4. does your muse find any specific features particularly attractive?

{ 🍵 You know you want: Smuggler!Ben, The Scoundrel }

It's Eris' job to accept Ben, and the whole Ben, in all his motley glory. She signed a planet up for this, by the way. It's a short list, but it kicks, so buckle up, Your Majesty.

For the physicals,

He's an ass-man.

Wide hips (feminine/near-human/humanoid)

Thighs (near-human/but you know... no, you don't want to know)

Tails

Up top, generally,

Lips

Fangs

Multiple eyes (in a face; for Ben, there has to be a face)

Multiple limbs or digits

Vestigial horns

Lekku

He's attracted to wealth and power, just not in the blatant way of his father. Another feature he'd find particularly attractive would be his subject of attraction not knowing his parents.

@etoilebleu

Anonymously tell my muse what the fuck is wrong with them: "Whats wrong with you? A lot, a kriffing lot! But for the sake of beeing short because of course noone listens to the kriffing doctor when they say important kriffery and instead they drown in the ocean of very kriffing important words and only hear what they want to hear- you are not living in an enviorment that allowes you to produce the right amount of Serotonine, so you end up beeing the kriffing grumphy, all black wearing Kriffer that looks like he has not seen a kriffing sun in lightyears. Which, yes, mood, as an albino I can unerstand that, but you have kriffing melatonine, so there are no kriffing excuses: Go and stand in the sun for around two hours a day, get a kriffing plant to grow to sooth your stoneage-instincts to have nature around you instead of kriffing cold wide empty space so that brain would not be in a permanent state of kriffing screaming anxiety, eat something else than random cantina-kriffery,drink something else than caf at best even two litres of kriffing water a day, and occaisonally, you know, if you happen to not be kriffing shot at, take a kriffing nap. Around eight hours a day. Will do kriffing wonders for you, but not that you ask kriffing me, nohohohho, who would ask me." There was a pause: "Also I swear, if you now make a kriffing "short people" joke just because I said I will be short with my words, I will bite off your toes one by one and kriffing eat them infront of you."

@irrfahrer ://

There was a pause. One pause in Ziv's maniacal diagnoses, and in that pause, Ben grinned somewhat and plopped his chin in his hand. (*The pink, puckered hand he'd almost lost to one of the Ren. Who was going to do what with it? Deliver it to Snoke? If one hand was all it took to impress, they must've been in dire straits. Seven knights, one hand—what were the odds? Kriffing incredible.*)

"You know what's wrong with me?" he said sweetly. "You. You're a monster."

But since Ziv offered her velvet ear and paw to his aid, Ben decided he'd ask where he could stand, in broad daylight, for two hours, without getting shot?

@irrfahrer sent:// "I sort've hoped you needed me, is that selfish?

{ from this meme }

— ☾ —

Ben scowled at Ziv as if she had two heads and suddenly sprung a third.

"Selfish?" he exclaimed. "Selfish!" he scoffed.

"Are you—" he stopped, held up one finger as if he were reading the wind, held still, and with a satisfied nod: "No, you're serious. Thought you were being a sarcastic little furball."

He continued packing. Or rather, shoving his few personal effects into a canvas bag and an optical case—flimsi, mostly stolen parts, lenses that'd sell for a few week's creds, and more flimsi. Little clothes, one would note.

"Ziv," Ben huffed, pushing the case with his elbow. "I do need you. You know how dead I'd be if it weren't for you? Cats have nine lives, and they're jealous of me. Nobody has ever been so stupidly alive for so long."

Once he was finished, he knelt by Ziv and looked at her. His half-smile wasn't mint, but it was genuine.

"Don't go telling the world, but I'm grateful. I don't want any trouble coming your way, that's all. Is that selfish?"

He thumbed one of her ears.

"I'll come back," he said. "Right after they kick my ass in. I always come back after that."

7. where is your muse most sensitive?

{ 🍵 You know you want: Smuggler!Ben, The Scoundrel }

'The usual places, Eris.'

—☾—

All the usual places a man is most sensitive.

His nipples, too, as well as the area under his ears, around the parotid glands, and his throat.

