Log:Confidence and Heart
There's not a ton of places for those of the Resistance to kick back and relax. Wooka's is one of the few. After her first flight as an official member of the Red Squadron, Nym Landala finds herself at a seat by the bar. While she's young, she did grow up on Naboo with two Rebellion members as parents. They didn't coddle her. She was helping with her father's squadron at a young age and they liked slipping her liquor every once in awhile. She may not have an incredibly strong tolerance, but she's not new to drinking. A drink of something small that smells rather potent sits half filled in front of her.
"Uh oh. You let the bartender make you a Sunspot, didn't you? Rookie mistake," Without an invitation, Poe drops down in the seat across from her. He's got a pint of ale that's half-finished, and there's an empty chair across the room with another cluster of Resistance members. "You really shouldn't drink that alone. I thought they added a warning label next to the menu item." Sssip.
As Poe drops into the seat next to her, the young pilot straightens a bit, seemingly ruffled at the comment that she's a rookie. "I'm not a rookie," she replies quickly, with a frown. "I've had them on Naboo." It's possible, though unlikely. As for drinking them alone, she shrugs. "I'm waiting for someone. Artie." The droid that often follows her around, lecturing. He's certainly not going to be helping her drink. Defiantly, she takes another sip and then puts the drink back down. Her eyebrow twitches just slightly. It certainly is a strong drink.
Poe's eyebrows arch at her assertion that she's had them on Naboo. He doubts it, but chooses not to call her out on it. "Droids make lousy drinking partners. They don't know any of the good songs and they really get confused about the 'intentional damage' we inflict on ourselves." He shrugs and sips his ale again. "So. I like to know the people I'm flying with as well as possible. I know your file, obviously. But I want to dig down deep. I want to ask you a really, really important thing about you." From the moment he sat down, he's been seeking eye contact. He has a way of making someone feel like they're the only one in the room - for better or for worse.
As Poe's eyebrows arch, Nym just looks back at him. She's waiting to see if he'll say anything about it. When he doesn't, she relaxes just slightly, moving on. "They make up for it on lectures about how my father would have been able to do this all already and backwards," she smirks. It's a loving tease. Artie is part of her family. "But, you're right about one thing. He's certainly can't hold his liquor. And he gets angry when I try and balance mine on his dome."
When he says he wants to get to know her, she raises an eyebrow. "...okay..." she's unsure of how exactly to answer this until he reveals what he wants to know. Finally, she tilts her body just enough and gives him the eye contact that he was searching for.
Poe lets things hang for a minute like a piece of debris in space. His fingers rest on the rim of his pint glass. And then he looks slightly impish. "The orange flight suits. Iconic, or unflattering?" Then he sips his pint, like this was a completely legit and important question to ask.
As the silence stretches on, Nym's eyebrow raises even more in anticipation. This must be a very important or embarrassing question for him to be stalling like this. Then, there's the grin and he asks about the flight suits. She blinks a few times. Really, she should have expected this, but she's still learning the quirks of her new Squadron Leader. It's her turn to take some time to answer. She thinks this may be a joke, but she answers more seriously. "I think a little of both. Orange doesn't look good on a lot of people, but it's what my father wore and I'm glad to wear it."
Looking away, she frowns, glancing back down at her drink. "Can I ask you something, too?"
"Oh, I like the orange, myself. But it flatters me. Plus, then BB-8 and I match," says Poe with a cheeky little grin. But he pauses after that and takes a moment to sip from his pint, which gives her an opening to ask her real question.
"I just assumed you modified BB-8 to match the flight suits," Nym replies with a soft laugh. She can't help it. Artie's green clashes more than matches, but she wouldn't change him. Her father would probably kill her if she tried. The joke out of the way, she gets down to her own question. It takes her a moment and she doesn't look up at him when she asks, "It's easy for you, isn't it?" It's open ended, but it can certainly encompass a lot of things. There's a hint of jealousy in her voice as she asks it, though she is trying to keep that from the surface.
Poe smiles in a way that neither confirms nor denies his droid's paint job and colour coordination. He listens intently to what she has to say, but a puzzled look scrunches his face when she gets to her question. "What do you mean?"
The smile that neither confirms or denies really just confirms for Nym her suspicions. Even if it's not the actual truth, it's what she believes now. She sees his puzzled look and frowns, glancing around the bar. A vague hand waves about to the other Rebellion members at the bar. "All of it, really. On the mission, you came over to back me up. And Jax was the one to attack the dish."
"I'm not really sure what you mean, Nym. Easy for me to make decisions during the heat of battle?" Something shifts subtly in Poe's manner. He's still easygoing and full of ready smiles, but there's something more serious now, something more...commander-ly. She's treading close to the line of questioning his command decisions, and that's something even the friendliest commanding officer doesn't like.
"No--not that--" Nym frowns, shaking her head. "Nevermind." Maybe that potent drink is getting to her far more quickly than she was thinking. She can see his shift in demeanor. "Just, why did you think I was the one that needed help?" She's new to the squadron and she knows that, but she also dislikes thinking that everyone else doesn't believe in her or thinks she's just the kid in the squadron that needs protection. She got enough of that on Naboo.
