( When he'd removed his mask while trying to extract the contents of the droid from her, he had operated under the assumption that showing his face might offer her some measure of comfort as much as it might instill in her the knowledge that he wasn't so different from her. Certainly not in genetic make-up, just an average, every day person like herself, despite the fact that neither of them could be classified correctly as average. The look on her face had been pleasing enough in its own right, and the action itself had proved a point he hadn't known he needed to make until that moment, that despite the fact that he had shed the outer layer of himself like a second skin and emerged as something else, he wasn't a creature as she assumed him to be.
He's a little more monstrous, now, he thinks, when he does make the decision to remove the helmet. It isn't until she begins questioning him about what's transpired between them that he actually stops to consider doing it, armed with the understanding that she could very well stretch the capacity of her power and lick the inside of his skull clean without him ever lifting a finger to remove anything. Their close proximity makes it more difficult to shut her out, and sweat curls under the high neck of his cowl in an effort to keep her back. You're more human that way, she says into the thick coliseum of his skull, but when he removes the helmet it's not for her benefit or to appeal to the way in which she thinks she sees him. She's misguided, these days. )
I've spent the better part of the last month tasting salt and picking up on your downswing. ( The scar that cuts across his face is not yet rightfully a scar, still puckered in places and pink, new. Already he wears it like a badge, though whether it's a denotation of his failure or a mark of the progress he's made is unclear. He pays it no special attention when he catches glimpses of himself unmasked and thinks of it only when it aches. The fact that he elected to keep it remains a topic he hasn't considered due to its distinct lack of answers. ) Your footwork is sloppy. The longer you let yourself rely on putting your weight on your right leg rather than balancing it between the two, the more difficult it's going to be to break the habit. You'll be knocked down in your first actual duel.
( By him, most likely. He had been able to send her sliding back several feet on the snowy forest floor without being at full capacity. The next time they meet, regardless of anything else, he will not be pulling his punches. For now, he lets his helmet balance in the crook of his bent elbow, the weight welcome and reassuring in the hollow of his arm. He lets her get a good, long look at him before continuing. )
no subject
He's a little more monstrous, now, he thinks, when he does make the decision to remove the helmet. It isn't until she begins questioning him about what's transpired between them that he actually stops to consider doing it, armed with the understanding that she could very well stretch the capacity of her power and lick the inside of his skull clean without him ever lifting a finger to remove anything. Their close proximity makes it more difficult to shut her out, and sweat curls under the high neck of his cowl in an effort to keep her back. You're more human that way, she says into the thick coliseum of his skull, but when he removes the helmet it's not for her benefit or to appeal to the way in which she thinks she sees him. She's misguided, these days. )
I've spent the better part of the last month tasting salt and picking up on your downswing. ( The scar that cuts across his face is not yet rightfully a scar, still puckered in places and pink, new. Already he wears it like a badge, though whether it's a denotation of his failure or a mark of the progress he's made is unclear. He pays it no special attention when he catches glimpses of himself unmasked and thinks of it only when it aches. The fact that he elected to keep it remains a topic he hasn't considered due to its distinct lack of answers. ) Your footwork is sloppy. The longer you let yourself rely on putting your weight on your right leg rather than balancing it between the two, the more difficult it's going to be to break the habit. You'll be knocked down in your first actual duel.
( By him, most likely. He had been able to send her sliding back several feet on the snowy forest floor without being at full capacity. The next time they meet, regardless of anything else, he will not be pulling his punches. For now, he lets his helmet balance in the crook of his bent elbow, the weight welcome and reassuring in the hollow of his arm. He lets her get a good, long look at him before continuing. )
Have you mentioned the connection to Skywalker?