( It feels like hours that he's at it. Trying to be at it, at least. When the stripping down of all base emotion to get to the pure part of his seething, perfect rage does not work, Kylo tries emptying his mind in the traditional sense, falling back on practicums that had been drilled into him over and over and over again by Skywalker in his ramshackle fortress serving as an academy. He had been unable to sit still then as much as he's unable to now, which has always struck him as somewhat odd given the amount of patience he can display when it comes to interrogation or intimidation. Although that in itself is somewhat different: a waiting game rather than an exercise in focused silence. A task with a purpose.
Meditation seldom feels like it has purpose, and he's halfway to resignation and cramming his shoulders into the bunk that had been assigned to him or on the bracket of the main hold's sofa in an attempt to take a nap - like a toddler - when a wave washes over him and quiets some of the storm that his mind is tangled up in. The headache that has surfaced shifts from needlepoint to wider stitches in the wake of it, and Kylo finds that the rumble of the ship around him is less extreme underneath the gentle lapping of these waves. There is nothing but the sound of the careful back and forth of the tide in this place. Even the vibration of the hyperdrive and the Falcon's response to its ignition falls away, and he floats, navigating nothing in a search to rest his mind.
This goes on for several minutes, although it could be hours in the crisp gray nothing of nowhere, until a single thought pierces his trance and shakes him out of the meditative state that he's slipped into. The glare of sunlight as it scorches the sand. A smell not unlike ozone and the earth, sweat and oil. The imagined lilt of her accent warped over the comm system in the Falcon, the buzz of her saber's ignition. Blood in mouth his again, dirty snow on his lips. The weight of her hand on his shoulder, in his own.
Rey.
His eyes crack open in the main hold, just in time to see Chewbacca step in, start to say something to him, and then think better of it before turning on his heel and backing out of the area. )
Stay out of my head. ( A lot of the anger has burned out of his tone. He's left sounding impatient and anti-social. ) Find some way to recharge your own batteries.
omg an untapped goldmine awaits!!!!!
Meditation seldom feels like it has purpose, and he's halfway to resignation and cramming his shoulders into the bunk that had been assigned to him or on the bracket of the main hold's sofa in an attempt to take a nap - like a toddler - when a wave washes over him and quiets some of the storm that his mind is tangled up in. The headache that has surfaced shifts from needlepoint to wider stitches in the wake of it, and Kylo finds that the rumble of the ship around him is less extreme underneath the gentle lapping of these waves. There is nothing but the sound of the careful back and forth of the tide in this place. Even the vibration of the hyperdrive and the Falcon's response to its ignition falls away, and he floats, navigating nothing in a search to rest his mind.
This goes on for several minutes, although it could be hours in the crisp gray nothing of nowhere, until a single thought pierces his trance and shakes him out of the meditative state that he's slipped into. The glare of sunlight as it scorches the sand. A smell not unlike ozone and the earth, sweat and oil. The imagined lilt of her accent warped over the comm system in the Falcon, the buzz of her saber's ignition. Blood in mouth his again, dirty snow on his lips. The weight of her hand on his shoulder, in his own.
Rey.
His eyes crack open in the main hold, just in time to see Chewbacca step in, start to say something to him, and then think better of it before turning on his heel and backing out of the area. )
Stay out of my head. ( A lot of the anger has burned out of his tone. He's left sounding impatient and anti-social. ) Find some way to recharge your own batteries.