Princess Leia Organa (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
imahologram) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
thisavrou_log2016-05-18 04:44 pm
imahologram) wrote in thisavrou_log2016-05-18 04:44 pm
openish | to describe my mother would be to write about a hurricane
Who: Leia Organa imahologram, Kylo Ren outer_space, Han Solo straightouttacarbonite, and YOU. If you want. ♥
When: May 18
Where: The open prompt is at the bar. The closed ones are in navigation and at the Falcon.
What: Fallout from the holo Leia received in the mail today. Two closed prompts and an open one.
Warnings: Spoilers for The Force Awakens.
for Kylo Benben
She knows what's going on before the little boy in the holo says more than Hi, mom, it's Ben. Perhaps she's always known. His interest in her, in her ability to use the Force, and his disdain for Han have never seemed in proportion. There's something personal in both of them, the strange, coy way he approached conversation as much as the biting frost of his anger.
This might be someone else's, she tells herself nonetheless as she watches. She wants that feeling of recognition to be wrong--she hopes it is--but the details only keep stacking up. An uncle called Luke. Jedi training. The meditation tricks Leia's brother employs for himself. And those dark eyes that seem to come straight from her face. The nose, unquestionably Han's.
(She has no explanation for the ears, but she can't help but feel an affection for them that seems borrowed from a stranger.)
If this isn't their son, she'll eat her blaster, piece by piece. And that leaves her shaken, staring at the space the holographic image was long after it flicked off. Her apparent adversary, the unhinged bane of Han Solo's existence, is their child. Whatever it is that's brought him to this point, they must have had a hand in it.
To lie to her, though--a lie of omission counts, in her book--and to speak to her as a stranger when she's his mother...to call it anger is to miss the empty ache, the insult, the amorphous sense of betrayal. She's a panoply of hurt.
She finds him in navigation, and they're both fortunate there's no one there to hear her snap, "Ben!"
for Han Solo
"Meet me at the Falcon." Leia spits the words into the MID, insistent and clipped. "It's important."
In a better mood, she might not order him around quite so remorselessly--but in a better mood, she wouldn't have to. She stalks through the corridors of the Moira until she comes to the cargo bay. The speed of her footsteps picks up as she nears the Falcon. That bucket of bolts is a more welcome sight than just about any she can think of just then.
OPEN - ambiguously set throughout the weekend as needed
Leia hasn't needed a drink so badly in a long, long time. The bar on the Moira isn't exactly ideal--it's public, for one thing--but she's not convinced she wants to use her small store of Alderaanian wine on family problems. (And, if she's completely honest with herself, she's also not convinced she wants to be alone right now, anyway.)
If someone should happen to sit down beside her, she'll give them a humorless nod of acknowledgment. No real smile, but there's no animosity to the way she asks, "What're you drinking?"
imahologram, Kylo Ren outer_space, Han Solo straightouttacarbonite, and YOU. If you want. ♥When: May 18
Where: The open prompt is at the bar. The closed ones are in navigation and at the Falcon.
What: Fallout from the holo Leia received in the mail today. Two closed prompts and an open one.
Warnings: Spoilers for The Force Awakens.
for Kylo Benben
She knows what's going on before the little boy in the holo says more than Hi, mom, it's Ben. Perhaps she's always known. His interest in her, in her ability to use the Force, and his disdain for Han have never seemed in proportion. There's something personal in both of them, the strange, coy way he approached conversation as much as the biting frost of his anger.
This might be someone else's, she tells herself nonetheless as she watches. She wants that feeling of recognition to be wrong--she hopes it is--but the details only keep stacking up. An uncle called Luke. Jedi training. The meditation tricks Leia's brother employs for himself. And those dark eyes that seem to come straight from her face. The nose, unquestionably Han's.
(She has no explanation for the ears, but she can't help but feel an affection for them that seems borrowed from a stranger.)
If this isn't their son, she'll eat her blaster, piece by piece. And that leaves her shaken, staring at the space the holographic image was long after it flicked off. Her apparent adversary, the unhinged bane of Han Solo's existence, is their child. Whatever it is that's brought him to this point, they must have had a hand in it.
To lie to her, though--a lie of omission counts, in her book--and to speak to her as a stranger when she's his mother...to call it anger is to miss the empty ache, the insult, the amorphous sense of betrayal. She's a panoply of hurt.
She finds him in navigation, and they're both fortunate there's no one there to hear her snap, "Ben!"
for Han Solo
"Meet me at the Falcon." Leia spits the words into the MID, insistent and clipped. "It's important."
In a better mood, she might not order him around quite so remorselessly--but in a better mood, she wouldn't have to. She stalks through the corridors of the Moira until she comes to the cargo bay. The speed of her footsteps picks up as she nears the Falcon. That bucket of bolts is a more welcome sight than just about any she can think of just then.
OPEN - ambiguously set throughout the weekend as needed
Leia hasn't needed a drink so badly in a long, long time. The bar on the Moira isn't exactly ideal--it's public, for one thing--but she's not convinced she wants to use her small store of Alderaanian wine on family problems. (And, if she's completely honest with herself, she's also not convinced she wants to be alone right now, anyway.)
If someone should happen to sit down beside her, she'll give them a humorless nod of acknowledgment. No real smile, but there's no animosity to the way she asks, "What're you drinking?"
no subject
But then Ben's specter, thin and dark, looms at the edge of her mind, and she shakes her head. He can't be left behind, even if she doubts he'd agree to come willingly. She takes another sip from her glass. "There's just one problem. We don't all come from the same time."