Daenerys rubbed her thumb on the crest of Drogon’s head, that spot right between his eyes before the dip of his snout. Then she swayed her knees towards Poe so the dragon could sniff the air around Dameron and decide for himself that no posturing was needed because the pilot was not a threat. The small animal craned its neck, it’s small head bobbing a few times before it decided it was far more interested in the food that Dany held than whatever it was in Poe’s cup. “But, no, I’m with you. I don’t really understand them at all, meyself. They don’t taste like they’re worth eating, and everyone who wants them dips them in so much sauce and butter they can’t really be eating them for the taste either, but...”
She smiled, almost apologetically and held shrimp up by the fin of its tail for the dragon to snap onto. Dany had noticed Poe as he’d trudged passed her to the cafeteria. He was a man that wore his emotions well (certainly better than he wore the colour pink), but that was a trait that could be as much a weakness as it was a strength. She hadn’t been completely blind to the rising conflict in the circle of this facility that Poe seemed familiar with. There was just so much happening as of late that it hadn’t occurred to her that for Dameron, the Hotel take-over of Squad twelve, the disappearing specimens, amendments and power machines might all seem of far less importance once problems with meaning and weight from the world he’d come from had bled through to the Wittgenstein. She imagined that she would be as distracted and wear just as much anger and frustration if her enemies found their way to this place.
It was also true that the Wittgenstein hadn’t let Poe glide easily through any of the challenges or situations they inflicted on their captives. She’d watched the ‘Games’ and seen him struggle and fight with himself as much as he stood against the elements. That said, Dameron seemed more worn and tired now that he had in those caves. It might have been the lighting of the screens they’d had to watch, or it could have been panic that kept him going when death was the most likely way out of the caves. But all the same, he seemed troubled.
“You're upset, Poe.” She reached over slowly and wrapped her hand around his wrist. She turned it so his palm faced upwards and stroked her fingers across the surface to make sure he kept his hand as flat as possible. Then, she set a shrimp in place and bent her knee a bit more so Drogon would choose food over fingers and pluck the shelled seaworm from its place. “The First Order?”