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WHO: Merrin and Cal
WHERE: Aboard Cake Dance, somewhere in the skies between Sh'ka and Temba
WHAT: Dubious piloting, gift giving, and getting glitter in places glitter does not belong
WHEN: The general vicinity of a few days ago to now
WARNINGS: None (yet?? will update if anything comes up)

The little black-wrapped package stayed in the hallway outside Merrin's room at the hotel for indeterminable days before she finally returned from Sh'ka, their project in the other city nearly complete. She'd picked up the package on her way inside, brushing her fingers over the small brass plate embossed with her name and then setting it aside—somewhere safe. The necklace inside she'd tucked away, for later.

It's still tucked away in her pocket now as she guides Cake Dance into the air and sets their course for Temba. She'd come to pick up Cal (and various equipment) in Sh'ka and ferry him back, which marks only the second time she's gotten the chance to take the ship out for a spin and test her piloting datapoint—it's also the second time she's flown anything at all period, which is probably obvious by the jerky ride and narrow misses that she sails through with her usual confidence. But hey, at least they don't crash.

Once they're high enough, the autopilot (blessedly) takes over, and she leans back in her seat. "Greez makes this sound more difficult," she says, sounding pretty proud of herself.

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With others suddenly offering to ferry people between cities what with the latest developments of the ships, Cal had been pleasantly surprised to find out that Merrin had taken the piloting data point after all. The ship she'd been assigned proved to be just as bizarre as the older ones, and didn't match the pilot at all for the pastels and the rosy hues.

Here in the cockpit at least you could for the moment forget about the strange color scheme of the rest of the ship's interior. Cal eases his fingers away from his own seat, releasing a chuckle that helps to disperse the remaining tension as he glances over at Merrin once the ship takes over for the flight back. BD-1 hops down and skitters off to explore once he's sure the ship won't be taking any more unexpected turns.

"Greez didn't have all the information to pilot jammed into his head in a split second," Cal counters, grinning lopsidedly as he leans forward to rest his elbows over his knees. It hadn't been a smooth trip but it had been exciting, and honestly he can say he's pretty proud of Merrin too. "Too bad we're stuck only going between the two cities. It might've been fun to take a spin somewhere."

She shoots him a withering sort of look out of the corners of her eyes—oh, so he's defending Greez over her now?—as she climbs out of the captain's chair and follows BD-1 out of the cockpit. With the autopilot engaged, there's not much point in staying there until it's time to land again—the view of the sky out of the window is lovely, sure, but not that exciting, all in all.

"Yes," she agrees, sounding genuinely disappointed that she's only been able to fly between the two cities. "I have not even flown into space yet."

Here in the main area of the ship, she definitely looks very out of place, her dark red and black clothes a high contrast to the soft pastels... well, everywhere else. Stray glitter in many shapes and hues dusts the joints and corners, and not for lack of trying to clean it—it's just impossible to get rid of the glitter completely.

What? He was just pointing out fact. Technically Merrin's already got more experience piloting a ship than he does, now that she's taken the ship out. Cal hides a smile behind his hands, finally extracting himself from his own seat to trail after her and out of the cockpit area.

The glitter had been one of the first things noted along with the unusual color scheme, bringing with it memories of the strange shimmery shower of the stuff that had happened for a few days. Cal had hoped he'd seen the last of it but it still tended to stick around. He'd still find some in corners of the workshop.

"Space would be a lot different, I think. And less exciting when the ship can't travel through hyperspace to get between places. Hopefully this ship has some speed upgrades. We had to add those to the other ships. It took us forever to get anywhere. Still takes a while even with those upgrades."

The galley, dining, and living areas are all pretty much contained in one big space in the center of the ship, so that's where she goes, leading the way. As she ducks through the bulkhead door, BD-1 is already there, flitting around the galley.

No offense, Cal, but she doesn't want to talk about flying in space anymore, especially when he makes it sound like it isn't going to be as exciting as she's expecting. Not really knowing how to segue properly, though, she just glances at him and says, "Come. I have something to give you."

