maskormenacelogs | it's going down, i'm yelling timber

Cassian's never been much of a drinker. He'll down a glass to congratulate or commemmorate, for ritual. He can strike the balance of drinking and ditching enough that, with some acting, he can successfully seem to have consumed more and be much more intoxicated while keeping most of his wits about him.

But on his own time…

Is it because having his senses so dulled and impaired feels more stifling than freeing…

Is it because at best he'd probably be a miserable drunk (if you turn the walls to smoke you don't know what might come out, what's in here with me)…

Is it because at worst he fundamentally doesn't trust himself, can't be sure that the callousness and dangerousness of which he's capable aren't his true inner nature… can't presume the safety of others, to abdicate self-control…

In any case, he's drinking enough to be sociable, but will consistently still be nursing a first serving while Han's on… some higher number.

But spending time with an unfiltered Han Solo probably renders chemical contribution unnecessary. The man is diverting and intoxicating all on his own.

After flashing a quick, subtle belay signal to the bartender (bring a single for Han, no need for a full round), Cassian leaned over the table to meet Han's grin closer to halfway. "I'd rather hear more about Chewie and the Princess themselves." They'd featured in a number of Han's stories, but all Cassian knew of them was still from collating fragments of data. He wasn't even sure he had their full names. "How did you meet them?"

Edited 2017-05-14 20:53 (UTC)

Han's a Corellian smuggler. His ability to hold his liquor is good enough that even after a lot of drinks, he's still coherent and still upright. He's just also chattier than ever now, which is already saying something. Han's not exactly a taciturn guy. Noticeably, however, there are stories he holds in reserve, as if wanting to save them for the other party that participated in them to complete.

So when Cassian asks for a story about his and Chewie's first meeting, Han just shrugs. "It wasn't much," he says, "and anyway, I think Chewie could tell it better than I could." In truth Chewbacca would probably grunt his way through the story and correct Han on his embellishments, but that's nothing Cassian needs to know.

But Leia—

Han smiles, a little. The soft and happy kind, the one that says he is utterly smitten with her. "I met the princess on the Death Star," he says. "Truth be told we weren't even supposed to be there. I was just gonna drop Luke and the old man he was with, what was his name, Kenobi, off on Alderaan and collect my payment but when we got there—"

The smile slips a little.

"Well, it wasn't there anymore." He huffs out a sigh as the bartender brings him a single, doesn't really mind that it's not the full round he ordered. Instead he takes a somber sip. "We got caught in a tractor beam, and while the old man set off to turn it off, the rest of us—me, Chewie, and Luke—ended up rescuing the princess."

He pauses, then says, dryly, "One of the first things she ever told me to do was to throw myself into the garbage chute, and that was right after taking a blaster rifle and firing back at the Imps coming into the detention center."

Kenobi. Cassian frowned, rifling through the mental files of how he'd heard that name.

…It takes him longer than usual, not because of the alcohol, but because the information isn't in its usual place. From his old life.

He heard the name here.

From General Grievous.

Kenobi defeated me?!

"What was she doing on the Death Star?" asked Cassian. The words echoing a little oddly in his head. Again, probably less to do with the alcohol as with personal history.

[ooc: how has no one in fanartdom done a group shot of Han, Chewie, Cassian, and Kay?! Ah well, this R1 pic is funny.]

Edited 2017-05-16 06:58 (UTC)

Han shrugs. "Far as I know, she was carrying the plans for the Death Star when her ship got caught by Imperials, and she sent them off with two droids before she got captured and dragged to the Death Star." And she'd watched her planet blow, the kind of loss that Han can hardly imagine. "Luke, Chewie and I broke her out."

There's a moment's pause.

Then Han shakes his head and says, "All right, more like we got cut off and she ordered us down a garbage chute." He drains his glass of half its contents. "Never escape via garbage chute, by the way. If you can find some other way out, take it. You're not gonna get the smell off of you for weeks." Something that Chewie had complained about, at high volume, on their way to Yavin IV. "And that's if you don't end up getting flattened."

Cassian's having trouble breathing.

As if he didn't know the end of this story… he does… they told him… but…

"How did she get the plans?" he asks, voice sounding almost normal.

"From what I've been told, they were beamed to another ship first, but that ship was captured above Scarif, so they had to get to hers real quick." It's not exactly the most accurate or detailed of explanations, but then, it's what Han's managed to assemble out of what he's heard around the Rebellion, and from Leia herself. "Then the Imps caught up with her, so she stuck the plans with a droid. You'll have to ask Luke for details about that, I don't know how he ended up with the droid in the first place."

Another sip. Han's brow creases.

