─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───
fade: chapter five
─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───
SAT IN THE MEDICAL WING of the star destroyer, Florence and Ben are completely quiet. The air in the room is thick, static. She almost struggles to draw breath. Small droids are fixing up their wounds, applying bandages and using some otherworldly tech to replenish their connective tissue. Wincing slightly at the pain in her right shoulder as it's being sown together, she watches them patch up the wound on Ben's lower abdomen.
"That looks nasty." She comments quietly, a disgusted frown forming on her face. His eyes meet hers for just a moment.
He looks down at the wound, gently touching it with the tips of his fingers, careful not to get in the way of the small droids. He nods slowly in agreement.
Florence manages a small, sympathetic smile. He doesn't seem to notice, eyes lost in thought. She sighs quietly, head cocked to the side as she thinks about what happened just two days ago. She let them escape. She could've stopped them, they could've had Rey and Finn in their custody by now. She let them go, and for some, horrible, unexplainable reason, she feels guilty about it. "The girl-"
"She's unimportant right now." He cuts her off, a look on his face that Florence cannot quite place. He looks away, eyes trained on the wall.
She chuckles wryly. "We both know that's not true."
"No, I mean right now, in this moment."
"Oh," she says, looking down at her hands, suddenly feeling rather uncomfortable, wondering what the hell he means by that. She doesn't blame him for wanting just a moment of calm before they walk out of that room and into the war again. "Remember what you told me about the force? I'd like to learn more. I want you to teach me."
"Figured you'd change your mind." He says confidently, a hint of a smirk on his face.
"Am I really that predictable?" She asks humorously, glancing up at him, fiddling anxiously with her cuticles.
He shakes his head. "No." For a moment, silence rests between them. "It's funny. I never seemed to like anyone around here, not anyone, until you came along. I don't seem to hate you."
She takes a moment to think about her next words. "I've gained an understanding of you over the years. I know hardly anything about you, who you really are, but I know that Kylo Ren is just a persona. There's someone else in there. I like that other person, I like Ben Solo." She clenches her jaw, looking up at him with soft eyes but a hard exterior - nervous about having used his real name, the fact that she just said so much about her personal feelings. She's not used to being personal, intimate, with anyone. The first order doesn't do personal.
He cannot find it in him to comment on the usage of that name he despises so much. He looks down at it hands. "I'm not that person anymore."
"No, maybe not. But there's still some of him left in you. I know it."
"I'll train you. We'll start as soon as we can. I could need proper backup."
Her heart sinks at his words. He could need her. Disappointment throbs in her chest. She has to look away, intensely chewing on her lip to hold back tears. She doesn't want to cry — it comes naturally. Yet again she's only useful to someone, she wants it to mean something more, something else, but she knows it doesn't. He wants to train her because he could use her eventual powers, not because he wants to, not because he wants to spend time with her. It seems to be her only use in this world. Not as a friend, but as an asset.
"I should get some sleep. I'll see you... later, whenever." She says hastily, waving the droids away and walking out of the room with quick, agitated steps.
She retreats to her bedroom, crawling under the sheets with her knees pulled up to her chest. Her shoulder throbs with pain, but she ignores it, closing her eyes. Sleep doesn't come to her until much later, when it is no longer late but early, and the base is waking to life again, people walking outside her room. When the alarm rings, she's only gotten a mere hour of sleep. groaning, she drags herself out of bed and walks with heavy steps into her bathroom for a shower.
Head pressed against the tiling, she lets the scalding hot water wash down her back. Her long, platinum locks are a dread to handle after she's washed her hair, but she tries not to think of that. Instead, she makes sure to properly wash the scars and wounds on her body, tracing them with her fingertips.
She's got quite a collection by now, a nice plethora of scars along her entire body, some prettier than others. She hates how they look, but she loves what they tell. They all have history, a story behind them. Some are terrible memories that she tries her best forget, but some are from her childhood, scars that will probably always sit on her skin. And she quite wants them to. They remind her of who she is, who she used to be, anyways.
She gets dressed in her casual outfit, the black dress that reaches just under her knees with a red piece of fabric draping over her shoulder. As always, she braids her hair to get it out of her face, four small braids starting at her face meeting in a tight bun at the back of her head.
She walks into the mess hall, immediately spotting some people that she considers friends. They may think of her in other ways, but she has known them since she first came here and they've always had her back, sometimes they make conversation. Friends. Grabbing a plate of grey goo that the first order likes to call food, she joins them. "Hey," she offers the bunch a thin smile. "Are you adjusting well?"
For a moment, there is a dead silence. They're not a particularly chatty bunch, and things haven't been particularly good since the attack on their base, making for a somber mood. Most of them lost good friends in the air, some didn't have time to escape before the planet blew up. Kez looks at her. "Well yeah. Acclimation is a part of the job." He shrugs.
