[ there is peace on chandrila. (well, in his mind, there is. not anymore; in the place of peace, there is order.) she sinks into it, and there is something profane in the fact that she indulges herself in this. the thrill of the forbidden entices her to further exploration.
this was not what snoke had commanded her to do. once she had believed that she could do nothing outside of his control, outside of his anticipation and awareness, but how could he have foreseen this? her fascination with ben is —
dangerous. some might say traitorous.
still she lets herself open up to the warmth of the sun and the ambient sounds. the seat of the new republic hides its dark edges, where rey had been raised. this—
it's gone. in an instant. instead she has the warmth of a mother. what she had come for, ostensibly, and yet it lasts only a short time. then there is fear and escape and … well, no. that's not true is it? this is all the complexity of what that warmth represents. the warmth is only the pleasant presentation. this is the dark edges. priorities and sacrifices and
kira resurfaces, gasping for breath, sweat beaded on her forehead, rolling down her face. she pulls her hand back from him, staring down at ben and feeling … conflicted?
organa had sent him away too. in a different way than rey's parents had — for his sake, not for her own — but it was the same in a way. ]
What have you done?
[ she asks it in a whisper, voice thick with grief and outrage and yes, conflict most of all. she balls her hand into a fist and lets it fall into her lap. she sits there beside him, watching from a mental distance, too afraid to reach back inside.
it would give him too much credit to assume this effect he has on her is deliberate, yet it's undeniable. kira should have — would have, were he anyone else — killed him in that interrogation chamber. spared herself the headache and suffered whatever punishment it earned her gladly because snoke could not be rid of her without a replacement.
eventually she shifts to prop herself up in a sitting position against the wall of the bunk near his feet, one leg propped up on the edge of the bed, the other splayed down over his discarded clothing. she doesn't realize that she passes the night there, because when she closes her eyes to regain some semblance of meditative calm, she loses herself in it, and drifts into a sleep all her own. ]
no subject
this was not what snoke had commanded her to do. once she had believed that she could do nothing outside of his control, outside of his anticipation and awareness, but how could he have foreseen this? her fascination with ben is —
dangerous. some might say traitorous.
still she lets herself open up to the warmth of the sun and the ambient sounds. the seat of the new republic hides its dark edges, where rey had been raised. this—
it's gone. in an instant. instead she has the warmth of a mother. what she had come for, ostensibly, and yet it lasts only a short time. then there is fear and escape and … well, no. that's not true is it? this is all the complexity of what that warmth represents. the warmth is only the pleasant presentation. this is the dark edges. priorities and sacrifices and
kira resurfaces, gasping for breath, sweat beaded on her forehead, rolling down her face. she pulls her hand back from him, staring down at ben and feeling … conflicted?
organa had sent him away too. in a different way than rey's parents had — for his sake, not for her own — but it was the same in a way. ]
What have you done?
[ she asks it in a whisper, voice thick with grief and outrage and yes, conflict most of all. she balls her hand into a fist and lets it fall into her lap. she sits there beside him, watching from a mental distance, too afraid to reach back inside.
it would give him too much credit to assume this effect he has on her is deliberate, yet it's undeniable. kira should have — would have, were he anyone else — killed him in that interrogation chamber. spared herself the headache and suffered whatever punishment it earned her gladly because snoke could not be rid of her without a replacement.
eventually she shifts to prop herself up in a sitting position against the wall of the bunk near his feet, one leg propped up on the edge of the bed, the other splayed down over his discarded clothing. she doesn't realize that she passes the night there, because when she closes her eyes to regain some semblance of meditative calm, she loses herself in it, and drifts into a sleep all her own. ]