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[flightforfreedom]

You've reached Poe Dameron. I'm off flying something or trying not to get killed, so go ahead and leave a message and I'll get back to you eventually.

 

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let's do this

[flightforfreedom]

[He didn't notice for a few days. His bag, now devoid of the weight of the alcohol that he had brought on the trip, was far lighter than it had been on the way up, even with the bag of Odin's stuff in it. So it wasn't for a few days, once he was finally settling back in at home, alone in his room, actually just enjoying the privacy and the silence, that he began to unpack and found the items.

He was very confused.

He couldn't tell what any of this was - just miscellaneous items that he couldn't really figure out what they were for - but he was starting to figure out a theme. Huh. They seemed like gifts. Little RC planes (that he automatically set aside on his desk to hang with his other models later), the figurine of him that made him chuckle a little bit, a glass sphere that lit up when he touched it (which made him drop it, but it landed safely in his clothes). He watched the stars for several minutes, before putting it into his pocket. Everything just seemed incredibly thoughtful - if sometimes silly - and he wondered who had even--

And then he found the second mixtape.

It didn't have his name on it, but it didn't have to. Everything was explained very suddenly, very quickly, and he just sat kneeled on the floor for a few minutes, looking at it. He let out a long breath.

He didn't want to listen to it.

Well, that wasn't entire true.

He knew he shouldn't listen to it.

But he had a masochistic streak a mile wide, and Odin had obviously given it to him for him to listen to it. He knew how important the last one had been - a gesture at communication that Poe honestly appreciated, on one level, while on the other knowing that it was just going to make him feel a hell of a lot worse.

He put it on the desk. He put everything away. The glass orb felt like a lead weight in his pocket, but he couldn't figure out what to do with it. It was just honest really kind, but he felt guilty even having it. So he just didn't touch it. Left in his pocket, though he took the jacket off and hung it against the back of his chair.

He went through the rest of his nighttime ritual without thinking about it, just happy for the silence and for the firm gravity pulling him planetward.

Once in his pyjamas he hesitated again, fingers touching the mixtape on his desk, before he cursed lowly.

And then he put it on.]