And just like that, she's out of his hands. He watches her leave, silently, before turning back to the dark innards of the training room.
He makes sure that the door is shut before he removes his mask, wiping away what tears are left angrily with the back of his glove. It hasn't even been a few hours and it feels like he's already made a mistake with the Supreme Leader's gift. His master had told him it would be a test, and so far, he's already failing.
He shoves his helmet down on one of the pedestals nearby, before bringing out his lightsaber, clicking it to life with a satisfying crackle. He needs a distraction, anything to pull him out of this wretched state. Stepping forward, he swerves and starts a sequence against an imaginary opponent, bringing up the familiar steps and twists of his wrist as he moves across the room. It pulls him into focus, the sound of the lightsaber burning through the air providing an anchor for his thoughts. Here, first is Ataru, short and swift, then twisting backwards to set himself up for Makashi through a riposte of his blade - the movements are familiar to him, but there's an urge he cannot quell, a push to do more than fight mental images of faceless opponents. He wants to feel his blade tear through flesh, see the way his opponents howl in pain and fear. But as he moves, his movements swifter, the mental image of the apparition from before burns in his mind. He can almost feel the presence in the corner again - standing, judging, those sorrowful eyes piercing into his heart-
And he missteps. His foot moves too wide, and he almost falls, catching himself only barely before he completely loses his balance. He immediately twists towards the corner, but just as he expected, there was nothing there.
But maybe something is there, he thought, his lips pulled back in a grimace. She could see it, and you didn't. There are some things you're blind to.
He can't tell the Supreme Leader about this. He doesn't need a reassessment on his power over the girl, being judged for his inability to work with her properly. He would handle it himself. What had happened before was a fluke. He bites his lip as he switches his lightsaber off, already sick of staying in this room. The training brought some order to the mess in his head, but his thoughts were still a mess, and staying in this place and dwelling over the vision of his grandfather was not helping him at all. He places his helmet back on and leaves the training room, heading towards his quarters.
He hasn't seen Hux yet, which is good, he thinks. Hux would no doubt be nosy over the new arrival, and he wasn't in the mood to explain. For the first time, he thinks of that girl...what was her name? Chise? An apprentice at last. He would see about that, he thought. She had potential, that was true, but she seemed fragile, too selfless. That wasn't the make of a potential new follower of the Dark Side. He would have to put in a lot of work before she even resembled one.
He decides to remove the usual conversation with his Grandfather's helmet for the day, a bitter feeling rising in his throat when he thinks of it. He probably had enough of Grandfather for today, and he needs to...take a break from that, somehow. A part of him is glad for the upcoming rest. Another part hates it, because sleep has never been quite as relaxing as he'd always hoped it would be. When he was a child, he screamed out loud in his sleep, beset by dark visions of hands pulling at him, blood running from their fingers. Now, he doesn't scream. He's forced himself not to. He's glad when he dreams of nothing at all, only darkness, but tonight is not such a night. He's in the midst of battle, and he's breaking off someone's blank silver mask with his fingers, feeling the pieces dig and pierce into his ungloved hands. The man under the mask is screaming in pain. There's a roar of blaster fire in his ears, but he doesn't falter, maliciously enjoying the possible death of whatever creature is before him.
A large part of the mask falls to reveal an eye, widened in fear and very dark. He grits his teeth and pulls away more of the mask, and when more of the shards fall, he finds the face is exactly the same one of his grandfather from before, eyes filled with a dark despair far beyond what he understands.
But it shifts as he moves away, a scar tearing between the man's eyes and eyes sinking in, and Ren realizes its now his own face he sees. It disgusts him. He feels the sudden urge to take his lightsaber and tear this shapeshifting man into two - how dare it mock him? That isn't his face, that isn't him, what right did it have to be this way, why does he look so weak, he wants it to die for good, just die already, just raise the lightsaber and behead it in one blow like he's done with so many others-
He reaches back for his lightsaber. He meets the gentle fingers of a hand, instead. It grabs him, a gentle voice sounding in his ear. He doesn't know what it says, but suddenly, he feels like something's been lifted off his shoulders. He has no need to waste energy on such things. He can step away for just a moment, to catch his breath. It's odd, the hand feels oddly feathery in his fingers, like he's grasping on tight to the wing of a bird, like it can fly him away from all of this pain and worry.
And as he turns around to see who it is, the vision is gone, and he finds himself face to face with the infinite darkness he's so familiar with.
He wakes eventually, his sleep dreamless for the rest of the night. How odd, he thinks. He never had anything of the like before. But he was not a man to dwell on dreams - it was another day, and he must right what he so wronged before. This time, he would do things the correct way.
