( Rey's whiplash anger is nothing compared to the conniption he had thrown upon discovering the small implant, hidden under the maelstrom of pain clouding his better senses and judgment, lashing out at his own perceived failures and inadequacies as he had seen them painted on faces in the medbay as they turned toward him, crowded his immediate space in an effort to contain him after Hux had retrieved him from the collapsing world of Starkiller Base. It had been a perfect symphony of immediate and aggressive retaliation, the crack of the raw and clear rage a physical, actual sound as he crumpled expensive medical equipment, warped the bench that he was meant to sit still on, collapsed the metal husk of the med droid instructed to feed a sharp needle into his arm and circulate blood back into the gasping, empty veins. He had fractured a med officer's skull and broken Hux's nose, had spilled oil from the droids like black blood, and it hadn't been enough to stop the coiling heat of the perceived betrayal that stung so deeply.
That Snoke would chip him, him, that his master didn't trust his ability to perform a singular task without Hux or Snoke himself knowing where he was and potentially what he was doing at all times, that he didn't trust him or his convergence with the Dark Side, had bitten him deep and rabidly. In his examination of it now, it may have been the final turn in a series of locks and switches that had pushed Kylo in this direction, back toward the Resistance, toward the General. Maybe in Snoke's desperation to hold onto him so tightly, he had found a way in which to slip through and out, disappearing like sand and smoke into the galaxy, the scrambling of his frequency a type of parting gift. Except that he had been smart enough in the medbay not to scream outrageously about it and had instead waited until the Finalizer was back in procession, hurtling toward Ilum at Snoke's request, to hack into the chip and reprogram it to his benefit, the same way that he had scrambled the frequencies of his own private quarters aboard the Resurgent-class Star Destroyer, the same way in which he had cloaked his ship and attuned the settings to his specifications.
He might be neither the pilot nor the mechanic that his father would have liked him to be, but his skills with code and splicing were better than anyone else he had ever met, bar none.
Still, Rey's anger is burning and beating and aimed directly at him, and all that he can do is trail after her, steps slower than the frenzied pace she sets for herself, leaning against the frame separating one room from the next in the same manner that she had approached him only moments prior. His anger has mostly abated, still existing in the back of his head, caught in a gravitational well and threatening to spiral downward into a fiery burst of an explosion at any given moment, but Rey's anger takes the spotlight now. He's left to watch her rifle through his things, glad that he still has his saber on his person in case she doesn't like what she finds and comes at him looking for a fight. Part of him welcomes it, lulled into a tentative routine and itching for something to shake up the monotony of labor that's settled in since they left space, and part of him knows it would only end in bloodshed and a suspension of the truce they've formed. He catches his belt when she throws it at him and answers her with a spit of words. )
I thought it could be useful.
( In more ways than one. Had the Resistance seen fit to dump him, he could have done as she's suggesting and left it somewhere while jettisoning himself into Wild Space, as much as the thought rankles him to even consider it for a number of reasons. But they hadn't, and here they stand. Kylo pushes off of the wall in order to meet the weight of her footsteps and the upturned angle of her chin. What she lacks in physicality against the superiority of his own build, she makes up for in the set of her eyes and shoulders alone. Kylo isn't cowed in the slightest; he pushes her back with the size of his body alone, not bothering to check his body language as he does so, but Rey barrels on around him anyway, forcing him to take a step back in the interest of not having his foot stepped on, though all she does is cross her arms. He lets her talk herself down from a ledge, though he can still feel the firecracker of her ire burning bright like a spark heading down a long wire to detonate underneath every word she flings his way. )
I know Snoke is not a safety net. You think that I don't? I didn't ask him to chip me. I didn't even know about it until Hux pulled me out of the snow after you nearly killed me. If I wanted to draw the First Order or any of the Knights down on the Resistance, then I would have done it already. I certainly wouldn't be standing here now, and I wouldn't have let you into my head on Corellia in the interest of casting off this aforementioned safety net. ( He straightens up, feeling heat burn low in his stomach, the bubble of harsh, cold truths working their way up his throat. ) We don't trust one another, and that's fine, I prefer it that way, but stop acting like you stand on superior moral high ground in all of this. You have painted me into a corner as much as I handed you the brush. ( Deft fingers pluck at the face of the belt before Kylo glances down at it, nails prying the position sensor free from the console. The whole thing gives a little whine as the sensor comes free, cracking the face of his wide belt, a small piece of it bouncing along the durasteel floor between them. Snoke had sunk his teeth and nails in deep. ) Do whatever you want with it. Give it to General Organa. Stow it in a pod and send it to Naar Shaddaa. Break it. Turn it on. I don't care.
