( For a moment, his ears and the back of his neck feel warm, and he can't determine whether or not it's his own reaction or hers or some combination of the two as she ducks her head away from him in order to break eye contact. Either way, it's a strange feeling, not the strangest that he has encountered today but top ten, easily. Her pleasure in his response is tinged with nothing more than her conviction that they will see this done. There are no ulterior motives or greater purposes threaded throughout the sentiment, and it's frank and blunt in its supreme honesty when he acknowledges it for what it is. It fills him like a cup of warm water, the thrashing and broiling calamity so often a part of him calming in the presence of both her relief and in his own.
Before he has a chance to reply, she is turning on her foot and leading him away from the area, so that he has to lengthen his strides in order to rejoin her and then shorten them again in order not to lumber past her. Her comment doesn't sting, even as the warmth the flexes through their connection wanes on his end to be replaced with something more natural, an apex predator calm and weary but still on the lookout as they step into the burning gray of the Corellian sky. He never lets his guard down in the company of wolves, especially wolves that he has systematically hunted down and destroyed over the years. Not for the last time, he knows, Kylo wonders where that traitor stormtrooper is, where Dameron is, the lot of them moving in circular patterns, weaving in and out of each other's lives. )
Where are we going?
( Kylo asks her once they are beyond the belly of the camp and moving quickly to its outer limbs, winding under grounded ships and hastily assembled camps that will have to be cleared by afternoon if the general hopes to get her people out alive. Corellian high winds have no set pattern and deviate from prediction quite often. The first chance they get to break atmosphere should be taken, but he's only thinking of that vaguely as he catches sight of a pilot emerging from her tent as Rey strides past only to fix him with a scowl that he returns with a dark but blank look on his way to the treeline. No bunks here or anywhere, he assumes, wondering what retaliation Rey will endure for her part in all of this and finding himself somewhat surprised to be considering it at all.
As for his question, he doesn't have to wait long for a response. The trees thin abruptly, having been crushed by the underside of a very familiar YT model freighter, side cockpit looking as scarred and battered as it always has, scorch marks and carbon scoring painting the thing different shades of white, gray, and black. Kylo stands so still at the edge of the clearing that his boots begin to sink into the mud under the heavy weight that seems to press down on his shoulders, all the way into his heels. He knows every corridor and compartment on that ship, knows the frequency by heart and speaks smuggler's cant like a second language. Every hair on the back of his neck stands on end, and he holds himself unnecessarily rigid. )
no subject
Before he has a chance to reply, she is turning on her foot and leading him away from the area, so that he has to lengthen his strides in order to rejoin her and then shorten them again in order not to lumber past her. Her comment doesn't sting, even as the warmth the flexes through their connection wanes on his end to be replaced with something more natural, an apex predator calm and weary but still on the lookout as they step into the burning gray of the Corellian sky. He never lets his guard down in the company of wolves, especially wolves that he has systematically hunted down and destroyed over the years. Not for the last time, he knows, Kylo wonders where that traitor stormtrooper is, where Dameron is, the lot of them moving in circular patterns, weaving in and out of each other's lives. )
Where are we going?
( Kylo asks her once they are beyond the belly of the camp and moving quickly to its outer limbs, winding under grounded ships and hastily assembled camps that will have to be cleared by afternoon if the general hopes to get her people out alive. Corellian high winds have no set pattern and deviate from prediction quite often. The first chance they get to break atmosphere should be taken, but he's only thinking of that vaguely as he catches sight of a pilot emerging from her tent as Rey strides past only to fix him with a scowl that he returns with a dark but blank look on his way to the treeline. No bunks here or anywhere, he assumes, wondering what retaliation Rey will endure for her part in all of this and finding himself somewhat surprised to be considering it at all.
As for his question, he doesn't have to wait long for a response. The trees thin abruptly, having been crushed by the underside of a very familiar YT model freighter, side cockpit looking as scarred and battered as it always has, scorch marks and carbon scoring painting the thing different shades of white, gray, and black. Kylo stands so still at the edge of the clearing that his boots begin to sink into the mud under the heavy weight that seems to press down on his shoulders, all the way into his heels. He knows every corridor and compartment on that ship, knows the frequency by heart and speaks smuggler's cant like a second language. Every hair on the back of his neck stands on end, and he holds himself unnecessarily rigid. )
Still a piece of garbage.