( With his arms crossed as they are, he's aware of the misshapen sag of a folded crane that his body collapses into possibly better than the person who had once told him to his face was aware. His chest is broad and his arms are long and his shoulders strain against a majority of the tunics and flightsuits that he has been given in his life, and this is no exception. He feels tall and awkward and uncomfortable in the cramped confines of the ship, nowhere to go and nothing to break, a wave of restless energy that can't crash against anything now that the subject of anger and their respective - and intertwined, given Rey's inheritance of the Falcon - families has been dismissed.

In a way, Kylo is glad for it, knowing that the gravity attached to the topic would likely lead to the partial dismantling of the ship as it tears its way through space, hurtling toward Hapes, and that would bode well for none of them. He makes the executive decision to let old dogs lie for as long as they're in danger of becoming space junk and resolutely does not stop to spare time or consideration for what likely pursues them, the image of the Knights that he had projected into Rey's thoughts for her partial benefit still beating a bright fire in the back of his own mind.

So. Games. )

If you're interested in learning, it's not that challenging of a game. ( The way he looks at it, it might be somewhat therapeutic to watch their individual pieces kill one another. ) Unless you're more interested in letting me thoroughly embarrass you at sabacc. ( His shoulder raises in the slightest approximation of a shrug, easily mistaken for a shift in his body weight from one foot to the other. ) There's little else to do when the ship isn't actively trying to defy you by breaking apart in the middle of hyperspace.

( When you're not actively trying to destroy one another in some way, after months and months of believing in its purpose. )