suitably_heroic: (dsp: woah.)
See, the upside of having Force senses was that, about fifteen minutes before anyone got on the air and said anything about any hurricanes, you could look out the window, wince, and say...

"I've got a bad feeling about this."

Atton sighed and turned around. "Better check if the emergency stash is still intact," he muttered to himself.

Because of course there was an emergency stash. There were at least five. What was he, stupid?

... don't answer that.

[[ can be open ]]
suitably_heroic: (lsp: heyyy there)
"I know some of you have fired a gun before and probably know all this," Atton said, as the class met at the gun range, "But tough luck. You're getting this class anyway. And later on into the semester, I'll throw in a refresher course, just to be sure."

He had a handgun laying on the table in front of him. There were a couple more that he'd checked out of the weapons locker that morning. "Gun safety," he said. "It's important, so keep your ears open. One, never put a charge - bullets, electropacks, whatever you put in there - in a firearm unless you plan to use it. If you're using a weapon that doesn't use charges, make sure the safety is on until you intend to use it. Anything less creates a risk of the gun going off when you don't expect it and hurting someone."

He picked up the gun, keeping it pointed at the floor. "Two," he said, "Never point a gun at something you're not planning to shoot. Don't let your finger linger over the trigger, either. You might think you just put the safety on and took the bullets out, so it's okay, but if you're mistaken or the mechanism fails, blam - you just shot someone."

He pushed a clip into the gun, then turned around, pointing the gun at the target in the distance. "Three," he said, "Always know what you're pointing at. I don't just mean your target, I mean make sure you know what's behind your target. Your bullets are not always going to stay in the target." He fired off a round. There was a loud thunk, and the tin can behind the paper target fell over. "Bullets can travel for miles," he said. "So you better be sure there's something on the other end that'll stop it before it hurts someone else."

Atton slid the clip back out of the gun. "Four, always use the right ammo," he said, setting it down on the table. "Or the gun might just blow up in your hand."

And nobody wanted that, class.

"Five, if your gun fails, don't treat it like a dud. It could still fire. Unload it. Get rid of it somewhere safe, or have it fixed, but treat it like it's live. Six, check the barrel before you load it. You don't want anything getting in there, even mud, or it might blow up in your hand." He showed how to use the action to open it up. "And don't stare down the damn barrel while you're checking it, unless you want to risk a bullet to the face."

Do not shoot yourself in the face, class!

"And finally, seven, guns are loud," he said. He gestured to the equipment closet. "Get some eye and ear protection if you can. Now, when you're using your gun out in the field, that's not likely to be an option. In here, though? Go."


"That's it," Atton finished. "Now those guns over there are all unloaded. I want you to get some eye and ear protection, grab a manual, and see how they tick. Keep the gun safety rules in mind."
suitably_heroic: (lsp: ahhhh!)
Atton walked into his office late, partly because he'd slept in, and partly because he'd evaded his babysitters for the weekend for a day already and he was hoping to stretch that time out for a while longer. But he couldn't really make it stretch much further, and so there he was, a large bottle of water on his desk and a bunch of plastic cups set out, just in case parents actually decided to stop by and might be... thirsty, or something.

Maybe he should've broken out some vodka.

Oh well.

He was there, anyway.

[[ open! ]]
suitably_heroic: (dsp: whaddayawant?)
Atton woke up.

Atton groaned.

Atton turned over and bumped right into a blaster rifle.

He blinked.

"... When the hell did I move all of the blasters into my ro-- oh."

Did he really have to go to class today? He did not want to go to class today.

[[ can be open for phone calls etc or the roomie. ]]
suitably_heroic: (dsp: woah.)
There wasn't much that showed the difference between the Jaq that woke up that morning and the Atton who'd gone to bed early the night before: his hair was military short, and the jaded, tired look in his eyes had been replaced with something more wary and watchful. A little baby fat had returned to his features, too, and at least two-thirds of the scars were gone - but that was it.

Not that there was anyone in the bedroom to make those observations.

Which was probably a good thing.

Because when Jaq jerked up in that bed, it was with immediate readiness. This wasn't the barracks, with a dozen people up and around at the same time; it was an empty room, with just a large, glowing fern and-- were those Jedi lightsabers?-- a bed to greet him. Had the Mandalorians taken him? Wouldn't he be dead if they had? Jaq tossed the covers aside and found, to his undying relief, that he wasn't wearing stuncuffs. He hopped onto the floor and did an immediate check of the perimeter, finding some clothes (which he put on, even if they fit oddly), a blaster tucked under the bed and a door that wasn't locked.

