iwritesometimes:

hi, i’m sarah, and i have a chronic and probably terminal inability to Shut Up About Star Wars.

pursuant to my previous late-night feverposting:

Baze
hit the floor hard, all the air in his body leaving him in a low groan.
He lay there, defeated and in no great hurry to rise again, until
Chirrut peered down at him, eyebrows arched up expectantly and mouth in
its wry half-twist. He leaned heavily on his quarterstaff like a hunched
old man, the very picture of frail innocence, like he hadn’t just laid
out a man four inches taller and twenty pounds heavier and made it look
easy.

“Best five out of seven?” he said with a hopeful note in his voice. Baze groaned again and went limp on the floor.

“No
more,” he grunted, closing his eyes like a man resigned to his fate.
There was no response for a long moment, and then the cool prod of the
end of Chirrut’s staff in his side had him edging open an eye. Chirrut’s
hand thrust out to help him up; Baze knew when he took it how much wiry
strength would be behind that grip, in that deceptively fragile-looking
arm. Chirrut was so unassuming looking; if anyone were ever to try
ambushing him in the streets, there would be nothing left for them but
prayers to the Force for luck. Baze knew what the man was capable
of, and he still ended up on his ass better than half the time.
Something to be said for all those Jedi-like reflexes Chirrut was always
going on about. “You’ve humiliated me enough for one day, don’t you
think?”

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