(no subject)
Characters: Rogue/Wedge Antilles, solo unless Biggs/Hobbie Klivian wants to jump in.
Date/Time: Backdated; early afternoon of May 18th
Location: Wilderness - Hollywood Studios - Star Tours.
Rating: G
Summary: Rogue finds an attraction that pings him furiously.
Rogue walked through the one area he absolutely hadn't touched yet: part of the Hollywood Studios labeled Echo Lake. He was starting to get tired of Disneyworld, starting to itch for sky under his feet - but then, he'd predicted he would, and that was why he'd paced himself while exploring.
There was something ahead. Rogue stopped dead in his tracks, squinting, and the sense of alarm faded. Cautiously he approached what was more and more obviously a fake machine. Something that intermittently fired cool mist out over the crowd from what looked like, but clearly weren't, blaster cannons. It was some kind of a walker, and huge.
Rogue stared long and hard at it. He walked back and forth to catch it from different angles. Took out his datapad and scribbled sketches of it on the screen, saving them on the card where he put everything that looked familiar. It was familiar, and something he didn't like, but the fact that he could see that it was a fake did keep him centered.
There was a sign on a wall next to the thing. "Star Tours," he read out loud. "Right..." The attraction looked like a spaceport terminal, taking passengers to the forest moon Endor. Or so it claimed to be. He hadn't seen anything like that outside - it must be another simulation.
Endor. The word almost twanged, made him force himself to keep from shuddering. He knew it. He knew the word, he just couldn't place it, and trying to work out how he knew, what had happened there, was disquieting and unpleasant, yet he couldn't stop from doing it.
Almost everything he saw while in line struck a chord like that, some weak, others strong. Fishlike people in a control room, who seemed to be of the same species as one of the women he'd seen in a dream. Many models of droids. Posters advertising travel to various other worlds. A protocol droid, golden except for half of a silver leg, prissily bantering with a smaller, nonhumanoid droid that whistled and beeped like Mynock. More than once, mannequin security had to show up and urge him along, though at least they didn't seem to want to arrest him.
He was ushered along with a number of mannequin tourists into a primitive simulator disguised as a starship, and sat down. If he hadn't known it was a simulator, and if the effect of being in a box that was tilted and jostled about had really been able to fool him, he would have been absolutely appalled at the droid pilot. He probably would have tried to take over, despite how nonintuitive the controls were.
When it was over, he came out with a thoughtful expression. The droid captain's designation was REX, but it didn't seem all that familiar. R2-D2 and C-3PO, now, and a lot of the rest... that was an entirely different kettle of Giju. The group took him past a closed gift shop labeled Tatooine Traders, and after some peering he realized that there were a lot of rough similarities to the structure of the city in the desert which the Wilderness had been, some time ago. Also food for thought.
He went through the que again, this time finding that the voice on the intercom repeated the same set of lines, as did C-3PO. All of the moving droids moved in the same ways. That facsimile of realism broke down. This time, in the simulator, he paid closer attention to what was happening, noticing new details like the music. After that he went again, and the third time, he sketched and took notes on his datapad.
When he had experienced the attraction three times, Rogue headed directly for the 'fresher, nonsensically called a "rest room", where he locked himself into the handicapped stall. Mannequins rarely went in the 'freshers. No need, he supposed.
There, Rogue took his coat off to get at the inside. On the back there was a huge, flapped pocket he'd paid someone to stitch, bulging like some kind of padding. He undid the flap and pulled out a folded uniform. The same uniform, in fact, that the plastic staff here wore when repairing the attractions. He'd swiped it within a few days of settling into this Wilderness, when he'd found some kind of locker room. It fit well enough, even if it bulged a little over the holster of his blaster pistol.
Coming out, he looked at himself in the mirror and saw - Rogue Leader in maintenance coveralls, the coat left on a hook inside the stall. He sighed to himself. He and disguises, apparently, didn't go together. But a few days ago he'd found that this fooled the mannequins quite well, letting him head into staff areas and maintenance hatches without security collecting him. No doubt even they would notice if he did something particularly suspicious, but he hadn't so far.
And he went back, again, and this time he went where he wasn't supposed to go. He acted like he belonged, and he wasn't stopped. There were places in and around the attraction which entirely dropped the facade. In one of them, lying dusty on the floor, he found a tiny plastic man. For a moment he feared that there were miniature mannequins around that he'd never seen before, but no. It was a toy.
More than that, it was a toy with a sculpted version of the orange flightsuit Rogue had worn in his dreams. It held a plastic lightsaber with a blue blade, and its face... It was sculpted plastic, distorted, a few details painted on, but it seemed familiar somehow. He pocketed it.
Finally, he went back to the 'fresher and put his coat on over the uniform, then took out his journal. Taped to the cover was a small square cut from the margins of an older, mostly blank entry. He wrote on the square in very cramped letters, most words abbreviated. Biggs had taped the equivalent square on his cover, he knew, and would see it before long. He had to see this too.
