milliways_bar | (no subject)

Chirrut spends hours tending the tea plants today, replanting groupings of three or four into individual plants, arranging and re-arranging the pots to best find the warmth (and supposedly light) of the sun, making sure the watering system would cover the new arrangement of plants... there was a lot to do. It is peaceable work and the time flies by.

Baze isn't in his brewery when Chirrut is done, so he meanders upstairs to get cleaned up. While he cannot see muddy fingerprints, he has it on good authority that they're highly annoying.

The pain catches him once he's inside. Sudden loss, sharp and aching as a stab through the chest turns any scream into a shocked breath of air, almost silent in its agony.

Baze.

That sense of knowing where Baze is, that he's alright... it's gone. He's gone.

Chirrut isn't sure how long he spends on his knees, frozen in that moment, too stunned to figure out what comes next. He can only barely remember a time Baze wasn't by his side, not too far away. He's still not, Chirrut knows in his head, but his heart doesn't want to listen. His heart is too busy screaming.

Finally he picks himself up, dusting himself off by habit. Downstairs, he should head downstairs, ask Bar, she'd... well, she'd have the best chance of knowing. Then maybe X, if he doesn't find his answer. Then... Too much, that's enough of a plan. He turns back to the door, but... no.

Muddy fingerprints are annoying. He's been told this.

Washing his hands doesn't take long. There's... there's no rush now.

When Chirrut gets to the Bar, he is greeted with a note, written on paper that would have been painfully precious in NiJedha. To anyone watching, his expression does not change as he reads it over and over again, tracing the raised ink with gentle fingers.

This? Baze died for this? So senseless. Baze deserved more.

Chirrut has a quiet word with the Bar, and is rewarded with a stack of books and a copy of his reader, which he takes to one of the chairs by the fire, a rat following behind with a cup of tea. Not Sapir - a surprise tea. For Baze. The books are on brewing beer and moonshine, a project he's wholly unsuited for, but he intends to master.

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Considering Wilford still doesn't realise Chirrut is blind, it doesn't even occur to him that the staff would be any kind of aid beyond an aid for causing someone pain.

"Okay," Wilford says slowly, not going anywhere. There's $2000 in his wallet, which he quickly pulls out. "I told your boyfriend I'd give him two grand if he helped me out with something."

He does not indicate at all that he is holding that two grand in his hand, and intends for Chirrut to take it and deliver it to Baze, if he ever decides to show up.

Chirrut did once (sort of) promise X that he wouldn't beat people inside the bar anymore.

This would be why, when the man responsible for Baze dying (again) doesn't take the broadly written and underlined hint, he reaches out to grab for the man with the very clear intent of dragging him outside.

Oh, what the hell is this? Wilford's wallet and the cash both disappear into his inventory before he has the chance to lose it. He's slow and groggy from this headache that just won't go away (he is not getting sick, damnit), so it takes him a few moments longer than it should to realise that Chirrut is pissed off about something.

"Hey, hands off," Wilford says, trying to pull away.

What the hell did he do now? He doesn't deserve this!

Chirrut can only think of one person who deserves it more, but that man has his own protections. He fails to listen to the protest, instead hauling steadily towards the back door.

Wilford did nothing wrong.

But fine. If a fight is going to happen - which apparently, it is! - then he'd rather it happen outside as well, just in case someone decided he started it. Which he didn't.

Which is why as soon as they're out the door, he swings his elbow out, if for no other reason than to get Chirrut to let go of him.

Chirrut lets go - he doesn't need to drag Wilford further, they are outside so his promise to X is fulfilled. With both hands on his staff, he can launch into a swift and business-like attack.

Wilford tries to block the attack while pulling out the only weapon he has today - a switchblade knife. It's really no match against a stick, because he can't get close enough to use it. Unless he decides to throw it, but then he's completely without a weapon.

"What the fuck is your problem?" he says, protecting his glasses from getting smashed by this maniac.

Chirrut doesn't feel the need to explain himself. Explaining won't make him feel better, and if Wilford doesn't think Baze's death is worth a beating, Chirrut can't fix that level of cluelessness.

He can, however, beat Wilford bloody. He's had decades of experience learning that.

Well... no. He doesn't actually. He doesn't see what Baze getting himself killed has anything to do with Wilford getting his ass handed to him now.

He does try to defend himself though, because what the hell? Getting smacked with a stick hurts, but Wilford can try to grab onto it and lash out with his knife.

But he's slow, because he has a headache, and everything already hurts (he is not getting sick), and frankly, this has all caught him rather off-guard. He tries to pull the stick away from Chirrut, because it puts him at a rather unfair advantage.

Chirrut goes with the staff, kicking out fiercely and with an aim no blind man should have. He has no interest in making this a fair fight.

He just wants to share his pain.

Fine! Great! Take it out on someone else!

"Jesus fucking Christ!" Wilford shouts, at this point just trying to get away. He's sick of getting attacked randomly. He feels like this guy might actually kill him all over again.

He throws a few punches and kicks of his own, but Chirrut has the benefit of actual training, where Wilford's more of a back-alley brawler. He's used to fighting opponents who are a lot more drunk.

Chirrut doesn't know who Wilford is calling to, but there's no one nearby to rescue him. He is merciless in his blows, though he stops short of actually trying to kill the man.

Good. Wilford didn't even do anything this time.

In fact, it's the first time he's ever been beaten up for trying to give someone money.

"Are you done yet, you psycho?" he asks, finally getting some distance between them.

Chirrut pauses, gauging the way Wilford moves, the way he breathes.

"You should leave." Chirrut repeats, the ice as solid as ever, and heads back inside.

Wilford just stares at Chirrut for a few moments, wondering what in the hell just happened. When he coughs, he assumes it's because some asshole just hit him with a stick a bunch of times.

Then he sees the purple, glittery smear on his hand. Great. That's all he needs.

"Tell your boyfriend to come find me later," he says, deciding he'd much rather go home than hang around here another second longer.

Thankfully, Chirrut hasn't heard him, already back inside to reclaim his reader and wait for the rats to bring him tea. He has some research to do.