#poetheflyboy

Poe gave her a confused expression. “Why?”

    Oh, but such an occurrence was inevitable. The Resistance and the Order, they seek many things in common; this is but one such artifact. A holocron; valuable even without the tug-o’-war game being played between the two factions, it has become the centerpiece of this latest skirmish. Most of the action hovers on the edge of his consciousness, a flurry of activity beyond hearing, but not beyond perceiving. Not for him. Blaster bolts whizzing through the air, lightning cracks of energy, an exchange of fire. Boots, belonging to their troops and those of the enemy, pounding against stones that have been too long silent. Outside, they are graceless, a dirty, bloody fight, and all to buy him time.

    Still, he does not move with haste; it is not that he does not value the lives being given in the name of his task -- in fact, it is precisely because he does recognize their sacrifice that he moves with care, each step cautious, calculated, considered. These places do not cater to the foolish, do not coddle those who do not mind where they move. His boots scuff, a heavy thud of polished leather, the dry stirring of dust. ( Three more lives flutter, flicker, gutter like candles in the wind, and then vanish, leaving a gaping void behind. He breathes, and the world reorients, color seeping back in slowly. )

    The Temple is a crumbling ruin; he can almost feel the grandeur that it once possessed, can almost feel the presence of those that once walked here. Whether Jedi or Sith, he does not know; what energy radiates from this place is vague; a draw from the Force, but a lure to neither side. However, it could simply be that he is not close enough to the artifact, and that it is not left with enough residual energy to broadcast so far. His hand rests on his saber, fingers poised to draw and active it all in one smooth motion, should such be required. 

    He is not alone. He has not pinned the other person down, not yet, but they draw closer, seeking to eliminate the lead that Kylo has gained. It helps that many of the Temple’s defenses have been removed by his own hand, of course; but all the same, he is, dare he admit it, impressed with the progress that has been made even in his wake. Ordinarily, he would not expect someone lacking in Force Sensitivity to have made it so far; that they had dared to even send someone without it into such a place truly speaks towards their desperation. He does not fret. Rather, he moves up the steps, towards the inner sanctum, choosing his path in a measured way, his eyes scanning across the surface, visual acuity improved by the mask, which seeks out those minor imperfections he might not ordinarily catch, scanners seeking out any telltale signs of traps.

    Halfway up the stairs, footfalls alert him to the arrival of his would-be competitor. He doesn’t have to turn to know him; he had become quite well-acquainted with the other mind now present during their last meeting. 

    “Poe Dameron. Are you the best seeker of artifacts in the Resistance as well as their best pilot? An odd skillset.” 

sext haru || @poetheflyboy​