LOCATION: KITCHEN FOUR - STARKILLER BASE

STARDATE: 15/09/1843

"What time is it?" I heard an obnoxious voice from my left ask. I ignored whoever it was and continued with my job, stirring the large pot of porridge-like gruel on the worktop in front of me.

Look down. Don't talk. Don't draw any attention to yourself.

They were the three most important rules when working on Starkiller Base. Do your job and nothing else.

"Nearly twelve. That food better be ready for the stormtroopers when they arrive." Came the metallic-sounding response from CN-9778, our resident head-chef.

'Food' was a generous term. The bowls of standardised protein supplement and dehydrated carbs that were slowly boiling away in the pot in front of me couldn't very easily be called 'food'. Necessary nutrients, sure, but nothing that anybody particularly enjoyed eating.

A single strand of black hair fell out of my hairnet and I blew it away, annoyed. The kitchen was, in my opinion, the worst place to work on the whole base. It was always too hot, always too sweaty, and there were always too many people.

"Alright, let's move it out," The familiar shout came from CN-9778, who had checked his watch again and concluded that it was time for us to dole the food out to the line of waiting stormtroopers in the cafeteria.

Stormtroopers. Now that's an exciting job. Getting to see new places, meet new people. I lifted the heavy saucepan by the handles and grunted slightly as I carried it over to an empty workplace, before doling out spoonfuls of the grey substance into plastic lunch trays. If I was a stormtrooper I wouldn't have maize-substitute on my face either.

Some things in life just weren't fair.

"Someone needs to bring Ren his lunch," CN-9778 reminded us curtly. I snorted inwardly to myself. Some poor bastard would have to face the wrath of one of the moodiest people in the whole base. Luckily, it wasn't my week this week.

"RV-0087," I lifted my head at the familiar number, looking at the head-chef with confusion.

"Yes, Sir?"

He nodded towards a plate next to him, which contained two ham sandwiches on brown bread. Nothing of great interest, but certainly a lot more exciting than what most of us were eating.

"I'm sorry, Sir?" I asked, still not understanding.

He sighed melodramatically, and picked up the plate, walking over to me and putting it in my hand. The cool feel of the ceramic clay was refreshing on my too-hot skin.

"Bring Ren his lunch."

My eyebrows raised in indignation.

"But Sir!" I protested, "I was on Ren duty two weeks ago. I'm not on again until next month! I though it was TG-7556's turn this week?"

"Chef TG-7556 has lungworm." The taller man responded, raising his eyebrow at me as if he was surprised that I had dared to speak out of turn, "Don't make me report you, RV-0087."

I pursed my lips and breathed a long sigh out of my nose in annoyance, before nodding politely and turning to one of the kitchen workers behind me. She was looking at me with something akin to sympathy.

"Could you finish up here for me?" I asked her, gesturing to the saucepan on the side, still half-full. She nodded silently and took my place, dishing out spoonfuls of the lumpy substance into trays.

I grasped the plate slightly tighter in my annoyance and walked out of the kitchen into a long dimly-lit corridor. I hated taking food to Ren. It was always the same situation.

Knock on the door. Wait at least twenty seconds before the resounding 'enter'. Place the plate on the table and do not under any circumstances look at him. Never in my four years of serving Lord Ren his meals had he ever once thanked me, asked me for my name or even acknowledged my presence. He probably thought his food just magically appeared in front of him every day at twelve on the dot.

Pretentious bastard.

I reached his quarters just in time, and like always, knocked three times on the large black door.

"Enter."

The voice came quickly this time, and I pushed open the door gently, slipping inside the room silently.

It was sparsely furnished; one desk and one chair at the side of the room, which the brooding form of Ren was sat at now looking furiously at the papers in front of him, one large double bed pushed up against the wall, and one mahogany wardrobe, doors tightly closed.

What the hell did the guy keep in there, anyway? I never saw him in anything that wasn't his usual drab black get-up.

