[ Surprise filters through from Dokja's end of the Communion. It's a lot more time than he would have imagined, though maybe it's just his own sense of urgency to unearth whatever mysteries hide in the shadows of Springstar. He's never been the especially patient kind, after all, and when he thinks about it, there's really not that much he has to take care of before the assigned meet up.
He'll make sure there's plenty to eat at home for Gray, and she'll no doubt take good care of the dog Eustace left behind. As for goodbyes for the others, he's never really been one for them. ]
I'll let you know when I get there. And Cassian.
[ Dokja calls the name with a light, cheerful tone. At complete odds with this deal they've found themselves in. But hadn't he already told Cassian once? This doesn't change anything between them. ]
It must have been difficult for you, but don't worry too much, okay? I'm the right person for this.
[ he should correct the time, doesn't. couldn't say why he doesn't. if he were smart, he'd be planning to head out to springstar right now and catch dokja off-guard. take the shard, drop it off, tell john and the people at obmen that it's done. get his information, keep moving. he could do it. he's been that underhanded and worse. he could do it, should do it. captain andor of rebel intelligence has only flinched from a job once.
he should do it.
and then he's genuinely startled by the brightness of dokja's tone, casting light on his name. calling out to him like a friend, like this conversation isn't what it is. (like cassian isn't what he is.) he doesn't even think to mask it, caught off-guard as he is. and then dokja reassures him, and he
[ Funny how a response like this only serves to comfort Dokja who has no idea how to deal with outward kindness. There's a knowing smile left on his face when the connection is severed, and then he goes about getting his affairs in order.
The next day sees Dokja at the promised location, seated atop a large pile of rubble from what used to be the Theater. He sends a quick I'm here to Cassian through Communion, then leans back on his hands, casting his gaze upward to stare at the night sky. He doesn't spend much, if any, time in Highstorm, so this is a change in pace from the sunny skies of Springstar. How interesting, he thinks, that his gaze doesn't shy away from the stars like it would have months ago.
When Cassian shows up, he'll notice that Dokja doesn't have much on him. Just the clothes on his back, no weapon in sight, and looking very much unbothered by what's about to transpire. Whatever the requirements had been for being placed on that list, it's hard to believe that it would name... just a guy.
Then again, there are a few people as fucked up as Dokja with him treating this like any other day. Maybe "just a guy" isn't quite right. ]
[ too much time. cassian gave them both too much time.
it's enough time to go home and ruin things with jyn. it's enough time to roam the streets of highstorm, of kowloon, with a gnawing sense of wrongness overtaking his usual cool efficiency. he'd felt this way before; he recognizes it. back on eadu, when he'd pulled out his sniper rifle and been unable to shoot galen erso.
orders? when you know they're wrong? you might as well be a stormtrooper.
jyn had condemned him then, and maybe she'd been right to. it's impossible to imagine she wouldn't condemn him now, if she knew. but she doesn't know, so it doesn't matter. nothing does matter, except that cassian will be able to fulfill his end of the bargain and get the forceforsaken information he'd asked for. how many times has he paid for criticial intel with blood and lives? more than he could possibly ever count. so he needs to remember that,
because he can't fail now, like he had on eadu. he can't fail, as in deep as he is now. this can't all be for nothing.
so he also has enough time to take his blaster apart and clean it, slow and painstaking, till it gleams. make sure the power pack is full enough (unnecessary, he only needs one shot); and note that he will want to recharge it, likely soon. he has enough time to, slow and painstaking, take every single emotion inside of his chest and lock it somewhere dark. his hands need to be steady for this. he has to do it right.
cassian arrives not long after dokja, who receives a faint ripple of affirmation in response to his communion. no words, just the equivalent of a read receipt. dokja can likely hear the sound of footsteps behind him, and then a pause that stretches for a long moment...before cassian crouches near him. there's a blaster at his thigh, the only visible weapon.
(the only visible weapon.) ]
I thought you'd change your mind.
