[ At the sound of his voice, Rey startles, slamming the back of her head roughly into the top edge of the open panel and swearing under her breath, some teedospeak pejorative that probably doesn't paint General Organa in a flattering light. Drawing herself out of the panel where she's rested her forearm and stuck her head, she turns towards him and waves her hydrospanner around like a knife with which she could threaten him into keeping his distance. Given his snappy retreat from her mind, though, she reckons that she doesn't need a weapon for that.
For a brief flash, the hate that simmers in her gaze looks as genuine as it had on Starkiller Base, for all the name throws her back to that moment, rending the haphazard kinship they had nurtured on Corellia through orders and desperation. Those orders feel heavier now, thinking that he can just press his mind flush up against hers when she wants to scorch him with another plasma beam for good measure, that she's got to keep in such close company and essentially babysit.
Still. She doesn't regret taking it on, and had she refused, she knows Luke would have accepted. (She's not sure she could have faced the General, though, knowing that refusal would have necessitated her son's execution.) That's a sobering thought, particularly in light of the vitriol they fling back and forth. It does little to tamp her instinctually incensed reaction to the way he spits scavenger like a slur, but it does something. She doesn't bite back, refuses to let it be the name that spurs on her snapping reply lest it give it some power, refuses to name him the monster that he had been now that he has taken a full step back from it for it would mean sinking to his level.
Regardless of how far she is from Jakku, she can't help but feel the barb well-placed, particularly when it comes in the corridors of the ship she had inherited in his father's death, de facto, salvaged and stolen and accepted in mourning. When she is wielding a borrowed lightsaber that she has no claim to, that she found in a chest in a basement a million miles away. She does not allow tears to blink into her eyes, but it cuts deep, the implication that she remains nothing more but a vulture, picking at the ruins and feeding on death. ]
What do you want?
[ She sneers it out in one breath, the huff coming at the end with extra air indicating that she'd had to force it all out past some other desired reaction. Beyond that, she gives him nothing but unwelcoming detest. ]
no subject
For a brief flash, the hate that simmers in her gaze looks as genuine as it had on Starkiller Base, for all the name throws her back to that moment, rending the haphazard kinship they had nurtured on Corellia through orders and desperation. Those orders feel heavier now, thinking that he can just press his mind flush up against hers when she wants to scorch him with another plasma beam for good measure, that she's got to keep in such close company and essentially babysit.
Still. She doesn't regret taking it on, and had she refused, she knows Luke would have accepted. (She's not sure she could have faced the General, though, knowing that refusal would have necessitated her son's execution.) That's a sobering thought, particularly in light of the vitriol they fling back and forth. It does little to tamp her instinctually incensed reaction to the way he spits scavenger like a slur, but it does something. She doesn't bite back, refuses to let it be the name that spurs on her snapping reply lest it give it some power, refuses to name him the monster that he had been now that he has taken a full step back from it for it would mean sinking to his level.
Regardless of how far she is from Jakku, she can't help but feel the barb well-placed, particularly when it comes in the corridors of the ship she had inherited in his father's death, de facto, salvaged and stolen and accepted in mourning. When she is wielding a borrowed lightsaber that she has no claim to, that she found in a chest in a basement a million miles away. She does not allow tears to blink into her eyes, but it cuts deep, the implication that she remains nothing more but a vulture, picking at the ruins and feeding on death. ]
What do you want?
[ She sneers it out in one breath, the huff coming at the end with extra air indicating that she'd had to force it all out past some other desired reaction. Beyond that, she gives him nothing but unwelcoming detest. ]