And with that, she heads for the lounge—it reminds her a lot of the same space on the Mantis, with sofas and a short table in front of them. Then she takes a seat at one of the sofas, hands smoothing over her thighs—an almost-nervous gesture. Almost.

It had been a natural line of conversation to follow, although to be fair, Cal wasn't sure what else to say, and he doubted that after all the work they've been doing, talking even more about the repairs done and yet needed for electricity in the other city was something they wanted to bring up. Cal abandons the initial subject easily enough, arching a brow as Merrin informs him that she has something for him. He follows her to the lounge, a brief glance cast at BD-1 as the little guy explores. Well, what trouble can he possibly get into?

The lounge proves just as clashing with Merrin as everything else for the interior of the ship. In general it's not a space that Cal's made much use of even aboard his previously assigned ship. He looks at the sofas, slipping into the seat across from her, resting his arms over the table. "Something on your mind?"

"Yes," she answers immediately, though she doesn't elaborate any further than that for now. Instead, rather than simply reaching into her pocket for the necklace, she uses magick to summon it into her closed fist, then turns her hand over to reveal it, ichor rising like steam from her palm.

The necklace itself is a dark, unadorned stone in a poured gold setting, filling its uneven edges and cracks. It hung from a tight, flat snake chain, the links fading from the same yellow gold to a cooler brass to an almost-green around the clasp, long enough that the end of the chain coils against the surface of the table. Even though the ichor from her magick has evaporated, there remains a gentle green glow in the center of the stone, the aftereffect of a spell—if the lights were off in here, it would cast soft light in the dark.

She extends her upturned hand towards him, a wordless offering for him to take it. "There is a spell in the stone. It will not kill you," she explains, completely stone-faced.

Rather than wait for further explanation, he waits, knowing how blunt she is with her responses, but never without additional detail as she sees fit. He senses that brief swell of power as Merrin calls up her magick again, head lifting slightly once she reveals what's in her hand. Even with her power no longer active as the wisps fade, he can still sense something familiar from the stone resting in its setting.

Cal's lips quirk slightly in amusement at the words she says in follow-up. "I didn't think it would but thanks for the confirmation?" he replies, reaching over to accept the gift. "What's the occasion?" he asks, brow lifting. "This... it's a raw energy stone, isn't it?"

Look, Tony was pretty worried about the spell, though she does get the sneaking suspicion that he's had some bad experiences with magick. But she feels like she has to clarify here.

She nods in response to his last question, her hand falling away to rest on her knee as he takes the necklace, then elaborates with: "It took well to my magick. It has innate power of its own. Energy." It's always easier to work with things like that—rather than force her own magickal power into something, she can combine the two, weave them together into a stronger spell.

But that's technical. Things her mothers and sisters taught her long ago. To answer his other question— "If you hold the stone in your hand and say vyuchit, then we will be able to speak to each other, no matter the distance. If you can't reach anyone, and you are in trouble, then I will come," she continues, trying to sound brisk.

Her fingers clench and unclench around her knees—it's just a gift, a practical one, but it also feels like... more than a gift. Certainly, it's something she wouldn't have thought to do for anyone else but Cal. But after the other city, Sh'ka, cut off communication, and their run-in with the giant boar creatures, and hearing how the caves by the beach overwhelmed him, she felt like she had to—no, wanted to. Protect him. Or... be there for him, really.

Cal runs his fingers over the segmented links, taking in the details as they wind their way towards the stone again. There's no uncertainty there, no caution even as Merrin explains her magick application. He can sense it, both the familiar presence of the stone's inherent power itself and that particular tint of whatever aspect of the Force Merrin's magick has. And there's something else too, that subtle draw through the Force that calls to him.

"V...vyuchit?" he repeats, trying to get his mouth to work out the unusual word while hoping not to mangle it terribly. He lets the necklace dangle from his hand, looking across the table at her again before he gets up to step around it, and if she allows it, to take a seat beside her instead.

