Thread: Masquerade [ Ft. Banks & November ]

Well, if she didn't appreciate his misdirected compliments... she really wouldn't appreciate the snorting laughter coming from his nose. Sorry about that. As soon as he'd said it, he snickered a couple more times. Shit. He was beginning to understand why Fedorre had done it. The body works up enough tension and it escapes in the strangest of ways. My behavior I mean, not your face. I wouldn't say your face was unfortunate, really. It's... Of course, he'd backed himself into a terrible rhetorical corner, because now he had to look at her, look at her and render some sort of judgement. She had a broad, strong jawline a bit stronger than his, if he were excruciatingly honest, a slightly crooked nose that had probably been popped out years before and never reset exactly right, bushy eyebrows that even he could tell she'd tried to tame in a dozen different ways before settling on walling them off at some angles out of frustration. All of this stuff, features from a half-dozen different women, and a set of big gorgeous brown eyes. He hadn't come to much of a conclusion about her personally, but it was a pleasure to look at her. Thinking about what she looked like. Seeing her in different lights and angles... The problem was putting all this into a word. Fascinating... captivating... these were accurate, but a bit strange. She'd be looking at him out of the corner of her eyes for the rest of their mission. Maybe the rest of their lives. It was something you told a bug before you dried out their carcass and pinned them to a fucking board. Beautiful... handsome... Ingratiating and mechanical, respectively. Of course the third option was to just vomit out his train of thought. A bit off-putting but would probably close the subject, just from sheer force of completeness. I mean, you've probably heard a dozen different things about your face, and decided you didn't like any of them for a dozen different reasons. It's your face. It's what I'd expect you to look like. This was probably even more mechanical than calling a woman handsome. Certainly no girl was ever raised hoping a boy would call her fucking handsome one day. Still that was... enough, wasn't it? Feeling himself turning red, Kylo turned his back to her and checked out some landing settings on the dashboard. As for your past life... you would be very surprised at what some of us did from a very young age, Commander. They eventually landed at a port, getting through a rather.. accelerated clearance through port control. When he saw someone actually running through the shipyard to meet them, he actually panicked. Had they somehow been found out? But that didn't make sense. They'd certainly send more than one man if that were the case... Kylo opened the door and let the man through. He was a heavyset man with butchers forearms, and he immediately wrapped his arms around Kylo and hugged him. His eyes boggled out, and he looked at Phasma with a mortified expression. Wasn't she supposed to protect him from these sorts of things. Thank the fuckin' Maker, we haven't had anybody get through in a week! You must be a hell of a pilot, son. He wryly looked at her out of the corner of his eyes, almost thinking of passing the credit onto her, but what would that get her, aside from a hug from a very sweaty man? Just got lucky. He was already looking through the ship, feeling the walls and floors for secret compartments. Okay, what'd you bring. Bring? The fat man paused. You... outran an Imperial blockade in this bucket of bolts and you didn't... bring anything? Oil, spice, coal, anything? It's the First Order. Sorry, what? Kylo froze, and one chunk of spit slowly, agonizingly slid down his throat. I just... I just think we should be exacting about... you know. The taxonomy. Of words. Snoke had made some brilliant plan. Except for this part. His gaze veered over to Commander Phasma. Which one of them was supposed to do the talking?