At Your Service (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
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bakerstreet2020-09-02 04:40 pm
atyourservices) wrote in bakerstreet2020-09-02 04:40 pm
Entry tags:
[[rng rolled a 7 for me! it feels like it could fit if you're into it?]]
[ Listen, I'm an absolute fool for the idea of immortal Claire being reunited with a former lover (or even a former friend) in this way. ]
[ let her canon setting be her past, or something Game of Thrones medieval. and let it be tragic, lmao. ]
Flying had never been something that Michael liked to do, something about being in the air where his feet weren't safely on the ground rattled his nerves. His assistant had rolled her eyes at him a little for the drama she called it, considering as a CEO and owner of a major company who attended conferences all the time he'd be used to it by now. For some reason, he never did though. Today, well, it felt like more than that too, if only because he'd been having some vivid dreams recently. A brunette woman with startlingly expressive eyes that had started to haunt him. He'd even occasionally looked for her in the waking world, wondering if she was someone that he'd run into and just couldn't get out of his head.
Jane. He remembers waking up enough times with that name on his lips and he doesn't know why. The world she appears in isn't right either, cold and feeling far more ancient than the modern house on a lake he lives in here. There's also this longing and pain through his chest even as he thinks back on the dreams in the waking hours. Which he's currently doing partially as a way to distract himself from the plane as it's being boarded by everyone. He knows that he'll have to move whenever his seat partner arrives for their window seat, but he'd gotten in first by luck and is letting his mind drift as he barely sees the people pass him.
One hand toys with a small silver pendant from one of his family members, a wolf's head despite his family name being Drake. It's just a small nervous habit while he's reliving and thinking on his dreams he's found himself having these days. Not that he stops himself from doing it because it gives his hands something to do for the time being. Though his heart feels like it skips a beat at the flash of brunette hair that's starting to board the plane.
Jane. He remembers waking up enough times with that name on his lips and he doesn't know why. The world she appears in isn't right either, cold and feeling far more ancient than the modern house on a lake he lives in here. There's also this longing and pain through his chest even as he thinks back on the dreams in the waking hours. Which he's currently doing partially as a way to distract himself from the plane as it's being boarded by everyone. He knows that he'll have to move whenever his seat partner arrives for their window seat, but he'd gotten in first by luck and is letting his mind drift as he barely sees the people pass him.
One hand toys with a small silver pendant from one of his family members, a wolf's head despite his family name being Drake. It's just a small nervous habit while he's reliving and thinking on his dreams he's found himself having these days. Not that he stops himself from doing it because it gives his hands something to do for the time being. Though his heart feels like it skips a beat at the flash of brunette hair that's starting to board the plane.
he doesn't like flying and she's afraid of animals, what a reincarnation 😏
forceshadowed
- 2020-09-03 07:40 (UTC) - ExpandSome things have to change right? Just not the most important ones 😏
scaledwolf
- 2020-09-03 22:07 (UTC) - Expand[ OKAY SO i'm thinking their SW-verse is their past, but idk Sith happened lol and he lost the duel on Mustafar... probably died and was resurrected, but too late and she's gone? so he vanished off the grid in his grief. then the OT happened though idk how much of that would change lmfao and now it's the ST era and the First Order is on the rise and idk she's reborn??? as rey??? just YELL AT ME if you want anything changed okay you know where to find me ♥ ]
Just as he's done for years and years — long enough that he's stopped counting — he stands at the entrance to the first Jedi temple, watching the sun disappear into the horizon with gray eyes that have long since lost their shimmer. He can feel the cold tendrils of the dark creeping up from beneath him, but he does not give in, even if there is much he can offer the yawning void. Pain, grief, anger, hate, suffering, all fuel for the dark side of the Force. Yet he resists, closing his eyes to slip into a meditative trance, letting the light chip away at his fire until it fades into a dull ache, becoming just another reminder of the emptiness of eternity.