@etoilebleu

🖤 *holds up Ziv by the scruff-fur of her neck like a overly large, fluffy cat*

{ from this meme }

attractiveness:

repulsive / hideous / ugly / not attractive / unappealing / not unattractive / meh / no preference / ok / mildly attractive / nice looking / cute / adorable / attractive / pleasant on the eyes / good looking / hot / sexy / beautiful / gorgeous / hot damn / would tap that / perfect / godlike / holy fuck there are no words.

personality:

grating / irritating / frustrating / boring / confusing at best / awkward / unreasonable / psychotic / disturbing / interesting/engaging / affectionate (in her KRIFFING way) / aggressive / ambitious / anxious / artistic / bad tempered / bossy / charismatic / appealing / unappealing / creative / courageous / dependable / unreliable / unpredictable / predictable/devious / dim / extroverted / introverted / egotistical / gregarious / fabulous / impulsive / intelligent / sympathetic / talkative / up beat / peaceful / calming / badass / flexible.

how likely they would have sex with them:

not if they were the last person on earth and the world was ending / fuck no! / never / no way / not likely / not sure / indifferent / I’m asexual / maybe / probably / mind your business / it depends / fairly likely / likely / yeah sure / yes / would tap that / hell yes / fuck yes! / wishing that could happen right now / as many times as possible / we are already having sex.

level of friendship:

never in a million years / worst of enemies / enemies / rivals / indifferent / neutral / acquaintance / friendly toward each other / casual friends / friends / good friends / best friends / fuck buddies / bosom buddies / practically the same person / would die for them / true friends / my only friend.

first impression of them:

i hate them so much / i don’t like them / i don’t trust them / they annoy me / they’re weird / I’m indifferent / meh / they seem alright / they’re growing on me / truce / I think I like them / I like them / I’m not sure if I trust them / I trust them / they’re cool / they’re genuine / I think we’re going to get along / I really like them / I think I’m in love / oh fuck they’re hot / I love them.

current impression of them:

i hate them so much / i don’t like them / i don’t trust them / they annoy me / they’re weird / I’m indifferent / meh / they seem alright / they’re growing on me / truce / I think I like them / I like them / I’m not sure if I trust them / I trust them / they’re cool / they’re genuine / I think we’re going to get along / I really like them / I think I’m in love / oh fuck they’re hot / I love them.

You don't sleep with your BFF like they're a big fluffy cat? Well, that's just, like, your problem, man.

What's Your Found Family Dynamic?

m. au | ex-con!ben: the drifter

the silent sufferer

you love your friends, but the truth is, you go through most of the real things alone. it's better that no one sees you like this. you'll be fine, really, because you're used to feeling this way. it'll pass. it always does. that's what you believe, anyway. you're more likely to give someone advice on a lesson you've learned without telling them how you learned it. you've come to realize that, if they're coming to you for advice, they'll be too preoccupied to ask. it stings, but it's... that's just the way feelings work sometimes. when you're around others, most of these problems seem to vanish, and you're better able to love the person you are. only on the worst days do you continue to hear that insistent whisper that its, "all a lie because they don't know what's *really* going on." it's not a lie. you are loved. those moments together are real. there are times when you can afford not to be so strong.

sw au | smuggler!ben: the scoundrel

the "comic relief"

yes, alright, you tell your jokes and do your bits. you break awkward silences and sing silly songs (NO. NOPE. STOP. NO SINGING. - ben). but what about when you're not keeping the levity? what else makes up the person who makes others feel good? you're kind. you connect with people. you hate to see others sad. you have a vice or two--who doesn't--but the point is, you are the epitome of what it is to be human, and you are able to encompass the absolutely zany improbability of life as we know it. people are comforted by you. they cherish your spirit and relate to you. but it can be difficult when you're not laughing. comedy becomes a wall to keep worse feelings out, or in. a person who feels any emotion to the extreme will undoubtedly feel others the same way. laughing is great, but... perhaps a big reason you appreciate your family is because there's something you can't stand in a silence.

tagged by:// @brooklynislandgirl <33

tagging:// @ronmanmob, @riiese, @affcgato, @irrfahrer, @yunharlaquin, @ofcatnaps, @ofthestcrs, @pxis, @errantwish, @wxr-zxne, @desireandduty, @datapadz, @graysistance, @hopegained, @lastxdragon, @corinnebaileyrp, @chromium-siren, @mayxthexforce, @smokinmirrors, @talesofshadowandlight, @etoilebleu,, @kyberllcore, @jakkuforce, @sheresists, @big-d-little-i-big-n-little-ozzo, — and you ~

@irrfahrer sent:// 🕯️ *chants * starweird, starweird, starweird starweird !

