[ It took him less time to travel than to send that message. Given all the warnings Bob received, it'll probably be pretty clear upon arrival that Ronan is the 6'2" tattooed punk lurking in the shade of a tree, wearing a somewhat murderous expression. ]
[ Well, shit. Bob's more than experienced running down streets but usually it's because he's being chased, not because he's running towards something. He slows considerably as he rounds the last corner, park straight ahead of him, and gets his breathing under control.
The lightsaber sits inside his jacket, half pressed awkwardly into a concealed pocket, half just pressed up against his side. He hadn't thought about what might happen if the button gets jostled as he moves.
Adopting more of a casual swagger, his eyes search the green space (he's momentarily struck by how much he misses London parks) and settle on the only other person that seems to be at the park. He can't decide if it's a good or bad thing that they seem to be alone, for now. ]
Ronan, yeah?
[ With hands automatically having been jammed in the pockets of his jeans, he pulls one out and offers it tentatively in greeting, a cautious smile tugging at the corners of his lips. ]
[ Ronan doesn't typically engage in gestures of politeness, but especially not when it comes to dealing with the person who has somehow acquired his missing lover's weapon. He'd actually considered the possibility that Bob was involved in Kylo's disappearance, given the evidence, but taking a look at him now, Ronan doesn't see how he could have been a match for Kylo even if Kylo was somehow rendered powerless.
He looks Bob up and down, ignoring the greeting. ]
[ Hand awkwardly held aloft, still midair, it takes Bob a second to realise he's been left high and dry. It's hardly that he expected a warm greeting, especially considering he's returning property he accidentally took. Regardless, he drops his hand and shifts his weight from one foot to the other. At least he hasn't been thumped yet. ]
Right, yeah, yeah. It's um... right here.
[ Checking the area for any onlookers is a habit that's hard to break. There's nothing illegal about what he's doing now, but he does it anyway, satisfying himself that there aren't any police about before he continues. Tugging the zipper of his jacket halfway down his chest to reach his hand inside, his fingers brush against the top of the hilt carefully stowed away in an inside pocket. Pulling the lightsaber free is awkward work, the crossguard getting caught on cheap fabric before it slides out, and he presents it to the other man without ceremony. ]
Sorry about that, mate. It was an accident.
[ And he is genuinely sorry about it. Stealing things from rich arseholes who have more than enough money to spare is one thing. Stealing normal people's prized possessions, even accidentally, doesn't feel good. ]
[ Ronan is, in fact, a rich arsehole with more than enough money to spare. And he wouldn't miss most of his possessions, if they happened to go missing. But this item in particular is more precious to him than all his wealth. He takes it from Bob with the sort of care and reverence normally reserved for holy relics, then spends several long moments examining it, either for damage or authenticity.
He no longer looks furious. In fact, he looks for all the world like he's about to cry. Having decided that this is the real thing, he draws it close and cradles it against his heart, apparently unconcerned that one wrong move could see it pierced straight through him. ]
How...
[ Ronan swallows and shakes his head. That's not the right question. ]
[ Curiosity keeps Bob's eyes glued on watching the man turn the lightsaber this way and that, until he realises that he's intruding on something that's none of his business. It's not often that he feels the dull ache of guilt settle deep into his frame, but he can feel it now, unpleasant and intense. Fidgeting is part of his nature on a good day, but he's frozen in place now, not moving save for the somewhat steady inhale exhale of his chest.
The question breaks some of the tension, but not for long. Bob doesn't know the story behind this lightsaber and why the other man looks so fucking sad at getting it back, but he's also wrestling with the sudden realisation that he hasn't got anything more to give. How can he give details on something he doesn't understand himself? It's an uncomfortable, ugly feeling, cold and hard against his usually casual, jokey disposition. Clearing his throat of the lump that's settled in it, he tries to find a good place to start explaining. ]
I uh... one of my powers is sort of... imagining things. To me. It's...
