[Poe is tired. Tired enough that when he recognizes one of the new arrivals to the safehouse, even without the ginger hair or the uniform, he doesn't have something sharp on the tip of his tongue to toss the man's way. He grabs an extra pillow off his cot, considers what it would feel like to hold it down over the man's face with all of his weight, and crosses over toward the unpleasantly sneering man, shoving it none too gently into the general's chest and holding it there with one hand. Were it anyone else he might have felt sympathy or a need to apologize for them finding themselves in this situation, but Poe doesn't have it in him to feel sympathetic for the man before him now.

He smiles, the expression sharp and lacking in anything resembling warmth. His smile stops well before his eyes which still have bags beneath them. The impossibly long and dragging two weeks stranded here have not been forgiving.]

Play nice, General. You wouldn't want the locals thinking you aren't happy to be here. Not when they're being so hospitable.

[He pulls his hand back, leaving the general to drop or grab the offered pillow but not breaking eye contact with him, his eyes fiery even while bloodshot.]

Loving what you've done with your whole look. It suits you.