"...no one's given me anything like this before," he says quietly. Gifts in general aren't something he commonly receives, and the possible reasons- the practical ones, anyway, for Merrin deciding to do this for him aren't lost on him. But he remembers them sitting by the fire at the campsite, that rare vulnerability, that resonance of how it had felt to be alone and lost without direction. His free hand lifts almost hesitantly at first, but then he moves it to gently clasp one of the anxious pale hands at her knees.

"Thank you." The words already feel inadequate, his hand squeezing her's slightly after he's said them. He looks down at the necklace again, twisting his hand to catch the stone setting in his palm. The echo is there, pulling at him like a tug on the sleeve, easily connecting even with reaction as casual as a glance.

The echo contains the making of this necklace, as might be expected. The time she spent on the spell, her steady chanting in Dathomiri, the flare of her magick. Taking the stone to Tony's forge so that he could help her with the setting, the two of them working the gold together. A glimpse of their conversation over the fire.

"I can take care of myself," she insists, bringing a hammer down on the metal with a loud clang.

"I don't doubt you can," Tony replies, his usual teasing tone curiously subdued. "I'm sure Cal can take of himself, too. I've seen him in action. But it would be a relief to know that someone had his back, just in case."

A pause. "I will always... have his back," she says, voice ringing with quiet sincerity. "He has done a lot for me, when he had no reason to."

Tony smiles, then waves a dismissive hand. "Yeah, he's a real softie, isn't he? Someone's got to toughen him up, he's going to get himself in trouble for the wrong pretty face."

She scowls. "The wrong pretty face?"

Throughout all this, her feelings shine through, unmistakable. The care she puts into the gift, her hope that he likes it. Her drive to protect him and the underlying fear of losing him. Her admiration of him, her gratitude. Friendship. Understanding. Affection for him. Fondness. And more than that—attraction. Desire.

When his hand settles on hers, it's like they all come back to her at once until she's flush with it—and something seems to shift between them then, something both new and old. It feels like the time she'd finally mastered her teleportation spell, and she'd spent the afternoon giddily tearing across Dathomir until she'd ended up at the top of the mountain over her village. She'd stood there gazing out over the red horizon of her home planet, the wind whipping her hair, her toes mere centimeters from the edge, and had felt no fear.

Gently, she turns her hand over under his, so that they're palm to palm, and squeezes. "You get yourself into trouble often, Cal Kestis," she teases, but with open affection. "This will help."

So few of the echoes Cal experienced here away from anything they knew had been pleasant. The city was riddled with knots of confusion and fear, the caves were filled with pain and death. Even then, only the latter had been clear enough (too clear, really) to allow him a full glimpse of past events rather than the brief sensations and hints elsewhere.

Here he witnesses a fresh memory, imprinted into the stone, perhaps all the more because of its own nature. It's a warm one, with two of his favorite people here, if Jedi are allowed that. But then what was a Jedi, and who made the rules that they followed? They could form bonds, they could care for the well-being of others. Even here, they'd gathered together- a natural thing, wasn't it? Yet Cal can't help but feel that something was overlooked. His fingers had curled gently over the stone as he witnessed the memory, his other hand returning the warm, supportive touch of Merrin's as she turns her's towards his own. He lifts his head as he opens his eyes again, a smile tugging at the corner of his lips.

"Sounds like you're just encouraging me to get into more trouble," he says, bumping her shoulder lightly with his own as he grins.

"I'm being realistic," she counters, sending him a stern look. Where would she be, anyway, if her Jedi wasn't getting himself into trouble, especially when trying so hard to help others? She's not going to try to stop him—she's pretty sure it would be impossible anyway.

But she can be there to help him, in case he needs it.

"You will wear it, yes?" she asks next, strangely hanging on the answer. Not that she expects him to refuse—but she's absolutely prepared to fight him on it, if necessary. Is it still a gift if it's forced?

"Fair enough," Cal concedes with an exaggerated sigh and a droop of his shoulders. It's not like he can deny that he won't throw himself into things if needs be.

"I don't think you'd let me say no even if I didn't want to," he laughs then, holding the necklace up. "Here. Can you help me with it?" He unfastens the clasp before offering it over. If she's so insistent on him wearing it, he'll let her do the honors.

