milliways_bar | (no subject)

(no subject)

The front door opens and a stormtrooper's voice can be heard on the other side saying, "Keep moving."

Cassian enters with his hands up and a smile saying, "Just looking for a place to watch the races."

As the door closes, he sees he's in Milliways and he moves towards the counter, his smile fading. He doesn't know if that hallucinogenic flu is still a problem and can't afford to risk it while working the swoop races on Corsin.

After picking up a caf, he notices an odd sport on the television where teamwork seems to involve yelling at each other. He sits down and tries to figure out the rules though over time what's showing changes with the constants being snow and ice. It makes him think of Fest and he ends up curling around his mug, that kind of cold is hard to shake.

Tiny tag: Cassian Andor
OOC: Cassian is watching the Winter Olympics, I found a way to make it work.

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Wilford comes up to the bar for his usual stack of newspapers and whatever the Bar feels like giving him for lunch. It's a BLT today. Tasty.

He looks up at the screen and watches in silence for a few moments.

"Is this the doping class, or traditional?" he asks.

Cassian glances over then takes a sip of his caf, "I haven't heard a mention of doping."

Wilford shakes his head. "I think the 'PC' term is enhanced or something."

Everyone knows what that means though.

He watches a few moments longer. These people don't seem very enhanced, but he doesn't have enough of a baseline familiarity with curling to tell the difference.

"PC?"

That's not an abbreviation he's heard and for this sport, it seems more about positioning.

“Politically correct. They started allowing doping in the 80s, so you’d think they could call it what it is by now.”

How is this even a sport? The more Wilford watches it, the more confused he gets.

"They haven't mentioned it once. Its probably not an issue for this sport. Who gets to decide what's politically correct?"

That's one of those terms that all depends on who's using it and why.

Wilford shrugs. “The loudest person in the room, probably.”

Cassian’s probably right about this so-called sport though. The complete lack of sport to it suggests that any idiot with a broom could do it, no matter what they’re on or not on.

“Where’s that robot friend of yours?”

Not here, Wilford hopes.

"Kay's not here,"

He suspects its more complicated than that, anything involving politics always is.

“What’s he for, anyway?”

Giant scary robots are more interesting than curling will ever be. Unless there was a bomb in the stone thing. Then it might be interesting.

"He's my co-pilot," And he remembers how rude Wilford was about Kay, so he turns back to the television which has turned into a skiing race.

"Co-pilot?"

The man walks around with an eight-foot-tall pet robot. What does he expect?

"You're not another mail man are you?"

"No, I'm a pilot and a I fly with Kay," This isn't that difficult a concept.

Wilford rolls his eyes.

"I got that. Last guy I talked to that looked like you and said he was a pilot also said he ran cargo all over hell and creation."

Hence mail man.

"That's what pilots do in our galaxy. What does that have to do with mail?"

The Galactic Empire doesn't have a mail system.

"All pilots?"

That seems... odd.

"What if someone wants to take a vacation somewhere?"

"Many pilots do, its a big galaxy, there are pilots to fly passenger ships, some fly starfighters, there's always a need for pilots."

Edited 2018-02-14 05:03 (UTC)

Wilford isn't sure if he's following this conversation correctly.

"So what do you do?"

He starts by going back to the original question, and hopes maybe this time he can get a straight answer.

Cassian looks between Wilford and the television, takes a long sip of his caf,

"I'm a pilot. Mainly what I fly is cargo but sometimes passengers since my ship is small."

Oh. Right. Wilford nods.

"So you are a mail man."

He's glad they got that cleared up.

He takes a long drink of his caf and gets up,

"No, I'm not a courier. I transport cargo and people sometimes. And I have work to do."

"You always this prickly, or did I forget to take a shower today?"

Wilford isn't sure why this guy always seems to take offence to everything said to him.

Cassian keeps on walking as he has other things to do with his time.

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