Creation | seol
orbseol:
she knew he was somewhat unfriendly, sure. she could observe him as she did most people, and quite honestly he wasnât hard to look at in any manner despite his cold demeanour. though, she was surprised when he took a good few minutes to note her presence, or rather, dismiss it. her head is canted when she meets his stare, her own softening as she ignores his half glare and takes a large puff of air to fill her lungs, break that familiar barrier of fear against introducing, socialising and embarrassing herself.
âi would mind, jackson.â she raises her eyebrows in expectancy, setting herself at a stool and unpacking excessive amounts of snacks from her unassuming basket. itâd been bought for her by someone and dropped at her door in apology for an owing that shanât be mentioned, and she now used it more often than not on any errand allowing her two. it was handmade, colourful and to her taste - well suited when it sat in her messily decorated dorm.
a laugh sounds about as he questions her, and seol notices the familiar look in his eye - she saw it with mina all the time, âis there something i need to fix?â. it was endearing, if only slightly, so she shakes her head instinctively. âlunch, of course. i think you and i deserve them far more than those greed filed pilots.â she pauses momentarily, thinking her words over carefully.
âyouâre pretty slow to catch on for a technician, yâknow that? itâs nothinâ bad, though. cute, even.â her accent and dialect are forever present when sheâs tired, but itâs okay, for she doesnât notice herself. letting her short legs brush the floor she brushes a single particle of dust sitting on the trigger of the blaster irritating her, allowing her a few seconds to admire itâs finer details. it isnât bad - she wonders where he mightâve bought it from, and if she could purchase one ( not for herself, rather as a birthday present - the kids around the lunae had odd ideas of fun. )Â
Jackssonâs eyes take in the laughter that bubbles out of the young woman sitting with him and he follows the lines of her face for a moment. Her features are young, make her look a bit more of a child than she probably is, perhaps. But they are soft and friendly, unlike some of the other people around here who are nothing but harsh and violent. Itâs quite refreshing, to see such innocence in someoneâs face when all heâs ever seen is schemes and anger. So he keeps looking for a bit longer, before eventually his gaze drops to the âlunchâ sheâs mentioned.
But he doesnât have enough time to look at it, because she continues talking, telling him heâs slow to catch on for a technician. Heâs not entirely sure what she means with that, but decides to just take the compliment or insult - whichever one of the two it is. It doesnât bother him anyway. His stomach gives another loud rumble at the smell of the food sheâs unpacking, so he is forced to admit to himself that maybe he has to eat, and therefore reaches out to take the wrapped sandwiches from her.
âAre the pilots greedy?â A hum, a pensive look flashes over his features before it filters away again. He wouldnât know, so he doesnât voice his own opinion about it. Instead his eyes strictly follow the way her fingers brush over his blaster. He barely manages to repress the urge to curl up his arm and pull the weapon out of her reach - an instinct left from when the other smugglers would mess with his creations. She doesnât look like the type, but one can never be too sure.
Humming softly, almost pensively, he moves the blaster a little so that he can eat the sandwiches she provided him with without being afraid of spilling on his almost finished creation. That would be a shame, for sure. Taking a first bite, the rich tastes fill his senses and he closes his eyes for a moment. Food is always ten times as good when youâre hungry, and considering heâs probably been hungry for a good hour or two, that increases the taste by a hundred times. Meaning he is now eating the most delicious sandwiches the world has ever been able to produce.
âThese are good.â Itâs the only thing he says, in between a swallow and the next bite, but the tone of his voice has softened and a smile has settled upon his face - showing how much he is indeed enjoying the snack. Another swallow before he adds:Â âAre yours just as good?â He tilts his head then, looks up at her sitting on the stool next to him, and squints a little against the sunlight, but the next bite is taken instantly again, because heâs hungry. Chewing contently on the sandwich, he waits for the young womanâs answer. Who she is? He has no idea. But it doesnât matter either. She might just as well be the sandwich fairy - heâd believe it.















