Cassian Andor (seenitbefore) wrote in onewaythreads, @ 2017-10-07 14:00:00 |
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Entry tags: | cassian andor, jyn erso |
Who: Cassian and Jyn
Where: Kingsby Tavern
When: Way the hell back in August because we are the slowest
What: the most anticlimactic debrief in history
Status: Closed; ongoing (see: the slowest)
Warnings: Discussions of violence, professional scorn
It's after three in the morning when Cassian gets back, and if nothing else about the night has gone according to expectation, at least he has no trouble letting himself in. The Kingsby Tavern countenances too many nocturnal doings, of too many shades of legality, to bestir itself much over one late-returning lodger. He goes soundlessly up most of the stairs, with only the slight, unavoidable creak in the last rickety flight by way of advance warning.
Jyn has been waiting up for him. Silly thing to do, in some ways. It’s not as if she would know he wasn’t coming back until the morning. Not as though she could find out if he’d been arrested or killed until then. She could be in for a busy day when the sun rose, and under many circumstances, she’d take the chance to doze, no matter how excited or worried or otherwise agitated she might be.
But she’s been getting more sleep and better than she has since she was eight, living here in the Kingsby Tavern, with a creaky stair and noisy hinges and a door she can lock and bar for both of them. It’s not crucial she get that all of that rest tonight. And she doesn’t want Cassian to be alone when he comes back.
So she’s sitting at the table, leaning over a crossword from the previous day’s newspaper, working the puzzle by the light of the tablelamp. She sits up when she hears the creak of the last flight, and pushes herself back from the table so that she’ll be unencumbered if she has to stand up quickly. Her hands fall to her lap. She turns her head to the door: watchful and alert. Silent.
But almost at once there's a faint tap, and then the protest of the hinges as Cassian eases the door open just enough to slip inside. He shuts it again as quietly as possible, and throws her a wry glance as he turns the key in the lock. "I should have let you sleep."
She snorts, in mingled amusement and relief. “That bad?”
"I really thought you were kidding about the glider," he says tiredly, and crosses to sit down on the bed.
Jyn stands up and goes to join him. Better to talk about sensitive subjects sitting close together. They are at the top of the building and it would be remarkable if they were bugged or easily overheard, but good habits are always worth cultivating. “I take you didn’t throw your support behind winging away over the Emerald Forest.”
"Oh no, they've improved it."
“...that sounds real promising.”
"Yeah," deadpan. "They're going to put everyone on a boat, make it invisible, and sail it away to civilization. There was a sign-up sheet."
Silence. Jyn blinks at him. Once. Twice.
Cassian directs his gaze at a point somewhere above the window. "Which I assume they checked against the names they took at the door."
Jyn groans, low and heartfelt. “You should have let me sleep.”
"Sorry." He scrubs a hand over his face, and leans down to start undoing his boots. "In my defense, I wouldn't have stayed if there'd been an earlier train."
She nudges his booted foot with her stockinged one. Just a joke. “Answers a few questions, anyway. If there’s more than one organization, this likely isn’t the one planting bombs.”
A snort. "No."
“Because they’d have told you all about it,” Jyn adds, helpfully.
He actually grins, fast and furtive, head still bent over his bootlaces. "Pretty sure there'd have
been a speech."
“That settles it! They’re ruled out.” She bumps his knee with hers. Carefully, not too fast. “You think they’re something to keep an eye on?”
"Hard to say. We don't have any better leads," ruefully.
Jyn nods and frowns. “And people confident to recruit and unveil campaigns at the same time could be trouble. Even if they’re only confident because they don’t understand what they’re doing.”
"Right." He gets the boots off, pushes them aside, and straightens, grimacing. "Imagine if they do decide to plant bombs."
She winces. “You ever hear about that kid on Kuat? Who knows what exactly happened, but his friends said later he’d been talking about making a statement, depriving the Empire of its source of power. He worked at one of the shipyards. I figure, if he’d been able to make the explosive stable, he’d have had opportunity to shut down a good bit of production for at least a few months. But he lived in one of those worker dorms, where people are packed in on each other. Fire marshall said his room was the epicenter of the blast.”
Silence for a minute. What is there to say, really?