—☾—

"You ever see a ghost, Ziv?"

Ben gazed at his companion from beneath his brow, his solemn cheekbones honed by meiloorun light emanating from the lumipanels that followed the hostel's rectangular contour.

Finding a Corellian hotel that didn't double as a coffin was no easy task, but with a fake name, a large coat, and a few creds (* Ben's for once *), the unlikely duo were able to camp out in a retrofitted bunker for what the locals referred to as 'the night,' in the tongue-in-cheek manner of Corellians. Some of the denizens spoke with the cadence of his father as if the day were some big joke, rigged; according to them, it was always this dark.

"In your waking life—" Ben paused and consulted Ziv's toothy grin. "Besides me."

He shifted to a more comfortable position. For Ben, comfort was sitting with his legs crossed on the mat and his large hands tucked into each other like birds nesting in the space between.

"Has anyone from your old life ever come to you from… beyond?"

@mayxthexforce sent://

'No! Do as I say.' (From Voe to smuggler solo)

{ from this meme / not currently accepting }

—☾—

"Do what?" He threw a hand in a gesture toward the pit and the world beyond it, where all was darkness. In his eyes, darkness. And fear. "That? Are you—" 

"No, thank you," D-O interjected with an uncertain jerk-back, wheel squeaking with him. 

"No, thank you," Ben repeated, resolute in this agreement that they shouldn't traverse the great-toothed crevasse snapping from the highly folded and disrupted sedimentary landscape below. Folded his arms. "Why? Why, Voe? Why do we have to go down there?" 

He still wasn't sure he shouldn't trade the holocron he'd found to keep his head, and he'd listened to Voe then; they had to do the right thing. Now, they'd just emerged from a shipwreck. Smelling of marine oil, dripping black wet, Ben's quickdraw holster and its respective pistol lost to treacherous grey waves. 

"Your track record's not looking pretty," he grumbled. 

@irrfahrer sent :// "Wow, I never realized how kriffing tall you are!" Ziv did not even bat an eye as she added casually: "Mostly thanked to the kriffing fact that most of the time when we are interacting you are a sorry heap of an even sorrier ass on some biobed, whom I have to kriffing patch up again."

—☾—

In all fairness, this must have been the dozenth time Ziv patched him up. The dozenth or beyond. Maybe he was getting to be a six-foot problem and a little extra. Neverthless. 

"Karking hell, was someone mean to you when you were little?" he grumbled. "Littler."

Ben dutifully considered the curry puff he held between his forefinger and thumb. They really were small, weren't they?

"I don't want to backtrack my eternal gratitude," he said, "but Ziv, come on, I only have to step on you once. I don't even have to use both feet, so—watch your mouth.”

He sighed and rearranged his collection of parts on the cot, his mended foot and swollen ankle that Ben joked about cutting off. It'd be easier. However, he hadn't been joking. Not really. 

“That rancor got lucky. You can leave me next time, okay? Happy? Leaving me to die is always an option." 

"Always an option," D-O echoed from within Ziv's hideout. 

"Shut up," said Ben. 

@irrfahrer sent :// "How about - what was your most kriffing embarassing date ever? And it does not count " kriffed someone with fur and almost choked on the pelt"." Ziv took a nonchalant sip of her tea: "Hey, don´t look at me, I kriffed more wookies and Whipids than you have ever seen in our whole life. I had so much fur between my teeth, I could build a cloak out of it. A toothpick is my loyal companion everytime I date someone. Don´t need to hear any kriffing more stories about that. Be creative, benny."

{ from this meme }

—☾—

Several nearby diners stared from their tables. Some with multiple sets of eyeballs.

"Hold..." Red-faced as he was, Ben couldn't help but snort at the image of Ziv packing a toothpick with her special herbs. "Hold on, let's get a few things straight. Ziv, please. I'm not an amateur when it comes to the fur. Whiphids are not..."

Ben struggled.

"My... type. And this"—he slammed his ruddy palms on the table—"is my most embarrassing 'date' ever. This takes the cake."

Now the other diners averted their gazes or developed a remarkably renewed interest in their comestibles. Ben shrank in his seat and took a long sip at his tea.

"Before now, it was a one-night stand with a stormtrooper. I had no idea." He sighed. "She was really nice for about five minutes.”

