apparare | i found something in the woods somewhere.

i found something in the woods somewhere.

open post.
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You're entitled to your opinion. ( He says it with no small amount of disagreement, though the fact that he doesn't see things the same way that she does has little to do with whether or not he means what he says. They mirror each other in a number of ways, so why should this perspective be any different? She had the opportunity to give in, to yield, to take what he was offering her in the snow on Starkiller, and could have buckled and relented under the punishing internal gaze of Snoke as he broke the line of defense surrounding them to call out to her on Corellia, and she hadn't. He might not agree with her perspective, but he can't fault her for it, and he certainly can see why she takes the position that she does. ) Although Skywalker might disagree with you on your approach to the black and white of it.

( Kylo doesn't mean any harm in the statement, and he's conscious enough of his position on Skywalker's teachings in the past and Rey's position as his uncle's apprentice to keep any disdain out of his tone, remaining neutral. It helps that he's experienced a bit of a culture shock over the last year or so, despite the twisted dark of further training under Snoke's hand. )

Do you remember - ( He pauses for a moment to work his lip between his teeth as he goes about the careful business of shifting the wire running the length of his poorly assembled blade. Mud is caked underneath and around, turning red a dull shade of patchy brown in places. He also wants to make sure that Skywalker had not done anything to tamper with its assembly or construction; temperamental as it already is, he can't run the risk of the blade exploding in his hand the next time he ignites it. ) - on Starkiller, when I - ( He grits his teeth and blows sharply into the hilt of the saber, a few flakes of dried mud drifting to the floor, then moves onto the plasma emitters. ) - struck the injury from the Wookiee's bowcaster? ( Kylo expects her not to have forgotten it, given how weird it probably seemed. The surge of power that he had felt as a result of those endorphins, that pain, buzzes like intoxication now. Still, it hadn't been enough. ) Anger and pain are useful in their own right. Sometimes it's worth it not to let it go, if you can manipulate it to serve you better, but there's a difference between manipulating it and using it and letting it manipulate and use you.

( Something metal pops under his attention, and he presses his mouth into a thin line. It's a heavy statement to fill such a small compartment, and he isn't sure whether or not it's a result of what he's learned through training in the last year or through other avenues, fresh, gaping wounds. She is right, in a way: none of it is really so black and white. But he thinks that he has a right to use the word inescapable as much as the next person, for all that pain and suffering and anger and hatred has taught him. They will always be there, waiting and lurking and ready to twist. )

If I ask you something, will you try not to get offended by it?

( Kylo isn't positive what provokes him to ask rather than just barrel right ahead, nor does it really readily occur to him what prompts his curiosity in the first place. Her tone is conversational, however, and after living in and out of one another's head for the better part of twenty-four hours, after what she'd done for him in severing Snoke's direct link to his mind with no guarantee that he would keep his word and not find some way to use it to his immediate advantage, Kylo supposes he owes her that much. He'd taken before and the response hadn't been favorable. He's not interested in history repeating itself now. )

No.

[ Her answer comes blandly, as if spitting the powdery ration bar back at him as soon as it touches her tongue, but Rey's gaze doesn't narrow with any animosity: mere practical honesty colors her face as she counters him. She won't try anything, but she's not going to go out of her way to be offended either.

And besides, he's given her a lot to think about. Not a lot to challenge her views, exactly, but to help her understand him. She studies him with some interest, in fact, as if recalling the memory of what she'd taken for some absurd intimidation tactic born from the Core Planets that she'd never seen before. It wasn't entirely unheard of among animals, as she understood, that kind of balking, but the reptiles that prowled the deserts of Jakku did not often waste resources on posturing. They were a pragmatic bunch. It makes more sense, settles the moment into the rest of her image of Kylo Ren a bit better, as if a puzzle piece were turned and slotted into its proper place.

None of that makes her see it his way; instead, all she sees is one more way in which Kylo gave in to the dichotomous limitations of a world that was overflowing with anger and pain, refused to let it out and instead fed on it to grow stronger, stoked it until it became useful to him and tainted his bond with the Force by touching it with blood-drenched hands. No, it doesn't make Rey agree with him: it makes her feel sorry for him—not that she'd show it or say it. ]

( He cocks an eyebrow at her but doesn't immediately say anything, working the face off one of the emitter shrouds and running his finger the length of the piece, following the bow of the metal and rubbing away any lingering traces of mud that he can find. It's been cleaned, somewhat, he notices, and the coiling realization that it was probably Skywalker who had cleaned it while he had been inspecting the crude assembly settles low in Kylo's abdomen with the sort of slow burning simmer that lends itself to later explosive disasters. He doesn't like that someone else had his hands on what's his, and he likes less that the Jedi was likely taking careful stock and catalog while examining the blade. He likes even less that there was a measure of kindness and good will extended from one party to the other with the decision to clean the majority of his saber, like an olive branch reaching beyond the act of returning Kylo's blade to him at all.

While Rey is on the other side of the room from him, occupying the same space and able to see the careful series of expressions that track across his face if she's paying close enough attention, Kylo doesn't stop to think about it too hard. Instead, he reassembles the emitter shroud and begins the process of checking the other for the same treatment, fairly certain of what he'll find there. As such, it seems like a long time before he follows up his own inquiry with an actual question, and Kylo glances up at her to judge the caliber of her expression before plunging in with both hands and feet. )

Are you angry at your family for leaving you on Jakku?

( He gets the impression that he has no right to ask the question just as she has no right to go stomping around inside his head and look at his doubts and fears, but here they are, and here they continue to be. Space junk orbiting in one another's gravity, caught up in the inertia of their mutual, distant goals and a perverted sense of duty. She's seen some of him and he's seen some of her, and he remembers with perfect clarity the personification of her loneliness not only in her own mind on Starkiller but also in the darkened dome of their own projected consciousnesses, twin moons bathing the desert sands in alternating light. He remembers her imagined realities for them, the inventions that she had drafted for herself in an effort to explain away the abandonment of a four-year-old to a desert graveyard like Jakku. And, of course, the implication of his own involvement in that outcome.

