( Although he grits his teeth at her initial comment, what follows it is enough to slow his long strides and lighten his heavy tread. Of course, he has to do that in the interest of weaving in and out of shoulders and elbows, most of the Hapan population nearly as tall if not as tall as he is. None of them have the deep imprint of a gash standing out like the crack of an egg, though, unevenly dividing one third of his face, pockmarked as it is, from the other, equally as speckled. He sticks out in the crowd as much as his ears constantly threaten to stick out from underneath the length of his hair, but Kylo doesn't let that fact slow him down, assuming that the time for propriety and reservation is long past if this is the conclusion that both he and Rey have arrived at.
He still can't determine whether or not what he'd dreamt was something premonitory or just a run of the mill nightmare, but there's a bad taste in the back of his mouth that he can't shake just as much as he can't shake the cold tingle that starts at the back of his neck and wanders the pathways provided by his nervous system, arcing little sparks of electricity over his arms and legs, down his back, making his hair stand on end. It intensifies when he feels Rey reach out despite her accusations and scolding, and he surges into her point of view with alarming ease, so much so that Kylo has to catch himself with his own balance as he hurries through a separate hangar and down a joining hallway.
The image that Rey sees superimposes itself onto what he sees directly in front of him, affording him some strange double-exposure that he's experienced before but still finds strange all the same. Her perception of the unease, the taint spreading like a black fume, wanders across their connection, and Kylo feels it too, filling him up to the brim until he can't determine what he's feeling and what she's feeling and who's feeling more of it. Her words leave his mouth dry, just as he steps into the same area that she occupies, surrounded by Hapans who turn to look at him as he passes, alternating between leveling heavy, dark stares toward their wayward outsiders - the crowd broken up by Resistance colors and normal faces as opposed to the glittering impossibility of so much beauty on one planet alone - and Organa's approaching ship. )
Can you reach out to Skywalker? He could relay the information. ( There is also the off chance that Kylo could do the same with Organa directly, but he isn't sure how her sensitivity, her ability, stacks up when the Force is diluted through so many physical beings. His link to Rey is the one connection that doesn't waver, and he uses it to draw himself to her through the crowd. ) Incoming. ( It's a warning before his hand connects with her elbow, a brief touch that doesn't linger and serves more the purpose of alerting her to his presence. Still, he doesn't switch to verbal communication in the interest of maintaining privacy and the upper-hand. ) We need to get out of here.
( We, us, them, he has to admit, as much as he tries to deny it. Every moment they spend on this planet is another moment they have lost somewhere down the line. He can sense that now, standing next to Rey with his lightsaber heavy against his thigh. )
terrible people, the both of us
He still can't determine whether or not what he'd dreamt was something premonitory or just a run of the mill nightmare, but there's a bad taste in the back of his mouth that he can't shake just as much as he can't shake the cold tingle that starts at the back of his neck and wanders the pathways provided by his nervous system, arcing little sparks of electricity over his arms and legs, down his back, making his hair stand on end. It intensifies when he feels Rey reach out despite her accusations and scolding, and he surges into her point of view with alarming ease, so much so that Kylo has to catch himself with his own balance as he hurries through a separate hangar and down a joining hallway.
The image that Rey sees superimposes itself onto what he sees directly in front of him, affording him some strange double-exposure that he's experienced before but still finds strange all the same. Her perception of the unease, the taint spreading like a black fume, wanders across their connection, and Kylo feels it too, filling him up to the brim until he can't determine what he's feeling and what she's feeling and who's feeling more of it. Her words leave his mouth dry, just as he steps into the same area that she occupies, surrounded by Hapans who turn to look at him as he passes, alternating between leveling heavy, dark stares toward their wayward outsiders - the crowd broken up by Resistance colors and normal faces as opposed to the glittering impossibility of so much beauty on one planet alone - and Organa's approaching ship. )
Can you reach out to Skywalker? He could relay the information. ( There is also the off chance that Kylo could do the same with Organa directly, but he isn't sure how her sensitivity, her ability, stacks up when the Force is diluted through so many physical beings. His link to Rey is the one connection that doesn't waver, and he uses it to draw himself to her through the crowd. ) Incoming. ( It's a warning before his hand connects with her elbow, a brief touch that doesn't linger and serves more the purpose of alerting her to his presence. Still, he doesn't switch to verbal communication in the interest of maintaining privacy and the upper-hand. ) We need to get out of here.
( We, us, them, he has to admit, as much as he tries to deny it. Every moment they spend on this planet is another moment they have lost somewhere down the line. He can sense that now, standing next to Rey with his lightsaber heavy against his thigh. )