maskormenacelogs | May Swear In

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May Swear In

WHO: Everyone!
WHERE: Nonah's Fairgrounds
WHEN: May 12th
WHAT: May Swear In
WARNINGS: None expected; please warn in threads if necessary

Spring is finally beginning to fade into summer with weather starting to warm, and the trees and flowers beginning to blossom into their peak, and what better way to celebrate the welcome change in weather than with a FAIR?

The fairgrounds have been transformed overnight with a swath of rides and attractions filling the field from one edge to the other. There is, of course, a booth for imPort registration that's positioned near the entrance of the fair. Even so, imPorts with an interest in registering may have to ask a fair worker for directions. The signage on the registration booth is, for some reason, faded and easy to miss among the bright and bold banners and lights drawing attendees to the different game booths that line the paths further into the grounds. Must have just been poor planning on someone's part!

Further into the park there are a wide array of the standard carnival games. Games include from balloon pops where you can win your very own "signed" copy of imPort photographs, but does anyone actually remember signing any photos…? There's also a ring toss that no one can seem to win, but the prizes include items like a water bottle discarded by Tony Stark, or dried flowers from one of Persephone's actual vines! Or maybe you'd like to prove your sharpshooter skills by knocking milk bottles down with a pellet gun? Prizes range from cheap, poorly painted figures of popular imPorts, to a handful of detailed and poseable figurines of both imPorts and famous media characters for the very best shooters.

Past the games are the many, many different food booths. You can chow down on Fried Stuff On Sticks, offering fare ranging from deep fried cheesecake on a stick to deep fried corndogs on a stick to a variety of tempura on sticks. (It counts!!) Or perhaps you prefer a healthier roasted meat? There's no shortage of options for that: roast turkey, roast beef, roast bison, roast alligator? Strangely few, if any, of these booths offer any vegetable options, but intrepid imPorts can find a booths offering superfood smoothies, quinoa bowls, or fruit parfaits tucked away at the very end of the food court.

And don't forget the main attraction (at least, the attraction Galla is most pleased with): CAPTURE THE FLAG. A parcel of land roughly the size of two side-by-side American football fields has been fenced off, and a brightly colored banner that looks like it manifested directly from the 90s is hung across the entrance, inviting all to enjoy! Inside, there is a scattering of trees to provide some natural cover in addition to man-made structures like sections of wall, pieces of large construction pipe to crawl through or hide in, and, of course, the different flag bases:

Yes, those are inflatable dinosaur heads inside an inflatable Jurassic Adventure. The flags are located inside of the temple the top of the "mountain" which, conveniently, has a rock climbing facade just in case climbing to the top of an inflatable hill is too difficult for some players.

Capture the Flag games are held hourly, and imPorts can choose to compete against each other, against natives, or even to team up with local native attendees! When competing against or with natives, imPorts are asked to refrain from flight, mind-reading, or teleportation, but it isn't a rule being strictly enforced. In fact, apart from those requests, imPorts are encouraged to use their powers as much as they like! There are natives lined up around the perimeter to watch the games play out, so why not give them a show to remember?

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

He can't help the slightly fond look at 622's assertion. "No, it isn't, but that's the game."

He tilts his head, looking back at the guns. "Alright. I'll play too. See who's the better shot, huh?"

"It's unfair. People won't get a real sense of how to improve with something like that." He took half a step towards the booth and then stopped.

"And it's going to be unfair between us too. I told you before," back when he thought they were both Imperials, "I can't miss."

"Yeah, this really isn't about anyone improving, either - they just don't want to give prizes to everyone."

He motions to the woman running the booth, and she ducks down to get their ammo as Poe looks at 622, an amused smile pulling over his lips. He is, honestly, just happy with how easy it is to just talk to him.

"Yeah, yeah, I know, but I haven't really seen it. If you feel like helping out my fragile ego, you can hit my target a couple of times, instead." He gave the man a wink. "Just take it in the spirit of friendly competition and let's see just how far you beat my ass into the ground. Yeah?"

"Oh." He'd seen the prizes, but hadn't realized that was the draw. Who would want dolls of--

Huh. "But if I hit yours, then I can't get that one," he points to a suspiciously familiar-looking tiny plastic face.

"Which one?" He asks, following 622's gaze. He figures out which one of the (frankly, very well sculpted) imPort action figures 622 is pointing to, and he can feel the heat as a little colour rises to his cheeks. Not his fault. Not his fault? Stormtroopers aren't supposed to be adorable.

