[So instantaneous is the rushing high of that transmission hitting his ears (Poe-- it's Poe, somehow he's alive--) that even as he sputters and chokes against air surging back into his lungs, he's fighting off the ghost of a pale grin for it. They were dead. God, he thought they were dead.
And it hits him then, all the trouble Kylo Ren and his entourage must have gone through, how determined he had to have been to come running this far only to wind up here, stuck grasping at nothing but empty clues to Skywalker's location and a wounded, former soldier. Maybe it wasn't winning, but for the cadet that went to bed and woke up every day to the tune of the First Order's invincibility and strength, it's close enough.
Or at least it is until he hears the sickening rasp of that fragmented saber where it sparks up at Kylo Ren's side, blood running cold in his own veins from a potent mixture of fear and dug-in memory. The rest that follows is unnecessary: Finn's already stock-still by the time the crossguard edges in, hot and livid and reeking of scorched ozone, his breathing low and shallow in his chest on instinct alone. He swears his heart is hammering in his throat.]
--then do it. [Finn's voice cracks when he says it; it's far from convincing.]
Screw me up the way you did him. That's the idea, right? [He watched it all play out from the rafters, when the good man that was Han Solo died. Never heard what was said, but it didn't matter: he deserved better.]
no subject
And it hits him then, all the trouble Kylo Ren and his entourage must have gone through, how determined he had to have been to come running this far only to wind up here, stuck grasping at nothing but empty clues to Skywalker's location and a wounded, former soldier. Maybe it wasn't winning, but for the cadet that went to bed and woke up every day to the tune of the First Order's invincibility and strength, it's close enough.
Or at least it is until he hears the sickening rasp of that fragmented saber where it sparks up at Kylo Ren's side, blood running cold in his own veins from a potent mixture of fear and dug-in memory. The rest that follows is unnecessary: Finn's already stock-still by the time the crossguard edges in, hot and livid and reeking of scorched ozone, his breathing low and shallow in his chest on instinct alone. He swears his heart is hammering in his throat.]
--then do it. [Finn's voice cracks when he says it; it's far from convincing.]
Screw me up the way you did him. That's the idea, right? [He watched it all play out from the rafters, when the good man that was Han Solo died. Never heard what was said, but it didn't matter: he deserved better.]
They'll be here any second.