5/19/2
"Our people and their people have been bouncing this back and forth since we made it clear that our security forces are for hire," Threepio says.
Kylo's nodding along. "So, this is just… wrapping things up?"
Since they've started offering services for sale, Kylo's noticed that not only does he generally avoid the hashing things out stage, but for the most part, everything works better if he does. The lawyers, negotiators, and whomever tend to prefer that he doesn't read every stage of every contract and add his own "suggestions" to the documents. Something about how, because he was involved, the settlement with the Polonians took 8 rounds, and if he'd kept out of it, they likely could have gotten that down to three. (He still thinks it was a 'useful learning experience.' His negotiators are under the impression that they took decades to learn this shit, so he doesn't have to.)
So… Now, well. Here's Threepio, with an almost finished contract, and they're talking about what's going to happen, tomorrow, and the day after, and as of this point, he has not only not lain eyes on the contract, but he more or less didn't know it was even on the horizon.
Which, of course, makes him want to be even deeper involved, but… Finite time in the day. He does make sure to give himself at least twenty minutes a day to pick a contract at random and skim the damn thing to make sure his lawyers aren't stabbing him in the back, or taking the Order somewhere it's not meant to go. (So far, so good. Threepio just sighs at him about that. If his eyes could roll, they would.)
"Not exactly, Master. We have a set of terms that are likely agreeable, that said, the Kresh have only rarely done business with humans, and don't generally enjoy trusting things like security to outsiders. Since we've been doing a good enough job with our part of the border on the Rim, and they're currently embroiled with several inter-and-intra-system wars, and would prefer to have their extreme borders secure, there's a good possibility they may pay us to take up the slack."
"May?" Kylo says.
"May. In the sense that, as of now, the contract is agreeable, with us and them, but they are wary of working with strangers. They'd like to meet you, get a sense of who you are, see how you mesh with their culture, and… as they put it, 'Feel him out.'"
"So… I just go to this thing, and… what, be friendly?"
Threepio nods to the datapad with the briefing notes and the particulars of the contract. That nod tells Kylo what's he's going to be doing for most of today. Reading. "I'm certain they'll want to talk security, border control, but yes, mostly they want to know if you, as a person, are someone they'll be comfortable doing business with. Their Primo is mostly retired from actively running their military and fighting, but for big battles, he'll join in the fray. They expect something similar from us."
"Did they seek us out because I fought on Qualee?"
"It certainly made them more interested in seeking us out."
Kylo smiles at that. "Just me? For the feeling out?"
"To begin with. They're a very hierarchical society, and tend to think that if the man in charge is an honorable person the rest will follow. That's why they think it's important to meet you, personally. That said, for the dinner portion of the event, Lady Rey and Grand Marshall Frakes will be joining you."
That makes sense to Kylo. "What about the Kinears?"
"Already booked for an evening with the B'Rinna, otherwise we'd have sent them, too."
Kylo nods to Threepio, and gets to reading.
"How could there possibly be this many of them this fast?" Poe asks Rey, as the two of them sit at the conference table in Kylo's office, sorting through the already thousands of letters to Rey about… everything. About half of them are just… fan mail. That's what Poe called them, which absolutely flatfooted Kylo and Rey. (And now he's wondering if he gets fan mail, too, and if C8 just… deals with it. He's just… a little too proud to actually ask though.)
The other half, which they're working their way through, is "Tell me more about this Maji thing" letters.
"So, we just… respond?" Rey asks.
C8 nods to her. "Yes, Mistress. I have the program set so that each letter is recorded, and so are your responses. As you get to each new one, the responses to any previous questions will already be set. Then all you'll need to do is read, edit, and sign, and they'll be ready to. Eventually, the program will know how you think about basically any question that could come your way, and it will write your correspondence. All you'll need to do is sign off before it sends."
Rey doesn't wince at that, but… "It feels—"
Poe cuts her off, laying a hand on her arm. "It's you. Or me. Us, I guess. The Maji. We're writing the responses, we're just…" He looks at her inbox. "Shit, fifty more of them in just the amount of time it took me to do that. There's no way anyone can keep up with that. Just signing off on them personally is already more time than we really should be devoting to this."
Kylo looks up from his reports. "There's a reason I spot check, instead of going through everything personally."
Rey nods. She knows that, but… "Feels weird to do it this way."
Poe nods back at her. "Trust me, I get it. Leia didn't like this either."
That's got Kylo's attention. "Did she…"
Poe replies with, "Oh, she was just swimming in correspondence. And fan mail like you wouldn't believe. Her senate staff had three people who just wrote thank you notes for the nice letters people would send her. Think about that. The same kind of computers we're working with, and three people, who just replied to letters. And best I know, none of them ever saw an empty inbox."
Kylo and Rey groan at that.
Rey opens the first of the letters. It's nice, and apparently from someone who thought ideas of balance resonated. The questions are… not easy, per se, but… It's a place to start thinking about this as something beyond a 'just do it so it feels right' sort of thing they pass onto the kids.
"How do you know you're in balance?" Poe reads.
They look at each other.
"I suppose if I say, 'You just feel it,' that's not enough, is it?" Rey asks.
Poe shrugs. "But that's the answer, right. When you find the balance, things tend to fall into place. Maybe the outside world doesn't, but inside your head does?"
Kylo listens to the two of them batting that around for a while. He's not having an easy time letting that be background noise while he reads more about the Kress and where they want their security details.
Mostly because… while he thinks they have the right 'ideas,' he feels like the… packaging… for lack of a better term, is missing.
(There's a vague sense of Luke smirking behind him. It's almost strong enough for him to turn and check. His desire to not see Luke keeps him looking ahead as he gets up and joins them at the table.)
He leans his hips against the table, and looks down at Rey and Poe. "Recording?"
"Sure. Gonna wow us Mr. Use-To-Be-A-Jedi?" Poe asks.
Kylo flashes a cocky smile. "Of course, in all things, the Force balances. It cannot, ever, be out of balance, because balance is its nature. It is our job, as sentients, to find our own internal balance, and though said balance will shift with time, nature, and our circumstances, it is always there. Finding it, and keeping on it, may be difficult, but your body and mind will help you on the journey toward it. You know, if you allow yourself, what you need to do to get closer to your balance, and the closer you get the easier it is to keep on it. So, the first moment, first question, of seeking your balance is to take the time to know yourself, not the who you should or want to be, but the who you are. Once you know that, assessing where you go next becomes easier. Once you know where you need to go, the next bit is just… doing it, and that's where the real challenges lie."
