open rp post

fast and loose role-play

free and easy love, that's how it's s'posed to be!

want to thread with one of mine but aren't in the same game? want me to do something with one of yours in bakerstreet? can't find a good recent bakerstreet meme but want to thread anyway? want to explore au scenarios together? annoyed that i dropped that character you really wanted a thread with?

well drop me a comment here with whatever scenario (or link to a meme) you want, specify the character you want, and we can thread the merry day away!

any active or retired character from the muse list with two stars or more is fair game!

homeless characters are slightly different in that most of them don't have journals or icons set up, so you may have to give me a day or so to do that. and in some cases, a couple more days to canon review if i haven't in a while.

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[Coming from Anakin, that's practically a compliment. She can't help but smile a little, despite the seriousness of the situation.]

Do you want me to light the candles...? I keep a few in the back, for just in case.

Edited 2016-10-05 18:29 (UTC)

[The most stubborn person alive is agreeing to do something he's bad at instead of making piss poor decisions. It's the highest of compliments.]

That sounds good. I'll just ... sit here. [Here being near the shelf he's by, where he pushes aside some of the holovids so that he can press up against it. Some part of him is still antsy, wanting to move (because he's always on the move), and he has his doubts.

But he came here for Ahsoka's help. They have to try to do what is ... sensible.

(Anakin Skywalker is also the least sensible person alive.)]

[Grabbing the candles from the back cupboard, she takes one look at him across the room, sitting there looking awkward, and shakes her head fondly. When they'd been Master and Padawan, he always seemed so much older than her. So much wiser, like he had all the answers. Now, it seems suddenly so obvious that he's not that much older than her at all.]

Here. [She pads back over, sits opposite him and sets the candles down, lighting them with ease. The hut's already comfortably dark-- she doesn't turn the lights on during the daytime. Onderon's plenty bright, so she can open a window if she has to. It saves electricity.

She shifts around a bit until she's comfortable. Then:]

... Are you ready?

[It's odd to feel like the Master turning to an Apprentice, but he supposes that it's meant to be this way. She's his padawan, and he had intended to teach her to be a good Jedi. Still, even thinking of that makes him feel uneasy. She had been lucky to leave, and he has a door sitting elsewhere and he's afraid to take it, afraid of what it means.

His mind wanders briefly as he looks at the candles, set adrift with these thoughts. But he pulls himself back and shuffles to move to sit across from her. Master Yoda had wanted him to do the same thing, to accept what he saw as fact. Just as he had accepted his mother dying.

Will he be ready if he can't do anything about this? Will that be possible?

Both of Anakin's hands find his knees, and he tilts his head forward.]

I am.

[Ahsoka shuffles forwards a bit, until their knees are almost close enough to touch. It's much closer than is normal for this kind of thing. But she has a reason. She wouldn't suggest this with any other Jedi, but... Anakin's never exactly been any other Jedi, has he? He needs a different approach.

She holds her hands out to him across the space between them, expectant, but also a little sheepish.]

... Don't laugh-- I know it's not exactly usual. But ... I thought it might help? To remind you that I'm here.

[And that he's here. In this room. Not in the vision. Here, with the support of a friend.

Visions, she knows, can be overwhelming at the best of times, even when they're not about people you love dying.]

[With the way his mind keeps wandering, Anakin can see the reason. He does smirk for a moment.] Ah, Snips, I never knew you felt that way. [The smirk breaks into a grin, but it doesn't quite reach his eyes, like he wants to find amusement in this moment, but he can't bring himself to.

After a beat, he does place his hands into hers, knowing full well what she might see in the process. The bond between them had always been strong—is still strong—but there are so many things that he's concealed from her throughout the years. Everyone has believed him to be a general, and yet—

And yet.]

I'm not gonna lose my way. [He says these words like he's reassuring her, but it sounds more like he's taking the time to convince himself.]

[Ahsoka just sighs and shakes her head with a fond smile at Anakin's poor joke.

Then she nods.]

I know. I'm just back-up. Remember? Like old times.

Well, maybe when this is done, we can think about old times again. It's starting to look like that might be a good idea. [What he doesn't mean is convincing her to come back with him to the Temple. He thinks about where they are, where he is, and what Padmé wants for their child.

He couldn't really do all of that and be a Jedi at the same time. Even if Emperor Palaptine says they're evil—and Ahsoka's own fate is proof that they're twisted and off their path—there's nothing to say that he can't quit. He has enough grounding to show that he's gone off his path.

As it is, he offers her another quick, strained smile, just before his eyes seem to go hollow right before he closes them. There is immediately the sound of Padmé's strained, distant voice, the echoing sound of Obi-Wan reassuring her, and the bright light surrounding these voices. His mind strains to bring himself closer, to focus, but it's so mired with anger and fear that he can't bring himself there.

So, maybe he is getting lost after all. Or he already was.]

[Ahsoka's feelings on the Jedi are equally as complicated as Anakin's at this point, so she merely nods without commenting.

