larkers: (pic#12386247)
MEADOWLARK MODS ([personal profile] larkers) wrote in [community profile] meadowlarklogs2019-01-19 09:58 pm

EVENT LOG 003

WHO: Everyone
WHERE: New Amsterdam
WHEN: September 10-11
WHAT: New Amsterdam's Morningstar recruits come under attack.
NOTES OR WARNINGS: Violence, injury, death.


> EVENT LOG #003

"High noon" still has a resonating historical significance not lost on the people of New Amsterdam. Old cowboy movies, complete with John Wayne standing in a dusty, old street are imprinted upon people's memories, helping them recall a simpler past where grudges could be settled with guns. By 2511, these movies have been remade countless times over with different set pieces, but nostalgia continues to be an ever-present factor. It's not nostalgia that drives the UNA soldiers and Morningstar agents into position during this hour, but the time itself serves as a reminder. A call to a different time and a different past.

Outside, the sun burns bright, but people sleep soundly, shades drawn securely over their windows to create a false darkness. This is why the UNA strikes at noon: their targets will be vulnerable, comforted by the presence of daylight only a drawn shade away,

Across town, Morningstar's agents are preparing for their own strike. One of them makes a joke about the non hour. He's told to shut it. They have fifteen minutes. Is everyone ready? Their uniforms are black, tightly fitting. Each of them pulls their mask over their faces. Up ahead, there's a wall to scale.

Fifteen minutes and the plan goes into motion. Each agent knows the costs of this mission. Their last one ended up with numerous dead – lost – with no reward. UNA soldiers are far more threatening than the armed guards Morningstar faced on that day, but the reward is more sure. Worth the risk. They're secure in what they need to do.

Then it's time. Across the city, the UNA soldiers descend in perfect unison. Separate but thinking with one mind, one goal. Eliminate a festering problem, one that only stands to grow in a world haunted by chaos and trauma. It's their job to set things right. To restore order to a world that is currently without.

> THE SAFEHOUSE

About forty five minutes in to the widespread assault, El sends out a message to everyone in the safehouse. This time, zeir communication is immediate, without the steady scrolling of text. Prepared in advance:

Hey, so. Emergency everyone. Come to the safehouse ASAP. Morningstar agents are in trouble, including a number who have helped you behind the scenes. Gaby will tell you more once you get there.

Once everyone shows up, crowded inside the part of the safehouse with the cots, Gaby gives everyone the rundown. The risk. The place where the rest of the agents are – this last bit of information being shared with an uneasy edge, arms crossed and body language giving off her discomfort. There are other people at risk, people who can't fight, who try to undermine the corporations with their regular lives, doing their best to keep the people they care about safe from their rebellious activity.

After she hands out the gear, she insists that it must be returned. But Gaby isn't stupid. Her desperation is inherent in her decisions, in the information that follows: exposing most of the inactive safehouses, giving away the addresses of the people likely in danger. Every Morningstar contact in New Amsterdam is likely at risk. So far, agents in other megacities aren't being targeted – yet. But this operation could be a model for future UNA efforts to eliminate the Morningstar threat.

The safehouses are spread across the city. Typically present in disheveled and forgotten pieces of real estate, there will be squatters and homeless alike taking up space as they move inside with the agents. This may prove a risk, and they may need to be bribed to go elsewhere, offered food and supplies. Other safehouses will be beneath bars, convenience stores, and through the storage room in less expensive apartment buildings – businesses and buildings owned by long-time Morningstar agents, kept ready in the case of an emergency like this one.

None of the safehouses will be prepared for living with the exception of cots and communal restrooms ready for use. This is a problem, but not a priority. She'll ask that everyone get out there and save the lives of the agents. Bring them and their families in safely – the rest can be figured out after that.

> RESTORING ORDER

Given the limitations over real estate and space even in a city as large as New Amsterdam, every citizen lives in an apartment building. The great majority of them were meant to be built quickly, similar layouts and designs behind them. A quick bit of research will get anyone the floor plans for these places – they're publicly available, ready for potential tenants. Most of these places are no dreamhouse, however: small and contained, they show the lifestyle of the typical Morningstar agent.

