[ there is another life, where they have this conversation when cassian is in a different frame of mind.
in that life, cassian does not only lift his other eyebrow at the question, but says something like, are you going to make me guess? and there's some subtle, but real, humor to it; not unlike his recent question whether set will ever let him forget about his status as a god. he doesn't have an answer, of course. if there are gods in his galaxy — and some believe there are — then there are none that have ever mattered to him. none that ever reached out to protect him or the people he loved. none that ever bestirred themselves to care about the atrocities of the empire, or the republic that preceded it.
perhaps surprisingly, cassian does slowly move to brush his fingers through the leaves, twisting off the leaves that are brittle and off-color. neither exactly familiar work, nor unfamiliar work. easier to keep his hands busy, his eyes on the plant, than to look at the war god.
— no god has ever sat beside him, and spoken of hope.
he knows that's what this is, of course. he has never drowned so deep that he didn't know hope when he saw it; or jyn would've never had the effect on him that she does. (that she does — he hadn't left because that waned, only because the brightness hurt too much.) he shouldn't listen to this any more than he'd allowed set to try soothing his discord. he shouldn't, but
no subject
in that life, cassian does not only lift his other eyebrow at the question, but says something like, are you going to make me guess? and there's some subtle, but real, humor to it; not unlike his recent question whether set will ever let him forget about his status as a god. he doesn't have an answer, of course. if there are gods in his galaxy — and some believe there are — then there are none that have ever mattered to him. none that ever reached out to protect him or the people he loved. none that ever bestirred themselves to care about the atrocities of the empire, or the republic that preceded it.
perhaps surprisingly, cassian does slowly move to brush his fingers through the leaves, twisting off the leaves that are brittle and off-color. neither exactly familiar work, nor unfamiliar work. easier to keep his hands busy, his eyes on the plant, than to look at the war god.
— no god has ever sat beside him, and spoken of hope.
he knows that's what this is, of course. he has never drowned so deep that he didn't know hope when he saw it; or jyn would've never had the effect on him that she does. (that she does — he hadn't left because that waned, only because the brightness hurt too much.) he shouldn't listen to this any more than he'd allowed set to try soothing his discord. he shouldn't, but
does cassian sleep, these days? he's tired. ]
And what do you see?