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dragonlady7via http://ift.tt/2bYyykd:
see now i can’t decide if this is the better scene. This is Rey’s POV and Kes tells the previous scene as a story to them.
Rey carried the basket of eggs in and set it on the counter. Poe was sitting at the table, and his hair was dramatically and beautifully disarranged. He had a mug between his hands, and his eyes crinkled up with the force of the sleepy smile he gave her.
“Did you help Papa with chores?” he asked, hoarse and cute.
“I did,” she said proudly. “And I’m going to fix that terrible little speeder he uses.”
“Ha,” Poe said, “he makes me fix it every time I come home,” and there was a sad little edge under that. “I bet it’s pretty bad by now.”
“He said there was a girl here who fixed it sometimes,” she said, “but it was so crappy to begin with.”
“It’s always on the verge of breaking down permanently,” Poe said. “I keep– well, I used to tell myself I’d just buy him a new one one of these days, but. I mean.” His smile had gone. “Clearly, I never did.”
“I could afford a new one if I needed one,” Kes said, making his entrance. “Don’t be so mopey, child.” He patted Rey on the shoulder as he paused to work his boots off of his feet. “Wash your hands, dear, the chanticlos are filthy and you’ve been petting them.”
“Aren’t they cool?” Poe asked. “Kind of unnerving.”
“I liked them,” Rey said. She went and washed her hands, and Kes joined her at the sink after a moment.
“Use a lot of soap,” he said, “I’m not kidding, they’re really dirty.”
“Did you have to move the fences?” Poe asked.
Rey nodded happily. “We had to do all kinds of things,” she said. “It was really neat.”
Kes dried his hands and went over and kissed Poe on top of his head. Poe laughed, and wrapped his arm around Kes’s waist. Kes said something in Iberican, something unmistakably tender, resting his hand on top of Poe’s head and looking down at him.
Poe answered, something soft, ending with Papa. Kes smiled at him, a soft and sort of sad smile that was a little wobbly in the corners, then chucked his chin and moved away.
“Do you drink caf?” Kes asked Rey.
She shrugged. “I don’t care much about it either way,” she said.
“I always keep caf in the house,” Kes said. “Ever since I first brought your mother and grandfather home,” and he indicated Poe with his eyes, “and that first morning, Sento was lurking desperately in the kitchen trying to find where we kept our caf machine.”
Poe laughed. “If you’re used to it,” he said, “then you really want it.”
“Do you want some?” Kes asked. “Or Finn, do you know, does he drink it?”
“I’m off the stuff lately,” Poe said, “so I could take it or leave it. I don’t know if Finn drinks it, he hasn’t said.”
Kes shrugged. “I won’t make it, then, but if he wants some, you know where the stuff is.”
“I do, Papa,” Poe said.
It hadn’t struck Rey until just now, but Poe had lived here. “Did you grow up in this house?” she asked, looking around in some wonder. Of course he did. He’d learned how to do chores as a little kid. He’d thought this was normal, once. This had been his place of routine.
“I did,” Poe said.
“Built it when you were two or three,” Kes said. He poured himself a mug from the pot he’d left on auto-stir, and gestured with a second mug toward Rey, who nodded with some interest. She’d been wondering what it was.
It was a thick, sweet liquid that had a whiff of something spicy in it, a complex and pleasant flavor, wholesome and sweet. She went and stood next to the basket of eggs and regarded them with curiosity.
“So you use these to make protein rations?” she asked.
Kes pulled a pan out of a cupboard, and a bowl from another cupboard. “They’re a common ingredient, yeah,” he said. “For export we dehydrate them, but I mostly sell mine still in the shell, if I have extra, to people who live here.”
“I’ve never seen one,” Rey said. There had been a broken one in the coop with the birds, and she’d been fascinated by the bright yellow stuff leaking out of it.
“Oh,” Poe said, with an air of dawning realization. “Oh, of course you haven’t.”
“Haven’t seen what?” Finn asked from the doorway. His voice was even deeper than it normally was.
“An egg,” Rey said.
Kes gave Finn a long, calculating look. “I’d wager you haven’t seen one either,” he said.
“What’s an egg?” Finn asked, coming into the room. He was sleep-rumpled, but dressed, unlike Poe who was wearing undershorts and a faded old short-sleeved shirt.
“Check it out,” Kes said, and picked up one of the little ovaloid spheres. He rapped it sharply against the edge of a bowl, and separated the two halves of the shell, and bright yellow stuff came out of it and fell into the bowl.
“What,” Finn said, stepping closer, but he had to pause to yawn. “What is it?”