"But—all right, where was I?" Maybe the alcohol is affecting him more than he thought it would, but ha, like Han's going to admit to that out loud.

Do you think anyone's listening

Cassian controlled his breaths and took a long drink.

Not tonight. Not the story for tonight. What mattered was…

I do

They did. It worked. That didn't change for Cassian not knowing.

He'd been ready to die never knowing.

He had.

…Yep. Miserable drunk indeed. Who cares. He downed the rest of his glass.

"Garbage chute," answered Cassian, finally signalling for another—which the bartender was bringing anyway, having decided to go with Han's directive over Cassian's. …Which for some reason felt both hysterical and appropriate. Living outranks dead…?

Before Han could actually continue, Cassian pointed out, "Are you aware you never call her by name?"

That, and the living has more money to burn. Han shoots the bartender a grateful look, slides another twenty across and mouths, Keep them coming. He's got enough money thanks to both his legitimate job and his side job that he can comfortably blow a huge chunk of it on treating a friend to a night on the town.

"Right." He downs the rest of his drink in one go. "So we went down the garbage chute and ended up almost getting flattened in the trash compactor. Luke nearly got eaten by a dianoga, you should ask him how that felt like sometime." A second's pause. "Just don't tell him I told you."

He drums his fingers on the countertop. "But anyway, so we managed to escape getting turned into disgusting flatcakes just in time. So once we're out, you know what Her Highnessness says to me?" He pitches his voice high as if to imitate her: "I don't know who you are or where you came from, but from now on, you do as I tell you." He shakes his head, snorts out a laugh, but there's something soft in his smile. "This after we broke her out of her cell, mind," he adds.

As for the question, he huffs out a breath. "Thought you already knew her name," he says. "Princess Leia Organa. Most wonderful woman I've ever met, and sure as hell the most stubborn too."

"Organa," said Cassian, with the mighty blink of someone clicking pieces together. "Of Alderaan."

"Yeah." There's a moment's pause. Then Han says, somewhat dreamily, "You know, I never really thought—she's a princess, y'know? And then there's me, and you wouldn't think a princess and a scoundrel would ever even meet, right?"

Cassian's lip twitched to a smile. "I've seen stranger meetings."

To not let Han risk floating too far, (…only to avoid the possible crash, without Leia's presence to transmute it,) shifts altitudes:

"Would you think: her dad gave me dance lessons."

Edited 2017-05-22 00:52 (UTC)

For a moment Han wonders: which dad?

Then he thinks, right, Bail Organa. The man he'd never met, the Rebel leader who'd burned up with the rest of Alderaan in the blast. He can only summon up an echo of grief for the man, for what never was.

"Never met him," he says. Not before the Death Star blew Alderaan to pieces. "What was he like, anyway?"

"'Was'," repeated Cassian, a bit dully. Han wasn't long enough in the future for Cassian to have assumed the Senator gone. Yavin 4 had been saved, but perhaps there had still be ground casualties…? It was hard to predict what might have befallen a high ranking Alderaanian, and one so beloved…

It was the opposite of what Han had intended for the evening… but Cassian's tempted to ask after all of them. Mon Mothma. Draven. Raddus. Ones Han had almost no chance of ever having heard of, even had he been fully in the Rebellion—like Rodma Maddel.

But, with a will, Cassian focuses instead on Han's question.

What was he like. The last time Cassian had seen him… Tired. Grave. Guarding the hopes of others while slowly letting go of his own.

"Kind," says Cassian at last. To him, that was always so striking—a surprising characteristic to find in a politician. Let alone one from a Core planet. But (less surprising) it seemed to be found in the ones who put themselves in Mon Mothma's orbit. …And one hardly joined the Alliance for self-aggrandizement. "Steadfast." With the barest at glance at Han, and with a will, Cassian swirls the contents of his glass and finishes more lightly. "…And really tall."

…But no. He can't leave it. "What happened to him."

Edited 2017-05-26 01:15 (UTC)

A good man, then. Han can't really grieve for him, so what he does grieve instead is the lost chance to have met Bail Organa, and maybe to have been grilled on his intentions with Leia, which he would've still minded but—maybe not half as much. The bartender serves him another single, and Han takes a somber sip of his glass.

To Alderaan, he thinks.

This evening is not going how I thought it would, he also thinks.

"She takes after him, I think." Leia, he means. "Stubborn as hell but—kind, when you get her with her walls down." He sounds like he misses her, deeply and horribly. He breathes out and swirls the liquor around in his glass. "He was on Alderaan when it blew."

Cassian's glass came down onto the countertop.

Not how you meant it to at all.

"When it what?" repeated Cassian, in an almost inaudible voice, which it had to be in order not to be a military bark or a private scream.