Poe and Rey stare at each other, both suddenly very aware of the idea of Master Ben Solo, in his tan and beige robes, and his holy books, and then Poe says, "So, one of you was formally trained in religious philosophy, huh?"
Rey nods. "Yup."
Kylo smiles, feeling very glad to add something useful to this idea, and then wanders back to his own work.
Jon's not, as best as Kylo remembers, on his schedule for this afternoon, which is why he's a little surprised when C8 announces him.
But, as he can feel, Rey and Poe aren't, so…
He doesn't recheck to schedule to see if he missed a chunk of it.
"Looks like a party," Jon says, bag in hand.
"Only if answering questions like, "The Jedi believed the best path for sentients was to serve the light. Why do you think that's wrong?" is your idea of a party," Rey replies while Poe just grins at him.
Jon smirks at that. "You know what, that's not my idea of a party."
Poe laughs, mouths the words Thank The Force, and nods to the bag. "Party tomorrow?"
"Ish. Rumor has it the Kress really know how to have a good time, but this isn't supposed to be that sort of a shindig." He nods to Kylo, and pats the bag. "Up you get. Time to get this one ready to go," he points to the door to Kylo and Rey's room. "Rey and I'll get our kits together later, but you've got to leave in four hours—"
And Kylo remembered why he didn't bother to check his schedule too carefully, because if he did, he'd have to contemplate that, in order to get to this thing, he's got to leave at just a bit past what he'd normally consider suppertime.
Alone.
This is not, as it were, making his day, or night.
He follows Jon to his door, opens it, and then stands by his bed while Jon starts laying things out.
What he's laying out a lot like the blacks he's wearing right now. They've swapped out his dress trousers for combat ones, boots instead of shoes, and his heat protectant gloves are back.
"It's a martial culture, so every adult male has his own pet weapon," Jon's saying as he's nodding to this outfit. Which is when Kylo notices the real difference. The belt that goes with this jacket is designed to work with his saber.
Jon doesn't need to ask. Kylo pulls it to hand, feeling it zip through the air of his office and room to his palm. It's an odd sensation. First of all, it's his saber against his bare skin. He's not sure how long it's been since he touched it skin to metal, but… A long time.
Secondly… How long since he's touched it, period? He's certainly trained recently. And he's used the training blades and punched and kicked the living shit out of several of his bags and more droids. But… he clips it into his belt. Was the last time he picked it up, intending that he might have to use it? When Critt's parents left?
Could he have really gone almost… slightly more than… half a year without using it?
No. That's just not possible.
But the little niggly voice in his head thinks that it might be.
There are perks to this being a, as Threepio put it, 'Masculine-coded honor culture.'
And, in a second, he'll get to it. Right now, Rey's seeing him off. There's a bizarre performative feel to this. They're… doing it for the cameras, but… He holds her close, and she arches up on her tiptoes to kiss him. They'd do this, something like it, probably not nearly as dressed up, if there weren't any cameras.
There were stories, the ones he read as a small child, of warriors who went off with the kiss of his lady as a token of goodwill, and protection.
He rests his forehead against hers, and she squeezes his hand, the grasp of her fingers against his marriage band.
And then it's time to go.
And he, thank the Force and the Kress's ideals of proper honorable male behavior, gets to fly his own ship, by himself, without having to take twenty 'entourage' and a specialty luxury yacht.
Him coming, on his own, in a combat vessel, is important here.
Once in hyperspeed, he has time to think. (And maybe nap.) (Probably meditate.) It's a ten-hour trip, so it's not like he's low on thinking time.
The Supremacy is lumbering along behind him. It'll catch up eventually, and that's when Rey and Jon will join them.
His hands caress over the controls, designed to his specs. He settles in to just look at the Silencer. He didn't create her. (Or name her for that matter. He's never really thought of her by name, but he's pretty sure Silencer isn't something he'd pick for himself.) He doesn't know the name of the engineers who designed her, but they took his suggestions seriously, and measured for him. He's too tall to fit easily into a traditional TIE cockpit. They're built for men who look more like Poe than him.
He strokes the armrests. He'd only flown her three times before everything went insane. He was supposed to still be testing her, making sure she was done properly. He wonders if the engineers who were waiting for his reports survived Starkiller. Probably not. Most of them didn't.
Unlike his saber, he knows, exactly, when the last time he slipped into his Silencer was. The battle at Qualee.
And it feels significantly less odd that it's been months since he's flown himself anywhere, but the saber was always more personal than a ship. He built the saber himself. Like all… he almost thought Jedi, but… well he was a Jedi when he met his kyber.
There were never tons of them. And after the Empire got done with Jeddah, they were even fewer and further between, but Luke had found four of them. Found, begged, borrowed, maybe 'stole' in the sense of… suggested intensely that it would be a good plan for whomever had them to give them to him, them.
It was a milky-blue crystal, never the most stable thing. There were little veins of black calcite through it, not common for kyber, and that made the blade, even then, a bit on the tetchy side. It would flare unpredictably from time to time. But from the first second it landed in his palm, it was his.
It was blue the first time he turned it on.
And blue the first time he defended himself with it.
And it was blue while he fought M'Gll, and it stayed blue though most of the battle. Blue until a point, and he remembers it. There was a moment, like when he fought Rey, where their blades were locked, and he was using his weight to bear down on her, and… He had the balance. He knew how to do it. He could have just stomped her knee, shattered it, dropped her, taken her saber, and left it at that.
Even Jedi masters don't fight well on a broken knee, let alone without a blade.
He could have disabled her, and walked away with the rest of his Knights.
But he didn't. He leaned into her, hard, used his weight, his power, his strength to his advantage. In the end, Jedi fight technique, all seven forms, is all about upper body strength, and if you and your opponent are equally strong in the Force, then, eventually it'll come down to muscle.
And he had more of it.
And when his weight broke her, he cut her head off, and his kyber cracked. Before M'Gll finished vanishing, his saber was sputtering with flickering red streams of energy. The grip turned to slag seconds later as the heat became too much for it. He had to force himself to calm in order to wield his Force to turn it off, because he couldn't touch the glowing hot metal.
He left the grip. Left the Jedi. Left Luke buried in the ruins of his hopes.
He took his crystal, and his knights, and that was the end of the Jedi.
His hand drifts to the saber he hasn't even turned on in months, and he idly wonders if it's gotten more… stable.
Or if this is the symbol of his dark, his violence, his destruction.
And not him as a whole.
