And I'll use you as a warning sign

[volitaunt]

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.

Comments

[volitaunt]

He straightens, feeling as battered as he did right after it happened, the tingle of nerve damage prickling in his palms, arms, neck, legs. "Better than I was a minute ago, that's for damn sure."

Poe tries to make it a joke. He gets about half way to humor. Not even Black Squadron knows what happened to him on the Finalizer, though he's pretty sure at least some of them have guessed.

This time it's his turn to touch her face lightly, brush her hair back again. "So, now that we've both lied about being okay."

Back to business. Back to why they're here in the first place. It's better than dwelling on what can't be changed. "What didn't you want to say in front of the cameras?"

[coy]

She smiles softly, sadly when he makes his joke about them both lying about being okay, when he touches her hair. It's true, she knows he's not okay and he probably knows she isn't either. She's not sure anything will ever be completely okay again, if she's honest. But life is manageable.

She wants to ask him what that was, what happened but she brought him here for a reason and for once, Caroline doesn't pry, she realizes that he might need a break from how confusing his life is at the moment.

Not that what she's about to say is going to make things any better.

"I..." she glances down, trying to figure out where to start. "When I was seventeen, I was murdered." It sounds like the beginning of an interesting novel. "Before that, I'd been in a car accident that almost killed me and... I didn't realize it at the time but the reason I survived was because a vampire fed me his blood and it healed me." Her arms stay wrapped around herself. "That's what vampire blood can do. It can heal people but the catch is... if you die with it in your system... you become a vampire yourself. And while I was at the hospital... another vampire killed me to send a message to my friends."

Tell the Salvatores I said 'game on'

[volitaunt]

The first part is the hardest to get his head around. I was murdered. Dead. She died. She said it once already, but having it reiterated and explained somehow doesn't make it easier to comprehend. Nothing brings back the dead, not even the Force--

Except here. Cassian, Jyn, who else? Death isn't what it used to be in his mind, now a nebulous question instead of the end of one part of existence and the beginning of something else.

Maybe that's the way to look at it. Her life ended, terribly, and she woke to the start of a new one. He doesn't say he's sorry for what happened to her. He's heard so many people say I'm sorry for your loss, pain, experience that the phrase means very little to him now. Instead he just reaches out a curled hand, brushes his knuckles against her arm.

Still there. Still not running for the jungle.

[coy]

He may still be there, he may be touching her now but she was bracing herself for the backlash that might come soon. She didn't want his pity and she's grateful when he doesn't give it to her, he just listens and she knows she has to press forward, to work her way up to the bad things.

"Because I'm a vampire... I have enhanced reflexes and senses. I can move faster, hear better, my emotions are heightened and... it's very hard to kill me." Sort of. "I'm not invulnerable. There are things that can hurt me but for the most part... well, unless I am killed by any those things that can hurt me then I'll live forever." She lets her arms drop before she spreads them out a little, as if to present herself. "I won't age. I won't get old. I just stay like this. Forever."

[volitaunt]

"Forever."

Humans aren't meant to live forever. He can't help thinking of his father and of Leia, carrying the weight of history on their shoulders. Sure, Wookies live some four hundred years. The Jedi Master Yoda supposedly lived a thousand years. But forever. He exhales quietly, nods. "Okay."

That's going to take some mental adjustments. But he can tell she isn't finished. It's hard to imagine what else there could be after that, but he's willing to find out.

[coy]

She reaches up to tuck her hair back behind her ears, unnecessarily, her teeth dragging over her bottom lip before she takes a few steps back (so she doesn't have to watch him do it instead). It would be so much easier if he just knew what a vampire was but he doesn't and she has to show him.

Taking in a slow breath, she lets herself think of blood, the consuming lust for it that lays deep within her. She's in control but she lets the veins beneath her eyes darken and shift. And then she lets her fangs descend for a moment before she closes her eyes, not wanting to see his reaction.

[volitaunt]

One of his best friends in the New Republic Navy had blue skin, fangs, and spit acid. It's odd to see the change, but it's the class of oddity that gets filed under 'never seen that before,' catalogued, accepted. He doesn't come toward her; he doesn't want to startle her, or make her run away.

"My friend Suralinda had a pair of those. Always thought it must hurt like hell to bite your tongue."

[coy]

His response has her eyes opening just in time for her to let out a nervous laugh, the veins fading and the fangs clicking back. "It does," she says, breathless in her quiet astonishment. "Every time I've told someone about this... they freak out and..." Her mouth twists. "That's the other thing I can do... I can compel people. Manipulate their thoughts and memories, make them do things. And most of the time, I have to make people forget they know what I am."

[volitaunt]

"I hope you don't take it bad if I say that is a little bit scary."

He's going to hug her, if she'll let him. Hug her, step back, take her hands. "But considering we're already in my head, not as scary as it could be."

[coy]

She looks at him, shaking her head when he says he hopes she won't take it poorly. She can't blame him for that, the idea of having your agency taken away from you...

He hugs her and then takes her hands, a soft smile forming on her lips for a brief moment. "I wouldn't ever use it on you, not unless you asked me to. I... I've had it done to me and... it was used on me for... really bad stuff. So I would never do that to anyone. Ever."

