( Kylo senses her approach long before he hears it, but he makes no move to retreat from the circle of soft orange that casts a wide halo across the overturned dirt. Through the film of smoke and fire, he can see the open mouth of the mine shaft, a blacker scratch on a blackening evening, and not for the first time and surely not for the last while they remain on Concordia, he casts his senses out, doubt tickling the back of his neck, the sensation of being watched peeling down his spine like skin pulled back from the meat of a bright fruit. There is, as there was before, nothing there, no sign of anything, no disturbances that aren't rock formations breaking apart and beams splintering as the chain reaction of their damage ripples through the cavernous space.
Nothing. Just the two of them: Kylo blotting out a section of the fire and Rey bringing up the rear with heavy footfalls, the fuzzy sensation of her healing injury warming across his own ribs at temperature wholly different from the blaze that climbs high in front of him. Rey comes to stand next to him, and for a quick moment, Kylo studies the give and take of the shadows that play over her profile out of the corner of his eye before averting his gaze completely back to the disintegration of Aurren Ren. The smell has abated somewhat, given over more to the choke of black smoke and the popping of wood, sparks drifting up into the air and burning out before they can reach the navy blue of the oncoming dark.
The silence that stretches between them, pockmarked by these pops and shifts of kindling, is something less than comfortable but more than awkward. An acknowledgement of sorts that negates the need for actual words. Rey breaks it not by speaking but by grinding her heels into the dirt and swinging herself around in front of him to crouch down, taking him by surprise enough that she's able to gather the flapping material of his pant leg to peer beyond the frayed edges of dark fabric and get something of a look at what lies underneath. Kylo steps back automatically, the uneven ranginess of his gait as a result of the injury giving him an off-balance tilt and a stagger in his step that rights itself in the same manner, no matter how hard he tries not to favor the leg that sports the injury.
Rey hovers there in the dirt, and Kylo looks down at her for a long moment, weighing his options. He could refuse her assistance and take care of the injury himself, or refuse her assistance in its totality and treat the wound with the same care and attention he had allowed himself following Starkiller, sparing his pride at the expense of his thigh. Part of him enjoys the authoritative quality of her tone, enough to want to sit as directed while his curiosity is satiated by seeing what it is that she does next, and still part of him longs to stand if only to be contrary, the same way that he had wandered despite her clear instructions to stay put, to exert some control over himself if not over the situation in its entirety.
In the end, there is little choice but to sit down as instructed. Kylo manages it in one fluid motion despite the pain that it inspires, gritting his teeth and bending his knees until his backside smacks unceremoniously into the dirt. He eyes the length and width of her hands, her fingers, the sharp angles of her face, then kicks his leg out and digs his fingers into the tear in his trousers, widening the hole himself. )
no subject
Nothing. Just the two of them: Kylo blotting out a section of the fire and Rey bringing up the rear with heavy footfalls, the fuzzy sensation of her healing injury warming across his own ribs at temperature wholly different from the blaze that climbs high in front of him. Rey comes to stand next to him, and for a quick moment, Kylo studies the give and take of the shadows that play over her profile out of the corner of his eye before averting his gaze completely back to the disintegration of Aurren Ren. The smell has abated somewhat, given over more to the choke of black smoke and the popping of wood, sparks drifting up into the air and burning out before they can reach the navy blue of the oncoming dark.
The silence that stretches between them, pockmarked by these pops and shifts of kindling, is something less than comfortable but more than awkward. An acknowledgement of sorts that negates the need for actual words. Rey breaks it not by speaking but by grinding her heels into the dirt and swinging herself around in front of him to crouch down, taking him by surprise enough that she's able to gather the flapping material of his pant leg to peer beyond the frayed edges of dark fabric and get something of a look at what lies underneath. Kylo steps back automatically, the uneven ranginess of his gait as a result of the injury giving him an off-balance tilt and a stagger in his step that rights itself in the same manner, no matter how hard he tries not to favor the leg that sports the injury.
Rey hovers there in the dirt, and Kylo looks down at her for a long moment, weighing his options. He could refuse her assistance and take care of the injury himself, or refuse her assistance in its totality and treat the wound with the same care and attention he had allowed himself following Starkiller, sparing his pride at the expense of his thigh. Part of him enjoys the authoritative quality of her tone, enough to want to sit as directed while his curiosity is satiated by seeing what it is that she does next, and still part of him longs to stand if only to be contrary, the same way that he had wandered despite her clear instructions to stay put, to exert some control over himself if not over the situation in its entirety.
In the end, there is little choice but to sit down as instructed. Kylo manages it in one fluid motion despite the pain that it inspires, gritting his teeth and bending his knees until his backside smacks unceremoniously into the dirt. He eyes the length and width of her hands, her fingers, the sharp angles of her face, then kicks his leg out and digs his fingers into the tear in his trousers, widening the hole himself. )