Skywalker apartment [evening]
Anakin knew something was wrong the minute he opened the door to the apartment and Rory wasn't there and hadn't left a note.
He told himself not to panic as he paced back and forth across the floor of their living room. That advice lasted as long as he could repress the visions he'd had of Rory being taken from popping into his head (longest amount of time: three minutes), and wasn't helped at all by memories of Mustafar that kept intruding as well.
"This can't happen again," he muttered to himself in increasingly panicky tones. "I won't let it."
Fear led to anger. Anger led to hate. Hate led to the dark side. And as Anakin attempted to wear a hole into his floor, he fought as hard as he knew how to stop history from repeating.
He could feel that Rory was still alive, but he was being blocked from discovering exactly where she was. And so he paced, anger and fear bubbling over into the Force (he had more important things to worry about than if he was giving any psychics nearby screaming migraines), and waited for whoever was holding his wife to make a mistake that would lead him to where they were.
Because, no, for him it didn't matter how many people might be in the way, or who they were, or what they might have planned. He was Anakin Skywalker, and saving the day was what he did. He just had to figure out how, and thinking under pressure had never been, well, his thing.
The night wore on, and Anakin kept pacing.
[OOC: NFB due to distance, natch. Wouldn't recommend calling, either...]
He told himself not to panic as he paced back and forth across the floor of their living room. That advice lasted as long as he could repress the visions he'd had of Rory being taken from popping into his head (longest amount of time: three minutes), and wasn't helped at all by memories of Mustafar that kept intruding as well.
"This can't happen again," he muttered to himself in increasingly panicky tones. "I won't let it."
Fear led to anger. Anger led to hate. Hate led to the dark side. And as Anakin attempted to wear a hole into his floor, he fought as hard as he knew how to stop history from repeating.
He could feel that Rory was still alive, but he was being blocked from discovering exactly where she was. And so he paced, anger and fear bubbling over into the Force (he had more important things to worry about than if he was giving any psychics nearby screaming migraines), and waited for whoever was holding his wife to make a mistake that would lead him to where they were.
Because, no, for him it didn't matter how many people might be in the way, or who they were, or what they might have planned. He was Anakin Skywalker, and saving the day was what he did. He just had to figure out how, and thinking under pressure had never been, well, his thing.
The night wore on, and Anakin kept pacing.
[OOC: NFB due to distance, natch. Wouldn't recommend calling, either...]