milliways_bar | (no subject)

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"Have you tried scanning any of the near-sun sectors? If they're gathering a fleet, they'll have to stay as far out as they can..."

A dark-haired man in a New Republic starfighter suit, his helmet under one arm and a datapad in his free hand, shoulders the door open. He's looking down and behind himself, so that at first he doesn't see where he is.

The reason for this is trundling along just behind him, keeping up a steady stream of conversational whistles and beeps... which abruptly cut out when BB-8 is slightly quicker on the uptake than his human.

Peeeeeeep!

Poe freezes, slowly turning around and looking up to see... well, Milliways.

His jaw drops.

"...Uh. I don't think we're on Dantooine anymore, buddy."

[OOC: Two pups, one mun! All threads will be tagged by both unless requested otherwise. Poe and BB-8 are both pre-TFA, so there will be no Last Jedi spoilers.]

Tiny tags: Poe Dameron, BB-8

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"No."

A woman, dressed all in black, tilts her head very slightly at both of them. She holds herself very still, and her expression is remarkably blank.

"You are in Milliways. It is a bar."

"Uh."

Poe, distantly aware that 'gormless' is not a good look, recovers himself enough to at least close his jaw. He's still staring around himself, wide-eyed.

"I know that was a hard landing, but I'm pretty sure I didn't hit my head. Why is there a bar where the staff canteen should be?"

The little droid whistles at him.

No, he didn't hit his head - he always looks like that.

X flicks a quick look at the little robot, nodding once.

"Hello."

Then she looks back at Poe.

"I do not think you are concussed. Sometimes doors come here. It is not something most people can control."

He manages to pull himself together somewhat.

"Is it some kind of teleportation? Nobody's ever been able to get that to work..."

The rapid-fire beeps from BB-8 sound long-suffering, and are in fact the Binary equivalent of Hermione Granger beginning the sentence 'If you'd ever read Hogwarts: A History...'.

Teleportation is against the laws of (Star Wars) physics! It can't be done! The droids keep telling humans this, and humans keep trying anyway.

Another flickering glance at BB-8, as she listens to him begin his screed.

Then --

"It is possible. No one is sure if it is magic or technology. They are not always easily distinguishable."

Beat.

"And they might be different. Depending on who is involved."

Beeeeep-bip-bip-bip-beeeeeeeep!

!*$&!*%!*ing Jedi...

"BB-8! Language!"

Poe ignores the sulky beeps in response to give X a rueful grin.

"All right, so, magic-or-advanced-technology bar. Sure." In the absence of anything that seems likely to make sense, he can make like his droid and roll with it.

"...Hi. I'm Poe."

"I am X," X says, matter-of-factly.

"Bad language is not problematic. Here."

Just so everyone knows.

Her gaze flicks to BB-8 again.

"You have a name, too?"

"He's picked it up from the mech-droids, I think," Poe says, nevertheless apologetic. "But there'll be trouble if he keeps using it on the base."

It is the unfortunate opinion of many of Poe's superiors that droids - rather like starfighter pilots, as it turns out - are for providing information, not opinions.

"Pleased to meet you, X."

BB-8 gives her his signature trill, proudly.

"And this is BB-8," Poe translates, just in case. "Do you speak Binary?"

"I am good at languages," X offers.

It is not quite a yes, but she can learn. Quickly, probably. If she wants.

"Hello BB-8. And Poe."

Beat.

"I can ask why he will get in trouble? For talking."

"Sure you can ask." Poe pockets the datapad he's been holding. "My superiors don't... approve... of cursing in front of them. The rest of the talking is fine."

Beat.

"Although they'd probably prefer to hear more facts and less opinions."

BB-8 beeps at him, apparently teasing.

Is Poe talking about his droid, or himself?

X does not flinch, but she studies BB-8 a little more carefully.

"You are okay? In a place like that."

Sometimes it is better to check.

"We're fine," Poe assures her. "I'm a squadron commander, so, uh." He rubs the back of his head, making his curls stick up in all directions. "It's not like anyone's kicking us around. Either of us."

He pats BB-8's head module fondly.

Beep-b-b-bip-beep!

