Show Me Some Respect || Kylo Ren

Wish You Were Me

A coatrack.

That's what this pompous bitch, Adonis Weaver, believed you were. The second you and Commander Ren approached them for the first discussion meeting, he threw his jacket at you and expected you to catch and hold it. Instead, you allowed the overpriced piece of leather to fumble onto the polished floor beneath it, soaking up the minimal amount of dust that covered the floor. He scoffed, calling you incompetent under his breath before putting on a half-assed playful expression for the Commander. It was obvious that this man did not feel a single tinge of respect for anyone that didn't hold a position of extreme power. You wanted to grab Commander Rens' lightsaber from his waistband and lash the man to death with it. But alas, that would not be appropriate.

Both you and his servant girl, Adora, waited outside the well-crafted wooden doors of the meeting room. She didn't so much as make eye contact with you once. Her gaze stayed perfectly fixated on the walls across from her torso, not breaking for a second. You awkwardly fiddled with your hands, hoping she'd say something to you. It felt a bit rude to abruptly ask her about her job, or how she ended up here. More importantly, you felt incredibly guilty for wanting to ask her about her name. The term of Weaver still haunted you, ate at your brain at night. It wasn't a suitable title for anyone, there was no possible way she didn't know that.

It took almost forty minutes for you to muster up enough courage to speak to her, but before you could ever get the first word out, Adonis and Commander Ren came strolling out of the room. The Commander placed himself behind you, resting his hands firmly upon your shoulders to pull you closer to him. The gesture was rather confusing. So persistent it seemed as if he was trying to show that he had some sort of owning on your life. Adonis smiled as he watched the Commanders' actions. He then promptly ripped his jacket out of Adoras' hands and threw it over himself in a hurried manner. His hands wrapped themselves up in her hip creases as he dragged her away from your view, plunging her into the unknown of the estate.

"Commander." You went to speak, but a sudden jerk of your body into a nearby supply closet cut you off. The Commander locked the door shut in a panic, his helmet's gaze now staring into your eyes. Your blood ran cold, hating the persistent silence and his lack of transparency. Something felt wrong, a chilling feeling that you couldn't shake away. Something was said in that meeting that didn't sit right with the Commander, you could sense it from his body language.

"She's his slave."

You looked up at him with confusion, which was quickly replaced by understanding. "Well, yeah. I figured that out already," you responded to his obvious statement. It was pretty much assumed that Adora was a slave. Not only was it easy to tell by her close and hair, but by the way she was treated as common garbage.

"No," he asserted, his tone now showing a horrible amount of disgust. "She's a sex slave."

Your eyes grew wide in panic, thinking about how that poor girl couldn't have been any older than you were. "She- she's a what?" You stammered, a lump forming in the back of your throat. Never in your life had you seen or even heard of such a thing. There was no way this was in any way legal or acceptable by society, but this wasn't a world you knew. Things had been descended into chaos for years, some would argue even decades. Nothing made sense anymore, so something as immoral and outlandish as this? Well, maybe there was a chance of it being a reality.

The Commander sighed. It was clear that this matter was somehow a touchy subject for him, and that had some security in it. If he really resented, and hated the fact this practice was still current throughout the galaxy, then it helped you believe he'd never want that life for you. "I do heavily resent this," he grunted. "However, it's a long-held tradition, and not enough men are willing to give it up."