himself to dreams but there was a chance of oblivion.

He'd forgotten the option that calls to him from the next room when he finally goes through the front door. Somebody is home, and has the viewscreen—non-holoprojector—television—on. Perhaps Jyn had come home early, or Kay had moved on from books to other media in his research, or Veronica…? Keeping his footfalls quiet, Cassian put his head through the sitting room doorway.

[couldbebeautiful]

The thing about coming to 2017 straight from 1989 is that you miss out on a lot of movies. Veronica's adjusted well enough to the tech that she can work most of what she's never seen before, but what she hasn't had the time to see are the new Disney movies that came out in the intervening period.

She's watching one now—had actually landed on it while flipping through the channels, and had immediately been hooked by the colorful visuals and catchy tunes (I just can't wait to be king!), and so she's eating chips and sipping from a slushie when she spies Cassian looking through the doorway.

"Hey, Cassian," she greets him. "Where have you been?"

[candor1]

"Overnight lesson for the HOPE survival course," he said, coming fully into the room to look curiously at the vidscreen. "Get through the night finding their own food and making their own shelter. No casualties. They even seemed well-rested this morning." He'd let them off the hook of watch duty by taking it himself. Hence the slightly-darker-than-usual circles under his eyes. Though currently being colored by the light of the movie. "What creatures are these supposed to be?"

[couldbebeautiful]

"Oh, good, they know more than I do about surviving in the wild now."

Speaking of the wild: Simba's just been discovered by Timon and Pumbaa on-screen. Veronica looks at the movie, then at Cassian, then scoots over on the sofa, patting the newly-vacant space next to her so he can sit down and watch with her. Nothing like a Disney movie to get someone to relax, right?

"A lion, a boar, and a meerkat." She takes a sip of her slushie. "The lion's dad just died, because his uncle wanted to be king, and he hasn't been doing too well since then."

kinda relieved they're already past Mufasa's death scene

[candor1]

He gave one of his small smiles. "I don't know if wilderness knowledge is as useful around here as urban would be. I suppose that's next."

…A comment that could mean more than he'd meant it to. But no need to go into it right now.

He took the offer, slipping onto the seat beside her, smiling a bit more (appreciating the overture as well as enjoying the context: he seemed to get the kind of kick out of mundane domesticity that others got out of thrill-seeking); then looked analytically back at the screen. He'd go ahead and assume that all of them having humanlike eyes was as anthropomorphized as their verbalizing in Basic. He files the terms boar and meerkat for looking up later. He's got some reference already for lion.

"Do real lions have social structure similar to monarchy?" he said. "Or were they just picked for aesthetics?" Felinoids across the galaxy to be riveting.

lbr she cried

[couldbebeautiful]

"Set them loose in the nicer parts of Maurtia Falls in pairs," she says, after a moment. "That'd make for a pretty good training ground, if you want to teach them how to survive in a jungle made of concrete."

Another sip. Onscreen, Simba is beating himself up again, and Veronica can't help but sympathize with the poor guy. Everything's just been ripped away from him, after all, and she's been in that position before. She pushes the bowl of chips on the table towards Cassian, as if to complete the illusion of domesticity.

"I wouldn't know, but I don't really think so," she says. "It's more of an every animal or pack of animals for themselves thing." She shrugs, and adds, "But it's Disney, so don't expect scientific accuracy."

he'd probably unwittingly rip a pillow

[candor1]

Maurtia Falls. Confirmation bias, of course. But so much did seem to be… confirming.

"It's a good thought," he said, to thank her. And perhaps contemplate his own.

He looks down into the bowl she offers, wondering if it's more polite to try it or if that just opens them both to the risk of him being insulting by not wanting more after the first. Foodstuffs of that consistency in his lifetime could be… particularly hard to predict.

Oh well; he snags a small one and tries it.

His eyebrows lift in spite of himself. And then he helps himself to a full handful.

"Survivor's guilt, a bit?" he murmurs of the main character's current dialogue. Not disparaging even slightly.

