Blue Moon

Blue Moon

“Obviously you’re not Sev, cause you have a name, so you that makes you as valuable as me,” She pointed out. “Don’t forget that.”

She hated that word, expendable. Her father taught her as a child that life was valuable, all of it, even the copied. That everything was part of a bigger picture and every small detail counted. He was also human given he had emotion towards his squadron. Caring that burned in his armor, even if he didn’t want to admit. There was no need to say it aloud. She could tell, that was all she needed.

“I’ve got a ship a little far from here,” She pointed out in the further depths of the jungle. She also remembered it was beyond a tribe’s territory. Hopefully, no trouble would come to pass. Though, she’d have to make sure he didn’t pass out in that armor.

“If you want, you can hitch a ride with me off this place. And from there, I could help you find your squad.” She offered/

Sev, ever the Commando, is servicing his gun in the jungle of Kashyyyk of all places, trying not to think about having no idea what his next move is, when he hears the snapping underbrush coming towards him; he doesn’t know who it is, but the lack of Wookie noises isn’t comforting him, and he’s leaning towards the likelihood of his visitor being Droids as he quickly reassembles the blaster rifle, scopes it, and aims at the oncoming sounds.

he’s stranded here, no Republic forces remaining on planet, and uncertain of the outcome of the Battle thus far, having stayed in the woods since his being left behind by his squadmates- so he knows he’s got nothing but the fight in his bones and his wits to keep himself safe. however, luckily, he’s got plenty of both of those in his favor...

breath holds in his chest, a mausoleum of ribs and red-stained armor- he stills his finger against the trigger and squints through the visor that synchs to his sniper-scope, waiting for the indication of whether to fire or hold to explode through the bushes ahead...

sweat slides, all tickling droplets, down his hot skin under his plastoid armor, but he doesn’t waver, and doesn’t speak- his deep, snarling, gravelly voice would only serve to reveal his location, and that would not do until he’s sure of who- or what- is coming through the jungle as he waits there in the clearing.

𝐀𝐋𝐌𝐎𝐒𝐓 𝐊𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒

Five years after the supposed death of Jim Moriarty the consulting criminal has come back to wreak havoc in London. Will you be a part of the effort to dismantle the criminal’s empire once again, an aid to his cause, or perhaps just another person just trying to get through it all and make the best of their lives? The time is now, the day is here, and London is calling.

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“You’ve been alone all this time?” Her eyes widened upon hearing this, worry in her mismatched eyes as they casted concern unto him. The worry grows even more when she sees all of his wounds and bites. Is this what clone troopers endured when abandoned? Or was this for those alone, far away from civilizations during the fighting?

She then rummaged in her bag among the treasures and pulled out some more bacta, along with some bandages if needed. Setting the bandages in the shade she offered them to Sev.

“I want you to use some of mine.” It wasn’t an offer, but an assertive demand. If they were both gonna get out of the jungle, then she needed to make sure he was gonna be ok. Pulling the blaster to her side, she places a reassuring hand on his shoulder.

“Take all the time you need ok?” 

Sev, ever the Commando, is servicing his gun in the jungle of Kashyyyk of all places, trying not to think about having no idea what his next move is, when he hears the snapping underbrush coming towards him; he doesn’t know who it is, but the lack of Wookie noises isn’t comforting him, and he’s leaning towards the likelihood of his visitor being Droids as he quickly reassembles the blaster rifle, scopes it, and aims at the oncoming sounds.

he’s stranded here, no Republic forces remaining on planet, and uncertain of the outcome of the Battle thus far, having stayed in the woods since his being left behind by his squadmates- so he knows he’s got nothing but the fight in his bones and his wits to keep himself safe. however, luckily, he’s got plenty of both of those in his favor...

breath holds in his chest, a mausoleum of ribs and red-stained armor- he stills his finger against the trigger and squints through the visor that synchs to his sniper-scope, waiting for the indication of whether to fire or hold to explode through the bushes ahead...

sweat slides, all tickling droplets, down his hot skin under his plastoid armor, but he doesn’t waver, and doesn’t speak- his deep, snarling, gravelly voice would only serve to reveal his location, and that would not do until he’s sure of who- or what- is coming through the jungle as he waits there in the clearing.

