Jannah wakes up to the smell of burning. She turns over and notices that the other side of the bed is empty.
Immediately, her brain jumps to ridiculous paranoid theories: he left and set her house on fire, leaving her to burn to a crisp. She saw a Dateline episode about that. She blames Rey for letting a stranger into their lives without proper vetting.
After a few seconds she hears Finn's voice say, "Fuck."
Perhaps he wouldn't say 'Fuck' if he was intentionally committing arsenal murder. She pictures more of a maniacal laugh if that was happening. She also thinks that he would be gone by now.
She gets up, puts on a robe, and walks down the hall, through the living room, and into her narrow kitchen.
Finn is holding a skillet full of burnt eggs in one hand while the other is frantically swatting away smoke with a towel.
Jannah rubs the sleep out of her eyes. "Bloody hell…"
He throws the burnt eggs into the trash and places the skillet in the sink, pouring water over it with a hiss. He smiles guiltily at her. "I tried to make breakfast."
"Mm hm. And how'd that work out for you?" She walks over to the window at the end of the kitchen and opens it.
"I've never been all that kitchen savvy. Or savvy, in general."
"D'you know how to make coffee?"
"That I can do." He cleans up the stove. "As long as you don't have one of those fancy ones."
She smiles. "It's just a regular one."
He walks over to it and turns it on.
"I believe in you."
He gives her a playfully scornful look, then gets to work on the coffee.
She decides to not mention that she thought he tried to murder her. Instead, she says, "I thought you left."
"Huh?"
"When I woke up. I thought you left."
"Oh."
She sits down at the small table by the window. "But then I came in here, and I realized that you were just causing chaos."
He gives her a small smile.
The coffee finishes pouring into the pot.
"Mugs?" Finn looks around.
She points to a cabinet.
He opens it and pulls out two mugs. "Cream?"
"No. Black. There's milk in the fridge if you want it."
After pouring two cups of coffee, with a generous amount of milk in his, he sits down across from her.
He leans forward and gives her a soft kiss, then brings the coffee toward his lips. Before sipping, he says, "I don't think I've ever done that before."
Jannah knits her brow. "Slept with someone?"
"Oh - no. I've done that before. Plenty of times." He shakes his head. "Not plenty of times. A normal amount of times. I'm not a slut."
"It's okay if you're a slut." She pats his hand.
"Trust me, I'm not. I don't have enough options to be a slut." He takes another sip of his coffee. "I meant, I don't think I've ever just left before they woke up."
"Do you always make them breakfast?"
"No. But I've seen people do it on tv shows and I thought I'd try it."
She cups the mug in her hands. "Next time, I would prefer oatmeal. Or maybe a bagel with cream cheese."
His dark eyes glint. "I like the prospect of a 'next time'."
"Me too." Her black coffee's finally cooled off a bit. She takes a sip. "I have a question."
"Yeah?"
"My father's hosting a ball for Leia Organa's birthday."
"They still have balls? Like with the dresses and everything?"
"Yes, they do. He hosts them all the time, it's annoying. I'm not too fond of him, as you know."
"Right."
"But I don't hate him, and I don't want to be completely estranged from him. Plus, I've met Leia and I like her." She lays her forearms on the table. "I was wondering if you might want to be my plus one?"
He looks hesitant. She gets the feeling that a ball full of rich people is the exact place he would want to avoid.
"Your new boss will be there."
He looks even more hesitant.
"It might be a good way to get in with him…"
His expression relaxes a little bit. "That's true."
"I know it's a bit more date-ish." She huffs out a breath. "The truth is, I don't prefer going to these things alone."
He lays his hands on top of hers. "I'll go."
"Really?"
"Sure. I've never been to a ball before."
"You're gonna hate it." She smiles. "We're gonna hate it."
"So, we got our results back from the focus group," Poe says. He walks around the conference table, handing out folders to everyone.
"Eugh," Leia Organa says. "Focus groups."
He gives Leia her copy last. "I know how you feel about focus groups…"
She holds the folder up to her eyes in disdain. "There's something so manipulative about them," she says. "They put a group of people into a white room…"
"...It was a gray room, actually."
"Fine. They put people in a room, and they ask you such formulated questions, and people watch them without them knowing it like it's a police interrogation. I think we'd get better results if I actually sat down and had a conversation with these people…"
"Friendly conversation isn't quantifiable," Mr. Threepio says. "We can't turn it into data."
She waves a dismissive hand at him. "Politics has never been quantifiable."
"Bullshit," Wexley blurts.
Leia cocks a brow at him.
"With all due respect, ma'am," Wexley says, looking a little embarrassed, "that's - uh - bullshit. Politics is about money. Money is pretty damn quantifiable."
Connix frowns and says, "Politics isn't about money, it's just an aspect of it - unfortunately. If anything, money has ruined politics. It's about morals in action."
"And how do you put those 'morals into action'?" Wexley crosses his arms. "Money."