[ooc: somehow this fact hasn't been conveyed to him 'til now…]

Edited 2017-05-26 02:55 (UTC)

Han stares at him.

Well. Crap.

"No one told you?" To borrow a phrase from this planet's slang: oh, shit. "It was after Scarif. They tested the Death Star out on Alderaan, and—well, I was there for the aftermath." There isn't much left of Alderaan now, except rocks and debris and so much space dust, and the ones who were lucky enough to be off-planet at the time. Or unlucky, depending.

"Leia was on the Death Star. She saw it happen."

'Planet of Beauty'. Cloudshape Falls. Isatabith Rain Forest. Synthstone architecture designed to respect the natural environment. Population…

"Tested implies doing something it hadn't done yet," said Cassian in a distant, deadly voice. Not directed at Han, of course not, but…

After Scarif

After NiJedha and Scarif

Planet killer

Alderaan when it blew

"Alderaan is a Core Planet"

As if Han somehow didn't know. But Cassian wasn't quite talking to Han.

They didn't touch the Core. Everyone knew. The Rim was everyone's bantha to beat and to ride and no one would bat an eye—but the Core…

Jedha was high profile, but as an embattled relic, a moon, and Mid Rim…

not a living, thriving, populous, peaceful…

It was only the briefest layover to make the handover to Bail Organa himself; Cassian in an exquisite courtyard filthy and dressed terribly, would stick out like a sore thumb if he hadn't been standing next to Kay; Bail not caring, receiving them like honored guests; and the handover took all of five minutes, but that was enough for two children to go running past, one tumbling and would have smashed open their forehead if Kay hadn't seamlessly plucked them up and set them so smoothly back on their feet they kept running without apparently noticing they'd almost fallen, and Cassian didn't break focus from Organa to watch them go but once back on the ship he found himself ignoring Kay for several hours, caught between gratitude that there were children who weren't soldiers yet obscurely furious that he hadn't had Kay to protect Cassian himself like that when he was that child's age

Cassian wanted to push himself back from the table. It was that or hurl his glass at a wall. Into someone's face. Or crush it in his hand and lacerate his palm. Or push over the table. Start a fight and hope someone hit him hard enough to get out of this moment.

But the intel was incomplete.

Has to be complete before taking action.

Cassian said to Han, in a tone he'd never used on Han before—(last time he'd used it might have been… Tivik)—"How many between Scarif and Yavin?"

Edited 2017-06-02 12:25 (UTC)

"Didn't stop them." His voice is heavy, leaden with a distant kind of grief, the sort of generalized sorrow felt by people a loss like that didn't quite affect. Alderaan hadn't been a bad place to visit, the few times he'd been there, but he'd never quite taken the time to really explore.

And then there's Leia.

He notes the tone, the way Cassian's voice slides into something clinical, as if probing for information, as if Han is a reluctant informant instead of someone who's giving away information about the future like it's candy. He nods at the bartender, I might need something stronger, then looks back at Cassian.

"Just Alderaan, far as I know." Han yields the information willingly, keeping nothing back. By his time, it's common knowledge. "Yavin's fine. The Death Star blew before it could fire there."

The way Han's looking at him and the tone of his voice (open, candid, through his own grief, and seeming perceptiveness of Cassian's), forces Cassian back to where he really is.

(Not just in this bar, but… here. Now.)

This has already happened.

Everything has already happened.

They saved everyone else.

You can't save everyone.

But Alderaan…

The war has to end the Empire has to end

Dammit they didn't need it proved that it would be worth the cost

Yavin's fine. They saved their friends and the Rebellion.

But Alderaan

Cassian lowers his eyes from Han's, feeling sick—at shooting the messenger, but mostly at the message.

"Thank you for telling me," said Cassian quietly. "Sorry. I'll be right back."

Less violently than it had been in his mind, Cassian pushes himself back from the table and walks away toward the bar.

[ooc: Han wanna get into that barfight before they reconvene? ;-) ]

Sitting by the bar nursing a drink, Gemini attracted little attention as she listened in on the myriad conversations in the bar, hoping to hear something of use. She or rather he at the moment, is a black man in his early 40's and looks like someone who is probably best avoided, a deliberate ploy by Gemini to avoid any unwanted contact. Sipping at her drink, and adjusting her hearing periodically to home in on a particular conversation, Gemini was slowly but surely growing increasingly bored.

So far though she hadn't heard anything that had made this trip worthwhile, and the feeling of having liquid sloshing around undigested inside her body was starting to get too disgusting to ignore. Turning on her stool, she was about to get up and head to the restrooms when a man caught her eye, tall dark and handsome, she'd pegged him earlier, only for her attention to drift away when he started talking about Princesses and something called an Alderaan, but he was obviously an imPort and now that he was coming her way she might as well find out what powers he had.

