Eli N. Vanto (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
vanto) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
maskormenacelogs2017-11-26 03:31 pm
vanto) wrote in maskormenacelogs2017-11-26 03:31 pm
Entry tags:
002; in this white light
WHO: Eli Vanto [closed] (feat. memories of Kanan, Bodhi, Poe)
WHERE: De Chima #008, Pour Decisions Pub, out and about.
WHEN: Last week or so.
WHAT: Self-indulgent narrative of Eli processing the memories and such.
WARNINGS: mentions of genocide, torture, general Star Wars violence things.
WHERE: De Chima #008, Pour Decisions Pub, out and about.
WHEN: Last week or so.
WHAT: Self-indulgent narrative of Eli processing the memories and such.
WARNINGS: mentions of genocide, torture, general Star Wars violence things.
Days in a warless world have a tendency to fold into each other and routine replaces the chaos of the storm of memories. Eli's work keeps things from decending into complete disaster after years of military routines and schedules; the way the General runs their home also gives a semblance of balance that eases the adjustment period.
Some things are taken in stride, some fill him with childish, naive wonder. Others shake the foundations of beliefs he's held throughout his life.
Memories though, there is no way to view them objectively — not when you've experienced them as if they were your own. When you've felt the terror of your father's abuse, the intrusion of your mind — unravelled with unrelenting pressure until all your defenses went. The leftovers of planets and people smashed beneath the Empire's military prowess.
Eli cannot defend it. Apologising over and over again was not enough to atone. The Imperial Navy has been his past for a while, but Eli will shoulder the responsibility. He has to. Otherwise he is no better than those who had given the orders.
There is an invisible pressure at the front of his skull, centred behind his eye sockets.
Eli snaps the book closed.
Wrong.
your-his hands are cuffed onto a durasteel table and panic panic panic but you-he hides it
kylo ren is
there
your-his breath catches for a moment and you-he know to
wipe your-his mind of thoughts.
kylo ren is
reaching
your-his shields straining against the invasion
before they break and white fills your vision, unforgiving and blinding —
kylo ren is
standing
across from you in the kitchen and you
are not
afraid.
Eli falls out of bed in a tangle of blankets and limbs, sweat gathered at the back of his neck. This memory isn't his, he doesn't want it.
There is a man who comes by the bar most nights to talk to Eli exclusively. Not an imPort, just a simple civilian; he asks questions and answers Eli's in return, helps him with linguistics, and euphemisms exclusive to this world.
We could be good friends Eli is starved for company then, as if being away from the galaxy he once knew has granted permissions inaccessible to him before.
He lingers until Eli finishes his shift and meets him outside, touches Eli's shoulder and then Eli understands that what this man wants is not limited to friendship.
They share some cheap tacos from a hole in the wall restaurant that reminds Eli of home. They have a good time, Eli is not going to complain; as the nights winds down they part ways with lines drawn.
Is there someone else?
Eli doesn't say no. He doesn't say yes either.
The man teases Eli about being mysterious as he walks in the opposite direction.
Eli disagrees; he's obvious and tries to fight the smile on his way home — his mind is pleasantly blank of memories besides his own: the cool pressure of Thrawn's forehead against his own. The minuscule expressions that had taken years for Eli to decipher. The way Thrawn walks — confident and dangerous if you know where to look.
He wonders what it'd be like to trace his fingers along Thrawn's spine, splay his hands against his ribs and just breathe in sync. He wants everything — his mind gets caught up because Eli isn't sure what that would mean for them.
Stars, he can't help it, Eli wants.
Eli finds himself flicking through channels, legs tucked beneath him and a bag of chips on the table. Neatly arranged on the edge is a coaster Eli is using for a glass of orange juice.
The sheer voyeurism of watching the Space Station does not escape him but after the nightmares Eli feels like seeing Poe.
He has a chip halfway to his mouth when things on screen take a certain turn.
Oh.
So this is what it means to watch a train wreck in slow motion.
Oh.
Wow.
Eli cringes, well that was just awkward.
Time to switch the channel. He's not going to get involved in things he does not understand and relationships are something that certainly fall in that category.
There is a beautiful Twi'lek and a man who is running and death.
He can't stop thinking about it. He's trying to swallow the name of Okadiah but as his eyes blur it's the only clear thought alongside the grief.
There is an invite in his mail that has Eli smiling, card carefully held between his fingers.
A certainty that things will get better.
there are leftovers
like an asteroid field
and no horizon
the panic claws at his throat
he clenches his hands as if that action alone could contain the horror.
a pilot, the pilot
an intrusion of privacy and he(Eli just Eli) wants to reach out and reassure the owner of this memory (it'll be fine, fine —
but there is no one there).
Eli wakes in a tangle of sheets with his pillow on the floor. It's fine, he is fine, everything is fine. He repeated the word again and again as if to will it to become truth. He rubs his eyes, adjusting to the darkness of the room, only illuminated at the edges by the light from the streetlamps.
