apparare | i found something in the woods somewhere.

i found something in the woods somewhere.

open post.
▬ action
▬ prompts
▬ continuing threads
▬ force shenanigans

[ One moment, he's only in her mind and the next— she blinks and he's there, menacing as ever in all black and even more unpredictable, the malfunctioning saber lit in his grip giving her more than pause. Rey's hand falls to her own at her hip ( she's still growing used to calling it her's; Luke Skywalker had refused to take it back ) but she doesn't retrieve it fully, letting herself settle in the warring sensation of having Kylo Ren in her head and standing before her at once. A hundred escape routes are planned and she stands her ground, the little alleyway between them deserted, local folk instinctively keeping out of their way. ]

If you were going to, you would have already. [ Confident in that, at the very least, she regards him with a cautious brand of curiosity, distastefully glancing over his helm, a terrible sight to behold and get Rey doesn't feel rattled with fear the way she had the day Kylo had appeared abruptly from behind the right quarry of rocks, exactly where'd she'd feared he'd be but afraid just the same. Take off your mask, so I can see you— she urges with an unconscious fervor she wasn't sure she possessed, blinking briefly at her own insistence before tilting her chin towards his lightsaber, moving her mouth once more. ] And turn that off. I'm not here to fight you.

[ Rey is the picture of calm, calling on some endless well of focus as she holds Kylo in her gaze, her senses attuned to his every movement, and while he holds her expertly at bay in their mutual link, she doesn't sense a true threat, not to her life nor her physical safety. Cautious but not intimidated, she takes a few steps forward to cut the distance between them, feeling his presence in her mind grow heavier with his proximity. It isn't uncomfortable; he's simply there.

She takes a long breath and begins to speak. ]

I've heard what the Jedi way has to offer. And now I want your side of it.

( He could try, but he knows without having to search through his feelings that she wouldn't let herself fall that easily, that any charge at her or attempt on her life or to take her back to the Order would be meant with resistance enough to rival the faction itself, both in namesake and actual power. The fact remains that he has no interest in killing her, despite his claims to the contrary; at least, not right now. The knowledge that they will more often than not encounter one another with sabers drawn and teeth bared does nothing to reassure him now, though it's hardly her confidence or her insistence that he remove his mask and hang up his blade that gives him pause. Rather, the admission of her calling him here at all inspires in him a full body pause, standing straight and still for a full ten seconds before he depresses the ignition switch on his lightsaber. The air is still charged with displaced where the red beam vibrated irregularly, and he does not do as she instructs in removing his mask.

The sound of Kylo snorting derisively is a strange one to filter through the modulator, and it sounds more like a static pop than an actual indication of amusement, dark or otherwise, but it's there, and he takes several steps further out of the shadow cast by the heavy outcropping of one building to stand in the open air of the alleyway. His fingers curl into fists at his side, one around the hilt of his lightsaber, ready. )

I find that hard to believe. ( And he does, given the last time the two of them were in such close proximity. The power in her had been undeniable, and he knows that if it were refined and focused she could be a formidable ally in a number of ways - or a damning opponent - but Kylo had also recognized the counterpoint within her, had known innately that she could have killed him if she wanted regardless of chasms opening up between them as a planet cracked and died. She should have, but she didn't. ) Given how strongly opposed you were to the suggestion the last time we saw one another. What has Skywalker been so unable to teach you that you would seek me out independently? I could have told you that the training you would receive under him would leave plenty to be desired, but you can't actually expect me to believe that you would turn traitor so easily.

I'm not. [ Plainly: Rey has no interest in betraying the Resistance, believing more steadfastly in their cause and ideals than nearly anything she's been taught regarding the Jedi way. Master Skywalker has been both patient and forthright and without him, she might never have even found the courage to stand before an intimidating Kylo Ren, very possibly out for vengeance and her blood. But there are too many nagging faults with the Old Republic Jedi that leaves something left open, gapingly unanswered, a blatant brand of self denial, the antithesis of everything she's ever wanted. They failed for a reason, she's sure, an answer Luke Skywalker isn't able to provide, either. It all seems so strangely self serving in a much different light than the conquering, dark passion the Sith wield and it leaves her uneasy, not meshing with who she is— or at the very least, who she wants to be.

Openly, she wonders if he leaves his helm on to hide his scar or simply to annoy her, but there's a twinge of relief when he holsters his saber, even as he cuts the distance between them a few feet, his physical presence vaguely dizzying. ] I said talk, not train. I'm simply weighing my options. I'm trying to learn.

