Rey doesn’t trust unsealed water containers. For many reasons. She wrinkles her nose when Finn sits down across from her in the mess hall and his little cup sloshes water over its lip as his tray clatters to the table.
Firstly: Water, being a liquid, is susceptible to evaporation. Which means the amount of water you had in your unsealed container in the morning, has decreased by afternoon without you getting to drink any of it. A waste.
Secondly: Water, being a liquid, may be spilt out of unsealed containers (see Example A: Finn and his little water cup) leaving less water for possible consumption. Another waste.
Thirdly: Water, being a liquid, is able to dissolve some types of solids. Rey doesn’t trust other people. Other people do things. Other people slip hard-to-detect powders into unsealed containers of water that make people fall into instant sleep, lose their memory, and worse. Rey’s seen it happen. A waste of perfectly good water, she thinks.
Rey doesn’t trust unsealed water containers.
Rey also has some other trust issues, but she’s working on them.
People use water on this planet like it’s disposable. Rey is constantly amazed at its uses. After being allocated her quarters she notices that she shares a bathroom with another person, whose door to the bathroom is on the opposite wall to hers. She quickly figures out that the doors are lockable on both sides, but only unlockable from the side it was locked from so as to prevent awkward (though Rey imagines possibly dangerous) encounters. Soon after, she meets a pilot named Jessika Pava, who has a stunning smile and talks faster than almost anyone Rey’s ever met.
That same evening, Rey stands in the doorway between her bedroom and the bathroom and watches Jessika (“Jess, please, only my Baba calls me Jessika!”) brush her teeth. She’s torn between staring at the way the white paste on the toothbrush turns into white foam and the water running constantly from the tap, clear and cold.
“Omyu mm uh mmm bruumm?” Jess asks through her toothbrush. Rey tilts her head and lifts an eyebrow.
“Sorry?” Jess leans over the basin, spits out the white foam and rinses her mouth and the toothbrush with the clean, steadily flowing water in a couple well-practiced movements. Several fat droplets fly out of the sink and land on the floor. Wasted.
“Do you have a toothbrush?” Jess asks, meeting Rey’s eyes in the mirror above the sink.
“Uh, no.” Jessika’s brows furrow in consternation and thought for a moment before her face lights up.
“I’ll be right back, wait for me!” With a flurry of movement - the toothbrush and its accompanying tube of paste go in a cup that sits on a flat lip that extends from the sink - Jess disappears.
And returns proudly bearing a green toothbrush and a wide grin.
“It’s green!” Yes, Rey can see that. “Because I know you didn’t have very much green over on your home planet, and even though it’s super green here, I thought it might be nice to bring a little of that inside for you!” Something in Rey, some part of her coiled inside the tight nest of unexamined feelings that live in her chest, springs loose and unfurls hotly in her chest. Tears swell in her eyes and when they begin sliding down her cheeks Jess throws her arms around her and all Rey can get out are hiccupped thanks and the resisting of the reflex to throw the hug, instead to reciprocate it.
Less than an hour later, Jess has shown her how to brush her teeth (“Just use my toothpaste, it’s easier.”) and Rey is sitting on her bed in her quiet little room, marvelling at the smoothness and mintiness of her teeth.
Rey doesn’t cry very often. She has several reasons for this.
Firstly: Tears are made of water, which is not easily come by on Jakku. Crying wastes water.
Secondly: Crying is a distraction when work can be done.
Thirdly: Crying doesn’t remind her family what they’ve left behind because they can’t hear her anyway. There’s no sense crying when it doesn’t achieve anything. It’s a waste.