( He is reminded, somewhat bitterly, of both his father and his uncle in every risk that Rey takes and every bank that she pushes the Falcon into. And - distantly, reverently - of his grandfather. Best pilot in the galaxy in his day. The same could be said of all of them, though less of him, given the location of his own interests. Kylo has to admit that Rey's style leaves both something to be desired for the state of his insides as they splatter against the bones and muscles and miles of skin designed to keep internal organs from getting on the outside as well as something to be admired. He's impressed, in a way, though more frustrated with the fact that he has to stretch a leg out and brace it against the floor and then the chair opposite to keep from sprawling, long-limbed, in the center aisle, and feels further vindicated in his choice to seek her out as an ally rather than something to be destroyed.
Never mind the circumstances, the details of their thrown together truce shaky at best when held up against the bright flame of his previous intentions.
Chewbacca, he knows from stories and legends that he was told as a child - inflated by the Wookie himself and then downplayed by Han Solo - holds his own in a dogfight, which leaves Kylo to pick up the slack where he can. It's not a responsibility that he's used to, and he's uncomfortable enough with the submissive position he is backed into to seriously doubt the validity of his decision to board the ship at all, but he knows inherently that this is childish posturing, a boy unused to not getting his way.
Still, he casts out with the Force in his own right, determined to avoid the scrape of TIE fighter cannon discharge damaging the ship and sending them careening into the asteroid belt in the way that Rey tricks and deceives the fighters into bright bursts of light against rocky surfaces. An interesting choice, to be certain, but there's no accounting for dividing lines when life or death is on the line in such a way, and philosophy has no place in these stars. At the ends of his outstretched fingers, Kylo can feel the massive structures orbiting the Roche star like shapes on a child's mobile, suspended in space, bustling with life on the larger rocks that rise up ahead of them like planets in their own right. Rey hurtles toward one, barks a command out of the corner of her mouth, accent rough and aggressive as she urges the Falcon down and down and down, rockface rising to meet them, swimming into claustrophobic sight through the viewport until -
She pulls up, sends them shivering through asteroids as if passing by them in hair's breadth as a jumble of TIE fighters fail to make the same maneuver and smash into the rock in a tangle of explosive gas and space junk. He's hit with a strange sensation of vertigo, but Kylo recognizes that the breath he holds has nothing to do with anticipation of their survival or adrenaline raised as a result of Rey's choice in avoidance tactics and everything to do with how much of himself he's pouring into determining whether or not they have been followed, by a Knight or TIE fighter. Or something worse. In a place where anyone else might expect to find panic or relief or stress given Rey's choice of piloting technique, Kylo finds the slightly rippled surface of a calm lake.
The Force. Her mastery of it here and now. Her confidence despite extreme odds. The echo of it through the connection that continues to shrink and expand between them. He exhales. )
No. ( Gloved hands push the hair back from his face where it has fallen forward with the stress of their movements. It sticks up slightly with static electricity. ) You're an insane person. ( There's little malice in his tone, as if he's simply stating a fact, but in the plainness of his response exists the truth behind his lie: he's quite impressed with her, the same way that he had been on Starkiller despite that impression being dwarfed by his consuming, bruising anger. He leans back into the chair, debating whether or not he should retreat back into the objective space found in the main hold. ) Get us the hell out of here before more of them show up.
( Somewhere in the afterlife, Han Solo is probably proud. Of someone, at last. )
no subject
Never mind the circumstances, the details of their thrown together truce shaky at best when held up against the bright flame of his previous intentions.
Chewbacca, he knows from stories and legends that he was told as a child - inflated by the Wookie himself and then downplayed by Han Solo - holds his own in a dogfight, which leaves Kylo to pick up the slack where he can. It's not a responsibility that he's used to, and he's uncomfortable enough with the submissive position he is backed into to seriously doubt the validity of his decision to board the ship at all, but he knows inherently that this is childish posturing, a boy unused to not getting his way.
Still, he casts out with the Force in his own right, determined to avoid the scrape of TIE fighter cannon discharge damaging the ship and sending them careening into the asteroid belt in the way that Rey tricks and deceives the fighters into bright bursts of light against rocky surfaces. An interesting choice, to be certain, but there's no accounting for dividing lines when life or death is on the line in such a way, and philosophy has no place in these stars. At the ends of his outstretched fingers, Kylo can feel the massive structures orbiting the Roche star like shapes on a child's mobile, suspended in space, bustling with life on the larger rocks that rise up ahead of them like planets in their own right. Rey hurtles toward one, barks a command out of the corner of her mouth, accent rough and aggressive as she urges the Falcon down and down and down, rockface rising to meet them, swimming into claustrophobic sight through the viewport until -
She pulls up, sends them shivering through asteroids as if passing by them in hair's breadth as a jumble of TIE fighters fail to make the same maneuver and smash into the rock in a tangle of explosive gas and space junk. He's hit with a strange sensation of vertigo, but Kylo recognizes that the breath he holds has nothing to do with anticipation of their survival or adrenaline raised as a result of Rey's choice in avoidance tactics and everything to do with how much of himself he's pouring into determining whether or not they have been followed, by a Knight or TIE fighter. Or something worse. In a place where anyone else might expect to find panic or relief or stress given Rey's choice of piloting technique, Kylo finds the slightly rippled surface of a calm lake.
The Force. Her mastery of it here and now. Her confidence despite extreme odds. The echo of it through the connection that continues to shrink and expand between them. He exhales. )
No. ( Gloved hands push the hair back from his face where it has fallen forward with the stress of their movements. It sticks up slightly with static electricity. ) You're an insane person. ( There's little malice in his tone, as if he's simply stating a fact, but in the plainness of his response exists the truth behind his lie: he's quite impressed with her, the same way that he had been on Starkiller despite that impression being dwarfed by his consuming, bruising anger. He leans back into the chair, debating whether or not he should retreat back into the objective space found in the main hold. ) Get us the hell out of here before more of them show up.
( Somewhere in the afterlife, Han Solo is probably proud. Of someone, at last. )