No-one would dare kick Poe around in front of BB-8!

At least, not for long.

"It is difficult," X offers, gaze flicking between BB-8 and Poe.

"When people do not see you as people. I know."

BB-8's peeps sound slightly indignant. He's not a person!

He's much more useful than that.

"Yeah, yeah, I love you too, buddy."

Poe sounds rueful, and more than a little wry. He's also, it must be admitted, slightly bemused.

It's not, exactly, something that he does on purpose. (Most of the time.) But usually, when he and BB-8 meet ~~apparently~~ nice young men and women, the attention is rather more on him than on the droid.

"Are you - what planet are you from?"

She sounds like she'd disapprove of most people he knows: amongst almost everyone he's ever met, Poe's long-standing tendency to include droids in the demographics who don't get left behind has always been considered something of an oddity.

"I am useful, too," X offers equably. "And I was not a person. At first. But I like it. Now."

Being a people, that is.

Then her attention shifts to Poe, and she tilts her head, studying him carefully.

Bemusement is something she is used to, a little. X knows she is weird.

"I am from Earth. We have mutants. And superpowers. And alien invasions. Time-traveling robots from the future. And multiple artificial intelligences."

For context.

"I can ask, too? Where you are from. Both of you."

Bodhi has a holovid of Twi'leki slam poetry playing next to him as he cuts up sand ginger roots. He looks up at the voice, recognising the name of the planet but not the uniform or the drone.

His little ginger and white kitten thinks BB8 looks like fun and comes running over to play.

"Kyber!" Bodhi calls out, hoping the droid won't take offence at being sniffed.

What is that?

It's cute, but it's also tiny... and alien. BB-8 peeps at it curiously, rocking back and forth a little.

The kitten mews back, whiskers twitching as he dances closer.

"Kyber. Play nice." Bodhi come over, wiping blood red juice off his hands.

He looks Poe over again, noticing the similarities between his uniform and some of the pilots he saw on Yavin IV. "First time, huh? It's a lot to take in but you and your droid friend are safe here."

Edited 2018-01-08 02:15 (UTC)

BB-8 is equal parts confused and concerned he might squish the small furry thing, so eventually retreats behind Poe's legs, chirping with worry.

"Easy, buddy. Easy."

Poe pats the droid's head unit distractedly.

"What the kriff is this place?"

Oh! So, it's like that is it? Kyber drops down low, going into stalking mode. He can play chasings too.

Bodhi spots the telltale bum'wiggle and scoops the kitten up. To volumous protests. "Enough of that." He sits Kyber on his shoulder.

"This place is called Milliways. It's a kinda interdimentional nexus. With a bar. Sorry, I'm not very good at the explanation. I was a mess when I arrived be I really don't remember how exactly it was explained to me. But as long as you're not dead, you can come and go whenever you like. But there's plenty of water and food," In that order, "and it's safe."

He cocks his head. "Are you an X-wing pilot?"

Graverobber's just chilling at the bar, enjoying a beer courtesy of the tabs he's earned off of his salesmanship. The little robot catches his eye because hey, cool, technology, that's something he's somewhat familiar with. Though the robot in question is way cuter than anything his world would ever have.

"Cool robot you got there," he says, nodding at Poe.

Poe manages to pull himself together a little. "He's one of a kind," he says, and grins as he pats the droid's head module. "This is BB-8."

Bip-b-b-beep!

And this, the droid advises, is Poe.

Edited 2018-01-08 02:43 (UTC)

"Hey there," he says, nodding at the little droid. He's not sure if it's sentient or not, but considering some of the stuff he's seen at the bar, he wouldn't be surprised. Better safe than sorry. "This you two's first time at the bar?"

"Looks like it." Poe securely pockets the datapad, because he's been in plenty of other cantinas, and without exception they've all been wretched hives of scum and villainy.

(Often quite interesting hives, but nevertheless.)

"...Uh. I'm Poe, if you didn't catch the Binary."

BB-8 grumbles to himself about the number of organics who don't bother to learn Binary.

Of course, since it's issued in a series of whistles and beeps, it sounds less grumpy than it might do otherwise.

