( closed. )

[apoptotic]

CHARACTERS: anakin & assorted others
DATE: catch-all from end of december through january
WARNINGS: skywalker etc will edit if anything comes up
SUMMARY: stuff and things

( individual prompts in the comments. if you'd like a starter, hit me up here or pm me through this account! ♥ )

Comments

LLOYD →

[apoptotic]

[ on the accorded day ( read: literally the day they returned to oska ), anakin knocks on the door. his is a more hopeful outlook than he has worn all mission, but an edge half expectation, half nervousness has him wound tight as a spring.

we are at the center of the multiverse.

anakin starts out of his reverie when he receives a response. he answers with his name, inhaling deeply in an attempt to regain his jedi composure. he manages a small smile when the door opens. ]

Is this a good time?

[lloydology]

[ Lloyd stands in the doorway, the magical light of the castle glancing off the plates of his synthetic body. His expression hoists itself into a smile at the sight of Anakin, and while genuine, the gesture is perhaps inhibited by its, well, robotic nature. ]

I've been expecting you! Come in.

[ Lloyd's tone is genial but measured, and he steps aside to admit Anakin. The room is sparse in furnishings and decoration, four grey stone walls lit with glowing magic orbs, and a desk in the middle with two chairs in front of it. Behind the desk, at the very top of the wall, is a single barred window letting in some filtered sunlight. Piles of paper lie haphazardly about, tagged here and there with post-its in a rainbow of colours. Lloyds leads Anakin straight to his desk, where he's set up a manila folder, two steaming cups, and an assortment of teas for Anakin to choose from. There will likely be some kind Anakin recognizes, though others with no name or even script he can make out, scents alien and not always inviting. ]

I told you I'd have some ready. Pick something you like.

[apoptotic]

[ three years of a war and anakin cannot enter a room with looking around. and he is admittedly curious as to how the more senior members live. he finds only a utilitarian, well-lived in room.

seating himself, he picks the tea least objectionable to his nose for himself. so far nothing has gone as he would have expected — as he had been taught to expect by the council — and lloyd is as placid and amiable as their conversations had led him to believe. cautiously optimistic despite himself, anakin relaxes by degrees.

as the gloved fingers of his prosthetic hand wrap around the cup, he nods to the folder. ]

What is that?

[lloydology]

[ Certainly, Lloyd's nature might mark him as a good actor, but it's not in his nature as an individual to hide who he is. It's part of what he loves about ALASTAIR: there's no rigidity here, no expectation to be anything other than his own self. ]

Transfer papers.

[ He says it even as he's setting aside the tea, casual and relaxed. Moving back, he opens the folder, revealing a page entitled REQUEST FOR TEAM TRANSFER in neat, black font. ]

That is--if you're still thinking about it.

[ They're here to discuss, not for Anakin to feel pressured. Lloyd's body, as it turns out, can drink, because he takes a sip of his own tea while waiting for Anakin to let him know. ]

[apoptotic]

I am. [ anakin takes the time to look them over, enough to make it seem like he is still as confident in this decisions as he had been. there is no other reason. he has nothing to compare them to; transfer wasn't something among the jedi. they remained with the order until they died — or they left, the masters to become one of the lost, knights and padawans to be forgotten.

anakin doesn't take a drink. instead he folds his hands inside his sleeves, distracted, a little frown marring his brow. ]

What should I expect? If I go through with it?

omg slides in here.........

[lloydology]

[ Lloyd motions to the door, meaning outside, the castle, Audentes. ]

More of the same, just with a different coat of paint: adaptating to a new team just like you've adapted to this one; people you get along with, people you don't; similar missions and different ones. [ A shrug. ] The jobs can be complex but the life really isn't. Is there anything in particular that worries you?

is all good, we're both great with times

[apoptotic]

[ a shake of his head. ]

Guess I wondered about the process itself. Would I vanish as abruptly as the others have? How do you decide who is best needed where?