"Alright, fair. Just go for broke, then. Maybe I can get a prize, too."

The woman started loading up the two air rifles with pellets, as Poe fished some money out of his jacket. "There any other ones you're interested in?" He asked, completely casually. One hundred percent.

"That one." Oh, wait. Looks like he found it. Now he was feeling self-conscious about it. "If that's alright."

"I--don't think so," he looks them over, trying to find any he recognizes and has an opinion about. No luck. "If there's another one you want to shoot for, let me get a feel for your rifle and I should be able to tell you how to adjust."

"Yeah, of course." Again, super duper casual and not at all flushing a bit. Cool. The stormtrooper who he thought hated him instead wanted an action figure of him. Just him. Cool, cool, cool. He forced an amused smile to his lips, glancing back at him. "Long as you promise it's not for target practice."

He looked back to the figurines, and saw one of BB-8 right beside the one they were already discussing.

"That one. My little buddy. But I'll try to get him, don't worry."

He picked up the gun, hefting it into his arms, then flashed 622 a grin. "I got this. Not exactly my first time with a rifle."

The last time he'd used one, he'd killed three stormtroopers with three shots.

He tried not to think about that.

"No, I go to the range for that--" wait that was a joke wasn't it "--it's--that's the responsible place to practice and the targets are standardized," he finished the explanation anyway, unable to stop himself. Dammit.

"Hope you've been keeping in practice, then," he picked up the rifle, with a small, irritated snort at the way it felt to hold. This thing was just shoddy all around.

Even if it was shoddy, he couldn't let himself be shoddy too. Proper shooting stance and aim for the first target. "Ready?"

The response to the joke just made it worse, so Poe tried to hide his grin by puling the rifle up to his shoulder.

"Been trying. But honestly, all the guns here just make me miss my blaster rifle."

His own stance was easy - one of a man who had obviously been trained, and who's stance now came from muscle memory rather than thought, slightly off from regulation for the sole reason that his body had long since adjusted to ensure maximum comfort for his frame in particular. It was also obvious, by the way he compensated, that he was far more used to a far heavier weapon.

He raised the barrel of the gun to aim at the target, and saw Jakku. Not literally, exactly, but just in his mind's eye. Saw his sights falling on a stormtrooper - shot - another - shot--

Saw them fall on Kylo Ren, fire, and then watch the blaster bolt hang in mid air--

All amusement disappeared from his expression, his face hardening. Pull it together, Dameron, you've fired a gun a half a hundred times since coming here, on the practice range, this one isn't any damn different.

"... Ready."

"I've still got mine." He'd been trying to get used to local weapons just in case, but you couldn't beat what you'd grown up with. "E-11. I can't let non-Imperials touch it unless it's mission critical, though." That was just a fact of regulation, and an important one.

And despite the power he's got, he's kept up practice. First to keep the muscle memory, then to get used to the local stuff, then to work on speed. As long as he's got this aiming thing, his only limitations are predicting where something's going to go, and how fast he can re-center on a target. And with the hellacious recoil on slugthrowers, that's been his main adversary. "Let's see what you can do, then."

Oh. These things have almost no recoil. Even with the almost five degree adjustment the power's making to account for this piece of junk, this will be over quick.

A smile flickered at the edges of his lips at the words "mission critical", but it faded again quickly.

He took a breath, held it- and didn't fire. Not for several seconds, anyway. When he finally squeezed the trigger it let out two shots instead of one, and both far to the left of his intended target. He adjusted, then fired again. And again.

It wasn't as fun as he'd been hoping.

By the end of it, he'd managed to tear out most of the star, but only enough to get one of the cheap prizes, and he clicked his tongue. "Well, could have done a lot better than that."

The bullseye on his target was completely obliterated. He could have hit dead center on it each time, but he'd learned by now that locals wouldn't trust that he'd actually hit the target multiple times if all the shots went through the same hole.

He finished up quick, fast enough to get a glance at Dameron's face. "If you want I can get that one for you," he suggests, "Or we could do something else." He didn't know what was going on, but it wasn't whatever he'd expected would happen.

"Nah, I got this." The last thing he wanted was pity, at this point, so instead he signalled to the booth clerk to fill him up again, and replace the target.

"You get the one you want, then I'll introduce you to cotton candy." That would be better. Focus on something else. Not guns, not the number of men like 622 he's killed. None of that.

