llewynalarcon-blog

[llewynalarcon-blog]

6. the knights

seduce: atticussteal from: mathiasserenade: dorian

Send me three names + a number

@atticusprior @knighthimself @socthsayers

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3. fein, sorin, kal

fuck: sorintake a bullet for: fein murder: kal 

Send me three names + a number

@sorinnoveske @feinkomo @vihtorrs

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5. the masters

kill: obi-wan betray: all of them none of themhave on your zombie apocalypse team: whoever is willing to take him out

Send me three names + a number

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Send me three names + a number...

[llewynalarcon-blog]

It wasn’t about Atticus anymore, but now he couldn’t stop thinking about memories. The concept of it. Files with half the information redacted. Damaged footage. Things that felt as if it had happened last week. Yesterday. Ten minutes ago. He knew him except for things that he didn’t and none of it mattered because it was in the past which was behind him. Literally. 

Maybe Atticus would be content with that, Llewyn wanted people to forget a few things. Except it meant he had allowed himself to slip up. Again. “you can quote everything verbatim except the things I want to hear about and I’m not sure if that’s sad or mean.” Caerus had told him that. It was true, it still was or he needed it to be. Because Llewyn had made one promise, to get all those names of the people who he had hurt, who he had failed to save. It was the one thing he wanted to uphold.

Llewyn watched as Atticus crumbled the napkin.The gesture should have offended him, it paradoxically felt like some of form rejection and not about him at all. Instead He felt the pull to be half present. Whatever this was he didn’t feel very good at it and it was easier and run on autopilot. Another part of him��wanted to revert the habit of inducing small amounts of pain to keep himself present.Instead he gripped his glass tight enough to break it and poured himself another drink that came dangerously close to overflowing.

If it had been any other time of day or any other kind of mood he would have stood up and walked away, but there was nowhere else to go so he took another swig of his drink. “Obligation I guess. To what or whom he was obligated to he didn’t say. Sometimes he wasn’t sure himself. “But I’m not back. This is temporary. Best case scenario we win, whatever that means, and I continue doing whatever it is I do.” It was one of the only things he was certain on. That no matter messy and hopeless his life had been post the Order it was his reality now. The present was already behind him. “Worst scenario I…Well, I suppose there is no worst case scenario.” The only thing Llewyn wanted more than to return to the hodgepodge of a life he had made for himself was death, it was the true best case scenario. The fact he had somehow eluded it for so long kept him up at night.

“You know what,” He said around a laugh though he wasn’t sure what was funny. “I am hungry.”

llewynalarcon‌:

The further back the past went the more blurry it became. It came with aging, the brain could only hold so much information, but Llewyn knew it was deeper than that. He never forgot faces or names and at times could quote conversations verbatim, yet the details of his memories were become hazy which made all of the former useless. Names and faces were useless  if he couldn’t remember where he had seen them. Conversations hardly mattered if he forgot the context, who had said it and why. He had been everywhere before even the places he hadn’t because to some capacity they all seemed vaguely the same. Eventually history would be an endless haze that blurred anything that was not the immediate present. 

Atticus fell into the category. 

I knew you when—and then full stop. He could push it further, but as he watched the drink slide down the drain, saw through the lie about who it belonged to, it seemed it was better that way.

“Shame.” He pushed a napkin across the bar to Atticus. In the likelihood that he didn’t know why Llewyn brushed his mustache with his thumb then returned to his drink and staring straight ahead. 

They both had things they didn’t want to talk about.

“Probably not,” he downed the rest of his glass. “But I can’t really tell the difference.” At some point the pain of constant hunger had dulled and disappeared completely. He joked with himself once that the upside to being hollow was that he got drunk faster. Mostly it was about survival. The idea that he should a desire to eat let alone it was one that might be fulfilled had become foreign. “Why,” He raised an eyebrow. “Are you hungry?”

