|Allana Solo (sanguinesolo) wrote in wariscoming,|
@ 2011-09-30 10:33:00
|Entry tags:||allana solo, kon-el/superboy|
Who: Allana and Kon
When: Ten minutes from this this comment
Where: Shop closed for repairs about a block from the complex
What: Seeing if Kon is really Kon
Warnings: Nothing yet! Maybe some Star Wars cursing and mild violence? Because seriously, you call that being careful Kon?!
Allana had sprinted down the stairs, only to slow to a walk at the entrance to the lobby, inborn Hapan grace making the transition look more natural than it had any right to. There was a moment of déjà-vu so strong it almost stopped her in her tracks as she passed one of the chairs scattered around the waiting area, and it was only as she reached the door of the complex that she realized what she was remembering – the first mission they’d gone on together, the killiks. He’d teased her about how slow she’d be getting down to the lobby and, irritated and competitive and not sure why any of it was rankling so much, she’d sprinted down the stairs, only to slow to a walk as she came into view. She’d known she’d be later than him, but she’d wanted to be there sooner than he’d be expected. It was the same now, the hurry, the knowledge that he could always beat her from point A to point B, but the need to get there before he’d be expecting her. The same, but terribly different, the competitive desire to catch him off guard turned into a tactical need, and Kon turned into…
She wasn’t sure, really, what this was. A demon with his phone maybe, wanting to lure them out one by one. A particularly sinister alternate who had looked over his sent messages. It can’t be him, she told herself as she stepped out into the suddenly crisp fall air (a cold front had moved through while she’d been gone, scouring away the unseasonably warm weather, and she hadn’t even noticed until now how much things had changed). It can’t be repeated over and over in her mind as she moved her hand to the lightsaber at her belt and twitched her shoulders slightly, as if her muscles remembered what her mind still balked away from, the endlessness, unchanging nature, of the effort it had taken between herself and the Force to carry a body from the place where it lay back to the complex. It didn’t feel like a week ago, it didn’t even feel over, as if at any moment someone would tell her that she’d rested long enough, and that she should really begin again, and she would nod and shoulder her burden and start walking.
It felt like it would never be over, but she didn’t mind, because it felt less like he was gone. It was why she’d been grateful that they’d waited to hold the funeral until she was back in Lawrence, the real reason, underneath the professed gratitude for an acknowledgment of the fact that she deserved a say and a chance to say goodbye. As long as people were still doing things because of him, making plans, saying his name, he would be less gone, not alive but not yet really dead. It kept her preserved in the state of icy calm she’d frozen into when she’d felt him die, prevented her from moving on into acknowledgment and grief. Uncle Luke would tell me to let go, she thought, and in the next moment was arguing back to a man who wasn’t even there, or not the right version of him anyway, but I can’t yet, I have to take care of this first. I just have to take care of things.
When she reached the shop she pushed through the door and, keeping her back to the wall, edged a few steps to the left, and looked around. The place had been a flower shop, the place where Daisy had gotten her name when she’d eagerly reached out with her muzzle to reach for a pot of her namesake flowers. A pipe had burst a few weeks ago, completely apart from demonic activity or kryptonian fights, and the owner had closed the place for repairs that, with the chaos of the past few weeks, had not yet been completed. Now, in the gloom of the time just before dawn, the entire place was dim and dank and smelled vaguely of the mold that was eating at the wood floors.
“Well,” Allana said into the silence, not sure if he was there yet, whoever “he” was, “if you’re here then come forward. I’d like to get this over with.” Her voice was carefully, calmly controlled. Not so different, though she couldn’t have known it, than the voice of her alternate self who had so recently returned to Hapes.