He could be responsible, but Kylo doesn't know for sure and it seems like he might never. As such, he's careful to keep his tone appropriate for the topic at hand, treading carefully, almost lightly, around memories and perceptions that he took without asking to begin with and then experienced without trying to take the second time around. )

[ Anger flares, bright and hot enough for him to feel it, but it's a fleeting burst of energy that fades as quickly as it came, a supernova dying out to an ember: none of it directed at the faceless shapes that occupy her memories, but at Kylo for assuming himself in the position to ask such things. Reminding herself of the mind walk she'd taken with him not so long ago quiets her indignation somewhat, but turnabout is not always fairplay, and it still sticks in her teeth.

Still. She knows precisely the conclusions he would draw from her silence: Kylo Ren is a creature of pain and misery, for he has steeped in it without reprieve for too long. He was taken young enough to be forged in it, and she cannot make him forget it in a day, so she doesn't pretend to try. If she offers him no answer, he will substitute his own, and she does not need to have a direct line to his mind to read the tense grudge he holds against his own family for slights that she cannot understand—slights that she understands less now that she has come up against Snoke even secondhand, for how could any of them have hoped to keep him out?

So instead, she takes the moment to finish chewing the last of the ration bar, recycles the packaging in a vacuumed receptacle in the side of a pantry cabinet, and gets to her feet. ]

Of course not. [ She shakes her head, a burn in the back of her throat dying for a way to express how layers of sentiment complicate the feeling beyond mere anger. ] If you mean to ask if it hurts, of course it does. [ Which rebuffs him somewhat, as if scolding him for poking his finger through an open wound and wiggling it around until she squirmed. ] But I'm not angry. I don't know them enough, don't understand enough about why they did it, to feel angry.

[ The persistent image of her mind of a shuttle blasting off Jakku, Unkar Plutt's thick, slimy fingers wrapped around her pole-thin arm, sticks in her mind and nags her, a lapsed transmission that can do nothing but repeat. No matter how often she cycles it, it won't expand, and she can't retrieve any of the corrupted data. It's just gone, with the faces of the parents she lost—or who lost her, however deliberately. ]

They're out there somewhere. Maybe one day, I'll meet them and decide if I should be.

( The small burst of anger that he receives is not unexpected, not unwarranted or unwelcome, but it still stings like the bright shock of a slap across his face. He misinterprets the intended direction of it until the lash at the end of its crack scores for him and does not internalize toward faceless, nameless shadows in her past, no physical manifestations to retaliate against. Kylo presses his mouth into a thin line but doesn't reciprocate in any way, content to let her feel the way she feels and take comfort in it if that's the course her anger runs itself. In some small way, though it might be misguided, he feels justified in her response if not in her reply.

That reply doesn't come with the immediacy that he would necessarily like, but it's unlikely that he would answer with any level of expediency were Rey to ask him the same question. He hasn't, in the past. In fact his retaliation has been physical and external. So he waits out the quieting of the storm that broils like a pressure cooker for a moment and then dies within her as she stands, just as he pops the last bit of metal casing for the emitter shroud back into place with some satisfaction and some dissatisfaction.

Skywalker.

His only response is a gruff noise in the back of his throat, half and hum and half a scrape of acknowledgement. Maybe he is looking for the same sentiments in her that he feels within himself, but they're non-existent every time he goes digging. Kylo can't be certain whether or not what he feels is disappointment or just further isolation. Or maybe some degree of envy where her resilience in the face of this kind of adversity is concerned. He'd always used his resentment and the dejection associated with his family as a crutch to help him rise to the top, and Rey stands on similar ground with no such animosity. Conditions of circumstance, he tells himself, while the idea that Supreme Leader Snoke would probably be able to take one look inside the girl's head and figure out who she is and where she comes from and who she belongs to without batting so much as an eye.

A piece of casing on his saber's hilt cracks quite suddenly and breaks in two, a section breaking off and falling to the floor. He swears under his breath and sets the blade aside. )

I wasn't asking to be intentionally cruel. ( Kylo says it with the air of someone who could very easily be intentionally cruel about it if he wanted to, and he could. They both know that. ) You're infinitely more likely to run into them now that you're actually off Jakku. ( He stands, boots thunking against the floor, knees and back popping helpfully, and calls his saber to his side to hang it once again from his waist. ) In my experience your family always has a way of catching up with you whether you want them to or not.

[ The crack of his saber draws her attention, but it's turned away before she can assess the source of the sound, leaving Rey with a suspicious and narrow gaze roaming the space Kylo Ren occupies on his father's ship—for it would be Han's ship no matter whose hands it fell into, no matter where Han was, molecules turning to fuel burning up in the sun that became of Starkiller Base. Her hands unclench at her sides when he starts to speak again, the muffled curse forgotten as she realigns her attention.

He seems bitter, but she can't imagine that he is. So much of what he holds in resentment for Leia and Luke seems, to Rey, rooted in his inability to forgive them for their failings, for letting him become what he is, and she cannot reconcile that with dissatisfaction that they and Han had scoured the galaxy for him and sent barrage after barrage to bring him home, even occasionally at great cost to the Resistance. For him, it's not as simple as anger either, and she settles her beliefs on that, whether he'll admit to them or not.

At full height, he dwarfs her, and she finds herself wishing she'd never stood, for now she only stands at a loss for where to go. The cramped quarters of the Falcon don't afford her the luxury of leaving this conversation. ]

I wish they would. [ Said sadly, but she grows more despondent after the words are out of her mouth, staring just past him as if she expects the ghost of Han Solo to appear in the doorway at any moment. He doesn't, of course. But she does seem to see further into herself, some, for she continues then. ] Sometimes, I want to be angry with them. I believed for so long that they were coming back for me, but they didn't force me to believe that. No one did. I did it to myself. Being angry with ghosts won't undo any of it. That's how I calm myself, and keep it from being anything that I need to control or that could control me.

