sololoquy | open post

[ He looks away from her, but it only provokes her to observe his persistent flustered response, and the pink in his ears. She pauses to consider that, then unbuckles the harness of her armguards and removes them, leaving them with a no doubt ominous thud on the floor with the pile of her vest and cape.

Only then does she pull the shirt on. Sure enough, it balloons around her like a dress, skimming her knees as the tunic of her vest had. The neck is the worst of it, scooped too wide and revealing her collarbones, narrowly avoiding slipping off one of her shoulders at any given moment.

He doesn't seem to, like, have a plan for when he's going to turn around, so Kira notes after some awkward standing around — ]

It's on.

[He turns back around and -- well, the shirt only barely helps him deal with this whole situation. Ben exhales some relief through his nose and observes this whole situation, chewing on his lip thoughtfully.]

This is going to be tougher than I thought.

[He'd have to do some serious wizard shit to make it look like this thing fit her. So he nudges passed her until he digs out a vest -- smaller than the rest of his attire and holds it up to her.

Honestly, he wasn't even sure why he still had it. He hadn't worn it since he was a boy, when his father was still alive. And for a moment, giving it to Kira feels...wrong. Wrong in his bones, enough to make him hesitate before he practically shoves it into her hands and moves behind her to start pulling the shirt in to her spine.]

You're not gonna be able to take that off. It's going to hide the stitch.

[And then hem the sleeves and it will mostly look correct, as long as nobody looks at the back.]

[ Briefly she jumps as he pulls on the shirt, straightening her back accordingly and glancing over her shoulder at him like maybe she just doesn't trust him at her back in general. But it passes. ]

This is going to look ridiculous.

[ She's not particularly concerned with appearances, for the most part — particularly when she will not be assigning her name to any of it. The idea is to prevent anyone on Hapes from recognizing her, not allowing this to become part of her professional reputation. It's hard to intimidate anyone in a shirt that's five sizes too large.

But it's going to draw attention, she thinks, to dress in such a haphazardly put together piece of clothing on Hapes of all places. She may not care about those things, but they certainly did. She holds the vest out to regard it anyway. She might be picking up on what he's putting down with the hope of its role here. ]

I promise I am better than you at this.

[He says that with the most bravado he can manage before he starts stitching down the spine of the shirt until it pulls taught at her chest and pulls the shoulder seams farther up her arms. From the front, its nearly impossible to tell that the shirt had been much larger -- except for the arms. He'll hem those sleeves momentarily.]

As long as you keep the vest on, you'll be fine.

[Not exactly Hapan fine, but they weren't looking to blend. He had nothing of the sort on board that would resemble Hapan finery.

[ It solves part of the neckline problem too, bringing it up above her collarbone so that it sits more firmly on her shoulders. The results, at least, shut her up. She keeps quiet the whole time he sews, glancing down at the way the fit changes and smoothing one hand over the fabric with faint interest.

Look at that. Tailoring. ]

Why does a smuggler know how to sew?

[ She doesn't want to want to know, but she does. ]

[He blinks and looks up from behind her, like she's just asked the most ridiculous question in the world.]

Why wouldn't a smuggler know how to sew? I don't exactly blend in a crowd without a lot of effort.

[He goes back to what he's doing until he gets to the bottom of the shirt, at which point he bites off the thread.

Satisfied, he appears on her right side and reaches for her arm in preparation to hem her sleeve.]

And if I didn't know how to fix my own clothes on the run, half my pay would go to new pants every time I caught a blaster bolt.

[To make his point, he stretches out his leg. Now that he's pointed it out, she can probably see the double stitched lines running along the bloodstripes going up his leg.]

[ She looks down at his leg while he works on her arm. At first it's just a tilt of her head, but then she reaches to tug at the pant leg, examining the stitches. A steady nod follows and she lets go of him, redirecting her attention to his hands where they work at her sleeve, and then to his face.

It's human. Ruthlessly human, in fact. She prefers not to get to know the particulars of someone, like that they read fiction three times over and keep it under their pillows, or that they took up sewing to piece themselves back together because they didn't have the medical bay and med droids and —

Well. That was his choice. ]

[Her silence is satisfying. Good, let her think about it. He is happy to leave her to her pensive thoughts while he carefully measures the sleep up her arm. Ben makes a point to hem it short, to keep the "poor smuggler" illusion up between them. When he is done, he steps away to observe his handy work.]

Put the vest on.

[He is very proud of himself. But he is also still thinking about her abs, and his eyes linger there for a touch too long while he looks her over.]

Now you look like a proper degenerate.

Clothes won't be enough.

