Tannusen laughs at that, "Hardly. To be honest, I just find myself wondering why you keep pushing food at me. You're the skinny one. Eat more."

Like it's that simple. Duh. He pushes the plate over to Cassian's. Here, have seconds, you scrawny midget.

Of course, overlaying all that glorious bare skin is a pattern of bruising that has had the whole night to bloom. A few are distinctly boot-prints. His face is all bruised too, of course. And yes, a handprint stands lurid around his throat.

At least he'll have healed it up before he goes to his bar tonight. Tonight. At night.

"Ugh," he's very dramatic, this morning. "Now my sleeping schedule is all fucked up again. You couldn't just let me get beaten all night so I could have a nice sleep for the day, could you?"

It's all your fault, Cassian. Asshole.