"Having a nice evening?" She grunted in masculine tones, glancing at the man and suppressing the instinctual urge to lick her lips appreciatively.

Cassian had come to the bar. Not necessarily wanting a fresh order. Not actually wanting to get away from Han. Definitely not to have to talk his way out of the barfight he'd nearly been accosted into along the way by someone who took offense to his… who knows, haircut? (…It was a conceivably objectionable haircut. One of these years Cassian would have to let someone else do it for him—with a tool meant for the purpose, and while actually watching what they were doing.)

Only because… having learned what he just heard… he needed to do something.

And if all he could do right now was take a short walk across the room to rest his elbows on and hang his head over the bar, that was what he'd do.

Better than allowing himself to be drawn into meaningless violence with those who'd never heard of any of it. …But it would have been just as futile if they had. Worse than futile, because it would create the problems anew. The whole point was to stop them.

So Cassian, braced against the bar in the manner of someone waiting to vomit into a basin—or, perhaps more incongruous with the setting but closer to the truth: in an attitude of prayer—couldn't help glancing sidelong and raising an eyebrow at the speaker. …A male human who… of course had some striking physical markers in common with Dorosz.

Perhaps to rebuff that part of his life, with an utter stranger in a civilian setting, Cassian doesn't avoid somewhat nonlocal, potentically revealing phrasing.

"An informative one," he responded dryly, a bit dully. "Anything notable in this quadrant?"

Profiling was something that Gemini had been trained in since first developing her powers. It involved putting together a mental picture of someone by analysing their muscle movements, their build, their voice, everything about them in fact. Sometimes that picture was just for intelligence, helping Gemini to place someone and plan accordingly, and sometimes it was part of the research she needed for impersonation, unlikely in this case but something never to be discarded.

The accent, Mexican to her ears helped her to place where he was from, although Gemini was having more than a little focusing on her profile given how beautiful his eyes were...She shook herself a little to try and get off that line of thought.

"This quadrant?" she asked, raising a questioning eyebrow. "Dunno what you mean. You ain't from around here are you?"

He shook his head. "No. Don't worry about it." He hung his head again, considering for a moment… glanced back at the table. Han was talking to someone else… so Cassian figured it wouldn't be insulting to the other man to do stay away a bit, himself. Get out of shared history, old universe, old life for a minute. Try to recenter himself here.

With a heavy breath, Cassian slid onto the barstool beside this new human. That others seemed to be giving him a wide berth was a plus; that tended to be the kind of people Cassian had the easiest time functioning with. Maybe not the best, but the easiest. Strategic brain able to come to the fore. And it would keep the party small.

The bartender asked what Cassian wanted and Cassian answered, "Water." He's been capitulating to social convention but needs a few moments without caring about blending in. He hated this vertigo.

[ooc: can add if that's not enough to work with!]

That was the quickest brush off Gemini had received in awhile, maybe if she'd been in a female shape he might have been more engaged, but it was too late to do anything about that now. The stranger was by far the most interesting person to have walked into this bar this evening, and if her night wasn't going to be entirely wasted she might as well try to profile him.

"You're an imPort aren't you?" It wasn't too much of a jump considering what she'd overheard him and his friend talking about. If it didn't sound like it was of this world, it was either because they were two madmen or they genuinely weren't of this world. Either way, Gemini wanted to find out more about him, an angle already forming in her mind.

"You look like you could do with something stronger than that." She observed, gesturing to the bartender. "Glass of Jack Daniels on me for him." Alcohol always helped in loosening tongues and Gemini hoped this time wouldn't be any different.

(No offense, Gemini; if anything, Cassian had been 'brushing off' himself…)

Cassian nodded at the question, once more feeling his head was heavier than it was supposed to be. "I'm an imPort," he confirmed. He'd found it bizarre admitting to things like that so freely, trying to bring his instincts up to speed with his mind in knowing it's public record, even if not there's no need to conceal. He'd decided to start treating it like a point of origin (your accent's not Caridan… your people from the Yavin System?). Which could be treated much more casually, conversation starter, not usually indicative of almost anything else. Which was almost the case.

The drink purchase subtly brought Cassian's head back up. His eyes flickered to the other man. (Less like Dorosz close up but could certainly be from the same planet, if that had been the scale they were still working on.) Without lingering, taking in all the details he could; registering them to analyze without still looking. He thought about declining. …Rejected that option. Better to see what, if anything, it was meant to accomplish.

Old days.

