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WHO: Captain Rex (ordinarily

ct_7567), all aged up to Grandpa Rex & YOU
WHERE: In his home in Maurtia Falls, generally around Maurtia Falls!
WHEN: Throughout the Feywild Event
WHAT: Rex is all aged up physically & mentally and, somehow, tries to carry on his normal life.
WARNINGS: Probable canon-appropriate discussions of war, but nothing much! If you'd like a dedicated starter, please feel free to wildcard it up or plot with me through PM/chat with me on plurk @ wisdombitch!

o1. home.

[ Rex winds up spending most of his time at home. It seems easier that way, where he can get his bearings and choose who comes in and who comes out. Anyone who sees him will see that he's changed, of course. He's put on weight, his unnaturally skinny frame good and filled out by now, skin dark and covered densely in freckles from too much time left in the sun, but his demeanor's different too. More comfortable in some ways and less comfortable than others, but people have rarely seen him kick his legs up before.

At least now he's figured out how to cook. If you come to visit around mealtime, you might even come to the smell of bacon crackling merrily away on the stove, Rex standing before it and poking it around with a fork. He might not be so nice to look at - not that anyone considered him as such except for Andy - but at least you'll get something to eat from him other than bacon burnt to a crisp or under-rendered and flabby. It's a trade-off. ]

o2. gossip.

[ The last time Rex was here - last month, in fact - he had been the subject of some gossip from some of the bored househusbands and housewives he'd gotten to know at Martin's soccer practices, gleeful over that brand new ring on his finger. Now, it's something else entirely as he stumbles upon them having coffee outdoors together, heads simultaneously turning to gawk unashamedly at Rex, now much, much older. When he confirms that he is indeed Rex, he takes one look at their faces, plants his hands on his hips and lets out a sharp bark of laughter, more mirthful than most get the chance to see him. ]

Hah! Not so interested now, are you? And here I'm more age appropriate for you now than I was before.

[ He even winks at one before he walks away, chuckling to himself at their scandalized expressions. ] Ladies. Gentlemen.

[ He really didn't enjoy this enough when he had the chance. He's aware that he's probably a sight, mouth twisting underneath that snow-white beard, still stubbornly wearing that old, scratched up chestplate and gauntlets of his, evidently too secure in them to even play at trying to fit in more the way he did before. He can't quite bring himself to care. ]

o3. headbutts.

[ Rex technically looks like an easier target now, especially on the mean streets of Maurtia Falls, but he's far from harmless. Which is why when he gets approached by a motley group of muggers (there really aren't enough of them to take him on, he thinks), one of them hooking his hand into the divot of Rex's armour and tugging him towards him, sneering, give it up old man, Rex operates on instinct alone.

What this means isn't that he punches the man. It doesn't mean that he reaches for his blasters, hidden underneath the coat he's wearing over the whole ensemble. It means that he rears his head back and headbutts the man as hard as he can. The man goes down and Rex grimaces, rubbing at his forehead. He's really got to stop doing that. It's not good for what brain cells he's got left. ]

o4. coffeeshop.

[ It's one thing to be on the move. It's another entirely to actually slow and take in where he is and how different it is from where he's been. To become used to this when he was still a young man had been an upward climb after the life he'd had. Now, he may be better equipped to exist in public as a concept but after years of relative solitude, of being on the run, of scarcely being able to show his face for fear of what would happen next save for in the seemingly endless bunkers and ships of the rebellion, it's hard. Maybe it was never destined to be easy for him.

He finds a corner to sit in facing the door as he sits and watches the people come in and out, not a care in the world, gaze distant and faraway. It's not so odd, seeing someone sit and quietly drink their caf, but his knuckles are white where they're gripping onto the handle of the cup. ]

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[ Can't argue with that. Can't really pretend like she really gives a fuck about it either. Probably makes her a person of questionable morals, but Andy would have been amused to see Rex headbutt just about anybody. The street justice he achieved with that headbutt is a small bonus.

Obligingly, she shuffles through wallets until Rex produces the right one. Her eyes give the ID only a cursory glance — she trusts Rex with these details and always has. Him being old and gray now hasn't changed that one bit. ]

Only one way to find out. [ She answers amicably. ] The useless bastards at the station will give you shit no matter what, so what the hell do we have to lose?

