( The datapad having fallen dark not long after his last returned message, Kylo leaves it discarded and dark on the neat and orderly posture of his mattress and the blankets that cover it, turning his attention instead to what might not qualify, necessarily, as a hobby but which easily qualifies as a distraction. Not that he needs one, when a careful pluck at the string of the bond between them reveals no tight, straining imperfections that might signify anger, and not when he is more than aware that Rey would be more than happy to alert him of just how angry she was and the reasons as to why were it a foregone conclusion based on their last few exchanges. He has begun learning the iterations of her anger with more precision, but he still spreads out a mat across the surface of his desk and unfurls a tool kit from the top drawer and begins disassembling the components of his lightsaber underneath the amber glow of the lamp.
Most of the damage that he had been able to repair following Rey's dismantling of it on Starkiller Base had been a temporary fix, stripped and cleaned and reconstructed with various parts over the course of the completion of his training under Snoke, meant to stubbornly preserve the design and display of the blade if not the function of it. Soldering wires together now along the exposed belly and scraping one of the quillons clean of residue only continues to prove to him the mistake that he had made in not scrapping the entirety of it altogether and starting from scratch. But the way that it shakes in his hand has become a sense in and of itself, and he knows the weight of it before it even slaps into his palm, and, even more, a larger part of him won't be called a fool for failing to produce something lasting.
Not for the first time, he considers the saber that hangs from Rey's belt with a mixture of bitter resentment and self-loathing, though it's explored less than even he might like at this point in the progression of their orbital lives as the girl in question's presence races through the Force like a jolt of electricity through the tracery veins. As a consequence, Kylo has a set of goggles pushed up over his forehead when he gestures toward the door at her knock, waving it open without moving from his seat, though he does tilt the chair back and away from the desk and its mess in order to get a good look at her as she steps across the threshold. He quirks a brow at her. )
Bad news? ( Anxiety rolls off of her like fog and burrows its way down into his bones until his knuckles feel stiff. )
what's a lady like you doing in a post like this
Most of the damage that he had been able to repair following Rey's dismantling of it on Starkiller Base had been a temporary fix, stripped and cleaned and reconstructed with various parts over the course of the completion of his training under Snoke, meant to stubbornly preserve the design and display of the blade if not the function of it. Soldering wires together now along the exposed belly and scraping one of the quillons clean of residue only continues to prove to him the mistake that he had made in not scrapping the entirety of it altogether and starting from scratch. But the way that it shakes in his hand has become a sense in and of itself, and he knows the weight of it before it even slaps into his palm, and, even more, a larger part of him won't be called a fool for failing to produce something lasting.
Not for the first time, he considers the saber that hangs from Rey's belt with a mixture of bitter resentment and self-loathing, though it's explored less than even he might like at this point in the progression of their orbital lives as the girl in question's presence races through the Force like a jolt of electricity through the tracery veins. As a consequence, Kylo has a set of goggles pushed up over his forehead when he gestures toward the door at her knock, waving it open without moving from his seat, though he does tilt the chair back and away from the desk and its mess in order to get a good look at her as she steps across the threshold. He quirks a brow at her. )
Bad news? ( Anxiety rolls off of her like fog and burrows its way down into his bones until his knuckles feel stiff. )