( Kylo isn't immediately sure whether or not her words serve a dual purpose, whether she's speaking to the gaping wound in his own flank where family is concerned or just imparting something personal with no intent to find a mark. He recognizes that he isn't actually the center of the galaxy and that not everything revolves around him and his ongoing drama with his family, but it's hard not to draw comparisons. He'd told her once before that they were two halves of the same coin, and the more Kylo learns the more he believes that to be a platitude that was true in every way that he'd meant it.

In that way, he doesn't feel remorse for what he'd done to Han Solo - a complicated weaving of sentiment that he still has not had time or opportunity to consider - but he can understand the despair that it had caused her and why, even if he doesn't agree with her choice in father figures. She's right though: being angry with ghosts doesn't change what's happened. Although he can say that he isn't angry with Han Solo's memory as much as he is distressed by it, by what it means, by what it brings forth in him when there should be a black, swirling void of absolute power rather than the churning nausea of sick guilt and sadness. )

Why wouldn't you believe they were coming back for you? ( His voice is quiet in the main hold, easily swallowed up by the hum and buzz and creaking and groaning of the bulk of the ship around them, but Kylo knows that she can hear him. It's a rhetorical question, and revealing in its own right, though given their inability to see eye-to-eye on the state of his parentage, he doesn't expect her to sympathize outright, even if she elsewhere. ) You were a child. Children always think that their parents will come back and save them, regardless of whether or not it inspires anger that fades or anger that lingers.

( If Rey feels cramped and trapped in the main hold, Kylo feels it just as much, having wandered down an avenue of conversation that has only a dead end should they choose to keep walking it. He crosses his arms and inclines his head toward the old board nestled into the corner of the hold. )

Do you know how to play Dejarik?

[ If she weren't already so keenly aware of it, Kylo's comments would have made it impossible to ignore the bantha on the ship that is his relationship with his family. Every word out of his mouth drips with the way he personally identifies and projects his own experiences onto hers in how he understands them, and though she doesn't begrudge it, she is much more able—particularly at a moment like this—than he is to separate herself from him and how he has lived.

So she isn't ruffled by his quiet insistence and the way it strives to grant her permission to be angry, to hate them, to want to lash out and bear the exhausting grudge of fifteen years of abandonment. But it is a burden that she refuses to carry, that grudge, and Kylo's mere being reminds her all too well how heavy it would be, how it has broken his back and worn down his joints over the years. ]

Not well. I'm usually at the helm, not back here to play. [ She glances over at it, considering the board. She hadn't even turned it on since Finn had done so accidentally when Han first picked them up in his tractor beam: there were so many parts of the ship, still, that didn't feel like hers, and she hardly wanted to go nosing through a dead man's things. Sooner or later, she'd have to accept the inevitability of making herself at home there. ]

( With his arms crossed as they are, he's aware of the misshapen sag of a folded crane that his body collapses into possibly better than the person who had once told him to his face was aware. His chest is broad and his arms are long and his shoulders strain against a majority of the tunics and flightsuits that he has been given in his life, and this is no exception. He feels tall and awkward and uncomfortable in the cramped confines of the ship, nowhere to go and nothing to break, a wave of restless energy that can't crash against anything now that the subject of anger and their respective - and intertwined, given Rey's inheritance of the Falcon - families has been dismissed.

In a way, Kylo is glad for it, knowing that the gravity attached to the topic would likely lead to the partial dismantling of the ship as it tears its way through space, hurtling toward Hapes, and that would bode well for none of them. He makes the executive decision to let old dogs lie for as long as they're in danger of becoming space junk and resolutely does not stop to spare time or consideration for what likely pursues them, the image of the Knights that he had projected into Rey's thoughts for her partial benefit still beating a bright fire in the back of his own mind.

So. Games. )

If you're interested in learning, it's not that challenging of a game. ( The way he looks at it, it might be somewhat therapeutic to watch their individual pieces kill one another. ) Unless you're more interested in letting me thoroughly embarrass you at sabacc. ( His shoulder raises in the slightest approximation of a shrug, easily mistaken for a shift in his body weight from one foot to the other. ) There's little else to do when the ship isn't actively trying to defy you by breaking apart in the middle of hyperspace.

( When you're not actively trying to destroy one another in some way, after months and months of believing in its purpose. )

[ Somehow, the image of Kylo Ren gambling aboard the Finalizer with the stormtroopers is not one that Rey can summon, though she tries as she lowers herself into a seat at the dejarik table after some consideration of his offer. The attempt only furrows her brow, leading her to look him over with impregnable scrutiny until she can only shake her head. No, it simply won't fit.

The only reasonable explanation for his confidence dawns on her a moment later in the form of his father, and Rey feels her chest clench as her fingers dust across the table to reach for the switch and light it up, realizing that Ben Solo must have learned a long time ago at this very table. ]

You should give this ship more credit. For all it looks like a junker, it's held its own against your fleet plenty of times. [ She still calls it his fleet, the First Order, but only by reflex, and it's just as much reflex that she rallies to the defense of the Falcon rather than confirm her interest in playing with anything more than her physical presence at the table. Holograms of creatures she hardly recognizes roar to life on the table with jerky, uneven movements that speak to the table's disrepair, but it's enough for Rey to assess it with interest all the same.

She's never own anything that wasn't in disrepair. ]

( Kylo accepts the designation of the First Order fleet as his fleet without bristle or the need for correction, whether out of habitual association or something else entirely, something else that smacks of uncertainty even if his future association with that branch of power and authority in the galaxy is all but snuffed out. Hux would argue the semantics involved in her overarching nomenclature, and if there is anything that he is glad to be rid of in casting off the heavy, dark cloak of First Order bureaucracy, it's his affiliation with that redheaded ass, without question, however superficial the intent behind saying as much would be.