@mayxthexforce sent:// '❛  you have no idea what you're talking about!  ❜ (Voe to smuggler!Ben, let them argue about their lives)'

{ from this meme }

— ☾ —

The only thing worse than being trapped on a sinking vessel in the black was being trapped on a sinking vessel in the middle of a kriffing ocean. The murky water was up to his ankles now and would crest his boots in another minute. Maybe less. Who was counting? Not Voe. No, no. She was too busy trying to pick a fight while Ben, who had 'no idea what he was talking about,' tried and failed to turn the dog, the 5’x5’ chromium wheel to the vessel's water-tight hatch, open, with his bare hands, which kept slipping because the vessel had a perfect 8”x17” hole in it that was filling with the coldest water known to the colonies because the

vessel 

was sinking. 

"No?" he countered. "Here's an idea. This wouldn't have happened if it weren't for you. Yeah, you! A saber's the only thing that can poke a hole in steel, and you brought the saber. Onto a demolition boat! Genius! You brought a saber to a gunfight, and now we're fucked!" 

"N-now we're fucked," D.O. stuttered.

Ben whirled around with a splash and glared at the droid; his features knurled into a visage of disgust and panic. 

"Yes, D.O. Thank you for reiterating that. Thank you. Can you please find the nearest emergency hatch and help us get out of here? Now! If you need some motivation, know that you will not survive this, you little kriffer."

D.O. rolled back. "Uh-oh. Find emergency hatch." And the little droid was off, cycling full tilt toward the drier upper levels. 

Then Ben glowered at Voe, one arm hanging limply on one of the dog's spokes, the other extended and entreating.

"And you," he snarled. "Big Time Jedi. No respect for anyone. Here's another idea—get over here and help me."

He'd wipe the water dripping down his nose if it mattered, if it wasn't rising up his calves. If it wouldn't, in another minute—and who was kriffing counting? Who was counting?—reach his thigh holster, and in another, be waist deep.

@irrfahrer :// { the long-awaited space zombie starter }

— ☾ —

Last time he'd been this afraid of a malformed, giga-sized shrunken head, with a void of a maw, seemingly toothless and infinite in its gaping black terror (what Ziv described as 'kriffing black holes'), he'd encountered Snoke in his sleeping life. 

Ben was living a nightmare, had always been, 'seemed to him. Whatever this was, it was too much. His waking life had become—was, maybe had always been—a mirror. 

Dozens of shriveled faces looked back at him. Hungry. Had Ben always been as hungry? Truth be told, and now might be the time for truth, he'd starved himself of purpose, abstained from the life given to him much as he could, and still breathe, however shallow the breath, however facile the path Ben chose instead. 

Now, he faced a starving horde whose only motivation and weapon was to sate itself. And he—had one blaster and Ziv, at least for the time being. D-O was missing. The thought that his little friend may have been trampled into scrap metal was one of the many Ben pushed out of his mind in favor of focus. Though, at this point, his hands were shaking, and his aim was off. And even when it wasn't, it grew increasingly apparent that shooting at these things only slowed them down. 

"How—why are there so many?" 

A useless question. 

"I don't like this," he reiterated. 

A useless statement. 

"I don't like this at all, Ziv." 

He spared a single glance over his shoulder, where Ziv stood on a scaffold, shooting and shooting, baring her teeth. 

And cocking his A-180 at precisely the wrong angle, a beam chewed through the eyesocket of a reanimated stormtrooper lumbering toward them, and it fell onto the wriggling, legless body of an Evereni soldier who'd lost her lower extremities while she was still living. In her state of—what exactly? Zombification?—she neither seemed to notice nor care about this lack. Her priority was motion and meat. 

Half a shuttle laid pendant on the ledge of a promontory that rose over a dry sea. Its other half lay belly-up on the ground below, grey-white, like the corpse of a partially eaten whale, swarming with an infestation of the newly awakened; from here, they spawned, proliferated, and emerged, sometimes gridlocked in a morbid crowd crush. Really kriffing nasty stuff. 

Above, more bodies. Bodies plunging from the head of the crashed shuttle to broken bones and wriggling ruin, and still, they crawled, dragging their befouled and befuddled configurations toward the warmblooded Tynnan and her swiftly beating heart, and the smuggler, who refused to surrender his half-life, and was beginning to regret throwing his (emptied) Shrieker at one of them, even if it had taken care of the problem by knocking the ugly son of a bitch off the cliff. 

