( He doesn't want to talk about Mandalorian armor - or the can of worms that his interest in it would open up - and it seems easier to implicitly agree with her as opposed to insisting otherwise when they both know that her assessment would be correct nine times out of ten. It's that outlier, that random tenth variable that throws the correlation out of whack where severity is concerned, though it's just as likely that Rey would be the only one to pick up on it as it is that it would never occur. If a Knight of Ren makes a joke and only a scavenger is around to hear it, does a punchline even occur? )
You say serious. I say wise. ( Not so much a stretch of the truth as a complete obliteration of it, though the case could be made in its favor, given her assembly of his lightsaber under his observation only moments ago, but that is going down a path that neither of them are likely to admit to or acknowledge for their own reasons. Kylo is much more interested in the tactile stimulation along his spine, little points of contact that warm his skin and connect them at the seams, a quiet unease that spreads out along the tracery veins despite how good it feels to be touched. It doesn't radiate from him, and so he must dispel it. )
I'm older than you, remember. You should respect your elders. ( This broken up by the break in his voice as he adjusts her - as though she weighs little more than a flimsiplast - and holds her in stasis for a moment, as though trying to decide what to do with her now that he has her. Truth be told, it's something he's been trying to decide for quite a while, now. )
just imagine i'm kris jenner 'you're doing great sweetie!' + it took me two days to write this one
You say serious. I say wise. ( Not so much a stretch of the truth as a complete obliteration of it, though the case could be made in its favor, given her assembly of his lightsaber under his observation only moments ago, but that is going down a path that neither of them are likely to admit to or acknowledge for their own reasons. Kylo is much more interested in the tactile stimulation along his spine, little points of contact that warm his skin and connect them at the seams, a quiet unease that spreads out along the tracery veins despite how good it feels to be touched. It doesn't radiate from him, and so he must dispel it. )
I'm older than you, remember. You should respect your elders. ( This broken up by the break in his voice as he adjusts her - as though she weighs little more than a flimsiplast - and holds her in stasis for a moment, as though trying to decide what to do with her now that he has her. Truth be told, it's something he's been trying to decide for quite a while, now. )