"I would not," she confirms—that would go against the whole purpose of the gift. It's why she figured she had to make the stone wearable somehow, so he could always carry it with him easily.

Then she takes the ends of the necklace from him, shifting in her seat to better face him. Her knees press into his leg as she leans forward and circles her arms around his neck—it takes her a couple tries to catch the clasp, their proximity and the unexpected intimacy of this gesture there in the back of her mind, even if it isn't very far back at all.

But once she has it fastened, she pulls back—but not entirely. Instead, she wordlessly reaches for the stone, now hanging at the center of his chest, and cups it in her palm. Seeing him wear it—something she made for him—sends a stab of sudden possessiveness through her.

She doesn't really know how to do this. If they were on Dathomir, things would be clear cut—she would simply hold the Selection, take him as her mate, and that would be the end of it. But they aren't on Dathomir, Cal is no Nightbrother, and the Jedi have rules of their own, rules he would have to knowingly break. Could she ask that of him? Would she ask that of him? Does it matter, or is she alone in her feelings? If she is, does that risk their friendship?

These are all questions she's asked herself, but the answers never really satisfied. She's tired of wondering, of not acting.

Her fingers close around the stone, holding him in place by extension, as her gaze meets his, steady and direct. "Cal." There's a long pause as she chooses her words. Unfortunately, subtlety isn't her strong suit. "What are your feelings for me?"

He'd been fully prepared to turn around so she'd have an easier time of fastening the clasp behind his neck. That familiar warmth creeps across his face again as Merrin brings her arms around him to put the necklace on from the front instead. Cal's all too mindful of how close she is then, of the contact between them, his glance towards her face almost shy as it drops down again, perhaps to keep from putting her on the spot as he feels her fumble with the clasp before it's finally in place.

They're still so close, even once she's finished the task. He's not as sensitive in empathy as his fellow Jedi, but he can sense the swirl of emotions in the young woman there before him, wondering if his own would be mirroring these feelings, unsure if he can tell one from the other. But it's enough that he can anticipate the question that comes, meeting her gaze as she looks towards him. Expecting the question doesn't make it any simpler to respond to.

"But we're talking more about how you seem to have some feelings for her. Which is fine. You're both almost adults. Just want to make sure you're not going to do anything stupid."

"I... Yeah, I guess I do. But I don't want to complicate things, and if how things are right now between us are comfortable, then that's fine."

"That's your choice. You can always take the risk. Sometimes, the only way to find out the answer is to ask."

Cobb's words surface in his mind like another unbidden echo, a conversation from a life that wasn't quite real, and yet still contained some threads of truth. He hadn't been sure which parts were, or if it was all fabrication. He knew some of them had more difficulties with the experience of a dual life than others.

"...I've been trying to work that out for some time now," he finally admits. "I wanted to really know...that it wasn't just something made up." He has a feeling she'd understand what he'd meant. They'd been scripted into the same story. But that city, that life wasn't what was real. This however is, the moments they've spent together, their conversations, their understandings.

"Every time I see you, it puts me at ease. Because I know that this isn't the place we're meant to be, and eventually we won't be together with everyone we've befriended here. ...but you'll still be there."

Her heart thunders in her chest while the silence hangs, so loud to her own ears that she wonders if he can hear it too. Then, of all the answers she might've expected—well. She wasn't sure what to expect, truthfully. She could only hope.

It takes her a moment to understand what he means—the fake city, so long ago now. Yes, it was there then, that potion-fizz feeling in her chest whenever he was around, the warm weight of his jacket that managed to linger with her long after it was gone, but after it was all over she'd quickly dismissed it as a fiction, just like nearly everything else about the city.

Realization dawns over her face, followed by a smile, equal parts warm and wry. "It took you this long to work that out?" She's teasing, naturally. The city was months ago at this point—has he been thinking about this all that time?

Ah, but the more the idea—and his confession—catch up to her, the more her smile becomes pure warmth. Her heart feels so light in her chest that she almost doesn't know what to do with it. She's happy, happier than she's been in a very long time, it feels like, and that's what buoys her forward like an ocean wave as she leans in for a kiss, using her grip on the necklace to reel him in to meet her.

