dreams, dreams and dreams.

(author’s note: this isn’t exactly canonical as such; this is more of a character piece, with me getting a feel for cassian and letting him talk to people.)

Cassian's dreams tended toward “vague as fuck” or “vivid miserable flashback”, so when he started to dream about following a big scruffy skinny black tomcat through an empty city, he kept following the cat even through dawning lucidity just for the sake of it being something new.

It wasn't a blur, and it wasn't charred ruins and the scent of something beyond ordinary death.

It was rainy foggy streets, the scent of wet asphalt, and a twinge in his left knee.

“Waow,” demanded the cat. He had a funny rough kind of voice, like he'd been yowling his little head off on a fence all night. “Wwwuuu...aow?”

“I'm coming,” Cassian griped.

“WAOW.” The cat shook water off his feet, and stared at Cassian.

“Okay, I--”

“WAOW!”

“I'm coming! You--”

“WAOW. WAOW. WAOW. WAOW. WAOW. WAOW.”

“Holy fuck, OKAY! You have four legs, you little shit. I only have two. Give an old guy a break.”

“Waow.” The cat gave him a smuggish slow blink and then bounced off into the drizzly rain, tail an inverted J, the tiny bell on his collar jingling.

“Little shit,” Cassian sighed again, and followed.

Down the road, out of town, out beyond the usual boundaries of the cities of his dreams.

( ... )