#disciipled

her hands haven’t stopped shaking.

she curls them into fists, presses them to her knees. steadies her breathing like she was always taught -- in and out, from your stomach. easy. calm. peace. but there is none to be had on this tiny escape ship, bodies crammed together and power buzzing through all of them. she can still see the flames, can still hear master skywalker’s desperate cry -- “REY, NO!” -- ... she doesn’t remember. doesn’t want to remember. doesn’t want to look at any of these people, these few former classmates who she knows so well but who swirl like strangers around her. the last of what had been so strong, just hours ago.

finally, she can’t take it; she stands, skirts around the edges, avoids all eyes. she doesn’t want any of them to look at her, touch her, speak to her. she doesn’t think she can handle that right now. but she steadily makes her way forward to the cockpit -- trembling hands reach forward, slide open the durasteel door -- and her voice doesn’t even sound like her own when she calls inside, quietly.

❛    ——    pull        me        back        together        or        separate        the        SKIN        from        my        BONE.   ❜

When Phasma wasn’t on a mission, training the soldiers, or patrolling the halls, she was usually training herself. General Hux might be content with the holograms for training the troops, but those under Captain Phasma’s command always received physical training. Perhaps it was traditional, but she’d been a warrior for a very long time, even prior to the (official) formation of the First Order by Kylo, Hux, and herself. Nothing could beat old fashion physical training.

Therefore, it would not be a surprise for Kylo to walk in on Phasma training, either by herself or herself against several of the troopers. This time it was the latter, herself and about five of the top troopers under her command. All of them were coming at her but she was holding her own just fine against them. This all ceased once they saw Kylo.

        The crown sits heavy on the new queen’s head, her eyes gazing passively out at          the congregation of lords and ladies. The coronation ceremony had gone well,          there had been no protesters or radicals waiting outside the palace walls, and          Leandra expects it’s because of the presence of the First Order. After the ceremony,          those invited attended the celebratory ball, where the young queen now stood,          feeling somewhat out of place among the older noblemen and women. Honestly,          she’s tired from the day’s events, and just wants to retire to bed. But that cannot          happen yet. There’s movement next to her and she blinks as if coming out of a          trance, turning her attention to the dark figure who has taken the place next to her.           “Lord Ren,” She says with a somewhat relieved smile, having been worried it was          some boring courtier, “I hope you’re enjoying yourself. What did you think of the          ceremony?”

the  tiny  little  thing  ambles  along  with  such  ease  .  they  are  ,  by  far  ,  the  most  CHEERFUL  child  among  the  crowd  --  crooked  baby  teeth  plastered  into  a  wide  smile  ,  large  gap  set  ‘tween  their  two  front  incisors  .  the  offspring  of  eccentrics  ,  people  who  were  just  a  little  off  .  the  same  can  be  said  for  them  .  seven  years  old  and  just  as  much  as  an  oddity  ;  given  a  boy’s  name  ,  and  their  tendency  to  recite  anatomy  at  the  most  inopportune  times  .

like  right  now  .  they’ve  slipped  their  fingers  free  of  their  father’s  grasp  ,  begun  to  wander  off  in  search  of  something  much  more  worthy  of  their  attention  .  (  politics  made  no  sense  to  such  a  little  one  ,  nor  did  they  hold  any  significance  .  )  

‘  ----phalanges  ,  metacarpals  ,  carpals  ,  distal  ,  middle  ,  proximal  ...  ’  they  count  each  upon  their  left  palm  ,  focused  on  the  task  whilst  distancing  themselves  further  and  further  away  from  the  grownup  talk  .  they  only  look  up  once  they’ve  noticed  another  just  within  their  peripheral  vision  --  taller  than  themselves  ,  gaunt  .  older  ,  surely  ,  but  not  too  old  to  not  approach  .  and  they  looked  bored  out  of  their  skull  ,  regardless  .

‘  hi  !  ’  the  child’s  quickened  their  pace  threefold  ,  stopping  just  short  of  the  other  before  them  .  a  hand’s  thrust  out  with  no  hesitation  --  adults  shook  hands  ,  didn’t  they  ?  --  that  gap-toothed  grin  growing  a  mile  a  minute  .  fingers  wiggle  slightly  ,  as  if  expecting  reciprocation  .  ‘  i’m  dylan  !  ’