( A muscle stands out along his jaw as he grinds his molars together, a combination of the effort it takes to keep her staring for so long at that closed door in his head and the effort it takes not to take several long strides and throttle her where she stands. It's hardly a fantasy born of a desire to kill her - despite entertaining the idea, he's still fairly sure that what he wants from her would be an impossibility were she dead, never mind what Snoke wants of her - but at the frustration of knowing that there's little he can do to change the current outcome of the situation.
She won't let herself be taken so easily, despite her willingness to seek him out in its own right, and he certainly isn't going to give her pointers on the finer aspects of using the Dark Side as a weapon when it seems so inherently unlikely that she will turn that direction any time soon. This isn't a game to be played, he thinks and does not take a step in her direction but shifts his weight in a way that belies his impatience with her. The helmet in the crook of his elbow is a heavy but welcome weight but also a reminder of the question mark standing tall at the end of inquiry as to why he actually removed it in the first place. )
You think that there are lines to be straddled, that you can put your own spin on tapping into the power that I have in a way that won't leave you open to the suggestion that Skywalker warns you so strongly against. It's one or the other.
( Unless what she's searching for is the same pain that was supposed to be washed away following Han Solo's death at his hands, a constant pull between one direction and the next, caught between two violent currents and burned at both ends by two incessant flames. It's only because his legs have gotten free that he's been able to stomp one out to a dull flicker, but it's still there, embers burning, waiting and begging for a little bit of breath to call it roaring back into life. Kylo feels it licking at him constantly, and the fear of hearing that call, of feeling that pull, is enough to inspire in him rage and panic enough to keep it snuffed out. Keeping it off of Snoke's radar when he stands before him is another matter entirely, the preoccupation of his thoughts, affording him little time to consider tracking her when there's the strength of the connection between them to keep in mind. )
I'm hardly in the mood to do you, of all people, any favors. ( He lets go of his saber, finally, to work his helmet back on over his head, heavy, thick steel pressing against both palms as it clicks back into place. His face is a blank slate both above and below the mask. ) Tracking you is the last thing that I'll be interested in doing in the following weeks. I'm sure that will relieve your frustrations somewhat.
no subject
( A muscle stands out along his jaw as he grinds his molars together, a combination of the effort it takes to keep her staring for so long at that closed door in his head and the effort it takes not to take several long strides and throttle her where she stands. It's hardly a fantasy born of a desire to kill her - despite entertaining the idea, he's still fairly sure that what he wants from her would be an impossibility were she dead, never mind what Snoke wants of her - but at the frustration of knowing that there's little he can do to change the current outcome of the situation.
She won't let herself be taken so easily, despite her willingness to seek him out in its own right, and he certainly isn't going to give her pointers on the finer aspects of using the Dark Side as a weapon when it seems so inherently unlikely that she will turn that direction any time soon. This isn't a game to be played, he thinks and does not take a step in her direction but shifts his weight in a way that belies his impatience with her. The helmet in the crook of his elbow is a heavy but welcome weight but also a reminder of the question mark standing tall at the end of inquiry as to why he actually removed it in the first place. )
You think that there are lines to be straddled, that you can put your own spin on tapping into the power that I have in a way that won't leave you open to the suggestion that Skywalker warns you so strongly against. It's one or the other.
( Unless what she's searching for is the same pain that was supposed to be washed away following Han Solo's death at his hands, a constant pull between one direction and the next, caught between two violent currents and burned at both ends by two incessant flames. It's only because his legs have gotten free that he's been able to stomp one out to a dull flicker, but it's still there, embers burning, waiting and begging for a little bit of breath to call it roaring back into life. Kylo feels it licking at him constantly, and the fear of hearing that call, of feeling that pull, is enough to inspire in him rage and panic enough to keep it snuffed out. Keeping it off of Snoke's radar when he stands before him is another matter entirely, the preoccupation of his thoughts, affording him little time to consider tracking her when there's the strength of the connection between them to keep in mind. )
I'm hardly in the mood to do you, of all people, any favors. ( He lets go of his saber, finally, to work his helmet back on over his head, heavy, thick steel pressing against both palms as it clicks back into place. His face is a blank slate both above and below the mask. ) Tracking you is the last thing that I'll be interested in doing in the following weeks. I'm sure that will relieve your frustrations somewhat.