Poe stumbled backward, his tray swinging down in his hand; he caught himself a couple paces back, his mouth pressed into a line, his face coloring. No, Ren didn't get to do that - not here. He couldn't let him, not if they were going to coexist in any way. Of everyone here, he knew it was his job to step up and push back, and he meant to do it. It might have been better for all involved if he'd formulated a plan beyond do it, but that wasn't his way. And it had served him pretty well so far - not too many scars, not too many scrapes close enough to draw blood. He knew what he had to do, and he knew it had to get done, and the how always seemed to fill itself in along the way.
So when he picked up a piece of fruit from one of the wire baskets sitting near the beginning of the line, and chucked it straight at the back of Ren's helmet, it wasn't as could be called a strategic decision.
"I'm talking to you." The heat in his voice surprised him - of course he was angry, but there was an instability to it that he was unaccustomed to. His anger was usually solid, direct, aimed true at one target with all the certainty of his heart behind it. This was different, it was too hot, quavering with something - and maybe that something was just fear. Maybe it was just the cornered, vulnerable feeling lingering in the wake of knowing someone had jumped into your brain and splashed around without so much as blinking. He didn't like it. "Look at me, damn it."