"Thanks," he said. The bartender slid both water and whiskey over. Cassian downed the first in one go, bit of a buffer, then examined the second. He and Han had been drinking (or Han had been drinking, Cassian keeping up the appearance of drinking) brandy, the nearest equivalent Han had found to the Corellian kind. A whiff of this drink suggested something more redolent of… engine grease and Massassi dust.

…Base One hangar, then. Old days indeed.

Cassian took a swig—well-practiced in body language to look bigger than it actually was; he had a lot of techniques to seem like he was drinking a lot while in truth barely at all. Let the kick of it course through him. Yep. Would definitely appeal to an X-Squadron. Lowered glass to counter, easing throttle on head and body to level out. And turned his eyes again to his new companion. Letting his own syntax be just a bit looser than sensical.

"How about you. imPort, export… something sport…?"

Escort. Distort. Comport, report, or abort.

Edited 2017-05-28 18:29 (UTC)

Gemini's borrowed eyes flicked upwards as the man drank, and followed the glass back down again too, immediately noticing that not so much had gone from the glass as the man had pretended. So, a pro then, that was interesting an informant perhaps? But then why would he so openly admit to being an imPort, a free agent then? The mystery of the handsome stranger deepened.

"Nah, Maurtia Falls born and bred." The lie slipped easily from her lips, made more believable by the pitch-perfect native accent that she had adopted. Just another down-at-heel local resident who Gemini had seen and heard on the street, and whose appearance she had made her own.

"Drinking to remember home?" She asked, taking a wild stab in the dark to try and get more of a conversation going. If Gemini missed home then she was sure that anyone more sentimental than her (and most people were) would feel the loss even more keenly.

Edited 2017-06-02 16:53 (UTC)

"Definitely not." One nice thing about playing tipsy; you could be both more honest and more cryptic and have it seem appropriate. Even with the grim edge Cassian's voice had taken. (a) What was "home". (b) Its nearest equivalents, he needed no help remembering. (c) Forgetting a lot would be preferable. (d) Hard enough to stay here without backslipping even sober. Which meant (e) yes, drinking put him backwards, hence not actually trying to.

He set the glass down, so he could put his elbows on either side and lean over it. A good drink-nursing posture, which also shadowed his face. (No real need now, just technique that had become automatic.)

"My first time here," he said. "Any inside tips, local points of interest?"

"No? Not a nice place?" Gemini could understand that, in her world Gotham and Bludhaven were two places best avoided, if his world was anything like them she could understand the lack of enthusiasm. Laughing slightly at his question, Gemini raised an amused brow, taking a swig of her own drink and grimacing at the taste.

"You really haven't been here before have you? I might say stay away from this bar, but it's too late for that now and anyway you look like you can handle yourself. Other than that if you're looking for tourist attractions you've come to the wrong city."

Cassian raised an eyebrow. "Stay away from the bar you, who knows better, chose to visit?"

"I'm a regular." She shrugged unconcerned, "people know not to mess with me." Pulling open her jacket Gemini let the stranger get a glimpse of the handle of what was obviously a large knife for a moment, and grinned widely revealing a mouth missing a few teeth from old fights.

It wasn't an accident that Gemini had picked this form, the face being one of the more prominent gang members of Maurtia Falls, and feared accordingly. Unluckily for him Gemini had needed an 'in', and now he lay face down in a nearby alley, he might recover he might not, Gemini couldn't care less.

"Name's LJ, you?"

In the time it took for Cassian's eyes to flicker impassively from the knife handle back to LJ's face, a series of calculations fired through all metaphorical circuits.

Since discovering that being here wasn't a kind of hell but instead a second chance—finding Jyn and Kay here, too—Cassian had decided to see how long he could go without two things:

1) laying hands on a weapon
2) lying

The knife, the old injuries, the syntax, but more than all that, the microexpressions… not just someone well acquainted with violence, not just comfortable with it, but… took pride… relished in it.

Someone even more dangerous than he'd just showed.

One of the precise kinds of person Cassian intended to be finished with.

Several times here, he'd had to remind himself not to give an alias out of simple reflex. This time, he's actively tempted to. And wonders if it's an instinct he should heed.

Half a dozen are always ready to go. Could be given as naturally and seamlessly as the truth. Already rifling through like a hand of cards, gauging which would sound most common to this part of this planet. ~~J'Din.~~ Methu. ~~Auris.~~ ~~Cav.~~ Gabrael. ~~Rilio.~~

…But it's interesting—lies. How, instance to instance, one defines them. In this case, in terms of what he actually wants to say or do, even giving his real name right now would be a bit of one.

So, at risk of being provocative, Cassian meets LJ's eyes again and dryly smiles.

