So. A boat! A ship, even.

Poe's standing at the edge of it now, fingers curled tight against the railing -- a little too tight, maybe, judging by the near-whiteness of his knuckles beneath the skin of his knuckles, where his fingers are coiled tightly around weathered wood.

He doesn't do water much -- hasn't been out on it properly in years, and it's not a sense of seasickness that has him looking a little pale now so much as a sense of frailty he's not used to feeling, a strange vulnerability that whispers of how easy it might be for one of those errant currents to lick the hull wrong and send him sprawling over the edge, right into that endless blue expanse of water.

Still, it's ... nice. The weather is undeniably beautiful, and almost warm enough to be perfect. For the moment, he's watching BB-8 (and he'd thought twice about bringing the little droid, but he'd heard he'd need him to get in at all so here they both were) roll across the deck in somewhat nervous increments punctuated by uncertain warbles and beeps, seeming just as wary of the danger as Poe himself is. Honestly, he's just hoping no one's going to get too unhappy over the scattering of splinters across the deck -- the astromech is making a habit of anchoring himself to the deck with his cables each time the ship lifts on a gentle swell.

Whoops. Poe closes his eyes and grimaces almost theatrically as the deck shifts beneath his feet; on cue, there's a sharp hiss of compressed air and a wooden-sounding thunk as BB-8 seeks the illusion stability once more. This time, though, there's the steady sound of footsteps as well. Poe summons a sheepish smile as he turns, already calling a chagrined "sorry, sorry," before he gets a glimpse of who it is approaching their corner of the ship.