Any of the agents with a child – and there will only ever be one per agent, with the restrictions on childbirth – will have a roomier place, with better furnishing and more space for a child to run and grow up. These places will afford the family within better privacy, and many of them have drones and advanced robotics to help maintain the household, even caring for their child and keeping the door locked as the UNA soldiers move inside.

Where it's viable, the majority of UNA soldiers will move through the front door of these buildings. Never numbered over five, these soldiers will take the endless staircase up, erasing what little chances there are to run into anyone along the way. The knocks are just a cover to soothe the close-packed neighbors. Not all are fooled, and that's where the calls to the NAPD come in – though the UNA is prepared for this, too. Ready to assert their jurisdiction. Rather: their bosses are prepared. These soldiers have their orders and beyond that, only follow their orders with their formidable physicality and swift training.

But they are physically assertive: most of them are tall, seemingly without gender within thick black, metal armor. Despite their size and their robotic carapace, they are human underneath. Their extensive armor doesn't slow them down, instead seeming to propel them forward in a fight, letting them predict their enemies' moves as the mask they wear provides diagnostics and likely attacks on the fly. They carry extensive weapons and supplies, all to wear down any opponents. When they fight together, their actions are perfectly complementary.

They won't start a fight, but as soldiers, they are prepared. Though they enter through the front door, they intend to leave through a window, into a large flying vehicle outside, ready to hold the targets and bring them to a temporary dropsite. They don't expect any assailants, anyone to provide trouble – but they wouldn't be very well-trained, well designed if they couldn't expect or deal with the unexpected. They won't shoot unless someone forces the matter. Their training means their stature should be enough to put down most threats.

> A WELL-LAID TRAP

Confident and well-trained, the Morningstar agents have the plan ahead of them all mapped out. They know the shifts, the patrol patterns, especially at hours like this one. Fewer, right now, but they aren't nonexistent. Several strike teams spread out, ready to move to dismantle the UNA soldiers on site as needed. These are combat-trained agents, but five versus three UNA soldiers, or two, or even one still leads to odds where they don't win. Morningstar knows these soldiers intimately, has studied and discerned their few weaknesses. But these UNA soldiers are formidable opponents.

UNA Soldiers en route to Morningstar's goal will be handled with an eerie lack of follow-up. No reports of reinforcements incoming. The swift-moving Morningstar agents are too focused on their goal, which is close now, to worry about the implications. Besides, their information told them most agents would be away on training exercises. Reinforcements being delayed is no surprise.

Each agent has their own reason for being here, for believing that Morningstar needs to be more proactive, more forceful in fighting back. They aren't career soldiers, but people who thought that they could wield a gun and change a world that hides its problems under false promises and shimmering gloss. Many are impatient, frustrated: they were given a lead on weapons in June. They weren't mislead then, at least not intentionally, but what they got instead was a bus full of disoriented people. This cache is real, verified, and vulnerable, housed here temporarily before being moved for some unknown operation.

Once the Morningstar agents are all inside, the concealed UNA soldiers left at the base line up in formation. Perfectly tailored for the fight ahead, they move onto the site. Any agents on lookout duty will see the UNA moving in, ready to lay waste to anyone in there. This is a trap, they message frantically. The very real weapons inside are meant to mock with false hope.

The UNA aren't worried about Morningstar making off with their toys. After all, this is just as planned.

> INTERLUDE

Numerous officers pass by the holding cells in the NAPD's twelfth precinct, talking softly about what can they even do, muttering to themselves. Others pop a squat nearby and call it a well-earned day off. Let those soldiers take care of whatever mess they're cleaning up. That's not their job.

It's around this time that a third, unidentified group, takes advantage of the chaos. Well-dressed despite what is a late hours right now, they head into the precinct to take care of a dangling loose end. They show credentials that link them to New Beijing's governing body and personal security, they claim the men temporarily known as Tak and Alexei. As they're brought out of their cells, they're injected with the same compulsory drug as always, leaving them veritable walking zombies at first, leaving them unable to speak or act as they're given orders that tell them to do otherwise.