"I prefer not to give information under tacit duress." He nodded to indicate the knife. (However clear that LJ hadn't shown it to Cassian in order to threaten him directly, it nonetheless raised the ambient level of pressure in the situation for someone to do whatever LJ said. Cassian tended to… yep: rebel against that sort of thing.) "If that causes offense, let me buy your next drink to make it up to you."

Edited 2017-06-04 18:31 (UTC)

"Duress?" LJ looked surprised, swiftly covering the knife handle with his jacket again. If this guy thought that was duress he hadn't seen anything.

"Nah man we cool, far as I know you might use them imPort powers to waste me on the spot or something." Holding up his hands in the universal language of peace for a second, she shrugged, "besides, generally people ain't safe around her less they're carrying somethin'. Guy's gotta survive."

Hopefully that would reduce some of the suspicion that she could see in the man's eyes, the lies she was weaving spiced with more than enough truth to make them believable.

"You ain't gonna talk about yourself at all? Kinda disappointing seeing as you're the first imPort I've met." LJ's obviously a fan of the whole imPort craze, or so he pretends. Maybe he's just looking to see how this dark stranger might be useful, which was actually exactly what Gemini wanted. Her plans were simply broader than the gutter rat she pretended to be.

"Hell, if you're offering a free drink though I certainly ain't complainin'!"

Cassian gave a slight smile and signalled the barkeeper for LJ's next one to be on his tab. "Thanks for being interested," said Cassian, not inclined to talk about himself at all, "but" (speaking of other imPorts) "at some point I should get back to my friend."

Gemini wasn't going to get anything out of this one she could tell, he was much too wary and closed off to give her anything, but there were other methods she could try, one coming to mind which would be particularly entertaining.

Keeping her hands around LJ's drink, Gemini focused on the ~~stolen~~ phone inside her pocket, a small tendril emerging from the inner lining to begin tapping out a text message. Some of LJ's fellow gang members were over at the back of the bar playing pool, and she selected the name of one to send it to, sure the instruction would be obeyed considering LJ was the most senior gang member present.

Talking to a guy, go fuck up his buddy while I got him distracted.

It was only a few moments later that the group broke away from the pool table and headed over to where Han was, grinning to one another as they anticipated a fun beatdown of the scruffy looking white guy. "Hey carpenterface!" The biggest of the lot called, his meaty fist already swinging towards Han's jaw.

Back at the bar, LJ looked surprised at the sudden burst of noise, before leaning in to speak quietly to the stranger. "I think your buddy over there is in trouble." He observed casually, glancing significantly over his shoulder to where the fracas had started. Would the stranger race to the aid of his friend? She was eager to watch and see.

Edited 2017-06-05 08:30 (UTC)

Han's mostly just working on his—well, who knows what number he's on anymore, really. But he's waiting on Cassian to come back, and simply savoring the liquor while he's doing so, when someone calls out to him.

He turns in his seat, saying, "What the hell do you want—"

Then he catches a punch right on the jaw, and staggers back into the countertop, stunned. He shakes off the disorientation, looks up at the lot, and very unhappily wishes Chewie were here. "Pretty good shot, pal," he says, his words slurring together into an irritated jumble, as one of the gang members steps closer, as if to grab him, before he ducks so he can punch them right in the gut.

Seriously, if only Chewie were here.

Cassian's off his barstool like a shot.

At which point his movements get… oddly harder to track. There's no superpower at play. Just tactics elevated to level of instinct, so his choices and reactions are less obvious than raw reflex would be.

Objective: get to Han's side. At which point he can try to deescalate the situation or at least cover Han's back.

Obstacle: get through the cluster of humans to do so.

Method to overcome obstacle which could also serve endgame… (by neutralizing not-yet-engaged adversaries to keep combatants to a minimum)… would usually mean taking out the support troops. He was not going to kill anyone. The challenge was: could he do so in a way that didn't preclude deescalation on the other side, i.e. without overt (or at least attributable) violence…?

Scanning as he crossed the room, without breaking stride, Cassian grabbed a steak knife off someone's plate.

Over the next few moments, with a pickpocket's stealth, he'd made his way around the circumference of the group, doing… something that was hard to see, but in the overall jostling didn't get him particularly noticed by any of his targets.

Then he ditched the knife. And took the opportunity to start to insinuate himself into the inner circle, as several of the outermost humans found their belts/buttons/zippers spontanteously compromised, and their pants falling around their ankles.

LJ swivelled around on his bar stool to watch, dark anticipation gleaming in his eyes as he watched Cassian approach the group, his eyes fixing on that knife and licking his lips as he anticipates a little ruthless violence.