3. De Chima 003, backyard [closed to K-2SO]

[candor1]

Cassian sat on the ground in the backyard, an array of tools and supplies (some bought, some borrowed from Revan) spread out around him. He'd left a message for Kay to join him there. While waiting, was engrossed in the pages he'd called up on his comm. Some historical, from places on the other side of this planet. Some very local.

(The transfer of his reward—which he'd never felt comfortable, as government money, spending on himself, but this felt fine—should be going through anytime.)

[reexamined]

Kay knew what this was about, considering they'd been talking about this relatively recently, and he's certainly ready for it. It's been months since his last maintenance check, and he's certainly feeling overdue for it. One of the benefits of inhabiting a metal chassis instead of an organic body would be the less frequent need for things like grooming or bathing. However, that doesn't mean that the needs aren't there, they're just able to be put off, but eventually if he isn't cleaned or his joints oiled, they'll stop working. He's already felt some sand and grit in his left knee joint for some time now, but it hasn't become bothersome enough to bring up, especially when he knew eventually, he'd get it cleaned. An oil bath would be nice, but very unlikely to happen here.

"Hello Cassian," he greets, stepping into the backyard. "You weren't waiting too long?"

[candor1]

Cassian glances up a greeting before quickly scanning the last of the research, then stuffs the commpad in his pocket. The grin he gives Kay is the one almost no one else gets to see. No ulterior motive; not even analysis; safely relaxed. (Knowing nothing but honesty is required and Kay has analysis and safety covered.) "Knew I was early. Wanted to sit here a bit."

He seems as relieved to be getting back to this ritual as Kay's joints will hopefully be. (Familiar unsinister technical work. One of the requirements of their lives he'd found straightforward and calming. …As well as one of the times he got to fix things rather than… the other. There were probably a few times he'd offered to give Kay a tune-up when Kay didn't need one. Just to feel like Cassian could have a positive impact on someone. [Not "something", or he'd just patch up the ship.])

He steps off the tarp he'd thrown to let Kay take his place on it. That also opened up the view of their resources. More tools than they'd ever have at their disposal aboard ship, and easier access to them than they'd ever have on Base. "How will we adjust… not having to fight off X-techs for the soldering rod."

4. De Chima, the woods [closed to Jyn Erso]

[candor1]

He set up in the clearing he knew Jyn always walked through to get home. Blanket to sit on and some provisions for an after-work refresher. If she didn't pass through within the hour, he'd contact her by comm, but since timing was flexible, he thought he'd see first if he could surprise her.

[kestreldawn]

Every morning that Jyn wakes up, she spends perhaps five or ten minutes simply lying in bed. Staring at the ceiling (sometimes at Cassian, if he's still asleep; though she tries not to do this too often as she feels it might border on the inappropriately creepy). Contemplating whether today's the day she'll choose not to go to work. She knows there's some sort of protocol involved - needing to give notice, sometimes training a replacement, but she doesn't really see the point of it. Nor has her life ever lent itself to following that pattern. When comrades died or left or disappeared, no one was given warning ahead of time; everyone simply had to re-adjust, re-evaluate, and continue on.

But .. that's her old life. The one she's promised herself she'd leave behind. So, she drags herself from the warm sanctuary of the bed, from Cassian's arms, and force herself to go through the motions and make the trek to work. The way she entertains herself now is by seeing how quickly she can get through the day's tasks. She'd started off at about an hour, streamlining the process of organization and ease of retrieval without any issue, and has now gotten it down to almost half the time. The previous day's record was 31 minutes and 40 seconds. She's hoping for 30 as she makes her way down the familiar path through the woods towards the office.

She clocks in a tad longer than she had hoped, finishing up at 31 minutes and 25 seconds, but it's still an improvement. After making sure there aren't other things to be done, she exits the building without a word and begins to head back towards the house. Sometimes, she'll head to one of the other cities, sometimes she visits Veronica at the thrift shop, sometimes she'll go to the antique store she and Cassian had visited early on. This particular day, she decides to head back towards the house first, see what everyone might be up to. She retraces her steps through the forest when she senses something .. different.

She isn't sure what it is, or whom, but her pace slows to keep her footfall light as she approaches. As she breaks into the clearing past the trees, she fears the worst (maybe Hux had tracked her down; maybe he'd recruited the others to ambush her; maybe ...) - and almost laughs at seeing it being Cassian instead. Her gaze scans the setup as she draws near, finally resting delightfully on his face once she's close enough.

