OOC CONTACT




27th Jul, 2020


currently @displaced

3rd Nov, 2018

November Plots & Plans for Currently Played Characters  )

2nd Nov, 2018

Displaced Characters

Plotting for current characters )

21st Oct, 2018

RP INFO )

10th Oct, 2018

WRITING EXAMPLES
MARA JADE ON FAMILY
Mara Jade liked being in a cockpit. It felt like home.

It was atmosphere outside, not starlines, and the distance being traveled was not so great, but - and this was particularly true when she was flying at night - there were moments where she could ignore the fact that the panels were not the same as the Jade's Fire, or that there was no option to jump atmosphere entirely, and she could revel in the fact that she could go anywhere on the planet from here. Mara had never liked being tied down. During her first year here, the lack of transport options had been one of the worst and most frustrating things, and the fact that she now had that option at her fingertips was the best part of where she was now.

It was difficult to believe she'd been over a year in this place with these options. She'd been over a year with Nick Fury fighting to right wrongs committed and restore justice where they could. And in that year, how many things had changed and shifted?

Autopilot in place she reached for a coffee mug and took a sip as she stared out into the night sky. In the back of her mind lingered thoughts about the man she and Nick were chasing. About a sceptre the Avengers were looking for and the fact that HYDRA apparently had clone technology. But as she sipped a dark Rwandan blend her active thoughts were on other things. Family mostly, the ones you came with from home and the ones you chose here, and how those connections and relationships were formed and broken at the whim of a blue box.

There were those times where she felt more connection to those that had been here and walked through the path with her and who had been able to stay as long as she had than people from home. There were times too where she missed the connections that she had at home. Perhaps this was the inevitability of living in a world other than your own, of being a refugee caught between one world and another?

The coffee was dark and smooth with a hint of citrus in its aftertaste. Mara took another sip and was quiet in the moment.

She had been restless lately and she knew it. Despite focus on the projects, and the meditations in the Force, she had found it difficult to find a center and hold there. Perhaps it was Ben's arrival, and subsequent departure. Perhaps it was the anniversary of SHIELDs fall and Nick's 'death', or perhaps it was something different and less able to be grasped than any of those. Perhaps it was somewhat inevitable these frayed edges between worlds - a devotion to Nick Fury and to SHIELD held alongside a devotion to the family she had from home. And despite the fact she had not married into yet in her own memory Ben's arrival had reminded her that she could not completely disengage from that devotion in this reality even had she wanted to do so.

Another sip of coffee, and another moment of stillness.

It had been good to see Ben even as it had been awkward to explain to him how things were here with his parents, something that had been largely Mara's doing. She had been the one here, the one who had decided that she would have a life here and that it might be informed by, but would not be dependent upon the one at home. It was a decision that she could not regret making even if it had been a simpler decision when it had been only her. When she hadn't been looking into Luke's eyes or her son's eyes and telling them that she had made a life without them. But Mara couldn't regret that either. If anything she regretted what might be to come. That the Ben she'd spent time with was one she would never know even in the future at home. And what she was doing with SHIELD and with Nick had always been important and it was so still and so her path was as clear as it had always been.

The stillness was broken by an alarm reminding her to check the panels. She did so, and then took another sip of coffee.

It was never going to be easy to weave together separate patterns and make them blend exactly. Perhaps the trick then was not to try to make them seamless but to instead use those seams as a piece of a whole. She had never gone into any mission planning to improvise, but she had always been good at it, and life had asked it of her often enough. This place was no different in that regard. The tesseract practically forced improvisation and the best improv included being able to take what you were thrown and create something new and beautiful out of it.

INFO Panfandom writing; no warnings; basic narrative style
Brothers together
Someone else might have had a more challenging time tracking down their little brother at two in the morning through the maze of housing that made up military, politician, and Jedi who had made their way to Hapes. But when the little brother had the Force, and the older brother had been pummelled by that little brother through the Force – well, it was easier.

Jacen found Anakin in what appeared to be an outdoor garden, albeit a small one that was walled entirely with the sort of luxe masonry the royal palace liked. Anakin was sitting on the tile near the edges of a brick wall and hidden behind several bushes and trees. As Jacen stepped into the room he didn’t say anything, uncertain if Anakin even was aware that he was there. He reached out through the Force to find his brother, offering support and warmth in that sense, and found himself pulled in further. He stepped up, sinking down into a seated position near his brother with the warmth that he offered pulled nearer.

