milliways_bar | (no subject)

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cecil (wtnv)

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When Cassian comes in, he's yawning as he's spent the past few days deep in analyses. After that message, everything felt like it changed and once he was on base, he was more use making sense of what they had and kept finding.

Now the pieces are coming together and its not pleasant but he's heard discussions in Ops about how the Rebellion is changing. The talks about rescues and what can be risked and what can't be haven't been good for sleeping so he's been working through the night. There's enough to do.

At the counter, he orders a caf and is given a generous lunch along with it. Then he turns to see if anyone he knows is around, he's going to take this chance to not look at a screen for a little while.

Tiny tag: Cassian Andor

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Cassian doesn't know Cecil, but he is making enough of a racket, hammering coffee beans into fine enough pieces to make a good drip coffee, while muttering curses under his breath.

The purple sweater vest over a white button-down shirt with rolled up sleeves is pretty loud, too. But he carries it off.

That pounding is loud and Cassian rubs his face as he stands up to look at what's going on, "What are you doing?"

Cecil stops mid-swing, and cocks his head as he gives a friendly smile.

"Making coffee. Would you like a cup once I have this hammered?"

"Does the hammering make it better?" If it does, he'll try some.

"It's the only proper way to do it." Yes, Cecil is a coffee snob. He frowns upon the alternate coffees of the Barista district (though he does have a go-to order to be pull out in self defence if he gets waylaid there.

"Oh, I'll try some. The caf I usually drink isn't very good." He can cook but he's never been able to make actually delicious caf.

"Fantastic, it won't be a moment." Cecil assures him, and goes back to vigorously hammering the beans. "Name's Cecil Palmer by the way, nice to meet you!" He adds, having to shout a bit over his shoulder to be heard.

"Cassian Andor," Cassian raises his voice just enough to carry over the hammering, "Does what you hammer the beans with matter?"

"Well, you'll find specially made hammers for sale of course, some very fancy, but I've always found a regular old housold hammer works just fine." Cecil rambles at volume, clearly unbothered.

"I guess there's a tool for everything."

"Usually multiple, at differing price points." Cecil agrees, giving the beans one last almighty whack. "There, now, just set them up in the coffee maker..." He carefully pours the resulting coffee bean shards into the filter cup and starts up the machine.

"Of course, there's always a reason for something. I'm a pilot and if shipbuilders are to be believed, I need a different spanner for every part of my ship."

'Pilot' and 'ship' aren't matching words in Cecil's lexicon, buuuuuuut eh. Interdimensional space bar. He's pretty sure language can be that flexible, especially when it has had a few drinks.

"Oh, a pilot? What sort of ship?" He asks politely, as the coffee percolates and sends heavenly coffee aroma in to the air.

Ahhhhhh, bliss.

"A U-wing that flies through space. That smells good," He leans forward as his caf never smells that delicious.

Cecil slow-blinks, an expression that portrays his 'a what that does whatnow' feelings to their full extent.

"Do you... fight in the Blood Space Wars?" He asks, hesitantly... mostly because he's almost sure he's wrong. The only person they know who has returned from that fight... well. He's not like this.

"The Blood Space Wars?" Cassian recognizes that confused expression and now mirrors it himself. "No, I'm from the Galactic Empire. I grew up during the Clone Wars."

"A war where you have to fight your clone? That sounds horrible." Cecil sobers quickly.

Hold on to that thought, Cecil.

Really.

"No, the soldiers were clones of each other. I was a boy when it happened,"

Though he did fight in it in his own way.

Edited 2018-07-26 05:40 (UTC)

"... And those clones had to fight each other?" Cecil hazards, still not entirely sure of the plot.

"No, they were fighting droid armies and other Separatist armies,"

The Clone Wars didn't make the most sense even when they were happening.

"... Droid armies?" Cecil repeats helplessly, because... what... what is that even? Thankfully the coffee is done, so he can fill two mugs (one from Subway, with the classic tag line underneath the logo: 'Devour Your Own Heart'; the other from BestBuy, with it's own, very iconic tag line: 'Conserve Your Oxygen!') and push one towards Cassian.

"What is a droid army?"

Cassian reads the mugs and tries to make sense of them,

"Is oxygen rare where you're from? Droids, um robots, I think they're sometimes called."

"No, not that I'm aware of." Cecil shrugs - who knows what goes through the minds of marketing types? But he rapidly loses interest in preference towards the lingual gymnastics going on.

".... Rrrrrrrrobots." He rolls the word in his mouth, frowning. No, doesn't get any better with repetition. "And those are?"

"Artificial sometimes humanoid looking mechanical creations,"

Cassian pulls up images of various droids on his datapad from astromechs to protocol droids to show Cecil.

Cecil studies the images thoughtfully.

"Oh, like a computer, I see." He decides, tilting his head. "Was it entirely wise, giving them arms?"