( He doesn't need the bond or even the Force and his partnership with it to sniff out the underlying implications within the confines of her tone, and Kylo finds, in some way, that he isn't disappointed or annoyed with the existence of them. He'd meant what he said as a compliment but it doesn't distress him in the slightest to sense her bristling, hackles raising, the thin layer of tight control wavering like heat coming off of scorched pavement, from the other side of the barrier that is Aurren's weight supported between them. Had he energy left, he might allow the full effects of one of those imitation grins to bloom at the corner of his mouth at what her indignation seems to imply, point out - if he had breath to spare - what it means to feel betrayed by the inherent suggestion that resides within the framework of a simple backhanded compliment.
If only. Kylo's silence speaks to all of that and unwittingly more, and it's unclear even to him the reasons that he has for saying nothing in the wake of her command, gritted out between teeth, trembling with the weight of her restrained ability and the tight wind of her own rage and frustration, her pain and anger. It threatens to overwhelm him and drag him down again, but where before, in the mine, that well seemed untapped and bottomless, extending forever in a downward spiral eager to receive the broiling, tumultuous roll of black thoughts and even blacker intentions, Kylo gets the impression that the depths are much more shallow now than they were previously. He's at his limit - they both are - and it's as much that as it is whatever has begun existing between him and the girl who trudges dutifully, inexplicably, by his side, hauling this dead weight in step with him.
Kylo says nothing and in the wake of having nothing to say, lets his mind go blank. Within that nothingness, the pain in his leg and in his hands begins to become burdensome, so that when they finally reach the dilapidated offices, he's eager to rid himself of the Knight they support between the two of them. Kylo drops his side like a sack of potatoes, pushing sweat-slick hair out of his face and, finally, affording himself the opportunity to glance down at his thigh. Even with his pants and armor covering it, he can tell that it isn't exactly good.
After a moment, he turns to Rey, lips pressed together though the faint suggestion of something not wholly volatile or even angry hangs around the corner. He quirks an eyebrow at her, cool as a cucumber. )
no subject
If only. Kylo's silence speaks to all of that and unwittingly more, and it's unclear even to him the reasons that he has for saying nothing in the wake of her command, gritted out between teeth, trembling with the weight of her restrained ability and the tight wind of her own rage and frustration, her pain and anger. It threatens to overwhelm him and drag him down again, but where before, in the mine, that well seemed untapped and bottomless, extending forever in a downward spiral eager to receive the broiling, tumultuous roll of black thoughts and even blacker intentions, Kylo gets the impression that the depths are much more shallow now than they were previously. He's at his limit - they both are - and it's as much that as it is whatever has begun existing between him and the girl who trudges dutifully, inexplicably, by his side, hauling this dead weight in step with him.
Kylo says nothing and in the wake of having nothing to say, lets his mind go blank. Within that nothingness, the pain in his leg and in his hands begins to become burdensome, so that when they finally reach the dilapidated offices, he's eager to rid himself of the Knight they support between the two of them. Kylo drops his side like a sack of potatoes, pushing sweat-slick hair out of his face and, finally, affording himself the opportunity to glance down at his thigh. Even with his pants and armor covering it, he can tell that it isn't exactly good.
After a moment, he turns to Rey, lips pressed together though the faint suggestion of something not wholly volatile or even angry hangs around the corner. He quirks an eyebrow at her, cool as a cucumber. )
May I speak?