[she'd been sentenced to twenty years on wobani, and had counted on being dead within five; that's the inevitability when resources, friends, and luck run out. at some point about five months ago, jyn had decided that if she could place a bet, she'd put 500 credits on some cellmate whose name she can't be bothered to remember (they've practically changed every week, after all) pulling a contraband vibroknife on her in her sleep. at least it'd be quick, and she probably wouldn't even feel a thing; it'd be a mercy.
but she should've known better than to count on a mercy, shouldn't she?
because that idiot droid that knocked her out during a so-called rescue hadn't been it, and neither had coming to underwater, with a hand pulling her to the surface at the last second.
and neither, honestly, is anything that comes afterward. not the people prattling on about things she has no frame of reference for understanding, not these stupid clothes and shoes that feel itchy and wrong to her, not the castle she's brought to that, even so far from everything she's ever known, is familiar to her in all the wrong ways, because it has the feel of being imperial.
the crease set into her brow and the hard line that her jaw forms don't fade, even as she's left to wander alone; nothing she finds makes her feel any better. if there happens to be a hand tapping her on the shoulder, trying to get her attention, that doesn't, either; that gets her turning sharply, and her voice becoming a knife when she says,]
Don't touch me.
fireside logs
[even with the (apparent) freedom to move around, jyn doesn't become any more convinced that she hasn't traded one prison for another as the days wear on. for one, almost everywhere she goes, she can turn and a see a guard standing somewhere in her periphery; something for your safety something else, the explanations had gone, but she's not stupid.
still, there's some relief to be found in moving around, and in having something to do with her hands. she takes to spending her days making log deliveries around nott, loading and pulling all her carts herself, ignoring every piece of advice telling her not to do this alone. any offers of help in her direction are met with silent, icy glares.
many of the locals are wary, understandably — but some surprise her, at times even thanking her. she never knows what to do with that, usually ducking her head and walking away without another word.
they stay on her mind long afterward. and if she sneaks extra bread and pieces of fruit out of one of the taverns just before she leaves? who's to say where that's going.]
nocwich
[she may be far from anything she's ever known, but this marketplace operates much the same as any other on a whole number of planets she's been to. there are always the legitimate sellers, the ones trying to make something off of a straightforward product, and it's easy to tell the difference between them and... others who aren't so legitimate, out to take whatever dirty advantage they can. they'll have a charm about them, carefully practiced to lure in the unsuspecting — and to distract from whatever absolute bantha shit they're holding in their hands.
it's not as if jyn has never scammed herself — but she'd only ever directed that toward imperials and complete asses who'd deserved it, and those types of standards aren't exactly popular.
in any case, she's taken to keeping watch by one of the stalls she's found particularly suspicious in the marketplace today, which is selling some kind of swirling liquid. maybe someone would have to be a complete idiot to drink something like that, and anything that happens would be something they'd brought on themselves, but still, she offers,]
I wouldn't, if I were you.
wildcard
[feel free to bring me whatever you'd like! just drop a top level, or hit me up via pm or on plurk at lensflares if you'd like to discuss 💙]
jyn erso | star wars | thorne | the tower
[she'd been sentenced to twenty years on wobani, and had counted on being dead within five; that's the inevitability when resources, friends, and luck run out. at some point about five months ago, jyn had decided that if she could place a bet, she'd put 500 credits on some cellmate whose name she can't be bothered to remember (they've practically changed every week, after all) pulling a contraband vibroknife on her in her sleep. at least it'd be quick, and she probably wouldn't even feel a thing; it'd be a mercy.
but she should've known better than to count on a mercy, shouldn't she?
because that idiot droid that knocked her out during a so-called rescue hadn't been it, and neither had coming to underwater, with a hand pulling her to the surface at the last second.
and neither, honestly, is anything that comes afterward. not the people prattling on about things she has no frame of reference for understanding, not these stupid clothes and shoes that feel itchy and wrong to her, not the castle she's brought to that, even so far from everything she's ever known, is familiar to her in all the wrong ways, because it has the feel of being imperial.
the crease set into her brow and the hard line that her jaw forms don't fade, even as she's left to wander alone; nothing she finds makes her feel any better. if there happens to be a hand tapping her on the shoulder, trying to get her attention, that doesn't, either; that gets her turning sharply, and her voice becoming a knife when she says,]
Don't touch me.
fireside logs
[even with the (apparent) freedom to move around, jyn doesn't become any more convinced that she hasn't traded one prison for another as the days wear on. for one, almost everywhere she goes, she can turn and a see a guard standing somewhere in her periphery; something for your safety something else, the explanations had gone, but she's not stupid.
still, there's some relief to be found in moving around, and in having something to do with her hands. she takes to spending her days making log deliveries around nott, loading and pulling all her carts herself, ignoring every piece of advice telling her not to do this alone. any offers of help in her direction are met with silent, icy glares.
many of the locals are wary, understandably — but some surprise her, at times even thanking her. she never knows what to do with that, usually ducking her head and walking away without another word.
they stay on her mind long afterward. and if she sneaks extra bread and pieces of fruit out of one of the taverns just before she leaves? who's to say where that's going.]
nocwich
[she may be far from anything she's ever known, but this marketplace operates much the same as any other on a whole number of planets she's been to. there are always the legitimate sellers, the ones trying to make something off of a straightforward product, and it's easy to tell the difference between them and... others who aren't so legitimate, out to take whatever dirty advantage they can. they'll have a charm about them, carefully practiced to lure in the unsuspecting — and to distract from whatever absolute bantha shit they're holding in their hands.
it's not as if jyn has never scammed herself — but she'd only ever directed that toward imperials and complete asses who'd deserved it, and those types of standards aren't exactly popular.
in any case, she's taken to keeping watch by one of the stalls she's found particularly suspicious in the marketplace today, which is selling some kind of swirling liquid. maybe someone would have to be a complete idiot to drink something like that, and anything that happens would be something they'd brought on themselves, but still, she offers,]
I wouldn't, if I were you.
wildcard
[feel free to bring me whatever you'd like! just drop a top level, or hit me up via pm or on plurk at