That's a thought to occupy a few hundred thousand klicks. The idea that he's more than his dark now. More than his destruction. That… it's his tool now.
Not just him.
He's not sure how he feels about that.
For a combat vessel, and for him personally, the Silencer is insanely comfortable.
For something he might want to attempt to sleep in, not so much.
Next time, they're getting the Supremacy closer to… Right. They were schedule to pick up… stuff. That's part of why he's showing up in his own personal combat ship, and not in the Supremacy itself.
After all, if the idea that he's a warrior is what's going to float the Kress' boat, having the Supremacy show up should just about blast them out of the water.
He fiddles with that idea, and comes to the conclusion that they want to meet him personally. Because who he is personally matters. And he doesn't personally command the Supremacy. (It occurs to him that that's the sort of thing he probably should know. Whoever it is is under Schiff's command. But… he puts that on his ever-lengthening list of things to do and people to meet.)
He squirms a bit, tries to get his seat to lean back a bit, and maybe catch some sleep.
He tries that for five minutes before scrapping it and pulling himself into the meditations that used to bridge the gap between no sleep and no rest.
Kreh is blue. With bright, at least from atmo, orange-y streaks. Kylo's ship is beeping at him, letting him know they're out of hyperspeed and it would really appreciate it if he were to take over piloting.
He thinks he might have slept. Maybe. No dreams. But that's something he's used to, how he could meditate himself into a space that sort of looked like sleep, or very deep relaxation. He doesn't feel like he slept, though.
He blinks a few times, and takes control of the Silencer, and begins to close on the planet.
Threepio had told him about Kreh, and… Right. He's heading to the main planet of a seventeen-planet system, with a unique gravitational pull that comes from being close to a second system that sends its extreme outlier planets through their main system's orbit.
He knows the Kress are on the Rim, and border the uncharted territory. In fact, they're actually Order neighbors. There's only about fifty-thousand klicks between where Order territory officially ends and Kress territory begins.
The nine core planets that make up this system are at peace with each other. The exterior six have been involved in some level of fighting, with each other and the six core planets, for the last three hundred years. The two XO planets that go swooping through their orbits every nine hundred and eleven years, and stick around for two hundred years, joined different factions among the six fighting planets, and, depending on the year, are allied with different ones among the fractious planets.
And, of course, they're on the Rim. And they're outside of the territory the Order controls, which means that anyone who thinks going around Order territory is worth the detour, comes through them. And not all of them are… friendly.
Add to the fact that the different fractious planets use the border with the uncharted territories to move weapons, people, and goods…
Well, home world Kress has decided that, if their border were to be better controlled, they could focus more on their internal affairs.
And the Order is… well-situated to take that business over.
For a price.
(It took him a while to find the price. Somehow, it didn't make it onto any copy of the treaty he got. Once he pulled it out of Threepio's head, 500 billion credits for five years, he decided that maybe he might have been better off not knowing that. Because, gazing on Kreh, that number in his head, he's starting to feel nervous.)
Closing in, Kylo can see the blue is oceans, and the orange streaks are… probably deserts of some sort, but he's not sure about that. For all he knows, the local vegetation may be orange. The main star is a purply-blue shade, and he's got no idea how that might effect plants.
He does know, because Threepio told him, that he might feel a little overdressed, because Kreh is warm. There was some discussion about tailoring his outfit to make it lighter, but… Kylo can control his body temperature if he wants to, so he didn't think they needed to send Jon scrambling about trying to figure out what a sleeveless, short-trousered formal uniform looked like.
"Order ship Silencer, welcome to Kreh!" comes over his comm after a moment. "This is Krellia landing station one, coordinates for landing are forthcoming."
It's an accent he's never heard before, but he understands what they're saying, so that's all that matters. "Krellia Landing Station One, this is Order TIE Silencer, message received, awaiting coordinates."
And then he knows where his landing space is.
Time to do this.
The downside of the Silencer, like any TIE, is that there's no particularly stately or elegant way to get out of one.
It's open the hatch and hop out.
Unlike, say, The New Alderaan delegation where the hatch opened and everyone strolled out, and it looked really impressive. This is Kylo flipping the release, unstrapping himself, grabbing his bag, hoisting it, and then hopping out the side.
The fact that he just hopped the four and a half meters between his cockpit and the floor without even a thought for the ladder being wheeled over seems to impress the… people… waiting for him.
The Kress are not human. They're definitely humanoid, two arms, legs, and eyes. Not much of a nose, and the ears are... not human standard. No tail, at least not that he can see. No one saw fit to tell him that, but it only off-foots him for a moment. They're, at least the ones greeting him, all taller than he is, with smooth, almost leathery skin of dusty browns and gray greens. Local dress seems to be loose trousers and shirts with no sleeves.
Threepio did tell him that it was his job to greet them by nodding, dropping to one knee for a moment, and then standing back up. He did that what felt like a million times for Snoke, so he can do it graceful and easy, even with his bag over his shoulder.
They nod back to him, and drop to one knee before standing in front of him.
"Greetings Master Ren of the Order, I am Sirreths, Sub Prince of the Kress."
Kylo nods to him. "Hello." He supposes this is usually where he'd introduce his people, but he came on his own. It's, as Threepio put it, a power move. He's the man so secure in himself that he'll go to a foreign planet, just with himself, his body weapon, and his ship.
And, even if they weren't playing up the martial valor and honorable angle of this, that's true. Kylo, on his own, would go alone to something like this.
They stare at each other for a bit, and Kylo's got a memory of Poe, 'who talks first' in his head. He shuts that away, and tries to remember what was in Threepio's report. He talks. "I thank you for your hospitality. A warm place to stop is a welcome respite from the cold of space."
"Our sands are yours. Sun yourself, and grow warm."
Warm. It really is warm here, and as he looks more closely at the Sub Prince, he's starting to think they may be cold-blooded. There is a sort of reptilian look to him, and he can imagine them laying out on warm sand to keep themselves comfortable. Meanwhile, he's starting to wish he'd gone for the short-sleeved jacket.
"Thank you. I look forward to basking in your sun." Though he's not sure about that. It is warm but he doesn't know if this is the sort of sun where if he lets his skin spend to much time it in, it'll turn bright pinky-red and hurt. At least on Lirium, with their green and blue suns, he didn't burn, so maybe here he won't either.
He hopes.
"Excellent!" The Sub Prince… He remembers this. This is the first grandson of the Primo. They've got a birth-right monarchy here, but it's the first male in any generation, not oldest son to oldest son to oldest son, and… The Primo has… several wives, and sixteen sons, maybe? He's not sure if he's remembering that correctly. He does know that this is not the son of the Prince. "Come, Master, let us extend our hospitality."
