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And I'll use you as a warning sign
Who: Okay this turned into a Poe catchall + Various
Where: Various locations/listed in the headings
When: May 1st-31st
What: May Catchall - specific closed prompts, some open threads
Warnings: N/A yet
[Open and Closed]
May 10th - Open
Tequila Mockingbird has Cassian's liquor of choice in the name, which is why Poe picked it. He's not a big drinker, but between the memories, the conversation with Jyn, the... party. Well. He has a few reasons to drink.
The reason he picked for tonight was to pour one out for L'ulo, for Muran, for the pilots whose names and faces he hasn't yet remembered. Not for his mother--it doesn't seem right, to drink for her. She wouldn't want it, her son inebriated and alone at a bar, wallowing in her memory. Poe won't pretend that isn't what he's doing. Wallowing, letting himself feel the grief and pain he tries so hard to outpace.
Jyn is right. He has to stop sometime, and taking the opportunity now to brace himself for future losses is better than breaking under one too many.
His table is in the corner, in a quiet part of the restaurant. Not by any virtue of paranoia. Poe doesn't have the same hardwired need to keep his back to a wall and his eyes on the exits that some veterans do. It was just the most private space he could find while still being around people. Drinking at home where Rey might have seen him would have felt worse than this, but drinking somewhere entirely alone wouldn't have been right either. He might not have squadmates to share a glass with, but having some form of life circulating around him is better than being entirely alone. Plus, there's BB-8, sitting underneath the table, domed head tilted to rest against Poe's leg.
Maker, he's glad to have his droid.
May 12th - Open
Poe is beating up a freestanding punching bag thing. He's been going to Crossbones Boxing in the morning on the days he doesn't work. He'll go stir-crazy if he just hangs around the house, and being grounded for this long is driving him bonkers as it is. He's tried to keep his head down, tried to be good, but man (thump, kick, wham) he going to blow a sensor if he doesn't get some air time.
It doesn't help that beating up things is usually the time he spends talking to BB-8 about whatever's on his mind. Here, where it's public and monitored like everywhere else, they have to keep up the same act. So BB-8 sits, watching, grumbling to himself with a towel draped over his head dome, while Poe tries to kill an inanimate object.
May 13th - Open
Poe is in a tree.
It is a tall tree. A very tall tree, near the edge of town, just inside those woods they aren't technically supposed to enter.
He is very high in this very tall tree.
Fuck gravity to be honest.
Where: Various locations/listed in the headings
When: May 1st-31st
What: May Catchall - specific closed prompts, some open threads
Warnings: N/A yet
[Open and Closed]
May 10th - Open
Tequila Mockingbird has Cassian's liquor of choice in the name, which is why Poe picked it. He's not a big drinker, but between the memories, the conversation with Jyn, the... party. Well. He has a few reasons to drink.
The reason he picked for tonight was to pour one out for L'ulo, for Muran, for the pilots whose names and faces he hasn't yet remembered. Not for his mother--it doesn't seem right, to drink for her. She wouldn't want it, her son inebriated and alone at a bar, wallowing in her memory. Poe won't pretend that isn't what he's doing. Wallowing, letting himself feel the grief and pain he tries so hard to outpace.
Jyn is right. He has to stop sometime, and taking the opportunity now to brace himself for future losses is better than breaking under one too many.
His table is in the corner, in a quiet part of the restaurant. Not by any virtue of paranoia. Poe doesn't have the same hardwired need to keep his back to a wall and his eyes on the exits that some veterans do. It was just the most private space he could find while still being around people. Drinking at home where Rey might have seen him would have felt worse than this, but drinking somewhere entirely alone wouldn't have been right either. He might not have squadmates to share a glass with, but having some form of life circulating around him is better than being entirely alone. Plus, there's BB-8, sitting underneath the table, domed head tilted to rest against Poe's leg.
Maker, he's glad to have his droid.
May 12th - Open
Poe is beating up a freestanding punching bag thing. He's been going to Crossbones Boxing in the morning on the days he doesn't work. He'll go stir-crazy if he just hangs around the house, and being grounded for this long is driving him bonkers as it is. He's tried to keep his head down, tried to be good, but man (thump, kick, wham) he going to blow a sensor if he doesn't get some air time.
It doesn't help that beating up things is usually the time he spends talking to BB-8 about whatever's on his mind. Here, where it's public and monitored like everywhere else, they have to keep up the same act. So BB-8 sits, watching, grumbling to himself with a towel draped over his head dome, while Poe tries to kill an inanimate object.
May 13th - Open
Poe is in a tree.
It is a tall tree. A very tall tree, near the edge of town, just inside those woods they aren't technically supposed to enter.
He is very high in this very tall tree.
Fuck gravity to be honest.
no subject
She was on her way from the bathroom back to Cassian's room to get dressed when the knock came and she doesn't bother ducking in to grab a shirt just to answer the door. Luckily, it's just Poe and she's not making a terrible first impression on someone else.
"Can I put pants on first or is this time sensitive?" It's a valid question, she thinks, based on that look on his face, and the flippant tone disguises the way the simple mention of picnic makes her want to throw up a little bit, chest tightening.