[ Because she knows, she can feel it in him standing before now, from behind the blue and red burn of two lightsaber blades in a snowy wood, her poignantly clear moment of calm bleeding over into him just before she struck back: Kylo Ren is no Sith, try as he might. And maybe the answers lie in not forcibly choosing a side, but rather choosing your own path. The link between them feels stronger now, as though she can feel smooth leather against her palm, tightly wrapped around the hilt of his lightsaber, how warm and sterile it is behind that mask, and she shifts her weight once, pausing before taking a few strides forward herself, stopping only a few feet from him. ]

I don't want what you aim to be. I don't want what Luke Skywalker wants me to be. There has to be something in between. The universe is too gray for these kinds of absolutes. [ Softer now, and not quite imploring but a few shades away, holding his gaze through a mask she thinks she can nearly see through. ]

( If he's being perfectly and plainly honest with himself, he's a little surprised at her attitude. Despite what he'd said, there wasn't a part of him that believed for one second that Skywalker wouldn't be enough for her. He could see it on Starkiller Base, even as she'd stood over him with her teeth bared and her shoulders heaving, reflected back at him in the look she pinned him to the forest floor with. A ferocity that could be brought to heel but wouldn't buckle. Of course, Kylo had been wrong about her then, had underestimated both her own vicious strength and her connection to the Force, but he knows without having to press into her mind and search for the answers himself that he can't be wrong about her now. If anything, her opinions regarding him should have solidified more firmly following that entanglement, not broadened to include him in her quest to learn how to utilize the Force.

Strange girl.

That isn't to say he doesn't view it as a potential boon, but he's careful not to let it bleed through the connection established between the two of them, one that he still knows too little about to treat so lackadaisically. He keeps his defenses preternaturally high, cloaking himself from the questing implications and questions she projects at him, unsure whether or not they are broadcasted with the intent of landing somewhere or if she's doing it without realizing it. Were the Supreme Leader any other master, Kylo might be able to turn to him for guidance regarding the issue, but it's as out of the question as answering Rey's inquiries at face value are. Not even necessarily because he has no interest in doing so but because there is no in-between. There is no gray area where one can hang, suspended indefinitely, without feeling like they are being ripped apart. He's felt the white-hot pull from both ends of the spectrum, hung in the infinite nothingness between the two extremes for long enough to know a thing or two about the pain associated with the struggle of railing against the force that pulls the strongest. Allowing himself passage to the Dark Side was like slipping under a coaxing current, warmed and comforted on all sides by the cradle of its promise and power.

Never mind that standing on that bridge and cutting down Han Solo had felt like trying to swallow a bag of broken glass. Never mind that the strength and power he was meant to have felt at severing one of the last connections tethering him to the light only flared when he beat his abdomen black and blue in order to propel himself forward, to drive out the weaknesses that remained within him and feed the rage that built up and exploded outward in a controlled but violent burst of adrenaline. )

Why are you so insistent that I remove the helmet?

( Is probably not the answer that she was looking for, but he's not eager to jump into this discussion whether she's serious or not. He thinks he can taste the dirt in the air on his tongue, and wonders if some of it has worked its way through the filters - unlikely - or if it's some byproduct, if she has a mouthful of the stuff coating the back of her throat. )

Am I? [ Some small part of her hadn't entirely realized she'd been reinforcing that intention his way all the while, her chin tilting with genuine curiosity as she gazes over that face— she can see him, but it's like peering through a dimly lit room and trying to focus through a haze and she'd much prefer the real thing. A mental shrug, her mouth purses as she answers honestly and let's him know she means no other ulterior motive. ] Isn't easier to talk without it?

[ You're more human that way, and if he and his Supreme Leader ever wish to sway Rey truly to their side, it's pandering to her humanity that will win them the most leverage in her uncertain internal debate. Abruptly, she senses that he can feel the grit in her eyes, at the very back of her tongue, the connection between them tenuous but fortified all the same, quietly marveling over the backwards sensations, desperately needing to know more. Master Skywalker had sensed the presence of Kylo Ren in her mind, at her temples, behind her eyelids when she sleeps, pulling his perfected stoic face and being scant with his explanations behind it's conception. Perhaps the person to ask is standing just in front it her. ]

You can always feel me, can't you? Maybe it's not always so precise, but I'm here. [ Rey touches two fingers to her brow, just above the bridge of her nose, guaging his reaction carefully, body language and breathing rhythms alike, a flicker of uncertainty behind that stoic, fear inspiring helm. He already knows, so she trudges onwards. ]

You, too. For me. I can't shake you out, hard as I try.