The records of these men will disappear with this action, the two of them swept away into the back of an expensive four-door sedan. The whole incident erased. Two somehow anonymous men didn't kill semi-innocent bystanders during the festival. As long as the records can be trusted, that was a fantasy. A whimsy.

Morningstar cameras will see this sedan stop near the current safehouse, near the typical entrance, and order Hei and Jake out. "Stay here. Sit down. Don't do or say anything until someone comes to retrieve you. It'll be a bit – they're tied up right now."

The man in the passenger seat in the front rolls down his window, leaning forward on his arm. His face is concealed, utilizing technology that's not the same but not dissimilar to what Morningstar has at their disposal. "Try not to do anything else too stupid, will you? The cops are gonna have a bug up their asses about you idiots."

And then the sedan rolls away, lifting up and passing through the city. Morningstar cameras will spot a specific – or perhaps the more apt word is "suspicious" – lack of license plate.

> MEDI-UNITS

Each of the safehouses were designed for the worst case scenario. There is a medi-unit in all of the safehouses, a large and complex machine that can heal most ills, but given the expensive nature of their design and the risk of using them, they're not used lightly.

The medi-units are reserved for the direst of needs. come into play. Dependent on a person's time of death to bring them back to the living, they need the exact time so that someone can clock it in and prepare the restoration process correctly. There are many risks in lacking that information – someone may come back damaged, unhealed, hurt in some way. They may not live for long. Assuming that a body is brought in with a time of death, they'll be directed to a safehouse with a free unit.

The person is kept in a medically induced coma while the machine repairs their body. What dreams someone experiences will be at the end point – which can be between 48 and 60 hours – as they slowly surface, starting to return to the world of the living. As they surface, their mind will be encumbered by images of bright blue lights glowing, swirling, communicating – but language seems thoroughly out of reach.

Once the medi-unit opens, the person inside will be thirsty. Desperate for water. But there will be no other signs of the wear and tear on their bodies.

> FINAL OOC NOTES

Please refer to the OOC EVENT POST for this event for all OOC info, including suggestions for directions on how to engage with the event and the questions thread for any questions regarding this event. The outcome for this event will depend upon character plans and actions developed in both this OOC post, and any additional plots brought to the moderators. Please feel free to submit any game-changing plans to us under the questions thread – but we will be reading all comments on the post!

The Operation will continue until September 11, IC time. An aftermath wrap up post will be made on January 26 which will detail the resolution and fallout of the event.

As a reminder, there is one power level up available for this event. This will be granted for a thread of at least 5 action/log comments containing your character utilizing their power in some way. They will need to reach the 5 comments required by FEBRUARY 23 to be eligible. Submission will be handled on the wrap up post.

Our Activity Check will be posted tomorrow, January 20, at 9 PM UTC. It will run for seven days and close on January 27. We will not post a warning list.

warfares: <user name="na-i-cons"> (pic#12151197)

[personal profile] warfares 2019-01-27 05:05 am (UTC)(link)
Of course notㅡ ( there's a cheerful chime! as the elevator door slides open, and they step inside.

it would be a lie to say that he isn't thinking about the last time they were stuck together in a confined space, while not actively fighting for their lives or trying to murder each other. she's even closer now than she'd been, then. face pressed against his neck.

he inhales slowly, exhales. )
That would be excessive.

forcevisions: (look what you made me do)

[personal profile] forcevisions 2019-01-27 05:10 am (UTC)(link)
This is excessive. I can walk, Ben, I'm not an invalid.

[ She can feel his chest expand.

What a funny thing to get fixated on. But like this, wrapped up together, holding onto him, it's hard not to notice. The lift doors have shut behind them and closed out distractions.

Her forehead brushes the tip of his ear under his hair, which is finally starting to cover them. The blue light blooms in her chest, and his, as the empathy link opens. She wants to flinch away -- that desire pours across the link as much as anything, but she's afraid of injuring herself. No. Maybe it's that she wants to flinch away because she's afraid being vulnerable with him is going to injure her again.