When Anakin closes his eyes, she does as well. She draws in her focus and concentrates on Anakin. Then she sees it. More than seeing it, though, she feels it. Anakin's anger and fear are overwhelming-- and it's no wonder. It's a struggle to keep herself grounded, to not get caught up in Anakin's feelings, to not feel her own fear for Padmé's life. But if she does that, they'll get caught in a feedback loop; Ahsoka feeling Anakin's fear and mirroring it back to him. No, she tells herself. That can't happen. She reminds herself why she's here.

She centers herself in the Force. She won't get swept up in this.

It's okay, she tries to project to Anakin. It hasn't happened yet.

To herself, she repeats her mantra. Peace, knowledge, serenity, harmony. The Force.]

[So much drives Anakin later in life, as Darth Vader, that is present now: fear, anger, hatred. Hatred for being told that he'd never live up to the Order's way. Hatred for not being able to keep people alive. Hatred for not being able to protect Ahsoka from the false accusations laid against her. It's the fear of powerlessness that keeps him going as Vader later on, because he has nothing left to live for but that power, and the constant reminder of it.

All of it centers on this dream, this fear of losing the woman he loves more than he cares for his spot in the Order. Being a failure of a Jedi means that he can't keep her alive. But if Chancellor Palpatine was able to help, then he wouldn't be a failure, he could be something much greater, something equal to his power—

It isn't fair to let Ahsoka feel this. See this. Sense it. Though the room where Padmé lies dying is clearly a medical center, he can't force himself to notice the details. Instead, it's like his eyes keep falling on Obi-Wan, on the fact that he shouldn't be there. His eyebrows furrow even with Ahsoka's words calming him, and he asks himself: Why is he there, and I'm not? Why?

She has lost the will to live. A mechanical voice breaks through, fresh and new, answering his fears. That Padmé wouldn't want to live is baffling. It makes no sense.

Why? The answer doesn't come to Anakin, but he can't think clearly.]

[Ahsoka has lived side by side with Anakin's fear and anger-- and even occasionally his hatred-- for years. But never like this. She was used to sensing his fear every time people close to him got into trouble. She knows well his anger at helpless situations. And she even glimpsed his hatred, on Kiros, on Kadavo. But this was different. This was all that, but amplified to a degree she'd never felt before. Not only amplified, but turned inwards-- on himself. It startles her, and for the briefest of seconds she pulls away, taken aback by the intensity of it. More than anything, she's confused.

They never talk about the past. She never witnessed the way the Order treated Anakin when they took him in. And she hasn't been there to witness his gradual spiral in the last few months, either. It's crucial context that she's missing, and she feels it keenly. The Anakin before her now feels almost like a different person-- at odds with the man and mentor she still looks up to, even now.

If I hadn't left, if I had been there for him, could I have prevented this...?

It's an absurd question, egotistical even, and she dismisses it almost as soon as it crosses her mind. She's getting too caught up in the what-ifs, in the things she can't help or change. In uncertainty. They're not doing this so Ahsoka can second-guess her own life choices. They're doing this to get to the bottom of Anakin's visions. She can't get sidetracked.

She won't pull back. She takes a deep breath and instead lets it all wash over her. It's rough. She pictures a buoy on the ocean. She'll go with the current, let it take her where Anakin's thoughts and feelings go, but she won't drown. She does the only thing she knows how to do; she fights back. She projects her own memories of Anakin. Every time they saved a planet together. Every time a civilian thanked them gratefully. Every time a trooper came out of a battle successful thanks to Anakin's leadership. They burn bright in her mind. Now she can focus on the vision.

Something must have happened, Ahsoka thinks. Something bad.

She doesn't understand why Padmé would ever give up either-- it isn't in her nature. But here it is.

Anakin. Her voice is no-nonsense now. You know her best. What is she most vulnerable to? What upsets her? What does she care about the most?

Even as she thinks it, she thinks she knows the answer. It's the person sitting right across from her.]

[Each memory she projects is met with a bitter, if brittle, wall. Every moment where they saved a planet, he points out that it had been both of them. Every trooper who survived is just one that hadn't died, and there were countless clone troopers out there fighting a war that would never end. The Council has a plan to use the war to take over—that's what Palpatine has told him, and Anakin can see it so clearly. It makes sense that they would limit one of their own when he could stop them himself.

His anger is like a wave that freezes and collides with its end destination sharply, hitting with much more force than intended. Within him, a war wages on between control and wanting to turn it against her, and it's the imperfect balance of his mind that oddly wins out—for Ahsoka. The good is still there, unforgotten, even if being without her makes him feel powerless. Some part of him feels like he should be there with her ... here, in this place. She can't live without him. She can't survive without him.

(These are things that are blatantly untrue, even if he wishes they were.)

Anakin wants to make this about Ahsoka because the true answer lies in her question. He has hurt Padmé before. This much he knows. She has been on the receiving end of his desperation to keep her safe too many times, to the point where his kindness has turned into something crueler. But despite the fact that he has certainly caused her pain, it has never been to the degree of brutality that he fears his future self might cause.