"Please!" Kylo says.
As they walk away from the hanger, Kylo can feel the Kress eyeing his lightsaber. They're all wondering. They've, of course, heard about them. And, apparently there are entertainments that show people supposedly using them, but… No one's actually seen one, not a real one, let alone with their own eyes, in… On this planet, probably ever.
Kylo's fairly sure that drawing his weapon will set the wrong mood here, as they stroll toward wherever they're going next. But he does decide that since everyone around him is armed, to ask them about their body weapons.
"I know it's a sword of some sort," he starts, and the Sub Prince's eyes gleam as he reaches for the blade he wears across his back. "But I don't know what sort."
"This is Grrattss," Sirreths says.
It's huge. Gleaming… steel? Kylo doesn't know. Just that it's very shiny, and very sharp, and it's big. He also doesn't know if Grrattss is the name of the blade, or the sort of blade it is.
"One or two handed?" Kylo asks, and that impresses his hosts.
"Unlike a lightsaber, it's a two-handed weapon," And Sirreths, shows him a few strokes with it.
"Impressive," Kylo says, resting his hand on his saber hilt. "May I?"
"Please!" The Sub Prince and his… friends, retainers, whomever, are very interested in this.
Kylo draws and ignites the blade. It roars to life and with the glow of his blade a soft flicker of Force bleeds up his hand and arm and settles into his heart with a happy, little purr. A second later, the vents start to do their job. They're all surprised by his blade. "Mine is a one-and-a-half-handed blade. I prefer the flexibility that comes with fighting one-or-two-handed depending on the situation. You're right though, most lightsabers are one-handed weapons. But mine isn't based off a saber." He nods to the vent. "I needed a way to bleed off extra heat, and then used that as inspiration for a claymore-based blade. If it were made out of metal, it'd be a full two-handed weapon, but my blade doesn't have weight."
The Kress are just about cooing over his saber, and very eager to show him theirs and this feels good.
He's just about hip deep it sharp, shiny blades and people who not only know how to swing them around, but love doing it. It's been a long time since he's had any personal time with other fighters, with other men who love the feel of danger and destruction, and it's just nice.
By the time they get to the end of the hanger, and have shown off all of their weapons, Kylo's feeling very pleased by this excursion, and like, maybe, if his job is to just… be himself, that this might be the sort of place that likes people like him.
It's certainly the kind of place that would give anyone who suggested that the relationship between a warrior and his weapon is supposed to be detached respect for the havoc the blade can wreck, a very long moment of side-eyed-glances.
"Ah… Krenth!" Sirreths says to another Kress who's been waiting for them at the edge of the hangar. "This is our m'rth, Kylo. Kylo, this is Krenth. He is my Chief Seneschal. He will take you to your suite and allow you time to refresh yourself."
"Thank you," Kylo says, because, as they are moving along, he is starting to really feel the lack of sleep, and more importantly, the complete lack of coffee to go with the lack of sleep. "Time to refresh myself would be well-appreciated." He almost asks, as they break off, what a m'rth is, but decides if it translated neatly, they'd have likely used galactic standard like the rest of the conversation. As it was, he didn't feel anything bad to go with that word.
"Master, we're so pleased to have you." Krenth says, oozing charm, showing off the suite that Kylo will be staying in for the next night. "We trust that your accommodations will meet your needs."
"I'm sure they will," Kylo replies, tired. The room he's in looks fine, and even if the bedroom is appalling, the sofa in the sitting area should do for him. Really, all he wants right now is a place to get horizontal for a while.
By his local time, it's early.
Here, though, it's mid-morning. They wanted him here for some sort of game and then lunch meeting, and then there's an afternoon thing. It's… Threepio's best guess for something similar to it that he's experienced is a play, so… Anyway, he's booked until an hour before supper, which is when Rey and Jon will be joining him.
"And your lady and concubine will be joining us for supper? We've set aside an adjoining suite for them."
Kylo's tired enough he almost missed that, but after a few beats his brain notices what he's just been nodding along to and sends all of his attention to that last line.
"My wife is attending, as well as the Grand Marshall of my Diplomatic Corp."
For a second, Krenth seems to be under the impression that that's what he said, but he notices how Kylo's under the impression that that's not what he said, and then it dawns, slowly, on him that just possibly there's an issue of communication here, maybe he's got the wrong people or something, so… "Oh. Sir… I'm… We've… misunderstood? They told us the young, blonde one would be joining you."
There's only one young, blonde on his staff, so… "He is joining us. He is not my or her concubine." His eyes are cold. Jon said it would happen sooner or later. "And, do you mean to tell me, you've set aside a collection of rooms for him and my wife to inhabit, together, and a separate suite for me?"
His host looks chagrined. "Is that… not how the Order does things?"
"That's not how I do things!" His voice is sharper than it needs to be. He rubs his forehead and reins his annoyance in. "My wife sleeps with me. Jon sleeps with whomever he likes, but not us."
"Ah…" The Kress takes a moment to whisper something, from the tone of his voice, urgent, into his comm. "If you will be patient, we can re-arrange."
All Kylo wants to do is eat something, crash into a quick nap, and hopefully look at least a quarter awake before his first meeting. And re-arranging doesn't likely go with that. "You said it's a suite attached to my apartment. Does it have a separate entrance?"
"No, sir, it doesn't."
Kylo sighs at that. If it had a separate entrance, that'd have been fine, but he doesn't want Jon to have to go tromping through his rooms to get into and out of his. "Okay. Find a set of rooms somewhere for Jon. Good ones. He is the fifth highest ranked person in the Order, and answers directly to me. Rey and I will use this apartment."
"Uh… Yes, Master. Would you like to inspect the rooms, take time to refresh yourself?"
As long as inspects means get horizontal with his eyes closed, he's all in favor of that. "Yes. The meetings begin?"
"In two hours. We can have food brought to you, and if you'd like fresh clothing or anything along those lines, we have more than enough droids to tend to your needs."
"I'd appreciate that."
The apartment is nice. It's beyond luxurious, in a very functional sort of way. It's very clearly a space for someone to have meetings, eat, drink, sleep, and wash. Everything is made of fine substances, soft fabrics, rare metals and woods, discrete and complimentary art, but there's nothing he'd call a frippery.