( When he'd removed his mask while trying to extract the contents of the droid from her, he had operated under the assumption that showing his face might offer her some measure of comfort as much as it might instill in her the knowledge that he wasn't so different from her. Certainly not in genetic make-up, just an average, every day person like herself, despite the fact that neither of them could be classified correctly as average. The look on her face had been pleasing enough in its own right, and the action itself had proved a point he hadn't known he needed to make until that moment, that despite the fact that he had shed the outer layer of himself like a second skin and emerged as something else, he wasn't a creature as she assumed him to be.

He's a little more monstrous, now, he thinks, when he does make the decision to remove the helmet. It isn't until she begins questioning him about what's transpired between them that he actually stops to consider doing it, armed with the understanding that she could very well stretch the capacity of her power and lick the inside of his skull clean without him ever lifting a finger to remove anything. Their close proximity makes it more difficult to shut her out, and sweat curls under the high neck of his cowl in an effort to keep her back. You're more human that way, she says into the thick coliseum of his skull, but when he removes the helmet it's not for her benefit or to appeal to the way in which she thinks she sees him. She's misguided, these days. )

I've spent the better part of the last month tasting salt and picking up on your downswing. ( The scar that cuts across his face is not yet rightfully a scar, still puckered in places and pink, new. Already he wears it like a badge, though whether it's a denotation of his failure or a mark of the progress he's made is unclear. He pays it no special attention when he catches glimpses of himself unmasked and thinks of it only when it aches. The fact that he elected to keep it remains a topic he hasn't considered due to its distinct lack of answers. ) Your footwork is sloppy. The longer you let yourself rely on putting your weight on your right leg rather than balancing it between the two, the more difficult it's going to be to break the habit. You'll be knocked down in your first actual duel.

( By him, most likely. He had been able to send her sliding back several feet on the snowy forest floor without being at full capacity. The next time they meet, regardless of anything else, he will not be pulling his punches. For now, he lets his helmet balance in the crook of his bent elbow, the weight welcome and reassuring in the hollow of his arm. He lets her get a good, long look at him before continuing. )

Have you mentioned the connection to Skywalker?

[ His scar is no surprise, remembering with vivid clarity how it had felt beneath her callused fingertips, despite never having touched it at all with her own hands and she has the good graces not to flinch in the face of her own handiwork. That day still feels like a hazy dream that happened to someone else, not her and yet she's taken apart each second, piece by piece, overanalyzing her own clumsy footwork, his unfocused, dizzying replies with his saber, snow blurring her vision. I can show you the ways of the Force. Nearly pleading. It still startles her.

There's a nagging sense of relief when he removes his helm, not unaccustomed to hearing his actual voice behind the modulator ( it's so often in her thoughts, in her dreams ) but somehow it feels like leveling the playing field. Kylo Ren looks older now, only weeks between their last meeting but something around his eyes has aged, a hidden weariness there. Killing his own father had hardly the effect he'd anticipated, and even if she hadn't caught glimpses of that uncertainty in him, sparse moments of self doubt at the back of her neck, a twinge from across star systems, their culminating duel after had been all the proof she needed.

His criticism nearly curves the corner of her mouth up, curbing it instead by pursing her lips together. It's a problem she's aware of, favoring her right side and leaving her left open and vulnerable, and he's not wrong, wondering now how often he's been there, feet bare in the greenest grass she's ever seen, a trusty stick in place of a lightsaber at first, and then— Luke Skywalker's brilliant blue blade again, unable to resist how right it feels in her grip, perched on her hip even now. ]

I've been working on it, thanks. I'm a quick learner. [ Dryly reassuring, as if he's truly concerned about her fighting form ( if he is, it's not out of worry for her ) the silence between them after heavy with the implication of a next time. Rey knows he won't try and strike her down, not today and maybe not ever, but she can only wonder why he hasn't drug her back to his master by now. His mind is a fortress she can only see through the cracks in his defenses, and still that is more than he'd prefer. ]

He could feel it, before I even had the chance. [ Being around Master Skywalker had helped steel her own defenses, keeping his location clouded in her mind lest Kylo attempt to reach in and pluck it out from her, a probable threat. ] Apparently— [ Here, she hesitates, uncertain: ] it's highly unusual.

( Kylo doesn't reply immediately or offer any actual indication that he's heard her, though averting his gaze somewhere to the left of her might indicate that he hasn't actually gone deaf or mute in the last two minutes. It isn't as if what she's describing is unheard of, but unusual is putting it in more simplistic terms than he would assign. Their last entanglement isn't so far in the past that he can't remember how hard he pushed and how much of himself he poured into trying to break down her defenses and take what he was after. Meeting her surprising focus and fortified defenses had meant that he had to push harder and harder until there was a crack in the armor. It just wasn't her armor that cracked.