( He grabs Rey's wrist and drops the little beacon into her palm, brushing past her on his way back down the corridor, thinking about all the things he would have rather said and how much he sincerely doubts Skywalker knows what he's talking about when it comes to deciding what to do about the Knights of Ren. As if it should be his decision. )
well okay then i suppose it's alright
That Snoke would chip him, him, that his master didn't trust his ability to perform a singular task without Hux or Snoke himself knowing where he was and potentially what he was doing at all times, that he didn't trust him or his convergence with the Dark Side, had bitten him deep and rabidly. In his examination of it now, it may have been the final turn in a series of locks and switches that had pushed Kylo in this direction, back toward the Resistance, toward the General. Maybe in Snoke's desperation to hold onto him so tightly, he had found a way in which to slip through and out, disappearing like sand and smoke into the galaxy, the scrambling of his frequency a type of parting gift. Except that he had been smart enough in the medbay not to scream outrageously about it and had instead waited until the Finalizer was back in procession, hurtling toward Ilum at Snoke's request, to hack into the chip and reprogram it to his benefit, the same way that he had scrambled the frequencies of his own private quarters aboard the Resurgent-class Star Destroyer, the same way in which he had cloaked his ship and attuned the settings to his specifications.
He might be neither the pilot nor the mechanic that his father would have liked him to be, but his skills with code and splicing were better than anyone else he had ever met, bar none.
Still, Rey's anger is burning and beating and aimed directly at him, and all that he can do is trail after her, steps slower than the frenzied pace she sets for herself, leaning against the frame separating one room from the next in the same manner that she had approached him only moments prior. His anger has mostly abated, still existing in the back of his head, caught in a gravitational well and threatening to spiral downward into a fiery burst of an explosion at any given moment, but Rey's anger takes the spotlight now. He's left to watch her rifle through his things, glad that he still has his saber on his person in case she doesn't like what she finds and comes at him looking for a fight. Part of him welcomes it, lulled into a tentative routine and itching for something to shake up the monotony of labor that's settled in since they left space, and part of him knows it would only end in bloodshed and a suspension of the truce they've formed. He catches his belt when she throws it at him and answers her with a spit of words. )
I thought it could be useful.
( In more ways than one. Had the Resistance seen fit to dump him, he could have done as she's suggesting and left it somewhere while jettisoning himself into Wild Space, as much as the thought rankles him to even consider it for a number of reasons. But they hadn't, and here they stand. Kylo pushes off of the wall in order to meet the weight of her footsteps and the upturned angle of her chin. What she lacks in physicality against the superiority of his own build, she makes up for in the set of her eyes and shoulders alone. Kylo isn't cowed in the slightest; he pushes her back with the size of his body alone, not bothering to check his body language as he does so, but Rey barrels on around him anyway, forcing him to take a step back in the interest of not having his foot stepped on, though all she does is cross her arms. He lets her talk herself down from a ledge, though he can still feel the firecracker of her ire burning bright like a spark heading down a long wire to detonate underneath every word she flings his way. )
I know Snoke is not a safety net. You think that I don't? I didn't ask him to chip me. I didn't even know about it until Hux pulled me out of the snow after you nearly killed me. If I wanted to draw the First Order or any of the Knights down on the Resistance, then I would have done it already. I certainly wouldn't be standing here now, and I wouldn't have let you into my head on Corellia in the interest of casting off this aforementioned safety net. ( He straightens up, feeling heat burn low in his stomach, the bubble of harsh, cold truths working their way up his throat. ) We don't trust one another, and that's fine, I prefer it that way, but stop acting like you stand on superior moral high ground in all of this. You have painted me into a corner as much as I handed you the brush. ( Deft fingers pluck at the face of the belt before Kylo glances down at it, nails prying the position sensor free from the console. The whole thing gives a little whine as the sensor comes free, cracking the face of his wide belt, a small piece of it bouncing along the durasteel floor between them. Snoke had sunk his teeth and nails in deep. ) Do whatever you want with it. Give it to General Organa. Stow it in a pod and send it to Naar Shaddaa. Break it. Turn it on. I don't care.
( He grabs Rey's wrist and drops the little beacon into her palm, brushing past her on his way back down the corridor, thinking about all the things he would have rather said and how much he sincerely doubts Skywalker knows what he's talking about when it comes to deciding what to do about the Knights of Ren. As if it should be his decision. )