Eternity, because he's not aged a day since... well, he's actually not sure when. Mustafar, when he'd died? Before that, when they'd sworn their eternal love to the moon and stars and to each other? Though he's no longer dressed in the all-black hues of the Night's Watch, having gone for a more comfortable, more Ahch-to-appropriate ensemble. He thinks she wouldn't have approved, however; it's too basic. It could use a dash of red, with maybe some subtle patterns on the fabric. Perhaps he's doing this on purpose. Perhaps she'll come back just to lecture him about his fashion choices. Maybe he should return to his full obsidian regalia.
He doesn't have to look to feel the moonlight on his face. How long has he been standing there now? How long has it been since he'd held her last? It both feels like forever, and no time at all. "Night gathers, and now my watch begins." He tells himself that every night still, reciting the words softly like a prayer, despite the fact that they have long lost their meaning. But he has nothing else to hold on to. Time and death have taken everything... except him. "It shall not end even with my death."
But the Others — no, the Sith — aren't completely gone. They'll be back; he just doesn't know when, or how. Why else is he still alive, if not to fight them? Different face, same enemy, isn't that how the galaxy works anyway?
Slowly, he opens his eyes, lifting his face and his gaze up to the sky. It's always so peaceful out here. He wishes his heart could be as still. "I vow to be yours — your sword, your shield, your fire against the cold, your light in the darkness — and I shall live and die at my post," he whispers into the night, almost desperately. He won't forget. She'd said he would, but he'd sworn not to. Profusely, vehemently. Never, never, never. He can't. He won't. "I pledge my life and honor to you, for this night and all the nights to come."
Just as he's done for years and years — long enough that he's stopped counting — he stands at the entrance to the first Jedi temple, watching the sun disappear into the horizon with gray eyes that have long since lost their shimmer. He can feel the cold tendrils of the dark creeping up from beneath him, but he does not give in, even if there is much he can offer the yawning void. Pain, grief, anger, hate, suffering, all fuel for the dark side of the Force. Yet he resists, closing his eyes to slip into a meditative trance, letting the light chip away at his fire until it fades into a dull ache, becoming just another reminder of the emptiness of eternity.
Eternity, because he's not aged a day since... well, he's actually not sure when. Mustafar, when he'd died? Before that, when they'd sworn their eternal love to the moon and stars and to each other? Though he's no longer dressed in the all-black hues of the Night's Watch, having gone for a more comfortable, more Ahch-to-appropriate ensemble. He thinks she wouldn't have approved, however; it's too basic. It could use a dash of red, with maybe some subtle patterns on the fabric. Perhaps he's doing this on purpose. Perhaps she'll come back just to lecture him about his fashion choices. Maybe he should return to his full obsidian regalia.
He doesn't have to look to feel the moonlight on his face. How long has he been standing there now? How long has it been since he'd held her last? It both feels like forever, and no time at all. "Night gathers, and now my watch begins." He tells himself that every night still, reciting the words softly like a prayer, despite the fact that they have long lost their meaning. But he has nothing else to hold on to. Time and death have taken everything... except him. "It shall not end even with my death."
But the Others — no, the Sith — aren't completely gone. They'll be back; he just doesn't know when, or how. Why else is he still alive, if not to fight them? Different face, same enemy, isn't that how the galaxy works anyway?
Slowly, he opens his eyes, lifting his face and his gaze up to the sky. It's always so peaceful out here. He wishes his heart could be as still. "I vow to be yours — your sword, your shield, your fire against the cold, your light in the darkness — and I shall live and die at my post," he whispers into the night, almost desperately. He won't forget. She'd said he would, but he'd sworn not to. Profusely, vehemently. Never, never, never. He can't. He won't. "I pledge my life and honor to you, for this night and all the nights to come."
cries I LOVE THE BAKERY TOO also umm yeah i guess it would be padré 👀
morghon
- 2020-09-09 08:27 (UTC) - Expand[ I'm not saying that she was made for this meme, but she was made for this meme. not interested in past 6 or present 5/8, otherwise toss some scenarios my way. ]
[...I mean I can't not toss him up here, right?
