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ganymede

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Out back of the bar, early in the morning--the sun hasn't properly risen yet, only the tint of a lighter sky flirting with the horizon--Ganymede is dancing. It's a strange dance, one performed without a partner: he holds a long baton in one hand as he twists and whirls gracefully. His feet step and shift and brace with a terrible ease, not missing a motion in the soft sand as fading starlight glimmers off the lake's surface.

It would be entertaining, peaceful even, if one didn't look carefully at the sweeping motions of that baton and could see the similarity to a reaper's scythe and the deadly motions thereof. The short sword lying a few steps away might reinforce that idea.

Mind you watch your ankles.

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"May the Force of others be with you!" Chirrut does not look at all like he knows it is impossibly early - he's practically bouncing as he makes his way down the shoreline. The kyber crystal tipping his staff gleams in the low light, and his lightbow is strapped across his back.

The reply Chirrut gets to that this early in the morning is soft-voiced and in a language he most likely does not understand; it being so old, and there being literally one person who speaks it, it doesn't translate. He doesn't miss any motions as he speaks, merely finishing the series of steps before stopping facing Chirrut, only long enough to speak before staring over with those swooping, graceful turns.

"Hello, my friend. Good morning."

It is morning, by some standards.

"You seem in good spirits for being up so early."

"Is it early? Baze complained, but Baze always complains that I am up too early." Chirrut laughs. "I've always found it hard to tell time without the temple bells."

"Not too early for me to be out, evidently," Ganymede says peaceably, feet shifting in the sand. "I like predawn. It's calm."

He likes calm for some periods, though his daily life is somewhat chaotic on a good day. "It's...four-thirty? Perhaps five by now."

"Oh, I could go if you wanted more calm." Chirrut offers, teasing, "Though I thought, maybe... I did make a promise, and I have my lightbow."

"No," he smiles, "You don't need to go." Ganymede stops and tosses the baton away, thudding gently in the sand by his sword. "I'd like to see the lightbow, though you may have to excuse me being overly curious. I'm a passable archer, but not much more."

"There is nothing wrong with curiosity, so long as it is tempered with respect." Chirrut shrugs, tucking his staff against his side as he pulls the lightbow free. It clacks faintly, a slightly odd mix of ornate metalwork and business-like construction.

"I never touch another man's weapon without asking," Ganymede says, a hint of a tease in his voice.

"It looks certainly interesting. But I haven't the faintest idea how it works."

"Well, that I can help."

Chirrut takes a moment to orient himself - weird angry tree there, lake there, mountains out beyond there... right. He grasps the lightbow's handles, and with a quick twist and firm bracing, the weapon unfolds and arms itself with a faint, menacing hum.

"Just to be sure - there isn't anyone in the way between here and the targets across the lake?" He asks - he's... pretty sure, but that's not nearly good enough.

Ganymede turns, scanning the path between them and the targets, then again, before shaking his head--and catching himself, answering. "No, no one there. We're the only two out at this hour."

His attention turns back to the lightbow, studying it from a reasonable distance, as much as as he studies Chirrut's stance. "What does it shoot?"

"Plasma - there's a generator just here, which feeds into the amplifier." Chirrut braces the weapon against his side to free a hand, pointing out the components unerringly. "And it kicks like a cranky bantha, so set your stance firmly, or you will be rapidly introduced to the ground."

His head is cocked at an odd angle, listening hard above the bow's hum, trying to fill in the gaps in his understanding of the world. When he pulls the trigger, his muscles braced against the jerk of the weapon, it fills the world briefly with a bright burst of sharp sound, echoed a half-moment later as the bolt flash-burns against the target.

"Sounds like the first time I shot a ten gauge," Ganymede comments idly, watching where Chirrut's fingers point and how he arranges himself.

The crack of the thing firing makes Ganymede flinch, muscles all rippling tight for a moment before they relax, though there's a certain tightness that doesn't lessen--something he's not going to point out, but might be audible in the little oh he breathes out. It's not intentional, but attractive men competently handling weaponry...well, it has an effect on him. One more easily noticeable than he'd like.

... Perhaps his grin a little too knowing, but... well.

He's still human.

And it's a little gratifying to know you've still got it after this many years, and... well. Being dead.

