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dragonlady7via http://ift.tt/2fMhePn:
notbecauseofvictories:
poe dameron flies like he’s trying to leave death in his radiation trail, they say, but that’s not true. (he knows it’s not true. he knows—) if lightspeed could outstrip dying, shara bey would still be in the galaxy, laughing under the yavinese sun.
and anyway, death and poe are old friends. they shake hands, every time he slips into the second skin of the cockpit and takes the throttle in his hands.
this time? poe breathes, running his preliminary checks.
no, not this time, death says later, much later, when poe is climbing back out of the cockpit, shaking and sick from the adrenaline come-down. (death’s eyes are black.) another day. maybe two. we’ll see.
they have an agreement, something bartered between them when poe was very young and didn’t know what he was giving up. but death was there at his mother’s pyre. and when he said, what will you give, poe said, you can have any toy of mine you like.
I have no use for toys. what else can you offer?
I have my pocket money—
credits are so much ash to me. what else?
what do you want? poe had asked, and death had taken his face in his cold hands. I may call for you, at any hour, of any day, death says. and when I call, you will come.
and I will never be scared of you, poe says with a child’s solemnity, and the deal is struck. (it carries the weight of the grave.)
later—much later than the grave, and after the cockpit—in the bowels of the finalizer, poe startles awake. death looks back at him with black eyes.
today? poe asks through cracked lips.
yes, death says, reaching into poe’s head with cold hands. today.
notbecauseofvictories:
poe dameron flies like he’s trying to leave death in his radiation trail, they say, but that’s not true. (he knows it’s not true. he knows—) if lightspeed could outstrip dying, shara bey would still be in the galaxy, laughing under the yavinese sun.
and anyway, death and poe are old friends. they shake hands, every time he slips into the second skin of the cockpit and takes the throttle in his hands.
this time? poe breathes, running his preliminary checks.
no, not this time, death says later, much later, when poe is climbing back out of the cockpit, shaking and sick from the adrenaline come-down. (death’s eyes are black.) another day. maybe two. we’ll see.
they have an agreement, something bartered between them when poe was very young and didn’t know what he was giving up. but death was there at his mother’s pyre. and when he said, what will you give, poe said, you can have any toy of mine you like.
I have no use for toys. what else can you offer?
I have my pocket money—
credits are so much ash to me. what else?
what do you want? poe had asked, and death had taken his face in his cold hands. I may call for you, at any hour, of any day, death says. and when I call, you will come.
and I will never be scared of you, poe says with a child’s solemnity, and the deal is struck. (it carries the weight of the grave.)
later—much later than the grave, and after the cockpit—in the bowels of the finalizer, poe startles awake. death looks back at him with black eyes.
today? poe asks through cracked lips.
yes, death says, reaching into poe’s head with cold hands. today.
