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sixthiterationlogs2017-02-07 10:58 pm
audaces) wrote in sixthiterationlogs2017-02-07 10:58 pm
Entry tags:
(no subject)
WHO: Poe Dameron
WHERE: Outside the Cassidy (#3)
WHEN: February 7th
OPEN TO: Stella Gibson
WARNINGS: Undoubtedly lots of flirting, will update if anything changes
STATUS: ongoing
When he had gotten up that morning, Poe had been freezing. Now, he's used to sleeping on a military base, such as it was, and being part of the Resistance meant dealing with things like not having enough money to keep the heating systems working every minute of the day, so a cold morning isn't totally foreign to him. What had been foreign was waking up without hearing BB-8's chirping, without being able to fumble his hand across the messy table by his bed to activate his holo-clock so he could figure out what time it was.
This planet's sun is so far away. He hasn't yet learned how to estimate the time of day based on its positioning.
After greeting Rey and sharing the leftovers from their pitiful dinner the night before, Poe had decided he was going to tackle the mess that was their house. It's obviously been standing empty for months, and since he didn't have anything else to do, he decided he was going to do something about that. As the temperature slowly climbed, he flung open all the windows and doors, even going so far as to haul their bedding out over the railing so he could beat the hell out of them to dislodge dust and dirt and air them out a little. Once that was dealt with, and he'd grown too hot to keep his long-sleeved top on, he'd decided to tackle the sludgy mess that was their front aspect.
He'd borrowed a broom, which made cleaning the path to their door a lot easier, and even begged a bucket off someone so he could take a rag and some hot water and wash down the muddy white-painted trim. Poe learned early on, from long summers being forced to re-paint the fences around the Dameron compound, that the easiest way to keep from having to do a big repair job was to do little maintenance work throughout the year. If he has time, he might even try to sort out the whole firewood situation, since the wood-burning furnace in the cellar eats up an astonishing amount of wood, and he knows how much he and Rey both appreciate having hot water on tap.
Getting into a comfortable rhythm, he starts to whistle to help pass the time as he works, a cheerful Yavinese melody that warbles through the clear air like birdsong.
WHERE: Outside the Cassidy (#3)
WHEN: February 7th
OPEN TO: Stella Gibson
WARNINGS: Undoubtedly lots of flirting, will update if anything changes
STATUS: ongoing
When he had gotten up that morning, Poe had been freezing. Now, he's used to sleeping on a military base, such as it was, and being part of the Resistance meant dealing with things like not having enough money to keep the heating systems working every minute of the day, so a cold morning isn't totally foreign to him. What had been foreign was waking up without hearing BB-8's chirping, without being able to fumble his hand across the messy table by his bed to activate his holo-clock so he could figure out what time it was.
This planet's sun is so far away. He hasn't yet learned how to estimate the time of day based on its positioning.
After greeting Rey and sharing the leftovers from their pitiful dinner the night before, Poe had decided he was going to tackle the mess that was their house. It's obviously been standing empty for months, and since he didn't have anything else to do, he decided he was going to do something about that. As the temperature slowly climbed, he flung open all the windows and doors, even going so far as to haul their bedding out over the railing so he could beat the hell out of them to dislodge dust and dirt and air them out a little. Once that was dealt with, and he'd grown too hot to keep his long-sleeved top on, he'd decided to tackle the sludgy mess that was their front aspect.
He'd borrowed a broom, which made cleaning the path to their door a lot easier, and even begged a bucket off someone so he could take a rag and some hot water and wash down the muddy white-painted trim. Poe learned early on, from long summers being forced to re-paint the fences around the Dameron compound, that the easiest way to keep from having to do a big repair job was to do little maintenance work throughout the year. If he has time, he might even try to sort out the whole firewood situation, since the wood-burning furnace in the cellar eats up an astonishing amount of wood, and he knows how much he and Rey both appreciate having hot water on tap.
Getting into a comfortable rhythm, he starts to whistle to help pass the time as he works, a cheerful Yavinese melody that warbles through the clear air like birdsong.
no subject
Her explanation of what's happening to them is met with a serious look. She's not telling him anything he hasn't heard before, but he'd rather hoped someone as sensible as Stella appears to be would have had different information. Better information. Hell, he'd settle for more information at this point.
The look she's giving him doesn't escape his notice, and he can't help straightening up and squaring his shoulders a little, an unconscious response to an assessing gaze. She's a beautiful woman and he'd have to be dead not to react to a look like that, and Poe is very definitely not dead.
"Oh?" He looks up at the sky, his eyes narrowing. He hasn't had much to do with the lightning yet, he's only been here for a few days, but he's not dumb. He knows what she's asking. "Well, I'm afraid I don't have much to offer in the way of refreshments, but if you'd like a glass of water, I can certainly provide that..."
no subject
The lightning isn't entirely an excuse to get him indoors, of course. Stella has very real concerns about being struck, especially when the weather here doesn't seem to act anything like what she's used to at home. But it is also convenient, and he's plainly noticed her interest, and she's approached enough men like this to realize the interest is mutual. Stella's not especially good at the sort of coy teasing flirtation many women engage in by default — she's actually been told she's more masculine, in that sense — but there are steps to this dance, and sometimes she enjoys seeing where they lead.
"Aside from a few very resourceful individuals, I think we're all suffering from a bit of a shortage." She gestures, briefly, toward the house. "If you don't mind?"
The words are polite, but there's something in that lingering slight smile that's more curiosity than good manners.