realists | open ✧ the time to fight is now

[ they made so much money off him that they built a mansion and left him in the chicken coop??? jyn is Displeased. ]

Well, he can't be an angel if he took ill, can he? That rubbish woman in the beginning was wrong.

Maybe angels are allergic to terrible people.

[ Cassian might just be a little amused at her reactions to this story. ]

When the child began school it had been some time since the sun and rain had caused the collapse of the chicken coop. The angel went dragging himself about here and there like a stray dying man. They would drive him out of the bedroom with a broom and a moment later find him in the kitchen. He seemed to be in so many places at the same time that they grew to think that he’d be duplicated, that he was reproducing himself all through the house, and the exasperated and unhinged Elisenda shouted that it was awful living in that hell full of angels. He could scarcely eat and his antiquarian eyes had also become so foggy that he went about bumping into posts. All he had left were the bare cannulae of his last feathers. Pelayo threw a blanket over him and extended him the charity of letting him sleep in the shed, and only then did they notice that he had a temperature at night, and was delirious with the tongue twisters of an old Norwegian. That was one of the few times they became alarmed, for they thought he was going to die and not even the wise neighbor woman had been able to tell them what to do with dead angels.

Charity. [ omg these shitty people!!! she can't get over it!!! her nose wrinkles as she turns her face into his thigh to muffle her exasperated groan. ]

And yet he not only survived his worst winter, but seemed improved with the first sunny days. He remained motionless for several days in the farthest corner of the courtyard, where no one would see him, and at the beginning of December some large, stiff feathers began to grow on his wings, the feathers of a scarecrow, which looked more like another misfortune of decreptitude. But he must have known the reason for those changes, for he was quite careful that no one should notice them, that no one should hear the sea chanteys that he sometimes sang under the stars. One morning Elisenda was cutting some bunches of onions for lunch when a wind that seemed to come from the high seas blew into the kitchen. Then she went to the window and caught the angel in his first attempts at flight. They were so clumsy that his fingernails opened a furrow in the vegetable patch and he was on the point of knocking the shed down with the ungainly flapping that slipped on the light and couldn’t get a grip on the air. But he did manage to gain altitude. Elisenda let out a sigh of relief, for herself and for him, when she watched him pass over the last houses, holding himself up in some way with the risky flapping of a senile vulture. She kept watching him even when she was through cutting the onions and she kept on watching until it was no longer possible for her to see him, because then he was no longer an annoyance in her life but an imaginary dot on the horizon of the sea.

[ Cassian puts the pad down and runs a hand up and down her back. ]

See? Not so bad.

I don't understand it, [ jyn admits with some reluctance. give her math or star maps and she's fine, she is good at problem solving. critical reading is definitely not her forte. ] It was just terrible people exploiting innocent people and taking money from stupid people until those gullible idiots found something else to throw their money at. And then they're still terrible to the angel.

That's how people are, and that's the point of the story. That people are selfish, and self-centered, and see things only through the lenses of what they understand. [ His hand comes up her back, settling against the back of her neck. ] It's a beautifully written story about ugly truths.

Do you think I'm selfish? [ she twists her head a bit to look up at him, genuinely curious. it's not a trap. especially because... she thinks she's selfish and, oh god, so self-centered. ]

I think too many things have been taken from you for you not to be. [ Selfishness can be a survival skill, much like anything else. He runs his fingers through her hair. ] I don't think it's a terrible thing.

It feels terrible. [ maybe it's just because she keeps losing things anyway. what does she have left but the man playing with her hair and reading her stories that make her stomach unsettled. ]

Do you think you need to change? [ It's an honest question; he's not going to tell her that she has to do anything about it, because he's too drawn to the fire within her to try and contain it even a little. ]

Perhaps. [ but her selfishness has landed her directly in this place and it's her only solace in the shit of her entire life and she will continue to be selfish in order to keep it.

instead of saying all that, however, she instead decides to be flippant: ] I suppose it would be kind of share more grapes with you.

Everyone could do with being kinder. [ Being kinder and being less selfish aren't the same thing, but his tone indicates that he's teasing her a little. ]

You just want grapes. [ jyn's decided the moment is over and tucks her cheek against his thigh again. he is so good and she is garbage, she will always be boggled by that. ]

[ Cassian reconfirms in that moment that he's in love with this woman who won't give an centimeter but will take a kilometer at full speed. ] Always. [ He continues to comb his fingers through her hair. ]

[ ♪ dead sea -- the lumineers

it's a little while before jyn speaks up again, basking in this perfectly comfortable place and the feel of his fingers in her hair. she wouldn't have taken herself for someone who enjoyed having their hair played with but here she is. basking. ]

I don't know how to cook, [ the mentions idly, harking back to his series of suggestions earlier. she has no recipes to swap because she can't cook. ]

Not even oatmeal? [ Everyone should know how to cook oatmeal, in Cassian's opinion, but his hand doesn't stop moving at all. ] Well. I can cook. What kind of food do you like best?

[ grapes.

she doesn't say it, somehow, but it's there in the half smile making her eyes crinkle up in the corners. ]

I'm not sure I have a favorite, but... [ anything but prison slop. being on the run didn't necessarily give her a lot of regular options -- quick and portable were her staples -- but it did give her the opportunity to try (steal) the foods of different planets.

eventually she settles on the space version of cachapas, describing the thick corn pancake with soft, buttery cheese and sweet fruit jam. it's incredibly simple and basic, but the way jyn tells it, it's the most decadent thing in the galaxy. ]

Hm. [ That gets filed away for later*, and Cassian starts to drawing möbius strips against the back of her neck. ] What about chocolate?

[ Everyone has opinions on chocolate.

*later, meaning: as soon as he is able to get the materials together, evict everyone from a kitchen, and have her occupied for a little while. ]

What's chocolate?

[ yeah. ]

[ Cassian blinks at her. ]

Sweet, or semi-sweet, dark or milk, sugar and something bitter but delicious and...okay. Okay. [ He starts massaging the base of her neck. ] We'll fix that.

[ she looks utterly bemused because that all means nothing to her but she gives a little shrug. ] Okay. It is important?

Chocolate is a faith-based experience and I will make sure you have all the options. [ Cassian has Thoughts on the subject, clearly. ] Coffee or tea?

[ what a weirdo, why is she so in love with him? ] Tea. Coffee is just dirt in water.

[ A soft snort. ] Bread or rice?

Hmm. Rice. But I am partial to toast.

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