No one was ever meant to be alone. Jedi couldn't be of any use if they didn't care to some degree. Fighting alone was difficult, but facing things alongside of those they could trust, those they cared about- it makes all the difference. Cal knows he can't go back to being alone. Back to living for himself, in fear of being discovered for who he was. Jedi weren't supposed to give into fear either, but how could anyone deny that, after all that had happened?

But he wasn't alone. Neither was Merrin. Physically, they had been, and yet their experiences were shared to some extent. They both knew loss, betrayal and distrust. They'd both learned that being together made them far stronger than walking separate paths.

It feels like a weight's been lifted, perhaps echoed by the elation he senses from Merrin in that moment, and the smile that comes to his own face needs no urging. "What can I say?" he says with a faint shrug at her teasing, one side of his lips tugging up higher in that almost roguish sort of way. It's strange how easily their words have melted away the awkwardness that had settled there just a short while ago. It feels right to be there, and he only realizes then that this is the first he's ever seen her smile so openly. She's beautiful, but then she's always been so, in her own mysterious way.

She pulls him forward- his brow arches at her, half-teasing, himself as though to suggest 'was that what this was actually for?'- but he finds himself leaning in without her further urging, to feel the warmth of her lips against his own.

Well, it wasn't her intent when she made the necklace, but when an opportunity presents itself...

The kiss is earnest and warm—her smile hasn't quite faded, and so the impression of it is there in the press of her lips against his. She releases the necklace, bringing her hand up to cradle his cheek instead, seeking touch. It stays there as she pulls back, her eyes roving the cherished lines of his face as if she could memorize every detail of it—him—this moment. The joy inside her, threatening to burst. Everything.

Her fingers brush gently through his hair, tucking it over the shell of his ear, and she's unspeakably pleased to find out that it actually is as soft as it looks. "I feel the same. Knowing that we will be together when we return is... comforting," she settles on, her expression softening.

Truthfully, she doesn't know what she would've done if he hadn't been here when she arrived—or what she'd do if he left her here alone. It's something she tries not to think about. But at least she does know that she'll see him on the other side, no matter what.

This isn't like those casual, affectionate kisses that Tony tended to dispense on his head along with playful ruffles of his hair, or an impromptu squeeze of a hug around the shoulders. Cal feels almost reluctant to pull back when Merrin does, but seeing her smile holding, how it softens her usually serious mien, it's like an extension of her kiss, seeing this more open side to her.

He lifts his hand to catch hold of hers as though she might draw it away too quickly from its gentle exploration of his face. "But I'm still more than happy to know you're here now. And I know you can take care of yourself, but I can't help myself to want to try to protect you too. All the same, I'm glad to know you have my back."

She definitely had no plans of letting him go anytime soon—now that she feels like she can, all she wants to do is sit here and touch him, talk to him, be close to him. Her thumb slowly traces his cheekbone, back and forth, as his words fill her with a kind of... lightness and radiance. Like condensed sunshine underneath her ribs. Not from Dathomir's sun, certainly—but maybe Bogano's.

"We have each other's backs," she says, firm. She might've bristled at the idea before, of someone trying to protect her—but Cal will have to be her exception. They've been looking out for each other ever since their fight with Malicos. Like partners.

"You are full of romantic words today, Cal Kestis," she continues, playfully this time, one eyebrow arching. "Is this how Jedi pursue their lovers that they are not supposed to have?"

After her adamant insistence that she could take care of herself, to hear Merrin make an allowance for him makes him happy, and not just a little relieved. He knows she's put a lot of trust in him, but it's always been in careful measures, not that he complained, knowing what she had gone through, knowing he'd been in a similar position once when it came to who he could trust. Saying that they have each other's backs puts them on equal ground, confirms that trust they both have come to put in each other.

Her own words make him laugh. "Am I? I don't think I know how to be romantic. I was just being truthful," he says. His smile takes that crooked angle angle again. "And I wouldn't know how Jedi would pursue what they're not supposed to have. But the Jedi also believed in strength of bonds. If we weren't supposed to build up relationships then there wouldn't have been an Order."