[ is not exactly true. is not exactly false, with the certainty dokja had demonstrated when they spoke. it's ironic that dokja is the more relaxed, of the two of them. cassian, as in communion, is wound so tight as to be nearly expressionless. ]
[ It looks as though his words hadn't been enough, Dokja thinks as he turns at the sound of approaching footsteps and catches sight of Cassian's expressionless face. It's concern that once again springs to the forefront of his thoughts as Dokja pushes himself off of the pile of rubble and into a stand to better face the other man. This is a familiar position for him, on the precipice of his eventual death, but this time is a bit different. For once, Dokja finds his thoughts drifting into a territory he'd rarely ventured toward in the past, the mental soundness and well-being of the person tasked with killing him.
He'd always burdened others with it, never stuck around to see the aftermath or the toll extinguishing another's existence would take, because that had never been important to him. Dokja, who could snuff out a life and think nothing of it, struggles to place himself in Cassian's position despite never having taken the time to do anything like it before.
A lot has changed since then. People have asked him to look at them, really look at them, and so he tries to do so now. ]
Cassian, [ he starts, eyebrows drawing together as his gaze momentarily drifts lower to the weapon he can see before they lift back up. ] I meant what I said.
[ He's a liar, but only in situations where he deems it necessary. This isn't one of those times. Maybe it would have been easier if he'd put up a fight, made a mockery of the plan, goaded Cassian into doing what's normally the unthinkable, but it's too late now, isn't it? All they can do now is go through with it.
And if this really does turn out to be the end, then he's fine with that. He's lived his story, made sure the others could do the same, and managed to draw out some extra time in what should have been the conclusions. He's... lived long enough, over twenty-one thousand years, in fact, and death doesn't scare him. It never has.
He does, however, have one last request. ]
Make it quick?
[ The slow deaths are the ones he's never been fond of. ]
[ ironic that dokja has now learned to look, when cassian least wants to be seen. cassian andor is a spy; and even before that, for years, he was a thief and a con artist and a hidden last survivor of a doomed planet. he has skirted to the shadows since before he was 10, because to be noticed was to be in danger. to be seen has nearly always been synonymous to death, for him, if not pain. and so there is a part of him that wishes dokja wouldn't turn and face him, look at him, now. he'd wish that all the more if he had any idea that dokja were imagining ways this could've been easier for cassian.
it shouldn't be easy. that's the point, isn't it? no one decent would find a thing like this easy, or doable. just the thought should be reprehensible. but they stand here now, and i meant what i said, and cassian thinks,
well. he thinks, so did i.
so his hand finds his blaster and he draws, pointing it at dokja. that isn't the last request he'd expected, but maybe he should have. no one wants to suffer. even cassian had been granted the grace of a quick death on scarif, when his broken body would've lingered and faded painfully. he breathes out, and he nods, visibly, meeting dokja's eyes. and then he fires, a flash of red light from the plasma bolt.
his aim is true. it always is. it's not until after, that his hands start shaking. ]
[ They always say that a person's life flashes before their eyes right before they go, but Dokja's never found that to be true for himself. Maybe it's because his life has always been one mired in misery and regrets, of losses and hopelessness. It's not his life that he wants to think about in his last moments, but the people.
He'd been the right person for this, he had told Cassian. A permanent death wouldn't matter, he has nothing left to tether him to this world. He's the person with the least to lose, all the people who would have mourned him now far away living out the rest of their lives. It's not the suicidal urges, once so devastatingly strong, that counsel him to do this. It's the pragmaticism, the convenience, the necessity. The desire to see no one else but himself in this position.
... So then why is it that he feels like a liar when Cassian draws his blaster? Why is it that, when the weapon is raised, when their eyes meet, Dokja can't help but think, hope, that this won't be the end for him. It would be nice if he could see Han Sooyoung, Yoo Joonghyuk, and Eustace again someday, a final thought that flickers for just an agonizing second before it's vanished when Cassian heeds his request.
By the time he falls, he's already gone.
