( Kylo pulls himself to level ground hand over hand, mud caking through his fingers, dead grass and browning leaves clinging to leather and wool. His hands scrabble so tightly for purchase that he rakes through thick, muddy topsoil to break cold earth underneath, knees and boot heels securing his footing as best they can, relying on intuition to guide him. He isn't nearly as good a climber as Rey, who scrambles up the slippery incline with difficulty, yes, but not without skill and with more speed than he manages despite being ahead of her. In this way, she crests first, hauling herself over the edge they had toppled down, and he surfaces half a breath after, on his hands and knees again with his head heavy between his shoulders, rainwater and sweat and dirt gluing his hair to his forehead, the back of his neck, the hollow of his jaw.
He allows himself to lean first on his elbow and then more completely on his back, rolling over with his knees bent and chest heaving, pulling oxygen and rain in through his mouth and nose, eyes closed against the spotty downpour that filters down through the treetops. Rey's comment prompts him to open them again, receiving a drop of rain directly in the corner of his eye for his trouble. For a quiet moment, his breathing is the only response that he offers her, caught up in trying to right the conversion of oxygen into carbon dioxide, their battle and the dead sprint through the forest catching up with the third and fourth act in their private drama. It is madness, and yet - )
This is still the beginning.
( It might as well be, for all the good any of it's doing. The two of them. The Resistance. The Order. The Knights and Snoke and Skywalker and all the orchestrators who move their pieces, his and hers, knights with free range of motion across the board. The Resistance will win this battle, and the Order will retreat to another base of operations, plan another series of attacks against Resistance forces and the Senate, and Kylo and Rey will clash again and again in a series of never-ending displays of skill. Until he kills her. Or turns her. For him, there can be no alternative, not where Snoke is concerned. Every encounter without one of those two outcomes is another mark against him. He could try to turn her now, or capture her, just as he could have on Yaga Minor. Kylo has the vague impression that whatever happens next, the outcome of this encounter will result in one more mark.
He sits up in one fluid motion, bracing his forearms on his knees, and does not look at her. )
The Order will not win today. Losing Corellian support will leave us scrambling for additional resources, and no doubt General Hux will bear the brunt of that responsibility, regardless of the circumstances of the Resistance's victory. The Supreme Leader hardly suffers fools in the wake of a loss. ( Despite the displeasure they are both sure to face yet again, despite the entirety of the situation that he finds himself in presently, Kylo manages, in his way, to sound amused at the prospect of Hux's suffering. It's not difficult, given how much he hates the son of a bitch. It's short-lived, though, as all fleeting thoughts and realizations are in the wake of the scolding he stands to receive as well. ) But one loss won't change the path of things. We will stay the course, you will stay the course, and before long there will be another clash, and then another and another. Your friends - ( He says the word like a swear. ) - could die. It's entirely likely that they will. Madness, yes, but it doesn't stop just because it feels as though it should. One day the end result will be different. One day, someone will win.
( Sitting in the dirt, quiet, borderline conversational, is a pause on their relentless quest to destroy the other in some way: she by dragging him back into the high noon glare of the Light, and he by coaxing her down into the Dark. She might have been a static void to him but he hasn't forgotten what he saw on Yaga Minor, the two of them a tandem unit, a devastating blow. It coats the back of his throat with a foul, sharp taste not unlike bile. )
no subject
He allows himself to lean first on his elbow and then more completely on his back, rolling over with his knees bent and chest heaving, pulling oxygen and rain in through his mouth and nose, eyes closed against the spotty downpour that filters down through the treetops. Rey's comment prompts him to open them again, receiving a drop of rain directly in the corner of his eye for his trouble. For a quiet moment, his breathing is the only response that he offers her, caught up in trying to right the conversion of oxygen into carbon dioxide, their battle and the dead sprint through the forest catching up with the third and fourth act in their private drama. It is madness, and yet - )
This is still the beginning.
( It might as well be, for all the good any of it's doing. The two of them. The Resistance. The Order. The Knights and Snoke and Skywalker and all the orchestrators who move their pieces, his and hers, knights with free range of motion across the board. The Resistance will win this battle, and the Order will retreat to another base of operations, plan another series of attacks against Resistance forces and the Senate, and Kylo and Rey will clash again and again in a series of never-ending displays of skill. Until he kills her. Or turns her. For him, there can be no alternative, not where Snoke is concerned. Every encounter without one of those two outcomes is another mark against him. He could try to turn her now, or capture her, just as he could have on Yaga Minor. Kylo has the vague impression that whatever happens next, the outcome of this encounter will result in one more mark.
He sits up in one fluid motion, bracing his forearms on his knees, and does not look at her. )
The Order will not win today. Losing Corellian support will leave us scrambling for additional resources, and no doubt General Hux will bear the brunt of that responsibility, regardless of the circumstances of the Resistance's victory. The Supreme Leader hardly suffers fools in the wake of a loss. ( Despite the displeasure they are both sure to face yet again, despite the entirety of the situation that he finds himself in presently, Kylo manages, in his way, to sound amused at the prospect of Hux's suffering. It's not difficult, given how much he hates the son of a bitch. It's short-lived, though, as all fleeting thoughts and realizations are in the wake of the scolding he stands to receive as well. ) But one loss won't change the path of things. We will stay the course, you will stay the course, and before long there will be another clash, and then another and another. Your friends - ( He says the word like a swear. ) - could die. It's entirely likely that they will. Madness, yes, but it doesn't stop just because it feels as though it should. One day the end result will be different. One day, someone will win.
( Sitting in the dirt, quiet, borderline conversational, is a pause on their relentless quest to destroy the other in some way: she by dragging him back into the high noon glare of the Light, and he by coaxing her down into the Dark. She might have been a static void to him but he hasn't forgotten what he saw on Yaga Minor, the two of them a tandem unit, a devastating blow. It coats the back of his throat with a foul, sharp taste not unlike bile. )