"Is this for me or for some unsuspecting passerby?" she asks, tone light and jovial, as she places a gentle hand on his shoulder. She leans in to press her lips to his cheek, tapping her nose to the side of his face, before giving the scene another appraising glance.

[candor1]

He'd stood at her footsteps; so can loop his arm around her waist now when she kisses him. Pressing her momentarily to his side, he swivels them both toward the blanket. "You mean like a terribly camouflaged trap? I should have climbed a tree for that." He keeps his hand on the curve of her hip as he sits, a gentle pressure there to urge her with him.

[kestreldawn]

Jyn is more than willing, eager, and ready to follow wherever he might lead her.

"Perhaps," she replies with a teasing lilt to her voice. "Or maybe," she starts as she follows him down to the ground and onto the blanket, "You've got some secret lover on the side you're trying to woo." There's absolutely no part of Jyn that even moderately suspects something of the sort, not from Cassian. She's noticed his prolonged absences as of late, of course, but she trusts him enough to know that he'll talk to her about whatever it is when the time is right, and when he feels ready.

She has no reason to rush it.

As she takes in the scene - the provisions, the blanket, the grassy clearing - she can't help but think of the only other picnic she'd ever had out in a field like this. It'd been long stalks of blue-green grass then, though, not the shorter almost-neon-green blades upon which they sat. And the man beside her had been but a boy then, with the same dark hair and endlessly dark eyes, surrounded by a rich, brown complexion. She thinks of Hadder fondly, before allowing his ghost to fade away again back into the recesses of her memory, to lean over and kiss Cassian's other cheek.

"This is nice," she murmurs quietly, lips brushing his skin.

[candor1]

It hadn't been Cassian's intent to do anything but eat, but the secret lover jibe makes him (in the same teasing spirit in which she'd said it) lift an eyebrow and the corner of his mouth. He waited as she took in the surroundings (overhearing how it echoed into her past and he gave the space to honor that). But when, with focus and guard thus softened, she leaned in to kiss him again, he sneakily snaked his arm back around her and pulled them both (painlessly) over. And gathered her against him to… demonstrate some devotion.

"Planning to update you on a project I've been working on," he murmured in a moment of parting from her lips, "but first want to know if this is what you meant with that ridiculous word."

[kestreldawn]

Jyn nestles in happily besides him, greedily stealing whatever kisses he feels like sharing, unable to resist the reflex of grinning against his mouth.

At separation, she rests the bulb of her cheek against the crook of his arm, by the socket of his shoulder. She listens quietly as he speaks, her gaze drifting lazily from thing to thing - floating pollen in the tractor beams of light from the peeking sun, rustling of leaves nearby, buzzing insects hopping and floating from one flower to the next as though in search of some hidden treasure. She sighs a joyful sound at the serenity of it all - the forest, the natural world, Cassian at her side. Remembers how close she'd been to losing the most important of the three.

"Ah, so that's what's been stealing you away all these nights," she murmurs playfully, shifting to gently prop her chin against him and look at him with a glimmer of mischief in her eyes. "Ridiculous word? Which one? I probably say a lot of them."

[candor1]

" 'Woo'," he answered, deliberately intoning it like a Rishii, and, craning his neck forward, using the vowel shape plant another kiss between her eyes.

5. Maurtia Falls, poorest part of town, sidewalk [multithread OTA!]

[candor1]

The place had been left in good repair. As fully furnished as he would have made it anyway. Whatever weaponry had stood in the racks was gone, but Cassian was glad of that. If he could keep weapons from coming into the room, he'd be happier. Staffs or batons could be an exception… he'd been wanting to learn some of Jyn's fighting style, himself. The main thing was to renovate the back room.

