She knows that it shouldn't. He is only pointing out what they have both already known: that vows exchanged over the firelight in a hut on Ahch-to were just desperate whispers, souls reaching out for something. They didn't stand in the light of day. They are alone, even if she has refused to leave him to that fate with the very intent to drag him back over her shoulder if she has to. She has assessed his bulk and weight and decided herself capable.
He refuses the burden. She's, as a result, moody in how she hands over the knife and grabs a fresh container, occupying herself with the effort of milking venom from a tentacle that is not venomous so much as poisonous and therefore a mostly useless endeavor. The secretions stick to the wet skin. She tries to scrape them away into the container instead.
Her motions are made vigorous by her hurt, the reminder that she is as alone here as she had been on Jakku. Surviving by only her own hand. No Finn or Chewie or Leia or the Resistance. And not him, either. They'd both decided that. The one person who she'd allowed herself to believe understood that bone deep loneliness feels far away, almost foreign.
She clings then to Clarke's insistence that they were each other's people now, that they were all in it together, that they would take care of each other. Rey and Mei certainly had, when it counted. She has people, she tells herself. Just not those she's used to. ]
no subject
She knows that it shouldn't. He is only pointing out what they have both already known: that vows exchanged over the firelight in a hut on Ahch-to were just desperate whispers, souls reaching out for something. They didn't stand in the light of day. They are alone, even if she has refused to leave him to that fate with the very intent to drag him back over her shoulder if she has to. She has assessed his bulk and weight and decided herself capable.
He refuses the burden. She's, as a result, moody in how she hands over the knife and grabs a fresh container, occupying herself with the effort of milking venom from a tentacle that is not venomous so much as poisonous and therefore a mostly useless endeavor. The secretions stick to the wet skin. She tries to scrape them away into the container instead.
Her motions are made vigorous by her hurt, the reminder that she is as alone here as she had been on Jakku. Surviving by only her own hand. No Finn or Chewie or Leia or the Resistance. And not him, either. They'd both decided that. The one person who she'd allowed herself to believe understood that bone deep loneliness feels far away, almost foreign.
She clings then to Clarke's insistence that they were each other's people now, that they were all in it together, that they would take care of each other. Rey and Mei certainly had, when it counted. She has people, she tells herself. Just not those she's used to. ]