"Ziv!" 

He leapt, swinging himself onto the island of stone and titanium skeleton where she stood. They were running out of options. 

"We're running out of options." 

"I'm running out of bolts." 

He just knew. And they had nothing. No power packs, nothing. 

Ben turned to his companion, his usual impassivity of expression coiled in panic—

"Yes," he snapped at Ziv's silence. "Yes, I'm desperate. Why are we still here?" 

Why was there never an escape? 

@smokinmirrors :// { cont'd from mason risking her butt to save us }

— ☾ —

The left corner of Ben's mouth crinkled into a sort-of smile. Mason's blown-out eardrums? His gaze landed, soft, like a winged insect, on the strand of blood under her ear. That wasn't the price she'd paid.

"Here," he said, aloud but quietly, producing a med-cloth containing his last antiseptic shot and bacta spray from one of his pouches. He wasn't sure why he'd code-switched earlier. Why use the Force as a conduit for speech? Why use it at all? What, did he hope he could stop the bleeding? For a moment, yeah, kind of.

Ben tipped his head back onto the co-pilot's chair. His hair fell away from his face baring one mud-smeared cheekbone. 

"Kriffffffffffffffff," he exhaled. "Ahhh-fff—," he inhaled, and his adam's apple rose in his throat. "What are we doing?" he asked the ceiling. "What are we doing, Mason?"

D-O sighed somewhere below, and Ben reached out and patted his needle nose.

"Maybe I should turn myself in. Maybe Snoke doesn't want a puppet; maybe they want me dead. I'm one guy. That's not so bad." 

Finally, he'd said it. He'd spoken his fear. It all oozed out of him and clung to the air like plasma. Ben closed his eyes. He felt the outlines of Mason's doubt and exasperation, and something faint and fluttering pulsing beneath it, pressing into him, and all he could think to do was block it.

"Okay, I won't. I'm shutting up." 

“Emotional support Tynnan? Thats how you actually see me?”, Ziv looked annoyed over her shoulder up to Ben and the way her tail twitched and her ears were pinned flat against her head, she really did not seemed very happy: “Whoah, kriffing thank you for respecting my fight to be seen as an actual person instead of the adorable little fluffle my species features make me look like. I am kriffing touched by your compassion and emotional sensetivity towards me.” @irrfahrer​ lol

@irrfahrer

Of course she had to set his cot up under those squirming green things Ziv called m—. No, it was—. Whatever they were.

“Hey, Ziv?” He craned his neck to look at her, just barely smiled. “Do I ever treat you like a—“

Ben pondered the word. Fluff-el.

“I can’t say that. See?”

He stared at the drapes of flora that clung to the low ceiling. He was not going to be able to sleep, but what else was new? Why didn’t he feel refreshed when he stepped out of the ‘fresher? Why even call it that?

“And you know, I don’t touch you. You don’t touch me unless you have to. Sorry. Well, you know. You always call it as you see it, and yeah, maybe that’s comforting to me. Okay? Kriff. I found a rare medical droid—you know these guys are obsolete right? How’d you like to be obsolete? Sorry. I got him working, and I thought you could take a joke. String me up by a vine.”

With a disgruntled sigh, Ben rolled onto his side, facing away from Ziv’s decidedly un-fluff-el-y demeanor, and wrapped his arms around himself.

“You know, you’re scary, actually. You know that? I’ve seen your teeth in action. Not cute. Hope that clears that up. Have a great night, sweet dreams.”

@mayxthexforce sent:// ❛ this is your idea of laying low? ❜ (from Kaydel)

{ from this meme / not currently accepting }

—☾—

"That's right. This was my idea of not getting shot in the face," he said, slim-smiled, beady-eyed with the depraved glee of a covert narcissist. "And it worked. It was a good idea." 

A temporary fix, a bandaid for a life-or-death situation. Stormtroopers were securing their perimeters, stepping on Resistance encampments like daisies.

Kaydel was right—hiding out here was an awful idea. Still, Ben would not, in fact, acquiesce to her position. They were squatted, huddled together under the forest terrace, pressed onto the rooted shelf of a gargantuan ash tree, hidden from all but what insects crawled in the grass, yet he kept his left palm on his drop leg like he kept his gloves on his hands. There hadn't been enough time for making acquaintances. 