"Because everyone needs help out there. That's why we fly as a squadron and not as individuals." Despite the possible harshness of his words, Poe's tone of voice remains kind. He takes in a breath and arches a brow. "I'm going to assume you're asking because you want to learn about how to call the shots in a combat situation. Not because you want to be a hot shot who racks up glory points." He sips from his pint, then sits back in his chair. "In a fight, miliseconds count. He was slightly closer. That's it." He lifts a shoulder."
Nym frowns, shaking her head again. "I know about squadrons." She's observed her father's since she was very little. "That's not what I meant. It's not about glory points." Her tone is defensive when he brings that up - even if he says he's assuming that's not what this is about. The fact that it's on the table means she has to deny it. As he confirms that it's just that she was closer, she considers that for a moment and then nods, resolutely. She lets a breath puff out and she swirls her too potent drink instead of partaking in it. "I just wanted to make sure it wasn't because of me." And how she flies.
"Nym," says Poe. He flattens his hand against the table, gestured towards her. "I don't fly with anyone I'm not confident in. If I didn't want someone in my squadron, they wouldn't be flying. I can't afford to not trust everyone in my squadron to go after any target that's needed." He keeps his eyes on hers as he sits back. "My decisions in battle are based on strengths, yes. Some pilots are better shots, others better at maneuvering, or covering, or just have a better eye for choosing their targets. As I get to know you, I learn those strengths. And I will play to those, because sometimes that tiny edge makes or breaks a mission. I also don't babysit my pilots. So don't think that I'm ever doing that to you. You wouldn't have a callsign if you weren't ready."
Nym takes that information in silently as he talks and assures her that she's there for a reason. "It's not that I thought you didn't want me on the squadron," she tells him truthfully. Finally, she takes another drink of the glass in front of her, coughing just slightly as she does so. It really is strong. "I've just, you know, never been anywhere that didn't know me as anything other than the littlest Landala." It's practically second nature for her to assume people are making decisions because of that and not due to her other actions.
"I judge people on how they fly, how they follow orders, and..." Poe quirks a grin. "...on whether or not they remember I love a certain brand of fizzy pop from Naboo when it's my birthday." Amusement dances in his eyes. "That last one is the most important. I base promotions on that." He lifts his chin, then empties his pint. "Size doesn't matter in the sky, Littlest Landala. It's all about these," he taps her hand, "This..." he gestures to her forehead. "And this..." He points to his own heart.
"I'm guessing that's Shuura Fizzyglug," Nym smirks just slightly. "And that means I have to learn birthdays, too." It doesn't sound like she's all that miffed about that. She tends to learn those things anyway. "I didn't realize getting promotions here would be that easy. I've got an in on Fizzyglug. I'll be leading squadrons in no time."
At the nickname - she can hear the capitalization - she groans. She did it to herself and now has realized it only too late. However, she listens when he taps her hand. She's not sure what she can say to that. All she can say is, "Thank you."
"You're welcome. Just..." Poe purses his lips and levels his gaze at her. "Remember, flying is a team sport." He pauses, then, "Why are you here, Nym? You could fly with the Republic. You'd definitely get more recognition. Most people don't know what we do here, and those who know, don't really seem to care." It's clearly an honest question and not some sort of challenge. "And don't say it's because your folks fought."
"I already told you I'm not about the glory," Nym reminds Poe, her voice serious but not sharp. While she does want to be the best, it's not because of some need for grand recognition. "Honestly, I could be asking you the same question. You could be leading a whole section of the Republic Navy by now, not just two small squadrons." She sighs and glances back up at him. "But, the Republic isn't interested in what's happening around the galaxy. They don't want in on the fight. And the Resistance does."
"Well, I was, for years," says Poe with a smile that borders on roguish. "But I kept pushing the bounds of my orders, if not toeing over them entirely when I smelled something fishy, particularly if it stunk of the Order. I would have ended up court-martialed if I stayed in. Because I am completely incapable of letting things go." He says that like a man who realizes that is both a strength and a weakness.
"So, you saw what it was like." Nym nods and finishes the small amount left in her small drink. "My family would talk about the First Order a lot and how the Republic wasn't doing enough to stop them. We'd get scouts on Naboo, testing the boundaries every once in awhile. They were labelled as pirates, but my dad said he recognized Imperial formations." She runs a hand through her hair as she thinks, pulling at a few of the kinks. "They decided to stay on Naboo and I realized I couldn't. It's not enough to just protect one planet."
"My worry is, there's a lot of loyalists to the Empire that are still around in the Republic. I think they're pulling strings at high levels to get the Republic's military to ignore what's happening. We really shouldn't have such a short memory. Endor was just before I was born." Poe exhales and looks down into his pint glass, as if he's debating whether to have another.
"All the more reason to stay with the Resistance and not think the Republic will solve everything," Nym replies. She wasn't alive during the Battle of Endor and all she has is her family's stories about it. Seeing that he's looking at his glass, she shrugs and smiles. "It's not Fizzyglug, but you did say it's better to share a glass with someone else, if you're looking for another."
Poe looks into the empty glass and then shakes his head. "Naw, that's my limit. Gotta fly patrol tomorrow." He stands up and smiles down at Nym. "Thanks for the chat. We can do it any time." He pats her on the shoulder as he turns to go back to his original table to say goodnight to the few Resistance fighters that remain.