Llewyn is only a decade his senior, but he’s not as lucky to forget his memories. His own fault, in many ways. The mind’s relentless nature to see it all, until he’s pushed himself over the edge, until all there is are too-loud sounds and a mind overloaded. He lives in a constant state of sensory overload, and its left him with memories he won’t dare forget a detail, his own given sufferings, to remember. The way Kai’s brow shifted, the way they looked him. The way he didn’t hear Master Evon die, but he knew, because a hundred-year old body wouldn’t have survived the crumble of a building. He remembers Llewyn too, across the holoscreen back at the Temple. Remembers the way people talked about him on the battlefield. Remembers what the said when he left too. Before the Clone Wars, if you were out of the Order, it’s because you died, the only stories you’d hear. If Llewyn doesn’t remember him, he won’t think about it. Expected. There were thousands of Jedi before the fall. Now, here’s who’s left. 

“That’ll depend on who you ask,” slow words, only about himself. Because he isn’t looking the other man in the eye, he takes late to notice the napkin, the thumb indicating the mustache, but when he does, he’s almost too quick to grab it, the flash of fear he was unintentionally avoiding him. However, the most he does is crumble the napkin in his fist, because of an exhaustion reaching up from his hand to his elbow, a high-pitched voice in his mind laughing, saying he should keep it there. He thinks it’s his own. 

There’s a long time Atticus doesn’t speak, and not all the time is something he’s aware of. Food, as the probably both know, is on neither of their minds, forget to answers questions. He just wants air filled with more. “No, I was asking if you are,” he wants something to do with his hands. The question next is one he’s thought of, different than it sounds. He’s asking if there’s more to think of than this Rebellion, what’s outside those doors. “Why’d you come back?”

[llewynalarcon-blog]

jezhamaghrsal‌:

“Long enough,” Jezha said, his words quiet. He felt shame at the raised brow — what sort of Jedi Master was Jezha if he couldn’t control such a basic emotion? What use would he be to the rebellion if he couldn’t push down everything and be okay in the wake of tragedies? He should take lead from Llewyn, rather than hope for the other to comfort him in a moment of weakness. Jezha chastised himself — he should know better; he should be better.

He lowered his head, eyes downcast, for a moment before they locked onto Llewyn’s face in the dark. “How long have you been here? What plagues you?” Stupid question, truly. Jezha swallowed, and dried his eyes, ignoring the roughness of his robes on his soft cheeks. “Llewyn, my friend, why are you out here so early?” Jezha, in some small part of him, wanted to know he wasn’t the only one who had cracked his training like a geode and was now dealing with the rotten insides of a decaying rock spilling out onto every aspect of his life. What should have been semi-precious stones was instead a mess of soot and coal and tar — marring his hands and his heart and his mind.

Was that truly the legacy of the Jedi Order?

Jezha swallowed hard, the lump in his throat making it painful to do so. He couldn’t afford to lose faith in what he’d been taught, not right now. “Llewyn,” his voice cracked at the end of his name, “Aren’t you tired?”

Llewyn felt bad as he saw the hints of Jezha’s shame on his face. It wasn’t that he thought it was a weakness, but it wasn’t strength. There had been a time where grief stopped being a motivation to move forward and became a roadblock. Where he sat in bathrooms with knees to chest and biting down on his own fist to keep from making any noise. Now he was incapable of feeling anything that wasn’t bitterness, detachment, or anger. 

No, a part of Llewyn pitied him. That Jezha could be in public what he suppressed in private. Neither had to tell the other all the complicated teachings that stemmed from their teachings, but the difference was he had liberated himself

( or he needed to believe he did. )

“What plagues me,” Llewyn echoed with disbelief. Even if he wanted to answer it he wouldn’t know where to begin. There must have been a time where he felt something other than a variety of negative adjectives and he slept soundly. “Nothing. I don’t sleep and this beats staring at a ceiling.” He just couldn’t remember when it ended. “How long have you been out here.” 

None of Jezha’s questions were interrogatory, but they were starting to feel that way. He had not come to the temple for a psych exam. 

At the question he gave a short laugh. “Generally or specifically?”