In a way, though, Kylo still associates himself with the inner mechanics and workings of First Order politics, the situation at hand too new and too fresh and too murky to be considered a true divorce of principles and loyalties. Settling on the uncomfortable sofa as far away from Rey as possible without actively balancing on and off the edge, he's aware of the strange dichotomy at work in suggesting games that his father taught him, on his father's ship, with his father's protegee, when he's still so embroiled, in his own head, in the state of the Order. When he killed the man in question himself. )

I'm not going to make excuses for the skill and talents of the TIE pilots that neglected to stop two - ( He's careful with his word choice, pausing briefly under the pretense of running fingers over his side of the game board as if refamiliarizing himself with the controls. ) - people and a droid from escaping from a wasteland like Jakku. ( The memory of his anger, of Mitaka's neck slapping like raw meat into his outstretched hand, rises easily to the surface. He acquiesces, somewhat. ) It's a fast ship. It always has been. In capable hands it's able to do unbelievable things despite its age and constant state of disrepair, when there's a pilot worth their salt at the helm.

( Those feel like lines recycled and edited with heavy corrections that don't tend as much toward blatant favoritism and preening, and he can almost hear Solo's voice in his own words as they come steamrolling out of his mouth, distracting himself from the fact that he's more or less just paid Rey a compliment without actively meaning to. Fortunately, the board is alight, caught in the projection of a previous game that was stopped midway through. Kylo stares at it a moment, watching the projections move jerkily and blink in and out of partial existence, losing arms or legs or tentacles or whole heads in the ghhhk's case.

Underneath the table, he jams his knee into the underside and all the holographs flicker out of life and then burst back into perfect detail. )

[ She opts not to deeply consider the implications intrinsic in Kylo's awareness of precisely how to jimmy the table into full functionality, the familiarity he demonstrates with this particular dejarik table's functionality. It would mean reflecting on the father that he killed, and she does not want to think of it when she is trying to save the son's by pulling him out from behind the nightmarish castle walls he has built around himself with his own choices. Rey is not sturdy enough in her current state to fact that train of thought, so she evades it entirely.

In doing so, she runs straight into the necessary acknowledgment that a compliment then lies in his words, for if she won't pay mind to his actions and analyzing them, she must at least answer those. It startles her a little, for although she had to acknowledge there was some praise implicit in offering to teach her in the first place, in exploring this tenuous link between them, in accepting her help to sever his bond with Snoke, she had certainly never expected him to state it outright. Particularly when he'd levied half-hearted, shell-shocked criticism at her after the flight pattern she'd followed through the field of asteroids near Roche. ]

And a good pilot knows how to repair it once they drop out of hyperspace, no matter how it shakes apart. We'll see it good as ... well, good as it was before we took off at least. [ She lays her palms on the table and, in doing so, seems to set the subject of the Falcon's state aside—to their mutual benefit. ] So, how does it work?

( More than content to drift away from subjects and lines of conversation that orbit the topic of his pedigree, Kylo spreads his fingers over the curves of his knees and leans forward so that his shoulders crowd the Dejarik board. Of course, explaining the nature of the game to her at all is, in and of itself, a callback to the person and past he has dutifully distanced himself from, buried under sand and dirt, but it's objective enough to serve a function in passing the time until they reach Hapes, at which point they will have a new world of problems to deal with, no doubt.

It's probably the most that he's said to her in one stretch of time, but Kylo explains the rules to her at face value, indicating her characters on the board and their individual strengths and weaknesses, naming them all with immaculate pronunciation and striking the side of the table once more - with a heavy kick from the toe of his boot as opposed to smashing the bottom of the thing with his knee - when her savrip wanders too close to his molatator in the interest of chewing on one of its haunches. Once he jolts the pieces back into their proper places, the savrip resumes swinging its arms and adjusting its vest. )

They become bored if you take too long to either begin the game or take a turn. ( He explains, with a detached sort of displeasure in his tone, before laying out the moves that each player can make during their designated turn, how the creatures are chosen, and eventually arrives at the inevitable conclusion. ) You want to destroy all of your opponent's pieces before they have the chance to destroy yours. It's very similar to holochess, just more violent and possessing the ability to reach a much broader audience as a result. ( He leans back into the stiff angles of the sofa, once again resetting their pieces where they have drifted in idle discontent. The savrip seems to drag its feet as it trudges back to its spot on the board. Kylo quirks an eyebrow. ) Has Chewbacca coerced you into a game?

I didn't know he played.

[ The statement comes out reflectively sad. Truth be told, there's not much that Rey knows of her co-pilot other than the fact that his coarse exterior is precisely that: the loss of Han came too soon into their relationship, and it was Leia who Chewie had sought for comfort in the wake of it.

The wookiee made his share of sarcastic complaints or rallying cries, but discussion of his late best friend mostly provoked unintelligible but indubitably dismissive warbling and stern mechanical work: he kept the loss with him and suffered it daily, wounds reopened by the haunted halls of the Falcon itself, which he could not abandon. It did not keep him from being kind to her, but to a degree, it was a distant sort of kindness, that welcomed her into Han's space only at a pace comfortable for Chewbacca, and Rey was happy to permit him that. He deserved it, to be certain, and she had been stunned and flattered that he had even considered her an eligible pilot to take Solo's place.

She wishes she could have known what he was like when Ben Solo knew him, but that was a lifetime ago—her entire lifetime ago, as it happens—and something about that timeline sticks in her mind like scrap metal in gears, stopping it up just long enough for her to find it significant, but frail enough to be crunched up and moved on from before too long. Nothing, she was sure, but her reading into coincidences. ]

Try not to be offended that I'm saying so, but I'm surprised you enjoy the game. [ She looks up at him from the moving beasts, a slight smirk lilting into her voice and twisting the corners of her mouth as she turns his phrasing back on him, though there's truth to the statement beyond the opportunity to take a jab at him. There had always been something graceful and refined in the cold, intimidating lines that carried Kylo Ren across a battlefield, even as he hacked in desperate fury across the snowy forest of Starkiller Base. Unhinged, and he still carried weight. By comparison, dejarik seemed a bar game. She could not picture him in the thick of Maz's castle, placing bets and leering. ] It's rough around the edges.