There is a dire sadness in his voice. "Sure. I don't know about you guys but I am just so fucking tired," she replies, stabbing her breakfast with the plastic spoon in her hand. "Everything that we worked for is gone. Most of our, your, friends are dead. My shoulder hurts like a bitch, we still don't have that scavenger and I bet my ass that the supreme leader is going to scold me as soon as he gets here because he has something against me for whatever reason. And this food, this disgusting food, will never make me full."
Kez stares at her, mouth slightly open as he takes in her rant. "Wow," he laughs, "I mean, speak your truth and all that but that was quite something, Naya." He lets out a laugh.
"I'm just tired," she says, rubbing her temples. "Nothing we do ever leads to anything."
"Sadly, I can't say I disagree."
Another of the officers, Laye his name is, looks at her. "Not to sound like the resistance, but I think we just gotta have hope."
"It's not about hope," she says through gritted teeth. "It's about hard work and dedication and... intelligence, outsmarting the scum that we're up against. I'm starting to see the incompetence within this supposedly powerful order."
No one replies, but mostly everyone nods in unison. She's saying what no one else dares to, but she's not scared. Hux does not intimidate her, not Kylo Ren, not even the supreme leader. She's always been a woman with strong opinions and feelings towards things, and if there was one thing her mother taught her, it was to not stay silent, but to rebel.
─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───
WHEN SHE OPENS HER EYES, Florence is no longer on the star destroyer. Around her is a deeply green forest, air fresh and clean. She recognizes the place easily. To her left, a thick, crooked oak tree stretches into the sky. She used to climb it as a child. Spent years trying to get to the top. She still remembers the satisfaction she felt when she finally managed; she felt like she was on top of the world. Like she could conquer anything.
Her victory had been short-lived as she fell down on her way back, breaking a few bones in her right leg. She'd been hysterical, crying frantically as her father carried her back to their house. He insisted that it was still a victory nonetheless, that yes, at the casualty of her leg, she had reached a long time goal and she should be proud, because he was.
Florence stands up, feet bare against the ground. She takes a second just to enjoy it, the feeling of grass slipping in between her toes as she stands there, eyes planted on a house far away, barely noticeable if you didn't already know where to look. But she knows damn well where to look, and she can see smoke coming out of the chimney. For a moment, she forgets that her parents are dead. She forgets that there is no possible way she could actually be back home — but none of that crosses her mind.
Quickly, she gains speed and runs through the trees and up toward her old house, a small hut made of mud and straw. Outside, a small garden where they'd sow and reap all sorts of things. When she was younger, she's always help her mother out with those things, all until they no longer interested her. In hindsight, she wishes she would've spent more time with her mother, even doing the things she didn't quite enjoy.
Wary of her surroundings, confusion in her veins, Florence slows down outside the hut. Slowly approaching the door, she pushes it open and steps inside. Everything looks just like it did the last time she was there, not a single thing is out of place. Small things, like a spoon placed on the makeshift kitchen counter, things Florence never would've imagined she remembers but as she's there once again, she remembers everything clear as day, how that last day went down. a soft coughing brings her out of her mind and she blinks a few times, uncertain of where it's coming from.
She ventures further into the hut, finding her mother laying lifelessly on the floor. Not taking into consideration that her mother is dead since long and this isn't possible, she slides down on the floor next to her. "Mom?" She begs in a broken whisper as she pulls her mother's dying body into her arms, head resting on her knees.
"This is your fault," her mother manages, voice low and raspy. Not knowing what else to do, Florence desperately presses her hand against the wound in her mother's chest, eyes welling with tears.
"What? I don't- I'm sorry. I'm so sorry," she cries, placing a bloody hand on her mother's cheek. "I'm so sorry." She repeats, over and over as she rocks her mother gently, closing her eyes in remorse. She did this, this her her fault above anyone else's and she'll have to live with that for the rest of her life.
The setting changes when she opens her eyes and she finds herself looking at a dark throne looming at the far back of the surrounding area, thunder striking down around her. The sound echoes loudly throughout her. Cautiously, Florence stands up and steps closer to the spider-like throne, confused as to what this is. "My child," a deep voice fills the space. "You have no idea what's in store."
"What is this?" She asks in a frightened whisper, anxiously waiting for an answer, she stops walking and stands before the throne, almost tempted to extend a hand and touch it, but she refrains. "Who are you?" She demands, growing more agitated.
"I am every thing you're afraid of." He replies as a blue lightsaber pierces her chest and she drops down on her knees, holding a hand against the wound. This seems to be a common theme in her dreams, and she hates it more than anything.
─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───
[ words 2097 ]
Merry Christmas every one!
Just a side note, in the movies,
the time that passes between tfa and
tlj is like hours, but imma make
it months, maybe even a full year.
I'm not sure yet kshshs