Murmuring a bit is a completely acceptable activity by Bodhi's standards, and he goes very carefully and quietly anyway, not wanting to risk making her resist his help again. He's happy to exist as unobtrusively as possible as long as it's doing some good. And maybe shielding him from a few more painfully perceptive barbs on Jyn's part.
He jumps a little at the question and pauses for a moment, debating his answer. There's one big answer, one with cool, deep eyes that were tired and hunted and wise and saw right to the core of him, one with a soft voice just as often turned to minutiae about crystallography as the ethics of rebellion and the possibilities therein. That's an answer that might get him punched, and one he doesn't want to risk again, for his own sake as well as Jyn's. So that leaves a lot of little things. He can't sort them out and also pick the ones he thinks will work best to keep her calm, not in the moment.
"Little things, one after another," he says softly. "They... they built up, once I left the Academy, especially. You can forget things there. I--I think that's part of how it's made. You don't think about home, or what's outside, and then..." Well, that's not going anywhere. "The most ordinary things turn into, um, into horrors. You realize a cargo you flew of specialized fuel cells is--is powering a prison camp." A deep breath. "A graduate from your year disappears off her route, and no one wants to talk about it." His voice raises in pitch a bit, even as it falls in volume, and the words come faster. "An arrest turns... turns into a summary execution. Right in front of you, and-and-and the troopers don't even look at you even though you were in--you were in the same place and just as suspicious, because there's the right patch on your flight suit, and--" He cuts off suddenly, unable to bear his own voice anymore, half forgetting Jyn's trouble as memories threaten to creep back in.
no subject
He jumps a little at the question and pauses for a moment, debating his answer. There's one big answer, one with cool, deep eyes that were tired and hunted and wise and saw right to the core of him, one with a soft voice just as often turned to minutiae about crystallography as the ethics of rebellion and the possibilities therein. That's an answer that might get him punched, and one he doesn't want to risk again, for his own sake as well as Jyn's. So that leaves a lot of little things. He can't sort them out and also pick the ones he thinks will work best to keep her calm, not in the moment.
"Little things, one after another," he says softly. "They... they built up, once I left the Academy, especially. You can forget things there. I--I think that's part of how it's made. You don't think about home, or what's outside, and then..." Well, that's not going anywhere. "The most ordinary things turn into, um, into horrors. You realize a cargo you flew of specialized fuel cells is--is powering a prison camp." A deep breath. "A graduate from your year disappears off her route, and no one wants to talk about it." His voice raises in pitch a bit, even as it falls in volume, and the words come faster. "An arrest turns... turns into a summary execution. Right in front of you, and-and-and the troopers don't even look at you even though you were in--you were in the same place and just as suspicious, because there's the right patch on your flight suit, and--" He cuts off suddenly, unable to bear his own voice anymore, half forgetting Jyn's trouble as memories threaten to creep back in.