By human standards, Kylo is big. By Kress standards, he's on the small side of average, so this is one of the few places he's been where all of the furniture is actually just the right size, if not slightly too big for him. That's… really nice actually. He eyes the sofa, fairly sure he could actually sleep on it.
Then he decides to cross into the "suite" for his "wife and concubine," just… because he can… or something. He opens the door… His eyes shut slowly, and then open again, just as slowly, and… He takes a few steps around, just looking, and comes to the conclusion that it's likely a very good thing that the Kress are not a species he finds particularly attractive, because otherwise his shaft would be leaping to attention and he'd be beyond distracted for the first run of meetings.
There's… artwork, and sculptures, and… Force! tapestries, and… That one appears to be some sort of holovid image gyrating about in the middle of the room, and… He blinks… It just… so much sex. In positions he's not only never dreamed of, but aren't anatomically possible for humans, and… Okay, actually, some of the furniture might be interesting to try out if they're here long enough, but…
Apparently the Kress have a very set idea of what, exactly, it is Rey and Jon are supposed to do for him on this visit, and if it involves going to meetings and providing him with advice, they're the sort of meetings he's not expecting to attend, certainly not today, let alone with people who aren't Rey. And, though he supposes that this is the sort of subject that Jon could offer him advice on, again, it's not the sort of advice he's expecting to get from Jon, let alone tonight.
He backs out of the room, shaking his head, shuts the door, finds the bed he's supposed to be sleeping in (quite large, more pillows than he needs), and crashes onto it, getting that nap.
An hour and a half later, feeling significantly sharper, and absently wondering how much of everything around him he missed during the years with Snoke where he barely ever slept, he's feeling pretty ready to have the Kress, as they said, 'Get a feel for him.'
He noticed that in his sitting room, not only was food laid out, but there is an outfit much more closely approximating local dress. He gets out of his own gear and slips into it. Yes, he can keep his body cool, but that's one less thing he's got to think about if he's wearing something cool.
Then he settles down to read over the presentation he's supposed to give, while munching on a… fairly tasty food substance he doesn't know the name of, thinking he's going to enjoy dinner if the Kress like food like this.
There's a niggly little thought dancing around between troop deployment schedules, and finally, he finishes reading, and lets it get to the front of his mind.
Rey and Jon will be joining him for supper. His wife and concubine. According to the Kress. But they're not coming to this thing to be his 'wife and concubine' at least not on any level commiserate with the suite they set aside for them.
He's got no idea what the Kress expect Rey and Jon to be doing at this thing.
Shit.
And the only person he knows who knows the answer to this doesn't exactly enjoy talking to him, but… He's certain he cannot afford, literally afford, that gray bloody line is always hovering in the back of his mind, to be wrong on this.
He hits his comm, putting in Threepio's code.
The voice on the other end is startled to see a call from him come through.
"Master Ren," the perpetual tinge of nervous that used to always go with Threepio's voice is absent. Kylo's not sure if he's a better or worse adviser now that he doesn't actually care what his boss thinks of him. He knows he's a significantly less anxious one.
"Threepio. I've gotten to Kreh, and there's been a… mix up in their understanding of who's coming to this."
"Were they not prepared for Grand Marshal Frakes and Lady Rey?" Now, that is making Threepio sound nervous.
"They're prepared for someone. They know I have two guests, but they referred to them as my wife and concubine, and judging by the rooms set aside for them, they don't anticipate them doing anything here other than me. So… Am I going to blow this if I send Jon or Rey to a meeting here? Are they supposed to just accompany me to dinner and play with me after?"
He can feel Threepio parsing 'doing anything other than me.'
He's silent for a long time.
"You're fluent in over six million forms of communication, so there's no possible way you didn't understand what I said. So, is it that perplexing of a situation, or did the idea of it just break your brain?"
Eventually, after what, for Threepio, is a freakishly long amount of processing time, he says, "What would you do with both Jon and Rey?"
Apparently, broke his brain was the correct answer. Granted, that question's also in danger of breaking Kylo's brain, because… Well… Okay, now that he's got to think about it, and this has to be exactly why they set it up this way, because now he's distracted with that question, and… Shit. "I think the correct question is: What would Rey do with Jon and I?" Because, well, thinking about it, he knows that there's nothing he's going to do with Rey and Jon. There likely are things Rey might want to do with both of them, though. Or with just one or the other of them. That he might like to watch, or be watched doing. That little bit of his brain that knew Jon was still in the training room with them lights up at the idea. Fuck! He mentally glares at himself, his current situation, and the room of sex next door. "And the answer is: I shouldn't think about that right now. What's the diplomacy on this?"
There's another silence, but this time he can sense that Threepio's looking something up.
A moment later, Threepio says, "I believe they are trying to rile you up and set you off-foot, but do so in a way that looks like an 'accident.' In the Kress culture, it is common for men of power to have both a wife and at least one favored concubine who will travel with him to keep him… amused… in his off time, relaxed… during formal meetings, and as a backdoor channel for diplomacy. The 'friends' of the man will mingle and talk with each other, and pass things around unofficially.
"That said, all of our communications have been explicitly clear as to who is coming, when, where, and what they will do at each function. If there is to be backdoor communications, it won't be through the seraglio."
Kylo doesn't know what that word means, but figures it's not terribly important. "Okay. So, no one is going to be mortally insulted to sit down to a meeting with my 'concubine.'"
"If they are, it's an intentional 'mix-up' designed to raise tensions. Both Grand Marshal Frakes and Lady Rey have all of the correct diplomatic credentials due their ranks. They are here as their own envoys, not as entertainment for you. And all of their highest-level diplomats have signed off on this."
"Good. Thank you, Threepio."
He feels the nod on the other side. "Anything else, Master Ren?"
"Not that I know of."
Then the comm goes dead.
The day goes fairly smoothly from there.
The game is fun. Once again, Sirreths is hosting him, showing him around, and explaining a bit more about Kress culture and history. This particular game started as training for cavalry officers, but at this point no one rides actual animals into battle any longer, so the training has become a sport.
It's a bunch of Kress, each one on some sort of quadraped, galloping about, whacking a ball at each other with a large stick. Get hit with the ball, you're out of the game. Fall off the animal, you're out of the game. Last Kress on the field wins. Betting on how long the players can last is also part of the game.
After the first round, they offer to let him play, instead of just watching, but he's fairly sure whatever the quadrupeds are, they aren't going to like him any more than any other animal ever has.
That said, he does join in on the betting, and shockingly enough, his player doesn't get hit by the ball. (Though there are a few very close misses.)
