He can feel the warmth radiating out from Poe's body. He must come from a warm planet -- yes, he came from Yavin, didn't he? He'll get cold fast, if he keeps that up.
Cassian came from somewhere warm, but it's been a long time since then. He's adapted.
He lets Poe keep speaking, as he settles himself in. The pilot's anxious about sitting still; that much is clear. Running and hiding, though, is where Cassian lives. His entire life is carrying out tasks that couldn't possibly be done with a fair fight, if the whole might of the First Order was turned against him. Poe is used to being the underdog, but an underdog that slugs it out all the same.
Though Cassian is curious, now, about diving out of a headhunter at a moving ship.
"She uses you for... finding. Flying. Those specific missions where failure might mean that the galaxy has no one left to fight." Cassian glances sideways, to Poe. "Most of the missions I have are boring, or pointless. Or without a specific goal, just to find anything important, to develop networks of contacts. It needs subtlety. Someone who won't be noticed." He looks forward, again. "Or someone who'll pull the trigger when it's not a fair fight." Like this one.
Cassian might not particularly like that about himself. There was a time, years and year ago, when putting his hands on a gun and looking through a scope, intending to pull the trigger, left him shaking and sweating, heart pounding so hard he could feel it in the back of his throat. He was just a kid, and he still cared about things like that. None of that is true anymore.
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Cassian came from somewhere warm, but it's been a long time since then. He's adapted.
He lets Poe keep speaking, as he settles himself in. The pilot's anxious about sitting still; that much is clear. Running and hiding, though, is where Cassian lives. His entire life is carrying out tasks that couldn't possibly be done with a fair fight, if the whole might of the First Order was turned against him. Poe is used to being the underdog, but an underdog that slugs it out all the same.
Though Cassian is curious, now, about diving out of a headhunter at a moving ship.
"She uses you for... finding. Flying. Those specific missions where failure might mean that the galaxy has no one left to fight." Cassian glances sideways, to Poe. "Most of the missions I have are boring, or pointless. Or without a specific goal, just to find anything important, to develop networks of contacts. It needs subtlety. Someone who won't be noticed." He looks forward, again. "Or someone who'll pull the trigger when it's not a fair fight." Like this one.
Cassian might not particularly like that about himself. There was a time, years and year ago, when putting his hands on a gun and looking through a scope, intending to pull the trigger, left him shaking and sweating, heart pounding so hard he could feel it in the back of his throat. He was just a kid, and he still cared about things like that. None of that is true anymore.
Now, he just pulls the trigger.