He pushed it open, blaster in hand.

He frowned.

"Where in space am I?" he asked, Alderaani accent coloring his words. "Who's there?!"

[[ open! ]]
suitably_heroic: (dsp: woah.)
Atton was still tired. He was pretty sure he was going to stay tired until the month was over and he could finally move the hell on with his life.

But he was home now, a duffel bag slung over his shoulder. This time, he found his keys before he woke up half the floor, opened the front door, and pushed in. He was trying to stay quiet - he wasn't sure if Sparkle was asleep and he didn't have the energy to use the Force to check.

It was nice to be home, though. As he put down the duffel and looked at the living room which - despite his best efforts for years - had finally started to crowd up with furniture and plants and stuff, he had to acknowledge that. Both that it was nice, and that it was home.

It felt like relief.

[[ for the other guy who lives here, if he wants. otherwise establishy. ]]
suitably_heroic: (dsp: woah.)

You know, Visas had a real way of making normal courtesies sound creepy. Not that Atton was overfocusing on that; just opening his eyes reminded him why he'd stayed put on the Ebon Hawk's cold floor all night.

"I'd rather not, if it's all the same," he muttered, shutting his eyes again. "Get back to me tomorrow, Visas, I'm out of commission."

"That is what you told me yesterday as well," Visas informed him. "I have brought a medpack."

"Great." Atton turned his head. What he did not do was try to open his eyes or get up. Because screw that. It was the second anniversary of-- that, and he was allowed 48 hours of nothing. "You work on that."

Unfortunately, it didn't put her off. A second later, a combination of chemicals and Jedi healing energies flooded his body, tugging the headache away from him and whatever self-pitying sleepiness that had come with it, fled too. He turned around on the floor and let out a pitiful noise. "Really?" he sighed. "You couldn't leave me alone on today of all days?"

"Her death was two years ago," Visas said, "And the date was yesterday's. You should not poison your body any longer. We have work to do. And after we are finished, I believe it would be best if you returned to the island."

Atton opened one eye. "You think that's best, huh?" he said. There went the other eye, and he fixed both of them on the ceiling. "Great."

[[ can be open for phone calls if you really want to make his non-hangover hangover miserable. ]]
suitably_heroic: (dsp: fear the jacket)
It'd been a long couple of days of conversations with the kids, talking them through what happened, or just shooting the shit. It was rewarding, though, because theirs was a language Atton understood - one he was a straightforward senior in, someone to pass on the lessons of a gnarled and screwed-up life to.

Or just beating the poodoo out of Damar at pazaak. There was that, too.

But now it was Thursday, and he'd told Sparkle he'd be home; so he'd parked the Hawk on the roof, and now he was standing outside the door, pack slung over his shoulder. Fumbling to figure out--

"Where did I put my keys? Come on, come on..."


[[ open! ]]
suitably_heroic: (dsp: whaddayawant?)
It had taken five days for Farani to recover enough that she'd been allowed out of the kolto tank. The center they were at was military-funded; Atton had to give his clearing several times as they helped Farani walk out of there. Didn't matter. Sure, he'd started this trip fully planning to throw himself into all kinds of scummy poodoo to make himself feel like Atton Rand again - but life had thought otherwise and tripped him up back into a different Atton Rand's life.

It was just as well. This one - the version born during an intense two months one summer a few years ago - was a better Atton Rand anyway. And the kids needed him.

Hey, hey, Farani. )

He used his moment of quiet to lift his comlink out of his pocket. Check for messages. Maybe send out another still here, still alive, nothing going on to the people who'd care.

[[ open for messages, etc. ]]
suitably_heroic: (dsp: ew.)
The military had been on Atton's mind for a while: not really a surprise, considering the last couple of months and who'd been responsible for anything. His Netflix queue at home (and may Sparkle never bump into it) was full of war documentaries and war series-- the wars on Earth might have been different, but in some ways, war just didn't change. It was always the same.