And in turn she feels some of his conflict, his efforts towards self restraint, his amusement. Nerf-herder. She pulls back then.
]

I didn't mean to -- [ She doesn't apologize. But she's concerned the pain might be flooding over too. The pain in her ribs, in her shoulder. Better that she doesn't share that. ]
warfares: <user name="na-i-cons"> (pic#12155888)

[personal profile] warfares 2019-01-27 01:46 pm (UTC)(link)
It's fine.

( the wash of pain catches him off-guard, certainly, but he rallies quickly; he's felt worse, been dealt worse (by her, even) so breathing through pain while the elevator ticks through floors is well within his capacity. it's that flicker of uncertainty, of fear, that gives him pause. )

Tell me what happened. ( something, anything, to distract her from the throb in her ribs ㅡ almost certainly bruised ㅡ while they ride the last few levels to his floor. )
forcevisions: (they got the kingdom)

[personal profile] forcevisions 2019-01-27 03:59 pm (UTC)(link)
I moved too slow.

[ Her voice sounds dry, like she's telling him only the obvious and not planning to share more than that. But she recognizes, given what she'd felt from him over the empathy link in that flash, that maybe his concern is genuine.

She doesn't know what to do with that. Her stomach knots. Reconciling his genuine affection for her with the fact that he's chosen to be terrible is hard, harder when she's spent her whole life with no one, harder still when it persists even after what they've done to one another.

If she was so terrible her parents couldn't love her, isn't it more miraculous that anyone can?
]

... They showed up after I got to one of the houses. I was in a rush, so I'd gone in alone. They shot me and threw me out a window. [ She shifts slightly, grimacing. And those apartment buildings were high. Her gloves had slowed her fall, thankfully, and so too had her power. That just allowed her to survive it. ] It was worse than this, but another one of us found me.

[ In the dumpster. It occurs to her only then, as she is this close to Kylo, that she might still smell like garbage. ]
warfares: <user name="na-i-cons"> (pic#12158128)

[personal profile] warfares 2019-01-28 10:16 am (UTC)(link)
They threw you out of a window.

( it's said in that measured tone that suggests he's trying to rein in his temper. swallowing around the lump forming in his throat. )

You could've died.

( would have almost certainly died if someone ㅡ one of them, she says; it's yet another reason to ensure that they return to the safe-house in the morning, so he can find whoever did and... well, he'll see just how far that wave of gratitude carries him during the cold light of morning.

far enough, perhaps. )


Did you manage to do what you needed to do?
Edited 2019-01-28 10:17 (UTC)
forcevisions: (i got harder)

[personal profile] forcevisions 2019-01-28 05:27 pm (UTC)(link)
We were fighting the UNA. Any of us could have died.

[ But she should have. Would have, without her gloves and her power. She can feel him tense, hear the strangled sound of anger rising in his throat. ]

But I didn't. I'm fine. And so is the family. Johnny saw them escape.

[ That's what counts. Although perhaps her current state shouldn't be defined as 'fine.' The lift chimes and the doors open, and she's just hoping that excuses her from further explanation. This was easier when she was unconscious. ]
warfares: <user name="na-i-cons"> (pic#12150730)

[personal profile] warfares 2019-02-01 03:47 am (UTC)(link)
Johnny ㅡ he was the one that saved you?

( he's stepping through the door as he asks, into an unremarkable hallway on the building's eleventh floor. the moment is enough to disrupt the building anger.

his apartment is tucked into the furthest corner, number #11. palming the lock, he eases the door open with his shoulder. it's dim inside, but for the bars of light cutting across the floor from the neon lights outside. he sets her down carefully. )
I'll get the power.


forcevisions: (they're gonna clean up your looks)

[personal profile] forcevisions 2019-02-01 05:07 am (UTC)(link)
[ Back on her own feet, she almost doesn't know what to do with herself. For a brief moment it tenses her muscles -- twinges her ribs to settle in. She raises a hand accordingly to press against her vest. The discomfort lingers, keeps her from breathing properly while she gets used to her new position, upright again.

