Yeah, I know, but we were talking about regional delicacies and stuff last time, so... [Part of practicing Yaval with Spock meant just talking about his home moon, and Poe has let himself ramble on and on about stories of his youth, about his grandfather teaching him to cook, the way he and his dad would whip up what basically amounted to a feast and invite their neighbors to come share their meal under the Force-sensitive tree that was slowly growing large enough to overshadow their house, the puddle jumper races he and L'ulo would hold every time he visited, how overjoyed he'd been when he finally beat the Duros alien who was more or less an uncle to him.
Yaval culture was, by necessity, a hodge-podge of other cultures mashed together, which means some things might seem familiar to some people, and others not. To Poe, who grew up in the midst of it, it all had seemed completely normal, of course. The loud, almost exuberant displays of affection, the speed at which someone was adopted into your family circle, the willingness of everyone to lend tools or labor or whatever else might be needed to help a neighbor who was in distress.
He knows he probably sounds like some sort of galactic tour guide hyping up some backwater moon to unsuspecting tourists, but really, Poe's memories of his home world are tinged with rose-colored glasses, and he wants everyone he knows to experience the beauty of his home.
Specifically Spock. He thinks his dad would get a kick out of the Vulcan, would be fascinated by her heritage and would love discussing the scientific properties of the flora native to the Yavin system. Even L'ulo would enjoy her company, he's sure, although his uncle wasn't the most scientifically-minded person. They could at least commiserate about being the only non-humans in the room, while Poe and his father undoubtedly did something embarrassingly human in the corner like hug.
He watches Spock pick up one of the cookies in her long, pale fingers, the powdered sugar dusted overtop coating her fingertips when she brings the cookie up to her lips to bites into it, more sugar sticking to her lips after she pulls the cookie away so she can chew. Poe kind of wants to lick that sugar off her.]
Everything is so sweet here. [He wrinkles his nose, thinking to the food he's managed to get the replicator to spit out and how much it wasn't even remotely right.] Even the stuff I can get out of the replicator is too sweet. I've wound up cooking for myself every day.
no need to apologize!!
Yaval culture was, by necessity, a hodge-podge of other cultures mashed together, which means some things might seem familiar to some people, and others not. To Poe, who grew up in the midst of it, it all had seemed completely normal, of course. The loud, almost exuberant displays of affection, the speed at which someone was adopted into your family circle, the willingness of everyone to lend tools or labor or whatever else might be needed to help a neighbor who was in distress.
He knows he probably sounds like some sort of galactic tour guide hyping up some backwater moon to unsuspecting tourists, but really, Poe's memories of his home world are tinged with rose-colored glasses, and he wants everyone he knows to experience the beauty of his home.
Specifically Spock. He thinks his dad would get a kick out of the Vulcan, would be fascinated by her heritage and would love discussing the scientific properties of the flora native to the Yavin system. Even L'ulo would enjoy her company, he's sure, although his uncle wasn't the most scientifically-minded person. They could at least commiserate about being the only non-humans in the room, while Poe and his father undoubtedly did something embarrassingly human in the corner like hug.
He watches Spock pick up one of the cookies in her long, pale fingers, the powdered sugar dusted overtop coating her fingertips when she brings the cookie up to her lips to bites into it, more sugar sticking to her lips after she pulls the cookie away so she can chew. Poe kind of wants to lick that sugar off her.]
Everything is so sweet here. [He wrinkles his nose, thinking to the food he's managed to get the replicator to spit out and how much it wasn't even remotely right.] Even the stuff I can get out of the replicator is too sweet. I've wound up cooking for myself every day.