Approximately none of those words make sense to Kylo, which is annoying— and it shows in the growing tension of his face. His jaw works irritably on something he decides not to say. His decidedly unbeautiful, oversized hands smooth over the textured embroidery of his tunic as if the sensation might aid his thoughts somehow, and his eyes track over the general lean and posture of his unwilling expert on the Occult.
Whatever that is.
"Perhaps they want one of each," he mutters after a moment. "We're part of a set."
Which, judging by the twist of his mouth, is the most distasteful idea imaginable.
no subject
Approximately none of those words make sense to Kylo, which is annoying— and it shows in the growing tension of his face. His jaw works irritably on something he decides not to say. His decidedly unbeautiful, oversized hands smooth over the textured embroidery of his tunic as if the sensation might aid his thoughts somehow, and his eyes track over the general lean and posture of his unwilling expert on the Occult.
Whatever that is.
"Perhaps they want one of each," he mutters after a moment. "We're part of a set."
Which, judging by the twist of his mouth, is the most distasteful idea imaginable.