She Whipped Her Head At The Sound Of Sparks, Growing Concerned At The New Thought That She Is Not The

She whipped her head at the sound of sparks, growing concerned at the new thought that she is not the only one in these jungles.  Talons now cleaned, she readied them as she balled up her left all black prosthetic arm into a fist, a sudden blade sprung out of the arm. The entire black prosthetic was cherished gift from her father, no longer of this world. 

With her blade in hand, she slowly crept to the bush, determined to confront rather than run away, a sense that she had yet to develop in the extended life she has. She rationalized that if her blade didn’t do the trick, then perhaps her heavy bag of treasures would do the trick. That is if she could pull off the trick so to speak.

As she became close to the bush, Shima slowly pulled the brush away. While anticipating the possible someone on the other side, there was also an unsure air she began to breath.

Sev, ever the Commando, is servicing his gun in the jungle of Kashyyyk of all places, trying not to think about having no idea what his next move is, when he hears the snapping underbrush coming towards him; he doesn’t know who it is, but the lack of Wookie noises isn’t comforting him, and he’s leaning towards the likelihood of his visitor being Droids as he quickly reassembles the blaster rifle, scopes it, and aims at the oncoming sounds.

he’s stranded here, no Republic forces remaining on planet, and uncertain of the outcome of the Battle thus far, having stayed in the woods since his being left behind by his squadmates- so he knows he’s got nothing but the fight in his bones and his wits to keep himself safe. however, luckily, he’s got plenty of both of those in his favor...

breath holds in his chest, a mausoleum of ribs and red-stained armor- he stills his finger against the trigger and squints through the visor that synchs to his sniper-scope, waiting for the indication of whether to fire or hold to explode through the bushes ahead...

sweat slides, all tickling droplets, down his hot skin under his plastoid armor, but he doesn’t waver, and doesn’t speak- his deep, snarling, gravelly voice would only serve to reveal his location, and that would not do until he’s sure of who- or what- is coming through the jungle as he waits there in the clearing.

“Hi John,” She smiled softly, understanding. She slipped into the other side of the booth easily. He’s tired, she can see that. She wondered how long he’s been running. “Yea, I decided to get out of my work clothes and wear something personal for a change, thanks.”

She’s silent, but she breaks it so that he knows why she was here.

“I...Don’t normally go looking for people,” She started to explain. “I let people try and give me an invitation, but I only go to people for business or trying to settle some old shit.”

She’s not good at opening up. Not for a century, nor is she good with feelings. Dana made it clear, and made it vocally known to Ross. But now? She wanted him to know when she held him out of a glass window at the empire state building. But she hid her rage well, because right now, someone needed kindness. 

“But you? People fucked up and you paid a horrible price when you shouldn’t have had to,” She continued as she pulled the coffee towards her.  “So I wanted to find you, because I was worried about you and frankly I don’t want you to be alone suffering in this.”

the memory is a snapshot; a diamond in the rough, a singular moment that he remembers like poetry dripping in holy metaphor. he had never before been so reverent of the path he had taken, and never would he again; all his life he had suffered to become, and that becoming, after a single divine moment, had led only to further decline. 

now, only recently released from a series of efforts to rehabilitate him so that he might be an effective apparatus for heroism again, he is being handed a new shield- not Captain Rogers’- and being told to find a path and walk it, separate from the Captain America identity now beholden to Wilson. he’s fine with that.

what he doesn’t know is who’s going to walk that path with him, so he’s sitting in a diner in Georgia instead, shield in his bag wedged into the booth beside him and staring pensively into a coffee mug at the reflection of strands of dirty blond hair he really needs to cut to stay within the strict military regulations he tries so hard to govern himself by. 

John Walker is feeling a little lost, but that’s okay. he’ll figure it out. he has to.

𝐀𝐋𝐌𝐎𝐒𝐓 𝐊𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒

Five years after the supposed death of Jim Moriarty the consulting criminal has come back to wreak havoc in London. Will you be a part of the effort to dismantle the criminal’s empire once again, an aid to his cause, or perhaps just another person just trying to get through it all and make the best of their lives? The time is now, the day is here, and London is calling.

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“Humanity First!”

Words once just spoken among drunken coworkers and friends in dingy bars, has grown into an actual plot against the aliens and metas who call Earth home. Operating in cells guided by a yet to be identified leader—the group has turned a sentiment into action. Humanity First has arrived on the scene with a bang, attacking four major locations at the same time and causing death and destruction. Can Humanity First be stopped before more damage is done?

“Obviously you’re not Sev, cause you have a name, so you that makes you as valuable as me,” She pointed out. “Don’t forget that.”

She hated that word, expendable. Her father taught her as a child that life was valuable, all of it, even the copied. That everything was part of a bigger picture and every small detail counted. He was also human given he had emotion towards his squadron. Caring that burned in his armor, even if he didn’t want to admit. There was no need to say it aloud. She could tell, that was all she needed.

“I’ve got a ship a little far from here,” She pointed out in the further depths of the jungle. She also remembered it was beyond a tribe’s territory. Hopefully, no trouble would come to pass. Though, she’d have to make sure he didn’t pass out in that armor.

“If you want, you can hitch a ride with me off this place. And from there, I could help you find your squad.” She offered/

Sev, ever the Commando, is servicing his gun in the jungle of Kashyyyk of all places, trying not to think about having no idea what his next move is, when he hears the snapping underbrush coming towards him; he doesn’t know who it is, but the lack of Wookie noises isn’t comforting him, and he’s leaning towards the likelihood of his visitor being Droids as he quickly reassembles the blaster rifle, scopes it, and aims at the oncoming sounds.

he’s stranded here, no Republic forces remaining on planet, and uncertain of the outcome of the Battle thus far, having stayed in the woods since his being left behind by his squadmates- so he knows he’s got nothing but the fight in his bones and his wits to keep himself safe. however, luckily, he’s got plenty of both of those in his favor...

breath holds in his chest, a mausoleum of ribs and red-stained armor- he stills his finger against the trigger and squints through the visor that synchs to his sniper-scope, waiting for the indication of whether to fire or hold to explode through the bushes ahead...

sweat slides, all tickling droplets, down his hot skin under his plastoid armor, but he doesn’t waver, and doesn’t speak- his deep, snarling, gravelly voice would only serve to reveal his location, and that would not do until he’s sure of who- or what- is coming through the jungle as he waits there in the clearing.

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