LOKI →

[apoptotic]

[ between the chaos of leaving and the chaos of reintegrating into life in the castle, anakin hadn’t had time to take loki up on his challenge. ( actually, anakin’s challenge. memory is a fickle thing. )

tonight, however, feels like a good time to drink himself into unconsciousness.

whatever loki brought with him is strong and feels not unlike what drinking fuel must. seated on a blanket on the floor ( the bed, like most other flat surfaces in his room, having almost vanished beneath half-finished projects, assorted parts, pieces of scrap ), anakin hides his mouth behind his gloved hand. not-r2 whirs away from him. ]

What is that? [ he asks even as he extends the cup for a refill.

anakin will not remember any of this. ]

[selfimage]

[ some part of him, the part of him that spent a day and half a night marathoning everything to do with Star Wars, fills with boyish glee and wonderment of Anakin Skywalker's room. while he's not Billy Kaplan, flaunting his knowledge and flapping his hands excitedly, there's still a little lift in his chest as he glances around his room, taking in the sights and carefully tucking them away.

he's half seated, half lounging on the floor, leaning back on the palm of his hand when Anakin requests more. ]

Mead. [ he says it carefully. then, collecting the amber bottle, he pours. his fingers are clasped at the base, turning the neck to stop the steady stream of dark, syrupy liquid. there's no mention of the Asgardian part of that.

it's strong (very strong), thick, and warm. it's a story of wine, of the soft hands of Idunn picking the apples from her trees, the bees collecting the pollen from the blossoms, the casks made from old ships touched by frost; it was all of that. a small taste of divinity.

luckily Loki doesn't pour too liberally. ] The drink of the gods. You have to get the Force drunk on something good.

[apoptotic]

The Force or me?

[ anakin paces himself a little more this time, but he can already feel the warmth spreading from his torso through his remaining limbs. this may have been a mistake, but he's in no position to be aware of it.

anakin skywalker's room is meticulously clean if not organized. even so, anakin will argue it is; he can find everything. anakin skywalker himself is as undressed as loki has ever seen him: clad in an under tunic so dark it is almost black and pants and the ever-present glove covering his artificial right hand. the ring gift of alastair is a small bulge underneath the tunic.

anakin takes another sip and makes a face. ]

We could have used this back on Coruscant.

[ for the nights when sleep simply wouldn't come. or following a day that all he wanted to do was forget. it's not a very jedi-like impulse but whether due to time or drink anakin is past caring. ]

[selfimage]

[ he doesn't answer the first part. ]

Not unless the gods themselves decided to visit.

[ the bottle goes back to Loki's glass, and he pours himself a little more, as if he were instilling some kind of silent challenge. ]

...

[ the stream stops, and Loki stops, and he glances up at Anakin. ]

Are there gods on Coruscant?

[apoptotic]

About as many as there are species. [ the careless answer of one who believes in none of them even seated across from one himself.

anakin swirls the liquid in the cup, watching the play of light. ] Most are just a different name for the Force. The Force is all that is.

[ the liquid lifts from the cup. it ebbs, extends, contracts, as pliable and easy to manipulate as clay. anakin watches it idly, a strange little smile on his face. ]

But my master would be very upset to see me doing this. "Ana-kin," [ his voice shifts to a frighteningly accurate imitation of obi-wan, ] "the Force is not a plaything."

[selfimage]

[ Anakin wavers, watching his glass, and Loki watches him with subdued interest. there's a smile that creeps up his cheeks and then a low chuckle at the imitation. ]

You master certainly wants to keep the toys in the box.

[ it's not something he's unused to seeing, though the means are a little different. ]

STILES →

[apoptotic]

Still with me?

[ an easy question easily spoken, but the narrowed focus anakin pays stiles belies the feigned nonchalance. he opens himself to the force, allowing him to glean more information on the other’s state than his eyes and ears alone can provide.

an hour into the first practice and it is going about as well as can be expected. which is to say a little miserable for one of them. anakin donned his curiosity like patience. if this shield works, the mind trick will be wholly ineffective. that's the point, and no great loss. many species are immune; among those who aren't any with a strong will is not affected.

his question lies a little deeper. in his arrogance, anakin does not believe anything alastair-given can prove more than the force. but the limits interest him. ]

[figureitout]

[ he'd taken exactly one step forward when Anakin had looked at him and told him you will walk over here, an easy start to it all, an easier one that he'd expected, really — one step before his head had snapped up, eyes refocusing, drawing in a shaky breath like he'd forgotten how to breathe for a second there.