[llewynalarcon-blog]

DATE & TIME: 1/17, 8:00PM   LOCATION: Bedquarters, Yavin IV TAG: @nniedra​

Llewyn watched as the last of the pinkish water slide down the drain. It was his fourth attempt to wash away the blood stains on his hands and as he finished drying them off it was clear he would need to attempt a fifth.

It should have alarmed him — a closer inspection of his hands hadn’t revealed the source and there was more of it with time — mostly it was inconvenience. He spent the ride back to Yavin IV with his hands held out awkwardly in front of him trying not to get it anywhere. If the rest of them had noticed they were smart enough not to point it out.

Now he was trapped in the cycle of mindlessly washing his hands. The longer he stared at his reflection everything in his peripheral vision became fuzzy until there was nothing but the black hole of his pupils. He wondered how deep it was, if it had an end at all. Soon it became staring contest with himself and they were both winning.

A sound of someone at the door snapped back into reality. The world around was less fuzzy and he could see the puffs of smoking rising from the sink. Llewyn pulled his hands back and scrambled for something to dry them off with. He had burned his hands for nothing. “Not here,” He called back as he rubbed his thumb against his palm, but it was caked on and only made things worse. “Come on.”

Llewyn hadn’t put himself in the position to be sought out for anything trivial, though the list of what that meant was entirely subjective and it seemed unless someone set something on fire he didn’t want to be bothered. “Yes?” He asked as he opened the door and then caught himself. “Hey. Sorry I thought you were someone else.” He rubbed his thumb harder against his palm. “Everything okay?”

[llewynalarcon-blog]

DATE & TIME: 1/15 LOCATION: Strategy Center, Yavin IV TAG: @ilesar

Llewyn made his point clear from the beginning: I won’t help you lead this. Those days were over from the moment he had resigned from the Jedi order and a moment of weakness didn’t change that. Instead he sat back almost completely silent except to acknowledge that he understood what she said and confirmed what he was willing to do for the mission.

If anyone had any thoughts on the choice llewyn couldn’t tell as he avoided anyone’s gaze and made a point of not looking Rishla in the eyes. He knew she had thoughts, she always did, but she was also smart enough to know it was better this way. It was possible that she didn’t care at all since she had been the one to find him in the first place and that was enough to solidify that he was no longer the person who fought by her said.

When the meeting ended he lingered briefly, a muscle memory of a different era.

[llewynalarcon-blog]

Happy Birthday Jacky!!

Moodboard for Llewyn Alarcon ( @llewynalarcon ) & Fein Komo:

“I wait and ache. I think I am healing.”

[llewynalarcon-blog]

Llewyn moved silently as a ghost. He was one of many.

It had been everything he had expected. He had traversed worlds like it before. Cities falling apart and places once sacred contorted by the hands of political corruption. To believe such issues were beyond them had been its hubris. From the minute he stood in the planning room he could see what to expect of them. Wounds that hadn’t existed had begun to form and wounds that had not yet healed began to reopen. Llewyn knew that he was beyond that. He had already buried the Coruscanti Temple and those who lived among it. He had rounced them before that. It was not his home and none of them were his family. It was a mission and the work would get him through the beginning until the end.There was nothing and no one on Coruscant to claim his own

That was Llewyn’s hubris.

He walked with his eyes fixed straight ahead and only thinking about the next ahead. It had carried him forward until there was no other moves to make and he was trapped with all the others in the vault. Now he didn’t know where to look.

Llewyn and the darkness were one in the same. If he had known that this was it meant to burn it all down to ground he would not have wished for it. The force once again proved its vindictiveness. It gave llewyn what he wanted, but never how he meant it.

As he stopped he ran fingers along the wall, rested his palm firmly on the surface. A cosmic energy had not built them. Llewyn had never known barriers.The temple was like water and he swam through it. Now they felt rock solid and though he knew he could do it, had done it automatically when they asked him too, it felt as though he could not pass through it. Forming a fist with his hand he began to press fist harder and harder into the surface. Llewyn had never tried it on a man was more than certain he couldn’t, but as his fist dug into the wall he wondered if he could did into Palpatine’s chest and rip his heart out. 

