It was a weird setup - kind of unsettling, actually - all these little people, fused to this little rod, ready to swing or dive or lurch sideways in unison at the touch of a handle. Poe had been drawn to it at once because it was colorful, and alien to him, and the end pieces looked a little like throttles: promising. But after closer inspection - after giving the controls a couple twists and tugs and watching the plastic legless things swoop around with those fixed, vacant smiles, his assessment had changed. That's kind of messed up.
And beyond that, he just didn't know what they were supposed to do.
But he couldn't just sit around; after a nice, solid nap, he didn't really have it in him to lie there thinking. An exploration of his quarters had revealed that his most pressing problem, that he was fucking hungry, wasn't about to get fixed. So he just moved on to the second: he was restless, and the ecstasy and loss and unresolved anger of the mission he'd seen completed was still pinging around in him with nowhere to go, and if he didn't find an outlet, there were going to start to put him in a bad mood. So - here he was, at this weird, bright, oddly ominous table. And either he was sending out signals well-recognized on this planet for let's play, or he was screwing it up badly enough that someone had finally come to take pity on him, he didn't care which - he just looked up from trying to decipher the markings on the bottom of its shallow box, and gave his new dancing partner a broad, easy, game-on smile. The guy looked pretty damn tired, and Poe could feel that.
He gave one of the handles a brutal spin; the little men attached to it went flapping in circles. "I have no idea what I'm doing."