It doesn't take very long for Dokja to dissipate, and in place of his body is a pale, milky white Shard. ]
[ cassian watches dokja fall. he watches the body slowly shimmer and give way like smoke, until there's nothing left but a shard on the ground.
he's never seen someone dissipate before. he doesn't expect it to feel any different than any other assassination, and it doesn't. the most important things are all the same, aren't they? he pulls the trigger; they die. and just like always, the job doesn't end there. he slowly reholsters his blaster (it takes two tries) and then steps up to the shard, picks it up off the ground (three tries), before pocketing it. he'd chosen this location before it wasn't too far from the drop off spot; it'll be a short hike there, and then a longer trip to kowloon to inform the information brokers that the job's been done.
and then,
he and john will get the information they wanted. there will be more work to do, after that; there always is. he has to ensure that this was worth it. that he does the most he can with what's been paid today. but that, too, is something familiar. this line of questioning, this price it's exacted, has been all that he's lived and breathed for the last five years with the rebellion. he knows this like his own heartbeat.
and, in the end, it's all he's really good for, anyway. ]
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no subject
He'll make sure there's plenty to eat at home for Gray, and she'll no doubt take good care of the dog Eustace left behind. As for goodbyes for the others, he's never really been one for them. ]
I'll let you know when I get there. And Cassian.
[ Dokja calls the name with a light, cheerful tone. At complete odds with this deal they've found themselves in. But hadn't he already told Cassian once? This doesn't change anything between them. ]
It must have been difficult for you, but don't worry too much, okay? I'm the right person for this.
no subject
he should do it.
and then he's genuinely startled by the brightness of dokja's tone, casting light on his name. calling out to him like a friend, like this conversation isn't what it is. (like cassian isn't what he is.) he doesn't even think to mask it, caught off-guard as he is. and then dokja reassures him, and he
says, cold, ]
Just don't be late.
[ and ends the connection, sharply. ]
> action
The next day sees Dokja at the promised location, seated atop a large pile of rubble from what used to be the Theater. He sends a quick I'm here to Cassian through Communion, then leans back on his hands, casting his gaze upward to stare at the night sky. He doesn't spend much, if any, time in Highstorm, so this is a change in pace from the sunny skies of Springstar. How interesting, he thinks, that his gaze doesn't shy away from the stars like it would have months ago.
When Cassian shows up, he'll notice that Dokja doesn't have much on him. Just the clothes on his back, no weapon in sight, and looking very much unbothered by what's about to transpire. Whatever the requirements had been for being placed on that list, it's hard to believe that it would name... just a guy.
Then again, there are a few people as fucked up as Dokja with him treating this like any other day. Maybe "just a guy" isn't quite right. ]
no subject
it's enough time to go home and ruin things with jyn. it's enough time to roam the streets of highstorm, of kowloon, with a gnawing sense of wrongness overtaking his usual cool efficiency. he'd felt this way before; he recognizes it. back on eadu, when he'd pulled out his sniper rifle and been unable to shoot galen erso.
orders? when you know they're wrong? you might as well be a stormtrooper.
jyn had condemned him then, and maybe she'd been right to. it's impossible to imagine she wouldn't condemn him now, if she knew. but she doesn't know, so it doesn't matter. nothing does matter, except that cassian will be able to fulfill his end of the bargain and get the forceforsaken information he'd asked for. how many times has he paid for criticial intel with blood and lives? more than he could possibly ever count. so he needs to remember that,
because he can't fail now, like he had on eadu. he can't fail, as in deep as he is now. this can't all be for nothing.
so he also has enough time to take his blaster apart and clean it, slow and painstaking, till it gleams. make sure the power pack is full enough (unnecessary, he only needs one shot); and note that he will want to recharge it, likely soon. he has enough time to, slow and painstaking, take every single emotion inside of his chest and lock it somewhere dark. his hands need to be steady for this. he has to do it right.
cassian arrives not long after dokja, who receives a faint ripple of affirmation in response to his communion. no words, just the equivalent of a read receipt. dokja can likely hear the sound of footsteps behind him, and then a pause that stretches for a long moment...before cassian crouches near him. there's a blaster at his thigh, the only visible weapon.
