thecanarylives: (neutral: arms crossed)
From the moment they land, it's a blur. He's out cold when they arrive, so it's easy enough to get him to Medical and get a message to Skywalker, the Wookie, and the Princess. She spends a bit of time updating the team on his condition and checking to make sure he's stable before disappearing back to the hangar. It's easier if she's not around for the next part. Better for both of them if he wakes up to his friends and she can slip away, no questions asked.

Because once the questions start coming, their dear, sweet Rebellion isn't much going to like how she'd gotten him back.

She's arguing with the engineering about an hour later, urging them to bump her up the list to get her refueled and back into open space. The more distance she can put between them, the better.
thecanarylives: (smile: smirk)
It's been almost five years since she's been home. Feels almost wrong, somehow, coming back without seeing her dad or sister, but she keeps telling herself it's for the better. That she's nowhere near the girl they remember, and that showing up now would do a hell of a lot more damage than it would good.

Thankfully, the pleasure districts aren't exactly the kind of places her family would be mulling about, and there's little to no chance she'll be running into anyone she knows - or at least anyone that'll recognize her now.

Still, it's strange. Agreeing to meet Han here, of all places, to paint the town red is something she'd have done a long time ago - back in school when all she had to worry about was how to sneak out of the house and avoid her police officer father. And now, after all that's happened... she's not even sure she remembers how to step into a club without immediately searching for a mark to put down.

She forces the thought down, weaving her way down through the main strip and towards the bar Han had chosen as their meeting place. Most of the nightlife garb on Coruscant is traditionally pretty avante garde - headdresses, skimpy one pieces, bright makeup and jewelry and all that comes with it. Sara's kept it relatively simple in a short white dress with a neckline that plunges down to her navel and a pair of high heeled boots that stow a few knives, just in case.

She spots him fairly quickly in the crowd, nursing a drink at the bar. Grinning and weaving her way towards him, she rests her forearms on the bartop, flagging down the bartender.

"This used to be a smoke shop, you know. Got pretty close to being arrested here when I was younger."
thecanarylives: (stoic)
It's not half as glamorous as the movies make it out to be. There's no tunnel, no white light, no life flashing before your eyes. It's just... confusion. Darkness. An odd kind of peace that seems a hell of a lot easier than all the pain, the heartache, the suffering that comes with life.

But she's back. Dragged out of the silence into a world turned upside down. Still trying to figure out how and why, still trying to pick up the scattered pieces of herself and fit them back together in a way that makes any semblance of sense.

She doesn't know why she's here. Following a trail that led her to the door of a man who could just as likely break her again rather than help put her back together. She tells herself it's the only lead she has, a shot in the dark at taming this bloodlust that keeps itching at her fingertips, bleeding into her vision, twisting at her insides.

She tells herself it's necessary. Not because she wants to see him, not because she's aching to. Not because even now, after damn near a year, she can't get him out of her head.

She glances back down at her phone, double-checking the address Felicity had given her that matched the most recent image of a black Chevy Impala with the license plate she'd managed to pull from her memory.

Taking a breath, holding it a moment, she steels herself and knocks.
thecanarylives: (abs)
She's been told to take at least a few weeks off any "strenuous activity" to let the fracture in her wrist settle and heal, but considering the fact that "strenuous" seems to be a lifestyle for her these days, she isn't exactly sticking to the doctor's orders.

She's back in training, mostly one-handed to give herself more of a challenge, and so long as her hand is wrapped tightly in a brace Oliver's at least stopped complaining about it.

And then there's that... other physical activity she's been engaging in lately, that phone call she hasn't been able to get out of her head for two days straight and the mystery behind the radio silence that came in afterwards. There are a wide variety of possible explanations, ranging from a dead battery to something far worse, but she's been throwing herself into training to distract herself and pray that the time move faster until Dean can finally make his way back to Star City again.

She and Ollie are fresh off a two-hour spar, the cool humidity in the morning air doing nothing to help the sweat still clinging to them as they make their way back towards her apartment. After a bit of teasing and a laugh or two, he presses a quick kiss to her temple and heads to his car before she digs her keys out of her bag, double-taking as she turns back towards her building.

"...Dean?"
thecanarylives: (Default)
[To escape Captcha for TFLN, etc.]
thecanarylives: (Default)
Christ, it's like she's in high school again.

To be fair, she's fairly certain she hasn't actually been on a real date since then, so she's sure the nerves can be attributed to some sort of nostalgic PTSD.

Right. She also can't remember the last time she put on a dress and a pair of heels that wasn't for a costume - okay, so she'd borrowed both from her sister - but she'd promised James an honest to God, normal, 21st century date, so... here she was.

At the knock on the door, she checks herself in the mirror one last time before shrugging on her leather jacket and crossing the room to greet him.
thecanarylives: (far - light)
By now, Sara's less than surprised when one of their missions goes... off kilter. Timelines tend to have a way of shitting on their plans more often than not, but the team's gotten better and better at improvising. She's used to the panic, the sudden brawls, the constant one step forward and two steps back.

What she's not used to is Mick Rory taking a laser blast to the chest for her.

It happened in a flash. One moment there'd been a gun aimed straight at her and the next Mick was on the ground, that grunt of pain ringing heavily in her ears as she dropped to her knees to wake him.

The rest of it came in slow motion. The wave of attackers, the chaotic fight that ensued. Sara, Ray, and Firestorm fighting off the brunt of it while the rest of them got Mick to the ship.

She's taken a few good hits by the time the Waverider picks them up, but they barely register as she bee-lines to the med bay.

"Where is he - is he okay?"
thecanarylives: (Default)
[ooc: continued from here]

Sara's curled up in the inset of her cot, still fiddling with her phone when she hears the hiss of the doors slide open.

"You bring the booze?" she asks, finishing her text before she glances up, swinging her legs off the edge of the bed to face him.
thecanarylives: (far)
It never really bodes well when a vigilante's cell phone goes quiet. It could be for any variety of reasons, of course - bad signal, time difference, phone and burner both destroyed in a shoot out... In any case, any phone calls or texts he's sent in the past day and half have gone unanswered, and she's a good hour and half late to their agreed upon meet-up outside the bar in Kowloon.

So late that he's forced to break up the party without her, neck-deep in an array of gunfire that slows as he takes out the last of the mobsters inside. Problem is, there's an ambush waiting for him outside the bar. Re-enforcements that double the numbers he just put down, but just when it's looking like they've got him surrounded, help comes in the form of a black Ducati barreling straight for the enemy lines.

Explosions abound, giving her enough of a distraction to tuck and roll to James's side in her full black-mask and leather getup, bo staff extending as she shoots him a grin.]


I know, I know. I'm late.
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