"Introduction is right, I've got no idea what that is." Probably sugar, though. It was always either sugary or fried.

"Can I have the uh--" He paused, glancing over at Dameron. He could get the little droid one instead.

Getting the little statue thing had been a joke, really, he didn't know what he'd do with it--

"It's basically pure sugar," Poe replied, as if he could read 622's mind. "They make it into this crazy whispy stuff and wrap it around a stick. It's pretty much the worst thing you could put into your body, but it literally melts on your tongue and tastes amazing, so I think a little treat every once in a while isn't totally out of the question."

Talking about the candy helped. Meant he could see the target for the target, rather than the helmet of a storm trooper. While 622 deliberated, he fired, and this time managed to take out the whole star.

"There we go. Much better."

"That sounds..." Eesh. "Horrible but probably tasty." That summed up every single food he'd found here. His digestive system hated the adventures he kept going on.

Okay. Poe's aim had recovered, so that settled the deliberation. "That one, please." He pointed to the mini-Poe. "And these rifles really need to be calibrated."

"Yeah, that's exactly what it is. Horrible but tasty." He put the gun down, then pointed to the droid.

The woman at the booth just rolled her eyes to 622's comments as she gave them both their prizes. Poe paused, looking at his tiny bb-8, then at the tiny poe, and then pushed the droid into 622's hands.

"That's BB-8. They're supposed to be together, so you should keep him." A pause. "You haven't actually met him yet, have you?"

That reaction earned a stern frown, but no further commentary. There should be some sort of law about that. Keep these things honest.

"If you want them both you can have the--no, I haven't. You have a droid here?" He hadn't seen any around here besides K-2SO.

"No, I want you to have them." He looked around, scanning the crowd.

"Yeah, he likes to meet people so he wandered off somewhere, but I'm sure we can find him. Let's get some cotton candy and I'll see if I can introduce you. He's my astromech - saved my life more times than I can count."

He'd just... stick these in his pockets, then. He'd finally managed to find a jacket that felt like it had enough pockets to make up for the lack of utility belt, with proper closures on them and everything.

Mini-Poe is still too tall to fit, though, so it's going to have to stay peeking out of his pocket for now.

Oh. An astromech. That's probably why he hadn't seen anything from this droid before: TIE pilots don't fly with astromechs. That would have given it away.

He swallows to tamp down on the queasy feeling that leaves him with, nodding. "Candy first, then." He pats the little droid-shaped lump in his pocket. "And I know what to look out for now."

It was, in fact, exactly why 622 hadn't met BB-8, but it was also why Poe wanted him to meet BB-8 now. He'd promised no more secrets and he was doing his damndest to live by that. No more secrets, no more lies. Even by omission. Not when he could help it.

"He's not hard to spot, long as you're looking at about knee-height." Poe shoved his hands into his pockets, scanning the crowd once more - not for BB-8, this time, but for Kylo or Hux - before reassuring himself and then heading to the cotton candy booth.

"You holding up okay?"

"I'm still in one piece," he replies, though obviously that's not what Poe's asking about. "Nothing dramatic's happened lately. Things are still complicated, but I don't think that's going to settle down anytime soon."

"And you?"

"No, probably not." And lately Poe's feeling like everything is just as complicated as 622 feels like it is, so he's of basically no help there. Just hindrance.

He shrugs. "Finn never came back, so." He says it casually, and like he doesn't care, but it's been a month. "Trying to figure out what the hell I'm supposed to be doing otherwise. Made a couple stupid mistakes again. Stopped drinking." He probably shouldn't be telling 622 all this, actually, but. Doesn't want to lie by omission either.

He nods, wishing he had his helmet on. These kinds of awkward topics were made so much easier when the only thing you had to worry about was what your body language said.

"I've been..." He sighs. "I haven't done very much. I'm looking into some of the imPort-led security groups around here. RISE and all that. Working with civilian kids is not a great fit for me." They were loud, chaotic, and there were a lot of things about them he wasn't allowed to try and correct. It just made him nervous every time he had to deal with that, and they could probably sense it.

"RISE is the one that Jacob is in, right?" If it helps, Poe is kind of avoiding looking at his face anyway. "He's a good guy. And they're doing some good work. You could do a lot worse."

They come up to the cotton candy stand and Poe finally turns his head to look at the stormtrooper. "Pink or Blue?"

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