suitably_heroic: (neutral: buhwah)
In retrospect, planning a karaoke night right after getting up on stage in public to play some particularly loud material wasn't the best decision Jack had ever made. He just hadn't been thinking about it when Summer had asked about hanging out.

Oh well. At least it was a bar.

Which meant that, upon entry, the first thing he did was order a massive bottle of water. The second thing he did was collapse onto the mediocre couch in the tiny karaoke room. The third thing he did was chug the whole thing.

Then he said, "You're up first."

[[ for a summer ]]
suitably_heroic: (neutral: talk.)
There had been a lot of things Atton had been thinking about lately. He’d come home last night with his head spinning, thinking about Prom, and conversations had on Prom, and– no, not that conversation, which had apparently had network effects elsewhere, but the other one. The one about what he was supposed to do now, about New York, about the careful division of worlds he’d erected for himself that was now threatening to come tumbling down.

I understand your desire to leave our galaxy behind... )

[[ open for phone calls et al if you want to catch him on the way out. ]]
suitably_heroic: (dsp: side-eye)
The kids kept asking to see him. Or at least two of them did. The ones Atton had pulled out of really bad situations to get them here.

And Atton was out of trips to be on for the time being.

So... he hid retreated to his quarters. He'd been there for two days now, meditating, bouncing things off the wall, smoking the last of the cigarettes he'd brought with him from Earth. Restless, or too restful, the desire to run competing with the desire to lay down and sleep for the next few months. Maybe longer.

By day three, he was attempting to meditate while standing upside down on his dinner table.

Yeah. This wasn't working.

[[ open ]]
suitably_heroic: (dsp: wait what how)
Atton should sell the Hawk. In fact, he should've sold it already.

He'd come this far already. He'd cleared out his apartment, gotten a haircut - about as short as back when he'd been in the Republic army - and gotten a longcoat to replace the jacket he'd have to dump.

There he stood, outside the Hawk, humming a particularly jaunty Trandoshan rock tune about waking up to find someone you loaned your ship to died in a crash, and everyone else on the planet assumed that meant you'd died, so now you didn't have to come in to work or anything.

He felt better. Light. Not beholden to anyone or anything. Which was good. He'd missed that feeling, even if it was just a nice coat of paint on a speeder wreck.

Just... maybe if he got the Hawk's codes changed again. Gave her a nice paint job. Maybe moved some pieces around... no one would notice, right?

There was a brush of a familiar Force presence... )

[[ NFB, NFI ]]

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Atton Rand & miscellaneous names

May 2025

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