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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 blinks at him, her other hand moving to cover the one holding hers. Damn him, damn him for being as wonderful as the fake memories made him out to be. And damn him for cutting her right to the core.
Blinking away the tears that well up in her eyes, her lips curve into a flattered sort of smile as she looks at him. "Are all flyboys this good with words?" She laughs, pulling one of the hands touching his to brush away a tear from her eye just as as another falls. "No one's ever said that to me. Or, well, something like that." It's not that people haven't said kind words to her, about her before, that's not true at all. There have been some lovely, epic speeches made about her, whether or not she's aware of them but... this is something different.
no subject
He doesn't notice that he's made it plural. All of this probably verges into talking about the past as it is, without subconscious slips.
It's so frustrating, being trapped here. He wants to take her to the General, get her an assignment, show her a whole movement of people who care too much in the eyes of half the galaxy. It's part of what drives him. Finding people like Caroline and bringing them home.
Poe exhales and clears his throat, realizing very suddenly that he's holding her hand. He doesn't let go or pull away. Now is a bad time to do that, when she's vulnerable. "Y'going to be okay?"
no subject
"I'm good," she smiles a little more, moving to sit up a bit. "Are you a recruiter or something because... yeah, you're good, very good."
no subject
He sits back, wistful. The General told him their first priority has to be getting home, and she's right. There's so much more at stake with General Organa here, with the Resistance missing one of its most prominent figureheads and powerful leaders. He's confident that things won't fall apart in her absence. (Where does the confidence come from, when he doesn't remember who they work with? Probably from his confidence in her.) But that doesn't mean they can afford to waste time.
That sense of urgency is going to drive him crazy. He knows it, as well as he knows anything right now.
"In this life, I should probably get that shower." A moment of silence, then, "I really did mean that. It wasn't a pitch."
no subject
no subject
That one he tries to ignore.
Poe stretches and climbs to his feet. "I should shower and rescue my cousin from my droid."
no subject
no subject
BB-8 comes rolling over, having noted the conversation winding down, and burbles a request for a cleaning and lubrication. Poe grins. "The kid is antsy. You take care of yourself, all right? And if you need anything...."
A risk, to offer, but baby steps. Small moves toward a real relationship.