[ Out of control and not something he has a handle on. It's also not something he knows where the boundaries are yet. Can he tell where these items have come from? He thinks, hard, as if it's the single most important thing he has to do today - maybe it is and he just doesn't know it yet. ]
I can't tell where it came from, mate. I'm sorry. I didn't even know what it was and I wasn't trying to nick it on purpose.
[ Ronan takes his eyes off the lightsaber to scrutinize Bob, his gaze hardening again, though it's a guarded expression rather than suspicious. There's no reason for this man to lie to him at this point. An enemy of Kylo's wouldn't have delivered his lightsaber into his lover's hands, not with the knowledge of its power or his temper.
There aren't any clues to be found here. It was, as Bob said, an accident. A stupid, pointless accident. Kylo remains lost and Ronan remains helpless to save him. ]
[ Just Bob. A name that's straight to the point, much like its owner. Nobody has called Bob by his full name for a long, long time, and he's alright with that. 'Robert' reminds him of his dad, and that's a pointless waste of thinking space. Still, he's not got a reason to not share his name. It's already all over the network and only a small amount of digging would unearth that.
The fidgeting starts up though, Bob's inability to keep still surfacing as he digs a hand into his pocket and produces a pack of cigarettes. Anything to keep his hands busy. Wordlessly, he offers one to Ronan. ]
Look, I know I've never met you before, yeah, or your partner, but I am honestly really sorry. Tell him sorry for me, yeah?
[ Ronan has no interest, really, in investigating Bob's identity. He asks because it's good to have a name to call someone, especially when you're indebted to them. Shaking his head in refusal to the cigarette offer, he drops his gaze to the lightsaber again. ]
If he comes back, I'll let him know it was an accident.
[ Unlit cigarette hanging unclassily out of his mouth, Bob doesn't have the chance to spark up before Ronan's words catch his attention. He's a curious man, not exactly nosy, but questions file up into a queue in his brain until he feels like he's about to burst.
The cigarette is plucked from his mouth again, still unlit as he frowns at the man who's back to inspecting the lightsaber. ]
[ No one was really exaggerating about how Kylo might react to the theft of his property. They weren't wrong, either, about Ronan being the better recipient. He sighs, a sound that carries with it the weariness of many sleepless nights. ]
[ Not bothering now to even try lighting up the cigarette in his mouth, Bob lets it drop into his hand as his expression pulls into a tighter frown. All he'd been expecting was a bit of verbal abuse, maybe a scuffle. Not this. ]
Fuck, I'm sorry, mate. Didn't know...
[ It doesn't make a difference either way, but he can empathise. He doesn't know Ronan well enough to assume anything he says is going to be helpful, so he doesn't say anything more, just gently pats the taller man on the shoulder and jams both hands into his pockets. ]
[ Much as he would love to take out his rage on something, the target isn't going to be the person who returned Kylo's lightsaber to him without hesitation or demand. He doesn't know whether or not Bob is a good person, but it's clear enough that he's a kind one. ]
[ It's a fair point, Bob hasn't heard anything other than people telling him who the lightsaber belongs to and how likely Kylo Ren might be to kick his arse for having it. But it doesn't sound like that's a thing that's going to happen and for a moment, Bob actually thinks that the arse kicking might have been better than somebody just... not being here anymore. Especially if he's got people here who blatantly care about him. Missing people not being around anymore isn't any fucking fun and he wouldn't wish that on anyone. ]
Nah, you don't owe me anything. Don't worry about it. [ A pause, and then because Bob doesn't know what else he can do: ] Uh, is there anything I can do? [ Usually he'd suggest a pint (or ten) but he's not sure alcohol is helpful in this situation. ]
Not unless you happen to find the owner of this sword.
[ Much as Ronan would love to continue drowning his sorrows in alcohol, there's an insane plan he needs to enact, and it requires him to be mentally present in some capacity. Once more clutching the lightsaber against his heart, he retreats a step, like he means to walk away, though he won't be walking at all. ]
If you can do that, I'll owe you my whole damn life.
