get to know me [1/50] movies: now you see me Let me warn you. I want you to follow, because no matter what you think you might know, we will always be one step, three steps- seven steps ahead of you, and just when you think you’re catching up, that’s when we’ll be right behind you. And at no time will you be anywhere other than exactly where I want you to be. So come close, get all over me because the closer you think you are, the less you’ll actually see.
Hoth and Jedha, for all they both suffered from a near permanent winter, were different. Snow had been rare on Jedha, too cold and dry for it to ever form. Hoth was soft where Jedha had been hard, permafrost making most forms of farming and burial impossible. It was not an easy place to live, but the people of Jedha were adaptive and stubborn, and they made it their home for thousands of years and would have done so for another thousand if the Empire had not wiped it all away.
But they survived and adapted, as was their wont, although Baze privately admitted that Chirrut was having a much easier time with the snow then he was. Baze sunk while Chirrut had mastered the trick of walking along the thin layer of ice on top.
“If you say the Force guides you,” Baze said, breathing heavily as he struggled through the drifts, “I will throw you into that snow bank.”
“The Force has nothing to do with this,” said Chirrut, tapping his shoulder with his staff. “I’ve always been lighter on my feet than you.”
As Chirrut grinned smugly, always so pleased by his own imagined wit, Baze grabbed his ankle and tumbled him into the snow.
“Is this the fabled lightness?” he asked while Chirrut flailed and cursed him with language so filthy it made young Luke blush to hear.
They were all finding their feet, some easier than others. Bodhi, raised in the holy city, was taking to Hoth well, better than Cassian and Jyn, who had still not learned the art of how to proper layer clothing. And even Luke, born on a desert world, was faring far better than K-2S0, who complained the cold was freezing his joints. The consensus among the rest of the base was that would have been a blessing.
He and Chirrut were probably acclimating the best to the rigors of an ice planet, having survived the worst that Jedha could offer, but even so the longing for his home had settled so deep in his bones that it had replaced the very marrow. Perhaps that was why Leia of lost Alderan had taken to sitting with him as he worked to repair the few large artillery the rebellion had. She knew what it was to be unmoored, to be made of loose iron fillings with no magnet to pull all the disparate pieces together. It hurt in a way Baze didn’t know anything outside of Chirrut bleeding and near death could hurt.
But Jedha was lost and Chirrut saved, and Baze let the warmth of Chirrut in their bed seep into his hollow spaces. In this, at least, it was not so different than the winters they weathered in the holy city, Chirrut pressed against his back, cold nose tucked against his neck, arm heavy over his waist, one knee wedged between his own. Even as a skinny thing, Chirrut took up more than his fair share of space, a habit he had never out grown.
Baze watched his breath hang in the air before his face, and he thought of Jedha’s red dust, forever staining clothes and skin and even the buildings until whole cities looked to be carved from the land. In the home they made after the temple fell, Baze would wake up like this, Chirrut held tight to him, watching those same red dust motes float gently in the one slanting sunbeam their windows let in. It had been a peaceful moment in a life with too few of those.
“Baze,” Chirrut murmured, nose tracing a cold line along Baze’s neck. “What’s wrong?”
Baze watched his breath shape and then reshape itself before his eyes. “Nothing,” he said, and took Chirrut’s cold hand in his, tucking both above his heart.
The Four Horsemen - a group of charismatic magicians that steal from the rich and give to the poor. Stiles Stilinski (The Lovers), a high-strung genius with control issues; Lydia Martin (The High Priestess), a talented and brilliant escape artist; Derek Hale (The Hermit), the oldest horseman, a dry-humored mentalist; and Scott McCall (Death), youngest of the four, who’s a pickpocket street magician with a heart of gold. As they perform countless acts of ‘magic’ bordering on criminal activity, on their heels is Allison Argent, the FBI agent desperate to stop them before their next heist.