"Perhaps money isn't the meaning of politics," Mr. Threepio says, thoughtfully putting a hand to his chin, "but rather the language of politics - "
"Please," Poe says, "we don't need to know the meaning of politics, we just need to participate in it. Now read your papers. Threepio spent a whole three minutes typing that up."
They open their folders like annoyed high school students.
Nearly every single head of the campaign is in the room, besides Jess. For some reason, she's running late.
They've nicknamed the conference table the Round Table, because...it's a round table, and Poe even bought a copy of The Once and Future King and put it right smack in the middle. The inside of the cover is filled with sharpied messages, most of them vulgar insults toward their opponent. They run a real mature campaign here.
To his right is Temmin Wexley, or "Snap", the campaign's finance director. He's a plump-faced man with a patchy dark beard, thirteen years Poe's senior and a long-time friend of the family. Snap used to be Poe's and Beebee's babysitter, and now Poe's his boss. If you tease Snap about this, he will curse you out.
Next to Snap is Karé Kun, the field director and Snap's wife. She has short, blond hair which starkly contrasts her brown skin. She's generally more put-together than her husband and always has a stern expression on her face.
Next to Karé is Larma D'Acy, the campaign treasurer. She has curly blonde hair and a narrow, pointy nose. She's somewhere close to Leia's age. Poe always gets the feeling that she doesn't like him very much. She always tells him that he forgot his tie even though he purposefully doesn't wear a tie, which seems a little passive-aggressive.
Suralinda Javos is the volunteer coordinator. She's long-limbed and thin with black hair, tan skin, and pale eyes. She walks around the office like she owns it, and she frequently talks about how she used to live in Paris as a model. She also has a degree from Harvard Law, knows the name of every single person she has ever met, and has impeccable taste in clothing.
L'ulo L'ampar, the scheduler, is an old man with deep-set eyes and a weighed-down pale face. He never complains and likes to read the cartoon section of the Coruscant Times out loud.
Mr. Threepio is the constituency organizer. He's a thin British man with white hair and a golden tie-clip. He looks fifty-two and eighty-two at the same time. He always complains and likes to read the finance section of the Coruscant Times out loud.
Mr. Artoo is Mr. Threepio's husband. He has a receding hairline and is sort of shaped like a city trash can. He's the tech manager for the campaign - kind of a genius but has the mouth of a sailor. He and Threepio are always bickering like a hetero couple from a 1960s sitcom, and they live above him at his apartment on Yavin Street.
Gial Ackbar is the office manager. He's short and squat, with a wrinkled face and small dark eyes. He tells very long stories and has a hearty, deep laugh.
Ackbar, Threepio, Artoo, and L'ampar have all formed an alliance of old men that observe the younger members of the campaign with disdain and/or amusement.
Paige Tico, seated next to Jess's empty seat at the Round Table, is the legal advisor for the campaign. She has an oval-shaped face and fair skin with black hair that's always smoothed back into a bun. Poe's tried to get to know her, like he's gotten to know everyone on his team, but she's decidedly a closed book.
Lastly, in the other space next to Jess's chair, is Kaydel Ko Connix. She's currently the youngest person on the campaign team (that isn't an intern) at the age of twenty-two. She's got a young round face and blonde hair that she always keeps in two buns. She's a speechwriter, a good one at that, and usually brings in something that she's baked at least once a week.
Leia looks up from the folder. "I'm too radical," she says in a flat voice. "Fifty-five percent said I was too radical."
"It was a small sample size…" I shrug.
"Fifty-five percent is enough to lose an election."
"That's not surprising," Karé says. "When we knock on doors, a lot of people who aren't voting for you say that it's because you're too far left."
"I'm not even far left. Ask the actual far left and they'll tell you I'm a traitor."
"I try not to ask the far left anything." Suralinda looks at her nails.
"Poe used to be a part of his college's communist party," Leia says. "You ask him questions everyday."
"Everyone was a communist in college." Poe waves it off.
"Are you still a communist?" Connix asks out of pure curiosity.
"No, Senator McCarthy, I'm not a communist."
"He's totally a commie," Snap says. "He just uses the Resistance Party as a means to an end."
"I think we're getting a little off-topic," Poe says.
"Uh-oh," Suralinda says in a stage whisper, "the comrade's getting nervous."
"I'm a socialist, you assholes." Poe feels a headache coming on. "Anyway, the focus group thing. People think Organa's a commie - that's the main issue here."
"Well how do we fix that?" Leia sets the folder down.
"I guess you're just gonna have to become a centrist," Snap says.
Leia gives him a look.
"Sorry," he says in a small voice.
"It's not my place to speak on policy," L'ulo says, "but what she stands for isn't radical at all. In my experience, the government's made people think they don't deserve what they need."
"I'm writing that down," Connix says. She opens up her notebook and starts scribbling.
"Exactly," Poe points a finger at him. "That's how we have to frame it - "
Jess bursts into the conference room. She has hair in her face and garment bags folded over her arm. "I'm sorry...I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I missed my fucking train and some street performer practically harassed me."