( Kylo snorts, and for once it isn't lacking in actual humor, though the color of it barely reaches his eyes as if it's as out of practice as the rest of his attempts at being anything other than disagreeable and hostile. Maybe because he recognizes that turnabout is fair play. Maybe because of her implied attitude toward his overall style - especially when Kylo himself is critical and aware of his unpolished edges, his distinct lack of finesse and innate skill lacking when it comes to something as crucial as, say, saber combat - offers the undeniable possibility of a good ego stroke. Maybe still just because he thinks it's funny. Whatever the reason, he doesn't take offense, though he does take the opportunity to correct her. )

I prefer chess.

( His father had not preferred chess, enjoying the carnage of dejarik over the perceived boredom of moving black and white pieces across a black and white board, but Kylo had always seen a remarkable amount of symmetry in the latter and had understood its value as something beyond him, where the violence of dejarik hadn't interested him even as a child who would later go on to take pleasure in wanton destruction and horrific brutality. Leia had played with him once he was old enough to be a worthwhile opponent, on the occasions she had time to indulge the both of them in that way, though not long after she had sent him away. He and Hux had tried to play once. The board had ended up embedded in the far wall and several of the pieces had crumbled by the time they were each seven moves in. )

It's more challenging, the games can be much more drawn out, involved, and there's more strategy required, somewhat. Not to say that dejarik doesn't have its methods and tactics for winning, but - ( He glances up at her across the board, and there's a ghost of something that looks like a grin hanging around his eyes if not his mouth. Some things, at least, change with time, if his apparent interest in the game is anything to go by. ) - as you said, rough around the edges. I assume that's why your co-pilot is so good at it. ( He presses a button on his side and its twin ignites on Rey's end of the table. Kylo gestures at her to press it in the interest of getting the game under way, although the decision as to who will move first is still to be made. ) I learned at a young age. I'm sure you can imagine how without my getting into the details.

( He wonders how long they'll dance around the topic, how long until the deep well within him opens up to something deeper and darker, until they're standing at the edge of another chasm, screaming into the hurricane between them. )

Would you like to go first?

You're only doing this so you can beat me in a fight.

[ There's a little grousing as she moves a piece—the Monnok, purple and lanky—forward on the board to approach his squad of monstrous holograms. Her nose crinkles at the way it lumbers across the checkerboard, its limbs swinging in an evidently programmed pattern that spoke to the Falcon's age more than the game itself. She knows better than to delay the game with any further pressing for details about Kylo's education on the game nor his familiarity with the Falcon's table.

Though she does lift her head to consider him, and the lopsided smirk that he wears, faintly reminiscent of the father he'd shedded, once her piece has moved. Rey props her elbows on the table, only appearing graceful in the movement because it's reserved and pointed in the way it takes up space, dominating the alcove where the table sits. ]

He hasn't played it practically since we met. Once with Finn, I think. [ And it makes her worry, if that wookiee is no longer taking joy in a game that he once held so dear, how he must be handling it now that Kylo Ren is on the Falcon—how much worse he'd take it if he walked out to see Han's killer playing at that same board. It sticks like a lump in her throat, keenly aware of what a betrayal her co-pilot perceives in her current project. ]

( He makes a noise of acknowledgement directed toward her initial comment but doesn't technically respond to it, letting her interpret what she will. Nothing he could say would be any evidence to the contrary, besides, and he has moves to make in his own right, nudging one of his rear creatures a couple of spaces to the left as he strikes out during his own turn. It's too earlier for tactical advantage or aggressive maneuvers, at least until he sees what angle Rey plays and what her overall strategy might be, and his overall intent is to demonstrate rather than decimate.

Her turn again, he leans back into the concave fold of the sofa and drops his hands in his lap. )

I'm sure that he would if you asked him.

( Maybe. It's a large assumption of character to make about someone he doesn't even know anymore. Rey has better insight into her co-pilots whims and desires than Kylo ever will, and more even than that, she cares enough to wonder, to worry. He exists in the metal cage of their current predicament as a passenger, acutely aware of the topic of discussion that awaits him should he choose to engage in whatever way, while they hurtle through hyperspace or after they've landed on Hapes. It's been months and still the prospect seems too ragged, the responsibility and guilt in his actions too bright and eclipsing to do anyone any favors. The particulars of that line of thinking draw him into himself, turning him quiet as they game progresses and unfolds in a series of moves and glitching animations. At one point, Kylo's Houjix takes one step forward and then disappears completely out of view. When it emerges, it's on Rey's side of the board, occupying the same square as one of her own pieces. )

This is ridiculous.

[ His reply seems to attenuate any efforts to prod at Kylo's more learned assessment of Chewie's state in the wake of what Kylo himself had done, and Rey is more than happy to take the hint and let it fall away there with nothing more than a noncommittal noise of thought to indicate that she has heard his suggestion. ] Perhaps.

[ On the contrary, she takes an aggressive stance in the game as the turns move onward, attempting to corner him in the same predatory fashion that she had risen against him on Starkiller once she'd accepted the guidance of the Force to supplement her own abilities. She fails to fork him effectively, and before any pieces can be properly shattered, one of the holograms flashes into another on Kylo's turn and Rey's expression twists and screws up in confusion.

Luckily, Kylo voices the same, though in him, it presents more as frustration. ]

It's not supposed to do that, then, I gather.

[ Despite the inquiry itself, she sounds unruffled by that outcome; given that the dejarik table finds its home aboard the Falcon, it comes as no surprise that it would be just as unreliable as some of the ship's more important systems—the hyperdrive, for instance, which has before sputtered in and out on her in a way that some might call dangerous (she likes to think, though, that Han Solo would simply call it an inconvenience). ]

Maybe we should open the panel and tune it up. It can't be that hard to— [ An unintelligible wookiee yell calls her to the cockpit, interrupting any comment she had aimed to make. Rey finds herself disappointed by the interruption in a way that startles her, but she spares herself the examination by standing and excusing herself from Kylo Ren's company with a brief dismissal. ] That'll mean we're close to Hapes.