(And, apparently, giving his winnings to the man is a good call, because that seems to make the other Kress around him happy with him.)
The presentation goes with lunch. It's his job to stand up there, in a group of ten Kress, this time with the Prince, the Sub Prince, and their military high command, and explain, in detail, while answering any questions they may have, what, exactly, it is The Order can do to flesh out their defenses, and improve the situation.
Normally, this would be a break out into a cold sweat moment for Kylo. It's been quite a while since he's had to recite to anyone, and he really didn't like it back in his days with Luke, and it never worked when he'd done it with Snoke.
It helps that this is actually something he's interested in. Helps more that he actually feels pretty comfortable with the people around him. On top of that, these are people who actually want him to have right answers, and… It's actually a very freeing sensation, the idea that he can be right here. The whole point of reporting to Snoke was so Snoke could punish him for being wrong (no matter what), so just the fact that he can be right here is…
Really nice actually.
He feels like his presentation on how and where they'd move their men, the way that would ease things up for the Kress, and the steadier flow of legitimate traffic from the Unknown Regions would benefit everyone is maybe not amazing, but no one falls asleep, he answers questions well, and everyone here seems to be pleased by him and his objectives.
(And they all think his lightsaber is the coolest thing they've ever seen. He spends just as much time talking about it as he does talking about potential Order plans for how to defend Kress space. He can feel that, were kyber crystals easier to locate, the Kress would be very interested in trading how to make lightsabers for a lot of credits. In that he and his have only found one since Poe brought home the black crystal, and it hasn't chosen anyone yet, he's not thinking they'll have much luck with that.)
Lunch is good. The Kress are humanoids, with fairly similar nutritional needs to his, so while he's never actually had anything they serve him, it's all good. They either know about his preference for non-squishy food, or prefer their food firm, too. Either way works for him.
The local beverage of choice appears to be something in the range of eighty percent alcohol.
He takes one sip of it, and just about dies. It's scorching through his throat, burning his lungs, and makes his eyes water. The only thing he'd even begin to think about using this stuff for is disinfecting wounds. (And he'd likely dilute it before using it for that.)
"I'm sorry, is it not to your taste?" Garreth, the Prince asks, looking concerned. "We read up on human culture and nutritional needs and we know your species can metabolize alcohol and enjoys drinking it. But we couldn't find details on how much was too much. This is…" he says a word Kylo doesn't understand, possibly because his sinuses are trying to claw their way out of his face, to get away from the burn, "Is it too much?"
Kylo spends another moment gasping for breath. He finally gets his body back online and says, "It is for me. I'm sorry, too." He looks around, frantically, for something to wash the inside of his mouth out, and a moment later a glass of what he sincerely hopes is water is placed in front of him. A tentative sip lets him know it is. Then he gulps it.
Once he's got himself more or less back together, he says. "Your research isn't wrong. Humans can metabolize alcohol, and often enjoy drinking it. That said, we start out with a fairly low tolerance for it, and over time build up. I have a few friends who likely would enjoy your drink, but it's well beyond the tolerance level I have."
Gareth thinks about that. He nods slowly. "Is… not having that tolerance…" He's not sure how to ask the question. He doesn't know if they misread the culture, or if it's something personal to Kylo, or…
Kylo rescues him. "That's personal to me." His water glass refilled, and he takes a few more sips, and then spoons a little of the alcoholic drink into his glass. "I was raised in a culture that didn't drink alcohol, so I didn't get the same sort of practice that a lot of other humans did." He takes a sip of the much-watered drink. "Oh! This is good!" And watered down, it is. He can actually taste flavors other than alcohol. "It's… citronen and… herby… It's nice."
It almost puts him in mind of a sort of candy Han would occasionally bring for all of them when he'd visit. It was black and sweet with a very strong flavor. Kylo, and Luke, and Jax liked it, no one else did. But this isn't sweet, and it's got a nicely sharp citronen counterpoint to the dark candy flavor.
"We start with raw spirits, and then macerate fruit and barks in it. The Firsstris takes on the flavors of the fruits and barks. Then we age it for ten years to smooth it out and let more of the water evaporate off," the Prince is saying.
The idea that this is the smoother version of the drink is staggering to Kylo, but he rolls with it, taking another sip of the watered Firsstris. "I don't drink a lot of alcoholic beverages, but I think we've got something similar to this. Gin? Have you tried that?"
Gareth shakes his head.
"I'll make sure to comm my Grand Marshall, and have him bring some. We'll see if you like it." He takes another sip. "Granted, it's likely going to seem very tame compared to what you like. I don't think most alcohol sold to humans is above fifty percent alcohol."
The Prince nods. He thinks, looking at Kylo, really looking, focusing on his hair and skin, and lips. He's thinking of the things he read about humans, and puts a few facts together, then says, "You make your own heat."
And that's when it clicks for Kylo. "If you get too cold, your blood freezes doesn't it?"
"Exactly."
Kylo smiles at that. "For our ships, we have a fluid that we add to them, to keep the other liquids from freezing. That used to be made with very strong alcohol. They use something else, now, but… My dad… He had a story… Let me back up…" And he begins to tell the tale of the time the Falcon was all but dead in the air, and the only thing Han and Chewie had on hand was a hold filled with Ulrian Fire Water. "It kept the fuel lines from freezing solid, and got them back to a base where they could get real anti-freeze."
As for the thing. Well, he supposes that, it could, possibly, sort of, be like a play. Maybe a poetry reading. Possibly a… thing. It's a thing.
They're outside, on a stone round, surrounded by other Kress. No one's in costume, though they do have scripts, and… it's got to have some sort of cultural significance. The people around him all know all the parts and words and are having a good time. The ones in the audience are yelling out responses to certain parts, and a bunch of the 'actors' are yelling back, and… He can read as well as the best of them, and he's not exactly practiced or anything, but…
It doesn't feel bad. He's off foot, but not in a terrible way. Just… this is new.
It might be a joke. Like the room of sex. It doesn't feel malicious. Most of the players around him are pleasantly amused to see him doing this, but there might be a certain level of, 'Lets set up the silliest thing we like doing and see exactly how far we can push the human into doing it.'
So, he mentally rolls his eyes, and gets into it, and he feels like he's a bit of a twit, but… Ben Solo, at Luke's school would have really liked something like this.
Plus, the story is good, and he appears to have one of the more important parts, so…
It's good.
(Later, it will occur to him that, if he'd drunk more of the Firsstris, but not so much as to set him snoring under the table, he probably would have had a really good time with the play.)