His mind isn't here, in De Chima, he's thinking of back home and the Empire and can't reign in the thoughts and questions that had no satisfactory answer.
The Imperial Navy had been huge, why build a weapon like the Death Star? Eli's meticulous research had led Thrawn to it, of that Eli was sure. Had that changed his plans then?
Had he known —?
Eli picks himself up from bed and reaches for his phone. The digital clock display next to his bed screams 3am with neon red. It's not like Eli can sleep after that anyway.
Some things are taken in stride, some fill him with childish, naive wonder. Others shake the foundations of beliefs he's held throughout his life.
Memories though, there is no way to view them objectively — not when you've experienced them as if they were your own. When you've felt the terror of your father's abuse, the intrusion of your mind — unravelled with unrelenting pressure until all your defenses went. The leftovers of planets and people smashed beneath the Empire's military prowess.
Eli cannot defend it. Apologising over and over again was not enough to atone. The Imperial Navy has been his past for a while, but Eli will shoulder the responsibility. He has to. Otherwise he is no better than those who had given the orders.
There is an invisible pressure at the front of his skull, centred behind his eye sockets.
Eli snaps the book closed.
Wrong.
your-his hands are cuffed onto a durasteel table and panic panic panic but you-he hides it
kylo ren is
there
your-his breath catches for a moment and you-he know to
wipe your-his mind of thoughts.
kylo ren is
reaching
your-his shields straining against the invasion
before they break and white fills your vision, unforgiving and blinding —
kylo ren is
standing
across from you in the kitchen and you
are not
afraid.
Eli falls out of bed in a tangle of blankets and limbs, sweat gathered at the back of his neck. This memory isn't his, he doesn't want it.
There is a man who comes by the bar most nights to talk to Eli exclusively. Not an imPort, just a simple civilian; he asks questions and answers Eli's in return, helps him with linguistics, and euphemisms exclusive to this world.
We could be good friends Eli is starved for company then, as if being away from the galaxy he once knew has granted permissions inaccessible to him before.
He lingers until Eli finishes his shift and meets him outside, touches Eli's shoulder and then Eli understands that what this man wants is not limited to friendship.
They share some cheap tacos from a hole in the wall restaurant that reminds Eli of home. They have a good time, Eli is not going to complain; as the nights winds down they part ways with lines drawn.
Is there someone else?
Eli doesn't say no. He doesn't say yes either.
The man teases Eli about being mysterious as he walks in the opposite direction.
Eli disagrees; he's obvious and tries to fight the smile on his way home — his mind is pleasantly blank of memories besides his own: the cool pressure of Thrawn's forehead against his own. The minuscule expressions that had taken years for Eli to decipher. The way Thrawn walks — confident and dangerous if you know where to look.
He wonders what it'd be like to trace his fingers along Thrawn's spine, splay his hands against his ribs and just breathe in sync. He wants everything — his mind gets caught up because Eli isn't sure what that would mean for them.
Stars, he can't help it, Eli wants.
Eli finds himself flicking through channels, legs tucked beneath him and a bag of chips on the table. Neatly arranged on the edge is a coaster Eli is using for a glass of orange juice.
The sheer voyeurism of watching the Space Station does not escape him but after the nightmares Eli feels like seeing Poe.
He has a chip halfway to his mouth when things on screen take a certain turn.
Oh.
So this is what it means to watch a train wreck in slow motion.
Oh.
Wow.
Eli cringes, well that was just awkward.
Time to switch the channel. He's not going to get involved in things he does not understand and relationships are something that certainly fall in that category.
There is a beautiful Twi'lek and a man who is running and death.
He can't stop thinking about it. He's trying to swallow the name of Okadiah but as his eyes blur it's the only clear thought alongside the grief.
There is an invite in his mail that has Eli smiling, card carefully held between his fingers.
A certainty that things will get better.
there are leftovers
like an asteroid field
and no horizon
the panic claws at his throat
he clenches his hands as if that action alone could contain the horror.
a pilot, the pilot
an intrusion of privacy and he(Eli just Eli) wants to reach out and reassure the owner of this memory (it'll be fine, fine —
but there is no one there).
Eli wakes in a tangle of sheets with his pillow on the floor. It's fine, he is fine, everything is fine. He repeated the word again and again as if to will it to become truth. He rubs his eyes, adjusting to the darkness of the room, only illuminated at the edges by the light from the streetlamps.
His mind isn't here, in De Chima, he's thinking of back home and the Empire and can't reign in the thoughts and questions that had no satisfactory answer.
The Imperial Navy had been huge, why build a weapon like the Death Star? Eli's meticulous research had led Thrawn to it, of that Eli was sure. Had that changed his plans then?
Had he known —?
Eli picks himself up from bed and reaches for his phone. The digital clock display next to his bed screams 3am with neon red. It's not like Eli can sleep after that anyway.