Back home, the first real explorative pieces about the Mandalorian Wars were coming out. He'd been watching one of them, pointing out the inadequacies, quietly getting angry to himself, when he got the call. Had gotten up and gotten going. War on TV was one thing. War in real life-- the consequences? Yeah. That was different.Cut for mentions of NPC injury. )

[[ can be open for phone calls, etc. ]]
suitably_heroic: (dsp: well. fuck.)
Couple of days now, Atton'd been doing things he had no intention of remembering later. Not bad things. Just stupid things. He woke to a sense of peace in the middle of-- was it a night? A day? He wasn't sure. He woke, that was the thing.

"I should've known you'd come looking for me," he said, staring into the darkness. "Coming to make sure I haven't gone off the deep end? You worry too much, you know that?"

There was silence in the darkness, unless you knew how to listen. He chuckled softly.

"Okay, so it's not that," he said. "Get lonely out there? Is that it?"

He rubbed his forehead. Stretched his limbs. The Ebon Hawk's beds weren't perfect, but they felt like home more than any other place he'd ever slept. It was dark in here, but for the small lights flickering on and off along the sides, but he didn't need the light to see.

"Preoccupied?" he said softly. "Something gnawing on you--?"

Draining me. A voice. At last. Soft, and haunting.

"Aw, no, you're making that up," Atton murmured. "You're not there. You're here. With me." He smiled. Faint, too. Maybe gentle. "Just pick a card, sweetheart."

A smile. An answer. Switch the face of the +5 card...

"And the totals are 6-12."

[[ nfb, nfi. ]]
suitably_heroic: (dsp: needs that cigarette)
Right, Mical still wasn't answering Atton's calls, and frankly, he was happy with that. Atton had no classes set for the coming semester. Sparkle was getting better, and would probably be better off without a constant reminder of what happened anyway.

And Atton... needed a vacation. Bad. Just a chance to hang around the cantinas and pazaak dens that had given birth to Atton Rand to begin with. So... he was kicking this off with a nice, Atton-y lie: no, he wasn't going home immediately. He was parking the Ebon Hawk in a junk yard near Baltimore for a day and living it up in here.

"One more whiskey, please!"

... okay, so it'd been a long time since he'd actually gotten this drunk. He tended to play pretend, to keep a cool head. But that wasn't the point of the next month and a half, so: bottom's up. You go spin, bar.

[[ for a terrible life choice. ]]
suitably_heroic: (lsp: cleverer than i act)
"The ship's ready."

It had been a long night, though by now, Atton was fairly sure there wasn't anyone important left on the flagship. He was covered head-to-toe in grease and he was tired, but screw it: he'd flown tired before.

So now he'd come rumbling into the ship's dorm compartment. "We can go."

[[ for sparks. ]]
suitably_heroic: (dsp: exCUSE me?)
"Get up."

The guard - leader of the guard, whatever his name was - glared at Theemin over the top of his blaster rifle. Theemin - or Atton, going by the way he was deliberately taking his time just to mess with this guy - lifted his head and gave him some side-eye. "What," he said, "Another prisoner transfer while you keep throwing threats around?"

"No," the guard said. "This time, we really are taking you two to the boss. He's decided what to do with you."

"Fantastic," Atton drawled.

The last few weeks had put an anger back in him, and he was not opposed to pouring it into sarcasm.

[[ for sparkle, and a violent tribute to the Force Unleashed II trailer, which was generally better than Force Unleashed II ever wound up being. ]]
suitably_heroic: (dsp: ... damn)
It'd been an eventful few days: Sparkle had gotten moved, and then moved again, and At-- Theemin wasn't actually entirely sure where. Or hadn't been, up until an hour ago; he'd been called in for a meeting with the Bith and the rest of the board. Something about needing his expertise about something. It hadn't taken much-- just a few spikes, a few questions, and some good old common sense-- to figure out they were keeping Sparks on the new flagship.

It had taken some more spikes, some more time, and some more common sense to get in here safely. Keep all the cameras on a loop, make sure none of the doors registered his comings and goings.

At least this, too, was more of a bedroom than a straight-up cell, Theemin thought to himself as he slid into the room. "Hey Sparks. Sorry about the hold-up."

[[ for a sparkle, and SP. ]]
suitably_heroic: (dsp: mirror image)
Theemin hadn't exactly had the chance to check on Sp-- the boy after everything that had transpired yesterday. Even after the boy woke up, he'd had to make arrangements. Slice into a few systems. Loop a few surveillance cameras. Make sure the guards were distracted with juma juice and card games.