And the fear lies in this: he knows what he's capable of. He knows what he would do to save her. And Palpatine had baited him, had laid that out in waiting.

His brow furrows.

What should I do, Ahsoka? He doesn't extend the question forward as an answer. Instead, he feels resolved in the answer, even if he doesn't openly admit it to himself. It's almost like admitting it means he is omitting one path along the way.]

[The bitterness is new. The Council having some kind of plan to take over is new. She doesn't want to believe it. She knows the Order has strayed, but a Jedi take-over would run contrary to the very foundation of the Order. It doesn't make any sense. Is this the source of the turbulent change in Anakin's feelings towards the Jedi? It's too much, for a moment-- she struggles to remain calm.

Anakin, why does it feel like you're fighting me? Where's this all coming from?

She thinks about his question in return. She isn't really sure if any answer she can provide will suffice. Who's she to advise her old master? She didn't even complete her training. Anakin's always been the one between them with the answers. Not her. It feels too presumptuous. She wonders if he hasn't figured out an answer already. That would be like the Anakin she knows.

That gives her an idea, though. Instead of projecting an answer, she projects another memory. Not a vague one this time, not a barrage. A specific one. Years ago, now, but still crystal clear in her mind as if it happened yesterday. Back when she was still only fourteen, when she was reckless and fearless. She'd had another near-brush with death due to disobeying orders, as she so often did in those days. She remembers Anakin's fury, and how heartbroken she'd been to receive a scolding instead of praise for being daring.

"I just wanted to be brave," she'd said, looking at the ground. "Like you. Isn't that what Jedi are supposed to do? You're not afraid of anything..."

Anakin's anger had softened, then, and he kneeled down so they were at a level. "You've got it all wrong, Snips. Being brave doesn't mean being reckless, or not being afraid. It means having the courage to act in spite of being afraid. You have to be more careful out there, okay?"

The rest of the scene fades. Despite the tone, it's a positive memory for Ahsoka. And it's clear to her now that it's Anakin's fear that's clouding his vision, his judgment.

You don't have to let go of Padmé, Anakin. You don't have to let go of your fear. You taught me that fear keeps us alive. But we still have to act in spite of it.

Padmé is strong. Place your trust in that.]

[He remembers being a kid on Tatooine—a slave who believed that that was all he was good for. Anakin hadn't been able to save his mother from that fate. If he had been able to bring her away from Tatooine, she wouldn't have died. It's one of his many regrets, and it's one that holds his heart now. He's so afraid of losing someone else. He hadn't even lost Ahsoka. She was here the entire time. And yet.

And yet.

That kid on Tatooine believed the Jedi could do anything, and he knows now that being the Jedi of all Jedis, being the Chosen One, had mingled with that childhood identity. He had been uncertain of his path. Once, he had wanted to quit. Some of it was fear. Some of it was the struggle in training as a Jedi, too late to be properly indoctrinated in their ways. He still feels like he struggles because of that. But then, if he hadn't struggled, wouldn't he be a slave in a different way? Ahsoka had broken those shackles when she realized the reality of their circumstances.

It's hard. To trust her? Yes. To trust that she'll live? That's more important.

He meditates over it. Anakin does trust Padmé, just as he trusts Ahsoka. He doesn't trust Obi-Wan, and the link between them is as tenuous as ever, ready to dissipate at a moment's notice. He opens his eyes and looks at Ahsoka, ready to remove himself from the state of meditation to speak with his voice, to try to apply what he's learned in action, rather than in a distant, calm place.

Besides, Ahsoka shouldn't have to feel the full brunt of his emotions, or the cool, harsh temperament that would one day make Ezra and Kanan feel nothing but cold in his presence. She deserves better than that.]

If it's a matter of trusting her, I can do that. [The sentiment still hangs in the air. "It's hard." His mother had been strong.

She still died.]

But what if it's a matter of trusting myself?

Edited 2016-11-08 21:58 (UTC)

[Ahsoka opens her eyes as Anakin speaks up, and she pauses a moment to adjust to only being in her own head again.]

Anakin... [What do you say to a question like that? If she were Obi-Wan, she thinks... Obi-Wan would have an answer. But she isn't him, she's only Ahsoka. And in the end, Anakin has come to her for help, hasn't he? Not Obi-Wan. So she tries to banish the thought from her mind.

She considers the question from another angle. Anakin felt so full of self-loathing when they were connected. It had surprised her-- she thought she knew Anakin better than almost anyone, but that had never been a part of her mental picture of him. Maybe instead of trying so hard to give the right advice like she's some wise master, instead of pretending to be someone or something she's not, she should just try to understand her friend better.]

... What part of yourself do you not trust?

[The question isn't judgmental. Rather, she asks it genuinely inquisitive-- like she is with all things. Perhaps that part of her will never change.]

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