She takes in the apartment. Picks her way across the areas dimly lit by neon colors that she'd never seen before leaving Jakku. Then finds a place to sit.

Her shoulder throbs, and she looks to prod at it.
]

Yeah.

[ She didn't mean to mention his name. Her head isn't fully on straight. She hopes she can trust Kylo with it. ]

He took my injuries onto himself. Some kind of transfer. [ Hm. There's no examining her shoulder like this. She starts removing her outerwear -- a jacket, a light armored vest. ]
warfares: <user name="na-i-cons"> (pic#12158147)

[personal profile] warfares 2019-02-01 05:13 am (UTC)(link)
Hopefully he found his way to somewhere safe, himself.

( he is vaguely aware of the technology Morningstar has at their disposal having taken a turn in one of the pods, himself. as reluctant as he had been at the time ㅡ and still was, honestly ㅡ to trust them entirely, his hearing had been restored and the worst of the ache in his ribs had evaporated.

the power flickers on, revealing a small, modestly furnished apartment that is really just two rooms ㅡ the larger acting as a living and sleeping space, with a small kitchen crammed into the corner; the smaller, a bathroom.

when he returns, it's with a small first aid kit. )


I assume your ribs bore the brunt of the damage. ( the kit is set down, opened. )
forcevisions: (overhead of the aqua blue)

[personal profile] forcevisions 2019-02-01 05:18 am (UTC)(link)
[ Her vest is off when he returns, leaving her in an undershirt that is bloodied and torn at the shoulder. It's a light gray, and ruined now for the stain. Even if she could get the stain out (and she could), the holes ... She watches him set down the kit.

She didn't realize he'd have something like that. She had planned to just tough it out.

She's been careful. Her bloodied vest and jacket and gun are all laid across the kitchen counter, where they can neither stink up nor stain his bedding or couch. Rey has set herself on the couch. It's ... safer. She prods at her shoulder while he approaches.
]

My head's still ... foggy. [ Presumably it had hit the dumpster hard too. She barely remembered the impact. She wets her lips. ] Not much to do for them. [ She realizes she can't get at the injury to her shoulder through the shirt. It's mostly closed up, not actively gushing, but still bloody and mangled and sore. She winces.

Then, in the most perfunctory fashion, she strips off her shirt too. She's not bare beneath it, at least. Not like he had been. But she's got the good sense to feel exposed. Her shoulder has taken the worst of a gunshot. The fragmented shards of the bullet have all but been pushed out, and are held in the pucker of flesh in the midst of what have become mostly surface injuries and bruising.
]
warfares: <user name="icontrol"> (pic#11942298)

[personal profile] warfares 2019-02-01 11:54 am (UTC)(link)
( there's a rough exhale of breath — and while his eyes are drawn to the angry pucker of flesh at her shoulder, it would be a lie to say that he does not linger a moment on the nobs of her spine and the mottled stripes of bruises currently darkening her skin. )

I'll need to clean that. ( he says finally, working his way through a mental checklist. he's no medic but he's had some training. knows that leaving the metal in, even overnight, is a risk he isn't prepared to take. )

You can shower, then. And I'll wrap your ribs.

( she'll have to borrow one of his shirts, he decides. the whole thing must be soaked in blood and sweet and stars only knows what else.

he pulls off his own gloves, pulling on ones that are white and plastic and not unlike the ones they had worn while butchering that crab beast.

then, after a moment it occurs to him: )
You did well.
forcevisions: (I could barely eat)

[personal profile] forcevisions 2019-02-01 03:08 pm (UTC)(link)
Don't patronize me.

[ It comes out softer than she means it to. She doesn't have the room to get as much air in her lungs as she'd like without straining them. She focuses on her breath for a moment after that, briefly closing her eyes. The room threatens to spin because she did something stupid like get her heart rate up with defensive frustration. It's not his fault, she chides herself. ]

I didn't come here for ... [ Pity? Comfort? Help? She loses track of the end of her sentence, can't decide how to describe the way he's fussing over her. She's never experienced it before in all her life.

