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[narcissithstic]

HATRED all will suffer for their crimes.	SERVICE within it, glory beyond measure.
CONTROL chaos brought to heel through pain.	FEAR failure, weakness, mediocrity...

( CODE BY WHAMBAM )

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[narcissithstic]

[When Sam skirts in, Ren's shoulders raise, squaring him off in a decidedly aggressive posture - something more than ready for violence, should Sam think to reach for his arm. A passing consideration that soon proves itself unnecessary.

But his face stays stern, fixed and uncaring, as cold as the frigid void of space beyond the Station's walls, and it holds until the steep offer of an owed, open favor. If the man were willing to keep to it, there's a wellspring of opportunity resting on the razor-thin edge of Ren's held tongue.

He waits, mulling how much he trusts his broodmate's promise, and then:]

Two favors. [Ren repeats, drawing near enough to level his mask.] And you will keep your word.

[frakkincylons]

[ ren's pausing, and Sam sees that as at least a better sign than blowing him off completely. though it could just mean he's trying to decide if he wants to rip his throat out or his spleen out first. either way, it turns out well. or at least as desired, and Sam stays rooted, nodding, as he's looking over the damaged mask like it's actually the man's face. ]

Two favors. I said it, I meant it.

[ there's a mental echo of something beyond genuine in that phrase - like it's more saying 'amen' than just reassuring his promise. this could be a very bad idea, and he could be getting himself into something very terrible, but them's the breaks. Ren's part of his brood, so is all his baggage and violence.

a beat passes, and he adds, pointing. ]

I'll even fix your hat thing for free. [ don't say toaster mask, don't say toaster mask. ] If you want.

[narcissithstic]

It is a helmet. [Pointed. Unbudging in how serious he clearly is about the subject-- and the object at its core.] And it is not broken.

[Is that it? Is that Kylo Ren letting bygones be bygones? It certainly seems that way as he shifts to slide past the edge of Sam's shoulders, chin held high, focus set on the path ahead rather than his companion.]

[frakkincylons]

[ welp, that was quick. not that sam's going to complain about ren seemingly putting it behind him for the moment. sam doubts it'll be that easy, but for the moment, it's peace, and Sam stuffs hands into his pockets as he turns to walk with him. ]

Helmet. Got it. [ why he needs a helmet, Sam doesn't get, but whatever floats your boat, man. ] Really? So it's supposed to have those scratches and dents and things?

I mean, if that's your style, that's your style. Not judging.

[narcissithstic]

How do you assume 'those scratches' got there?

[#aesthetic, Sam. Gosh.]

[frakkincylons]

Someone... hit you in the face with something?

[ right??? helmets are for guarding your face from being smashed in or shot up, right? it does give the badass vibe, sure, he's just saying. ]

[narcissithstic]

Battle. [So yes, technically, though Ren seems committed to the idea that his barbed response is a correction. As it so often is with him, much of the world exists based entirely off of his own perceptions. For someone with a sea of overwhelming insight within reach, Ren clearly prefers keeping his fingertips curled tight against his sides.

If their prior conversation— the last beneficial one they shared— was indicative of anything, it's that there must be a reason for it.]

Did you know, [He starts, voice sounding almost casual. It would entirely if not for the digital snarl of his helmet's modulator where it overrides subtler shifts in tone.] I used to burn my enemies to nothing more than cinder.

I kept the ashes.

[Those weighted footfalls stop; he turns smoothly on his heel, shoulders squared when his attention falls on Sam. The air seems too thin. Too heavy.

Too wrong.]

The next time you attempt to publicly humiliate me, Samuel, will be your end. [This time when Kylo Ren moves to leave, his strides are too long to entertain any thought of pursuit. The matter is done, the figurative hatchet buried, but that doesn't mean Ren intends to let Sam have the last word.]

—and the beginning of my new collection.

[bye bro]

[frakkincylons]

I wasn't trying to-- [ humiliate you, he was going to say, as Ren goes storming off in a murderous hissy fit. he'd been trying to keep perspective. this is what's important to you, let's do what's in favor of what's important to you. but like most power obsessed people, Ren took it as a personal affront of his ego.

and sam is maybe permanently on the enemy side of his line now. which is actually a lot more disappointing than just a schism in the brood is. he'd actually wanted to know him.

but, okay, hatchet buried, now he owes two favors that he's probably really, really going to regret promising. but maybe that'll buy him back to at least standing directly on the line in the proverbial sand rather than shoved over it to the wrong side.

this is frakked. ]

Godsdammit. [ he's muttering, to himself, as he watching Ren's robes go swirling in a dramatic flip as he turns the corner and vanishes down another hallway. leaving sam here. by himself. talking to himself. like a super sane person. ]

Okay, whatever, great talk. Glad we worked that out. [ Why can't things be like the military, where people just get to call you out and punch you if you fuck up? Well, Galactica's military. With a huff, Sam's turning the opposite direction, heading towards the training rooms to go try to jog this tension out, rambling to himself as he slouches away. ] Someone needs to come up with a better threat than 'I'm gonna kill you'. Seriously.

Maybe 'I'm gonna line your bedroom floor with thumb tacks'. That's what's frakkin' scary.