Not exactly.

( He agrees without looking up from the board, trying to determine how he's supposed to get the piece to its designated square - a clutch and well-strategized move by his own account, despite the aggressive corners that Rey keeps beating him back into; she's a quick learner and it's a pleasant surprise, although he can't rightfully say that he's surprised by it - when she poses the suggestion of opening the console up and attacking the problem from the roots up.

It strikes him as a very practical but Rey-like thing to suggest, which leaves him wondering when he was able to classify some of her more less threatening or overarchingly aggressive characteristics into things that are intrinsically her, such as the way that she thinks about and approaches food or the pure, unchecked and real interest she has in opening things up and seeing what's inside. He wonders what else he might be able to shunt into categories, little things that he's picked up on without realizing, and subsequently wonders if she might be able to do the same of him, now that they exist so raggedly in one another's head, but before Kylo has the time to give the notion any real merit, Rey is standing and excusing herself, and not long after, he hears the telltale signals all around him about the ship's approach toward the intended target.

He says nothing to her as she leaves but does find himself standing, alone again in this beast of a ship, growling and groaning all around him. It gives him too much time to see his father in every corner, and in the interest of not searching for ghosts, Kylo settles back with his long legs folded awkwardly on the floor and slips his gloves back on to pry open the main panel of the dejarik board. He has no real conception of what he's doing, but he'd seen Solo and the wookiee pry open the center piece on this thing plenty of times as a child, had hung upside down and watched from different angles as the both of them shocked themselves in an effort to make the pieces do what they were supposed to. It can't be more complicated than reconnecting wires or patching frays in the circuitry, so Kylo buries his face and arms yet again in another collection of old wires and the threat of bright sparks.

It's better than the cockpit, at least. )

[ After helping the wookiee in the cockpit bring the ship out of hyperspace, Rey sits comfortably in the cockpit to guide it towards the central planet of the Hapes cluster. As she steadies it down, she's relieved to find several Resistance-identifying ships in the airspace popping up on her radar, and she eases the ship that much more comfortably down through the atmosphere for that presence.

The approach is steady, gliding amongst a flurry of ships that occupy the Hapes atmosphere, shimmering nebulae flickering above them, six of the seven moons visible in the night time sky that greets them once they're within the warm embrace of the Hapes atmosphere. The light keeps the planet from being properly dark, though there is enough light for the neat capital city to cast shadows long down the sides of the lush forest that surrounds it. Contrary to Coruscant and other city-planets, Hapes sports cities that coexist with the mountains and forest, tucked in small groupings in unobtrusive stretches that were once empty fields, occupying only spaces where their life is welcome, never conquering others.

Royal shuttles guided them into the Queen Mother's palace, where stretching hangars greeted them as diplomats, and Rey eased the old ship downward to join among gleaming, circular warships—battle dragons equipped with rotating guns and turbolasers. The kind of weapons the Resistance could use to stand a chance against the Star Destroyers of the First Order. Only once they're safely docked does she stand, extending the ramp, and go to track Kylo Ren down. It's nice, for a change, to make it down to a planet without having to dodge death along the way, and as a result, Rey seems to have a bit of life about her, though it's weary and swaying on her feet. ]

We've arrived. I hope you know something about Hapans because I'll need to know the best way to ask for real food and a comfortable bed. Hopefully your mother has paved the way for us. [ She doesn't wait for him, heading straight for the cargo ramp to wait for it as it opens. ]

( Around him, the ship lurches, docking onto the planet with the graceful touchdown of a ronto dropping into a pond. He hears the ship creak and groan and slow to a stop long before Rey comes looking for him again, giving him time to close up the panel on the game board and wipe his hands on his pants, streaked again with grease, fingernails dirtier than he would prefer. It isn't fixed, not by a long shot, and there is a tangle of wiring set aside for future examination, but it's a project for another time and another day, when the rest of the ship isn't in a more alarming state and he doesn't have the saturated paranoia of someone who has the impression that he's about to be ambushed.

It could be just that - paranoia - or it could be something else - an intuition that he shouldn't ignore despite the fact that he knows logically the other Knights should not yet be in hot pursuit. Hapes not exactly being sympathetic to the First Order doesn't help the elevated sense of vigilance that he has now that they have arrived, though Kylo wonders how much that has to do with being faced with the prospect of a whole new gaggle of people - a matriarchal society at that - being able to stare at him without the benefit of wearing a mask to conceal his face. Not that any of them would know him from any other face in the crowd, but the thought of being unable to shut himself away as he has been able to do for so long leaves him uncomfortable.

Nothing to be done about it, though, and it's probably a good thing not to have a mask that so starkly resembles the person he has become and the ideals he has followed for so long, the Order that he serves. Plain-faced Ben Solo, however dead or alive or here or gone he might be, is a much less alarming and attention-grabbing face than the sleek, imposing durasteel and black meal of Kylo Ren's helmet. He does retrieve the tunic that he had been wearing over his flightsuit once Rey fetches him from the main hold, tucking his saber into his waistband and pulling the fabric down over so that it conceals the dull shine of his blade. )

You'll want to do most of the talking. ( He says this mostly to Rey's retreating back, following her through the hallway and toward the ramp. ) The society is matriarchal. They'll look to you before they'll look to me for an explanation, of anything. ( Despite his domineering nature as a general rule, Kylo doesn't sound put out about this. If anything, he's mindful and aware while trying to be helpful in such a rushed and brief explanation. Having been raised by and born into a family history and tradition of powerful and terrifying women leaves a lasting impression despite decades spent disassociated from it. ) If your general has done you any favors, she will have contacted someone to discuss the conditions of your arrival, make it a little easier for you to get what you need. Or she will eventually, depending on the state of Corellia. Rey -

( He grabs her arm before she can descend any further down the cargo ramp, ready for the biting whirl of her or a jerk out of his grip with tight fingers around his bicep and his feet planted firmly on the decline. Kylo taps his finger against the lightsaber at her hip. )

Hide it. Perspectives on Jedi might have changed in this sector in recent years - ( Given their near-extinction at his own hands, but Kylo spares little thought for the past, the hardening of his expression, his eyes, the only indication of acknowledgement to the fact. He's in no mood to argue about it. ) - but the Hapans have never been particularly fond of them. Don't give anyone an excuse to cause trouble.

