milliways_bar | (no subject)

Hey, Baze will eat chocolate chip wafers, and enjoy them! He doesn't sneak up on Oswin, making plenty of noise, but when he reaches her he loops his arms around her shoulders and presses his cheek to hers. He smells of chlorine and bubble bath, and he's warm on her back despite the armor.

"Hello, Oswin!" he says cheerfully--but quietly, as he's right by her ear. "What'd you make?"

"I'm not sure at all what they are - they're not cookies, though they were supposed to be cookies. Have one. Or the plate. Or some number between those." She offers cheerfully, after turning her head to give him a quick kiss on the cheek. Who's her favorite giant armored dude? Definitely this guy.

Baze beams at the offer, and the kiss. "Don't mind if I do," he says, plucking up one of the wafer-cookies. He noms happily, making "mmm" noises. "I'll never get over how good chocolate tastes. It's so sweet! Sugar was rare on Jedha, so the most we ever got were these little hard candies the elders used to hand out if we did an exceptional job in sparring."

"That's it, the plate is yours." She insists instantly, pulling a face. "That's just tragic, and I'm well up on my tragedies."

"Thanks! I'll enjoy them. These are crispy, but still good," Baze says, stuffing his cookie into his mouth. "My favorite cookies are these little shortbread ones baked with strawberry jam. I used to get them on my birthday."

Not that he'll be celebrating birthdays here. He won't age.

"How've you been?"

"No, no, wait, you aren't getting out of this that easy. I could probably do shortbread. I mean, I've never made it, but that's never stopped me any. When's your birthday?" She prods him, her smaller fingers not making much of an indent in the tougher fabric of his jumpsuit. "I can just ask the Bar but I'm polite like that."

Baze laughs. He can't well run from her, given that he's got one arm wrapped around her shoulders, and he's comfortable where he is.

"Well, if we're using one of the twenty variants of the Galactic Standard Calendar, it's the seventh day of the second month," he says, with a quick grin. "I bet our calendars were different from the ones used here, so I should just pick a day and make it my own."

"You should! And when you have, tell me what it is, and I'll make sure you get shortbread." She promises cheerfully. He shouldn't be confused - she's not letting this go, she's just giving him time to pick a day properly.

"Now, to answer your question - fine. Been messing with my 'bots some, tinkering with some cars, traumatizing cookies."

Baze reaches down and pinches her right where Chirrut is usually ticklish. "You have 'bots? Are they like droids? Er, androids, that is. Apparently that's already been confusing to some people."

She squeaks, but doesn't pull away - he's nice and warm.

"When are you going to wear something that'll make it easier for me to retaliate?" She huffs at him, before scanning the rafters intently. Finally she spots what she's looking for, and snaps her fingers, pointing sharply at the countertop afterwards.

"Confusing? I could see potentially offending - my galaxy has cyborgs, which can be called 'droids if someone wants to get rude about it, because they're not, but still." While she's explaining, a tiny (palm-sized, for her) spider-eque robot skitters onto the bartop, its camera eye fixed on Oswin.