milliways_bar | (no subject)

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baze malbus

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There's nothing like a nasty virus to remind you of your age. Even if you aren't, technically, aging any more. He would complain that this isn't at all fair, but 'fair' wasn't ever really part of his life. Why should it be part of his afterlife?

So he's doing his best to get over it - he's keeping warm by the fire, stretching muscles and joints that continue to gripe about their lot, with a pot of sapir that he is steadily draining.

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Having foregone his armor, Baze sits in a plush armchair by the fire, shaping and sanding ironwood inserts intended to mate with the stock of his lightbow on either side of the shoulder extension. The ironwood is incredibly hard, and shaping the inserts takes a great amount of effort with a hammer and chisel--a challenge which Baze gleefully meets. He has a sweating pitcher of water resting on a side table, and two glasses, one of which is full and he periodically drinks from.

He's been watching his friend, and Baze's heart has been going out to him.

"Are you feeling any better, Chirrut?"

"With time." Chirrut eases into the next form, slowly, keeping a mind of the heat of the fire nearby. "And your carving?"

"It's going as well as can be expected," Baze says, and the contented smile on his face can be heard in his voice.

"This ironwood is exceedingly hard, just as Ganymede said it would be. It's ridiculous; I thought uneti wood was hard. The wood rasp barely does anything to it."

"It will give you plenty of time to meditate." Chirrut laughs, leaning into the stretch. "Though if it is too hard you'll never finish it. Seems a bit counter-productive."

"Oh, I'll finish it all right," Baze says, harrumphing. He holds the handle of the rasp in his right hand and the tip in his left, pushing downhill against the curve of the wood, working with the grain. His breaths work in rhythm with the scraping, showing that he's at peace, if working hard.

"If I can't work the ironwood, I'll find a different wood to use. Though I'm fairly certain I'll be able to shape this; it'll just require effort. It's only too bad uneti doesn't grow here."

"And Bar will give you none? Ah well." Cautiously he reverses the posture, patiently out-waiting the tension of unwilling muscles.

"Oh, Bar will give me some," Baze says, glancing up from his wood shaping.

"But I wanted to chop the tree down myself. Or, rather, shrub, in this case. And I figured... since we're on an Earth-like asteroid, why not use trees that can be found on Earth?"

He spends a few more minutes scraping the rasp along the ironwood, to no effect.

"If I can't shape the ironwood, I'll order some uneti wood from Bar."

"Whatever pleases you, of course." Chirrut agrees, sinking deeper into the stretch. "The materials aren't the focus, so long as they stand up to use."

"I think they will," Baze says, picking up the wood and looking down the straight edge to make sure it's truly straight.

"I probably won't engrave the ironwood. Or maybe I will. I haven't decided yet. So, my friend. Are you finally hungry? I know you haven't eaten much since that flu."

"Eh." Chirrut doesn't shrug, as it would disrupt his balance, but the feeling is there. "I have my tea, we'll see how that goes."

Baze doesn't sigh, as much as he wants to. He wants Chirrut to eat, but Baze has already made that abundantly clear, so there's nothing he can do until his friend ends up hungry again.

"You had fun at our party, right? Should we throw another one next year, or have a quieter celebration?"

"The party was fun." Chirrut agrees, shifting to another stretch when he can't get as deep as he'd like in the one he's in. "But do you really need a whole year to plan the next? That suggests a multi-day event, complete with parades." He asks, teasing.

Baze laughs, picking up his hammer and chisel to get to work on the inserts again.

"Maybe! I wonder if there would be enough people here to put on a parade. There might be enough to put one on and not enough to watch. But being in one could be fun."

He's teasing, clearly. But he does consider the suggestion.

"I guess I don't need a whole year to plan a party. But I'd like to get a head start on the fireworks making, if we're doing that again."

"I'm certainly not going to stop you! They were wonderful, and I doubt anyone would protest if you decided to set some off without a driving reason." Chirrut points out, more satisfied in his range on this stretch.

"I'm glad that you liked them," Baze says warmly, chipping away at the ironwood.

"Maybe I should set some fireworks off to celebrate completing my lightbow. Or maybe just for a summer get together. We could serve ice cream."

"I'm sure they will be enjoyed, regardless." The patronage here seems to enjoy an event, after all.

"Yeah," Baze says, nodding exactly once.

"So, my waitrat language studies are going well. I've been told my accent is terrible, but they seem to appreciate that I'm making the effort."

"That would explain you squeaking in your sleep." Chirrut observes, teasing.

Baze blinks, startled, and then throws his head back and laughs.

"No, no way! I'm not squeaking in my sleep! Surely not," he says, grinning sheepishly. If Baze Malbus could blush... Well, Chirrut wouldn't be able to see it anyway, but surely he can feel the extant embarrassment in the Force.

"Am I?"

"I'm sure your accent is just fine then, though I wouldn't be able to tell." He adds, innocently.

Baze cracks up. He tucks his chin against his chest, his shoulders shaking in his amusement.

"Ohhh, nooo," he says, after his giggles have tapered off some--but still show no signs of stopping.

"Well, I'm sorry if I'm keeping you awake. That can't be helping you recover from the flu."

Chirrut shakes his head as he pours himself another cup of tea, ignoring the crankiness of his calves.

"No, it is charming. Or at least, amusing."

Baze beams at his friend, resisting the urge to run a hand over his short-cropped hair, as Baze would have to wash his own hands again.

"Thank you, my friend. I've learned the words for 'please,' 'thank you,' and the rats' favorite phrase, 'and a tip for you.' That's probably what I'm chittering about."

"Oh no, I like my theories better." Chirrut demurs, smirking.

Uh. Uh oh. Baze offers Chirrut a raised brow, which he can't see.

"Uh oh. What would those be?"

"Mmmm, no, as you say, they are unlikely." Chirrut smiles, setting aside his teacup to bend over his forward leg.

Hmph. Hmph! Baze would fold his arms, but he's got a hammer and chisel in his hands, and he's supposed to be working anyway. He starts trying to shape the ironwood, hammering away to no effect.

"I'm not sure if you have theories," Baze says, pursing his lips.

"I think you might just be teasing me."

"All things are possible in the Force." Chirrut sings back, placidly.

Baze cackles again, shaking his head.

"They are. You're just lucky that excuse works on me now."

Chirrut snorts, because excuse you, that 'excuse' has always worked. Mostly because it isn't an excuse, it's the truth.

~~And the truth shall set you free~~

Baze doesn't need the Force to tell him that he's probably offended his friend. He sighs, picking up the rasp again and dragging it across the ironwood.

Time to change the subject. But to what? Baze can't think of anything.

Oh. There's always that.

"So, I saw you talked to Creed at the party."

"Did I? Your fireworks attracted quite a lot of strangers." Chirrut doesn't know why Baze decided to change topics, but goes with it. Some things aren't worth the argument.

"I'm not surprised that he didn't give you his name," Baze says, blowing wood shavings off of the ironwood insert. He almost sighs again.

Time to make things right.

"Listen, I'm sorry that I said that saying about the Force was an excuse."

"You recoverin' too, honey?" Bonnie asks, bringing over two slices of cake.

"As well as I can. May the Force of others be with you, Bonnie." Chirrut replies with a warm smile. "Tea?"

"Thanks, I brought you some cake." Bonnie says, sitting down next to him.

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