Her ship was a few miles off from where she was. As a result, Shima did not prepare for the rain and had to create a makeshift raincoat made up of the huge leaves that inhabited the massive jungle. She promised herself a nice shower once she got herself out of here, with her trove of treasures she scavenged from the dead ships,

Getting out of the brush was no joke, the mud kept pulling Shima in and made her talons hard to grip. It was an endeavoring test not to trip over herself. Yet despite it all,  Kashyyyk reminded her of her home in the summer of monsoons. The petrichor was always a welcoming smell in the morning and she could only imagine it would be the same here when the morning comes. Eventually, she arrived at a clearing in the middle of the forest.

Lifting her hood she looked up at the raining sky, as it washed any grime on her away. This place looked unfamiliar, and she wondered if she was lost. She wasn’t sure.  She saw something in the ground and decided to pick it up with her talons before grabbing it with her hands, only to find out that it was a simple medium sized rock. Frowning, she shrugged and chucked it into the bush before walking towards a puddle opposite of the bush.

Sev, ever the Commando, is servicing his gun in the jungle of Kashyyyk of all places, trying not to think about having no idea what his next move is, when he hears the snapping underbrush coming towards him; he doesn’t know who it is, but the lack of Wookie noises isn’t comforting him, and he’s leaning towards the likelihood of his visitor being Droids as he quickly reassembles the blaster rifle, scopes it, and aims at the oncoming sounds.

he’s stranded here, no Republic forces remaining on planet, and uncertain of the outcome of the Battle thus far, having stayed in the woods since his being left behind by his squadmates- so he knows he’s got nothing but the fight in his bones and his wits to keep himself safe. however, luckily, he’s got plenty of both of those in his favor…

breath holds in his chest, a mausoleum of ribs and red-stained armor- he stills his finger against the trigger and squints through the visor that synchs to his sniper-scope, waiting for the indication of whether to fire or hold to explode through the bushes ahead…

sweat slides, all tickling droplets, down his hot skin under his plastoid armor, but he doesn’t waver, and doesn’t speak- his deep, snarling, gravelly voice would only serve to reveal his location, and that would not do until he’s sure of who- or what- is coming through the jungle as he waits there in the clearing.

 One of the perks of becoming one with the Magpie? She could easily give off the appearance of a normal person, without her mismatched eyes or her mangled hand. Times had changed, and Dana changed with them more than she ever had. But there was a confidence she had, especially now that there was peace. 

Even though there was peace, there would always be ghosts. Abraham Erskine was forever an immortal ghost. His immortality came in the form of his legacy of Captain America, aka Steve Rogers. And now he would be gone, with another taking his place. The question was who, and many had their ideas. Personally, she would have Bucky or Sam, but the government had already decided the name John Walker would become part of that legacy immortalizing Erskine.

It didn’t work out so well. despite everything she poured towards Ross and the bastards of the federal government, they failed John and now he probably beared the scars of their failures. She needed to make it right not just for Erskine, but to John as well. Which was why she was out here at night, in the middle of Georgia parked outside a diner. She then exited out the car and headed into the diner momentarily looking for John. When she did she headed his way.

 She wasn’t wearing her trademark trenchcoat. Rather, she wore punkish floral with her hair in a ponytail which was a change from her suit or her casual 90s punk. Peace provided a wonderful time for floral and the time for nice things. Nice things including a simple saunter rather than a rushed stride. She realized she had nothing planned to say, or how to approach him.

What she did instead was to gently tap the table to get his attention and say:

“Hey.”

the memory is a snapshot; a diamond in the rough, a singular moment that he remembers like poetry dripping in holy metaphor. he had never before been so reverent of the path he had taken, and never would he again; all his life he had suffered to become, and that becoming, after a single divine moment, had led only to further decline. 

now, only recently released from a series of efforts to rehabilitate him so that he might be an effective apparatus for heroism again, he is being handed a new shield- not Captain Rogers’- and being told to find a path and walk it, separate from the Captain America identity now beholden to Wilson. he’s fine with that.

what he doesn’t know is who’s going to walk that path with him, so he’s sitting in a diner in Georgia instead, shield in his bag wedged into the booth beside him and staring pensively into a coffee mug at the reflection of strands of dirty blond hair he really needs to cut to stay within the strict military regulations he tries so hard to govern himself by. 

John Walker is feeling a little lost, but that’s okay. he’ll figure it out. he has to.