Ben noticed now and again how he'd made most of his friends (* there were few *) under dire straits. But Kaydel was not going to be his friend. 

"We have to wait this out. Don't know if you noticed the hundreds of troopers walking off their ships as we speak." 

No sighting of shuttles tunneling through the stratosphere, no warning cry in the sky, no blips on the tactical maps. Only one unit in sight when Ben pushed Kaydel into the gulch and he came skidding after her. He looked at Kaydel now. He saw confusion on her face, chagrin. Loam. One of her buns come loose. Ben did not want to know what she saw staring back. 

"Wait, you don't feel them at all? The angry hearts, minds, and bodies of the conditioned?" 

He drew away, his distraught gaze grazing a mushroom disc on a tree besotted by fungal balconies.

"Oh," Ben muttered, stone-faced. "Okay. You're normal. Must be nice." 

Kaydel thought they'd take on that one unit and gain the upper hand. What she didn't yet realize was the First Order'd lowballed. Hoodwinked the Resistance again. Soon, she would hear their marching. Then, she would likely hear the crack, boom, and hiss; years of intel thrown to the flames. You'd think Kaydel would know this by now. But what mattered, what mattered most, was the First Order'd think they'd abandoned camp. They'd think the Resistance was without a pot to piss in. After all these years, the Empire still didn't seem to understand that its opposition archived its data. Ben, that kriffer Dameron, and Emmat had pieces of it burning holes in their pockets. 

📝 ➤ @etoilebleu :// { cont'd from here }

She couldn't miss Ben's face anywhere. Nobody could. It was becoming a problem. Canto Bight was the last place in the galaxy his face ought to be. There was a price for that face, even bigger digits for the head. But the bounty for bringing the head, shoulders, knees, and toes in that order to the First Order, all together and unharmed, was even higher. 

"Eris," he says with a hitch. "Wow. Yeah. I—" 

He doesn't have time for Eris. Eris should be on Inujan, rolling around in that gown, becoming one with a field of flowers. But she keeps going.  

"You're not supposed—"

He looks at his hand folded in her double grip. It's a desperate move, and she knows it is. Ben opens his mouth and closes it. 

"Take you to my ship if I came on one," he reiterates. "No, I used the Force to get here. Cruised right through the atmosphere. All me, angel." 

Ben's smile is nice and easy, even if his eyes have creds in them. Which they don't. Not entirely.  

"Listen, Eris,"—he can tell she doesn't want to. She only clasps harder. Ben looks over his shoulder. "I'm not the best company these days, so if—"

Above the festooned cache of moguls and no-gooders, a marketing transport makes its rounds, holo-casting through its thorax, shining images over the beach. Luxury hotels, fine cuisine, cheap women, sex bots, wanted men. 

"Oh no," he says, looking up. Eris looks too. 

Weird seeing his face projected out of the sky like that; it was sometime before the beard. Not a flattering portrait, scowling with a black eye—probably captured by the New Republic Defense Force when he ‘kidnapped’ an old boyfriend. When there was a New Republic and a boyfriend. The big Ben in the sky glares through the sunset, and flash, he's gone. Flash, Blue Milk. Another flash, the Races. And the transport crawls away. 

He gets the itch to run. Suddenly it doesn't matter that Eris has somehow fused herself to him, a fugitive.

"Anything? Get my face off HoloNet."

And they’re off. Flash, the marble stairs. Their fleeting footsteps, their hands entwined, or at least Eris's hands entwined with that one of Ben's, miraculously unbroken by their momentum. Flash, the outdoor hangar, and the grassy cliffside beyond that. Once they make it to Grimtaash, Ben takes back his hand and rubs the center of his palm. 

Her interior is blue with evening's half-light and strings of coolant cubes, the clearest evidence of Ben's smuggling. Bolt-down tables in the main hold tower with rolled parchment, yellowed calligraphy tools, and flimsi. It's hills of flimsi from here on out, except in the cockpit. There's no market for flimsi, though, illicit or authorized, and if he keeps any contraband besides coolant on the ship, Grimtaash is mum about it. 

Only other thing in view is the droid, D-O, who comes rolling up around his ankles when Ben sinks his full breadth into the booth. 

"Kriff," he mutters, looking at Eris without looking at Eris. "You know some people are dying to get home?"