But now he had a window. It wasn't a big one - 15 minutes, maybe 20, tops - but it would have to be enough.

They kept their hostage in a small room in the center of the ship, doors sealed and all the terminals inside shut off. There was a bed, a table, and chairs; that was about the extent of it. If they'd taken one of the Jedi, they would have bothered with a real cell, but Nina had considered that a waste of resources, and Theemin had readily agreed.

He sighed, slicing quickly into the locking mechanism so there wouldn't be a record of his coming and going, and then slipped in the door.

[[ for sparkle! ]]
suitably_heroic: (mical: imploring)
A week had come and gone. The Jedi and their allies had made good headway, clearing the Iridonic Horn out of the shipyards at Gyndine. And yet after that first sighting - both hopeful and troubling - there had been no sign of Atton. Having the man's friend here clearly wasn't doing much to convince Atton to come home, either, and Mical was beginning to wonder if asking Sparkle to come at all hadn't been a deeply futile act.

So it was that, exactly a week after Sparkle's arrival, that he was going to tell Sparkle to go back home. The rooms they'd provided Sparkle were rather spacious, for Jedi standards, but they were not far from Mical's office.

He had made his way over there, and now he was knocking.

[[ for sparkle. ]]
suitably_heroic: (mical: imploring)
The expedition to Gyndine had left yesterday afternoon. Today, they had news. It was not good news.

"I saw him, Mical," Mira reported over the comm. Her voice was muted. "I know I did. Three shipyards out here have been hit in the past week. All massacres. My instincts are telling me he was there for at least one more of them. I know his handiwork anywhere."

Mical rubbed at his forehead. "When you say massacre," he began.

"I mean everybody in here is dead," Mira said. "Not that I'm going to cry over Hutt-spawn or anything, but... it's ugly."

He heaved a sigh. "What about the shipyard you entered this morning?"

"The one where I saw him? Yeah, that one's okay," she said. "We managed to flush out the gang that was clearing the place out. But he wasn't moving with them, at least not this time. I just caught him sneaking out an airlock."

"So we're not certain he's with them," Mical said slowly. "He may simply be tracking them. Much like ourselves."

"Maybe." Mira sounded dubious.

That... wasn't good. Mira was many things, but her instincts were almost always correct - it was only the details that took her time. Mical ran a hand through his hair. "Please keep me apprised," he said quietly. "If you saw him this morning, he cannot have gone far. Can you sense him at all--?"

"It's Atton." That one came quick. "You know what he can do. If he doesn't want to be sensed--"

"--he won't be sensed." It was a rare day that compelled Mical to exact unnecessary violence on anything, but he did now kick the wall, and-- "Ow."

"What was that?"

"... Nothing." Mical squinted down at his aching toe. "As I said, please keep me apprised. May the Force be with you."

May the Force be with them all.

[[ can be open for he who is here. otherwise, establishy! ]]
suitably_heroic: (handmaiden: headtilt)
Brianna did not relish playing escort to Atton's friend. It would not have been the first time that she had to, however, and she was resigned to her fate, as Mical was preoccupied dealing with some other emergency that had come into play. She was inclined to beat Rand over the head several times when he returned; it seemed only fitting, considering the trouble he was putting them through.


She sat outside the Portalocity terminal, a dour, unmistakably white presence among the masses. Well, masses: most of the people present appeared to be putting in some effort to scoot away from her.

It did not bother her. There were more important things at stake here, after all.

[[ for sparkle. ]]
suitably_heroic: (dsp: intense)
"This is it."

Ensconsed within the bowels of the freighter, Theemin was ready.

Atton was not.

Sure, the shipyard was under Hutt control. By most measurements, nobody who actually worked here was innocent. They were all - directly or indirectly - responsible for some pain, and he couldn't exactly find fault in hurting them for that. There was a part of him that hungered for it, actually... but that was the rub.

There shouldn't be one.


Atton backed off. Theemin looked up. "Yeah?"

"You and your squad take the east wing," said the Bith, his big black eyes bearing down on Theemin. "Leave no one alive."

"Yes, sir."

Screw it. No time to let the Jedi do any of the thinking.

[[ nfb, nfi. ]]


suitably_heroic: (Default)

August 2017

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