[it's a cruelty how, even when her projectile makes impact and causes visible discomfort and anger in her own walking nightmare, any satisfaction coming from that is so short-lived. maybe that would've always been the case — such things never have the opportunity to linger for very long, in her experience — but as she's dragged into another dream that's not hers, it's forcibly ripped away from her.
because her father's face comes into view again, much younger and somehow more gaunt than she remembers, even as his body had gone still and cold in the rain on eadu. jyn swallows, throat going tight — but there's another swell of emotion surging through the vision, too, one that's distinctly not hers.
and that, she thinks, the fact that this son of a bantha has the audacity to hold onto any kind of fucking fondness, is the worst part.
she's fast on his heels when he rises and tries to walk away, stalking forward like an animal in pursuit of prey — and practically snarling like one. the weapon she tosses this time is verbal, hissed more than it is actually spoken.]
You killed my father. [of course that isn't the whole truth, and jyn knows it; the alliance squadron had bombed the platform after an assassination order had fallen through. but she's already flung her weapons about that, and laid them to rest before she'd set foot on scarif.
these, now, need to be targeted, and they need to hurt.] You killed him, and you think you were his fucking friend. [she grabs the sleeve of his stupid coat to stop him before he can get away from these people like he wants, tipping her chin up to look at a stupid face she's never hated looking at more. her voice rises, freely, and she makes no effort to keep her voice down.] What's wrong with me? The question to fucking ask yourself is what's wrong with you?
no subject
because her father's face comes into view again, much younger and somehow more gaunt than she remembers, even as his body had gone still and cold in the rain on eadu. jyn swallows, throat going tight — but there's another swell of emotion surging through the vision, too, one that's distinctly not hers.
and that, she thinks, the fact that this son of a bantha has the audacity to hold onto any kind of fucking fondness, is the worst part.
she's fast on his heels when he rises and tries to walk away, stalking forward like an animal in pursuit of prey — and practically snarling like one. the weapon she tosses this time is verbal, hissed more than it is actually spoken.]
You killed my father. [of course that isn't the whole truth, and jyn knows it; the alliance squadron had bombed the platform after an assassination order had fallen through. but she's already flung her weapons about that, and laid them to rest before she'd set foot on scarif.
these, now, need to be targeted, and they need to hurt.] You killed him, and you think you were his fucking friend. [she grabs the sleeve of his stupid coat to stop him before he can get away from these people like he wants, tipping her chin up to look at a stupid face she's never hated looking at more. her voice rises, freely, and she makes no effort to keep her voice down.] What's wrong with me? The question to fucking ask yourself is what's wrong with you?