BB-8 rolls over to the camera, arc welder popping from one of his panels and, with a sizzle and a snapping sound, he shorts out the camera.
It makes Poe laugh. He needed that. Cassian's mentions of knowing his parents makes him feel unspeakably homesick. The vast, empty places in his knowledge, the idea that he'll remember things, lies, that feel like the truth-- that makes him want to puke or punch the nearest representative of the town's authority. Whichever. He doesn't want anyone in his head, never again, never, ever again.
He's lost. It's a foreign sensation.
He really doesn't like it.
"You're not dead." Poe's sudden gratitude at that fact makes the gouge of homesickness worse. Not dead, not old. No, this place doesn't male any sense, but for better or worse Poe has decided Cassian is someone worth trusting.
There are a thousand things he could ask, but one of them takes precedence. "What's my mother like?"
no subject
It makes Poe laugh. He needed that. Cassian's mentions of knowing his parents makes him feel unspeakably homesick. The vast, empty places in his knowledge, the idea that he'll remember things, lies, that feel like the truth-- that makes him want to puke or punch the nearest representative of the town's authority. Whichever. He doesn't want anyone in his head, never again, never, ever again.
He's lost. It's a foreign sensation.
He really doesn't like it.
"You're not dead." Poe's sudden gratitude at that fact makes the gouge of homesickness worse. Not dead, not old. No, this place doesn't male any sense, but for better or worse Poe has decided Cassian is someone worth trusting.
There are a thousand things he could ask, but one of them takes precedence. "What's my mother like?"