His fist began to slip through the wall and he pulled it back. 

He could feel it begin to break through and he pulled back, turned away, and kept moving..

There was no reaction to his presence. As he stepped into what barely passed for light the same it was clear the same didn’t apply to Atticus. Llewyn watched him as he looked down at the floor and then up again. The words fell on him and he hadn’t decided if it was earned yet. He took the chair but didn’t sit. “Thank you.” He stared at him a moment longer before continuing. “You want to ask me something.”

He sat down. It was unclear to them both if it was a gesture of compliance, that he’d hear Atticus out, or that after it all only his mind that felt awake. 

DATE & TIME: 1/17, 4:00AM LOCATION: The Imperial Palace, Coruscant TAG: @llewynalarcon

There is nothing to be said—or at least, there are no words to be said, so what’s the point of speaking? If you look long enough at him, you’ll think he is anyway. Look long enough at him and you’ll see the flickers of someone else across his lips, conversations in the mind, full and deep and clawing at his sternum, scratching, bleeding. There’s blood there, real and thick, and things we wish we could call a metaphor, he doesn’t feel it.

He takes to walking, to pacing, to places that are furthest away from the place he bled out. If you look to the walls, you can still see the dents, over two decades old, worn away, the damage the Temple couldn’t recover from. Rows and rows of holocrons along the walls of the vaults, among thousands of shelves, he doesn’t know the number, they mutiply in his mind. He doesn’t know how slow he walks, how long it takes for each breath, why his feet move so slowly to anyone else that’ll see him. There is no concept of time, not when it pauses to let in the other, to spend time feeling the way a laughter can burn through him whole. 

He notices Llewyn too late—or too early, he won’t be able to tell the difference, can’t think of it in a time like this. But he still jumps back, heart skipping beats, eyes that won’t meet his, stay somewhere on the floor to Llewyn’s side, flickering. It takes time for him too look up, and when he does, eyebrows knit together, tired eyes adjust quickly when able to set their focus on someone that needs it. Words are still diffcult so he doesn’t bother with them, he takes to pulling over one of the chairs to offer the elder man to sit, a question in the eyes.

[llewynalarcon-blog]

knighthimself‌:

Even if unintentional, Mathias doesn’t miss the shared beats, shared weapons spinning in time. It’s why he stops, because it’s too close of a mirror than he’s even unconsciously willing to meet, unwilling to see. 

Maybe it’s time for a new generation of Knights, those after Llewyn, to make more mistakes than can be held on skin. More than a lifetime can hold, and he thinks he will have plenty, even if he it leaves a fog in his mind, anytime he gets close to the thoughts, gets close to anything of his own morality. 

“It’s you that’s saying it, not me,” half a smile on his face, all prideful boys, and stubborn. Without trying it, he became those Knights he heard of, the legends, the myths. Armies paused in their wake, just by their name alone. The same stubbornness, without the name, until now, but even that is not his own, doesn’t feel like yet, but there’s expectation there too. “No shame if you’re too old for it now, can’t blame what time can do, right?” Teasing, but his teasing is unbiased, spread wide, including to himself, something playful on lips.

“If you won, I wouldn’t be offended, but we would have to rematch.” There is a truth to it, that training can’t happen alone, even in simple practice, even in just getting used to one’s muscles. You learn by having fists meet something more than a bag hanging from the ceiling, or the air, nothing at all. Useless, in the end. In his reasoning that calls for higher importance in knowing what to expect, and not in form.

Llewyn brought the quarterstaff to a halt. “Technically I asked why you’re making my problem - which in case I wasn’t clear wasn’t a problem - yours. But fine call it semantics.” Over the years his master had called him out on a number of things. Most of them were easy to overcome. He learned conservation. He learned how to step back and let his enemies be their own doing. He learned how to stop hitting himself in the face with his quarter and how to stop tripping his own feet. It was the ones that disguised themselves as strengths that were harder to undo. 

Other people had called him conviction manifested and told him they trusted in him at times before they trusted in themselves. It made sense to teach his padawans to trust their instincts and follow through. It made sense to be their safety net, anyone’s safety net in moments when they couldn’t. So he would train alone if that’s what it took to maintain it.