[ She hasn't wanted to point it out while he had a needle to her skin, but— ]

When he realizes that we aren't rendezvousing with him in the Umbara System, the Supreme Leader will have every officer in the fleet and every loyalist looking out for the Falcon. Your ship isn't subtle.

[ They need a new ship. A subtler one, and preferably faster. He isn't going to be happy that she's saying it, but it doesn't make her less correct. The surest way to keep them from being caught was to take advantage of the Hapan resistance to First Order control, fuel up, and swap the ship.

It'd go into a museum, in all likelihood. Where it belonged. A relic of a fallen regime, a short-lived rebellion that had mattered little in the grand scheme of the Empire's ideals. They could get plenty for it because of that, if they sold it to the right person, and use those credits to get something more sustainable.

It's unfortunately also a mark of developing a long term plan to flee and keep fleeing. It sits poorly with Kira to accept that too, especially with no way to stop Snoke from reaching out for her and making her suffer for it. ]

[His pride immediately drains when she points out what should have been obvious to him. Of course. The Falcon was one of the most recognizable ships in the galaxy, next to the Supremacy itself. But it was also one of the only things he had left from his family.

From his father.]

...we'll figure it out.

[It's a cover. He can't do it. He can't even think about it without being sick to his stomach. Small victory lost, he puts the needle and thread back on the dresser and leaves the room before Kira can press him.

[ Where she expects snapping and explosion — it's what she would do — Ben instead retreats before she can probe him or come to an agreement on the plan. Evasion, in a way, is the smarter defense. She's left struck into silence by it, standing awkwardly in his bunk.

She doesn't even have anything to do to keep them separate. The book is sitting on the copilot's chair, even if she knew how to read it. Kira slips on the vest and buttons it, feeling altogether uncomfortable with the fact that she doesn't have a schema for how to deal with this. She shrugs her shoulders, and settles onto his cot briefly.

One hand smooths out over the mattress pad. Considering, or trying to reclaim or explore something. Her brow furrows. She can't figure him out. It's like there's something consistently running under the surface that she can't grasp at. She's been in his head. She should be able to understand it, but it's as if her experience has left her without the tools. She can see the gaps, but not fill them in.

It's some minutes before she rejoins him in the cockpit. ]

[His anger is a smothered thing, buried deep where it couldn't be used against him. In its place, grief. Loneliness. But overcome with a sense of hope rivaled only by one other being in the galaxy. And who knew where General Organa was just then? Certainly not her son.

Autopilot has been disengaged, and Ben looks to be lost in listening to the sounds of the Falcon itself. Even with Ben coasting, the Falcon never seems silent. She's always hissing or beeping or humming in her own way.

At some point, he had pulled the dice from over his head and tangled them around his fingers, as well as the shift. His knuckles are slightly white with how tight he grips it.

When he senses her eyes lingering on him, he finally breaks the silence tiredly.]

Have you ever been this far into the Inner Rim?

[After all, from what he knew of the First Order, they had largely raised their armies in the Outer Rim, even into some of the Unknown Regions.]

Yes.

[ She does not welcome the topic with any more than that confirmation. Jakku was a terrible place, and she hoped the parents who had sold her to Unkar Plutt were dead there. Long since buried. She flexed her fingers, closing her hands into fists. No amount of effort could force her to relax once she was there, so she stood there impossibly tense, lurking at his shoulder, surveying his piloting efforts.

That's when she spots the dice. She tips her head slightly. It's almost hard to see the golden chain between his tightly fisted hand, but it makes her recognize the current she feels running through her, the hollowness and bitterness towards a memory, is mirrored in him. It is an unnerving thought.

Instead of searching for further conversation, she takes up the book from the copilot's chair and settles into it. ]

[He is expecting elaboration, so when she doesn't provide it, he goes to look over his shoulder--and finds her sitting down in the copilot seat looking grumpier than ever.]

Bad memory. Got it.

[Somehow that thought just -- comes to him, in a way he doesn't think to question. There's no uncertainty behind it, he just knows that something horrible happened to her somewhere in the Inner Rim. Frankly, he doesn't want to know. Knowledge like that lead him to places that got him in trouble.

Hapes comes into the viewport at a distance, a brilliant blue dot against inky darkness, smattered with stars.]

We need a cover. I have a shipment of imperial tech that I never got delivered that we can try and pass off, but its not much.

We're bringing it to Corellia.

[ 'We.' An uncomfortable but immediate commitment. Corellia would be nice and harmless, close enough to make sense as a destination. ]

We got stuck outrunning some pirates and depleted our fuel reserves.

