- Joined
- May 6, 2012
- Messages
- 83
- Reaction score
- 16
Lapse of momentary hysteria! Stale air assaulted his nostrils as he woke in the dark, streaming an inhail through his stinging throat. Abashed and bewildered, he shot up from his uncomfortable seating against the bare steel of this cargo bay in fear of the unknown. It was all blank, dark and empty. He couldn't feel his right arm, but he lifted it; fingers dragging along the cylinder crate he was draped over. Where was he? What had happened?
Then it all came crashing back behind his eyes. He was on a ship, of which make he did not know, bearing towards CORUSCANT in a cargo bay, having learned of the war over all kind. It was her, Akira Ven, who had shown him the way. She had touched his mind, a reversion of penetrating exposure like none she had experienced before. They had to stow away, like ghosts beyond the crew's perception. The soldiers, clad in white armor, had chased them here. They had seen her, an Imperial Knight, because of him. She had healed him, in more ways than one; yet only a fraction of the damage had been pressed. She had found him, drugged or beaten. He knew not of which combination of ill intent he had faced. Though he was lost, she had shown him a kind heart; bearing witness to the hate of the galaxies all around them. That sinister smile flashed in his mind's eye.
Prose whipped down and snatched the stormtrooper's rifle up from under his feet, a reaction to the fear in his dream. But then he noticed, the thin of orange lined a hair of warmth along the crease of the opposing corner. It was the bay door. It wasn't open. Was it? And where was Akira? Had they landed? He needed to see. After the last experience, Prose first considered discretion. He reached around his head and lifted the wrapped stick free from his back, the string falling loose once around his arm. He shook off his coat, switching his things from one hand to the other. He strapped the stick in front and under his arm, swung the long coat back on, and situated the rifle in the low pinch of the string's attachment into the weeve of the stick's coverings. The rifle would be fairly hidden there.
He made his way to the door, stretching out his fingers all but blindly for the light. They touched the door.
Then it all came crashing back behind his eyes. He was on a ship, of which make he did not know, bearing towards CORUSCANT in a cargo bay, having learned of the war over all kind. It was her, Akira Ven, who had shown him the way. She had touched his mind, a reversion of penetrating exposure like none she had experienced before. They had to stow away, like ghosts beyond the crew's perception. The soldiers, clad in white armor, had chased them here. They had seen her, an Imperial Knight, because of him. She had healed him, in more ways than one; yet only a fraction of the damage had been pressed. She had found him, drugged or beaten. He knew not of which combination of ill intent he had faced. Though he was lost, she had shown him a kind heart; bearing witness to the hate of the galaxies all around them. That sinister smile flashed in his mind's eye.
Prose whipped down and snatched the stormtrooper's rifle up from under his feet, a reaction to the fear in his dream. But then he noticed, the thin of orange lined a hair of warmth along the crease of the opposing corner. It was the bay door. It wasn't open. Was it? And where was Akira? Had they landed? He needed to see. After the last experience, Prose first considered discretion. He reached around his head and lifted the wrapped stick free from his back, the string falling loose once around his arm. He shook off his coat, switching his things from one hand to the other. He strapped the stick in front and under his arm, swung the long coat back on, and situated the rifle in the low pinch of the string's attachment into the weeve of the stick's coverings. The rifle would be fairly hidden there.
He made his way to the door, stretching out his fingers all but blindly for the light. They touched the door.
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