Jacen could feel every crack in Anakin right then, and they were the sorts of cracks that would have been more alarming except that Anakin didn’t seem to be hiding them. Instead they were just there, like anguish in the Force. Anguish backed up by steely determination and perhaps the smallest of anger, and Jacen just poured himself into them, like he might be able to fill them up somehow. He didn’t know. Nobody had told him how to help someone through the pain of losing a loved one. The silence between the brothers stretched on: moment upon moment. There was not complete silence as there were the noises of people moving from thing to thing across hallways nearby, the sounds of laughter despite the late hour, but it was the military and there was no absolute night and day when you were in war, only shifts on and shifts off, and every shift was one in which you might be called in.

When the words came finally Anakin felt awkward having said them only after they broke the immediate quiet of the garden, only after they hung in the air between them as if it were more thick than oxygen and they could be suspended between them. “Rikki’s alive.”

When Jacen didn’t say anything Anakin opened his eyes and stared at the shadowed face of his older brother in the almost darkness of the gardens. “I keep having dreams about her. Every night, and some – are just dreams. But some aren’t. Tonight’s wasn’t. I know tonight’s wasn’t. It was the Force.”

There was a sense of anguish to Anakin’s words that tore at Jacen’s heart. Anakin had insisted on this truth nearly since the beginning and Jacen had thought it was just denial – and an inability to let go. But as time went on he was having to question that, or begin to question Anakin’s hold on sanity – something that he truly didn’t want to do. For an instant he wished it had been Jaina that had found Anakin. Jaina had always been better at comfort than Jacen had been. Through the Force he could empathize and connect and weave a strong emotional foundation for those around him, but words were more difficult: Especially with someone he knew: Especially with his brother.

“What was it?” Jacen asked quietly. The intensity of Anakin’s gaze could be felt through the Force, and it was laced through with some surprise. Anakin had expected him to try to dissuade him of the notion.

“Questioning, pain, the certainty of –” Anakin hesitated. “Rikki. She’s always been so strong. She’s supported me and believed in me, and she always knew what to say. For the past year I’ve had her there. I know what that feels like. I know what she feels like. You know how she always felt different? You know how there was this – shimmer, like the horizon on a hot day – not quite there, but still very real? This is that. It’s certain. I know that it’s her. She’s alive. She’s fighting. She needs me, and I don’t know how to help her. The Force isn’t showing me enough-”

Jacen could feel the frustration wash over him, enough that it might have more significantly impacted someone less used to Anakin’s strength. Because that strength was there, whatever he might say about Rikki. Rikki had told Jacen to believe in his brother: That he would make the right call. Right now as he sat staring into a maelstrom of uncertainty Jacen was having to suppress the urge to do the opposite. He reached out and found his brother’s hand and he took it, lacing his fingers through Anakin’s like they had when they were kids on a bunk in the Falcon, like he’d seen Jaina do after Chewie’s death, like he hadn’t done for years – not with Anakin. He fed strength into the grip, using it to physically anchor the comfort he was pulling into the Force around his younger brother.

“What is it telling you,” he asked. Anakin hesitated and Jacen could feel the uncertainty. In the Force he could get almost glimpses of what Anakin had seen, and Jacen closed his eyes to reach out and be aware of everything his brother was giving him.

Anakin tightened his fingers around Jacen’s and for a moment he was quiet: “That she’s alive. It’s like being given the first sentence of a story, without being given the whole. I’ve meditated, and I’ve tried, and it’s so unclear. But I can’t just let her go. There's something about Coruscant...” his voice came out with more of an edge than he intended and he pulled himself up. "They're going to Borleias tomorrow, and I've agreed to fly on the mission. Uncle Luke wants you too."

Jacen's eyebrow raised at the sudden change of subject, but Anakin was already pressing on. "We're losing refugee ships, and they need a safe place to redirect them. It was Wedge Antilles' idea and I think it's a necessary one. I'm going. I've already decided. And I think you should also."

