Finn is reminded, strangely, of the way he'd felt in those first few days he spent in the city-- of standing by a bonfire with a blank piece of paper in his hand, something he was meant to write out losses on, things he wanted to let go. He never could think of the words. Just folded it up and let it burn the way it was. Pushed off thinking. Set his eyes forward.
The longer he's here, the harder it gets to keep resetting that way.
He's starting to realize he doesn't know how to do this, once he's observed the bulk of the festivities. How it's supposed to work. Mourning. It's easy to think about obvious things first, from where he's standing, to think about certain people-- about whole planets blown out of the sky, or Han Solo, or Resistance shuttles getting picked off with good people inside of them.
Then he thinks about Slip. He always does, when it comes to things like this.
Stormtroopers don't get funerals. He's killed more than a few since he defected. He'll kill more before the war is close to over. They'll get left where they fall. If things hadn't changed, if he hadn't changed, he wouldn't even question why it mattered.
Anyone in their galaxy, he would understand them not mourning the loss of a soldier who was trying to shoot them on command. He can't hold that against them.
But the army that raises those soldiers. No names, no families, no choice, at least give them something in the end.
It doesn't seem fair.
The lantern Finn picks is simple, not particularly big. All straight edges and stark white paper. It stays blank for a long time. He really isn't sure how to do this. It doesn't feel right to leave it empty. After a while, he steels himself to do what he normally does when he's out of his depth and not sure he can do something on his own.
He starts asking for help.
Finn is gonna be on the prowl with his (hopefully increasingly cluttered-looking) lantern and a handful of different colored pens. He'll approach anyone who doesn't seem to be preoccupied or unwilling to brook company. The mood of the day is: intense, yet sincere. ]
Can I ask you a favor?
[ v. wildcard.
For other miscellaneous options. Finn will technically be around some of the story-sharing parties, but he wouldn't be in any kind of a telling mood, so it seemed moot to make an opener for that. I'm up for planning out whatever and willing to write closed starters! hmu at comatoseroses or by PM! ]
finn | ota
Finn is reminded, strangely, of the way he'd felt in those first few days he spent in the city-- of standing by a bonfire with a blank piece of paper in his hand, something he was meant to write out losses on, things he wanted to let go. He never could think of the words. Just folded it up and let it burn the way it was. Pushed off thinking. Set his eyes forward.
The longer he's here, the harder it gets to keep resetting that way.
He's starting to realize he doesn't know how to do this, once he's observed the bulk of the festivities. How it's supposed to work. Mourning. It's easy to think about obvious things first, from where he's standing, to think about certain people-- about whole planets blown out of the sky, or Han Solo, or Resistance shuttles getting picked off with good people inside of them.
Then he thinks about Slip. He always does, when it comes to things like this.
Stormtroopers don't get funerals. He's killed more than a few since he defected. He'll kill more before the war is close to over. They'll get left where they fall. If things hadn't changed, if he hadn't changed, he wouldn't even question why it mattered.
Anyone in their galaxy, he would understand them not mourning the loss of a soldier who was trying to shoot them on command. He can't hold that against them.
But the army that raises those soldiers. No names, no families, no choice, at least give them something in the end.
It doesn't seem fair.
The lantern Finn picks is simple, not particularly big. All straight edges and stark white paper. It stays blank for a long time. He really isn't sure how to do this. It doesn't feel right to leave it empty. After a while, he steels himself to do what he normally does when he's out of his depth and not sure he can do something on his own.
He starts asking for help.
Finn is gonna be on the prowl with his (hopefully increasingly cluttered-looking) lantern and a handful of different colored pens. He'll approach anyone who doesn't seem to be preoccupied or unwilling to brook company. The mood of the day is: intense, yet sincere. ]
Can I ask you a favor?
[ v. wildcard.
For other miscellaneous options. Finn will technically be around some of the story-sharing parties, but he wouldn't be in any kind of a telling mood, so it seemed moot to make an opener for that. I'm up for planning out whatever and willing to write closed starters! hmu at