Knowing that Skywalker had been privy to the situation explains a great deal, but it makes him feel less comfortable about what's unfolding here, which is saying something considering he's not comfortable with the fact remotely. If Skywalker could pick up on her connection with Kylo before she even brought it to the table, then it stands to reason that Snoke will be more than capable of honing in on it and either questioning his loyalties through his own brand of interrogation or priming and polishing it to be used against the Resistance. He isn't uncomfortable with the latter, but the fear of further failure, of being unable to pierce Rey's mind and either coax or locate her at Snoke's behest makes his hand tighten further around his lightsaber, the quillon digging into his knuckle. )

You throw your weight behind the saber like you would a staff or a club. ( He hasn't seen her in action with that particular piece of equipment, but one of the other Knights favors that over heavy artillery and her fighting stance isn't dissimilar. Talking about her fighting style seems a safer path of discourse than stopping to consider the reality of everything else that she's trying to lay on the table in front of him. ) You are a quick learner - ( He has to concede, at the expense of his pride and his face, but he doesn't have to sound happy about it. ) - but that will hardly make a difference when push comes to shove. Skywalker might be a master at his form but you have to find your own niche, and if advancing like some kind of savage desert rat is what you're good at, then you need to learn how to utilize it, how to best acquaint it with the Force and your innate ability to wield it.

( It hangs there, between them, that unspoken I could teach you that was so implicit between them before. Kylo knows that she won't take the bait, that he's not prepared enough to persuade her now and that she is too steadfast in her convictions to ever actually consider his tutelage. Likely what she called him here for has nothing to do with curiosities about his personal academia and more to do with what's occurring between them, how easily he might be able to peel back her mind and dig inside for images of that island, all that green in the rolling white caps of a slate blue ocean; or the acrid, harsh bite of the Jakkuian sands, dust storms raking against fortified shelters and years spent alone. And landscapes aren't all that he's seen in stretching his reach out through the Force, whether to search for her in a last ditch effort before touching down to finish his training or out of curiosity. He get snatches of Organa's perfume and quick, fleeting glances of dark skin against the drab white of a medbay gown, impressions of her guilt and her longing, the knowledge that even though she is surrounded now by hands and embraces and reassuring words, the path she walks is still a solo journey. )

Does it disturb him to know that his only remaining pupil has a dark-sider in her head?

[ His assessment is alarmingly accurate, and Rey wonders if he's seen glimpses of life on Jakku, her favored weapon gripped slim and precise between her palms, always safer with it. Most of the locals knew well enough not to harass her on most occasions, so solitary that she'd hardly been paid any mind to begin with. She's unashamed of her lonely adolescence, a scrappy survivor, wholly self sufficient, but her eyes flash at his scathing remarks just the same, the barest jump in her pulse. It still leaves her uneasy to know that someone has been forcefully privy to those parts of her mind, sanctuaries from the loneliness that threatened to swallow her up in the long, empty nights.

But in return, she knows— that he is alone, too.

Shifting her weight with a subtle air of impatience, she clenches the hilt of her saber a little harder, a comfort in her hand despite knowing, unless pressed, Kylo will not strike out at her. ] That's why I called you out, isn't it? I realized I have to do this my way. And maybe my way involves you, in one form or another. [ It wasn't that Master Skywalker's style or form had disagreed with her— quite the contrary, in fact. The weeks spent with him had been both introspective and deeply peaceful, a real ocean all around them, waves lulling her to sleep each night, colors vivid and tangible and she'd drank it all in greedily, from her surroundings to Skywalker's instruction, the quiet talks over a soothing campfire, mornings of meditation, side by side.

But something hadn't quite fit, and she'd found herself distracted. Not just by the shadowy presence lingering in her mind ( not always necessarily unpleasant, but there ) but by a former stormtrooper still unconscious star systems away and a weakened but joyful coalition of the bravest people she's ever met. The Resistance never often strayed from the forefront of her mind and long ago, having been there before, Luke Skywalker had been quietly understanding of this. Still: ]

I didn't come here to talk about Luke Skywalker, Ren. You're dancing around my questions. Is this— [ Physically, she gestures between them but gives him a nudge with the Force as well, through their link, a knock at the door of his mind: ] your doing? That day.

( He doesn't answer that knock, not right away, holding her at bay with a very specifically concentrated effort. It's exhausting and taxing, standing this close. )

You came to me to inquiring about teaching strategies and what I might be able to offer you. Luke Skywalker is bound to be a by-product of that line of conversation, especially if you're not satisfied with what he has to offer you.

( Without the modulator, his voice leans into sarcasm more easily, though it's short lived given the answer he knows that he has to eventually present to her. She's insistent and relentless, and Kylo has the growing feeling that if he doesn't give her what she wants now, Rey will simply stay in his head, caught there like a song, until she exploits him that way into answering.

