a good space boy from a good space family (pethdorn) wrote in incompletedata, @ 2017-09-26 09:29:00 |
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Entry tags: | marvel: comics: emma frost, star wars: canon: poe dameron |
WHO: Poe Dameron & Emma Frost
WHAT: Might as well go down this threatening-looking passageway.
WHERE: The WORST CAVE Hole Cave.
WHEN: Day 3.
WARNINGS: Hunger Games.
She was blond - that was what he noticed first. Bail's thin sketch of a description of his assailant had been lingering in the wary part of his brain (or what portions of it weren't given over to so do I eat this mushroom, and wait, did I just walk in a circle, and what was that) for the past couple of days. And here, in one of the passages heading away from their little camp, was a woman; and she was blond. She did not look particularly maniacal. But that was kind of a subjective consideration. Judgement: reserved. Mistrust of the other people here wasn't something he was willing to allow to complicate his experience, in any case. There were a few he knew he wouldn't turn his back on, and as for the rest - either they came at him with a knife or they didn't, and the stakes, while not zero, had hardly ever been lower for him. Leaving Bail alone to defend himself was hardly ideal, but it wasn't as though Poe was adding that much value to begin with, either to Organa or to the group as a whole. It wasn't as though he thought that triumphing here, whatever the hell that meant, would allow him to go speeding back to serve the cause he'd left behind months and months ago. It wasn't out of survival instinct, but rather a desire to be useful that he'd now gone in search of something edible, their meat and bread having begun to wear a little thin. Yesterday's trek to find water had yielded a minor mushroom harvest, too, but he was hopeful that there was something more substantial in another direction. Leaving his companion unattended grated on him extremely - almost as much as it grated on him to sit there, and to be ineffectual, and to have nothing to offer beyond a thin slice of meat and fucking conversation when someone (and not just someone) was in pain - but it was a necessity he'd forced himself to accept, because rats didn't trap themselves, did they. If he could return with something even moderately satisfying, he'd feel better. He thought. A little. For all the good that did anyone. Even now, face to face with someone who was - fifty-fifty - possibly the person who'd snicked off Bail's finger, it didn't really occur to him that he wouldn't return. No one had shown any inclination to harm him. He stopped, pressing his hand against the low ceiling, and he pointed down the long, dim passage extending away from him. "Have you been down that way? I'm going exploring." And if she had a pick she wanted to swing at his head, well - she could have at it. "I'm pretty sure I've found the shittiest part of this filthy dirt-maze, but hope springs eternal. You want to come? Are you hungry?" It was a stupid question. Whoever she was, whatever she wanted, whatever she'd done - she was hungry. And if he was supposed to care less about that than not getting stabbed in the back, this just wasn't his game. Which was fine. This game smelled like bat shit. |