Lucyfer
If beauty's pain, aren't you miserable enough?
Kylo rankles under the humming, but he does not rise to that bait. Galatea seems to think the politicians are gathering to submit, but he knows better. It is true, they will submit, but he knows it won’t be without pointless fawning and doddering, without trying to get something more that they are undeserving of, all for being among the first.
Not the first, of course.
Planets like Arkanis and others already committed to the Order first.
He startles when nudged, not expecting contact, and his eyes widen a bit, before narrowing, cross, in disbelief, at Galatea’s sincere words. Not that he can pick up any malicious intent, though he searches. It just simply too foreign to trust, and she too unknown to be certain of, so he doubts it. Doubts her, even if he doesn’t want to actually doubt it.
So instead, he redirects the focus to her, entirely, “And what skill do you have in dealing with politicians?”
‘A royal mother? A senator? Multiple senatorial family friends? Did you run Naboo before?’ All of Kylo’s experience watching politics, and all he can do is loathe it with his very being, although his mind is at war as to why.
Did he hate the way it wore his mother down and exhausted her? Did he hate her tears, and the way her faith in people died daily?
Or did he hate that it truly was inept, and only the worst, and most corrupt people – including his mother! – partook in it? Did he hate it, because it never helped anyone who truly needed help?
Even he hesitated to answer the truth of it, or admit it could be all of it at once. That there was still a part of him that loved his mother enough, to hate politics on her behalf, and no one else’s. A part of him that wanted to tear it to pieces, for her.
That was weak.
That was Ben, and Ben was dead.
Dead, alongside Han Solo.
Kylo does not head towards the hangar immediately, but makes the stop back by their hallway. He does not think he needs to pick up anything, but he wouldn’t deprive Galatea of the opportunity to pick up anything she may want, although he suspects she has very little to grab. His lightsaber and datapad are already on his person, but he still intends to give his room a once-over before being certain.
~***~
Alexandria’s expression does not shift as Armitage makes his decision. There’s a moment’s question in whether to offer her back and lead towards the room, but it is just that – a moment. Armitage made the direction obvious, and hesitating would be ridiculous, so she does not, even if she can feel the prickling sensation rush up her spine as she leads to the room.
How easy it would be to put a gun to her back and fire.
Not that Armitage would dare. Not without reason, and she is certain he doesn’t.
Just as she wouldn’t have reason enough to murder him in cold blood in the command center.
She enters first, and steps clear of the door to allow him plenty of room. Her gaze flicks to the door as she moves to the table, but doesn’t sit. “It’s a log of imports and exports to D’Qar,” Alexandria offers plainly, “the imports are of no importance,” in her not at all humble opinion, “the exports show places the Resistance thought important enough to maintain.”
Where things came in from didn’t matter. There was no guarantee it had any real ties to the Resistance. Their own pilots could leave to Coruscant and return with supplies. Sending supplies to another location was far more notable.
“Reamma, Pacara, and Dantooine are all planets listed, and all likely to have Resistance bases worth raiding, but they are also, not as important.” And this was where Armitage might have to consider if a leap of faith was worth it, “Batuu is the only planet of note. The supplies sent to Batuu are substantial, both in number, and type. It’s supplies that could be used to improve Batuu’s communications relay,” supplies that would help the Resistance to organize from a position the Order didn’t give a damn about, partially because of the piss-poor communications. “Batuu is also a known haven of Vi Moradi, an infamous Resistance spy who we captured once, before she escaped with Cardinal.”
Not commonly known information. In fact, Armitage would likely prefer no one knew that Cardinal lived, but Alexandria didn’t lift her hands in surrender for speaking it. She did not backtrack, nor explain herself. She would not act as if it were anything unusual to know.
After all, it wasn’t uncommon in the Resistance, who crowed loudly about every petty victory.
Not the first, of course.
Planets like Arkanis and others already committed to the Order first.
He startles when nudged, not expecting contact, and his eyes widen a bit, before narrowing, cross, in disbelief, at Galatea’s sincere words. Not that he can pick up any malicious intent, though he searches. It just simply too foreign to trust, and she too unknown to be certain of, so he doubts it. Doubts her, even if he doesn’t want to actually doubt it.
So instead, he redirects the focus to her, entirely, “And what skill do you have in dealing with politicians?”
‘A royal mother? A senator? Multiple senatorial family friends? Did you run Naboo before?’ All of Kylo’s experience watching politics, and all he can do is loathe it with his very being, although his mind is at war as to why.
Did he hate the way it wore his mother down and exhausted her? Did he hate her tears, and the way her faith in people died daily?
Or did he hate that it truly was inept, and only the worst, and most corrupt people – including his mother! – partook in it? Did he hate it, because it never helped anyone who truly needed help?
Even he hesitated to answer the truth of it, or admit it could be all of it at once. That there was still a part of him that loved his mother enough, to hate politics on her behalf, and no one else’s. A part of him that wanted to tear it to pieces, for her.
That was weak.
That was Ben, and Ben was dead.
Dead, alongside Han Solo.
Kylo does not head towards the hangar immediately, but makes the stop back by their hallway. He does not think he needs to pick up anything, but he wouldn’t deprive Galatea of the opportunity to pick up anything she may want, although he suspects she has very little to grab. His lightsaber and datapad are already on his person, but he still intends to give his room a once-over before being certain.
~***~
Alexandria’s expression does not shift as Armitage makes his decision. There’s a moment’s question in whether to offer her back and lead towards the room, but it is just that – a moment. Armitage made the direction obvious, and hesitating would be ridiculous, so she does not, even if she can feel the prickling sensation rush up her spine as she leads to the room.
How easy it would be to put a gun to her back and fire.
Not that Armitage would dare. Not without reason, and she is certain he doesn’t.
Just as she wouldn’t have reason enough to murder him in cold blood in the command center.
She enters first, and steps clear of the door to allow him plenty of room. Her gaze flicks to the door as she moves to the table, but doesn’t sit. “It’s a log of imports and exports to D’Qar,” Alexandria offers plainly, “the imports are of no importance,” in her not at all humble opinion, “the exports show places the Resistance thought important enough to maintain.”
Where things came in from didn’t matter. There was no guarantee it had any real ties to the Resistance. Their own pilots could leave to Coruscant and return with supplies. Sending supplies to another location was far more notable.
“Reamma, Pacara, and Dantooine are all planets listed, and all likely to have Resistance bases worth raiding, but they are also, not as important.” And this was where Armitage might have to consider if a leap of faith was worth it, “Batuu is the only planet of note. The supplies sent to Batuu are substantial, both in number, and type. It’s supplies that could be used to improve Batuu’s communications relay,” supplies that would help the Resistance to organize from a position the Order didn’t give a damn about, partially because of the piss-poor communications. “Batuu is also a known haven of Vi Moradi, an infamous Resistance spy who we captured once, before she escaped with Cardinal.”
Not commonly known information. In fact, Armitage would likely prefer no one knew that Cardinal lived, but Alexandria didn’t lift her hands in surrender for speaking it. She did not backtrack, nor explain herself. She would not act as if it were anything unusual to know.
After all, it wasn’t uncommon in the Resistance, who crowed loudly about every petty victory.