He would like to say that it was his doing. He would like to say that the power he holds within the cupped palm of his hand is far greater than the breadth of hers or even of her understanding. The possibility that it could have been him occurs to him, but even if he had been solely responsible for it, he wouldn't necessarily know with absolute certainty how it had happened. There's guesswork involved, and he certainly knows enough about the Force and the ways and methodologies of the Dark Side, and Kylo is fairly certain that he knows why he's under the impression that telegraphing her moves and intentions wouldn't be outright impossible at the moment, but it's nothing that he's proud of or pleased with himself over. Having an invitation to look into her mind in a capacity that's altogether different than interrogating and torturing Resistance fighters or deck officers aboard the Finalizer might be considered a boon if she very obviously did not have access to his mind in return. If he could somehow have established a one way street rather than a two lane expressway, Kylo might then take credit, might even operate under the assumption that he was deserving of it. Take it to Snoke as a gift and evidence not only of his loyalty but also of his power. As it stands, he's more concerned with figuring out how to disguise it from the Supreme Leader over anything else, and then concerned as to why he thinks he should. )

I'm surprised your master doesn't have an answer for you on that as well. ( His voice returns to its normal clipped ups and downs, lacking inflection or variety, presenting a subdued but genuine amount of surprise rather than sarcasm. It's almost as if he's gotten so used to speaking through the modulator that his tone tends toward that side of robotic. ) It wasn't my doing. I haven't exactly had the opportunity to examine it at length the way that you have, but had it been my doing, rest assured, we'd be having this conversation weeks earlier and under very different circumstances.

[ Rey's not entirely sure what she'd expected from this blatantly rash decision ( Finn and Poe will likely lecture her for hours upon her return ) — something slightly more curious and less stoically indifferent, though she suspects it to be a front. His defenses are up and at their most guarded, and she also feels the prickle of sweat across her brow and at the nape of her neck, the effort made to keep him out just as he does her. The veiled, though latent threat raises her hackles some, impossible to mask how frustrating she finds him, her eyes narrowing fractionally.

She wonders for the first time if his master is aware of the bond, then immediately doubts it. If Kylo Ren's so called Supreme Leader knew he could exploit someone so close to the leaders of the Resistance and wield the talents of another Force sensitive being, he likely would have cashed in on that good fortune already. Or at the very least, Kylo would have attempted another kidnapping rather than a tense conversation without lightsabers in a dusty alleyway.

Pressing that irritation down for another time, she realigns her focus and holds his gaze, plainly and calm. ] I called you out here for nothing, then. I suppose I'll figure it out on my own. Since you don't seem too highly concerned. [ Too busy conquering star systems, she adds mentally, her own brand of sarcasm and no where near veiled enough to keep him from hearing, taking a few steps backwards to widen the gap between them. This isn't the first, nor she suspects, the last time she'll be bent on doing something on her own, far from expecting a partner or even an ally in Kylo, but something— different. A puzzling train of thought in itself and she keeps a steady grip on the hilt of her saber. ]

I'd really appreciate if you didn't try to track me. [ Casually, as though they're lightyears away from being on two sides of very opposing lines, Rey tilts her chin downwards just slightly, half heartedly disrespectful. ]

You sound disappointed.

( 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.

We'll see, won't we? [ I thought there may have been a chance we could have helped each other— it's a slip, sneaking right through a crack Kylo himself likely made in her own mental fortress, pursing her lips together tightly once the realization dawns that she's let him hear. Rey isn't convinced; light and dark are too finite, too absolute to make any sort of logical sense to her, a person urged by too many of the traits the Jedi way seems unsuitable, dangerous. She knows too how much he struggles. Kylo Ren may have tenuously mastered shielding that flicker of light away from his master, but she'd seen his face the day he'd murdered his father with his own hands and had suffered through the aftermath, all burnt edges and frayed emotion, raw, unstable power bathed in the red glow of his lightsaber.

She watches him for another long moment, tempted to take off running without another word ( convinced even further that he won't pursue her ) but tilts her chin upwards instead, looking past that mask and letting him know she is. ] You straddle that line. You thought you'd pushed above and beyond it but you're still there, even worse now, grating at you when you aren't looking. You aren't who you think you are.

[ Another pause; she's shifting into risky territory now, and then she lifts an arm straight out in front of her, summoning her saber from it's holster, turned horizontal in her palm and clearly neither defensive or offensive, keeping it off : ] And you haven't paid attention to history, Kylo Ren. The role model you so hope to be turned to the good side at the end, for your uncle and your mother. Or have you forgotten?

