[They're no longer in the moment; whatever hungry weakness sought out Han Solo's hand as a means to escape has passed, and his jaw winds up once contact is back on he table, contempt a bitter, bitter pill. Not for the weight of tired fingers, or for Han Solo, but for himself, and no amount of praise can act as a balm in the face of that fact.]
Don't.
[Snapped out, hands draped across his knees, face still angled downwards, tilting only enough to address the man standing just over his shoulder.] I have existed this long without your praise; I need none of it now.
[The ones that crave it are still keeping to the front of the ship - so eager for attention he hardly needs to lean on the Force to feel it.]
no subject
Don't.
[Snapped out, hands draped across his knees, face still angled downwards, tilting only enough to address the man standing just over his shoulder.] I have existed this long without your praise; I need none of it now.
[The ones that crave it are still keeping to the front of the ship - so eager for attention he hardly needs to lean on the Force to feel it.]