Truthful. The answer is so typical of her Jedi that she has to suppress her smile, her eyes crinkling at the corners. But, ah—at least he's self-aware. If she wants to be self-aware too, then it was his honesty and earnestness that won her over in the first place, back on Dathomir—and still does.

It's just that maybe she was hoping that, by goading him, his romantic words might turn into romantic actions. But she doesn't mind. There's plenty of time.

Instead, her hand moves to sweep her thumb across the long scar that cuts through his jaw, the touch idle and soft. "This is the kind of relationship they had in mind?" she counters wryly, her eyebrows arching upwards. It's half-joking—what do Jedi get up to?—but from a real place. The attachment stuff she's heard about from Cal and Obi-Wan sounds nonsensical to her, personally, but Obi-Wan seemed to think it was important. She just doesn't want Cal to... regret anything.

It's probably too late for that now, though. She doesn't think she can give him up at this point.

Romance is still something he's not quite sure he's worked out, and even his strange little taste of an alternate life hadn't offered him too much more by way of knowledge or experience. He's just happy that they'd gotten to this point. Push him too hard and he might consult Tony.

There's a cough at her line of questioning, not that he can hide a grin with that all too familiar expression or the tone accompanying it. "Probably not," Cal admits. "But I've been thinking a lot about it. And while I can see the potential for dangerous situations, I don't think it's impossible to avoid. I think trust is a key part of that. Not just in the Force, but in who you love."

She nods while he speaks, her expression thoughtful. In the end, she doesn't particularly have to understand the Jedi on this point, just her Jedi. And as long as he's thought about it... well, she trusts Cal can decide what's best for himself. Maybe later she'll have to find out what these "dangerous situations" are all about, though.

"Who you love?" she repeats, her eyebrows raising again. But there's a mischievous glint in her eye—she really, really can't help teasing him. "Is there more you want to tell me?"

It's hard to put things into words. The more he tries to explain, the less adequate it seems. As she teases him again, Cal almost frowns, but he finds himself shaking his head, smiling in spite of himself.

"Actually..." he says, making to lean in as though he means to whisper whatever more he might have to say, but instead he turns his head to lightly catch her lips again in another kiss. Actions speak louder than words anyway.

To tell the truth, she was hoping just to fluster him a little—she certainly hadn't been expecting more. It's enough to hear the words between the words—that he trusts her with his heart, dangerous situations and all. She supposes she should be touched that she's on the same level as the Force.

And it's true that actions speak louder than words. There's another brief smile in this kiss, for his feint, but it fades as she lingers, bringing her other hand up so that she's cradling his face in both hands. Her fingertips curl around the nape of his neck as she slants her mouth over his, a little more insistent this time.

Is he getting better at this? Cal still isn't quite sure, leaning a little more into an emotional lead. Merrin meets him more than willingly, and it's enough to ease the anxiousness that had briefly built up before he'd made to kiss her. Her hands are warm on his face, fingers tickling the back of his neck. He finds his own hands slipping around her to pull her closer. It's a blissful moment where there are no thoughts past the young woman in his arms.

And then there's a startled electronic shriek that erupts from somewhere just beyond their little private world, forcefully pushing back the boundaries of that focused bubble to remind them where they were. A shimmering stream of glitter spews from one of the dispensers, BD-1 hopping about on the floor, skittering back to avoid a further dusting of the notoriously clingy stuff.

Too blissful to last, apparently. BD-1's high-pitched shriek actually manages to startle her, and she jumps in surprise. It doesn't take very long to figure out why he's screeching, considering the small pile of glitter—red hearts this time, which is a little on the nose—on the floor and clinging to BD-1... well, all over, really.

Since the crisis isn't life or death, she sighs, tension leaving her, and leans her weight on one hand. "I think maybe he is too curious," she says, with a sort of exasperated fondness. Then she adds more sternly, this time directed at BD-1, "You interrupted." The droid lets out a very contrite-sounding woo.

