[ 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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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. ]