Ending the sentence will mean articulating what she did come here for, though, and examining that is just as uneasy. Ostensibly to avoid her hobbling, obvious self from drawing attention that might have led anyone back towards a safehouse, and because she hadn't had anywhere else she trusted to go, but ... If it were only that, she wouldn't feel the slight ache in her chest at seeing him snap on those gloves, sorry not to be touching him again, even with the trouble it had felt like it caused her in the lift.

She balls her shirt in her lap and focuses down on that instead of finishing her sentence.
] You don't have to do all of this. I just need a place to catch my breath while it all dies down.

[ That's enough. ]
warfares: <user name=borderglitz site=insanejournal.com> (pic#12305084)

[personal profile] warfares 2019-02-02 04:38 am (UTC)(link)
You already have that.

( removing the bullet fragments is a quiet affair, broken occasionally by the soft plink! of metal against ceramic ...if there was one thing their experience with the crab beast had taught him, it was that you never knew what would wind up being useful. what could be learned. )

You might as well take advantage of the rest of it while you're here. ( once he's sure he's got everything, he pauses a moment, debating how best to dress the wound. )

Though, sleep might need to wait. ( he pours out disinfectant onto a swab. )

forcevisions: (my name is whatever you decide)

[personal profile] forcevisions 2019-02-02 04:44 am (UTC)(link)
[ It hurts, the way he cares about her. A dull and persistent ache in her chest that cannot be ignored because neither can she ignore all the things in the way of her ability to accept it. There are faint pink bands still ringing her wrists, light scars that remind her just as the cut down his face reminds him of what they are to one another outside of this space.

But the air in his apartment feels just as thick and ionized as the tunneled space of their bond, right now. Like it's somewhere else. She wets her lips, refuses to meet his gaze while he works. Grimaces through his labor.

When he pulls back, she looks down at the fragments of steel. So small. Nothing as remarkable as a blaster, but ...

She yelps when the swab touches her skin. It stings. It stings. She grits her teeth in a half-snarl through it and grips his upper arm to keep herself still. It flexes her shoulder, slightly, but it lets him get at it.
]

I don't have to shower. [ She tries to offer this, tries to lessen her burden on him. ] You're already cleaning it, and they're rationing water. [ It makes her feel better to try and barter his kindness down, even if she suspects he won't relent on that. She stinks. Genuinely stinks of garbage. Stars, she realizes too late that she has invited comment on it. ]
warfares: <user name=borderglitz site=insanejournal.com> (pic#12305085)

[personal profile] warfares 2019-02-02 05:21 am (UTC)(link)
I would feel better if you did.

( mildly; her fingers dig into the meat of his arm, but he still continues on, undeterred. if she's up to arguing that means she'll be all right. )

If you need help ... ( he lets the sentence hang, distracting her hopefully from whatever hole she seems determined to dig for herself over the fact that she's allowed herself to need him again. )
forcevisions: (you're standing at my door)

[personal profile] forcevisions 2019-02-02 05:29 am (UTC)(link)
[ it's a good thing he's wearing gloves.

it's a good thing they are not bonded together anymore, and that her humiliation is therefore entirely her own as recent images come immediately to mind. before she can stop herself, she's dropped her gaze to his lap, and then immediately redirected it, her breath arresting in her throat.

kriff.
]

I can wash myself.

[ she pulls her arm back then, pushes to her feet. apparently that means she's doing it now. she's dizzy, feels a bit nauseous, realizes she has a concussion for sure. she hesitates, reaches out to stabilize herself on his shoulder. it is perhaps ambitious to imagine her do this without difficulty.

it will be more humiliating, she thinks, if she falls down in his shower and he has to find her like that when the water shuts off. and it's a real possibility. especially when the pain of shifting her ribs seems to refer into some kind of tunneling vision every so often.

she hesitates, taking entirely too long to grapple with her pride for some middle ground.
]

You can stand by the door.
warfares: <user name="theboysareback"> (pic#11800378)

[personal profile] warfares 2019-02-02 01:20 pm (UTC)(link)
All right.

