Something like that. [ She's still somewhere back at conquering the vague vertigo he'd pressed upon both of them at the viewport, space a vacuous mass that leaves her spinning in her own bunk, quelling the brief dizzy spell in favor of focusing on Kylo's voice in her head, even and far from friendly but conversational just the same. She's there when he pulls his lightsaber to him from across the room, watches with the oddest sense of both presence and distance, not sitting beside him but there just the same. Watching him dismantle his chaotic saber is fascinating, and Rey is a quick study, honing in on the minute details, piece by piece, nudging the back of his wrist when she notices something peculiar. ]
Why haven't you improved your lightsaber? I know you could. It's too unpredictable. [ Like you are. Like I am. Footnotes to her curious but well meant question, Rey unintentionally shifts a few scattered images across at him, like pressing a handful of photographs across an empty table, a small change here, tightening a bolt here, a little re-wiring there. Luke Skywalker has shown her how to construct a lightsaber, only one demonstration being enough for Rey to catch on, remembering the subdued swell of surprised pleasure in the Jedi's mood at her success. Her suggestions lack force or superiority, a mechanic simply offering their input to make something more successful, despite the irony of potentially giving an enemy the upper hand on her in a fight.
Only— Rey realizes with a private start that she hasn't considered Kylo Ren the enemy in weeks. Even this conversation, the both of them restless and awake but civil, leaves her quietly reeling, tucking away this gentle ebb of surprise somewhere he can't quite see. Just because she's not actively loathing him doesn't mean she trusts him at all, too connected, too deeply woven into the First Order for any kind of comfort ( still— she's under the impression that isn't his first priority. And neither is hunting her down. ) ]
no subject
Why haven't you improved your lightsaber? I know you could. It's too unpredictable. [ Like you are. Like I am. Footnotes to her curious but well meant question, Rey unintentionally shifts a few scattered images across at him, like pressing a handful of photographs across an empty table, a small change here, tightening a bolt here, a little re-wiring there. Luke Skywalker has shown her how to construct a lightsaber, only one demonstration being enough for Rey to catch on, remembering the subdued swell of surprised pleasure in the Jedi's mood at her success. Her suggestions lack force or superiority, a mechanic simply offering their input to make something more successful, despite the irony of potentially giving an enemy the upper hand on her in a fight.
Only— Rey realizes with a private start that she hasn't considered Kylo Ren the enemy in weeks. Even this conversation, the both of them restless and awake but civil, leaves her quietly reeling, tucking away this gentle ebb of surprise somewhere he can't quite see. Just because she's not actively loathing him doesn't mean she trusts him at all, too connected, too deeply woven into the First Order for any kind of comfort ( still— she's under the impression that isn't his first priority. And neither is hunting her down. ) ]