[ She makes no move to threaten or shift into a sparring position, holding his gaze through the dulled sheen of his helm, nearly daring. ]

( His reaction is almost immediate, buffered by a hair's breadth of hesitation that only reinforces the whiplash of anger that he strikes out at her with. One arm thrown parallel to the ground, he stretches an unseen hand out to fist itself in the front of her tunic and seize her, lifts her above the ground so that her heels drag in the dirt until he's able to ball fabric up into a fist. Without the Force he can't keep her aloft with one arm alone for long, but adrenaline keeps her elevated for a moment before she lands flat-footed on the ground, and he ignites his saber in the same moment that her feet thud against the packed dirt in the anticipation that she will throw hers up as well.

Up close, she will be able to see the new steel of his helmet, less worn and tarnished than its predecessor, but also the little tears and fine stitching committed to the fibers of his clothing, made bulkier by the armor that he wears. The helmet offers absolutely nothing by way of his expression, and his posture doesn't change enough to offer any indications of his ire but Kylo throws open his mind to let the swirling mass of his thoughts overwhelm her as the grip that he has on the cross section of her tunic tightens and threatens to tear the fabric at the shoulder. )

You. ( His voice pitches low underneath the modulator, some cold and dark thing crawling out of a hole to stalk into the underbrush. The current of his anger is a harsh undertow, black water lapping high tides over the buoy he anticipates her holding fast to in the sea of his thoughts. ) You have no idea what you're talking about. You're a runt pulled out of the wasteland, out of Jakku, and you're playing a game you're ill-suited and even less prepared for. You play with matches and think that you won't get burned, even though your hands are covered in oil.

( Perspective is everything. Where Organa and Skywalker and Rey, now, see a man who emerged from the Dark Side triumphant at the end, Kylo Ren sees a sad and sorry seduction away from the path of righteousness, sees a weakness that was seized and exploited until Darth Vader fell and fell hard, at the cost of his own life. Skywalker used to tell Ben as a child what a hero his grandfather had been, how he had died doing what was right, but Kylo had never seen it that way, in the end. He was strong and powerful and had a command that Kylo envies now, with Rey's tunic caught in his grip and his lightsaber burning a hole in the ground. )

[ The ferocity of both his rage and the force at which he comes at her might've knocked the wind from her lungs had she not been had expecting some form of retaliation, breath hitching just he same when he seizes an angry handful of her tunic and hauls her handily upwards, bringing their faces within inches of each other's. Rey's expression is shifts— indignant anger and then a long moment of frozen disbelief as he shoves wave after wave of furious, boiling black rage over her mind, rightfully overwhelming her for a few moments that seem to last a lifetime, threatening to drown her in all of that fear, self loathing, disgust.

But when her feet hit the ground, she manages to scramble for her own mental footing, gasping sharply when she realizes she's ignited her lightsaber at her side, opposite the searing red he wields, blinking rapidly up at him as he spits venom down upon her. Her free hand whips up to grasp tightly at his wrist, noticeable still aware she's far less experienced than Kylo Ren, but unafraid to stand her ground. Instinctively, she thinks to retaliate in kind, so inform him that she is not a native of Jakku but it would reveal far too much to be wise, ripping open another gaping wound in the loneliness she'd nearly sunk away into all those years. ]

And yet, if what I just said was wrong, you wouldn't be so furious with me now. [ It's not a question but a statement, her voice leveling out to some wavering but well managed calm, even as her eyes flash with fire as she glares back into the face of his helm, sifting through their connection to find his face. The link between them burns as this proximity, highly attuned to the fact that she might be giving him more than she'd prefer. There's the ocean again, soothing waves lapping at a soft shore, the sprawling sand dunes of Jakku, endlessly long, solitary evenings with an empty belly, counting stars to pass the time. She shakes her head sharply once but he's there, like always, a futile effort. The blunt of her nails digging into his wrist, pitch black material dragged upwards until she catches skin. It surprises her to find him so warm, her expression betraying none of it but her thought process stumbling again with the reminder of how human he is.

Leaning upwards, she draws herself in even closer against the arm that holds her both hostage and at bay, gritting her teeth, the smell of burnt ozone and superheated dirt filling the air. ] Now, let me. Go.

( A door closes heavy and loud down the alley, catching his attention in a very careful way, head snapping to attention immediately and searching for the cause of the commotion through the tendons and sinews that comprise the world around them. He searches, locates, and pushes, an uncontained blast of energy through the Force that strikes out with the immediacy of a blaster discharging and feels the tumble of whoever has been eavesdropping as much as he can hear it, a combustion of furniture and shattered glass, a scream, then silence.