[ He reaches for her, and Rey raises her arm like she's ready to smack him away with all the force of a lioness until she realizes it's a harmless gesture. Piecemeal, her hackles come down, and she unclips the saber from her hip to tuck it away in the hanging pouch of her belt, resigned with some reluctance to take his advice on the matter. It seems a good way to disarm her and fight his way out onto one of the battle dragons, but she realizes that she doesn't see his saber on him anywhere either, at least not visibly, and that eases her somewhat.

They stride down the ramp abreast, naked and vulnerable, and the Hapans greet them in Basic—the best stroke of luck that Rey can say she's had all day. By their report, several Resistance ships have already come into the port, and the hangar attendants and diplomats that greet them all give the same mysterious impression that left Rey unclear as to whether they'd be happier to see the Resistance ships leaves than they'd been to see them come. ]

My name is Rey; we're with the Resistance. We need to make repairs to our heating systems and the shields. General Organa should join us shortly to speak to your ruler about our temporary asylum here. In the meantime, I'd be happy to explain the situation to her. [ The assumption of a female leader comes with a tentative glance back towards Kylo, seeking affirmation that his matriarchal depiction of the society had every appropriate result. The Jedi had once been diplomats, but Kylo and Rey seemed a poor entourage to establish the Resistance's place among the Hapans if they indeed loathed the Jedi as Kylo claimed.

The Hapans, Rey notices, are the diametric opposite of the scavengers that peppered the surface of Jakku; they work in total concert, and nothing in them grits or strains. Despite the unexpected arrivals, they carry themselves with grace, and turn to guide Rey and her attendants, Chewie joining them at the base of the ramp, around the palace in Ta'a Chume'Dan. Behind the guides that assure them that they'll see to it that the Queen-Mother (Rey commits the title to memory) is aware of their arrival, Rey leans over to whisper an assessment to Kylo Ren that needed no reply— ]

They're all so beautiful. [ For indeed, the Hapan people are as glittering as the lively planet they inhabited, but they all wear the same inscrutable expressions that belie uneasy mistrust. Too starstruck to think deeply on it, Rey merely accepts them as a people who are fortunate enough to enjoy the peace brought implicitly with the planet's prosperity, and she carries that presumption with her into the guest quarters of the palace. She cannot bring herself to blame them for the streak of paranoia that she reads into the eyes that track them, for it's too easy to presume that the Resistance's arrival here threatens their planet with the attention of the First Order. ]

( The surge of Basic that greets his ears when they step off the Falcon is the first real stroke of good luck he's willing to admit that they've had. Their escape from the First Order, in that manner, doesn't count, considering the risk it had involved and the fact that they had - Rey had - escaped mostly by the skin of their teeth, some skill, and good timing. Had they strolled off the ship and into a world populated by people unwilling to speak anything other than their native language, their time on Hapes would have been unpleasant to say the least.

Kylo, for his part, keeps quiet unless directly addressed, offering a nod here or a shake of his head there when Rey looks at him for clarification or affirmation. He lingers mostly behind her, defaulting to her elevated status on the planet and not rushing to challenge the status quo in the interest of not causing further trouble for their ragtag trio of wayward, barely united souls, and falls into step next to Chewbacca, who joins them belatedly although not unexpectedly at the foot of the ramp, forcing Kylo to keep several paces worth of distance between himself and the wookiee for the sake of expedient propriety. At one point he has to sidestep a tall, breathtaking woman as she shoulders through the crowd, and he steps close enough to brush Chewbacca's arm, the both of them looking at one another before they break eye contact at the same time.

The city itself is remarkable, and it lives up to the expectation that he's had of it since he was a child. Ben had been told stories by both his mother and his father, though one had seemed more practical and politically minded, a soft fondness with gentle ribbing, where the other had boasted of adventure and the vocal equivalent of collected stardust, glittering and invincible, elevating the lead male in the fabrication to the role of hero, good guy but not too good. Kylo Ren sees none of that mysticism imparted here and now, viewing everything through an adult's washed out frame of vision, but he supposes that he can see where inspiration lies despite approaching the city and its inhabitants with the analytical mind of a general, rather than a tourist.

The battle dragons are impressive, and he can conceptualize how they might have aided the First Order had negotiations gone in a different direction, but it's an old line of thinking to fall back on and it exists without any real intent or Resistance-themed malice. Mobile landing pads boast ships - some of them Resistance affiliated, he can see - and still have ample room for more, as if beckoning the spaces to be filled: a sharp contrast with the Consortium's stance on outsiders in the past, to be sure. The city itself, he knows, isn't huge, but it seems insurmountable from the ground, and while the population and general distribution of bodies is nothing compared to Coruscant, which he tends to automatically compare everything in the galaxy to in terms of sprawling size, it seems large as they pick their way through it, some of the glances thrown his way undoubtedly sour on certain faces.

Faces which, Kylo must agree with Rey, are quite beautiful. He has never personally been concerned with his own appearance - from basically birth he's known that his nose is large even for his face and has learned to hide his ears underneath the dark brush of his hair, never mind the collection of freckles and moles that map galaxies across his skin from forehead to thigh - but Hapans are, almost obsessively, and anything else that might demonstrate beauty. His large nose and, more than anything, the garish, red to pink to white slash of an imperfection across his face makes him stand out like a sore thumb. Unease prickles along the back of his neck at the attention, prickling across his connection with Rey as a result, but he ignores it. )

Selective breeding, mostly. ( He answers her once he has the opportunity, bending down momentarily to speak low directly into her ear, unaware of how close he's managed to get to her in his interest of maintaining space between himself and her co-pilot. Kylo straightens up and catches the eye of a female palace guard, who watches him, all of them, with extreme unease, her hand tight on her blaster and the remarkable angles of her face watching them until they pass through a door, out of sight. He takes the opportunity to whisper to Rey again. ) Don't take the paranoia personally. Hapans are mistrustful of nearly everyone that isn't one of their own.