Cal's reaction nearly mirror's Merrin's as he startles as well, gasping in surprise before he looks over to see what his little friend's gotten into this time. He runs a hand through his bangs as he takes in the mess, but he's unable to keep a laugh from escaping him as the situation itself sinks in.

"A little," he agrees, smiling crookedly as he looks between Merrin and BD-1.
"Well, I guess we now know what that button does at least." He gets to his feet, stepping around to review the mess with a shake of his head. "I'm not even going to ask why."

"I doubt we want to know." This whole ship is a mystery probably best left unsolved, honestly. She doesn't bother to get up and follow Cal to help clean up or anything—instead, she's perfectly content to sit here, one leg casually crossed over the other, and watch the two of them figure things out on their own.

She also found out what those two extra nozzles did the hard way, so... "At least he didn't press the other one. It has glue," she informs him, sounding quietly amused. Yes, glue with glitter. It's somehow even worse than just the glitter.

Well, it explains the random shimmer of glitter just about everywhere, kind of. Cal holds his hands out for BD-1 to hop up so that he can do his best to dust the little droid off. "Definitely due for another oil bath. Or was that your plan all along?" he asks, smirking a little as he brings BD-1 over to the edge of the seat Merrin still occupies. The droid hops onto the back of the sofa, shaking off his feet in a futile attempt to dislodge more glitter.

"Glue, huh? How'd you find that out?" Cal suspects he knows the answer to that as he looks at Merrin, arching a brow at her with one of those looks she'd usually give him.

Is it crazy that she finds him teasing her like this to be so endearing? Maybe. Maybe she just finds everything he does endearing at this point, which might be even crazier. But despite the knowing look, she doesn't appear to be the least bit fazed. "On my own," she replies, sounding almost prim. He knows exactly how she found out, but that doesn't mean she has to admit to it.

Next, she turns to BD-1, still shedding red glitter hearts onto the sofa. "You should go explore the crew quarters now. Or the cargo bay," she suggests, casual as can be. "There are no glitter dispensers there, so it's safe." Is she trying to get rid of the droid? Yes. Absolutely yes.

Merrin would always win in keeping a straight face, it seems. Cal tries but he ends up ducking his head at the beginnings of a snicker before he shakes his head. No, he's not picturing just how Merrin had found out about the glue dispenser on her own, not at all.

BD-1 gives another shudder not unlike a wet dog, dislodging a brief shimmery shower of loose glitter. His little antennae droop a little as he gives a plaintive hoot. He's being banished just because he made it all shiny? Cal tries brushing off the glitter on the droid's head, making a slight face as he rubs at his fingers. "Oh, he didn't mean it. Although I think I'd rather not have him poking at random buttons in the cargo hold," he notes.

Cal!! She's trying to get a little privacy here!! She shoots her Jedi a sour look, eyes narrowed, silently hoping that he catches on. She thinks she finally understands what Tony meant about human relationships and endurance.

Her Binary is still rudimentary at best, despite her efforts to learn it, but the sad tone of BD-1's beeps fights half the battle. And then there's Cal, looking like a kicked baby rancor... the two of them, she swears, feeling some icy corner of her heart start to melt. "I know. I'm not banishing anyone," she explains in her usual matter-of-fact way. "But there is still time before we arrive in Temba." Lots of time, actually.

Judging by the wince, it seems Cal does catch on, if only after that look. But it's hard for him to just dismiss BD-1 given all the two had been through together. To be fair he wasn't sure they really wanted to leave the droid to his own button-pushing devices when they were in flight, even if everything was nailed down in the cargo hold.

"I know, let's get you set up to recharge, huh BeeDee? Then we won't have to worry about it once we're back in Temba," Cal suggests, glancing briefly at Merrin with the faintest quirk of a smile. That'll keep BD-1 out of trouble and give them some time.

Ah, there we go. She returns the smile, the same sort of faint quirk, certain that Cal has things well under hand now and she doesn't need to intervene. Much as she loves BD-1, she's not looking for another interruption—not that she has anything in particular in mind, really.

But they do have some time to kill until they get to Temba, after all.

Threaded | Top-Level Comments Only

closed ☾

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wrapping this up in the shoddiest way GOODBYE