[ there was a time, some years after cassian had joined the rebellion, that general draven had been asked to describe him to a member of command. draven had said his record spoke for itself and had called him, above all else, tireless.
tireless is a good word for him now. since the worsening of the blight, since the encroaching destruction had begun ripping apart both cities, cassian hasn't stopped moving. there's too much to do and too few hands do it, a state of affairs he's more than used to. there's no question in his mind of avoiding the blight, as the bearers' immunity begins to wane, or reserving certain efforts for those who have factions and powers and whatever else at their disposal. he's got two strong hands, anyway, and strong legs, and a determination to do what he can. digging through the rubble to find trapped survivors, venturing into dangerous areas to retrieve supplies, seeing people taken to shelters and medical care — he can do that as well as anyone, and he does.
there is a child, today. a little boy cassian has found, following frantic pleas from his father. it had involved wading through wreckage until he found the boy clinging to precariously balanced beams amidst the rubbled remains of what might have been the building where he lived. climbing up to the child had been — doable. his heart had pounded much harder than the effort really required, his feet unsteady, his breathing faster than it should be; but he'd pushed all of that aside in favor of the boy who needed saving. and it had been worth it, when he finally made it up to the child. cassian had allowed himself the brief luxury of relief as he picked the boy up, small arms going around his neck.
but going back to the ground presented its own challenges. he could only go part of the way down without use of his arms, then with the use of one arm, the other curled protectively around the child. he'd finally had to stop, swallowed, and asked the boy — much calmer than he really felt — if he could climb the rest of the way down and wait. it's easy, see, do you think you make it? and the boy had nodded, and the boy had made his way down, and cassian had watched with a sharp gaze, not taking his eyes off the child until both small feet came in contact with the ground. cassian had called down praise, and a reminder to wait for him.
and then it'd been time for him to climb down. he has, he'd reminded himself, already successfully scaled this structure once. going down is easier than going up. but with gravity clinging to him, dragging his weight down, and with less immediacy to his goal, he finds this — harder. his hands shake, going clammy, and he has to make a conscious effort to grip hand-holds without slipping. his boots slide against the rubble more than once, and each time his heart slams against his ribs. he thinks, sternly, pull yourself together, and does not let himself remember a white-lit data vault on scarif. he makes himself go down one step, then another, and then,
→ set
tireless is a good word for him now. since the worsening of the blight, since the encroaching destruction had begun ripping apart both cities, cassian hasn't stopped moving. there's too much to do and too few hands do it, a state of affairs he's more than used to. there's no question in his mind of avoiding the blight, as the bearers' immunity begins to wane, or reserving certain efforts for those who have factions and powers and whatever else at their disposal. he's got two strong hands, anyway, and strong legs, and a determination to do what he can. digging through the rubble to find trapped survivors, venturing into dangerous areas to retrieve supplies, seeing people taken to shelters and medical care — he can do that as well as anyone, and he does.
there is a child, today. a little boy cassian has found, following frantic pleas from his father. it had involved wading through wreckage until he found the boy clinging to precariously balanced beams amidst the rubbled remains of what might have been the building where he lived. climbing up to the child had been — doable. his heart had pounded much harder than the effort really required, his feet unsteady, his breathing faster than it should be; but he'd pushed all of that aside in favor of the boy who needed saving. and it had been worth it, when he finally made it up to the child. cassian had allowed himself the brief luxury of relief as he picked the boy up, small arms going around his neck.
but going back to the ground presented its own challenges. he could only go part of the way down without use of his arms, then with the use of one arm, the other curled protectively around the child. he'd finally had to stop, swallowed, and asked the boy — much calmer than he really felt — if he could climb the rest of the way down and wait. it's easy, see, do you think you make it? and the boy had nodded, and the boy had made his way down, and cassian had watched with a sharp gaze, not taking his eyes off the child until both small feet came in contact with the ground. cassian had called down praise, and a reminder to wait for him.
and then it'd been time for him to climb down. he has, he'd reminded himself, already successfully scaled this structure once. going down is easier than going up. but with gravity clinging to him, dragging his weight down, and with less immediacy to his goal, he finds this — harder. his hands shake, going clammy, and he has to make a conscious effort to grip hand-holds without slipping. his boots slide against the rubble more than once, and each time his heart slams against his ribs. he thinks, sternly, pull yourself together, and does not let himself remember a white-lit data vault on scarif. he makes himself go down one step, then another, and then,
he slips. ]