You've got a point there. Even if I could still kick their asses into next Tuesday.

[ Well, growing old hasn't dampened that ego any, no matter what airs Rex has been putting on about his poor old bones. He takes out his communicator and gives them a call. ]

This is Lieutenants Rex and Andy, reporting a two-four-zero, again, a two-four-zero with a four-one-seven-K off the cross-section of Cowdrey and Third. Suspect is a white male, mid-twenties, ID reading Joseph Reid, again, suspect is a white male, mid-twenties, ID reading Joseph Reid. The suspect has been neutralized. Requesting pick up on Cowdrey and Third, I repeat, Cowdrey and Third.

[ At least he doesn't sound different enough to raise anyone's suspicions, though apparently whoever's on the other end says something enough to make Rex roll his eyes. ]

Just send the patrol car over, sol -- officer. That's an order.

[ He hangs up. ]

Absolutely no professionalism whatsoever.

[ With anyone else, she might be tempted to call out posturing — but with Rex, it's just true. Plain and simple, he could probably leave any one of the other cops at their precinct in a full body cast — even back when he was young and skinny. Not that they don't see a little action now and then, but it's altogether a different thing than war. And survival. A person fights differently with those stakes. Stakes that Rex and Andy know well.

So, instead, she just shrugs lightly, the corner of her mouth still quirked up slightly at the corner as she waits for him to call in their arrest.

Wryly then: ]

Good to know you still have that captain's voice of yours. [ The one she loves to earn, when she's in one of her devious moods. ] Old age hasn't softened you up too much.

Commander, actually, [ Rex says, straightening up with a glint in his eye that does nothing to dissuade anyone from describing him as cocky. The more things change, the more they stay the same. ] Officially speaking. Of the Alliance to Restore the Republic. I've still got some fight left in me. I can still outshoot most of the kids.

[ Outrunning them... now, that's another story, but it hardly matters when he shoots everyone he needs to before he has to run.

Wryly, ] You and I could still whup the whole precinct. They'd just be a lot more embarrassed about it now.

Oh. [ With a fond wryness, as she gives him an amused little look: ] Commander. Doesn't make as cute a pet name, but there's probably worse things to call your husband.

[ Idly, Andy gives their prisoner another light nudge with the toe of her boot in a way that could be construed as checking up on him, with some work of the imagination. ]

Anyway, you shouldn't tempt me. I've been dying to see what you're really made of, these days.

[ As if she has any doubt he could take the entire station himself. ]

[ Rex gets to his feet with a groan that's just a little too loud, stretching his broad arms out in front of him as he gives Andy a particularly baleful look. Ouch, his back! Ouch, his knees! Ouch, his hips! ]

Fighting a war that needs to be fought, now, that's one thing. But I think I've gotten a bit too old for an old-fashioned spar these days. All that rolling around in the dirt's a young man's game.

[ Andy makes a show of rolling her eyes, the corner of her mouth curved again with wry amusement. Sure, Rex, play up the achy old grandpa thing all you want — she knows he's still plenty solid, and probably more than a match for the lazy fucks in their precinct. Maybe a better match for her too. If those broad arms are anything to judge by, it'd be easier for him to fling her around now than before.

Dryly, as she glances idly up the street: ]

That's too bad. I liked rolling around in the dirt with you.

[ He raises his brows. Mildly, he says, ] Did you now? I suppose you'll just have to roll in the dirt with someone else. Maybe Archie will give you a run for your money.

[ He's joking. At Archie's expense, which isn't very nice of him, but he's not always nice. He tosses the wallet back onto the criminal's prone form, though not before he leafs through it one more time and indulges himself in the petty theft of a pack of gum.

What a rebel. He holds a piece out to Andy as the sound of distant sirens grow louder. ]

They'll really take any excuse to use those, won't they.

[ Her answer is a light scoff of a noise, vaguely amused. ]

It's not as fun when it's not you. [ Rex gets a sidelong look. ] You're the only one that remembers I'm not invincible.

[ Reaching out, she accepts the piece of gum and pops it unceremoniously into her mouth, chewing idly for a moment or two as the flashing lights of a patrol car appear at the end of the street. Nodding her head in the direction of the vehicle, she goes on mildly: ]

Let's throw this fool in the back and let him be their problem. We can grab a cup of caf across the street before we head back.