So he grins a little as he lowers the bow, making sure he's not aiming the thing at his foot (or Ganymede's), but he's mature enough (barely) to refrain from actually bringing it up.

Heh.

"So, ready to try?"

That grin tells Ganymede all he needs to know, and he's very thankful that Chirrut can't see the current state of affairs, as it were.

It doesn't mean he's not still embarrassed as hell about the reaction. He's old enough to be Chirrut's grandfather at least three hundred times over, he shouldn't still be caught in thrall of being a damn horny teenager.

"Try it?" he echoes. "You'd let me try it?"

"Well, don't aim it at me, or the Bar, but... certainly." He shrugs, still an over-large gesture for his lean frame. "Nothing wrong with curiosity. And I meant what I said about the kick - this thing can leave quite a bruise if you give it a chance to."

He huffs out a laugh, momentarily distracted from his current predicament. "I won't aim it at anything anyone would miss," Ganymede says, stepping forward--carefully, so as not to present anything untoward--to stand closer to Chirrut.

"Bruises I've grown quite familiar with. I should survive it."

Chirrut smiles, allowing Ganymede his caution, like he can't hear the change from smooth confidence to care in his steps. Instead, he offers the weapon, its warning hum filling his hands.

"Do you have a dominant hand? If so, it goes here, to have better control of the trigger, and the other here, to steady and aim."

"My left," he says, letting Chirrut place him and his hands where they should be. "It feels heavier than I thought. I don't now why."

He adjusts for the weight, and shifts the lightbow back into his shoulder. "Aim high, or does the quarrel not fall?"

Chirrut cocks his head, stymied.

"It has been so long since I have heard it discussed, I cannot remember. Aim high, and if it misses, it will be off beyond the forest before it hits anything." He's almost sure that its rate of fall is slight enough that at this range there's really no point in correction, but... he can't be sure, and he'd rather not be responsible for flash-fried fish.

Ganymede nods, more for himself than actual communication.

He presses the stock of the lightbow against his shoulder and pulls it up, momentarily confused by not having a bowstring to pull; he's far more used to traditional weaponry than anything like this. But he takes a deep breath and slowly releases it, waiting until his lungs are empty to pull the trigger.

His aim isn't bad, but Chirrut might need to congratulate him after helping him up from the ground.

And that's after he gets done giggling at Ganymede's misfortune. He's allowed to laugh - he warned the man, after all.

"Enjoy your flight?" He asks, with an abundance of innocence, as he offers a hand up.

"When you said it kicked, I was expecting more like a mule than an elephant," Ganymede coughs, beginning to laugh and rubbing his shoulder gently, in guise of checking whether it's been dislocated.

"Damn. You must have incredible strength to do that." Not to say Ganymede is weak; he isn't, by any stretch. But he is not accustomed to plasma weaponry at all, either. "Helping me up after you knock me on my ass, how novel."

"Practice, lots and lots of practice." Chirrut replies, unapologetically. "And more than a few bruises. But I could leave you down there, if you like, could be comfy."

"Oh, if I'm going to stay down there I'm going to have company for it," he says lightly, and only a little sarcastically as he pulls himself up to his feet.

"I can't wait to see what you do with a sword."

"Well, one of us should see it, certainly." Chirrut jokes, because he truly never does give up a chance for that joke, he really doesn't. "Though, I'm not sure I'm armed for the sort of sword fight you're looking for."

"See, hear, feel, I'm sure we'll get on the same page eventually," he replies. "But if you're unarmed for that, I'd love to hear what happened to render that circumtance."

Chirrut is rather tempted to come up with some sort of outrageous story, a chance like this doesn't come up all the time. However, he's pretty sure it'll get back to Baze, and Baze would have a fit, so...

No.

Alas.

"Mmm, poor use of words - maybe 'unprepared to engage' rather than unarmed, if that is the context... at least not as prepared as some."

Hey, Ganymede went there first, that's his defense and he's sticking to it.

Pointing it out makes Ganymede duck his head, turning his face away from Chirrut though his neck still heats.

"My apologies. It...is often uncontrollable."

"Be at peace, I am not offended." Chirrut laughs. "It is a compliment, after all."

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