As pants suddenly start to drop it leaves LJ a little disappointed, although the cleverness of the intervention does draw a laugh from him as he leans back against the bar, watching the action like it's entertainment.

In the meantime Han's punch sends his tormentor backward into two others, sending all three of them sprawling, much to the anger of their comrades, two of whom who have yet to had their pants drop pressing forward to try and barrel into Han and pummel him with blows.

One of the men struggling with his pants notices Cassian slip past and tries to make a one-handed grab for him, his other hand still very much occupied holding his pants up.

Well, at least someone's getting a laugh out of this. Actually, Han can't help it either, because once pants start dropping he can't quite stifle the snort of laughter bubbling out past his mouth.

"Seems like you just lost something there, boys," he taunts, and gets a fist right to the cheek for it again. Then another fist, aimed at his torso, and Han doubles over with a curse, temporarily stunned, but shakes it off after a second in order to try and headbutt one of the guys pummeling him in the stomach.

He may be trying to knock the guy over into the man reaching for Cassian.

Perfect. Sorry, Han.

Evading the adversary's grab as if by accident, Cassian ducked to throw himself forward and meet Han's momentum midway. He caught the other man by the shoulders, so for a moment they were almost grappling.

"What happened?" he demanded in a hiss while their faces were momentarily close.

(If this were all focused on Han, Cassian would have a moment longer of his allegiance being unknown that he could potentially use to trick the assailants—even if by pretending to take Han down himself and get them both out of there. If someone took the opportunity to attack Cassian too, he could use the leverage of Han's shoulders to counterstrike and get them both into more defensible positions. Either way: somebody give me more information right karking now.)

Edited 2017-06-19 12:06 (UTC)

Cassian's tactic fooled the attackers perfectly; many of them were still off balance, and struggling either to right themselves or their trousers, but there was one who notices what happens, and as he didn't see LJ's earlier text he clearly assumes Cassian is on their side.

"Yeah! Get him!" He shouted, hand going into his pocket and pulling out a switchblade, which he swings toward Han's ear, intending to slice it off.

Meanwhile the gang's number two, while not that bright is still clever enough to realise that multiple pants don't just fall down by themselves, and as LJ had identified Cassian as Han's friend he just about managed to put two-and-two together.

"He ain't with us boys!" He yelled, gesturing for the others to attack, even if they're stuck holding their pants just like he is, the junior members can embarrass themselves instead of him, so he hung back.

For a second Han is tempted to spit whose side are you even on, Andor.

Then he hisses out a question, and the brief flash of anger on Han's face is gone, replaced with understanding and also a lot of offense. "How would I know?" he huffs. "They just punched me outta nowhere, I didn't even do anything." This time, anyway. He didn't even get around to fleecing anybody in this bar, he is genuinely clueless.

Then he spots the guy coming after them, and twists out of Cassian's grip so he can grab hold of the guy with the switchblade, take his wrist and his forearm and try to use his momentum to get him to crash into the counter. All the blade manages to do is nick his cheek a little, in the meantime.

The near-simultaneous succession—
I didn't even do anything
He ain't with us, boys!
—and the presence of a blade clear things up pretty quickly.

For a lightheaded moment, Cassian considers flinging up an energy shield around himself and Han. Try to keep any more blows from flying.

But in addition to having an ingrained aversion to revealing all his capabilities unforced… also that would probably just give their opponents time to regroup—right here or outside the bar if forced to wait it out.

Plus, the decision is made for him.

Damn it.

Fine.

As Han twists, Cassian tries to help: not simply releasing the other man but, with controlled directionality, pushing himself and Han apart. It hopefully gives Han a bit more speed to face his attacker, and definitely gives Cassian the extra leverage to snap around and punch the nearest adversary in the face.

…Nonviolent streak in this new life… almost three months.

So much longer than he'd expected.

Not as long as he'd hoped.

He took his anger at that fact out on their assailants with blaster-barrage rapidity. Striking, kicking, and otherwise pitching gang members into one another, in a ridiculous patchwork of styles—and a penchant for weaponizing whatever came to hand: drinks and plates featuring strongly—made to look like artless brawling. It would have looked like bantha plodding next to Chirrut îmwe, but still make Cassian's varied Separatist and Alliance trainers proud.

…Although. Last attempt. His gameplan seemed less about injuring his opponents as using their own superior numbers against them. Dropping them to the ground, pushing them into each other, and manipulating his own placement, all to get them to get in one another's way, if not accidentally hitting one another.

Until he could think of something better and/or glean the next piece of information.

Edited 2017-06-21 12:27 (UTC)

The men attacking Cassian and Han aren't that skilled, experienced in street fighting yes, but their moves and tactics lacked the refinement of those with training and it showed.