After that: dust, fix a few broken windows, check the integrity of the various bars and grates, otherwise see what security upgrades might be installed, check the protective padding hadn't degraded, repaint and repair some other cosmetic damage; and, with respectful care, take down the cultural-specific wall hangings. Cassian had been researching the historical and cultural origins of dojo as an establishment. While many aspects were about as universal as he could wish—some a bit eerily familiar-feeling to what he knew of Jedi mythology—he didn't feel right leaving in place the parts he didn't really understand, certainly was no inheritor to, and didn't intend to follow. He used a wooden chest to gently place the folded hangings into. If any of the old students came back and wanted them, they'd be there.

Cassian was on the sidewalk now, painting different combinations of words and names on the front window, stepping back periodically to see what looked right. He tried to keep himself in the mindframe of touching up a ship. It was too disconcerting to thinking about even the illusion of permanence that came with… something… stationary. (…Not that he'd even named one of the ships. Which might be why—) He needed to physicalize the thought process of what to call this place.

He knew what he was getting at. He felt uncomfortable at the possibility of being… too irreverent. (Like the name dojo, itself like the wall hangings: felt less honoring and more disrespectful to use—even knowing dojos hadn't themselves been temples, they'd still been linked to them. And what he was thinking now had also been a temple.) But if he could get it right… it would mean a lot. To him. To Jyn and possibly Kay when he actually took them here. And, allowing the superstitious thought, might help once the place started… running? …to anchor it all.

The words on the window, being shuffled and jumbled around by wet paint and wet rags, included:

nova
kyber
jedha
îmwe
malbus
rook
guardians
whills

[pop_of_color]

Adjusting to life in Maurtia Falls has been .. an ordeal. There are times where Rosa can barely drag herself out of bed (save for the thankfully insistent barking, nudging, whining, nipping of her dog, Arlo) because she knows that it's just going to suck.

She misses the rank odor of sewage and bodily fluids the first thing in the morning. The random patches of what Jake had called "city blood" on the sidewalks and in the subways. The general anonymity that Brooklyn provided.

She wouldn't ever admit it (at least not to any of the idiots she's encountered here so far or on the network), but she misses her fellow detectives, too. She misses Jake, who's one of the few people she'd ever openly called a 'friend.' She misses Amy's stupid neurotic tendencies, Gina's stupid self-centered preening, Charles' stupid overtly sexual description of food, Sarge's stupidly big muscles. She doesn't think she'd go so far as to say she misses Hitchcock or Scully because - gross - but she also wouldn't immediately want to stab them with a knife if they were to randomly show up.

So, that has to count for something.

She's taking Arlo on one of his many walks when she nears a man, half-covered in paint, continually approaching and stepping away from what appears to be the window of some dingy, once-used martial arts studio. She thinks to keep walking past without commenting when Arlo tugs just hard enough to rip the lead out of her hand to race towards the man. And, to make matters worse, Arlo steps in the tray of paint by the stranger's feet and leaves painted paw prints up the man's side as he jumps.

"'Ey!" she shouts as she runs to catch up. Her mother tongue immediately comes out, and she says in Spanish, "ARLO! Come back here, NOW!" She finally gets close enough to grab the end of the lead and tug the dog away from the man. She subconsciously pegs him as a Spanish speaker, and, after muttering some choice words at the dog she's now corralled at her side, she continues, this time addressing the man himself in the same mother tongue as the one she'd used on the dog.

"I'm sorry, my dog's an idiot." She reaches into her pocket and pulls out 2 $20 bills, extending them out towards the guy. "Should cover the cost of new clothes."

[candor1]

Cassian had caught the approach in his peripheral vision and so was prepared for it. Didn't try to fight the animal off when it jumped—though that wouldn't necessarily be his first instinct anyway. He found a lot of the damage one could sustain from animals came from struggling; playing dead could be surprisingly effective. But he also liked animals. And this one was radiating enthused friendliness.

As such, he'd caught the dog's scull between his hands and was ruffling the soft ears by the time the dog's human caught up to pull him away.

Cassian figured he'd wait until she was less distracted to try and assure her it was okay. The language she addressed him in… was the one he'd heard more frequently spoken in Heropa. The one so infuriatingly like Yaval that hearing it didn't first make him think that's another language, but rather oh hell I've forgotten how to speak Yaval…! He'd started learning it just to resolve that cognitive dissonance.

