The phone is overwarm in his sweaty hand. Bodhi tips the screen up, checking one last time for a follow-up text from Jyn. Nothing. The latest (final?) message, timestamped 23 minutes ago, reads:
pileup on the beltway. no eta. dont worry, i told him youre still coming.
The part of his brain not paralyzed by anxiety - social and general - wonders at such questionable grammar from a published journalist. She must type like this on the regular, for her autocorrect to let it slide.
This meetup was Jyn's idea, the next step in supporting Bodhi's story. He trusts her plan, trusts her, but he can't help the paranoia drawing his shoulderblades tight. Jyn's as paranoid as he is, so it stands to reason he can trust anyone she deems safe, but his own wariness just won't hear it. Turns out there's no transitive property of trust when you've got a knife hilt sticking out your back.
Bodhi scans the bustling food court from his position beside the Dunkin Donuts kiosk. Jyn had said her friend would have a laptop out, but he spots at least four people typing away over their lunches. He should be able to wander between their tables without doubling back or looking too shady, but what's he supposed to do when he gets close enough to say 'hi'? Did Jyn describe him to her friend in turn?
He'll just have to hope so. Bodhi hefts his tray of styrofoamy lo-mein and strikes off into the crowd.
closed to seenitbefore
pileup on the beltway. no eta. dont worry, i told him youre still coming.
The part of his brain not paralyzed by anxiety - social and general - wonders at such questionable grammar from a published journalist. She must type like this on the regular, for her autocorrect to let it slide.
This meetup was Jyn's idea, the next step in supporting Bodhi's story. He trusts her plan, trusts her, but he can't help the paranoia drawing his shoulderblades tight. Jyn's as paranoid as he is, so it stands to reason he can trust anyone she deems safe, but his own wariness just won't hear it. Turns out there's no transitive property of trust when you've got a knife hilt sticking out your back.
Bodhi scans the bustling food court from his position beside the Dunkin Donuts kiosk. Jyn had said her friend would have a laptop out, but he spots at least four people typing away over their lunches. He should be able to wander between their tables without doubling back or looking too shady, but what's he supposed to do when he gets close enough to say 'hi'? Did Jyn describe him to her friend in turn?
He'll just have to hope so. Bodhi hefts his tray of styrofoamy lo-mein and strikes off into the crowd.