Then they'd do better to remember that. Not that it changes the nature of the spar. You'd whip them nine times into next Tuesday, with or without powers.

[ If nothing else, Rex will always have an enduring belief in his wife's capability of whoop-ass. It may not have worked perfectly against that horrible worm with four laser swords, but that's an exception, not the rule. They deal swiftly with the patrol car - who do doubt Rex's veracity, then want to have a bit of a go at him, but a mixture of he and Andy's tendency not to bear any nonsense willingly shuts them up - and soon the car's trundling on its way back to the station. Rex watches it go, hands on his hips. ]

We're always giving them something to talk about, aren't they, [ he says mildly. ] Right. Let's go get that caf.

[ He's not wrong — about either thing. It's never really a fair fight with Andy, not for most people. Put aside the immortality. The woman's been brawling for thousands of years. There's no ordinary human out here that's a match for her. Especially not those lazy fucks down at the station. But that doesn't stop the other cops from talking. Usually not flattering shit either.

Probably a good thing neither one of them has ever had particularly thin skin. ]

Don't know why. [ She retorts with a light breath, already starting off across the street. Coffee shop there isn't the best, but their brew is dark and strong. ] We're not that interesting. Not by ImPort standards.

We're not even interesting by their standards. All we do after work is go sit at home all day. That's not what anyone would call exciting. Maybe we just leave more to the imagination.

[ He steps into the coffee shop, holding the door open behind him for Andy. ]

Just think of how much more they'd talk if they knew even half of the stories we could tell.

[ Boring — that's what he's saying they are. And some people might consider that an insult. But he didn't mean it that way, and she doesn't take it that way either. It's true, isn't it? And besides, Andy's had plenty of adventures. She's lived on every continent. Fought wars. Gone on secret missions. It's nice, going home at the end of the day. Climbing into bed with her husband. Enjoying their routine.

It's nice getting to rest. ]

Guess it's a good thing I can't be assed to speak to them. [ Let alone tell them stories about her actual life. As she heads into the coffee shop, she rolls her eyes lightly just thinking about it. ] You'd think they would have promoted at least one of us by now, considering we practically carry the entire station on our backs.

It's because they know I'd whip them into shape. You would too, if you could be arsed to do it.

[ She would if that's something Rex felt strongly enough about, at least as a stoic, intimidating presence by his side while he did all the yelling she was too tired to do. Rex has been tired many times in his long life, but he's found he's never gotten too tired to yell and spread his displeasure around to anyone unlucky enough to enter his vicinity. ]

If they knew more about you, think they'd treat you with more respect? You'd put the fear of god into 'em, I can tell you that much. [ He hums thoughtfully. ] More than you already do.

[ Again: Not wrong. Andy's led enough armies in her time. But something says she'd be a lot more likely to strangle their coworkers than inspire proper any proper work ethic. She was a lot better at that kind of leadership when she was six thousand years younger and still spent most of her time with her tits out. Rex, though — Rex could do it, she thinks. Rex, with his officer's bearing. The authority in his voice when he's stern. His stubborn determination to do things the right way.

Maybe there's a little less of that now — the years have apparently loosened the stick that has long been rumored to reside up her husband's ass — but she doesn't doubt that he'd still do a fine job, if that's what he wanted. ]

Probably not. [ Wryly: ] Half of them write me off just because they don't want a woman in their fucking boys' club.

[ She pauses to order for both of them — her usual black coffee, bitter as balls, and what would have been the usual for Rex of fifteen years prior. Habit. ]

It should be you. [ It's deceptively casual, when she goes on. ] You'd do something good with it.

We'd spend a lot less time together that way.

[ Rex isn't so sure if he'd want to be Andy's superior. It would feel odd. It would probably count as a conflict of interest; he wouldn't be surprised if they got shipped into different precincts. And it's not that he'd joined the force for Andy - he joined before her - but she'd joined it for him. He likes their work together.

But he'd joined to make a difference. That's probably what he should be doing. He strokes his beard. ]

There's no reason why it shouldn't be both of us. I'd do my best with it. And so would you. You know what's right and what's wrong. [ There's some humour in his voice - and some wistfulness too - when he points out, ] I've rather given up on doing the right thing through official means, lately. It would be nice to belong to something where that's an actual possibility.