He's got his script in hand, enunciating away, trying to read at least a line or two ahead so he can get the right words out at the right time, and sort of look like he's got a clue as to what his character is supposed to be doing.
He really hopes this is the kind of thing they want him to do. That he's supposed to go along and be pleasant and act like he's just… one of the Kress, apparently, or something. Or maybe part of 'feeling him out' is just seeing what the hell he'll do if dropped into a lot of strange situations he's never been in before.
He didn't think to ask Threepio how he was supposed to respond to this stuff.
They seem mostly amused and approving. Maybe the sort of approval one might give a small child mastering a fairly simple concept, but… It's still approval. So, that's something.
But, he also hasn't actually met the people in charge yet, either.
Gareth is in the audience, and Sirreths is one of the other actors. The Primo is nowhere to be seen. (Or, at least, no one Kylo's been introduced to has had that title. Unfortunately, especially a little buzzed from the drink, most of the Kress are starting to look a lot alike, and he's not well-enough versed on their outfits to really tell rank signifiers.)
It also hasn't escaped his notice, that there don't appear to be any women here. Maybe. He's not entirely certain of that. No one is using feminine pronouns, and none of the characters in the play have female pronouns.
He thinks he's got an idea of what Kress women likely look like (at least if the room of sex was anything to go by) and he hasn't seen anyone who looks like that. (Granted, from what he saw in the room of sex, if one were to put clothing on any given Kress, they'd all look pretty similar, at least to Kylo.)
He supposes that the Kress might all be the same sex. Or gender? The room certainly showed there were some biological differences, but not nearly as many as human males and females have. And maybe they just all dress the same and use a masculine pronoun?
(That thought has him idly thinking if they give birth to live young or not. As he understands biology, cold-blooded creatures tend not to be mammals, but… Hell, he's got no idea. And really doesn't need one. Kylo mentally rolls his eyes, if he wanted a bloody idea, he could just go spend some more time in the room of sex and really look at the pictures. That'd be all the damn idea anyone could ever want or need for how Kress mate.)
As it is, he's got another line coming up, fast, so… "No, Grytths! Do not go this way! This is the way of deceit and falsehood!" (It's probably a good thing he never felt any desire to be an actor.)
After the thing, he's got time to rest, and then change, and get ready for the formal dinner where he'll get to spend some time with the Primo of the Kress.
But he can feel several of the Kress looking at his weapon. He can feel the curiosity. They're really, deeply, truly impressed by the idea of a lightsaber and…
He wants to show it off.
He never gets to just show it off.
If he's with the kids, they use the training blades, because he's more than confident in his own skill, but… Any given one of them might whip something out he doesn't expect. And, of course, Jacen, the only one who's really ready to work one on one with one, doesn't want to.
And… well… Rey's just… not that impressed by it. It's a tool for her. (It is for him, too, but… It's also not.)
He doesn't train with his own soldiers, because… Hmmm… Well, at this point that might be something he can revisit. He didn't used to train with them because of the combination of not being able to risk any of them learning to truly fight him, with a side of not wanting to damage anyone valuable, but… He tucks that into his mind for things to do when his schedule somehow magically opens up some free time.
And, with Luke… When they were with Luke… he… they could all feel how much he enjoyed using his saber, how happy he was at doing something right, how passionate and attached and… not a Jedi he was when the blade was in his hand…
There was a window, a few years, where he still had his knights, under Snoke, and… right now he misses that. Misses it hard.
He glances around, most of the crowd that had showed up to watch the thing have dispersed, but there is a group of Kress lingering around with the Prince and Sub Prince, and…
"There's still, what, two hours between now and supper?" Kylo asks.
Sirreths nods. "That sounds right, and, of course, we won't actually seat until your party is ready."
"Ah." He's not sure exactly what that means, but… It's probably good. "I've never actually used a metal blade."
Sirreths looks startled, and then a wash of glee spreads across his features. "No? Did you learn with your saber?"
"Not exactly. We start with plexiplast training blades. It's not exactly like using a lightsaber, the blade obviously has some weight, but it'll be the right size and shape, and the blade will be hot enough to singe, but not take a limb off."
"Ah. We start with wooden training blades. Let the children learn with something that will bruise but not maim."
"Exactly. Would you…" he hesitates a second, "like to trade, for a little. Just, get a feel for it?"
Sirreths is eager at that. Then a little worried. "I mean no disrespect, but… If your blade has no weight, and mine is steel…" He's eyeing Kylo, looking down at him, because he's got at least twenty centimeters on Kylo. "And more than two-thirds your height."
Kylo waves that away. "I've got… coping mechanisms… for that."
"I'm sure you do, but we could also find one that's closer to built for your size."
That's an idea. That they'd actually go and seek out a blade to fit him, rather than try to make him fit the blade. Because these are people who love the fight, and want to be good at it, and want him to be good at it, too. "Oh. Yes, certainly."
One of the Kress run off, and Kylo can feel that there's a Sub Sub Prince who's probably whatever the equivalent of Critt's age is for Kress, and about Kylo's size, who's got a blade he can borrow for a bit.
Kylo hands over his saber. He shows how to thumb on the blade, but doesn't turn it on. He does tap the heat vents. "Like yours I've got a cross guard. Unlike yours, this'll take your hand off if you slip. I wear gloves for protection when I use this blade."
"Keep your fingers on?"
"No, my glove doesn't have that much heat protection, but they do keep the skin from blistering." (Another Kress goes running off to find some sort of heat protection gloves.)
He flicks it on, and shows his usual starting stance. Then he shifts it to the one Luke taught them as children. "There are seven lightsaber combat forms recognized by the Jedi. Depending on what you want to do, how skilled in the Force you are, your shape, size, and speed, you may gravitate to any of them. Each has its own strengths and weaknesses."
"Which do you prefer?" The Sub Prince asks.
Kylo rolls his eyes a bit. "I might answer differently if I'd been trained by an actual Jedi saber master. You have to remember, that what we learned of the forms and techniques came from books, and somewhat incomplete ones at that. By the time I trained, there was only Luke, and Luke didn't learn saber from anyone who's mastered it, either. He mostly taught himself."
"You taught yourself as well?" Sirreths asks.
"To an extent. I moved past what Luke knew fairly rapidly, and then began to apply the forms from the books, and… He used to say, there are seven forms recognized by the Jedi, and an eighth form, practiced by me. He called it Solo, my surname at the time, and would mutter about pulling techniques out of my ass."
Sirreths laughs at that. "And do you still practice the Solo form?"