He didn’t want to be their safety net, didn’t want to be anyone’s anymore. Even if he wanted he couldn’t be, not emotionally and he feared not on a technical level. Llewyn wasn’t sure what a self was anymore let alone that he had one. If he did it felt more and more splintered with each day.

“Mocking my age,” Llewyn said disappointed. It was such a low bar he would have counted on better. “Clever.” His eyebrows creased as he tried to suppress a moment of déjàvu. A twelve year old trying to size up someone nine years his senior because he knew that she would say yes. “You know there are easier ways to ask than attempting to goad me.” It had felt competitive at the time and maybe it had been. Competition was one of the staples of their relationship. Now he wondered if some part of it had been for his sake or maybe both of theirs. Alone he was left defeated by something that wasn’t there. A voice in his head telling him that to push himself to his breaking point was the only proof he done enough.

“So you want to lose twice?” He laughed, but it made no sound. Llewyn held out the quarterstaff. It’s a challenge he didn’t want to make and he knew Mathias would take. “Masochistic.”

[llewynalarcon-blog]

LLEWYN  ALARCÓN AESTHETICS:

SIGHT. small towns. big cities. six thirty curfews. lights that take the place of stars. blanket nests. light through the blinds as a wake up call. found family. finding a single star in the middle of new york city. window shopping. watching something terrible and enjoying it. growing numb to the sight of injustice. wilted flowers. faded caricatures. bright, bold colors.

HEARING. crickets and lightning bugs. car engines and a / c units. a phone call to mom / dad. laughing with friends. jokes that are so bad you have to laugh. the clicking of computer keys. noise cancelling headphones. the sound of silence. muffled music from another room.drumming fingertips on a table.clicking of pens. listening to a clock and swearing the ticks get slower. ringing in the ears. the voice of someone you love. pitch shifted songs.

TOUCH. being held close during a long night. fleeting reassurances. holding hands when you’re scared. brushing fingers through strands of hair. freshly dried clothes. bruises on your knuckles. silk and satin. your favorite pet’s fur or feather. wringing your hands anxiously. comforters in the dead of winter. nails against skin. cold metal. leather in summer.

TASTE. coffee in the morning. tea in the evening. bubblegum that lost its flavor. alcohol burning the back of your throat. homemade cooking, no matter what’s made. blood in your mouth.stale air. mint. fresh vegetables. that processed taste of citrus candy. the first meal you cook by yourself that tastes good. foreign sweets. fast food. bittersweet. sour. spicy.sweet. bitter. too much salt on fries.

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LLEWYN  ALARCÓN BODY LANGUAGE:

DEFENSIVENESS. arms cross on chest / crossing legs / fist-like gestures / pointing index finger / karate chops /stiffening of shoulders / tense posture / curling of lip / baring of teeth

REFLECTIVE. hand-to-face gestures / head tilted / stroking chin / peering over glasses / taking glasses off — cleaning / putting earpiece of glasses in mouth / pipe smoker gestures / putting hand to bridge of nose / pursed lips / knitted brows

SUSPICION. arms crossed / sideways glance / touching or rubbing nose / rubbing eyes / hands resting on weapon / brows raising / lips pressing into a thin line / strict, unwavering eye contact / wrinkling of nose / narrowed eyes

CONFIDENCE. hands behind back / hands on lapels of coat / steepled hands / baring teeth in a grin / rolling shoulders / tipping head back but maintaining eye contact / chest puffed up / shoulders back / arms folded just above navel / wide eyes / standing akimbo

INSECURITY & ANXIETY. chewing pen or pencil / rubbing thumb over opposite thumb / biting fingernails / biting lips / hands in pockets / elbow bent / closed gestures / clearing throat / “whew” sound /picking or pinching flesh / fidgeting in chair / hand covering mouth whilst speaking / poor eye contact / tugging pants whilst seated / jingling money in pockets / tugging at ear /perspiring hands / playing with hair / swaying / playing with pointer/marker/cane / smacking lips /sighing / rocking on balls of feet / flexing or cracking fingers sporadically

