exsiliumlogs | (no subject)

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(no subject)

Date: August 1st
Location: The Initiative Hold & Courtyard.
Characters: Everyone.
Summary: New Transports arrive and are shuffled into the Courtyard after their initial briefings. Now with 200% more People-Seeking lists!
Warnings: None.

You've just been hustled and bustled through mazes of information and literal, wide corridors of the Initiative Hold and you've been equipped with your weapon—be it a gun, a sword, or even your existing powers. They've handed you this light netbook and a small pouch of coins (or a debit card, if you're more inclined), and there are several Transports before and after you going through the very same motions. You can hear the Greeter's voice as she walks alongside large groups, telling them all about the history of this place and sharing with you your purpose here in a hurried and urgent tone. "You're in luck that we have enough rooms for all of you; the housing building is getting awfully full. Please, let me show you into the courtyard."

You pass what looks like huge gymnasiums, all with dummies and targets strewn and splayed around the room. Training areas. There are even classrooms, and a few small offices. You're rushed past a large library while the Greeter informs you that you can find almost all your information there, if you've got the time to look—and trust her, you'll have time. You don't spend a lot of time in the bank, and it's a bit of a blur of exchanges with more and more of these strangely-accented and oddly polite-seeming members of the Initiative.

Soon enough, you're in a massive courtyard bustling with all the other Transports. It's not exactly what you'd expect, and it looks more like barracks than anything—huge walls of concrete and stone, separating you from all of the hallways you'd just passed through. It's raining heavily, and dark clouds loom in the air, though it hasn't turned to snow. It's a chill cold, and there are shelters—long cloth hangings that extend from the walls of concrete to house you from the rain, but not enough. Most notably, the courtyard is filled with a marketplace. Even in the cold and the rain, there are several citizens seated at their covered booths and tables, bundled up against the weather. They're selling all manner of their own handmade goods and foods, and citizens and Transports alike are traveling from one small covered shop to another in search of all manner of necessities. Now and then around you you might spot paper fluttering in the faint wind from somewhere relatively dry. It looks like a list.

The Greeter's voice has become so faint now, but you swear you can make it out in the back of the crowds as she tells you, "Good luck. Be safe!"

Her voice is drowned out by the busy marketplace, though even the transactions taking place are somewhat subdued. Nobody is overly happy, really, though most citizens can be found with smiles on their faces. It doesn't seem like they're that shocked to see you, either; even if you're not bound in tattered rags and wrapped in heavy shawls as they are. You're welcome to walk up to a shop, and find yourself something to eat—hey, maybe you'll even find something akin to a raincoat. Or, you can join the others under the coverings against the walls. Where am I? What war? She was talking so fast, and it didn't all make very much sense… did anyone else catch it all?

Welcome to the courtyard. Welcome to the Initiative Hold—and most importantly, welcome to Exsilium.

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[Luke is ignorant of all the internal turmoil his father is going through. Well, mostly. He's not a complete novice in terms of using the Force, after all, and he can sense something - there's a darkness there and it almost seems familiar. Even if he wasn't a Jedi, he can still see the way his expression shifts in little ways, he can feel the way Anakin's fingers tighten. He can hear the tension in his voice, despite an effort to banish it. Luke doesn't know what to say.

He's never had a father before now, after all. Uncle Owen had tried to raise him as best he could, but he hadn't been a father. And Obi-Wan... Obi-Wan had been with him all of a few days.

He clasps Anakin by the shoulder and nods (it's probably nothing, he thinks - shock or disbelief - his father won't always feel like this).]

Good. I - well, I have a lot of questions.

[He pauses, brow furrowing again. Well, maybe he should hold off on that question - but, then again-]

Hey, I wonder - is my mother here, too?

[That's probably too much to ask for.]

Ask anything you want.

[Anakin might not exactly be partial to answering all of them- Might in fact, prefer to gloss over some of the other aspects of his life, make them less than what they are, if they must be mentioned at all- But he'll do his best.

He'll change it- and that'll mean different things for the future, will mean eventually a son who won't have to look at him as if he's a stranger, like a novelty. But it won't change anything for the Luke that stands before him now. Only time spend together, and an honest effort put forth to get to know each other, can do that. And he has more questions of his own, in turn.

That one- It does a lot to ease the anger, the darkness that lingers. Enough that he laughs, just a short burst of sound. If nothing else- it appears his family remained partially intact. If he was the only missing piece- Well, then it wasn't all for nothing]

She's here. She's- from another point in time than I am, but she knows- About you. [He dropped that tidbit of conversation from Han onto her pretty quickly after it had happened]

[There's a beat and Luke sucks in a breath. This can't really be happening, can it? He's meeting people long dead and gone and he has no idea what to do about it - except to wonder how, why, where, when. There's so many things he doesn't know about his father and mother. What were they like? What happened to them? When did they meet? Would they have been the same as Uncle Owen and Aunt Beru?

He honestly doesn't know where to start./]

...what's her name?