"Good to meet ya," he says, and if BB-8's grumbling, well, he admittedly knows absolutely no binary. Or any other robot languages, so it's all just adorable whirring noises as far as he can tell.

"The bar's not a bad spot to wind up in, if that's what you're worried about," Graverobber adds, having noticed Poe pocketing his pad. Taking a sip of his drink, he says, "Everything's pretty calm here, or at least it's been calm since I got here."

"May the Force of others be with you!" Chirrut calls out cheerfully, oriented by the long-absent but shockingly familiar scent of a spaceport, even if his gaze is a bit off. Chirrut is draped over a chair with a cup of tea in one hand, ignoring for the moment the sandwich at his elbow.

He fully expects to be hit in the head with said sandwich.

Baze is sorely tempted to smack Chirrut with the sandwich. Sorely tempted.

But the larger man doesn't, just because that'd be a waste of food and Chirrut needs to actually eat the darn thing.

An armorless Baze is seated in the chair opposite, sweat still beading at his temples from forms this afternoon. He's thinning the steel components for a two-piece trigger mechanism with a file. As usual, he's got a pitcher of ice water resting near his left elbow, and two glasses--one for him, and one for Chirrut.

Baze has to glance around to see who Chirrut is talking to, but then the larger man spots the flight suit. Interesting!

"Yes, may the Force of others be with you. You're certainly not on Dantooine, or any planet. You're on an asteroid at the end of the universe. Welcome to Milliways."

They were actually on Mirrin, but it turns out that the Star Wars 'verse has its own version of The Wizard of Oz.

Poe manages, at least, to pick his jaw up from the floor.

"...There's a cantina on an asteroid?"

BB-8 trills at him, urgently.

They're not moving, so whatever this is, it's not an asteroid.

"We only have the word others where this place is, but I think 'cantina' is selling it a bit short. There was a cantina on Jedha, and the only thing I ever got there was a case of food poisoning and an earworm I couldn't get rid of for days." Chirrut retorts, still firmly believing that this is a Force-supplied heaven, if a very odd one that the living can visit.

"I am Chirrut Imwe, and this fellow is Baze Malbus. Won't you join us? The tea is good - it is sapir."

Baze nudges a chair out with his foot. He scrapes the file along the steel components for the trigger mechanism, and smiles at the pilot and his droid.

"Yes, please do join us. And we can tell you about this place in which you find yourself," Baze says, hailing a waitrat, which chitters at him after arriving.

"One welcome pamphlet, please! And whatever this fellow would like to drink."

"On... Jedha? But that's..."

Non-existant, is what he'd mean to say, whatever the word turned out to be.

He shakes his head, trying to pull himself together.

"Hi," he manages, anyway. The names they gave him haven't quite sunk in yet, although they will soon.

"...I'll get an Adumarian beer, I guess. Uh, please."

It's an impossible cantina; they can totally find him an off-planet beer.

"BB-8, you didn't hear me order that."

After all he is, technically, still on duty.

The droid nudges him, beeping slightly exasperatedly. Of all the people in all the galaxy, Poe's current chain-of-command are... well, they're not the last people BB-8 would ever get him in trouble with, because the First Order exist. But they're close.

Also, shouldn't Poe be paying less attention to his weird human enjoyment of alcohol, and more to the people they're speaking to?

The very specific people they're speaking to?

Chirrut momentarily detains one of the waitrats, politely asking for Poe's beer, before turning his slightly off-focus gaze towards the newcomer once more.

"So, what should we call you? I take it your small friend is BB-8 - I have never heard a droid move quite like that before."

Baze's rat returns with the welcome pamphlet--which turns out to be made of paper, imagine that! Weirdness--so he scoops the brochure up and offers it to the new pilot.

"The droid," Baze informs Chirrut, leaning over to stage-whisper, "looks like a ball with a head on it. BB-8 is orange, the color of sunlight, and white, the color of kyber."

Baze sits up again, eyeing the droid and newcomer with a smile.

"So, as we've said, you're in Milliways, and since you came through the front door, you're probably alive."

He doesn't mind that they're dead, does he? Excuse the narration--permanently retired.

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