the role of admiral is something mitaka has trained for his whole life. commanding a fleet was a learning curve he overcame of by virtue of knowledge of those before him. but no matter how high he climbed, the anxiety he felt around the imposing supreme leader never seemed to decrease. ❝ two ships are stationed over chandrila and one over brentaal and one above coruscant. the rest have dispersed but will swiftly return on command. ❞ mitaka tries to keep his nerves at bay when delivering the briefing. ❝ the chancellor thinks it would be favourable to occupy ganthel. should i take the initiative? ❞

there's no fear in his body, not yet but he knows that will come later. for now it's rage, the kind that makes his blood seem hotter, his senses seem sharper. the kind of rage that makes him think that he'll be able to withstand whatever is done to him. that's unlikely, the still logical part of him knows, but the anger gives him the strength to look up when the door opens.

there is a spark of fear in him at the sight of the man in front of him, not enough to make him look away, but enough for him to taste bile in the back of his throat. the fear mixed with disgust.

                    agony’s cacophony echoed within the overflowing medbay, a scene repeated across every ship within reach of the now shattered starkiller base.   the unfortunate of the survivors laid on every available surface, tended to by droids and barely belied frantic staff.   none were the walking wounded, all those sent to a dining hall to be treated by their comrades.   every single being within their walls required swift care.   even that might not be enough.

                    heart thudding, now almost unnoticed, against her ears, connie has not paused for over two hours now, steadily working on whoever is laid in front of her with only the aid of a meddroid.   though aware the likelihood of not knowing any of the wounded or dead in the end was nil, she hadn’t yet recognized anyone.   thankfully, blessedly.

                    no one until troopers laid the leader of the knights of ren on her table, identifiable by garb alone.   dark gaze instantly set upon the side’s charred fabric and face riven with a cauterized wound, lips ordering instruments and medication that ears didn’t hear.   the wound to his torso worried her the most, internal bleeding inevitable.    ❝  how long has he been like this?  ❞

                                      𝚝𝚘𝚘   𝚖𝚞𝚌𝚑   𝚒𝚗   𝚖𝚢   𝚜𝚢𝚜𝚝𝚎𝚖    /   𝚏𝚊𝚖𝚒𝚗𝚎   ,   𝚏𝚊𝚖𝚒𝚗𝚎   .                                     𝚓𝚞𝚜𝚝   𝚏𝚘𝚛   𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛   𝚕𝚘𝚟𝚎   ,   𝚒𝚕𝚕   𝚐𝚒𝚟𝚎   𝚢𝚘𝚞   𝚝𝚑𝚎   𝚠𝚘𝚛𝚕𝚍   .                            𝚒𝚖   𝚝𝚊𝚔𝚒𝚗𝚐   𝚒𝚝   𝚊𝚕𝚕   𝚏𝚘𝚛   𝚞𝚜   ,   𝚍𝚘𝚒𝚗𝚐   𝚒𝚝   𝚊𝚕𝚕   𝚏𝚘𝚛   𝚕𝚘𝚟𝚎   .                                   𝚝𝚑𝚎   𝚎𝚖𝚙𝚎𝚛𝚘𝚛   𝚊𝚗𝚍   𝚑𝚒𝚜   𝚕𝚊𝚍𝚢   𝚏𝚎𝚊𝚝𝚞𝚛𝚒𝚗𝚐   @cruoren

chin grab. / accepting

perhaps the art of keeping one's eyes locked on his greener ones had always been a weak spot , perhaps he never liked staring too much at another pair of eyes not even his own in the mirror ;  you definitely have your father's eyes , armitage .  and before today , kylo ren had never requested his full attention and never asked him to look him in the eye while he pledges his allegiance to the throne , to him . foxes get eaten by dogs , all a fox can do is to submit .

you can't fight with a bleeding neck , red ────

jaw clenched HARD . his stare , ice covered forest of his eyes .  the red general feels the tightening of other's grip on his chin , and he knows nobody will speak of it for the next days to come if he suddenly decides to point out just how close the man is to his face .

despite the urge , armitage doesn't push away his hand . merely stands with his chin held up , and allows the cool leather press on his sickly pale flesh .  look me in the EYE when you speak , general .    ❝ your eyes are hidden , supreme leader . ❞    teeth show more than lips as he speaks ──  the mask makes it harder even for a trained cadet to read him . body language and toning of VOICE isn't enough , eyes tell all the story .  even arkanians know it .

Qira had never been a fan of parties. They were always full of the same types, the gossips, backstabbers, and the greedy. And yet she kept herself immersed in the life she disliked, keeping complete allegiance to her father and the Empire by staying, even though there had been a chance to escape it. She had to be what her father needed her to be, especially since it seemed her siblings did not want to be his successor.

The reprieve that the fall of the Empire gave her was one she truly appreciated, hiding herself away, knowing she would have a target on her back if anyone found out where she was. Then rose the First Order. Her nephew seemed to be at the head of it all - or close to it at the very least - a powerful Dark Side user like herself. She had heard rumors about his obsession with his grandfather - her father - and decided perhaps it was time to reappear.

When the next social gathering was thrown, in came Qira with a commanding presence, a facade of sorts, but one she played well now that she'd had practice. It had been about an hour since the last guest arrived when she threw the doors to the gathering open with the Force, heels clicking as she entered in, wearing a black suit with dark red accents. Everyone couldn't help but look at the newcomer, whispers starting up, wondering just who she was and why they had never seen her before.