[It's like being short circuited. It sets all his muscles to tense, a complete system failure that leaves his eyes blown wide, leaves him incapable of moving past that one particular point. When everything starts to come back online, when his son offers him no further questions, no information, it comes back slow. His fingers go lax, and his eyes skirt to the ground]

You don't know her either. [It's not a question, but a realization given voice, because once it's given to the air, it makes it real. It's not something he can pretend to misunderstand, to gloss over as if he hasn't heard it. It's what he needs. To make it an irreversible truth] Padmé.

[It's a small, offhanded answer. There's grief layered there, wrapped around the vowels, but they are nothing compared to the rage that settles in. He's never, in all his life, felt an anger like this before. Not only did this Vader- this liar, this betrayer- (monster) rob him of his future, rob his son of one parent- but two. He must have, for their marriage was secret, Padmé's enemies laid to rest long before, there is nothing to link her to a Jedi- nothing but him. Nothing but the child she carried, and-

It would not go unanswered. The anger- It's quick, all consuming, burns him from the inside out and leaves him hollow. An eerie calm settles over him. The sort that blankets his eyes, leaves them unreadable and empty, drives his thoughts with a narrow minded focus- to a place no one else can follow. Vader had plagued the Jedi, had taken the one thing from him that made him whole, the person he loved and couldn't live without- and Anakin would show him a suffering unlike anything he'd ever known.

His voice turns silky, convincing- almost without him noticing it. It speaks of someone used to getting their own way, into pulling even the most stubborn of people into revealing just the right sort of information] What happened to her? If you know-

Tell me.

[The smile slowly slips from Luke's face as he watches Anakin (his father) react to the question. It begins to dawn on him that it might nto have been the best question (but that's Luke, always impetuous). He's trained - perhaps not as well as some, true - but he can still feel the anger and the grief and the hatred that are burning inside of his father and coming off of him in waves. That makes him wary. There's a darkness in his father that he can't place (and for a moment, his mind flashes to the cave on Dagobah and the specter of Vader with his own face locked inside the mask).

He takes a cautionary step back, expression flitting between confusion and worry. He remembers speaking to Padmé - she'd mentioned Han, but never Luke. He wonders why, but he doesn't have the luxury of wondering about that just yet.]

I'm sorry. I don't know what happened to my mother. I grew up with Uncle Owen and Aunt Beru. Owen - he didn't really talk about my parents much. And Obi-Wan... Vader killed him. Before I really had a chance to ask too many questions.

[There's a flash of concern across his face.]

Are you alright? You don't - there's something wrong.

[He has a bad feeling about this.]

[The question brings him back to the moment, just as surely as Luke stepping back has. He needs nothing to aide him to know that he's scared his son, worried him- And rightfully, he should have. Luke is too much like Padmé. He's naive, hopeful- completely untouched and untainted by war, the way Anakin had been- Once upon a time, so long ago. Rather than think of it as a flaw, he'd prefer it to stay that way.

The anger fizzles, pops, and goes dormant. Anakin allows the grief to take precedence. He shakes his head as if to clear it, as if in answer- and offers a small smile once more]

Yes, I'm fine- It's a lot to take in.

[He doesn't think he needs to explain to Luke, how much he loved his wife. That her loss was jarring, when he hadn't expected it. Having it on the heels of the confirmation of having a child together- Well] Your Uncle didn't know anything to tell you. I only met him once.

[It's a diplomatic answer, a small attempt at amends for his reaction. It's also honest. If Luke was to go to anyone, he would have preferred that he'd gone to Sola and her husband. Padmé's family could have offered Luke more, would have been kind, provided excellent education and more opportunities- they had also loved Padmé dearly. The Lars'- They were weak, and they weren't family. A true family would never abandon one of it's own.

They were nothing to him, and they should have been nothing to Luke. At least, it's not too late to correct this mistake as well. The eerie calm almost cracks at the mention of his Master. Of the fate that befell him- Whatever his conflicted feelings on the other Jedi, for the connection they shared, Obi-Wan deserved better than to be struck down by the likes of Vader. Luke certainly deserved more than to have to lose someone close to him, so young.

He pushes past the feeling, buries it down with the others, and steps forward to bridge the distance Luke created. There isn't even a moment of hesitation before he returns his hands to rest on his son's shoulders, tugging insistently, until he can pull him in for a proper hug]

You don't have to worry- About any of it, any more. Everything's going to be fine.

[Luke feels a twinge of guilt. What must it be like for his father to learn about not only his death, but the death of his wife and his old master? Especially coming from him - a son who probably hasn't even been born yet (from Anakin's point of view, anyway). He's relieved to feel his father's anger recede, but there's still something there that bothers him. There's still a darkness that seems to cloud some of his senses and follows his father and he's not sure what to make of it.

It's probably nothing. Just residual bad feeling.

He accepts the hug - why shouldn't he? But the way his father talks to him makes him pull back for a moment. There's a twinge of irritation - his father might be a war hero, but Luke's been doing his own fighting for the last three years. He doesn't need or want to be treated like a farm boy all over again.]

Don't worry about me - I can handle myself.

[He grins at Anakin - it's a cocksure, slightly arrogant grin, the grin of a youth who thinks (knows) he's invincible.]

I mean, we've got our own problems back home, but I can handle anything the galaxy throws at me.

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