a good space boy from a good space family (pethdorn) wrote in incompletedata, @ 2017-07-30 15:16:00 |
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Entry tags: | star wars: canon: poe dameron |
Who: Poe Dameron and YOU!
What: Beachin' with BB-8.
Where: Poe's ever-expanding towel cluster of friendship!
When: Now?
Warnings: Only what you take with you.
The sun had dried the fruit juice running down his forearm into a sticky, sand-scattered film; combined with the strangely warm taste of the primitive topical sunblock that still clung to his fingers and the distinctive scent of salt-ocean, it made a pleasant mess of sensation. His feet were planted in the water beginning to well up within the quarry he'd been excavating to form his sand...thing, really just a lumpy-looking hill he'd been piling together as he drank, or made conversation with passers-by, or stared out at the horizon and thought. He'd have called it relaxing, if the word hadn't kindled an uneasy guilt behind his ribs. He needed relaxation about the least of anyone here, from what he could gather. And while normally he wasn't one to self-flagellate over that sort of thing - because normally he made sure to do every last thing he could to share the burden - it was difficult now not to go back over (and over, and over) the time he'd spent in that broken hotel, or in that room, and think of the fear and unhappiness that had been flourishing completely unbeknownst to him, while he'd smiled, and chatted, and futzed around with a game. It was a pointless exercise, just letting his imagination spiral downward, ever darker - and every time he caught himself, he stopped it, and resolved anew to just: do better. He hadn't been there. He wished he had been. So he'd do it now. Even assuming they weren't immediately whisked away to some other trial, there were things he could do here, in the relative calm, to lend support where it was needed. The Constitution still seemed to be a point of contention, and while he'd struggled to think of something meaningful to say about it, because until he saw it work there was no way for him to spot flaws in the schematic, he knew who was in favor of it. He knew who he trusted. And he knew what he'd do to make sure she got what she needed. And then there were the more superficial favors he'd been throwing himself into at every opportunity: grabbing drinks, running snacks, setting up chairs and umbrellas, waving people over to set up and stretch out in his vicinity. He was never so happy as when he was in company, and it made him smile to look up and see the expanding boundaries of his little raft of friends, colorful towels and all the other detritus of a beach excursion reaching out from his center, a bright and growing circle. Something wet and heavy tumbled over his ankles: he started, spilling yet another slop of frozen slush over his knees, and looked up to see BB-8 rolling carelessly against Poe's construction, the better to get the perfect angle to apply the precise finishing touches to his perfectly scaled replica of the Vors' Cathedral of Winds. "Hey," he sputtered, grabbing his shirt where it lay at his hip, and wiping the mess off his legs. "Come on!" BB-8's ocular module swiveled from his work. QUERY: YOU FIND FAULT WITH MY REPRODUCTION. "You knocked over my reproduction," Poe pointed out, gesturing with his now mostly-empty glass. He drained the rest; it was only moderately grainy. BB-8 looked down at the now-broken sand-shape Poe had been working on; back up at Poe. THE INVALIDITY OF YOUR UNDERLYING PREMISE SUGGESTS A HUMOROUS INTENT. ACCEPT MY GRATITUDE FOR THIS GESTURE OF GOODWILL. "Uh huh." He sighed. "Can you -" I MUST LOCATE ADDITIONAL DECORATIVE MATERIAL. And off he went, zipping between tentpoles and discarded coverups and towels - leaving Poe with sand up to his shins, a dripping glass in one hand, a sodden shirt in the other, and his sunglasses fast slipping down his nose. "Help?" |