[volitaunt]

Another hug. This one more fierce than comforting, protective rather than gentle. She's being honest with him, totally honest, and he owes her the same in return.

"The First Order got inside my head when torture didn't work." He pulls back to press a hand to her cheek. This time, the motion is meant to comfort. A platonic gesture. "Bad people aren't very creative, are they."

[coy]

For a moment, the world around them flickers. It's quick and he may not notice but when his arms wrap around her like that, for a moment, she forgets herself. She forgets and wants to get lost in that comfort. It's only a moment, one that only lasts as long as he hold her, then he's pulling back to look at her.

And she looks at him, her brow furrowing when tells her the truth and well, explains what she thinks she saw. "No, they are not." She lifts a hand to touch his at her cheek. "Is that what I saw? Before? Was that what was going to happen?"

[volitaunt]

He closes his eyes, gathering himself a moment before he nods. Thinking about it makes him want to be sick. He remembers now, at least, that he didn't doom the Resistance, only because the interrogator was too careless to ask the right questions. He still lost them control of BB-8, and it's a miracle of the Force and the goodness of people that they got him back. What he could have given away, all the things he could have accidentally given up--

Poe swallows, feeling like he's going to puke even though he knows this is a dream. Do people puke in dreams?

"Yeah. They kept after me for... I don't know, a long time. Then they brought in their big gun."

[coy]

She swears she can taste vomit in her mouth and she wonders if that's coming from him or not. She strokes his hand before moving her other hand to touch his shoulder, to try and soothe him. "That last guy..." She nods a little before looking up at him. "He's not here and he can't get you here. None of them can. This is your head, you get to control it."

[volitaunt]

He thinks I couldn't control it then.

That's too close to self-pity for his tastes. Instead, he smiles, falsely at first and then more genuinely as a thought strikes him: "Are you up for flying?"

[coy]

No, he couldn't control it then but that was before. And that moment has already passed, just like when Damon did the things he did to her had happened before. They couldn't change what their pasts held.

For moment, his question takes her by surprise. The confusion on her face may tell him that much. Still, she catches on quick enough, her eyes flitting towards the ship next to them, lips curving just a little. "You mean...?"

[volitaunt]

"Oh yeah." He grins. "I mean, we can take something bigger-- A-wings aren't exactly made for two adult passengers." He looks around them, but the farm isn't rife with possibilities.

D'Qar, though. All it takes is the thought of the base and they're there, the misty hills and mountains rising in the distance, the apron thick with parked ships of every shape and size. Everywhere, activity. Uniforms. Mixed urgency and casual camaraderie.

A cadre of pilots in orange jog by, and Poe watches them go, briefly and intensely homesick.

"We can take one of the small transports. Not the fastest out there by any means, but they've got room."

[coy]

Whatever urge Caroline has to make a joke about sitting in his lap is gone because suddenly they're lurched into a new place, a new memory. She lets out a breath, a little surprised at the sudden change of scenery but one she gets her bearings, she's fine, looking around at the memory he has of this place.

None of the people can see them or hear them, unless he targets some specific memory but even then, it'd just be like watching a movie.

"What is a small transport?"

[volitaunt]

"Transport is just a blanket class for ships capable of hauling cargo or passengers."

He grabs her hand, leading her along the apron, pointing out the X-wings, the Millennium Falcon, the older Y-wings and B-wings, rattling off specs and modifications and what models preceded or came from the ones here. "Our X-wings are a coupla generations behind the New Republic Navy, but I wouldn't trade them for the newest T85."

He stops next to his own X-wing, with its black and orange paintjob, beautiful and pristine. "This is Black One. She's mine."

[coy]

"Right," she says, realizing that she honestly doesn't know much about ships or planes other than what she's seen in Top Gun or some random space movie. She almost makes a Top Gun joke but keeps it to herself, considering he wouldn't know who Tom Cruise is, let alone Top Gun.

She does let him lead her through the virtual gallery of ships, letting him name off different ships, some of it makes her think she's heard of these before but she brushes off the sense of deja vu as a symptom of being inside his head.

When they stop at his X-wing, she asks, "Why is it called Black one?"

[volitaunt]

"She's the flagship of Black Squadron." He reaches up to run his free hand along the underside of the X-wing's nose. Then he looks at her, surprised. "Wait, have I never--"

Of course he hasn't. Because he just assumes it's understood. He doesn't flaunt his position, doesn't really think much of it except when they're in the air. "I'm in command of the Resistance Starfighter Corps."

[coy]

Her eyebrows lift high and she looks suitably impressed, even if she's not sure what the Resistance Starfighter Corps is, she can read between the lines. It's a big deal that he's the commander of this thing. She grins at him, "Wait, how old are you?"

[volitaunt]

"...Thirty-two." Uh. Hold on. "How old are you?"

[coy]

She laughs, moving to give his shoulder a playful push-- "Cradle-robber! I'm twenty-two."

[volitaunt]

"Hey!" He's grinning, though. "Don't you have to be old to be a cradle robber? I'm not old."

Poe shakes his head, drawing her back along the through the crowd to a small, sleek, transport vehicle with large domed windows over the cockpit. It's the ship they use--used--to make official trips to the Hosnian system and other New Republic strongholds.

No one will care if they take it now. "Here's our ride."