ANGER & FRUSTRATION. short breaths / “tsk” sounds / tightly-clenched hands / fist-like gestures / pointing index finger / rubbing hand through hair / rubbing back of neck / snarling / revealing teeth / grimacing / sharp-eye glowers / notable tension in brow / shoulders back, head up – defensive posturing / clenching of jaw / grinding teeth / nostrils flaring / heavy exhales

[llewynalarcon-blog]

jezhamaghrsal‌:

DATE & TIME: 1/06, 3:28AM   LOCATION: The Temple, Yavin IV TAG: @llewynalarcon

Jezha’s eyes were stinging, red, wet. It was unbefitting of a Jedi to have such a loose control on his emotions… wasn’t it? Wasn’t that what had been trained into him? Hadn’t the remaining Jedi decided to rebuild — to improve — the Order?

It was late— or was it early? Jezha didn’t care about the specifics. He needed to have time to mourn; to have time to let his soft heart scream and bleed as it wanted to as soon as it heard updates from the mission on Jedha. It had been days of comforting, of being a pillar, of repress, repress, repress.

His head snapped to the noise of someone else entering the temple. The wetness on his cheeks would be unmistakable, but Jezha found he didn’t care enough to wipe them with the rough fabric of his robes. “Finding solace here as well?” His voice was weak, partly through the sentence it wheezed and cracked.

“You can't conceive, nor can I, the appalling strangeness of the mercy of the Force.” His master had told him that. It was not her words, someone had quoted it to her and they had quoted it from someone else. A lot of mantras in the Jedi order seemed to have existed since the dawn of time. It made sense. They might have a higher calling to serve, but in the end it was too something beyond them. A force that bound them all together and was merciful in doing so when it seemed incomprehensible. Doubts were a mortal thing.

It was an easy thing to accept in an echo chamber where everyone at their core held the same belief. At some point Llewyn had stepped out of it and all those things that had once been mercy had turned into vindictiveness. People had died and the blood was on his hands. It was him people looked at it, their eyes filled with grief and anguish and anger. He was the one who couldn’t sleep, but was expected to get up the next day and do it all again.

In the wake of Bail death Llewyn had no tears left to cry. Instead he raged. Haec credam a deo pio? A deo justo?  A deo scito? Cruciatus in crucem. Tuus in terra servus, nuntius fui; officium perfeci. He thought over and over again. No one answered. Anger led to the dark side, but Llewyn couldn’t give that either. The force had mined him hollow, there was nothing left to find.

He paused when he saw Jezha. He made no attempt to hide that he was crying, it wasn’t the first time Llewyn had seen it. A decade or so ago this would be the moment in which Llewyn would comfort him, there was no one more soft hearted than him. The composites of the self was being the person anyone need him to be at any given time. Llewyn was not something like that.

“Something like that.” He raised a brow, “How long have you been in here?”

[llewynalarcon-blog]

\knighthimself‌:

Maybe lucky for both of them, Mathias didn’t believe in heroes, in idolizing someone. Once, of course he would have. As a child. When there were only stories of Rishla and Llewyn and Anakin back in the Creche. When there could have been heroes. (You don’t idolize the men that put knives in your hand, tell you just the ways to stay alive, and don’t tell it out of their fucking ass goodness of their hearts. Mathias learned to fight so someone could get their moneys worth. Nothing noble, like he thinks Llewyn learned for.) If Mathias could hear Llewyn’s thoughts, however, he’d disagree. It is not planning that makes one great, but the unpredictability. The unknown. They’re knights for different eras. 

Still flipping the knife in his hand—a cycle of balancing the blade on his finger before tossing it in the air, catching it again and again, mindless, practiced. “Should I ask which one of us left the Creche, Alacrón,” playful.

Mathias continues unperturbed by Llewyn’s avoidance of him, more the younger just about prefers this. To be half seen. Laughing when Llewyn speaks again, and Matt just shrugs, unbothered, his actions fueled by slippery fingers and a stupid sense of humor, and maybe a collection to build. He did the same in diners.