He makes arrangements for the girl to be escorted to the training room, and waits for her, robed and masked as usual. The training would start for good, this time.
no subject
He makes sure that the door is shut before he removes his mask, wiping away what tears are left angrily with the back of his glove. It hasn't even been a few hours and it feels like he's already made a mistake with the Supreme Leader's gift. His master had told him it would be a test, and so far, he's already failing.
He shoves his helmet down on one of the pedestals nearby, before bringing out his lightsaber, clicking it to life with a satisfying crackle. He needs a distraction, anything to pull him out of this wretched state. Stepping forward, he swerves and starts a sequence against an imaginary opponent, bringing up the familiar steps and twists of his wrist as he moves across the room. It pulls him into focus, the sound of the lightsaber burning through the air providing an anchor for his thoughts. Here, first is Ataru, short and swift, then twisting backwards to set himself up for Makashi through a riposte of his blade - the movements are familiar to him, but there's an urge he cannot quell, a push to do more than fight mental images of faceless opponents. He wants to feel his blade tear through flesh, see the way his opponents howl in pain and fear. But as he moves, his movements swifter, the mental image of the apparition from before burns in his mind. He can almost feel the presence in the corner again - standing, judging, those sorrowful eyes piercing into his heart-
And he missteps. His foot moves too wide, and he almost falls, catching himself only barely before he completely loses his balance. He immediately twists towards the corner, but just as he expected, there was nothing there.
But maybe something is there, he thought, his lips pulled back in a grimace. She could see it, and you didn't. There are some things you're blind to.
He can't tell the Supreme Leader about this. He doesn't need a reassessment on his power over the girl, being judged for his inability to work with her properly. He would handle it himself. What had happened before was a fluke. He bites his lip as he switches his lightsaber off, already sick of staying in this room. The training brought some order to the mess in his head, but his thoughts were still a mess, and staying in this place and dwelling over the vision of his grandfather was not helping him at all. He places his helmet back on and leaves the training room, heading towards his quarters.
He hasn't seen Hux yet, which is good, he thinks. Hux would no doubt be nosy over the new arrival, and he wasn't in the mood to explain. For the first time, he thinks of that girl...what was her name? Chise? An apprentice at last. He would see about that, he thought. She had potential, that was true, but she seemed fragile, too selfless. That wasn't the make of a potential new follower of the Dark Side. He would have to put in a lot of work before she even resembled one.
He decides to remove the usual conversation with his Grandfather's helmet for the day, a bitter feeling rising in his throat when he thinks of it. He probably had enough of Grandfather for today, and he needs to...take a break from that, somehow. A part of him is glad for the upcoming rest. Another part hates it, because sleep has never been quite as relaxing as he'd always hoped it would be. When he was a child, he screamed out loud in his sleep, beset by dark visions of hands pulling at him, blood running from their fingers. Now, he doesn't scream. He's forced himself not to. He's glad when he dreams of nothing at all, only darkness, but tonight is not such a night. He's in the midst of battle, and he's breaking off someone's blank silver mask with his fingers, feeling the pieces dig and pierce into his ungloved hands. The man under the mask is screaming in pain. There's a roar of blaster fire in his ears, but he doesn't falter, maliciously enjoying the possible death of whatever creature is before him.
A large part of the mask falls to reveal an eye, widened in fear and very dark. He grits his teeth and pulls away more of the mask, and when more of the shards fall, he finds the face is exactly the same one of his grandfather from before, eyes filled with a dark despair far beyond what he understands.
But it shifts as he moves away, a scar tearing between the man's eyes and eyes sinking in, and Ren realizes its now his own face he sees. It disgusts him. He feels the sudden urge to take his lightsaber and tear this shapeshifting man into two - how dare it mock him? That isn't his face, that isn't him, what right did it have to be this way, why does he look so weak, he wants it to die for good, just die already, just raise the lightsaber and behead it in one blow like he's done with so many others-
He reaches back for his lightsaber. He meets the gentle fingers of a hand, instead. It grabs him, a gentle voice sounding in his ear. He doesn't know what it says, but suddenly, he feels like something's been lifted off his shoulders. He has no need to waste energy on such things. He can step away for just a moment, to catch his breath. It's odd, the hand feels oddly feathery in his fingers, like he's grasping on tight to the wing of a bird, like it can fly him away from all of this pain and worry.
And as he turns around to see who it is, the vision is gone, and he finds himself face to face with the infinite darkness he's so familiar with.
He wakes eventually, his sleep dreamless for the rest of the night. How odd, he thinks. He never had anything of the like before. But he was not a man to dwell on dreams - it was another day, and he must right what he so wronged before. This time, he would do things the correct way.
He makes arrangements for the girl to be escorted to the training room, and waits for her, robed and masked as usual. The training would start for good, this time.