( he could push.

he could push but he doesn't. as victories go this is already precarious. instead, he settles a hand over hers for a moment, still covered by the layer of latex. )


There's towels inside. I'll find you a new shirt.
forcevisions: (this is gospel)

[personal profile] forcevisions 2019-02-02 06:32 pm (UTC)(link)
[ she chokes down 'what's wrong with my shirt?' before it comes out. she knows. it smells like garbage and it's soaked in her blood, torn by bone and bullets alike. so she just nods and accepts this one, then moves for the bathroom. she's slow to walk, each step rippling some terrible vibration up into her cracked ribs, but she's too stubborn to revise her stance.

and too red-in-the-face with the context of what he'd sent her.

she can't take a deep breath with the way her lungs are, so she has to rely on her thoughts to compose and calm herself. she's never been good at that. staying busy keeps her calm and little else.

the bathroom light is easy to find. she pillages his cabinets and counters and finds all sorts of little containers of lotions and mouthwash and other hygiene products. it's only curiosity, taking stock. the labels hurt to read, so she gives up on them. when she's out of things to investigate, she has no choice but to confront the task of undressing herself.

in the mirror, she can see why he's acting like this. a smear of blood darkens her ribs, but beneath it, and more concerning, are the yellow-purple bruises that mottle her left side. more blood is smeared up across the ugly puckered wound of her shoulder. she prods at the faintly mangled flesh, wincing, then looks at the door.

recognizing that she's worse off than she thought while she was high on the feeling of being healed to better than she was, she decides to leave it open.

rey pulls off the band covering her breasts first because it's easy, then opens her pants and starts to ease them down with her underwear. it gets difficult around mid-thigh. the bend tightens muscles in her back, squeezes her ribs, and she releases a soft grunt. inconvenient. she shuts the lid of the toilet and eases down to sit on it, trying to take up the task from there, but it only helps her get her pants down as far as the tops of her boots when she realizes they're laced.

and that bending to unlace them will hurt just as much.

she draws a deep breath, sputters it back out as midway through the motion her ribs bear down on her. frustrated tears threaten to form, making her eyes glassy, and she commits to pushing through it. she has pushed through worse. she bends to start unlacing her boots, holding her breath against the oppressive pain of her ribs as long as she can before she has to draw a sharp breath and the whole attempt falters. sharp pain lances through her ribs and she lets out a real, audible cry of injury this time, flinching back to her sitting position.

kriff. again. she wipes her brow with her hand and tries to figure out another strategy for doing this herself.
]
warfares: <user name="recadreuse"> (Default)

[personal profile] warfares 2019-02-03 05:01 am (UTC)(link)
( it's the soft wuff of pain that draws him; he sees that she's naked, registers it on some level, filing it away in the back of his mind for later processing, but now is not the time to dwell. he focuses instead on the pain, on the fact that for all her stubborn determination, there is no way that she is getting those shoes off, and then he moves. )

Here, ( if he focuses on the boots, on unlacing them, he doesn't have to think about how the tips of his ears might be burning ever so slightly, hair not quite long enough to cover them.

one boot is removed, then the other, and set beside the toilet before he'll finally allow himself to look up at her. )
forcevisions: (so they can watch all the things you do)

[personal profile] forcevisions 2019-02-03 05:12 am (UTC)(link)
[ He gets down in front of her to help with barely a word, and Rey clams up. The silence is somehow more terrible even than the fact that he looks entirely unfazed. She's been in knots over what he'd sent her and he's able to calmly kneel before her and tug off her boots. Rey, red in the face, looks up at the ceiling to inspect his vents rather than focus on him. It keeps her from scrutinizing him hard enough to notice the faint flush in his ears.

It's only vaguely insulting that he barely seems to notice. She'll get over it.

When her toes are free, she glances down and sees him watching her again, and her face burns hotter. She wiggles her pants down the rest of the way, keeping her legs firmly wedged together while she does, particularly while he's kneeling in front of her like that. She's choking on the silence. She needs to free herself from it somehow.
]

Did you find a shirt? [ Not gratitude. But something that will instead draw attention away from their present circumstance. ]
warfares: <user name="icontrol">, used with permission (pic#12719338)

[personal profile] warfares 2019-02-03 06:05 am (UTC)(link)
( a shirt?

