Ahsoka Tano (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
resnipstance) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
pencilcase2017-01-09 10:30 am
resnipstance) wrote in pencilcase2017-01-09 10:30 am
atlas stuff
[Once everyone had been accounted for and safely strapped in, the actual take-off was easy. Between Anakin, Breq, Allura, half the crew of the SS Enterprise, and many others, there was no way they wouldn't be able to figure out how to fly this behemoth of a ship off of this dustball of a planet, even if it was alien tech and half-buried in sand. Finding the strange crystals underground that powered the ship had been the turning point to realising they really could escape.
But getting the ship flight ready? That had been an entirely different problem.
There was so much sand in the engines, so many parts to repair. And it wasn't like they could just drive down to the local store and pick up what they needed. Teams were formed to work on the ship. By consensus, some rooms and parts were cannibalized if they were deemed extraneous to survival, used instead to patch up the ship's more vital functions. But with how quickly the ship drained power from their suits, the work, it seemed, would have to be done in shifts. The pace of repairs went at a crawl.
As for Ahsoka-- the slow pace of their progress on the ship seemed to visibly chafe at her. Now that there was a light at the end of the tunnel, she wanted to get going. Her tension and impatience she channeled into organizing the camp with renewed vigor and bossiness. If there was anything that the Clone War had prepared her for, it was organising others with no prior military experience for maximum efficiency. She very suddenly had less and less time for personal one-on-one conversations, instead pouring all her energy into making sure everything ran smoothly.
When Ahsoka wasn't doing her shift working on the ship, she'd busy herself with something else. Usually hunting. (They weren't sure how long they'd be in space-- sure, they had some map data, but with no idea of how fast the ship moved, it didn't mean a great deal. The camp all comes to the consensus to start stockpiling food early on. Of course Ahsoka throws herself into that, as well.)
When she wasn't hunting or gathering, she'd be teaching someone else how. Or yelling instructions at someone else on their shift while she stands from a safe distance away from the ship, waiting for her suit to recharge. Or drawing diagrams in the sand with the other tech-heads and trying to figure out how exactly they're going to solve this or that new technical problem of the day.
As the weeks of prep wear on, Ahsoka only gets bossier and more intense, and her eyes seem to shine with a burning drive behind them-- a need to save everyone. She starts to seem permanently older than her seventeen years, and it's unclear whether she actually ever sleeps. (She can sleep when they're safe.) She and Anakin start fighting about stupid stuff every third day, like about what part to replace, or what food should be stored for the trip. It's their way of blowing off steam, but finding Ahsoka stewing and pacing around the campfire with an air of annoyance becomes increasingly commonplace.
It takes them a month, all up, to get everything ready. The actual flying is the easy part.]
But getting the ship flight ready? That had been an entirely different problem.
There was so much sand in the engines, so many parts to repair. And it wasn't like they could just drive down to the local store and pick up what they needed. Teams were formed to work on the ship. By consensus, some rooms and parts were cannibalized if they were deemed extraneous to survival, used instead to patch up the ship's more vital functions. But with how quickly the ship drained power from their suits, the work, it seemed, would have to be done in shifts. The pace of repairs went at a crawl.
As for Ahsoka-- the slow pace of their progress on the ship seemed to visibly chafe at her. Now that there was a light at the end of the tunnel, she wanted to get going. Her tension and impatience she channeled into organizing the camp with renewed vigor and bossiness. If there was anything that the Clone War had prepared her for, it was organising others with no prior military experience for maximum efficiency. She very suddenly had less and less time for personal one-on-one conversations, instead pouring all her energy into making sure everything ran smoothly.
When Ahsoka wasn't doing her shift working on the ship, she'd busy herself with something else. Usually hunting. (They weren't sure how long they'd be in space-- sure, they had some map data, but with no idea of how fast the ship moved, it didn't mean a great deal. The camp all comes to the consensus to start stockpiling food early on. Of course Ahsoka throws herself into that, as well.)
When she wasn't hunting or gathering, she'd be teaching someone else how. Or yelling instructions at someone else on their shift while she stands from a safe distance away from the ship, waiting for her suit to recharge. Or drawing diagrams in the sand with the other tech-heads and trying to figure out how exactly they're going to solve this or that new technical problem of the day.
As the weeks of prep wear on, Ahsoka only gets bossier and more intense, and her eyes seem to shine with a burning drive behind them-- a need to save everyone. She starts to seem permanently older than her seventeen years, and it's unclear whether she actually ever sleeps. (She can sleep when they're safe.) She and Anakin start fighting about stupid stuff every third day, like about what part to replace, or what food should be stored for the trip. It's their way of blowing off steam, but finding Ahsoka stewing and pacing around the campfire with an air of annoyance becomes increasingly commonplace.
