[video]

[candor1]

[He's had plenty of time to toy with this gizmo (all technical terms, thank you mental projection of Kay that's moved back into his brain now that it's not too painful because there's a real Kay again, shush), but still hasn't put himself on it for more than a brief response to Catelyn Stark.

For all his well-[founded?]-honed mistrust of open networks, it has chastened him that he could have found Jyn and Kay much more quickly if he'd used it from the start. For all the research he does, it's unignorable that he's wasting a huge amount of this powerful resource by relegating himself to observer, not participant.

…And there's one or two other imPorts he's learned about that… have caught his attention. He's wondering if he'll catch theirs.

So, network, hello: months after his arrival (albeit a good percent of them spent unconscious): Human. Male. Age hard to tell: either in his thirties-forties or face prematurely hollowed and lined. Hair: dark, cut as if by himself with a tool not meant for such use and no mirror. Eyes: several galaxies' worth. Shirt doesn't look like anything specific to those who wouldn't know the style, instantly recognizable as Corellian to those who would.

Then he smiles—in a way that seems entirely effortless, genuine, and engaged—and some of the agedness falls away. The eyes crinkle and sparkle. He seems approachable and warm. Even the haircut is transformed into seeming less unloved and more boyish. It gives this stranger the face of a friend.

His accent, when he speaks, sounds Hispanic to Earth American ears.]

I was wondering, if you're willing to share—

[on an open network, though that's not necessarily a good barometer of the network itself]

Are you still in the job you were assigned? Yes or no, how is it going for you?

I've read the introductory material on this. I'm wondering about personal experiences.

[He's tried to go beyond the official literature, including as much of the backlog as he could find or slice. Which is also why he doesn't repeat Godric's question (to which the answers were exceedingly helpful—and a few that sent a shiver up his spine. But pull it together, don't apply superstitious thought to the superstitious thoughts: that's what common cosmological models do).


As if in afterthought, and as if with self-conscious awkwardness, he adds]

…and hello. My name's Cassian.

Comments

[candor1]

[…it was the only thing that made sense, really.

Nothing so easily given couldn't be as easily taken.

He should be grateful it was given at all. This is all borrowed time.

Hadn't he felt trapped by this new prolonged existence not so long ago…

He sets the comm down on a surface where he can still look into it, but free his hands to wrap one around the other to stop it shaking.

His hand had never shaken when he'd had a blaster in them.

But there's nothing to fight now.

And he'd resolved never to pick up a blaster (or its local equivalent) again…

If he thought it would do the least amount of good over the Porters, he'd break that resolve now.

The feverish idea of smashing all the Porters comes to him. But that would likely be impossible, and get him killed even if it didnt, by the government if not by the Porters themselves since it was possible they were the things keeping all of them alive and present in this dimension, or…

You can't fight what you don't know. And not everything…

Everything can be known…

But not necessarily by every one, at every time.

…He savagely massages his shaking hand.

Does the only thing he can do at this second in time and gets it together for the sake of this other person. When he can't deal with himself, time to turn focus elsewhere.

And comes up with something reassuring for someone else that he realizes actually does make sense, and thus could potentially reassure himself.

In the absence of knowledge, sometimes you just have to settle on useful delusion. Whatever keeps you going.]

Well… if I were returned to the moment I came from, I'd be dead. The Porter saved me. I have to give it the benefit of the doubt.

[…is his presence here conditional on doing whatever the Porter wants him to do?

…or if he accomplishes whatever he's meant to do, will his role be done and he will be sent back?

…Oh Yavá.

His head is spinning.

No point in panicking so he shuts it down.

Through all this, his affect has remained calm.]

I suspect someone's been keeping track of patterns. That could be interesting to look at.

[Probably no chance of controlling the situation but will forfeit any iota of chance by not trying.

And meanwhile try not to deify the damn Porters by praying to them to let those they brought together stay together. …Like he finds himself doing right now.

He never believed in the Force for exactly this blasted reason. What is it but consolation and false hope.

…but that's what we're built on isn't it…

He can't continue this line of thought a moment longer. Changeover.

His eyes refocus like a quadnoc; any shift of expression is microscopic yet somehow tangible. He tips his head to look at the other man's image as if from a new angle. Back to socializing. No more existential blackout level… insufficient vocabulary to describe.]

I didn't catch your name?

[notyourfathersosborn]

[A solemn nod as Normie pointedly ignores the camera being put down. He had guessed that was the case, either that or he had known someone here who was dead. Still, he hadn't wanted to make the assumption.]

I'm sorry. This place... it's a prison to some, but to a lot of others, it's a second chance. I hope it's the latter for you.

[Normie thinks of the porter and wonders exactly how many imPorts keep a steady watch on it. He'd tried several times when he first arrived, but he'd never been able to get close, and that project had been abandoned so he could spend more energy on keeping tabs on old Norman.]

Of that I have no doubt... but I'm not sure who. [A pause] Though... If you want to learn more about the porter, try Kanaya Maryam. She was the one who gave me the rundown about it when I arrived. Plus, she'll probably give you straighter answers than she gave me back then.

[Considering everything his grandfather had done, the scars that were still so fresh back then, he considers it lucky she told him as much as she had.

He forces himself to smile when he sees Cassian wants to turn the conversation back to the more mundane.]

It's Normie. Normie Osborn. Nice to meet you. What town did they stick you in?

[candor1]

[it was a prison when I thought I was alone

please don't take them

don't karking talk to yourself]

Kanaya Maryam. [Name added to mental files. Triply backed up. A lead. Thank everything. Thank you. His gratitude, if still tinged with grimness, is very clear on his face and in his nod.] Thank you. I'll look her up.

[Yes, smalltalk. Sometimes it's more work, right now it's a relief.]

Hello, Normie. I'm in De Chima. You?

[notyourfathersosborn]

[Another nod, though this one accompanied with a small smile.] She's been here forever, so she can probably answer any questions you might have.

[Well, within reason of course, but he figures that goes without saying.]

Originally they put me in Nonah, but I'm also in De Chima now. If you're ever downtown a spot a building with the giant "OsCorp" down the side of it, that'd be mine.

[candor1]

[returns the smile]

Careful, I'm a professional question-asker.

[Too sugar-coatedly true.

He continues the more bantering tone for the next question:]

Hopefully because De Chima is better?

[notyourfathersosborn]

Hey now I'm not the one you have to sweet talk, remember? I've already told you all I know.

[The important parts.]

Nonah has its charms, but yes, mainly because De Chima is better. The other half was convenience since my company's here.