[ Closing the distance with him affords Rey a better idea of his injury’s severity, and given that it’s inevitable, she takes those steps without hesitating, stocky legs carrying her to his with her back straight and refusing to go easy on her ribs. She looks him over, measures the balance of his weight, and shakes her head when he hauls the knight’s weight up: he won’t like her pointing out what he can and can’t do, but he can hardly bear his own weight. Rey moves to try and take the weight on for herself. ]
What are you planning to do with it? [ Callous, perhaps, but years on Jakku have afforded Rey a sense of perspective—nothing dead is a “him” anymore. Whoever he was, he’s gone, and all they have before them now is an unremarkable corpse, wholly similar to any other. If Kylo allows her, she’ll take Aurren’s weight over her opposite shoulder, an act that burns the injury in her ribs and reminds her how deep into the tissue it cut, but at no risk of losing her footing. More than can be said for the last Knight of Ren standing.
She is ruthlessly pragmatic in this way, putting aside her own personal struggles to confront what she knows they must do—remain together. Without the other, neither of them has even the slightest chance of getting off the moon, and more to the point, surviving the onslaught that will follow the two they put down here. Her movements are mechanical but purposeful, concentrated on shuttering her emotions and considering only the benefits of cooperation in the immediate moment. Her horror at the pool of darkness that Kylo Ren steeps himself in is irrelevant—these knights are already dead, and one by her own hand.
That horror, she can’t suppress. It claws its way up her throat and sticks there to choke her. ] She killed herself. Why would she do that? [ No matter that she knows why—clear as day, to take them with her—but how could she do that? How is her survival not her first consideration, before her loyalty to some demagogue? For as much as she barely trusts him now, the pitch of her tone all the same seems to beg an explanation of her reluctant companion, as does the shake of her head. This radical, blind following is too far beyond her experience. ]
no subject
What are you planning to do with it? [ Callous, perhaps, but years on Jakku have afforded Rey a sense of perspective—nothing dead is a “him” anymore. Whoever he was, he’s gone, and all they have before them now is an unremarkable corpse, wholly similar to any other. If Kylo allows her, she’ll take Aurren’s weight over her opposite shoulder, an act that burns the injury in her ribs and reminds her how deep into the tissue it cut, but at no risk of losing her footing. More than can be said for the last Knight of Ren standing.
She is ruthlessly pragmatic in this way, putting aside her own personal struggles to confront what she knows they must do—remain together. Without the other, neither of them has even the slightest chance of getting off the moon, and more to the point, surviving the onslaught that will follow the two they put down here. Her movements are mechanical but purposeful, concentrated on shuttering her emotions and considering only the benefits of cooperation in the immediate moment. Her horror at the pool of darkness that Kylo Ren steeps himself in is irrelevant—these knights are already dead, and one by her own hand.
That horror, she can’t suppress. It claws its way up her throat and sticks there to choke her. ] She killed herself. Why would she do that? [ No matter that she knows why—clear as day, to take them with her—but how could she do that? How is her survival not her first consideration, before her loyalty to some demagogue? For as much as she barely trusts him now, the pitch of her tone all the same seems to beg an explanation of her reluctant companion, as does the shake of her head. This radical, blind following is too far beyond her experience. ]