No pressure at all if you're not up for adding a thread... but maybe post-XG, some mix of 3+7+9, where things are mainly good in the present but they're dealing with the un-talked-about mess of their memories/dreams, lingering insecurities, etc?]
No pressure at all if you're not up for adding a thread... but maybe post-XG, some mix of 3+7+9, where things are mainly good in the present but they're dealing with the un-talked-about mess of their memories/dreams, lingering insecurities, etc?]
What she heard was a voice - but what she had actually heard Rey couldn't say. There wasn't anything especially unique about overhearing snippets of conversation in bar on a Friday night, but there was something familiar about who it was she heard and it struck her as curious enough to stop, turning on her heel to seek out the source. The feeling she had been caught by was hard to describe, like hearing the punchline of your favorite joke, or recalling a song you hadn't heard in years but still filled a spot in your heart. Rey's eyes flitted over the dimly lit room, briefly taking in laughing faces and expressions of reflection, couples huddled close and friends meeting and parting. The room had been given a once over and she was about to relent, chalking it up to a passing oddity when she heard that voice again.
When she heard it a second time her eyes went straight to the source, the sight of him making the corners of her mouth twitch in the ghost of an old smile she had never had before before the expression vanished completely. Rey turned and looked towards the bartender, haloed in neon and going about the business of a Friday night. She exhaled sharply before walking to the bar and finding a pocket of space to situate herself in, waiting to catch the attention of the woman working behind it. Remembering, as though for the first time that she had not come alone she fished her device out of her pocket, thumb tapping over the screen as she sent a message to one of her friends she had left waiting at a table at the rear of the establishment.
"A Boulevardier," Rey said when the bartender paused before her, holding up a hand. "Use one large ice cube and cut the orange rind in half lengthwise, then twist it over the glass before adding it." Though she had no idea what she was saying she slid a twenty towards the other woman, looking at her as seriously as one might look at a person they were delivering solemn news to. "I need it sent to him, the big guy over there." Half turning away to point out the man she didn't turn back until she was sure the woman working knew who it was she meant. Though she couldn't say why, it was very important. "The waitress can tell him it's from me, in the blue dress," Rey began to admit she had no idea who he was but she realized given the specificity of her order it would seem utterly insane to do so, as insane as it was to be making a drink order like that for a stranger was in the first place perhaps, if not more. Giving the bartender an embarrassed smile she gave her a second bill and looked down waiting.
She couldn't say for what.
When she heard it a second time her eyes went straight to the source, the sight of him making the corners of her mouth twitch in the ghost of an old smile she had never had before before the expression vanished completely. Rey turned and looked towards the bartender, haloed in neon and going about the business of a Friday night. She exhaled sharply before walking to the bar and finding a pocket of space to situate herself in, waiting to catch the attention of the woman working behind it. Remembering, as though for the first time that she had not come alone she fished her device out of her pocket, thumb tapping over the screen as she sent a message to one of her friends she had left waiting at a table at the rear of the establishment.
"A Boulevardier," Rey said when the bartender paused before her, holding up a hand. "Use one large ice cube and cut the orange rind in half lengthwise, then twist it over the glass before adding it." Though she had no idea what she was saying she slid a twenty towards the other woman, looking at her as seriously as one might look at a person they were delivering solemn news to. "I need it sent to him, the big guy over there." Half turning away to point out the man she didn't turn back until she was sure the woman working knew who it was she meant. Though she couldn't say why, it was very important. "The waitress can tell him it's from me, in the blue dress," Rey began to admit she had no idea who he was but she realized given the specificity of her order it would seem utterly insane to do so, as insane as it was to be making a drink order like that for a stranger was in the first place perhaps, if not more. Giving the bartender an embarrassed smile she gave her a second bill and looked down waiting.
She couldn't say for what.
Edited 2020-09-04 16:10 (UTC)
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