#bixmelshian

Featuring "dancing" (none of them know how to dance), a good bit of manhandling, Cassian Andor eating pussy, lots of porn without much plot, and the intricacies of organizing one's laundry and kitchen utensils.

Featuring the Ghorman Front being a very competent rebel movement (/s), so many brazen lies that none of these people should be getting away with, K-2SO (non-speaking role), a sprinkling of self-loathing, and Bix getting to join in the merriment that is making fun of the name Keef Girgo.

"Is there anywhere I should put this?" he says, coming out into the central hub with a large box of parts that he can't even begin to guess what they're for. "Oh, that's where those went." Bix comes over, starts picking through the pieces. "And Wilmon said we didn't have any spark capacitors left. Honestly, that boy." She's still clicking her tongue and going through the box when that boy shows up, having shot up another inch in height and sporting the beginnings of a first moustache. Wilmon spares him a judgmental look, unimpressed as only the young can be, and clasps Bix's shoulder in a much fonder greeting. "You again," Wilmon says to him. "Is Cassian with you?"

"I never wanted to be a rebel," she says, almost daring him to judge. "It was just business. He had money and wanted rare tech, I could get the parts for the right price." He doesn't say anything. He's got a hunch that she'd find condemnation or condescension in anything he's got to say. After a while, Bix goes on. "I used to run my own salyard," she says lowly. "Mostly motors and engine parts because that's what sold, but I specialized in electrical systems. Anyone who wanted their tech looked at, they came to me." And now they don't. He looks down at his hands. He'd scrubbed them after work but they're already dry and raspy again with microscopic dust embedded in the lines. He can't remember the last time they were smooth and gentle. Maybe before grandda died. He looks out at the dry, rustling plains of wheat and tries to imagine the land cool and wet and verdant instead.

"Thank you for that," he says after a while. "Cassian did have a message for him, but not as specific as that." "Let me guess." Bix takes another long sip from the bottle. "He wants him to keep looking out for me and Brasso but to mind what we say and to make sure he keeps up with his target practice. Wil's got a good eye, but talent doesn't make up for experience." Yes, exactly. Almost word for word. He's sure that Bix's little white lie about the nitro-filters is more or less what Cassian is thinking for real about Wilmon's hydroponics question. If he weren't the sorry bastard somehow caught up between a pair of soulmates, he's certain he'd find it even funnier.