"I don't know Anakin. Jaina would be a better pick-"

"She's going already," Anakin looked up at his brother. His ice blue eyes sought out his brothers warmer brown ones and he held the gaze despite the darkness. "We need you. The three of us will do better than just two. We're stronger together. If we pull a battle meld together, with the other Jedi, we'll be better at helping them take back the planet, and we need to take it back."

"What about Lyric? How long will we be gone?"

"He could come with Mom and Dad on the Falcon."

"But there's Derek..."

Anakin tilted his head at his brother and looked over at him. He'd seen Jacen and Lyric with the baby- well more Lyric than Jacen, but the child had been a near constant in the past few days since Coruscant's fall and recently Anakin had begun to wonder. He knew he wasn't the only one, because his mother had asked him, pretending to be casual about it, but Anakin knew she was worried. And somehow in this moment, he just knew: "You're keeping him aren't you?"

"Yeah." Jacen had hesitated for a moment, but Anakin had felt the answer before his brother had spoke. They were too linked through the Force. "He doesn't have anyone else. Where are we going to put him? His parents are dead, and Lyric wants to keep him. Lyric believes it's the right thing to do - and I think he's right."

"Have you told Mom and Dad?"

Jacen made a face and sighed. He had no interest in telling his parents anything about the fact that he was 19 years old and was planning to adopt a child that would be his for the rest of his life. He didn't know what his mother would say, but he was pretty certain his father would be less than thrilled. It might even be close to as thrilled as he had been when Jacen had announced that he loved Lyric. In fact, Jacen could see it being a similar conversation. "No."

"They're going to figure it out eventually you know. You might as well tell them," Anakin suggested. Pulling himself out of everything that he felt about Rikki and the things he saw about Coruscant and the sense that he had that he just couldn't erase he focused in on his brother for a minute. Rikki had told him to take care of Jacen. She'd said that Jacen needed him more than he realized. Part of him wondered what Rikki had known to know that. He felt as if most of the past two years he had spent arguing with Jacen, but right now Jacen was sitting here and asking questions and not trying to dissuade him from this path even if it must have seemed crazy. Then again everything that they had heard Rikki say seemed unbelievable and implausible. But for the first time in a really long time it felt like his brother's reluctance didn't have as much to do with philosophy as it might other things and Anakin tilted his head once again: "You two are really serious."

"I mean, you knew that."

"Yeah, but a baby, Jacen?"

Silence fell once again, but for once Anakin let it hold without trying to rush it. It wrapped around the two brothers, a moment under the stars - peaceful - despite so many in the galaxy being surrounded by violence.

"It's the right call," Jacen said finally, and there was an atypical certainty to his voice. "I trust Lyric on this. And I love him. And when all this is over? I'm going to marry him."

"Of course you are," Anakin's reaction was an almost immediate grin. "The most annoying asshole in the Undercity and you're going to make him my brother-in-law."

"Hey! What?" Jacen pulled his hand away indignant.

"I'm kidding, Jacen. Mostly anyway," Anakin laughed and it felt good to have reason to laugh - to joke about anything. "He's good for you. I can't believe I'm saying that. But I am. You feel... different. Good different. Even in the Force, I've picked up on it and Jaina has too. Lyric's good for you and maybe I even like him for that. You can marry him and I won't even give you that bad of a time about it. Just let me your groomsman or whatever."

"How about my maid of honor," Jacen said wryly.

"Ha ha," Anakin responded dryly. "So you bring Derek with you," he turned the conversation back to Borleias. Borleias was where everything started. In the words with his brother, clarity was being uncovered. He was beginning to feel as if this was what happened - hours of uncertainty, Force visions that felt like not enough - and then as he reached out to someone, to talk to them, the clarity would start piecing itself together. Maybe the Force was giving him enough, but not in the ways he was expecting. The vision hadn't given him anything about Borleias, but Coruscant had been a part of it, and Uncle Luke had brought Borleias into the picture, and it was nearer Coruscant. The sense it was the place they needed to be was growing stronger. And Anakin knew he needed Jacen there too. And maybe Lyric... right now the Force was less clear on that, but he was beginning to think Lyric too - because Jacen was different with Lyric. He was stronger even if he didn't realize it, and Anakin understood that. It was how he'd felt with Rikki. But he didn't have Rikki, so he needed people with him who had some of that same strength. "And I need to talk to Tahiri," he said softly. "I think she should come to."