(half an hour later, he wishes it had worked on the first try. his head is on fire and he feels vaguely like throwing up. Anakin hadn't been kidding when he said it wouldn't be the most pleasant of feelings. another half an hour and he's faintly sure his head will never stop hurting. a sacrifice he can make, if this starts working. it's been working, ten seconds there, two minutes here, but it's fickle, like his focus.)

the question comes as Stiles is catching his breath, eyes closed, mind trying to cling to the visualized door inside his head. don't lose your focus, he tells himself. focus. ]

Y — yeah. I mean, I wasn't... [ a breath, then another. deep and even. he opens his eyes and looks Anakin Skywalker straight in the eyes. ]

Okay. I'd tell you to "do your worst", but I'm pretty sure that's where you started. [ no, it isn't — he knows full well what worst would be, when talking to the one in front of him. this doesn't come anywhere near it. ]

[apoptotic]

[ anakin smiles wryly. ]

Not quite. [ he leaves the response vague. though he knows nothing yet of the atrocities for which darth vader will gain notoriety — and though every deed committed until this point has been rationalized to fall into the realm of "good" — ( and he ignores the play of color that washed across a desert night as he ignores the sound of two lightsabers pulling together. )

he could do a lot worse. that he has no intention to has him reach out. anakin's gloved hand clasps stiles' shoulder. ]

I think that's enough for today.

[ a different application of the force: no persuasion; no targeting of the mind. a relaxing sensation spreads from the point of contact. like sinking back into a pool of cool, clear water and floating. the contact lasts only a second before anakin removes his hand and stands. ]

We can continue tomorrow.

[figureitout]

No —

[ he starts, sharply, after the pressure of Anakin's hand is no longer on his shoulder, when his entire body feels like it's been submerged in a lake and is suddenly pulled out into cold winter air, chill and fatigue shaking his limbs.

quieter, ] No. No, I can still... one more. Just one more time. I almost had it the last time, there's just... I know I can do it, I just need to figure out the key.

[ he knows Anakin is right, he already feels like crap, they should just call it a day... but he's never been good at stopping, even when he knows he should. he looks at Anakin, imploring. ] Please, one more time. Then we can stop. I can take it, I swear.

[apoptotic]

[ anakin studies him for a moment, silent, then — ]

Why a shield?

[ he takes his seat again, hands folded inside his sleeves. ]

You could have requested anything.

[figureitout]

I didn't, that's the point.

[ he realizes that isn't a very clear explanation and elaborates quickly, sighing as he promptly sits down on the ground, too exhausted to even keep standing up. ]

I didn't ask for anything, they just... gave it to me. Out of the blue. I guess they thought I... needed it. [ not wanted; needed. ]

a tale of two trashcans.

[conqueress]

[ Memory is a queer thing.

However important they had seemed, she cannot recall half of the visions that plagued her in the House of the Undying. She cannot even remember which Aegon said a crown should not sit easy upon the head.

But something has tweaked at her since their return to Oska, and she remembers, now, a little boy, and how he had saved her when she was young and afraid. It's there, fragmented and inserted sharply, as though someone has driven a knife into a tapestry. She remembers holding dirty hands between her own, and wiping them in vain. He had spoken of his mother, a woman whose name she has forgotten, and racing.

And he had been a slave. Dany remembers that, most vividly of all. He had sworn to free himself and his mother, and the rest of his people, besides. Had he done it? ]

A machine? [ she asks, watching his droid curiously. Is it meant to be so lifelike? She has seated them both near the window, one leg tucked beneath the other, her white lion pelt gathered into her lap. Two glasses and a bottle of wine are perched atop the table, which boasts a platter of fruit in the center. Her window is ajar in part, a faint draft permeating the room, but not for want of a breeze. Beyond the glass, a black shadow circles high above one of the castle turrets, wings spread like some dread pair of sails. ] How did you come by it?

[ She remembers a blanket of metal, and how it had all clanked together as he'd shoved it aside for her. ]

[apoptotic]

[ for anakin, those memories, every reminder of the hot, dirty ball that had been his home, are best lost. the good ones — the ones he guarded jealously during his years on coruscant, through missions to worlds farther off, polishing and holding them close, closer than any jedi should hold anything — were poisoned. they blackened and died in his hands when his mother did.

the boy he had been, the one who swore he would return to free her, anakin buried with her. he tried to bury the memories too, but some things refuse to remain in a grave.

to visit daenerys is to invite them. but the dragon is a good distraction, wine a better one — and even an unintelligent chassis of a droid a better conversation piece. ]

A friend gave him to me. You remember that gift-giving celebration? It's like one I had.