“It’s food,” Rey said, “apparently. It comes out of a bird like that, and then inside there’s– you cook it and eat it.”
Kes handed one to her, and slid the bowl over toward her. “Just hold it between your thumb and finger,” he said, “and hit it on the edge.”
She tried it, too tentative at first and then too hard, and the shell shattered and Kes, laughing, had to help her pick the shell fragments out. “It takes practice,” Poe said.
Finn tried, and made a mess. Rey tried again, focusing on the object’s nature in the Force, feeling how it was not quite liquid, how it had membranes holding it in place; she focused her attention, and brought it down with one stroke, right against the hard edge of the bowl, and it split cleanly and she dropped half of it into the bowl along with the contents, and had to fish it out.
“Oh,” Finn said, “using the Force is cheating!”
“Not if I still suck at it, it’s not,” she said.
Between the two of them, they cracked eleven or twelve eggs into the bowl, and then Kes stopped them. “That’s probably enough,” he said, “for right now anyway. We can practice more later.”
Rey watched in rapt fascination as he stirred them until the yellow globs combined with the clear runny part into a yellowish frothy liquid. “Can I taste it?” she asked.
“It’s not very good raw,” Kes said. “You have to heat it and it solidifies, and then it’s good. Raw, it’s just sort of slimy.” He looked over at Poe. “You know who else had never seen a whole egg when I met her.”
Poe frowned. “Who?”
“Your mother,” Kes said. “Have I told you this story?”
Poe looked astonished. “What? No!”
“Your mother had lived almost her entire life either in space, on a ship, on a space station, or maybe, once in a while, in a city,” Kes said. “She’d only ever had powdered eggs before.”
“I don’t know why that surprises me,” Poe mused. “I remember you telling me about the first time you slaughtered chanticlos with her there.”
“Oh stars,” Kes said, “yeah. I mean, she got it. But it was. It was tough for her.”
“Spacers,” Poe said, shaking his head a little.
Kes poured the frothy yellow stuff into the pan, and it sizzled softly. He stirred it carefully, and true to his word it started to solidify. “I’m not a spacer,” Finn said. “I’ve spent plenty of time in real gravity.” He sounded a little affronted.
“But I bet you haven’t eaten much real food,” Kes said, shooting him a grin as he kept stirring the solidifying mass in the pan.
see now i can’t decide if this is the better scene. This is Rey’s POV and Kes tells the previous scene as a story to them.
Rey carried the basket of eggs in and set it on the counter. Poe was sitting at the table, and his hair was dramatically and beautifully disarranged. He had a mug between his hands, and his eyes crinkled up with the force of the sleepy smile he gave her.
“Did you help Papa with chores?” he asked, hoarse and cute.
“I did,” she said proudly. “And I’m going to fix that terrible little speeder he uses.”
“Ha,” Poe said, “he makes me fix it every time I come home,” and there was a sad little edge under that. “I bet it’s pretty bad by now.”
“He said there was a girl here who fixed it sometimes,” she said, “but it was so crappy to begin with.”
“It’s always on the verge of breaking down permanently,” Poe said. “I keep– well, I used to tell myself I’d just buy him a new one one of these days, but. I mean.” His smile had gone. “Clearly, I never did.”
“I could afford a new one if I needed one,” Kes said, making his entrance. “Don’t be so mopey, child.” He patted Rey on the shoulder as he paused to work his boots off of his feet. “Wash your hands, dear, the chanticlos are filthy and you’ve been petting them.”
“Aren’t they cool?” Poe asked. “Kind of unnerving.”
“I liked them,” Rey said. She went and washed her hands, and Kes joined her at the sink after a moment.
“Use a lot of soap,” he said, “I’m not kidding, they’re really dirty.”
“Did you have to move the fences?” Poe asked.
Rey nodded happily. “We had to do all kinds of things,” she said. “It was really neat.”
Kes dried his hands and went over and kissed Poe on top of his head. Poe laughed, and wrapped his arm around Kes’s waist. Kes said something in Iberican, something unmistakably tender, resting his hand on top of Poe’s head and looking down at him.
Poe answered, something soft, ending with Papa. Kes smiled at him, a soft and sort of sad smile that was a little wobbly in the corners, then chucked his chin and moved away.
“Do you drink caf?” Kes asked Rey.
She shrugged. “I don’t care much about it either way,” she said.
“I always keep caf in the house,” Kes said. “Ever since I first brought your mother and grandfather home,” and he indicated Poe with his eyes, “and that first morning, Sento was lurking desperately in the kitchen trying to find where we kept our caf machine.”
