![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png){kind=small}
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
Poe stops, realizing also that in telling them about his friend, he'll be admitting to more of what happened to him before this place.
It's all in a report somewhere, Poe thinks, jamming his fingers into his hair and ruffling it. Just get it over with.
"He was a stormtrooper. Turned on them during his first battle. Couldn't--" The screaming. "Couldn't kill civilians. He broke me out of the belly of a Resurgent-class Battlecruiser."
He frowns then, looking first at Cassian then at Jyn. "He's a good man."
no subject
Even with Bodhi and her father
Her eyes dart to Cassian briefly, somber mouth pursed. "Alright." Finn is a good man, Poe decreed it and Jyn is willing to go with it for now. Maybe solely because he's not here.
no subject
Besides: "There are worse things than being a stormtrooper," says the man who died in an Imperial uniform, the remnants of which remain in a box beneath his bed. He suspects that stormtroopers believe, or are coerced into believing. So Cassian shrugs. It's accepted.
For now, anyway.
no subject
Poe, prepared as he was to fight for Finn's virtue, relaxes at Cassian's words. It's good enough, for now, when he can't remember all of the reasons he has to believe in Finn. He knows the younger man is exceptional, and he knows he's decked someone who said otherwise, and that plus the rescue is enough for now.
The part of him that wants to prove his point wishes for a moment that Finn was here. The wiser part of him lets it go.
Conveniently, the kettle starts to whistle before he has to think of something to say.
no subject
She jerks forward when the kettle blows, automatically shifting it to a cold burner and snapping the knob to off. Even though Cassian is right there, close enough for her elbow to brush against as she sets tea bags into tea cups. She doesn't protest the tea meant to put her to sleep, but she does look up and make a face at him, before turning her attention back to Poe.
"How old were you when you joined?" It's a weird concept to her still, joining the Rebellion. She was raised into it, Saw had it land on his home planet. Purposefully choosing that life is... hard to imagine.
no subject
Which is... not exactly true, and his expression reflects the fact that it's not exactly true, but it's as true as he can get right now. "Four years training before I got in a live fighter again for anything but target practice."
Then a good eight or so years of increasing frustration with the New Republic's political morass before the mission that brought him to General Organa's attention. For a moment he's distant, remembering that meeting, the disorientation of it. He'd gone in expecting to be courtmartialed, not recruited.
He's certainly seen more action in the past few years than he did for ninety percent of his Navy career.
no subject
"His parents were involved," Cassian offers, because it helps explain some of the incongruence with...that. To say 'I knew his mother' would possibly be worthy of scrutiny, questioning, or at least Jyn's displeased expression, so Cassian leaves that well enough alone.
Not really related to any of that directly, Cassian slides alongside of Jyn in order to pour the hot water for tea and get honey out of the cabinet. "Being planetbound is probably driving you nuts, huh?" It's driving Cassian a little nuts, and he's far from a fighter pilot. "Do you want lemon?" To Jyn.
no subject
"Honey." If she can't have caffeine, she's having sugar. Fight her.
She doesn't get the appeal of flying. Escape wise, it's a brilliant thing, but the excitement and joy of it doesn't connect with her anymore. Ever since her parents died, she likes her feet on the ground. She feels safer that way.
no subject
He misses the sky-side view of the stars. Poe rubs his face with both hands, shaking off the darkness that gathers in his thoughts at being grounded for so long. It can't be easy for Cassian or Jyn either. (He takes for granted the fact that they must miss it, because who wouldn't?)
no subject
And then the narrative realized that could be read as Jyn having the pet name honey and couldn't bear to delete anything before this point.
So. Moving on. Cassian continues preparing their teas, glancing in Poe's direction and giving a nod. At least he has BB-8 but Cassian is not about to be the one to point that out. "Imagine everyone here waking up on some mid-rim world." Cassian's lips quirk. "It brings me occasional amusement."
no subject
And then there was Wobani.
Like a dance, Jyn takes the honey when he is done adding it to her tea just so she can squirt some on her finger to pop in her mouth. Earth bees are wonderful little creatures.
no subject
Spoilers, he ships it.
"Jakku," he says, a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. "Right in the middle of the badlands."
no subject
"It'd be interesting to see how people would thrive." And who wouldn't.
no subject
"I didn't think anything did thrive there."
no subject
As usual, he thinks How could I forget them? There's a certain amount of guilt that comes with every face that returns, but he's getting better at changing that guilt into resolve to bring down whoever took them in the first place. It's the only thing they can do.
no subject
"Give people enough food and water to move, and they'll make survival out of what they can." Honestly the entire situation they're in could be so much worse (and also bothers him because of bigger questions like "where is the infrastructure coming from?") but a prison is a prison and a cage is a cage.
no subject
Something unspoken seems to want to latch itself on to the end of that. They have to survive first, like the rest of us.
Maybe she's just cross because she doesn't remember anything of this place so while everyone else, it seems, gets to start on this even footing of assumed relationships and family and a life they've already built, she gets nothing.
no subject
He takes a slow sip of the tea to remind himself of where he is, who he's with. His currently assigned squadron. That thought makes him smile, though he half-expects a scabs that aren't there to tear with the motion. "You know. There's one good thing about this place." He gestures loosely between the two of them. "You. Both of you."