[He's not ashamed when he wakes, still feeling the ringing in his ears in spite of the fact that it's been hours-- or maybe days-- since he last held consciousness. Pain is fuel in his veins: either negligible or useful depending on what the situation calls for, and so his first concern isn't the pressure pinned across the fine bones of his wrists, it's the figure there before him, slight and small, limned with light.
How disgustingly appropriate.
Kylo wipes his tongue across the roof of his mouth, washing away the dryness. ] And so the tables have turned.
[His tone is distant. Objective. As cut and dry as if the mask he favored was still tugged over his skin. An easy habit to keep.] Do you prefer it this way? Playing the interrogator.
no subject
How disgustingly appropriate.
Kylo wipes his tongue across the roof of his mouth, washing away the dryness. ] And so the tables have turned.
[His tone is distant. Objective. As cut and dry as if the mask he favored was still tugged over his skin. An easy habit to keep.] Do you prefer it this way? Playing the interrogator.