open ✧ moonlight drowns out all but the brightest stars

[realists]

Who: Jyn Erso & ???
Where: Around town
When: May 9-14
What: Getting her bearings, exploring, etc etc.
Warnings: Language?

[ Open ]

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✧ ꜰʀᴇɴᴄʜ's ɢʀᴏᴄᴇʀʏ

There is so much food.

There is, in Jyn's opinion, too much food. Well, not the quantity, she supposes for a full town there is just enough (still maybe too much), but the sheer multitude of the selections is mind-boggling. Why are there no less than fifteen different types of cereals? There are at least five types of Cheerios alone. How is anyone supposed to decide on which cereal they want. And then they have to decide which percentage of milk they want? What is the other 98% of 2% milk!! She had thought cereal would be easy. She thought wrong.

It's not like she's picky, Jyn has subsisted off protein cubes for six months, she'll eat literally anything so whatever she chose would be perfectly acceptable but the number of choices suddenly available to her has made her indecisive. It's going to be an equally sad story when she tries to decide on a juice to buy.

Softly, "What the fuck."

✧ ɢᴏ ᴀsᴋ ᴀʟɪᴄᴇ

Look, it's not that she's stalking Cassian, it's just that, you know, she has one friend and he's it so she's kind of stalking him. In a friendly, platonic way. Nothing to see here. It doesn't hurt, anyway, that he works at a tea shop and one of Jyn's indulgent comforts happens to be tea. (She's not even actually British.) It also helps that Cassian won't let her pay for it so she doesn't feel like it's so indulgent.

Which finds Jyn curled up at a table nursing her fifth cup of something amber colored and sweet and fiddling with some of the dried bits of violet petals she plucked free of the loose leaves before she let it steep. She's slowly making her way through a paperback copy of the Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe but she's unused to anything not on a datapad so sometimes she sets it on the table and it closes itself, as books do, or tips right off the edge and Jyn swears in what is probably not an Earth language.

"I'm starting to see why people burn these." Jyn, no.

✧ ʜᴜʀᴛ's ᴅᴏɴᴜᴛs

And then there is the real indulgence. Donuts. Fluffy, fried dough coated in sugar and cinnamon and glaze and stuffed with jelly or lemon and probably not all at once. Jyn doesn't take her ridiculously large order to someone to share or eat inside the shop itself.

Oh no. Jyn takes her box outside and sits on the curb and eats them right there because that is the type of person she is. Once the hunger is abated, however, she will eat the rest of them while she is walking. The donuts never seem to make it to their intended destination before Jyn is disposing of the empty box in a rubbish bin and wiping powered sugar off on her pants.

Manners, what are those? She will probably not share, unless it is a child or a dog. She'll share with dogs.

Comments

[volitaunt]

He does, though mostly at home with his father. Unless he hears someone else speaking the familiar language, he's unlikely to use anything but Basic.

"I don't think good looks like any one thing." Poe rubs his chin thoughtfully. "Which might be the book's problem. People think 'good' and they think nice, or gentle, but hope and compassion show up in places sometimes no one would expect."

Again, he's thinking of Finn. And of Jyn herself, really. Prickly, antagonistic, somehow still incredibly endearing.

[realists]

"Exactly why I like Edmund. He's a little boy, there is no way they're going to make him a villain. Eventually he's going to be a hero and he'll be the only one of them that makes any sort of sense." She frowns at the book. "They're children in a war. Children shouldn't be in a war."

There's nothing glorious or romantic about wars, she doesn't even know why children or beavers are fighting in it. Especially since the whole reason they left was to escape a war.

Which is a fascinating idea to Jyn, being able to be sent away from a war. How tiny it must have been.

[volitaunt]

"No they shouldn't." There's no pity or sympathy in it. It's simple, a statement of fact. He's pretty sure Jyn would balk at sympathy and potentially injure anyone who tried to pity her. Children shouldn't be involved in war, but how often, he thinks, how often does it become inevitable? Whole planets held hostage or destroyed or turned into slave labor.

Poe picks up a cookie, reaches over, and drops it into her cup.

It is a distraction. For the both of them.

[realists]

She makes a noise of surprise, half annoyed, as she scoops the cookie out of her cup with the spoon. "Just because you're drinking dirt water doesn't mean you have to ruin my drink too!"

Also she's going to kick him in the shins for good measure. It's not hard, she's not trying to cause any permanent (or even temporary) damage, it's more of a scolding sort of kick.

She'd have bitten him but he's too far.

[volitaunt]

He grins at her, eyes staying on her face as he lifts his cup slowly and takes a nice, loud slurp.

"Mm, dirt water."

The universe is sorry about Poe Dameron.

[realists]

Rolling her eyes at Poe is already becoming a habit, she does it so often. She's going to hurt herself. This time she also pushes her cup forward so she lean her elbows on the table, closing her book and crossing her arms over it.

"Do you keep a tally of how many times you get punched in the face?" She thinks he probably does, but maybe he's lost count. Hence the need for a tally, honestly.

[volitaunt]

"In general, or per person?" He holds his cup between steepled fingers, watching her over its rim. "I definitely keep a tally of how many times people roll their eyes at me, and I'm pretty sure you're going to give Jess Pava a run for her money."

Oof. That hits with a wave of homesickness he should have seen coming. He takes another deep drink of his dirt water, trying not to think about it.

[realists]

This time, at least, she fights back the urge to roll her eyes. Instead she pushes back in her chair and stands up, intent on replacing her tea with a new one in a to-go cup so Poe can't ruin it with his cookie dropping ways.

"I'm going to win," she speculates with determination, pressing her palm against his cheek to shove his face away as she passes, again. That's going to be a thing now.

"Count on it."