a good space boy from a good space family (pethdorn) wrote in incompletedata, @ 2017-09-24 11:18:00 |
|
|||
Entry tags: | star wars: canon: bail organa, star wars: canon: poe dameron |
WHO: Poe Dameron & Bail Organa
WHAT: Taking a little time to recuperate.
WHERE: The hot springs in the multipart cave.
WHEN: Some time after the cornucopia.
WARNINGS: Hunger Games.
Perched awkwardly on one of the jutting, angular outcroppings in the rock, up to his shoulders in sulferous-smelling water, Poe could say this much: he wasn't cold anymore. But that was about it, as far as triumphs went. Yes, he'd managed to snag some decent supplies - a tent, some food, a bunch of matches - and, yes, he'd found Senator Organa. It was hard to feel accomplished, though, when he'd failed to keep the man in one piece even through the very first day of this ordeal. The light was little better here than anywhere else he'd seen thus far, but it was enough to make out the lines on a man's face, or the set of his shoulders - or the ominous tremble of his hand. It made him sick to think of it. So he tried not to - not for now, at least. It didn't escape him that a hot bath wasn't the best place to be, if you were trying to stanch bleeding, but - some wouldn't hurt. And you had to have some faith in your compatriots, after all, to know what was best for themselves (at least to a point). Warming up after a shock wasn't a bad idea, anyway. He'd stripped down to his underwear and dropped in, leaving his other clothes out to dry - not that they ever would, in this air. He'd hoped the water would help ease some of the already-clenching muscles in his back, but his body hadn't begun to lock itself up from physical effort - no, this was just anger, and provocation, and a thwarted sense of duty. Someone like Bail Organa, who'd done what he'd done, who'd lost what he'd lost, shouldn't have to put on a kriffing costume and scrap with people over rations, and clamber through caves for - for any reason. No one should have. But especially not him. Still - in shitty circumstances, high spirits were important. Especially when you didn't know how long they'd last. "Whenever we wound up somewhere unbearable, my dad always said - at least it's not Hoth." His mouth twisted into a grimace that might, in the dark, have passed for a weak smile. "So: at least it's not Hoth. Although I've never been, so - maybe this is worse. Who knows." Then, of course, they'd have had water. That was the first concern on his mind: he hadn't grabbed any, and between cleaning wounds and drinking ... "Are you hungry?" Better to focus on solvable problems, for now. "You should eat something. Even if you're not." |