"Which would I rather?" Poe's laughter is a quiet thing -- not really amused, but a little surprised at the question. Already, Andor's been more talkative than he was for the bulk of the flight in, and Poe can't help if a little bit of that is nerves. Recalling that earlier hesitation, though ... maybe it's a little more than that. Now, at least, is a pretty inconvenient time to attempt to examine it.

They're about as close to the heart of the ring as Poe wants to be. Any closer, and he's going to need to trim their speed, and with two dozen eyeballs almost on their tail he's more interested in keeping their options open. "I'd rather those TIEs be competing to deliver their heartfelt sentiments -- y'know, fistfuls of blueblossoms and palomellas, passionate love letters for the charming pilot and his roguishly handsome companion. Recognition of prior stupidity; promises to stop ruining lives. Otherwise?"

The ship slips between two small asteroids locked in a collision course. "Better hope they're hopeful. This ain't anything to worry about, but if that Star Destroyer starts breaking up some of these rocks, we're in for a rough ride."