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dragonlady7via http://ift.tt/2bO5aeh:buttons-beads-lace replied to your post “i sort of feel like chapter six is one of those impossible conundrums…”
for what it’s worth, the idea of the ‘he says he’s already got one’ moment already made my day.
Someone might think I’m kidding, but here’s approximately the only part of the chapter that’s working, and that not well.
“Er,” the senator’s aide said, as Poe swayed dizzily in the Shozer’s grip, “well, this is a bit awkward.”
“What is?” the Shozer asked.
“The um,” the aide said. They were in a posh sitting room of some kind, with little conversational groupings of furniture and a decorative transparisteel window assemblage in a corner that offered a stunning view of the outdoors and made Poe incredibly disoriented and dizzy— even healthy, he disliked windows that extended into the floor like that, and rhyndo’d, it was just nightmarish.
He tried to focus on the furnishings, but all he could really make out was that somebody’d laid out a buffet table of appetizers and such, like some kind of important reception or meeting was about to go down in here, and that was only making him feel more sick.
“Really,” the Shozer said, “what?”
“Well,” the aide said. She waved a hand at Poe, who thought briefly about throwing up on her. “We contacted the First Order to say we had none other than the notorious Poe Dameron in custody, you know, because we do.”
“Sure do,” Poe said tightly.
The aide smiled absently at him before continuing, “–and they said that they already had him.”
The Shozer jiggled Poe’s arm. “But– how?”
“Buddy,” Poe said tightly, “I wasn’t lying, I’m gonna puke.”
“Here,” the aide said, gently pushing him down into a chair and wetting a napkin to put on the back of his neck. “It’s all right, dear. Close your eyes a moment.” She got him another napkin, put it over his eyes, and went back to talking with the Shozer, dim and distant.
After a moment of breathing deep and letting the nausea ebb a bit, Poe peeled the napkin away from his face, and they both turned and looked at him expectantly. “He looks like the holo, though,” the Shozer said.
“No no,” the aide said, “we’re quite sure this is him, that’s not even in doubt. And yet. They say they already have him in their custody at this moment.”
“Xacristo,” Poe said, lapsing into the dialect of his father’s weird old drinking buddies in his disorientation, “are you saying they think I’m not me? Are you for fucking real?”
“I’m more weirded out that there’s apparently another Poe Dameron out there, myself,” the aide said, with a glimmer of nervous humor. Poe’s vision had settled a little, and he could make her out now. She was a pretty Twi’lek in high-class corporate-chic attire, a famous Coruscanti label discreetly adorning her glittering hip belt. “From what I know of your reputation, the galaxy could hardly handle two.”
“I mean– this is for sure the guy,” the Shozer said. “Look at his eyes, he’s even rhyndo’d.”
The aide peered into Poe’s face with a delicate grimace of disgust. “What a barbaric practice,” she said.
“Thanks,” Poe said drily. “I wonder who the other poor chump is that they’ve already captured,” he mused in a moment, pulling the wet napkin off the back of his neck. “It’d be a shame if you couldn’t get your money because of him.”
“I’m more interested in what organization would possibly be able to field such a convincing Poe Dameron replica that they could fool Kylo Ren,” the aide said. “I mean, maybe he’s never met Dameron, but I thought he was like a Jedi, only evil. Can’t they read minds?”
Poe almost threw up again, so he sat in total silence for a long moment, swallowing hard against a sudden incredibly vivid memory of Ben Organa’s earnest face, dark eyes wide in wary interest, layered over the greasy invasive feeling of Kylo Ren’s mind sliding into his own. “No,” he said softly, at last, “Kylo Ren has met me before. He’d certainly know.”
“Well,” the aide said. “He himself said you were an impostor.”
“Maybe you’d better let me go then,” Poe said, shooting for breezy and missing by a wide margin: it came out sort of forlorn.
“Where would you go?” the aide asked, and Poe really didn’t need her pity.
for what it’s worth, the idea of the ‘he says he’s already got one’ moment already made my day.
Someone might think I’m kidding, but here’s approximately the only part of the chapter that’s working, and that not well.
“Er,” the senator’s aide said, as Poe swayed dizzily in the Shozer’s grip, “well, this is a bit awkward.”
“What is?” the Shozer asked.
“The um,” the aide said. They were in a posh sitting room of some kind, with little conversational groupings of furniture and a decorative transparisteel window assemblage in a corner that offered a stunning view of the outdoors and made Poe incredibly disoriented and dizzy— even healthy, he disliked windows that extended into the floor like that, and rhyndo’d, it was just nightmarish.
He tried to focus on the furnishings, but all he could really make out was that somebody’d laid out a buffet table of appetizers and such, like some kind of important reception or meeting was about to go down in here, and that was only making him feel more sick.
“Really,” the Shozer said, “what?”
“Well,” the aide said. She waved a hand at Poe, who thought briefly about throwing up on her. “We contacted the First Order to say we had none other than the notorious Poe Dameron in custody, you know, because we do.”
“Sure do,” Poe said tightly.
The aide smiled absently at him before continuing, “–and they said that they already had him.”
The Shozer jiggled Poe’s arm. “But– how?”
“Buddy,” Poe said tightly, “I wasn’t lying, I’m gonna puke.”
“Here,” the aide said, gently pushing him down into a chair and wetting a napkin to put on the back of his neck. “It’s all right, dear. Close your eyes a moment.” She got him another napkin, put it over his eyes, and went back to talking with the Shozer, dim and distant.
After a moment of breathing deep and letting the nausea ebb a bit, Poe peeled the napkin away from his face, and they both turned and looked at him expectantly. “He looks like the holo, though,” the Shozer said.
“No no,” the aide said, “we’re quite sure this is him, that’s not even in doubt. And yet. They say they already have him in their custody at this moment.”
“Xacristo,” Poe said, lapsing into the dialect of his father’s weird old drinking buddies in his disorientation, “are you saying they think I’m not me? Are you for fucking real?”
“I’m more weirded out that there’s apparently another Poe Dameron out there, myself,” the aide said, with a glimmer of nervous humor. Poe’s vision had settled a little, and he could make her out now. She was a pretty Twi’lek in high-class corporate-chic attire, a famous Coruscanti label discreetly adorning her glittering hip belt. “From what I know of your reputation, the galaxy could hardly handle two.”
“I mean– this is for sure the guy,” the Shozer said. “Look at his eyes, he’s even rhyndo’d.”
The aide peered into Poe’s face with a delicate grimace of disgust. “What a barbaric practice,” she said.
“Thanks,” Poe said drily. “I wonder who the other poor chump is that they’ve already captured,” he mused in a moment, pulling the wet napkin off the back of his neck. “It’d be a shame if you couldn’t get your money because of him.”
“I’m more interested in what organization would possibly be able to field such a convincing Poe Dameron replica that they could fool Kylo Ren,” the aide said. “I mean, maybe he’s never met Dameron, but I thought he was like a Jedi, only evil. Can’t they read minds?”
Poe almost threw up again, so he sat in total silence for a long moment, swallowing hard against a sudden incredibly vivid memory of Ben Organa’s earnest face, dark eyes wide in wary interest, layered over the greasy invasive feeling of Kylo Ren’s mind sliding into his own. “No,” he said softly, at last, “Kylo Ren has met me before. He’d certainly know.”
“Well,” the aide said. “He himself said you were an impostor.”
“Maybe you’d better let me go then,” Poe said, shooting for breezy and missing by a wide margin: it came out sort of forlorn.
“Where would you go?” the aide asked, and Poe really didn’t need her pity.