[ Admittedly, she likes all the time they spend together. How habitually joined at the hip they are. Not that she'd ever make a fuss if that had to change, but. She'd miss it. The way it is now. What they have. ]

It might have to be both of us. [ Her dryness is almost nonchalant, the wry twist of her mouth directed his way for a fleeting moment before she turns away to pick up their orders, one coffee in either hand. ] Otherwise, they'd have to give me a different partner, and there isn't a single bastard in the entire precinct who wants that.

[ She hasn't put much effort into getting on with the others. But Rex knows that. ]

Maybe they'd rather have us promoted out of their fucking hair.

Edited 2020-07-07 00:37 (UTC)

[ Rex snorts. ]

Maybe so. Hopefully so, at some point. And here I thought I was ready to retire from the whole fighting business.

[ He says it with a lightness that betrays the fact that he's not at all serious about that. He never thought about what he was going to do after the rebellion was over. And it is over now. The Death Star is gone, Darth Vader and Palpatine killed in his General's kid's wake, and he was left...

What, going back to that broken down AT-AT in the desert? With Wolffe and Wolffe alone? That sounds miserable too. He has to admit that being here beats the hell out of that, here with a partner he could settle down in a broken down AT-AT with and be happy about it. Thankfully, they don't have to. ]

Leave it to you to terrorize your way to the top. Not a bad way of going about things, all things told. It's not as though neither of us know what to do with a bit of power.

[ Did he ever have any real power? ]

Relatively speaking.

[ Retire. Sure. They both know he'll probably take his fighting spirit with him to his death bed. So he jokes, and she gives him a wry, knowing look before passing him his coffee. ]

We wouldn't have to bother if even one other person in our shit precinct had their head halfway out of their own ass. [ Unperturbed by the fact that her own coffee must be absolutely scalding, she takes a sip before going on: ] I've been the boss for centuries. Might be a nice change of pace for someone else to be head fuck-up in charge.

[ It's hard to tell how much she really means that. Her face is unreadable, the wryness of her voice an effective camouflage for her actual thoughts. ]

Besides, we'd just be glorified babysitters.

Yeah?

[ It's said lightly, but Andy rarely says anything without meaning it a little. That's why she hurts others so badly when they get into fights. She doesn't say what she means. But she doesn't not mean it either. Use the truth, and you can funnel it into anything you like. That's where strength is. Rex has seen it himself. He takes a slow sip of his caf. He exhales, evidently pleased. ] This beats the hell out of the swill I've been drinking. I'm not a particular man, but I swear they managed to water down even the instant granules, back home.

[ He cups his hands around his mug. It's scaldingly hot, even through hands too beat to shit to feel it properly anymore. ]

Maybe you're the one who's due to retire. None of the others ever wanted to pick up the slack, give leadership a shot?

[ Or did Andy just not let them? ]

[ He's always known her a little too well. Even from the very start — that first night, when he saw her in that shitty bar, wallowing in her own miserable nothingness. There shouldn't have been much to give her away. Nothing about the way she dressed or spoke that especially betrayed what she truly was — but he'd seen something, that night. Something kindred, maybe. That subtle sharp edge of hers. He'd known. And even when she'd wanted to, she'd never really been able to hide from him.

At some point, she'd mostly stopped trying.

It's probably mercy on his part that he doesn't call her out directly, making his question more casual than not. She can play it off if she wants, but the look in her eye and the slight pause before her answer makes it obvious enough that she realizes how much of her meaning he's picked up, whether or not she meant for him to.

Finally, after a slow sip of her own bitter coffee: ]

I've always been the leader. That's just how it is. [ Her tone is noncommittal — though with Rex, that's probably just as much a tell as anything else. ] Nicky and Joe have been with me the longest, and their years combined wouldn't amount to even half of mine.

[ With a little rueful wryness then, a small crack in the facade: ]

The burden of experience. You survive long enough, people just expect you to know what to do. Even when you fucking don't.

[ He probably understands some of that, doesn't he? ]

I'm not so convinced that's the best way of it. Or the only way. The people who led the rebellion are half my age for the most part. Eh... metaphorically speaking.