Language acquisition was one of the aspects of spycraft Cassian had been able to enjoy and be good at without emotional complication, so he's able to respond in kind. …Though, for all his accent in Basic sounded Mexican to local ears, his accent speaking Español suddenly sounded… less so. Just slightly something else.

"Don't worry about it," he answered, holding up a palm to protest the money. "They were full of paint already. And I like idiot dogs. It's fine."

[pop_of_color]

Huh.

Guy's Latino, as far as Rosa can tell, and yet .. she can't peg his accent. She recognizes it as not being Argentinian the way hers is, but it also isn't Cuban (like Amy's father) or Puerto Rican or Guatemalan or ..

Any of them.

She holds the money out for a second or two longer but, when the guy's made it clear he isn't interested and won't be taking it, she shrugs a shoulder and shoves the bills back into the pocket of her black jeans. She's, as usual, wearing black from head to toe - black t-shirt, black leather jacket, black jeans, black leather boots. The only hint of color is her face and neck, sprouting out of her dark shoulders like a strange flower, underneath a canopy of bouncy, black curls.

Arlo's realized his mistake and sits, remorseful, by her feet. And he shoots a couple of pleading glances at the stranger to diffuse the situation. Rosa isn't mean to the dog - if anything, he draws out the softer side she's so often pretending doesn't exist or trying to kill with fire and blades - but .. it's Rosa.

The fuzziest thing about her is her hair.

"Your accent isn't one I recognize. Mexican? Spanish? Peruvian?"

[candor1]

…One of those moments, again… How to give personal information without lying, when being accurate stopped being the instinct long ago. (If it ever was because he never knew.)

When deciding to learn this language, it had come with some geographic research, as matter of course. He'd discovered that many of its local speakers were (as this woman first guessed) Mexican; and in various markers, including speech, that would be how he'd most easily be seen, and how he'd best identify if he needed a Terrestrial cover (because no matter that he's not planning any such thing, of course his mind won't stop automatically logging such detail).

But he's trying not to lie. And the longer, beyond all expectation, he keeps succeeding, the more fervently he wants to see how much longer it can last.

"You won't have heard of it," he said. "I wasn't raised there anyway; I mimicked my father's accent as a kid. (Pero entonces…) What about you?"

[pop_of_color]

He's overthinking something. Rosa can practically smell the smoke coming out of his ears. She didn't think that asking for particulars on an accent would cause anyone an identity crisis, but who knows? Maybe the guy's got amnesia. Maybe he's just gotten out from being undercover (somewhere in her head, she hears Jake going: I was undercover for 63 days!!) and is readjusting to his new/old identity the way Adrian had done when he'd gotten out after 12 years.

Maybe he's just .. strange.

Which isn't that much of a bother to Rosa. She's seen it all, including a guy humping a laptop. But her posture might stiffen a bit, her fingers might twitch with the instinct to reach for the weapon that's no longer in a holster at her waist, but rather for the strange portal she can't understand to an endless stash of blades just inside the lining of her leather jacket.

But his answer makes her quirk a brow, steady her hands, loosen the grip on Arlo's lead. Even he seems to be a tad confused by that, tilting his head to the side.

"So, was your father from some tiny village in the middle of nowhere or something? I know a lot of people in the US haven't heard of all the countries of South America, but, uh. I mean, I'm Argentinian. .. I know South America."

What? Just .. what?

[candor1]

Almost subliminally, he catches that tic of her hand that he recognizes too well. His own hands keep doing it here, no matter that it was his own decision not to seek a replacement for his blaster.

Deliberately, he crouches, switching his gaze from her eyes to her dog's. A flicker back up at hers to say, "May I?" before extending his hand for the dog to sniff.

And in so doing… decides to go for full honesty and answer her question. The hand's an offering to the dog; the bared forearm he rotates, where the sleeve was rolled up, is an offering to her. Show her the imPort mark.

"Further away," he said, glancing up at her again. "Seemed simpler not getting into it. …But you're relatively local, then? What brought you here from the next continent?"

(A bit stilted, perhaps, but checking to confirm he's got that geography right. Know your territory is rule one, and after memorizing details of the imPort cities, he's been moving outward from there. Argentina - the tapered south one - capital Buenos Aires - 'good winds' )