(the only visible weapon.) ]
I thought you'd change your mind.
[ is not exactly true. is not exactly false, with the certainty dokja had demonstrated when they spoke. it's ironic that dokja is the more relaxed, of the two of them. cassian, as in communion, is wound so tight as to be nearly expressionless. ]
no subject
He'd always burdened others with it, never stuck around to see the aftermath or the toll extinguishing another's existence would take, because that had never been important to him. Dokja, who could snuff out a life and think nothing of it, struggles to place himself in Cassian's position despite never having taken the time to do anything like it before.
A lot has changed since then. People have asked him to look at them, really look at them, and so he tries to do so now. ]
Cassian, [ he starts, eyebrows drawing together as his gaze momentarily drifts lower to the weapon he can see before they lift back up. ] I meant what I said.
[ He's a liar, but only in situations where he deems it necessary. This isn't one of those times. Maybe it would have been easier if he'd put up a fight, made a mockery of the plan, goaded Cassian into doing what's normally the unthinkable, but it's too late now, isn't it? All they can do now is go through with it.
And if this really does turn out to be the end, then he's fine with that. He's lived his story, made sure the others could do the same, and managed to draw out some extra time in what should have been the conclusions. He's... lived long enough, over twenty-one thousand years, in fact, and death doesn't scare him. It never has.
He does, however, have one last request. ]
Make it quick?
[ The slow deaths are the ones he's never been fond of. ]
no subject
it shouldn't be easy. that's the point, isn't it? no one decent would find a thing like this easy, or doable. just the thought should be reprehensible. but they stand here now, and i meant what i said, and cassian thinks,
well. he thinks, so did i.
so his hand finds his blaster and he draws, pointing it at dokja. that isn't the last request he'd expected, but maybe he should have. no one wants to suffer. even cassian had been granted the grace of a quick death on scarif, when his broken body would've lingered and faded painfully. he breathes out, and he nods, visibly, meeting dokja's eyes. and then he fires, a flash of red light from the plasma bolt.
his aim is true. it always is. it's not until after, that his hands start shaking. ]
no subject
He'd been the right person for this, he had told Cassian. A permanent death wouldn't matter, he has nothing left to tether him to this world. He's the person with the least to lose, all the people who would have mourned him now far away living out the rest of their lives. It's not the suicidal urges, once so devastatingly strong, that counsel him to do this. It's the pragmaticism, the convenience, the necessity. The desire to see no one else but himself in this position.
... So then why is it that he feels like a liar when Cassian draws his blaster? Why is it that, when the weapon is raised, when their eyes meet, Dokja can't help but think, hope, that this won't be the end for him. It would be nice if he could see Han Sooyoung, Yoo Joonghyuk, and Eustace again someday, a final thought that flickers for just an agonizing second before it's vanished when Cassian heeds his request.
By the time he falls, he's already gone.
It doesn't take very long for Dokja to dissipate, and in place of his body is a pale, milky white Shard. ]
no subject
he's never seen someone dissipate before. he doesn't expect it to feel any different than any other assassination, and it doesn't. the most important things are all the same, aren't they? he pulls the trigger; they die. and just like always, the job doesn't end there. he slowly reholsters his blaster (it takes two tries) and then steps up to the shard, picks it up off the ground (three tries), before pocketing it. he'd chosen this location before it wasn't too far from the drop off spot; it'll be a short hike there, and then a longer trip to kowloon to inform the information brokers that the job's been done.
and then,
he and john will get the information they wanted. there will be more work to do, after that; there always is. he has to ensure that this was worth it. that he does the most he can with what's been paid today. but that, too, is something familiar. this line of questioning, this price it's exacted, has been all that he's lived and breathed for the last five years with the rebellion. he knows this like his own heartbeat.
and, in the end, it's all he's really good for, anyway. ]