"What's so important about this?" Jacen asked softly.

"I don't know," Anakin said. "Right now refugees. It puts us closer to Coruscant and Coruscant is important. I -" he let out his breath, frustrated with the lack of ability to pull all of the pieces together in the Force. But they were there - and patience, faith, the truth of love he felt for Rikki, for his family - for the Jedi - for the galaxy... these things were certain. The other pieces could be found. He frowned slightly. "Can you trust me?"

Jacen stared at his brother considering. It was the million credit question, wasn't it? Rikki had told him to trust Anakin and it hadn't been something Jacen had always found easy to do. He worried about his brother's impetuousness. He worried about Anakin's determination and grit and pull and the Dark Side... and right now, he was so broken, he was grasping at strings really. Everything he said sounded crazy. It should have been more difficult than ever before to trust him. But for all of that, right now Jacen couldn't find the discomfort he'd once had. Even the uncertainty at the beginning of this conversation seemed to have shifted out a bit into something that felt more doable.

"Yes," Jacen said softly, with an earnest edge as he added: "But it doesn't mean I'm not going to call you out if I think you're wrong."

Anakin's grin of relief flashed across his face: "I wouldn't have it any other way."

INFO PSL writing; no warnings; AU fandom character writing - wrote both brothers.
ARMS & THE MAN REHEARSALS
Hugh lit a cigarette.

He stepped across to the big picture window that overlooked the sound. Technically he still had his apartment, and technically that apartment was closer to downtown and thus closer to rehearsals, but it couldn't beat this view - and ever since Henry had handed him the keys to this condo and told him that it was his for as long as he needed it, Hugh had known he'd give up the other. The lease was through at the end of the month and while part of him couldn't contemplate letting it go, the other part of him knew it was time. He also suspected, the film had been more than he made doing theater, and even without the consistent work as barista around the film work, his income for the year would mean he had been priced out of it.

He pulled out his phone - there was an hour until his Farmgirl would be there, and that was an hour that he should likely be diffing into the script, but instead he stayed, motionless, watching the way the sun sat over the sound, the light across the water, the darkness of the peninsula, it was beautiful in the way that Seattle frequently was, maybe even heart-achingly beautiful.

Come back with his full potential.

He needed to get his grip together. Live theater wasn't a movie set. And he'd worked with David before. And this shouldn't have been more difficult than any other play he'd ever done, but he'd never done any other play with something like this hanging on his conscience. He lifted the cigarette to his lips and drew a breath in, then out, and his brain swirled in different ways as it had done a hundred times in the past. He wasn't certain if it was better or worse that Yom Kippur had passed in the month of October. In theory he ought to have gone and repented to Rhett - something he would have done if not for the fear of legal entanglement.

And part of him knew that there was no way to know that it had been his actions for certain that had caused it. Perhaps if Rhett had been drunk it might have happened anyway. Perhaps someone else might have drugged him as well - something that Hugh hadn't considered until Marina. He could tell himself that it wasn't all on him, and Marceline would back him up, and yet, he still feared that it didn't matter that it wasn't - not in his heart of hearts, because even if his actions had not been the thing that was the tipping point, the fact was that he had betrayed a friend and mentor in a terrible way - one he deeply regretted and longed to take back.

It felt like something Marceline couldn't fully understand. She hadn't done it. It hadn't been her ambition after all. It hadn't been her in the room with Cecelia, or her hand that had slipped the drug into Rhett's drink.

Hugh sighed heavily and lifted his hand to his forehead, pressing it with his thumb and forefinger.

"You can't change it," he whispered into the mostly dark of the room. "It was only tangentially your fault."

A question that he'd never have to really deal with should he never be pulled into the trial.

He straightened, looked up, magenta and burgundy shot the sky like watercolors running across a canvas.

Bluntschli was an appropriate role to give himself over to in these autumn months. A soldier who lacked courage and bravery, a soldier who wanted chocolate and sleep, a soldier who would hide behind a woman's cloak - maybe it was why he was struggling.