His attention is back on Rey in an instant, on the humming pulse of the saber in her hand, pushing his own displeasure at his own distraction to the back of his mind in the wake of dealing with her directly, on the lapping of waves and the shifting of dunes that spring to the forefront of her mind almost immediately. He wonders if it's a crutch or if it's something that, now that he's seen it, she can't shake him away from, if they will wander her wastelands and utopias until she learns to repel him once and for all. Until she learns to push back. Her nails biting his skin, digging into the bones of his wrist. There is so little distance between them now that if he were to run her through with his blade from behind he would have no hope but to impale himself as well. He can see the scorching sand and sun reflected back in her irises, cutting at him through the visor of his helmet.

Kylo tosses her back physically, strong enough to knock her off balance without the use of the Force but employing it somewhat to send her sprawling. He trips the switch of his lightsaber and cuts it off, not belting it but holding it so tightly that he knows his knuckles are white under the leather. )

We're done here.

( He doesn't wait for her to pick herself up before turning away. )

[ Instantly, there's a flash of anger she hasn't quite learned to control, primal and instinctual, sprawled across the dusty ground for all of a heartbeat before she's launching to her feet, righteously indignant and certainly less interested in letting that insult go. Her lightsaber is still on, scorch marks crisscrossing in the dirt around her and she lifts an open palm and focuses— pushes back at Kylo until he stumbles, catching his robe in her mental grip as she keeps the barest hint of a hold on him. ] I'm not something you can crush beneath your boot, Kylo Ren.

[ Her brow already damp with the effort of holding him there, she shoves her way back into his mind, engulfed instantly in the murky, suffocating fear he has roiling around inside him, anger, self loathing, rage; but she can feel that modest little spark, too, buried deep but there, warm and bright as an ember, flickering but not fading. I see you. Suddenly she's standing in his mental landscape, looking up into his face plainly, mask discarded even as they stand locked, feet from each other in the physical world, his back to her. Stop running from it. The landscape shifts and they're bathed in scorching sunlight on the sands of Jakku, miles and miles of dune sea spread before them. It wavers again and they're face to face at the viewpoint on the Finalizer, cold, unyielding steel, the murmur of voices busy and indistinct around them. Alone.

Rey holds his gaze, something imperceptible filtering between two minds so closely mingled together for one perfect moment that she can't tell where she begins and he ends, and her hand wavers and she loses her grasp on him— or unconsciously releases, she isn't certain, drawing in a deep breath sharply as she pants, unsteady but still on guard. He might kill her now, or try. ]

( Rey's anger permeates the atmosphere like a cloud, hanging low and bloated and heavy. He hones in on it like a bloodhound, his head turning to catch the blunt force of the ripple through the Force that she lashes out with and catching instead the gunfire of her retaliation. She's a child with her father's ammunition, armed to the teeth with no idea how to use it. He understands that power, the feeling of it struggling to breathe and flutter like a bird caught in your fingers, an ember still trying to catch and ignite low in the coals. All she - someone - needs to do is blow on it with the right amount of pressure and it will flare to life.

Kylo isn't anticipating her presence there, as much as he isn't anticipating her sticking around for further verbal abuse on his part. Foolish. Reckless. Stupid. Weak. She doesn't so much as push back into his thoughts, his mind, as much as she's suddenly there, and he reacts the only way that he knows how: pushing back. The sun is hot on his neck, pooling sweat in the small of his back and under his arms, his feet sinking into sand up to his ankles, the grit of it sharp on his tongue and crunching between his teeth as he grinds them together. Just as quickly, the cold, polished durasteel of Hux's flagship reflects her face from every surface, the overhead lighting shining dully on the scuffed tips of his boots. Her voice in his head like a battering ram, and every door he tries to close between them, to keep her out, stutters behind him just a moment too late, allowing her passage through until finally, finally he slams her out and -

Another room, cold and dark, raised sides and a platform like a dais. Light streams in from up above and the architecture crumbles, stones shifting underfoot. Beyond the immediate landscape, a blood orange sun sets and casts long shadows over old monuments, falling into disarray. In the darkness there, something shifts and then looks up. Sunken eyes, a concave skull, an inhale that rustles and scratches like leaves.

Kylo finds himself with his feet planted firmly in the dirt and his breath stitched together in his chest a moment later, heart hammering hard. The sweat on the back of his neck is cold and Rey is several paces from him, tired and unfocused and unsteady with the weight of her own power. For a long, quiet moment, he says nothing, does nothing other than to turn on his heel the remainder of the way so that he can face her directly. )

It becomes more and more difficult not to kill you every time we cross paths.

