Detective Poe Dameron
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20 Mar 2017
Poe wades out into the sea of bodies that work in Galactic City like the flow of a tide; a rushing rapid of intelligent life that creates eddies and whorls on the ground level, that soars in levels above in tightly controlled patterns of traffic. At this hour, it's so thick he can't see the sky in the small spaces where he might expect it.
Galactic City never gets cold, not down here on the street. There's too much alive, too much churning activity. It's only in the high reaches of the towers and the dark underground where the chill sets in. Poe carries his coat on his shoulders, knowing he's going miles up; to the top of the Hutt-owned towers where the air is so thin you can only breath it inside the glass boxes.
A Stormpilot Noir-AU that refused to remain a one-shot. Oops.