A Very Cold Planet, Atton's GFFA, Monday
Feb. 17th, 2020 01:05 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
suitably_heroic"What is it about old Sith and caves, anyway?" Atton asked. "Why are sources of dark side poison never anywhere nice?"
He pulled himself up onto the ledge, the sharp edges of the rock cutting into his hand. He ignored it.
"You were once reforged like this," the old hag said from well ahead of him. "You of all people should know the power held by dark places, those that inspire fear, that coax pain from all those who go there."
Atton winced, taking a moment to focus on his palm, to let healing energies draw the flesh back together. He didn't know how many cuts and bruises he'd picked up since he started this trip a few days ago, but it was nothing compared to most of the injuries he'd gotten over the past few years.
"Well, I'm not planning on being reforged by anyone again," he said crabbily.
"I'm not even sure you could be," Kreia said. "A piece of abused and overworked metal like you. Perhaps it would be best to bury you here, with the rest of the ruins."
"I'd say you'd like that, but you're in my head," Atton said, pushing himself up to his feet. "If I go, so do you."
A snort. "I am a hallucination," she said. "I have no sense of self-preservation."
"Didn't have much of one when you were alive, either," Atton said, trodding into the next cave. He heard growling and scraping up ahead, but he couldn't sense anything. Wasn't new. The closer he got to whatever was at the center of this thing, the harder it became to pick up anything.
She slid past him. "No," she said. "One of us simply managed to find an ideal worth dying for, instead of mindless loyalty to another. But you have always been a tool, waiting for someone else to pick you up and strike with you, then discarded, left to gather dust, unable to truly choose his fate."
Atton's eyes closed. He rubbed at his eyelids. "Have I mentioned how much I haven't missed being lectured by you?" he said, though the words sounded tired to his own ears, too. For months he'd been fighting the twisting in his stomach - that all-too-familiar feeling of being abandoned by his north star, only to be left fumbling in the emptiness. Now even that was beginning to drain from him.
Was that a good thing or a bad thing?
"Seems like we're getting closer," he said, and continued.
[[ establishy ]]
He pulled himself up onto the ledge, the sharp edges of the rock cutting into his hand. He ignored it.
"You were once reforged like this," the old hag said from well ahead of him. "You of all people should know the power held by dark places, those that inspire fear, that coax pain from all those who go there."
Atton winced, taking a moment to focus on his palm, to let healing energies draw the flesh back together. He didn't know how many cuts and bruises he'd picked up since he started this trip a few days ago, but it was nothing compared to most of the injuries he'd gotten over the past few years.
"Well, I'm not planning on being reforged by anyone again," he said crabbily.
"I'm not even sure you could be," Kreia said. "A piece of abused and overworked metal like you. Perhaps it would be best to bury you here, with the rest of the ruins."
"I'd say you'd like that, but you're in my head," Atton said, pushing himself up to his feet. "If I go, so do you."
A snort. "I am a hallucination," she said. "I have no sense of self-preservation."
"Didn't have much of one when you were alive, either," Atton said, trodding into the next cave. He heard growling and scraping up ahead, but he couldn't sense anything. Wasn't new. The closer he got to whatever was at the center of this thing, the harder it became to pick up anything.
She slid past him. "No," she said. "One of us simply managed to find an ideal worth dying for, instead of mindless loyalty to another. But you have always been a tool, waiting for someone else to pick you up and strike with you, then discarded, left to gather dust, unable to truly choose his fate."
Atton's eyes closed. He rubbed at his eyelids. "Have I mentioned how much I haven't missed being lectured by you?" he said, though the words sounded tired to his own ears, too. For months he'd been fighting the twisting in his stomach - that all-too-familiar feeling of being abandoned by his north star, only to be left fumbling in the emptiness. Now even that was beginning to drain from him.
Was that a good thing or a bad thing?
"Seems like we're getting closer," he said, and continued.
[[ establishy ]]