The man with the knife is unable to respond in time to his sudden redirection by Han, his head slams into it and he slumps down with a groan, out of the fight for the duration. The others attack as best they can, trying to overwhelm Cassian by going at him together, one goes for the arms to try and pin him, another swings for his torso while a third goes for his head. Cassian is clearly the bigger threat, so they ignore Han and go solely for him for the moment, possibly a mistake.

But Cassian's sheer speed and skill are swiftly knocking attacker after attacker after the fight, and as they crash down and out the number two starts to back away. It's not going as he thought it would, and he glanced over at LJ for guidance only to get nothing but an impassive stare. He won't get any help there, which left only one thing he can do.

Click

"You're going to die today assholes!" He growled, levelling the gun at Cassian.

Han is quick to arm himself with the knife once the guy's unconscious, prying it loose from unresisting fingers and giving it a little twirl. It's not a blaster, certainly, but it's a better weapon than nothing. Especially now that Cassian's apparently drawing everyone's attention, and if this were four or five years ago Han would at least consider taking advantage and getting out of here while the going's good.

But now the guy aims a gun at Cassian, and so Han decides, kriff, he's not going to leave a drinking buddy and fellow rebel in the lurch. So he backs up just a little and then charges forward, aiming to tackle the guy onto the ground before he can get off a shot and then knock him out cold with a solid punch.

Cassian does it without thinking.

Han goes for the shooter. And with perfect synchronicity, timing it for Han's impact, Cassian goes for the gun.

His fingers circle the barrel, twist it away from its wielder's palm.
When Han takes the guy down, the gun remains in Cassian's hand.

He was never going to touch anything like this again

Hadn't you realized it was all too easy?

when he'd found Jyn, when he'd found Kay
what he'd been able to say, to do, to be, to feel
what he'd shared with Jyn, what she'd been able to give him
he'd only frozen once
and that wasn't—

The metal in his hand set off a shockwave.
Whatever circuit the kyberblast had severed
when the rest was atomized
whatever digit had mercifully shifted in backup copy
been left so neatly out of him on Porter reassembly
reconnected with a spark

The sightless eyes on him that never left, watching and judging his existence, accusing and betrayed in any moment he wasn't putting what he'd done to them to active use, making it part of a forward-moving progression, making it worth it; how dare he take any moment to relax or recover or take pleasure or peace? He'd taken that from them, if he had any kind of rightness whatsoever, he'd honor that by never letting his wish for them stall his ever actively moving forward

as if one death balanced the scales just because it's your own

…No, wait…

…Jyn…

The remaining assailants, still on their feet or regrouped, are there
and in tackling the shooter to the floor, Han's left vulnerable.

ves-te'n a prendre pel cul cagant llets bandarras cabrones caguetas

The electrical charge had caused Cassian's normal brain to short out.
As it always would, the strategic brain took over.

Was this a one-story building or two
one or two
remember

REMEMBER

…

…ONE

Cassian aims at the ceiling and fires.

In the second of ringing shock, he stepped back.

(One foot coming down on something that had flown out of the ringleader's pocket when Han tackled him. Cassian doesn't consciously notice. The strategic brain saw there's something that could be a weapon and acts to make sure no one else goes for it.)

He leveled the gun to aim at whichever gang member was currently the apex of the formation—aimed right between his eyes.

Nothing about Cassian right now suggested someone who, in fact, would, still, avoid firing at all if he could, and if he had to, go for the toes.

His steady hands and burning eyes are more along the lines of—

The soldier-assassin growls,

"Get

out."

Edited 2017-06-22 11:22 (UTC)

Between the two of them the man with a gun barely had the chance to react, the combined attack of Cassian and Han both driving him to the floor and causing him to lose his grip on the gun. Another of the men immediately pulled a knife, going for Han in a last chance at revenge, but when the shot rang out he immediately froze, along with all the others in the gang, staring at Cassian in fear.

The men don't need another warning, they scatter, running for the exit as quickly as their dropping pants will let them. They won't be back anytime soon.

From his position at the bar LJ smiles darkly and gets up off his stool, slipping off into the back of the bar and away altogether. Gemini's opinion of Cassian as a man to be watched has been confirmed, even if she still hasn't seen the exact nature of his powers. His companion she couldn't care less about.

Regardless she had enjoyed the wanton violence and an evening which had turned out to be far more entertaining than the usual boring grind. Exchanging legs for wings Gemini flew away, certain that she would be seeing one Cassian Andor again sometime.

it's going down, i'm yelling timber

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sorry for short tag; merely setup :-)

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Gemini & Cassian at the bar

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…um, sorry… superdramatic dissociative break time, apparently…? c/w ptsd?

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