Wish I could, mate. Only thing I know I can do without properly fucking up is finding places I've never been to without maps and that.
[ Places that aren't even on maps, too. At least, he can't find people yet, but give him time. He looks genuinely regretful at his shortcomings, like he'd give a lot to be able to lend the bloke a helping hand. Tucking his unlit cigarette behind one ear, he pulls his comms device from his jacket pocket and holds it up. ]
You've got my network ID, yeah? Give me a bell if you ever need to find a place. ...or if your shit goes missing. I'm uh... working on not accidentally doing that.
[ Ronan nods, a simple gesture of acknowledgement and gratitude. He doubts he'll need those services, but it's good to know where to look if some other precious possession goes missing. ]
Thanks again.
[ Then Ronan is gone. Not vanished, because time has bent strangely around the precise moment of his leaving, and left in his place is the sense that maybe the entire interaction was imagined all along.
Even if it was, the lightsaber has gone with him. ]
[ Double-taking at the space Ronan had been standing, Bob's first instinct is to look over his shoulder. He doesn't really know why he does it, just knows that what's in front of him makes no sense.
With his only task for the day done and no black eye to show for it, he finally pulls the cigarette from behind his ear, presses it to his mouth and sparks up. Sucking the familiar taste into his mouth, he inhales the smoke and considers it a comfort. The only thing he feels like is familiar and real in the space around him. Glancing around once more, just to check, he shakes his head and turns tail, smoke floating lazily in his wake as he decides the bar a few blocks away is exactly what he needs. ]
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
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mostlythe truth! ]I'm in heropa but can bring it wherever :)
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Give me a shout 10 mins out
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[ It took him less time to travel than to send that message. Given all the warnings Bob received, it'll probably be pretty clear upon arrival that Ronan is the 6'2" tattooed punk lurking in the shade of a tree, wearing a somewhat murderous expression. ]
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The lightsaber sits inside his jacket, half pressed awkwardly into a concealed pocket, half just pressed up against his side. He hadn't thought about what might happen if the button gets jostled as he moves.
Adopting more of a casual swagger, his eyes search the green space (he's momentarily struck by how much he misses London parks) and settle on the only other person that seems to be at the park. He can't decide if it's a good or bad thing that they seem to be alone, for now. ]
Ronan, yeah?
[ With hands automatically having been jammed in the pockets of his jeans, he pulls one out and offers it tentatively in greeting, a cautious smile tugging at the corners of his lips. ]
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He looks Bob up and down, ignoring the greeting. ]
Where is it?
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Right, yeah, yeah. It's um... right here.
[ Checking the area for any onlookers is a habit that's hard to break. There's nothing illegal about what he's doing now, but he does it anyway, satisfying himself that there aren't any police about before he continues. Tugging the zipper of his jacket halfway down his chest to reach his hand inside, his fingers brush against the top of the hilt carefully stowed away in an inside pocket. Pulling the lightsaber free is awkward work, the crossguard getting caught on cheap fabric before it slides out, and he presents it to the other man without ceremony. ]
Sorry about that, mate. It was an accident.
[ And he is genuinely sorry about it. Stealing things from rich arseholes who have more than enough money to spare is one thing. Stealing normal people's prized possessions, even accidentally, doesn't feel good. ]
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He no longer looks furious. In fact, he looks for all the world like he's about to cry. Having decided that this is the real thing, he draws it close and cradles it against his heart, apparently unconcerned that one wrong move could see it pierced straight through him. ]
How...
[ Ronan swallows and shakes his head. That's not the right question. ]
Where. Where did it appear?
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The question breaks some of the tension, but not for long. Bob doesn't know the story behind this lightsaber and why the other man looks so fucking sad at getting it back, but he's also wrestling with the sudden realisation that he hasn't got anything more to give. How can he give details on something he doesn't understand himself? It's an uncomfortable, ugly feeling, cold and hard against his usually casual, jokey disposition. Clearing his throat of the lump that's settled in it, he tries to find a good place to start explaining. ]
I uh... one of my powers is sort of... imagining things. To me. It's...
