( As Rey disappears around a corner, he steps away from the glass, retrieving his gloves from the bench behind him and curling them into one fist. His palms are still damp with perspiration, as is the back of his neck, and when he runs the bare flat of his hand over the skin there, it comes back with the flaking pieces of mud that Organa had missed when she bent over him and peered into his face. It's unclear to him whether or not it's a physical manifestation of the effort he is still expanding to keep his thoughts to himself or something else entirely. Whatever it is seems to work itself into a stone that drops into his gut, reaches up to pry at his ribcage with long, spindly fingers, not pulling him apart but hanging on with a desperate grip.
The airlock hissing open affords him the luxury of not having time to think about it in too much detail and with the rush of fresh air that greets him, sweeping in and bringing with it all of Corellia. Rain on the dirt. The heavy discharge of smoke and blaster fire still hot in the atmosphere. Flames. Smoke. He can't see her but knows instinctively that she's still there, and he waits for the airlock to slide back into place completely before stepping out of the makeshift containment cell, his footfalls heavy on the durasteel flooring of the command shuttle. Kylo looks up and down the length of the ship, beyond the immediate area to the cabin where he has piloted a shuttle not unlike this one himself, back down to the ramp that waits to spit him back out into enemy territory.
Rey materializes in his peripheral and then his complete view at the control panel, and he sizes her up now that nothing separates them, the gears that permitted him entry back to the outside world settling in place once the machinery tends toward idle. He could escape, now. He could slam her against the wall of the shuttle the same way he had thrown her like a rag doll into the dead branches of that tall tree on Starkiller. A voice purrs at him to do it. He doesn't. )
After you.
( Regardless of what's transpired here, no one here is going to let him walk out of a prison block ahead of Rey. )
no subject
The airlock hissing open affords him the luxury of not having time to think about it in too much detail and with the rush of fresh air that greets him, sweeping in and bringing with it all of Corellia. Rain on the dirt. The heavy discharge of smoke and blaster fire still hot in the atmosphere. Flames. Smoke. He can't see her but knows instinctively that she's still there, and he waits for the airlock to slide back into place completely before stepping out of the makeshift containment cell, his footfalls heavy on the durasteel flooring of the command shuttle. Kylo looks up and down the length of the ship, beyond the immediate area to the cabin where he has piloted a shuttle not unlike this one himself, back down to the ramp that waits to spit him back out into enemy territory.
Rey materializes in his peripheral and then his complete view at the control panel, and he sizes her up now that nothing separates them, the gears that permitted him entry back to the outside world settling in place once the machinery tends toward idle. He could escape, now. He could slam her against the wall of the shuttle the same way he had thrown her like a rag doll into the dead branches of that tall tree on Starkiller. A voice purrs at him to do it. He doesn't. )
After you.
( Regardless of what's transpired here, no one here is going to let him walk out of a prison block ahead of Rey. )