"Honestly, yes. Though it's been well refined and improved over the years. It probably is it's own form now." The Kress who ran off to find a glove comes back, handing it over. Sirreths tugs it on, and Kylo hands over his blade. "Watch the vents."
Sirreths flicks it to life and like the blade, he just about lights up with pleasure to be holding a real lightsaber in his hands. He swishes it around a few times, faster than he intends because it is much lighter than anything he's ever used. "This is amazing. You can fight forever with something like this."
Kylo nods at that. "I don't exactly advertise that, but, yes, the lack of weight on the blade means I can keep going longer than someone with a more traditional hand to hand weapon."
Kylo glances around. He does notice that a few of the Kress wear blasters as their body weapons. "If you like, I can show you another advantage it has, as a defensive weapon."
Sirreths clicks the saber off, and hands it over, eager. Kylo tugs on his own gloves, and nods to the Kress with the blasters. "The rest of you likely want to move behind me." He looks around. "And let's…" he shifts them a bit. "Generally, if I'm doing this, I'm not particularly worried about my surroundings," Once he's got them in the right place, a place where, when he bounces the bolts back, they won't destroy anything important, like the buildings or other people, he says, "Okay, shoot at me, as much as you like."
He can feel the Kress just staring at him. They look horrified. They look to Sirreths, terrified that if they fuck this up the entire Order is going to show up and murder all of them. Sirreths though, looks certain that Kylo won't try this if he can't pull it off. (Granted, Sirreths has also seen the footage of Kylo fighting at Qualee Prime. And, well, it's true that a lot of people are under the impression that footage is edited to make Kylo Ren look a lot more frightening than he actually is, but… Maybe it's not.) He nods to his men.
A few of them wince, blink slowly, and then raise their guns tentatively to fire at Kylo. The first few bolts are one at a time, and aimed wide, he's actually got to jump for one of them, but he swats them away with no effort.
Once they realize they can shoot at him, and he'll just whack the bolts back, it becomes something of a game.
"Normally, if I was doing this for real, I'd angle my blade a little differently, and send the bolts back where they came, but I'm not trying to shoot your men," Kylo says between strikes.
Sirreths holds up his hand, and the firing stops. "I'll admit, I'm envious of your blade."
"If I didn't have it, I would be, too." He hands it back to Sirreths, who again flicks it on and plays with it.
"How did you get it?"
"Same way any Jedi gets their blade. I built it. The crystal that powers it thrums with the Force, and when you find one that thrums with you and your Force, you can build a weapon that… well…" He's never tried to put this into words. "It's yours. A part of you. We don't… usually, trade blades, or hand down weapons. The crystal that works for you won't work as well for me, and vice versa."
"It feels good in my hand."
"Because you know a good weapon when you feel one. And, honestly, most good weapons get along well with me, too, but, it will work significantly better for me than you. And some crystals… the ones that aren't well suited for lightsaber work, they don't necessarily like me, either."
Sirreths nods along, and then says, "My blade was my grandfather's, and his grandfather's. We usually pass weapons down."
Kylo smiles a little at that. "I like the idea of weapons having history. My wife's blade… the crystal, and part of the controls, used to be my grandfather's, too. She gets along with that crystal better than I did, probably because it recognized a lot of similarities between her and my grandfather. But that's rare. Usually finding your crystal and building your blade is part of how you get your weapon. But she was able to call his weapon to her hand. They have the right resonance." He's never really thought about that before, but… One desert nobody to another… He can see how that might work.
That confuses Sirreths, after a moment he says, "You let your wife have a blade?"
For a moment, Kylo misses the main thrust of that question, because he's still excited to be talking weapons with someone who really likes them, and says, "Actually, it's a light staff. She's primarily a quarter-staff user, so when she gained resonance with the kyber, she built it into her staff. It's a really good offensive and defensive weapon, and unlike mine, if she just wants to subdue someone—" And that's about where the let part of the question wanders into Kylo's mind, along with the way Sirreths is just staring at Kylo like he's completely insane.
"Your woman… fights?" Sirreths says tentatively. "You… encourage that?"
Kylo's flatfooted, he's got no idea what to do with this. He does his best not to look panicked, and works hard to get a feel for where Sirreths is coming from.
Alarm. Curiosity. Some level of wondering if Kylo's actually a man or whatever the local Kress equivalent is. Jon's 'properly masculine' stuff. Titillation. A woman fighting, it's tingling through him with an almost horrified, almost enchanted image. More curiosity. Unease… What would happen if they let Kress women handle weapons? And all of that underlain with a level of humans are weird.
"Let and encourage aren't the right words." That seems like a safe start. "She likes it. And it's something she was doing well before she met me. At least, the staff part. The crystal and I popped up at about the same time."
Sirreths thinks about that for a moment. "But she has you now." He can kind of wrap his mind around the idea that a woman on her own might need to protect herself, and he does remember something about Rey being on her own before she met Kylo. She's an orphan, so she didn't have a father to take care of her, so he can understand that, but she's got a husband now, and Kylo's obviously up to the task of keeping a woman safe, so…
"She does. Sparring with her is fun."
That also gets a slow blink. And then another one. And then Sirreths lights up as he decides that it's got to be a sex thing, and he just doesn't understand all of the nuances, because, well, humans are weird. But, he does get the idea that some people like feisty women, and obviously Ren must be one of them, so… "That's usually the kind of fun we have with our friends and brothers."
Kylo's eyes narrow a bit, because he's fairly certain that Sirreths does not mean brothers in the sense of male siblings, but… There's a definite cultural disconnect… Sort of. But he makes the leap. "When I was younger, I had my knights. We'd spar, and that was something I enjoyed very much."
"What happened to your knights?" Sirreths is eager to get away from Kylo's domestic life which apparently involves fighting women, an idea that, the more he thinks about it, the more squirmy and less titillated it makes him feel.
Kylo doesn't wince, because that's a question he's opened himself up to. He does sigh in relief when instantaneous night falls. Around him, Kress are startling and he knows that the gesture a few of them made was designed to ward off evil. He does his best not to grin at that. He does look up, and the sky is dominated by the Supremacy hovering above. "My ship is here."
Sirreths stares at the sky. He knows, intellectually, how big the Supremacy is, but seeing it block out the sky from horizon to horizon is still awfully impressive.
"Then we must go greet your Lady and Concubine."
Kylo bites his lip. "Grand Marshall."
"Of course." Sirreths hands Kylo his saber back, and Kylo tucks it into his belt.