[ They're his age, or not much younger, but they were younglings when they'd gotten started. It's hardly comparable. He's got so much more experience than they do. Lifetimes of it. ]

I've had to let that go. I don't think anyone thought I knew much better anyway. I'm the only one who did, [ Rex admits with a quiet chuckle. ]

Sounds like Joe and Nicky ought to give it a try. Maybe you've got more experience than them, but they've got more experience than any other living man who's not one of your lot.

[ He's quiet for a moment. ]

How long have they known you for?

[ She'd argue that the hierarchy of the rebellion was hardly build on merit — and maybe that would be unfair of her, given the fact that she can count how many Jedi she's met on one hand, but she's well-aware that the clones, no matter how competent or skilled, were engineered to serve. Even the best of them could never rise above the station they were made for. That's why they didn't lead the rebellion.

That, and she isn't so sure it was ever really their rebellion anyway. But it isn't a point worth making, here and now. Because there's another thing she knows: Rex respects and admires the ones that did lead. He saw something in them. They were important to him. Maybe he even loved some of them. So she won't argue. Instead: ]

About a thousand years. Give or take. [ She shrugs, as if that were a normal thing to say — something casual, even inconsequential. ] Maybe it wouldn't have mattered if I ever stepped down — hell, there were years that I went off on my own and it wasn't like the world ended while I was gone — but a thousand years is a long time for things to get habitual, and that's just what we did.

[ She glances at him, considering him for a second. ]

When they were fumbling through their first few deaths, I already knew how shit worked. I taught them how to live with the curse. It was natural for them to follow me. [ Her eyes drift, relieving him of her heavy attention as she takes another bitter sip of coffee. ] You trained your share of fresh soldiers. You know how it is.

Do I? Mine never survived.

[ It's blunt in all its severity. Some would say it's in poor taste, especially considering the fact that Andy has known so much more death in her long life than even the likes of Rex has. But he says it plainly, simply, because it's true. They never lived long enough for Rex to see if they would ever want to overtake him, if they would grow so capable that it was the only logical choice. Not a single one. Even the boys he found himself with weren't shinies he'd trained, the boys he helped raise. For all that he took the reins when their minds failed them, fragile from Order 66, swimming horribly between their own mutinous actions and the hell they found themselves living, they had been his superiors, born and bred for it.

If Fives had lived, would he have let him hold command? Would he have let Jesse do it? Fade into obscurity and figure out his own shit? He doubts it, but he doesn't know. All he knows is that leading is exhausting. The responsibility, that constant weight, that knowledge that everyone else's lives are in your hands --

Maybe a part of him welcomed passing down that task. He can never seem to muddle together which parts of him are relieved and which are resentful. He deserves his due. The kids don't know half of what he does. But when he looks at them, young and bright-eyed, idealism born of not having yet been ground into dust, he's glad he's not the one leading them to their deaths. ]

Not that any of us would survive a thousand years. [ He exhales slowly. Takes a sip and rolls it around in his mouth. It's better quality than any of the shit he's drank for the past fifteen years. ]

It was different for you. You weren't just their leader. You were their guide into becoming something new. I can see how they'd become reliant on that.

They must be grateful. For the guidance. [ He raises a brow. He doesn't know the full story, but... ]

You never had that.

[ It's a simple truth that cuts like a whisper-sharp blade, leaving behind a clear pang of regret as she looks up at him. The trauma they've both lived through — those terrible loses — it's never been a contest, and she doesn't think of it as one now. Maybe she has seen more death than most could ever dream of, but pain is not a thing that's so easily quantified. Just like the weight of a single life, it's a thing that defies measure. If nothing else, it's a small, bittersweet comfort to be with someone that understands that pain as well as she does. A comfort that comes at high cost.

Selfishly, it make her feel a little less alone. And grateful in a way that she can't say out loud right now — grateful, because her boys are cursed the same as she is, and if they fall, they'll almost certainly get back up again. At least for a while. At least until they don't. ]

No. I guess I didn't. [ She learned though. One painful lesson after another. ] And who the fuck knows if I've even got it right? Seven thousand years, and I still don't know why. Or how. I don't know all the rules. I just pretend. And they let me. Maybe it's just easier that way.

[ Quietly, she bumps her forearm against his. As much affection as his cagey wife is inclined to openly show in a public place. ]

That's leadership, isn't it, Commander? Everyone follows the best pretender.

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