I walked to the desk, plate grasped tightly in my hand. Give him the food and then get out of there before he could shout at me, that was the plan. Or at least, that was the plan until I tripped over a loose floorboard, my black shoe getting caught behind it as I walked. Almost in slow motion, the momentum of my body continued forwards whilst my feet stayed where they were, planted on the ground. I let go of the plate, bringing my hands up to meet the floor as I fell.

I crashed into the ground painfully and watched in horror as the plate came hurtling down in front of me. Without thinking, I lifted my hand up, even though it was far too far for me to ever be able to reach.

And it stopped.

The plate stopped in mid-air, floating on nothing as I held my hand out, the two sandwiches still resting perfectly fine in the middle of it. I looked at it, confused.

There was the sound of a chair scraping backwards, and suddenly warm hands were on my shoulders, pulling me up off the ground. The plate, which had now lost my concentration, came shattering to the floor, crashing as it broke on the metal tiles.

"How did you do that?"

I was in a state of shock. The taller man was holding onto my shoulders, much closer to me than I was comfortable with, his face inches from mine. The proximity was so great that I could see every freckle, every mole. The whites of his eyes.

"I... I'm sorry, Sir. It won't happen again," I stuttered. My heart was in my throat. This didn't happen. Ren didn't get up out of his seat, he didn't talk to the servants. He certainly didn't hold them tightly by the shoulders and stare directly into their eyes, searching for something that he couldn't find.

"How did you do that?" He repeated, apparently not fazed by the fact that his perfectly-prepared lunch was now covering the floor of his living quarters.

"I don't know!" I exclaimed. It was the truth, I didn't know what had just happened. All that I had been thinking was that I didn't want him to shout at me, didn't want him to give CN-9778 another reason to put me on washing-up duty for a month. And I'd put my hand out to stop the plate from falling and-

He took a step back from me, apparently becoming aware of our proximity. He was tall. Not just tall, but towering as he looked down at me, looming at least a foot above my head.

"What's your name?" His voice was impossibly low.

"RN-0087," I replied, my heart pounding.

"Where do you work, RN-0087?"

"Kitchen Four," I responded, fidgeting slightly under his too-intense gaze.

He nodded pensively.

"Has anything like this ever happened before?"

"No, Sir. And it won't happen again, I promise. I don't know what came over me." I was terrified, literally shaking with fear. I had seen what this man could do. Ren was the kind of person who could kill someone from across the room without even moving his little finger.

The corner of a full lip quirked up into a small smirk at the fear in my tone.

"You're not in trouble, RN-0087. I just want to know how long you've had the force for."

I couldn't help myself. I snorted.

Actually snorted in front of Kylo Ren, debatably the most powerful man in the galaxy. And I snorted.

"I don't have the force, Sir. I'm just a chef." I explained, trying to cover up my urge to laugh. This was ridiculous.

He smiled again. It was an uncomfortable smile, his lips closed slightly too tight, not reaching his eyes.

"Have you worked here long, RN-0087?" He asked, pulling his chair up behind him and taking a seat, ignoring the mess of food on the floor. Even when sitting, he was still only a few inches shorter than me, "I've never seen you here before."

I raised an eyebrow incredulously.

"I've literally been serving you meals for the last four years,"

It came out slightly snappier than I intended, and Ren's eyes narrowed.

"Careful..." I felt a jolt of fear run down my spine at the word, "I'm not a very patient man, RN-0087. I don't take kindly to disrespect."

"I'm sorry, Sir. It won't happen again, Sir."

He licked his lips thoughtfully, worrying his bottom lip between his teeth. He looked up at me again.

"Go back to the kitchen. I'll have a word with your head chef. I think you and I are going to be seeing much more of each other."

That

is much better than it was before

whoo

alrighty please leave reviews and vote because i never really know where im going with these until people tell me how they think i'm doing :)