[ She's not an expert in lying. She rarely has to lie. But this is what she comes up with, and —

It's obviously some analogue pulled from the book he'd been reading to her. A chase sequence of some sort. She just wants to use the damn YA novel as their cover story. ]

[Oh honey.

Ben absorbs all that, squinting in thought. It was a pretty bare bones plot -- "pirates" was too non-specific, and would invite inquiry. Corellia was probably a better set up than Savareen -- they weren't hardened-looking enough to pull that off.

He eventually figures out that 2 + 2 = 4 and fights to hide a smirk. That's terribly charming of her.]

Doesn't have to be dramatic. No reason to clue them in that we're on the run, otherwise they'll just start looking for who we're running from. Partners from Corellia, cargo, routine fuel stop. Simple.

Edited (that last tag was barely english) 2018-10-05 20:25 (UTC)

Hapes won't report our presence through First Order channels.

[ She says this because she's moving on, accepting his cover story and stepping forward to the next necessary point. ]

Refueling works. We won't need to change ships there, though we could. But if we stop anywhere else, we'll be made before we leave the planet.

So we don't stop.

[Ben says this very blatantly to dismiss her concern. It wasn't that it wasn't valid, he just -- he can't do it. The Falcon wasn't just a ship, it was as good as his home. But he doesn't expect Kira to get it.

She doesn't have to.

Hapes quickly ceases to be just a dot in the viewport, and Ben can feel his palms getting slightly clammy. Hapes was not exactly "his scene" -- the pomp and circumstance were echoes of his youth, things he could barely remember, and they certainly were not dressed the part. He could only hope nobody took overt interest in them.]

You'll let me do the talking, right?

[Better...confirm that now, before one of them sticks their foot in their mouth.]

[ Alright. Still not being reasonable. Kira doesn't exactly see the immediate necessity for him to embrace that, so she lets it slide for now with an inner note that she's going to have to continue to hammer him with logic. His plan is untenable. They need a better one.

She smooths her palm over the book in her lap. ]

Provided you don't say anything I take issue with.

[ I.e., don't be offensive and patronizing, and this will be fine. So in other words, don't be Ben Solo. There's some snootiness in how she says it; for as rough as she is around the social edges, she's the one with the poise and finesse to better navigate Hapan society. Beyond that — ]

Don't forget what the Hapans think of men. Even calling yourself my partner will be a stretch.

[Ben goes to retort, but takes her meaning and ends up just staring at her with his mouth opening and closing as he tries to find something intelligent to say.

Spoilers: there's nothing there. So he sounds indignant when he replies.]

We're not Hapan. How is that a stretch?!

[Maybe Kira should do the talking after all.]

[ The look she gives him holds nothing back in her skepticism. Surely he recognizes the issue here, and only his pride keeps him from acknowledging it as he rationally should. ]

We'll be working with Hapans. And every one of them who you talk to as if you were the authority between us is one more who mistrusts us or scrutinizes us a bit too hard because we're unwelcome there.

[ Which could stand on its own to say she should be the one to do the talking, but the truth is that Kira isn't particularly fond of talking. When she talks to anyone, it's usually with her lightsaber. ]

I've employed your services.

[She's...right. He hates that she's right. She will get the pleasure of his mind turning every possibility over to try and tell her she isn't right before grumbling in irritation.]

Ok. Fine. You're the boss.

[He says that last bit reluctantly.]

You've employed my smuggling services. So you're traveling with me why?

[Do other smugglers travel with their employers? That sounds fake. Or...is she talking about some other kind of services?

He frowns.]

[ Alright, it's a patchy cover job. Some part of Rey wants to snap that no one is going to ask that much, but they could. And Ben clearly can't handle the thinking, even if he's probably the better one to be charming and handle the talking. ]

Your current shipment doesn't belong to me. I'm introducing you to a contact on Corellia.

[ Surely smugglers and their contacts are skittish sometimes ?? Kriff, she's not an expert in smuggling. Sue her. She's trying her best. ]

Where we'll part ways.

That's--no, that's way too complicated. Either you're in charge of this operation, or not. No third parties.

[She must not have had to deal with very many smugglers. It's almost quaint, but it makes perfect sense. Snoke had bigger ideas for his pet assassin.]

You're going to have to pretend to trust me, ok?

[ She had trusted him. That's what makes the request sour.

It sinks like a stone in her chest, a failure. She deserves to be punished for it, honestly. Whatever Snoke had coming, she deserved it. But she was too selfish and too afraid and too damn stubborn in her survival to accept that. She wouldn't just lie down and take it.

Tension ripples in her jaw and she glances away from him to regard the approaching planet. ]

I trust that you want to live.

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