#adtenebras

Kylo Ren did not look well these days.  His mask destroyed in a fit of rage, there was nothing but the occasional wild fall of his hair to hide the shadows that lived around his eyes and the nervous movements of his lips.

"You'll have to submit. There's too few of you to even fill a single ship." He'd see the Falcon destroyed if it was the last thing he did, and if everyone aboard it were turned into space dust as well, it'd be a nice bonus. He advanced on Poe, unblinking, creating very little space between himself and his knights. The pilot, for once, could not slip away again. And for all the intimidation, Ren looked... genuinely concerned.

"You'd rather they die. And it will have been for nothing."

"That's not the plan." The words snapped from his lips, but he knew it'd ring hollow in this empty semblance of a throne room. He'd faced Kylo Ren once before, and lived. So did that make his odds of surviving a second time better, or worse?

But it was different this time.

This time, instead of a mask, the Supreme leader wore a sallow version of Ben Solo's face. Something churned in Poe's stomach as that face drew close, within arm's length. This was the first time he'd seen it since Crait, and even that'd been through an old pair of macrobinoculars.

From this meme:  

“Everyday the terror grows. All of Oz is ever on alert.” ((Because yes, I listening to musicals. I debated hitting shuffle again, but I found a piece of the song that would work with the situation.))

It came in waves, this feeling of terror, and just like the constant flow of water, there were times of high tide. This was one of those times. It ran through the duct works like air, pumped through and recycled and each cycle it came out more and pronounced. It was intangible, but everyone could feel the tension, trying so hard not to be noticed and surely not to speak its name.

It was most apparent and thus most pretended to be ignored on the bridge. Everyone knew better than to stick out, they all kept their heads down, buried in the glow of computer illuminations. It was harder for those moving cogs, the ones who’s rank didn’t give them the luxury of hiding down in the trenches of computer banks. It was warmer down there. Safer to be unseen.

“The Supreme Leader never mentioned different kinds of pain- it’s all supposed to make me strong!” Kylo clutched at the bleeding slab of flesh that hung from his right arm, cleaved nearly clean off by what he’d falsely assumed to be a practice sword. They’d given the droids proper vibroblades, apparently. His training had progressed without his knowledge. Tears welled up in his eyes as he used his own saber to finish severing the skin, but he never cried out.

“If you think like that, you’re only going to doggedly pursue pain to become stronger. That isn’t the goal, Kylo Ren.” Her words were sharp, even through the helmet’s modulator.

The droid itself looked more than worse for the wear, slumped in stand-by mod; the joint of its knee was cocked at an inhuman angle after Kylo’s boot had made solid contact with it. That was when he’d moved too close, and now the room smelled like cauterized flesh.

As Baraga crouched down to try and reset the joint, she kept her eyes on the boy. No one would accuse him of being a coward, that was for sure. The problem was he was terribly brave, but untested. Still too green. It made for a dangerous combination.

She pried the metal casing off with a snap, careful not to have it snag her gloves. Only one of them needed to be bleeding right now.

“If you aren’t careful, there won’t be any bits of you left to strengthen.” Her neck craned for a moment, trying to make out the worn-off lettering on the droid’s hip. This was an old one, something imperial, but still worth keeping maintained.

Despite carefully measured breath, Ben couldn’t keep his pulse from taking off. He’d noticed the dust on the wainscoting in the shafts of light through the old warped window over the sink and had taken it upon himself to remove it, an action he became immensely appreciative of when it provided the perfect excuse to avoid looking at Brendon. Did it even mean what he thought? “I’ve never been much of a sailor,” he admitted with a safe, quiet laugh.

In nearly ten years of public defense, it wasn’t uncommon for your client to be guilty of the very charges you shielded them from. Brendon’s ability to detach emotionally from the plaintiffs and their situations had served him over and over again, keeping him focused on a successful resolution and nothing else.

And yet Ben’s behavior gave him pause.

Hux wasn’t interested in staring the man down while he pretended to suddenly care about his window sill. He shifted his weight to lean back against the counter, eyes now on the take out menu pinned to the fridge.

Since FN-2187′s defection, and the destruction of Starkiller Base, a scrutinous eye had been turned to Phasma’s division of soldiers. Today, Kylo Ren made that scrutiny more than personal by making an appearance, not just to verbally brow-beat the Stormtroopers, but to call their loyalty into question. Even hers.

The rows of Phasma’s finest were uneasy, standing at attention and offering no arguments against Ren’s accusations, answering questions in clipped, short phrases. But when Ren turned to her, every trooper in the room seemed to stiffen, hanging on a razor’s edge. They all knew the kinds of interrogations Ren was capable of...no one but the scavenger girl had ever escaped without telling him everything he wanted to know. And none of them wanted to be in those chairs less than Phasma herself.

“Let’s walk it off. Now.” 

In order to gain his nearly legendary reputation as a pilot and a commanding officer, Poe had worked hard and proven himself within the Colonial fleet in so many ways. 

Trying to heave Ben Solo away from a fight that he hadn’t been given the chance to finish was one of the less glamorous ones. 

With his fingers curled against the small of Ben’s back, catching against the fabric of his tank, he directed them both through the hatch and into the brightly lit hallway, well aware of his friend’s still heavy breathing. 

adtenebras:

Little crescents peppered his palm where his nails dug patterns into the skin. He racked his thoughts for a moment, futile as it was to think he’d be able to remember much while in his natural state of being. The coyote ran on instinct, moment to moment. “I don’t… think so?” His eyes avoided Poe’s, preemptively ashamed of any negligence on his part. “I don’t think so.”

It was already warm standing in front of the white washed wall that bordered the subdivision, the sun just barely hefting itself over the hills. It felt good, honestly, to stand in the morning sun with someone at his shoulder.

A substantial amount of effort was required to not step closer to Ben in a move to comfort him. He didn’t want the guy to end up skittish, especially since he had a way of clamming up out of nowhere. Poe exhaled heavily, tipping his head back.