“Did you come here just to hold them close or did you hope to spar?” The quarterstaffs in Llewyn’s hand. “You can’t really train by practicing alone,” half a beat, “Unless you use a droid, but they’re not very good for that.” 

Llewyn continued to spin the staff slowly in hand unintentionally in sync with the flip of Mathais’ knife. He had no doubt he was enjoying their pseudo back and forth repertoire. It was insulting to say that he knew men just like him, but he recognized the energy. He couldn’t remember if he had ever been like that, not only blatantly not reading the room — or rather ignored it and plowed forward — but thrived off the divisiveness, being half watched if at all. 

Possibly. He had been nothing and many things simultaneously. All of them him except for when it wasn’t. 

At Mathias question and advice Llewyn shook his head with an amused smile on his face. There were too many people who were getting in the habit of telling him what he already knew. 

Twenty years ago there had been whole months where he was left in a training room alone. Not because people didn’t want to fight or were afraid of losing. There just came a point where a  overworked and clearly grief stricken twenty-two year old begging anyone who came in radius in him to fight went from humorous and egotistical to a desperate call for help they didn’t know how to answer. He had just become a knight and  made bigger mistakes than he ever made as a padawan. One person died for it. One too many. So he pushed himself to his breaking point and then pushed harder. If no one wanted to help, Llewyn would do it alone.

He was older now and grown beyond the excessive behavior. 

“I’m touched by your concern.” Llewyn moved the staff from one hand to the other. “Is that your way of offering.”

[llewynalarcon-blog]

PLOTTING CALL: THE RETURN

Before:

The golden rule: never make the same mistake twice. The mistake: losing your conviction, forgetting yourself. The solution: remember why you are there and evaluate the terms and conditions of the agreement.

Jedha and the subsequent consequences reminded Llewyn he is here first and foremost because he is indebted to the people who asked. He helps the rebels and they promise that when it’s over he’ll never have to see all this again. It might not be enough to settle the tab, but they’ll call it even. For a moment he had caved to his weaker nature ( “you can take the man out of the jedi order, but you can’t take the jedi teachings out the man.” ) but now his core desire is rock solid. He just got his head above water, he will not let them drown him again.

His skillset is best suited for Coruscant so that is where Llewyn will go. ( or maybe it’s because that’s where Caerus would want him to go).

During:

Llewyn has always been a better spy than a fighter, one did not earn the name phantom from standing triumphantly in the light. He has always been more comfortable walking silently in the dark and waiting patiently in the shadows. Always just out of focus. 

His eyes are always focused straight ahead. This stopped being his home long before its destruction. His fist might be clenched tightly, but this place means nothing to him anymore. They need him to get through barriers— fine, he has never known the concept of them to begin with. They need Intel and he always has one ear pressed to the wall. He is not their leader anymore, never wanted to be in the first, he is smoke passing through their fingers. There is nothing tangible about him. These ruins might be haunted, but so is he. ( put your legends and fairy tales always; he is folklore, a horror story.)

Aftermath:

Llewyn Alacron doesn’t fail— the mission is a success and he played his part. For a brief moment he is alone. He is smarter than any impulse that might want him to break away. To try and find someone who isn’t there. ( It’s not his part of the city and even if it was nothing good would come of meeting again. Still, something has him by the heart strings, trying to tug him in a new direction.)

Llewyn spends the entire trip to Yavin IV with his eyes closed. His mind starts to wander, trying to conjure up all the names and faces that he would have seen if they had not been wiped out. He did his mourning, grieved for a life time. But now he is hollowed out, there are no more tears left to cry. Nothing more for him to give. Instead he counts as high as he can and pretends to sleep in hopes that the real thing will come.

When they return Llewyn walks straight to the bathroom and begins to wash his hand raw, staring blankly at his reflection. He dries his hands and watches the blood flow down the drain. Then he begins again. He will stay for as long as it takes.

[llewynalarcon-blog]

John Cho in Columbus (2017)