Oh, right.

he looks back over his shoulder, )
In the bedroom.

( he'd reached into his wardrobe and pulled out the first thing he could find ㅡ which had been, unsurprisingly, a black workout shirt. large enough that she'll probably swim in it. he swallows, feeling a flare of heat at the thought, and then pushes to his feet. )

Come on. ( he offers her a hand, already toeing off his boots; the implication is clear enough: if she can't untie her own shoes, she's not being left to attempt the shower on her own. )
forcevisions: (cuz they got methods)

[personal profile] forcevisions 2019-02-03 06:14 am (UTC)(link)
[ Klaxons wail in the back of her mind as she sees him start removing his boots. Oh, no. Definitely not. No bedroom.

She gets to her feet, but she declines his hand, instead bracing herself on the counter and on the glass door of the shower. The unfortunate effect of spreading her arms is, of course, that she can't cover herself. But it doesn't appear to mean much either way if she does or doesn't. He's unaffected.

Unaffected enough to think he can just climb into the shower with her.

Rey goes for the shower door like she's trying to make a hasty escape, moving perhaps too fast for how dazed her head has left her, bumbling somewhat, knocking her knee into the door. The secondary effect of standing is that it draws attention to her nakedness. Not that it matters. It's just more persuasively not much to look at -- too lean in some places from starving, thickly striated by muscle in others, all mottled with bruises.
]

That's alright, I can — [ She wedges herself into the shower stall. The door is glass. She can still see him plainly through it as she turns on the water. It comes out lukewarm, thanks to the heat wave. She isn't going to waste water waiting for it to get to the right temperature. It blasts right into her side. ] Just leave it there on the sink.
warfares: <user name="na-i-cons"> (pic#12150744)

[personal profile] warfares 2019-02-03 06:53 am (UTC)(link)
No, you can't — ( he's already yanking his shirt up and over his head, exposing a pale, muscled abdomen that's pocket with scars. hesitating at his belt, considering, but with her discomfort so apparent he thinks better of it. )

Besides, ( he presses open the shower door, stepping inside. it's a small space. amazing, really, that they both can fit.

he reaches for the loofa, offering: )
who else is going to get your back?

forcevisions: (the trophy case)

[personal profile] forcevisions 2019-02-03 06:59 am (UTC)(link)
[ Oh. Oh. ]

I don't need anyone to get my -- [ Huff. ] You're going to get wet.

[ She shuffles to make room for him not because she wants to but because she doesn't want to risk touching him while her thoughts are such a hideous jumble. The empathy bond isn't the Force bond -- it doesn't carry as much as clearly -- but it will surely sniff out her insecurity, her disappointment, her unwelcome interest in the fact that the water is now hitting the pale planes of muscle in his chest and how her body reacts to it.

Rey all but swallows her own tongue.

She can't figure out if she wants to put her back to him -- insulating her from both eye contact and exposure -- or keep her front to him, so she can defend herself against whatever he's trying to do. At least he hasn't removed his pants.
]

What is that? [ She looks baffled and somehow offended about the loofa. ] Is it alive?

[ Notably she is not reaching for the soap yet. She is not planning to wash herself in front of him if she can help it. The water quickly douses her hair, though, darkens and flattens it to black streaks of ink painted against her cheeks and neck. It's not long enough to go beyond that yet, doesn't reach her shoulders properly. ]
warfares: <user name=borderglitz site=insanejournal.com> (pic#12305084)

[personal profile] warfares 2019-02-03 07:13 am (UTC)(link)
( a glance to the loofa ㅡ a cheerful orange shade that somehow blends with the cool blues of the bathroom decor ㅡ and then a huff of amusement. )

No.

( he makes a gesture, intending that she turn. ) I know how much you like to look, but now really isn't the time.

Now, pass me the soap.

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sexy loofa action is a go

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rip the loofa

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it's true

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