( Behind him, Chewbacca grumbles, and Kylo straightens back up. )

[ The closeness and fullness of his voice does not startle her, for she's had it bobbing around in her mind more times than she can count already, and as such, the whisper only feels appropriate: the heat of his breath on her neck is another story, prickling her skin in a way that causes her to glance back with implicit discouragement in the uneasy look she fixes on him, but Chewbacca beats her to the punch and Kylo Ren makes space between them—some, at least. Rey shrugs the tension out of her shoulders.

The palace interior is grand without being gaudy; tall arches sculpted from some kind of mineral that glimmers like their rainbow gems make up the corridors, which are mostly empty. She'd never made the conversion to Hapes from Galactic Standard, but she imagines that it must be very late despite the glow that emanates through the wide open windows. Light of any sort seems unnecessary here, for even at night, the whole city thrums with energy.

The guides bring them into a room capped with a dome of glass that branches off in many directions, turning to welcome them to Hapes with pleasantness that, in the wake of Kylo's explanation, feels deceptive and unfeeling rather than genuine. By their explanation, the lot of them are to remain here with the rest of the Resistance forces to pass the night until a hearing can be arranged with the Queen-Mother. Rey keeps herself from looking too relieved until they are alone. ]

Send a transmission to the General. [ She turns to instruct Chewie on that. ] Make sure she knows we're here. I don't plan to stay long enough to meet the Queen-Mother unless I absolutely have to. [ The fatigue catches her in its completeness and she takes one look around the myriad hallways to rooms and beds that welcome them before getting overwhelmed by all of it. She draws a breath from deep in her chest to straighten her back and charge down one of them. ] And don't wake me up unless someone's dead.

( Rey disappears, leaving him standing next to Chewbacca like two friends who have just been left alone while their mutual, connecting link goes to the 'fresher. It's awkward and uncomfortable, especially given the presence of a few other Resistance personnel that drift in and out of the centralized area and cast bewildered glances in his direction, as if unsure as to whether or not they actually know who he is and are in a free falling tailspin to place his face and position next to a wookiee who is universally liked if not kept at arm's length due to his strength and intimidating height alone. Kylo recognizes the futility in the effort and turns away in the interest of heading elsewhere - though where else is anyone's guess, given their limited access to the palace and the planet - and comes up short in the wake of the small, hairy mountain that is Chewbacca.

Long seconds pass, and though the distance between them would be enough for a normal sized person to lie down between them and stretch arms and legs out luxuriously, Kylo feels the space compressed down to the length of a needle, caught in his own gravitational tailspin toward a conversation that he isn't altogether prepared to have. He opens his mouth, and Chewbacca closes his, only to open it again and growl something at him, quiet in the relative silence of their quarters and quiet for Chewbacca. Kylo, who has known Shyriiwook basically since birth, doesn't stutter in the translation. Did it scar? Chewbacca asks, and the both of them know easily without Kylo having to ask for clarification what his former guardian - this impossibly tall, fuzzy, mountain of a person that he had climbed on as a child - is talking about.

His hand goes automatically to his side where the bowcaster bolt had torn a huge chunk in his flank, leaving a starburst scar even after medical treatment. Yes, Kylo answers, and Chewbacca immediately replies, Good in a low warble that sounds angry and sad and disappointed and hollow and glad all at once. Silence returns, and Kylo finds that he is distinctly lacking in things to say despite knowing innately that he should come up with something. Remorse doesn't come, and it isn't because he doesn't regret the decisions that he's made - it's still too complex a web to assign real vocabulary to, and he knows that words will never be enough to undo what he's done - but because he knows that no explanation or action will forge a bridge when the ground on either side is still too unsteady to support the weight.

Dark eyes track the path that Rey had taken in her haste to pass out and regain some of the alertness she had lost in her state of constant vigilance and distinct lack of sleep, but by contrast Kylo feels wide awake and wired. He's unwilling to power down when the First Order could be close behind, when the Knights of Ren could be even closer. So in the interest of not losing himself to the task of distraction by way of unconsciousness, he makes a peace offering before Chewbacca has the chance to follow Rey's suggestion of contacting Organa, halting the wookiee's retreating form with a sharp Wait. When Chewbacca turns to look at him, striding the length of the hall that the taller figure has already crossed, Kylo offers: I can help with the heating systems, if you're interested in getting a jump on the Falcon's repairs.

If Rey doesn't want to stick around long enough to meet the Queen Mother - which will probably be seen as rude, but he has little cause for concern over that brand of bad blood, all things considered - then beginning repairs now is more practical than waiting until later. And Kylo would very much like something to occupy both his hands and his mind. It takes Chewbacca a long moment to come to a decision, staring hard at him with eyes that have always been able to look right through him, before he warbles a reply.

Eventually, back on the Falcon, hands and arms buried into the bowels of the ship under Chewbacca's deliberate and precise instruction - everything punctuated with the implied threat of or else - Kylo keeps his attention divided three ways: on the task at hand, on Rey's end of the bond, and cast outward, drifting among the stars, waiting. )

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i know so much about dejarik now

scholar goals

/turns it into a thesis

academic applause

much more useful than my first class of the day that's for sure

filed under things i don't miss about school: useless classes

ugh it is the most useless class. love in world lit. you think it would be interesting. no.

oh my god my world lit class was the worst too it's a curse of bad professors

oh my god my professor is THE WORST i'm so glad it's not just me

it's totally a curse i had this white guy who would tell my poc classmates how racism felt

WOW DUDE WHAT. what is this guy doing teaching people

*~*~higher education*~*~

suddenly my teacher doesn't seem so terrible

~~higher education~~