"Luckily, nothing has happened," Poe says. "But you could've called."
"My phone also died."
"Oh. Well, you could've charged your phone."
"I'm trying my best, Dameron."
"What's in the bags?" Suralinda's eyes light up. "Dresses?"
"Yeah." She throws them over her chair. "I don't know what to wear tonight to that ball thing, so I dry-cleaned every fancy thing that I own."
"Let me see, let me see!" Suralinda's hand reaches over to the zipper.
"We're in the middle of a meeting." Poe's headache is becoming worse.
"She needs to find a dress, Poe," Leia says teasingly. She gestures to Jess. "Let's see what you've got."
Poe gives up and slumps into a chair.
Jess blushes. "Okay…" She unzips four dresses, holding each of them up by turn.
The first one is bright red with a straight, strapless neckline and a shawl; the second is a very light blue with long sleeves; the third one is gray and lacy; the fourth one is black with a plunging neckline.
"Oooooh my god. Oh my god." Suralinda picks up the black one. "If you don't wear this one, I will kill you. I will literally murder you."
"I don't know," Connix says. "It's a little…" She makes a gesture to indicate the low neckline. "One time I wore one of those to a cocktail party and my boob fell out."
"Well." Threepio purses his lips. "I don't think we need to discuss exposed breasts in the workplace."
"Don't be a fuckin' prude." Artoo rolls his eyes.
"Threepio's right. I think we can keep the boob talk to a minimum." That's a sentence I never thought I would have to say, Poe thinks.
"I'll let you borrow my boob tape," Suralinda says.
"Hold up," Snap says. "There's boob tape?"
"Yeah. It's great. You just pull back your girls and stick 'em to your ribcage."
Snap looks terrified.
Jess glances at Poe, exasperated.
"What d'you think, Poe?" Connix says. "You have good taste in clothes."
"I do?"
"Not really, but I want you to feel included."
Poe sighs. "I guess...uh...maybe…"
"Red, blue, gray, or black?" Jess says.
"I...I don't like the gray. Or the blue."
Jess raises her eyebrows. "Okay, but which one do you like?"
"...The black one."
"Really?" Jess looks surprised.
"Yeah. I think you'd look good in it." Poe hopes to God that he's not blushing.
She shrugs awkwardly, then zips the dress back into the garment bag. "I guess I'll go with this one, then. Mainly so Suralinda doesn't kill me."
Poe clasps his hands together. "Now that we're done with discussions of communism and boob glue…"
"Boob tape," Leia corrects him.
"Sure. Now that we're done with...all of that, can we get some actual work done?"
They all make noncommittal noises.
Poe frowns. "Glad to see morale is high today."
"Do I have to go to this thing?" Hux says, staring out the window in a wistful, melodramatic way.
"I didn't force you into the taxi," Ben says. He shifts his legs, trying to get comfortable. The driver's seat in front of him is moved too far back, and his legs are too long.
"Yes, but I have to go. Lando Calrissian owns the theatre we're using for our silly little play. I have to maintain a good relationship with him."
"Do you ever go to a social event without some sort of agenda?"
"What kind of a question is that?" He adjusts his tie in the reflection of his phone screen. "You should know this as the son of a politician - everyone has an agenda all of the time. For example, your agenda is to please the parents that you don't really like…"
"I love my parents."
"Of course, of course. But you don't like them. You're going to please them, drink just the right amount of alcohol to soothe the crippling case of social anxiety you have - I brought Xanax, if you need it - and then talk to the least amount of people possible. Maybe dance with Rey if you can find an excuse to."
Ben frowns. "I don't like it when you say accurate things."
He smirks, satisfied.
Ben tries crossing his legs, but that just makes the situation worse. He uncrosses them again.
Hux is back to his usual scowl. "Do you know who's going to be there?"
"By your tone, I'm guessing it's someone you don't like - "
"Rose Tico."
"Your ex, Rose Tico?"
"My ex, Rose Tico. That cheating little…"
"You're still upset about that?" Ben leans forward. "Uh - sir?"
"Yes?" the taxi driver has a thick Italian accent.
"Is there any way you could move up this seat?"
"No." The driver shakes his head. "Pay extra? Then...maybe."
He scoffs. "I'm not going to pay extra for you to move up the seat."
"Okay, then I don't move up the seat."
"That's ridiculous."
"Is this your taxi? Are you taxi driver? No. My taxi. I am taxi driver."
Ben breaks into full Italian. "Qual è il prossimo? Devo prostituirmi se voglio abbassare il finestrino?"
"I don't think this is as big of a deal as you think it is." Hux pinches the bridge of his nose.
"Sai cosa?" the taxi driver says, taking one hand off the wheel to gesture wildly with his hands. "Fuck you."
"Fuck me?" Ben says. "Fuck you!"
The taxi driver kicks them out at the next curb and speeds off.
Hux wacks Ben on the back of the head.