I'm quite aware of that. ( Is his immediate response. Kylo is not so quick to put past transgressions behind him, however resigned and accustomed to their presence he may become. The retaliation is childish and unnecessary, but if it bothers her enough to vocalize the displeasure she feels at being called such a thing - and he knows the implication behind it eclipses the literal nature of that nomenclature; he's not just calling her what she's factually been for her entire life but twisting the word around his tongue like an insult, made more apparent when he'd spoken her name aloud only moments before - then he is more than happy to use it.
He knows better than most the power that lies in the naming of things, however much she might dismiss it while failing to dismiss the moniker that he's afforded to himself. That, at least, in this moment, with the black mark of what happened in the mine shaft not long enough ago to be resigned to memory and memory alone, is an accurate assessment, never mind his protestations and the argument spent defending himself to her. )
Leave the helmet. ( He says in response to her commands, after a moment spent considering the business end of the blaster she holds as if he might suddenly find it trained on him. It's a fleeting notion, conceived of a lifetime spent looking over his shoulder rather than beside it. Whatever their stance toward one another, that default position between the two of them has shifted with the formation of what exists between them, a blessing and a curse in so many ways. As for the helmet, Kylo is loathe to allow it on the ship, regardless of how little love he has for a vessel that Han Solo, in turn, loved. Aurren may not have been Force sensitive, but that bucket of rust is teeming with ghosts already, and neither of them need to be in the market for one or two more.
Kylo says nothing else, lumbering over under the slow drain of adrenaline to sit on one of the broken, crumbling steps leading into the administrative office that they'd been hacking away at for close to two hours now. He looks at the spread of his knees as he sits, resolutely not examining the injury to his leg until Rey has left and occupying the time until instead by looking up at her, tracing the lines of her face and the way the light bends as if to allow room for encroaching shadow. Blood has stained the side of her tunic, and although he cannot see the gash that Ji left in her side, his own skin tingles in a faint reminder. His leg throbs, and he closes himself away from her. )
no subject
He knows better than most the power that lies in the naming of things, however much she might dismiss it while failing to dismiss the moniker that he's afforded to himself. That, at least, in this moment, with the black mark of what happened in the mine shaft not long enough ago to be resigned to memory and memory alone, is an accurate assessment, never mind his protestations and the argument spent defending himself to her. )
Leave the helmet. ( He says in response to her commands, after a moment spent considering the business end of the blaster she holds as if he might suddenly find it trained on him. It's a fleeting notion, conceived of a lifetime spent looking over his shoulder rather than beside it. Whatever their stance toward one another, that default position between the two of them has shifted with the formation of what exists between them, a blessing and a curse in so many ways. As for the helmet, Kylo is loathe to allow it on the ship, regardless of how little love he has for a vessel that Han Solo, in turn, loved. Aurren may not have been Force sensitive, but that bucket of rust is teeming with ghosts already, and neither of them need to be in the market for one or two more.
Kylo says nothing else, lumbering over under the slow drain of adrenaline to sit on one of the broken, crumbling steps leading into the administrative office that they'd been hacking away at for close to two hours now. He looks at the spread of his knees as he sits, resolutely not examining the injury to his leg until Rey has left and occupying the time until instead by looking up at her, tracing the lines of her face and the way the light bends as if to allow room for encroaching shadow. Blood has stained the side of her tunic, and although he cannot see the gash that Ji left in her side, his own skin tingles in a faint reminder. His leg throbs, and he closes himself away from her. )