[conqueress]

[ She does. A small, albeit handsomely carved bow and set of arrows lie on her dresser. A gift from Graham from that night, who is slowly but surely teaching her not to miss, if she should ever again find herself alone and without the aid of anyone to bring her food. ]

Oh, a clever friend.

[ A hand is reached down to admire the droid, and she smiles as it moves. She cannot know how primitive it is, how far removed it is from R2-D2; it only pleases her to see something lifeless stir so. ]

Had, though? [ She turns her attention from the window, and pours herself a glass in a delayed reaction, almost as if she has quite forgotten that her cupbearers are worlds away. ] Made, you mean.

[ It's a guess, albeit a somewhat informed one. The droid's wheels whir as it scoots aimlessly along her carpet, and she passes him the wine bottle. Outside, great wings flap as Drogon alights upon his turret of choice, sending out gusts of wind that buffet at the low-hanging clouds that always seem to linger around Oska. ]

[apoptotic]

No, I didn't make him. R2 was a gift.

[ a wedding gift. a senator has as much need for an astromech as a jedi has for a protocol droid. it would have been a sensible trade.

but c-3po was the only thing anakin owned. the only thing with which he could part. ( his heart, he had surrendered into padmé's hands long before. ) it was with a measure of pride and more than a little shyness that he offered the anxious, attentive droid to his new wife — pride that went unmatched until he was able to lay his skinny padawan braid in her hand, a new jedi knight, and as in love as he had been the very first day.

r2 had been with him. more than a droid, he was a friend, one to which anakin could trust more than he dared share with obi-wan. anakin can count on one hand the amount of times he was separated from r2; this one, the one instigated by alastair, being the latest and the longest since the droid returned with him from naboo, whistling cheerfully in binary as they came out of hyperspace to coruscant's metallic glow. the droid felt like a hollow reminder of the companion he had left behind yet anakin could not bring himself to be rid of it. rather, he found himself working diligently on it: installing new systems, upgrading hardware, trying to teach it.

he spares the little thing a glance as he pours himself wine. ]

We've been through a lot, R2 and I.

[conqueress]

[ Is it so common to grow attached to the machines in his world? She wonders that, uncertain whether she could ever find such liking for metal, however well made. His affection is real, though. She can see that much.

The wine glass is held between her fingers, unmoving as yet. Its color is deep purplish red, and it will not be half so fine as the vintages Ahad has collected across worlds, but it will serve. ]

Quests across the stars. [ She sounds wistful, though not for a galaxy. ] The maesters in my world would try to put such tales to vellum. Before long they would require new stocks of paper, fresher hands.

[ How not, with so many worlds to document? For a moment, the fair hues of her cheek and hair are silhouetted against the unmistakable shape of ridged spines and rippling leather wings. The black and the red might almost seem incongruous, if someone thought her only some high-spoken queen with a fondness for fruit and flying.

Dany sips at the wine. ]

But your talents range beyond starpiloting, [ she presses. She remembers how he had spoken of building pod racers. ] Among other things, you said. Is there someone in ALASTAIR who might be persuaded to accept ... donations ... to equip this machine with a better mimicry?

[ Or to equip Anakin with the parts needed to build himself a ship, perhaps. Her own wants are beyond the price of any coin collection she might hope to amass. ]

[apoptotic]

[ anakin chuckles. ] I appreciate the offer, Your Grace. But it's impossible to make another droid like R2.

[ he sets the glass down after a sip, and takes a slice of fruit. he uses it to gesticulate in between bites. ]

Droids, depending on their programming, they tend to develop their own personalities. R2… He's very brave. He's very loyal. Very stubborn, too. [ laughing, he adds, ] I give him a lot more freedom than my master thinks I should. But he's never let me down.

I gave him a few upgrades. Offensive and defensive capabilities. We're at war, [ the amusement sobers somewhat. anakin's tenor becomes more reflective, ] and he was usually with me on missions. I could upgrade this one, [ anakin tips his chin down to the droid waiting patiently near them; he receives a soft croon as if in response, ] I'm just missing the parts. Regardless, it's not pressing. This type of droid is an astromech. They're built to help with repairs on starship, plot courses, pilot the ship themselves, if necessary. Without a ship…