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dragonlady7via http://ift.tt/1rjhF7S:
more teenaged Poe, Norasol, chicken slaughtering, and Kes being a dork.
Kes came over to the tap to wash his gore-coated hands. “Only a dozen or so more to go,” he said, grinning, and he had a disreputable hat pulled low over his eyes, and his shirt had no sleeves. As he bent, Poe could see the edge of the intricate tattoo that had always been in the middle of his back, just below the base of his neck, peeking out over the neckline of his grimy shirt. It was a complicated design, and at the bottom it had spiky letters that spelled out Pathfinders, which Poe knew was from the Rebellion, but there were lots of elements in it. As a small child he had sometimes traced bits of it with his fingers, but he’d never really looked at the whole thing and tried to puzzle it out.
The top of the tattoo was clearly a crown, with the same pointed elements as the one in Norasol’s elbow. Poe dropped the edge of the tank and sloshed ice-cold water across his front, yelping as it doused his crotch. Kes laughed at him, and helped him move the heavy tank back into position so the hose could fill it again. “Baby boy,” Kes said, “are you getting tired? The Academy is making you soft.”
“Ugh,” Poe said, shivering; his underwear was drenched. Great. Well, at least he wasn’t so gross and sweaty now. “No, Papa, I just slipped.”
“Let me see that arm,” Kes said. “C’mon, make a muscle.”
Poe rolled his eyes, but Kes grabbed him by the elbow. “Papa,” Poe said, embarrassed, but Kes kept pushing on his arm, so he obligingly flexed his bicep. It was bigger than it had been; they did a lot of push-ups at the Academy. But Poe was disappointingly still much smaller overall than Kes, and that included his biceps.
“Not bad,” Kes said, and put his gross cold wet hand around the back of Poe’s neck, pulling him in to kiss him on the forehead. “My baby boy is getting pretty big.”
“I’m still short,” Poe said, a little grumpily.
“You’re my sweet egghead baby,” Kes said, beaming at him and tousling his hair with his gross wet hand that he had just rinsed gross blood and bird shit off of because he was a repulsive person.
“You’re keeping him from his work,” Norasol said, and threw a gizzard at them.
“Woman,” Kes said, ducking and fending the flying organ off with a deft swipe, “you’re repulsive.”
“Maybe I am,” she said. “But at least I’m not lazy. Get back to work.”
more teenaged Poe, Norasol, chicken slaughtering, and Kes being a dork.
Kes came over to the tap to wash his gore-coated hands. “Only a dozen or so more to go,” he said, grinning, and he had a disreputable hat pulled low over his eyes, and his shirt had no sleeves. As he bent, Poe could see the edge of the intricate tattoo that had always been in the middle of his back, just below the base of his neck, peeking out over the neckline of his grimy shirt. It was a complicated design, and at the bottom it had spiky letters that spelled out Pathfinders, which Poe knew was from the Rebellion, but there were lots of elements in it. As a small child he had sometimes traced bits of it with his fingers, but he’d never really looked at the whole thing and tried to puzzle it out.
The top of the tattoo was clearly a crown, with the same pointed elements as the one in Norasol’s elbow. Poe dropped the edge of the tank and sloshed ice-cold water across his front, yelping as it doused his crotch. Kes laughed at him, and helped him move the heavy tank back into position so the hose could fill it again. “Baby boy,” Kes said, “are you getting tired? The Academy is making you soft.”
“Ugh,” Poe said, shivering; his underwear was drenched. Great. Well, at least he wasn’t so gross and sweaty now. “No, Papa, I just slipped.”
“Let me see that arm,” Kes said. “C’mon, make a muscle.”
Poe rolled his eyes, but Kes grabbed him by the elbow. “Papa,” Poe said, embarrassed, but Kes kept pushing on his arm, so he obligingly flexed his bicep. It was bigger than it had been; they did a lot of push-ups at the Academy. But Poe was disappointingly still much smaller overall than Kes, and that included his biceps.
“Not bad,” Kes said, and put his gross cold wet hand around the back of Poe’s neck, pulling him in to kiss him on the forehead. “My baby boy is getting pretty big.”
“I’m still short,” Poe said, a little grumpily.
“You’re my sweet egghead baby,” Kes said, beaming at him and tousling his hair with his gross wet hand that he had just rinsed gross blood and bird shit off of because he was a repulsive person.
“You’re keeping him from his work,” Norasol said, and threw a gizzard at them.
“Woman,” Kes said, ducking and fending the flying organ off with a deft swipe, “you’re repulsive.”
“Maybe I am,” she said. “But at least I’m not lazy. Get back to work.”
