“Dear Force,” he prays. Threatens. He’s arriving at the bargaining stage from left to catch it off guard. “Have I not suffered enough?”
“Quiet over there, I’m trying to reach a mystical entity.”
“Thanks, Ponds. Knew I could count on you.”
Sitrep. Cody’s currently trying to take a nap. It is not going well.
“Why didn’t you turn into shrimp or something easy,” he mutters, shoving the pillow up with his shoulder.
He’s had an incredibly long night in the Jedi Archives trying to help find texts that might help his batchmates turn back into the humanoid assholes they are.
“Watch the hair, Wolffe.”
Wolffe chooses to ignore him, naturally. He continues impersonating a broken speeder and kneading Cody’s head.
Bly is— “Meep!” - still stuck behind Cody’s back.
His head kind of slumps back with the sigh, the stress flowing out of his shoulders like water down a stream—
There’s a rustling. One of them jumps on the couch, it seems.
Cody deigns to open one eye and watches as Ponds drags a Jedi robe onto the backrest before nesting in it in quick, efficient moves.
“Is that General Windu’s,” he asks as if he actually wants to know.
As an answer he gets a stuck up tail and a frankly unnecessary view of his brother’s butthole before limbs, tail, and head are tugged into the fluffy ball of fur.
Alright. Time to close his eyes again.
Crossing his arms, he wriggles around until he’s - “Meep?!” - comfortable. Wolffe is still kneading, Bly is fighting a cushion, Ponds is living Cody’s dreams by being asleep and snoring—
“If you stick your tongue into my ear again, I’ll shoot you into orbit, Fox.”
“Yeah yeah, come here, you fool.”
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