[ Out of control and not something he has a handle on. It's also not something he knows where the boundaries are yet. Can he tell where these items have come from? He thinks, hard, as if it's the single most important thing he has to do today - maybe it is and he just doesn't know it yet. ]
I can't tell where it came from, mate. I'm sorry. I didn't even know what it was and I wasn't trying to nick it on purpose.
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There aren't any clues to be found here. It was, as Bob said, an accident. A stupid, pointless accident. Kylo remains lost and Ronan remains helpless to save him. ]
What's your name?
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[ Just Bob. A name that's straight to the point, much like its owner. Nobody has called Bob by his full name for a long, long time, and he's alright with that. 'Robert' reminds him of his dad, and that's a pointless waste of thinking space. Still, he's not got a reason to not share his name. It's already all over the network and only a small amount of digging would unearth that.
The fidgeting starts up though, Bob's inability to keep still surfacing as he digs a hand into his pocket and produces a pack of cigarettes. Anything to keep his hands busy. Wordlessly, he offers one to Ronan. ]
Look, I know I've never met you before, yeah, or your partner, but I am honestly really sorry. Tell him sorry for me, yeah?
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If he comes back, I'll let him know it was an accident.
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The cigarette is plucked from his mouth again, still unlit as he frowns at the man who's back to inspecting the lightsaber. ]
If he comes back?
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[ No one was really exaggerating about how Kylo might react to the theft of his property. They weren't wrong, either, about Ronan being the better recipient. He sighs, a sound that carries with it the weariness of many sleepless nights. ]
That is, he's no longer with us.
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Fuck, I'm sorry, mate. Didn't know...
[ It doesn't make a difference either way, but he can empathise. He doesn't know Ronan well enough to assume anything he says is going to be helpful, so he doesn't say anything more, just gently pats the taller man on the shoulder and jams both hands into his pockets. ]
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How could you know?
[ Much as he would love to take out his rage on something, the target isn't going to be the person who returned Kylo's lightsaber to him without hesitation or demand. He doesn't know whether or not Bob is a good person, but it's clear enough that he's a kind one. ]
Thanks for this. I owe you.
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Nah, you don't owe me anything. Don't worry about it. [ A pause, and then because Bob doesn't know what else he can do: ] Uh, is there anything I can do? [ Usually he'd suggest a pint (or ten) but he's not sure alcohol is helpful in this situation. ]
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[ Much as Ronan would love to continue drowning his sorrows in alcohol, there's an insane plan he needs to enact, and it requires him to be mentally present in some capacity. Once more clutching the lightsaber against his heart, he retreats a step, like he means to walk away, though he won't be walking at all. ]
If you can do that, I'll owe you my whole damn life.
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[ Places that aren't even on maps, too. At least, he can't find people yet, but give him time. He looks genuinely regretful at his shortcomings, like he'd give a lot to be able to lend the bloke a helping hand. Tucking his unlit cigarette behind one ear, he pulls his comms device from his jacket pocket and holds it up. ]
You've got my network ID, yeah? Give me a bell if you ever need to find a place. ...or if your shit goes missing. I'm uh... working on not accidentally doing that.
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Thanks again.
[ Then Ronan is gone. Not vanished, because time has bent strangely around the precise moment of his leaving, and left in his place is the sense that maybe the entire interaction was imagined all along.
Even if it was, the lightsaber has gone with him. ]
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With his only task for the day done and no black eye to show for it, he finally pulls the cigarette from behind his ear, presses it to his mouth and sparks up. Sucking the familiar taste into his mouth, he inhales the smoke and considers it a comfort. The only thing he feels like is familiar and real in the space around him. Glancing around once more, just to check, he shakes his head and turns tail, smoke floating lazily in his wake as he decides the bar a few blocks away is exactly what he needs. ]