Date/Time: Backdated; early afternoon of May 18th
Location: Wilderness - Hollywood Studios - Star Tours.
Rating: G
Summary: Rogue finds an attraction that pings him furiously.
Rogue walked through the one area he absolutely hadn't touched yet: part of the Hollywood Studios labeled Echo Lake. He was starting to get tired of Disneyworld, starting to itch for sky under his feet - but then, he'd predicted he would, and that was why he'd paced himself while exploring.
There was something ahead. Rogue stopped dead in his tracks, squinting, and the sense of alarm faded. Cautiously he approached what was more and more obviously a fake machine. Something that intermittently fired cool mist out over the crowd from what looked like, but clearly weren't, blaster cannons. It was some kind of a walker, and huge.
Rogue stared long and hard at it. He walked back and forth to catch it from different angles. Took out his datapad and scribbled sketches of it on the screen, saving them on the card where he put everything that looked familiar. It was familiar, and something he didn't like, but the fact that he could see that it was a fake did keep him centered.
There was a sign on a wall next to the thing. "Star Tours," he read out loud. "Right..." The attraction looked like a spaceport terminal, taking passengers to the forest moon Endor. Or so it claimed to be. He hadn't seen anything like that outside - it must be another simulation.
Endor. The word almost twanged, made him force himself to keep from shuddering. He knew it. He knew the word, he just couldn't place it, and trying to work out how he knew, what had happened there, was disquieting and unpleasant, yet he couldn't stop from doing it.
Almost everything he saw while in line struck a chord like that, some weak, others strong. Fishlike people in a control room, who seemed to be of the same species as one of the women he'd seen in a dream. Many models of droids. Posters advertising travel to various other worlds. A protocol droid, golden except for half of a silver leg, prissily bantering with a smaller, nonhumanoid droid that whistled and beeped like Mynock. More than once, mannequin security had to show up and urge him along, though at least they didn't seem to want to arrest him.
He was ushered along with a number of mannequin tourists into a primitive simulator disguised as a starship, and sat down. If he hadn't known it was a simulator, and if the effect of being in a box that was tilted and jostled about had really been able to fool him, he would have been absolutely appalled at the droid pilot. He probably would have tried to take over, despite how nonintuitive the controls were.
When it was over, he came out with a thoughtful expression. The droid captain's designation was REX, but it didn't seem all that familiar. R2-D2 and C-3PO, now, and a lot of the rest... that was an entirely different kettle of Giju. The group took him past a closed gift shop labeled Tatooine Traders, and after some peering he realized that there were a lot of rough similarities to the structure of the city in the desert which the Wilderness had been, some time ago. Also food for thought.
He went through the que again, this time finding that the voice on the intercom repeated the same set of lines, as did C-3PO. All of the moving droids moved in the same ways. That facsimile of realism broke down. This time, in the simulator, he paid closer attention to what was happening, noticing new details like the music. After that he went again, and the third time, he sketched and took notes on his datapad.
When he had experienced the attraction three times, Rogue headed directly for the 'fresher, nonsensically called a "rest room", where he locked himself into the handicapped stall. Mannequins rarely went in the 'freshers. No need, he supposed.
There, Rogue took his coat off to get at the inside. On the back there was a huge, flapped pocket he'd paid someone to stitch, bulging like some kind of padding. He undid the flap and pulled out a folded uniform. The same uniform, in fact, that the plastic staff here wore when repairing the attractions. He'd swiped it within a few days of settling into this Wilderness, when he'd found some kind of locker room. It fit well enough, even if it bulged a little over the holster of his blaster pistol.
Coming out, he looked at himself in the mirror and saw - Rogue Leader in maintenance coveralls, the coat left on a hook inside the stall. He sighed to himself. He and disguises, apparently, didn't go together. But a few days ago he'd found that this fooled the mannequins quite well, letting him head into staff areas and maintenance hatches without security collecting him. No doubt even they would notice if he did something particularly suspicious, but he hadn't so far.
And he went back, again, and this time he went where he wasn't supposed to go. He acted like he belonged, and he wasn't stopped. There were places in and around the attraction which entirely dropped the facade. In one of them, lying dusty on the floor, he found a tiny plastic man. For a moment he feared that there were miniature mannequins around that he'd never seen before, but no. It was a toy.
More than that, it was a toy with a sculpted version of the orange flightsuit Rogue had worn in his dreams. It held a plastic lightsaber with a blue blade, and its face... It was sculpted plastic, distorted, a few details painted on, but it seemed familiar somehow. He pocketed it.
Finally, he went back to the 'fresher and put his coat on over the uniform, then took out his journal. Taped to the cover was a small square cut from the margins of an older, mostly blank entry. He wrote on the square in very cramped letters, most words abbreviated. Biggs had taped the equivalent square on his cover, he knew, and would see it before long. He had to see this too.