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Anyway. Focusing. "You need pants."
Then, as an afterthought, "It's just a picnic. Nothing time-sensitive about a picnic."
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Just putting that out there before her voice lifts. "Cassian, Poe wants to take us on a picnic. Come talk to him." Which is only a ruse to get him out of the bedroom so she can get dressed so they can actually go on this picnic.
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Anyway, Cassian makes his way into the hall and gives Poe a nod before heading into the kitchen. Picnic means food, after all.
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"Brought this." Antsy as he is, he's still got certain priorities. Quietly, he adds, "How's she doing?"
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Not that he thinks it would stop Jyn necessarily.
"She's a survivor," he replies, just as quietly. Mourning your own life? Death? Is a weirdly personal thing, but Cassian is touched that he can count Poe as one of the people who'd look out of her if necessary.
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He's not sure what else there is to say. Cassian and Jyn are both survivors. Poe has nothing in his life that compares to what they've both experienced. All he can do is be there. Make sure they know he is. It's not enough, but it's the best he can do for them for now.
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Even with the beach.
"I wouldn't say it's better," Cassian says after a moment of swallowing and letting his neck relax just enough for his head to hang a few inches, trying to force some of the tension out of his shoulders. Not at the touch - it was already there, and the muscles in his back sometimes feel like they're wound 'round an old, stretched out spring. "I prefer context, personally, but..." But this is Jyn. He'd give her the bliss of ignorance, if he could, but she came in knowing things were bad. Just not how bad.
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He's being bleak, he knows, but: "She deserves better than this."
Better like the peace she gave up so much for and rightfully deserves. If Jyn was to be revived, pulling back into existence after the weapon her father designed took them both off the map of the living, she deserved something happy, whole, better than this waking disaster.
It surprises him how much emotion is in that statement. Anger, first and foremost, not towards her but towards whatever powers that be are responsible for this grand disaster. Yet beneath that, there's also a thread of self-loathing, because for every instance Cassian can think of where he was infuriated with the situation he can recall another where he was thankful she was there. Thankful she was within sight, earshot, touching distance.
Better than him, is what she really deserves.
"But I'm glad she's here anyway."
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What was it that his father told him once, not even that long ago? When Poe confessed that the solo missions were wearing on him, that it was hard to try and keep his distance from people, to lie to them. That's because spies don't have friends, Poe, and you can't live that way.
Something stops him from saying you both do in answer to the statement that Jyn deserves better. Poe certainly believes it. But somehow, painfully, he doesn't think that Cassian would agree. He wants to make them promises, to say that they'll be coming home with him, that they can have whatever lives they want, but he's learned in the past ten years-- hell, even in the past five-- that promises in the face of the unknown can too easily become lies.
"Of course you are," he says instead. Poe would give anything for General Organa to be home, where she belongs. But they're here, and he can't help being glad of her solidity, her calm, her strategic mind. "Anyone would be."
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Crossing the kitchen floor to the other side of Cassian, she reaches out to brush her hand down his forearm, looking up at them both. "Is everything all right?" Because it doesn't seem all right, the way Poe has his arm curled around Cassian's shoulders, the way his head is bowed.
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She looks good, in his shirt; he can mentally fixate on that, instead. "Anything specific you want to bring for the picnic?" He reaches up and pats Poe between the shoulders in thanks before leaning forward to fetch the first aid kit out from under the sink.
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He leans against the counter as BB-8 rolls around the kitchen and then into the next room, talking quietly enough that even Poe can't quite make out what he's saying.
This is not because the narrator is too tired to come up with anything either hush."Food," Poe says, helpfully.
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"Fruit."
She may half want to live on junk food alone and she definitely hides cheese puffs and pixy stix where she knows Cassian won't look -- her underwear drawer and inside a box of tampons -- but Jyn has found herself in a torrid love affair with fruit. Any kind of fruit. Weird melons and coconuts and berries and tiny little clementines and so many grapes. She doesn't like bananas.
It's the texture.
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Stuff for sandwiches, though. Things one can eat without getting foodstuffs all over their fingers. "Iced tea?"
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He's different than they've seen him before. Energized. Not restless. Arms crossed and eyes bright, Poe watches them both with the urgent patience of a commander waiting for his troops to fall in. He doesn't tell them to hurry up. He's not a spy, but he's not an idiot. The change in his demeanor is probably enough of a signal that something is up without him saying anything more.
BB-8, on the other hand, sits near the entrance to the kitchen, wriggling in place, head dome tilting first one way, then another, like a kid swinging their feet.
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Jyn is offended down to her very core and doesn't know why. Wayward Pines struggling to graft Jyn to this planet and the only way that seems to stick is via tea.
"Not iced tea." Y'nasty. Jyn will rifle through the cabinets for a carafe to fill with water and ice she drags from the freezer after gently pushing Cassian's head down, murmuring a question about a picnic basket like do they have one?
"Is anyone going to tell me why we're going on a picnic?"
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"Poe brought one." Picnic basket, that is, but: "There's one above the freezer in that cabinet." If they want two!
Anyway. "For the fun and enjoyment of getting some open air."