OOM/IM: The brawl

[idontneedluck]

Chirrut knows the feeling of being so angry, so out of control, that only outright violence will grind peace back into your bones. He's felt it more times than he cares to count, himself.

He's never gotten quite that sense from Baze. Close, but Baze's anger is more sustained - the controlled fire of a flamethrower rather than the out-of-control inferno of a burning house.

This is something else entirely.

Chirrut immediately abandons his tea and scoops up his staff as Baze approaches, his whole posture tense and wary.

"Baze?"

Comments

[idontneedluck]

"Work work work." Chirrut sighs, though his grin hasn't dimmed. "Always keeping me busy. I'll just wear away to nothing."

[iprotectyou]

"Don't worry, I'll feed you," Baze says, his burst of laughter loud and long. "Speaking of, would you like to get some food? I noticed you abandoned some tea when I approached, and I'm sorry about that."

[idontneedluck]

"Would you like to get some food?" Chirrut echos, laughing. "I didn't hit you that hard, did I? As long as it isn't something horrifically sweet."

[iprotectyou]

Baze guffaws, giving into it completely. Though his body is sore from being struck, his shoulders are loose. He feels good; working his anger out in a frenetic spar was just what he needed, and he's grateful to his friend for helping him.

"Fair, fair, you unrepentant chowhound," he says, using his staff to leverage himself up to his feet. He helps Chirrut up and loops an arm around his waist, heading to the bar for dinner.