uncertain_dume | MCA #3, Tuesday Evening

Kanan was in A Mood. Still. While his weekend hadn't been entirely unpleasant, the aftermath, the flood of memories and the persistent nagging of the Force that had plagued him on Monday morning hadn't exactly done wonders for his state of mind. Yes, he was well aware by now that the only person on the island who knew about him and thought he wasn't being an idiot when he blocked the Force out was himself. No, that wasn't going to stop him from planting himself on the sofa with a bottle of something cheap and hard at hand, trying his damnedest to drown it all away.

The going, thus far, wasn't super great. Drinking helped, but it didn't entirely drown things out the way that running always had for him. If he could just pack up and take off and never look back, he'd be set. But hey, it was the thought that counted.

Mostly, that thought was, 'damn this place.'

[OOC: For he what is crashing there, but housecalls and phone calls can happen too, set before Cecil's thread chronologically!]

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Cecil, for what it was worth, thought his roommate was handling this perfectly well and normally. Wasn't drinking to forget what you were supposed to do?

"Hi, there," Cecil greeted him, somewhat subdued by the fact he'd apparently traumatized a student without meaning to. "Oo, can I get a bottle, too? We can drink together!"

"There's still plenty in the kitchen," Kanan replied, glancing at Cecil and raising an eyebrow. Huh. He was somewhat less perky than usual, which struck him as an oddity, all things considered. "I stocked up."

Because sometimes you just had to stock up, damn it.

"Long day?"

Edited 2016-07-13 02:04 (UTC)

Cecil frowned in thought as he went to get a bottle and came back. "I don't think so? But who knows with time, right?"

He flopped down next to Kanan, and as if by magic was joined by a huge bird who tried to sit in his lap and managed it halfway.

Kanan gave Cecil and Foucault both a sort of bemused side-eye. This wasn't how he had pictured spending his evening, exactly, but what could you do when you let a strange man and his large bird stay with you?

...

"I mean, did you have a tiring day? You seem a bit off."

Said the guy who was trying to fend off the ever present sway of the all-unifying Force with a warm bottle of cheap whisky.

"Oh. I, um. Apparently I said a bad thing? Or a wrong thing." Cecil shrugged. "I think it'll be okay, but I maybe owe someone an apology."

Foucault honked and wrapped his neck around Cecil's, peering at Kanan and looking for head-scritches.

"Well... so long as you're aware you did it, I guess," Kanan replied, realizing that he was a bit out of his depth when it came to things like 'making amends.' "And that you want to make it right?"

Sound a little more sure of yourself, there, Jarrus.

He frowned a bit, and then reached to give the bird a scratch behind his weird bird ear-holes, running his fingers through the feathers.

"It was a difficult weekend for plenty of people. Everyone's probably going to be a bit more sensitive for a while, I'm thinking." He frowned and took another swig with the hand that hadn't just been claimed by a giant pink avian. He'd probably have a bit more to say if he knew it was Ada, but he was hardly in any state to ask who it was in the first place.

"Oh, that makes sense," Cecil agreed. "I don't understand why everybody's so upset, but if they are, I guess it'd make things harder. So I'll just drink tonight and apologize tomorrow. Or...whenever."

Foucault just gave Kanan a very happy look and let his eyes droop mostly closed.

"There you go," Kanan replied, waving his bottle around as though it better helped to illustrate his point, somehow. "Give it some time to be less raw. If things are still sensitive now, you don't want to rub salt in the wound or anything."

The scratching continued, and Kanan gave Foucault a little smile. Hey, the bird wasn't so bad. Even if he was huge and he left pink feathers everywhere.

They gave the place a homey character!

Cecil nodded. "That would be bad. What about you? Did you have a good weekend? Or was it traumatic not knowing for sure who you were?"

Kanan's shoulders hitched up a little.

"The weekend itself wasn't so bad. It was the morning after that I didn't much care for," he admitted. Which was about all that Cecil was going to get out of him.

Not because he was clamming up, exactly. More because the next time he opened his mouth, it was to make a kind of garbled yowling sound.

Kanan blinked.

And then he blinked again with much more beady eyes. Sorry, Foucault. No more scratching from Kanan.

"Oh!"

Cecil blinked at his...roomcat?...and then cooed. "Oh, look at you!"

Sorry, Kanan. You were going to be very cuddled and spoiled this week.

Kanan was looking at himself! His ears were slicked back and he was staring down at his weird little bird feet, and his huge fluffy tail, a look of chagrin clear on his surprisingly expressive, mostly feline face.

... And then he realized that he'd dropped his bottle, and all was tragedy. He gave another displeased yowl, and then looked at Cecil pitifully.

Being spoiled, he could live with. He would need it to help him recover from this indignity.

MCA #3, Tuesday Evening

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