It takes them a month, all up, to get everything ready. The actual flying is the easy part.]
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But I'd rather be warm.
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Consider it made. I taught all my little siblings, so you'll be a pro in no time flat.
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[ The door to the laundry whirrs open as they arrive. Lance is used to the castle's laundry chutes, attached to each room, but this calls more a barracks into mind. Communal living, boy did he not miss this. ]
So, is this funky alien tech or do we still gotta sort our whites and our colors?
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[For most of her like, Ahsoka always had someone around to teach her whatever she wanted to know. It's only in the last year that she's learned how difficult it is to do without. So she has a newfound respect for that.
Then she looks at the machine and then back at Lance. And shrugs.]
Who knows? This tech is as foreign to me as it is to you. Let's just put everything in. Learn by doing! ... Right?
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... There! Got it. [She says, cool as a cucumber again, as if she wasn't just on the verge of being defeated by an everyday washing machine two seconds ago.]
So. Sparring.
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[ Put them all together, he wants to say, but Hurricane Ahsoka is passing him by, a pack of clothes in each hand that she promptly dumps into the machine. A breath later, the cycle is starting, and Lance wheezes out the breath he'd been holding. ]
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[ Sparring, right. ]
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Okay. How much do you know? Show me your ready stance.
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But you can pick another room if you want. We do have the whole ship. It doesn't matter to me.
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Uh, how's this?
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... Not bad. There's room for improvement, though.
[She pads over to stand by his side, so he can copy her more easily.]
Plant your feet a little wider apart, like this. Keeps you stable, and low. The last thing you want is for someone to sweep you off your feet.
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You've already swept me off my feet, beautiful.
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... I left myself wide open for that one, didn't I.
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Sure did.
[ He does correct his stance, widening his feet as directed. ]
Better?
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[She reaches out and repositions his arms a little.] Much better.
All right. Basic forms. [She takes him through them, demonstrating every move clearly and slowly, as well as taking him through the common pitfalls, such as throwing too much of your weight behind something, or unintentionally signalling where you're going to move.
When she's satisfied that Lance's form at least is improved, she moves onto drills. High-medium-low. Block, attack, block. It's very repetitive.]
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Okay, can we like, take a break? [ Wheezing breaths. ] Please.
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Oh--! Sorry. Of course we can. Sometimes I just get a little... carried away.
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You and Keith would make a great team. Workaholics Anonymous.
[ The machine has finished, leaving it pleasantly cool to lean against. He sighs. ]
This is almost as rough as Paladin training. We can do more later, if you want.
[ Signing his own death warrant for sure, but hey, it's something to work towards. ]
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What's wrong with being a workaholic? I like work. Keeps you busy.
Speaking of, scoot over. I want to see the fruits of our labour!
[Ahsoka opens the laundry door and pulls a bunch of clothes out. Surprisingly, they're all perfectly dry. FUTURE TECH. Buuut... true to Lance's prediction, everything that was once white is now pink. Ahsoka picks out a distinctly pink-streaked shirt.]
Ah... oops. I think you were right about the colour thing. [She laughs and throws the shirt at Lance.] Ever thought about wearing pink?
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I called it! And they're dry, too, this is gonna be a disaster. [ Getting up feels like torture right then, his legs trembling like a new fawn, but duty calls. ] Nope, no way Jose, none of this business on my watch--let's find some bleach, ASAP. That or ammonia. And dish soap.
[ He's regretting not like, sticking his hand in the machine earlier. Stupid FUTURE ALIEN TECH, why is it so tough to figure out? ]
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[AHSOKA HE LITERALLY WARNED YOU.]
I bet there's bleach or ammonia around here somewhere.
[But she doesn't seem very concerned with looking for it. Thanks for nothing, Ahsoka. Instead, she sorts through the rest of the clothes, trying to find something in her size. No dresses, she notes with a frown. Whoever lived in this ship, it doesn't seem likely that they were civilians-- the only clothes to be found are sturdy and practical. She discards several shirts for having long sleeves-- she hates the feeling of having her arm movement restricted.
Finally, she seems to find something to suit her tastes.]
Hm. This'll do. [To Lance:] Turn around, will you?
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Huh? Oh, sure, whatever.
[ He totally heard none of that, but he does shuffle around so his back's to her, distractedly pulling out another promising bottle. ]
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Much better. How do I look? Did you find what you were looking for?
steals from my fav movie
omfg
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