Initially he'd been excited by the role. The Arms and the Man was an anti-romantic comedy, in many ways, and it was more like the role of David which he'd just completed, and he'd just stretched himself so much to get through. It was a way to take what he'd been able to work through on a film set back into stagecraft.

But maybe he was fooling himself if he honestly believed it would be easier if he were simply playing a simple romantic lead.

The problem was that he needed to lay himself open raw on stage without having been given the chance to heal his wound.

"All of them, dear lady, all of them, believe me. It is our duty to live as long as we can. Now, if you raise an alarm-" He closed his eyes as he spoke words from the script.

It was too easy to put himself in the shoes of a man who might have joined an army dreaming of something great and had found the experience to be different than what he had believed it would be. It was too easy to understand the reasoning of self- preservation that lay underneath the character. It was too easy to understand why he might hide behind a woman's cloak.

Hugh was hiding behind his Father's cloak, behind Marina's.

It was tender. Raw. But he had to let it out. If he didn't, if David continued to struggle, that would impact everything.

He took a drag on the cigarette again and crossed back to the table where the script notebook lay open.

Hugh spoke out loud, and when he did there was deep dislike in his voice: "Yes: isn't it contemptible?" A beat, and then the longing for something he truly couldn't have. "Oh, I wish I had some now."

The words hung in the empty room as he stared down at it, and then he sat, placed the cigarette to the side, and pulled the notebook forward for work. When Marce got there, he'd ask her to run lines with him.


"Well, I don't intend to get killed if I can help it." A beat. "Do you understand that?"

"I suppose not. Some soldiers, I know, are afraid to die."

"All of them, dear lady, all of them, believe me. It is our duty to live as long as we can. Now, if you raise an alarm-"

"You will shoot me. How do you know that I am afraid to die?"

"Ah; but suppose I don't shoot you, what will happen then? A lot of your calvary will burst into this pretty room of yours and slaughter me here like a pig; for I'll fight like a demon: they shant get me into the street to amuse themselves with: I know what they are. Are you prepared to receive that sort of company in your present undress? Hardly presentable, eh?" … "Stop! Where are you going?"

"Only to get my cloak.

"A good idea! I'll keep the cloak; and you'll take care that nobody comes in and sees you without it. This is a better weapon than the revolver: eh?"

"It is not the weapon of a gentleman!

"It's good enough for a man with only you to stand between him and death."


She slept much easier than he did these days. That had been true since the arrest. It was a new normal he hadn't quite oriented himself to.

He lay awake in a bed much larger than the one in his apartment, more akin to the one at the Loft they had in Fall City. He turned, watching his wife as she slept. She was so beautiful, and even now there was a wondering at the fact that she'd stayed with him after all of it, and that she'd wanted him, and that she continued to cheer him when he knew he'd been difficult and moody. It welled up emotion in his heart that was greater than anything he really knew what to do with.

He curled into her, burying his face in her shoulder.

These emotions were so current - dangerously unrefined by life and experience - but that didn't mean he couldn't pull them out tomorrow. He had a job, a job that at times required him to pull deep from places that he didn't want to draw. And while his personal reputation might rest on him not getting pulled too deeply into Rhett's trials, this was his professional reputation on the line.

You are the Tom Hiddleston of this piece, Hugh.

Hugh's jaw tightened slightly. The praise had been true. What he had done didn't change that professional ability, and he hadn't come this far to lose it all.

His arm slid around Marce, and she murmured something in her sleep, her fingers wrapping up in his curls, before she seemed to relax back into sleep and he knew that although it had seemed for a moment that she had woke, that she'd remember nothing of it in the morning. A dream, not a bad one, but just a dream.

The party felt so long ago now, so far in his past, and it could have been a dream. To sleep, perchance to dream. If we shadows have offended, think but this, and all is mended, that you have but slumber'd here while these visions did appear.

Hugh's eyes closed, the words of one of Puck - one the first parts he'd ever played for the Seattle Shakespeare Company turning through his brain.

No more yielding but a dream.

And by then Hugh was asleep.

INFO [info]fallcity epilogue; no warnings; Original Character writing; different narrative types.
TESSISAMESS

14th Oct, 2017

Ren Solitaire; application for [info]repose

"I'll never wear your BROKEN CROWN."

Read more... )