Poe laughed. “If you’re used to it,” he said, “then you really want it.”
“Do you want some?” Kes asked. “Or Finn, do you know, does he drink it?”
“I’m off the stuff lately,” Poe said, “so I could take it or leave it. I don’t know if Finn drinks it, he hasn’t said.”
Kes shrugged. “I won’t make it, then, but if he wants some, you know where the stuff is.”
“I do, Papa,” Poe said.
It hadn’t struck Rey until just now, but Poe had lived here. “Did you grow up in this house?” she asked, looking around in some wonder. Of course he did. He’d learned how to do chores as a little kid. He’d thought this was normal, once. This had been his place of routine.
“I did,” Poe said.
“Built it when you were two or three,” Kes said. He poured himself a mug from the pot he’d left on auto-stir, and gestured with a second mug toward Rey, who nodded with some interest. She’d been wondering what it was.
It was a thick, sweet liquid that had a whiff of something spicy in it, a complex and pleasant flavor, wholesome and sweet. She went and stood next to the basket of eggs and regarded them with curiosity.
“So you use these to make protein rations?” she asked.
Kes pulled a pan out of a cupboard, and a bowl from another cupboard. “They’re a common ingredient, yeah,” he said. “For export we dehydrate them, but I mostly sell mine still in the shell, if I have extra, to people who live here.”
“I’ve never seen one,” Rey said. There had been a broken one in the coop with the birds, and she’d been fascinated by the bright yellow stuff leaking out of it.
“Oh,” Poe said, with an air of dawning realization. “Oh, of course you haven’t.”
“Haven’t seen what?” Finn asked from the doorway. His voice was even deeper than it normally was.
“An egg,” Rey said.
Kes gave Finn a long, calculating look. “I’d wager you haven’t seen one either,” he said.
“What’s an egg?” Finn asked, coming into the room. He was sleep-rumpled, but dressed, unlike Poe who was wearing undershorts and a faded old short-sleeved shirt.
“Check it out,” Kes said, and picked up one of the little ovaloid spheres. He rapped it sharply against the edge of a bowl, and separated the two halves of the shell, and bright yellow stuff came out of it and fell into the bowl.
“What,” Finn said, stepping closer, but he had to pause to yawn. “What is it?”
“It’s food,” Rey said, “apparently. It comes out of a bird like that, and then inside there’s– you cook it and eat it.”
Kes handed one to her, and slid the bowl over toward her. “Just hold it between your thumb and finger,” he said, “and hit it on the edge.”
She tried it, too tentative at first and then too hard, and the shell shattered and Kes, laughing, had to help her pick the shell fragments out. “It takes practice,” Poe said.
Finn tried, and made a mess. Rey tried again, focusing on the object’s nature in the Force, feeling how it was not quite liquid, how it had membranes holding it in place; she focused her attention, and brought it down with one stroke, right against the hard edge of the bowl, and it split cleanly and she dropped half of it into the bowl along with the contents, and had to fish it out.
“Oh,” Finn said, “using the Force is cheating!”
“Not if I still suck at it, it’s not,” she said.
Between the two of them, they cracked eleven or twelve eggs into the bowl, and then Kes stopped them. “That’s probably enough,” he said, “for right now anyway. We can practice more later.”
Rey watched in rapt fascination as he stirred them until the yellow globs combined with the clear runny part into a yellowish frothy liquid. “Can I taste it?” she asked.
“It’s not very good raw,” Kes said. “You have to heat it and it solidifies, and then it’s good. Raw, it’s just sort of slimy.” He looked over at Poe. “You know who else had never seen a whole egg when I met her.”
Poe frowned. “Who?”
“Your mother,” Kes said. “Have I told you this story?”
Poe looked astonished. “What? No!”
“Your mother had lived almost her entire life either in space, on a ship, on a space station, or maybe, once in a while, in a city,” Kes said. “She’d only ever had powdered eggs before.”
“I don’t know why that surprises me,” Poe mused. “I remember you telling me about the first time you slaughtered chanticlos with her there.”
“Oh stars,” Kes said, “yeah. I mean, she got it. But it was. It was tough for her.”
“Spacers,” Poe said, shaking his head a little.
Kes poured the frothy yellow stuff into the pan, and it sizzled softly. He stirred it carefully, and true to his word it started to solidify. “I’m not a spacer,” Finn said. “I’ve spent plenty of time in real gravity.” He sounded a little affronted.
“But I bet you haven’t eaten much real food,” Kes said, shooting him a grin as he kept stirring the solidifying mass in the pan.