[ She sees it, too— feels it, cold concrete biting into her knees as she bows her head and worships to this would-be God, dressed heavy in black, Kylo's gloved hand bizarrely comforting at the tiny small of her back. Her teacher, her mentor, her–– They're back on solid ground and Rey's having trouble catching her breath, having trouble parsing reality from whatever they've both been submersed in in their minds, hers or his, she can't tell the difference anymore. Some strange impulse leaves her wanting to reach for him but finding her fingers grasping at nothing but empty air, eyes unfocused as she resists the urge to reach out. It's pointless. ]

And yet, [ She exhales and inhales deeply, mentally willing her pulse and breathing to shift back to normal: ] Here we are. Both still living and breathing. [ Rey risks lifting a forearm to swipe the sweat gathered at her brow, stray loose curls gathering at her temples as she shifts her stance and relaxes minutely. The mental exercise has taken much from them both but particularly from Rey, muscles weakened and feeling awkward, as if from lack of use or distrophy, and she grips her lightsaber tightly before pressing it off, a sharp pain at her temples, just behind her eyes. She wonders if he can feel it, too. ]

Do you think we might call it a truce? You're too much— [ in here, and vice versa and it's... a lot. Rey gestures between them, haphazard and less sharp than usual, her focus split and frayed at the edges, caught up in thinking too closely about Kylo Ren's bottomless gaze, of Chewie's mournful cry and accompanying crossbow fire, the sound of Finn's screams muffled through a snowy wood echoing in her ears relentlessly, unable to shake it. And he could very well likely take advantage of the situation, of her weakness now, vulnerable and open to attack and willfully admitting it. ]

( It isn't there yet, but he knows that it will be, a dull headache creeping in around his temples, behind his eyes, a burn on his mind as if he's been staring into the sun for to long, gone too many days without caf. The physical echo of her in his thoughts lingers, and he hears the suggestion of screaming, her name from someone else's - FN2187 - mouth, his own answering call - traitor! - until it becomes difficult to deviate one from the other, him from her, the presumption of her memories and perceptions and his. An impulse stays the course in his nervous system, to reach, to test the warm grit of skin underneath fingertips, but he can't tell whether it's his or hers, just as he sometimes can't tell the difference between her reality and the calm, lush island that she retreats to when she's dreaming.

The beginnings of an ache in his head transmute to the healing pain in his abdomen, where a droid-treated hole in his side is still barely healed. He can feel the exhaustion pooling within her, rippling off of her in waves, and he knows that if he were to exploit it he could overpower her easily, definitely has the compunction and the power to do so - though there is always the risk of her surprising him in that way, again - and could bring her to kneel at the mercy of his master. The problem inherent in that solution is the possibility that she will one day overpower him in a way that leaves him at her mercy, and that, were she to train alongside him under Snoke and best him, it would be the end of Kylo Ren and all that he has worked to achieve. Snoke would demand it, and Rey, so strong and connected with the Force, intertwined enough that she could stand toe-to-toe with him and not back down, would win. )

I believe I was the one who said we were done here, just a moment ago. Call that a truce if you like.

( He keeps his voice detached, made that much easier by the helmet, though he has the distinct impression that, regardless of how hard he tries to seem unaffected by both her presence in general and her presence in his head, she can tell without trying very hard that he's lying. It unnerves him to know that she's always there, enough that he can sense her just existing through billions and billions of stars. Even if he can't pinpoint where she is and only gets snatches of what she's doing or how she's feeling, it's there, ever present at the back of his mind, a boon and a hindrance. If he can see fragments of what she's learning, can suss out fractions of how her power grows with each day under proper but misguided tutelage, there's no telling what she will be able to glean from him once he touches down with the Supreme Leader and begins the painstaking process of completing his own apprenticeship. And though he approaches that horizon with a swollen and heavy sense of pride and satisfaction, it will be done with the knowledge that one of the greatest assets to the Resistance has what seems to be a permanent pass to his thoughts, only growing stronger with each day that passes, with each attempt they make toward each other.

Abruptly, Kylo inclines his head, sensing an incoming transmission from Hux before it's broadcast to him. While he despises the implication behind coming to Hux when called, a nudge not dissimilar to what he senses when Rey is casting about through the Force in an effort to look for him comes rolling in as well. One of the other Knights casting about for him. Time to go. Kylo is a shroud to them at the best of times and a verifiable black hole when he's feeling particularly displaced from them, better than the rest of them despite the way he knows they turn their nose at him following his defeat on Starkiller Base. He cloaks himself now in the same manner, though only long enough to offer Rey an exaggerated, patronizing bow. )

Scavenger.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

i found something in the woods somewhere.

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