#ragedagainst

✦  DYNAMICS MEME;  bold (yes), italics (maybe), strikethrough (no), blank (n/a).

AN ARCHED BROW MEETS ERSO'S CLIPPED TONE, though her jaw shifts with the visible effort of biting back the curl of her lips. the girl amuses vel, in some ways. she's been a rebel all her life on the lines with the partisans, but it seems she has only recently reawakened that liberation of fighting back, the hunger to do more. and with how she riles cassian, something tells her that she might like jyn very much, given the chance. being the daughter of an imperial science officer might . . . complicate things, but no one chooses what they're born into.

he takes a slow drag as he looks out at the hanger from his perch, reclined against the length of a rail, one leg hanging over the side and swinging. buggy, his yellow-trimmed astromech, lingers close beside him, enough for him to briefly set his hand on her newly shined dome as he ashes his smoke over the side. buggy lets out a low whistle that sounds almost like a sigh – no particular binary, but a sound he certainly knows to mean : we should help. it almost makes him laugh. at least erso has nerve, he grants. it's no secret he keeps a ship of his own around that, unlike his x-wing, the rebels don't control ... and can't track. he just can't remember anybody yet having the nerve to ask him to use it. not that he'd call what she did asking.

smoke curls in the air before him as he exhales, slowly, in no hurry, appearing as relaxed as anything. his urgency is earned, after all. a beat or two more passes until, finally, he says simply, " can't. buggy says no. "

𝐎𝐊𝐀𝐍𝐀 𝐒𝐀𝐘𝐎𝐊𝐎 * 𝙱𝙰𝚃𝚃𝙴𝚁𝚈 𝙾𝙵 𝙰 𝙿𝚄𝙱𝙻𝙸𝙲 𝙾𝙵𝙵𝙸𝙲𝙸𝙰𝙻 ; 𝙿𝙰𝙽𝙳𝙴𝚁𝙸𝙽𝙶 -- rookie numbers, amateur hour, hardly worth the time it took for them to have written up the file to begin with . . . not that v was judging. a job was a job, even when it felt like a waste of time.

with all the energy of someone who simply couldn't have given less of a shit, v sidled up to the nearest body, an almost friendly smile making its way onto her face as she spoke.

hate to see u go but love to watch u leave (maybe)

well, he's been obliged to, and he does so love to bestow kindly compliments —

he begins, blandly and neutrally: "your eyes are so incredibly bugged out, jyn. the light bounces off them like twin stars, or like those mad annoying l.e.d. lights on cars — you know the ones right? the ones that fuckin' blind ya? yeah, those — like l.e.d. lights off a guy in a hi-vis jacket before you run him over, or something. and your smile! augh! your smile! the way it just stretches over your mouth like it physically pains you to smile just gets me fucking going."

the annoying part is that she is, objectively, a smokeshow. he would rather eat his shoe that admit that while he was still in punching-distance, though.

“don't flatter yourself. you were just convenient.”  

teddy's smile is slow and insolent as he sits up — the headboard, looser than he remembered it being before, groans in protest as he leans against it — he has no retort ready, nothing scathing to say that isn't already implied in the fucking mess they're surrounded by.  there's a sock on the lampshade lying on its back  ( when did that get knocked over? )  that he's positive isn't his, and he will not be informing jyn of, in hopes of watching her leave the dilapidated hotel room with only one sock on. 

“convenient my ass.  that was a hell of a fight and you know it,”  technically, that's not flattering just himself.  

teddy glances around the room again — he can't see any knives, though he knows she likely has something sharp on her person that he really should be wary of;  nor can he see any dangerous scuffs that he'd have to pay for later.  thank god for small mercies.  his whole body feels scuffed enough as it is. 

she appears prepared to strike at any moment, all teeth and claws for anyone who crosses her – a conclusion he doesn't come to only from the arsenal of weapons he can see strapped to her, let alone what he's sure he can't. it's certainly not a feeling with which he is personally unfamiliar. the difference is his uncanny ability to conceal it beneath layers of charm and beauty and pretense, to seamlessly disguise any contempt with come hither bats of his lashes and purred compliments and an innocent face that tempts the foolish to tell him anything. he supposes he cannot say for certain that she lacks such traits – but it's an educated guess. if she's rebel intelligence, he'd guess she's the muscle.

" extracting me when I'm this close to what they want to know is stupid and overly cautious of them. any chance you'll tell me who in high command gave this bantha shit order? " his mouth pulls together in an annoyed purse as he imagines the possibilities. as the son of a former senator, he's always felt that draven and mothma handle him with kid gloves, as if any political power his family once had still existed. as if the very empire they rally against hadn't taken it. a somewhat hopeless sigh escapes him then as he applies the slightest bit of shimmer to the high points of his cheekbones. " and I don't suppose you're going to give me a choice. it'll be less noticeable if I disappear after my set, you know. "