11/19/1
If there's any place in the galaxy where the man who could have been Ben Solo should feel comfortable, it's a casino.
But, like flying, using a blaster, and general life skills beyond knowing which bits of the Falcon need to be whacked into place at which times, Ben Solo didn't sit on his daddy's knee and learn sabbac or poker or jinny or…
Which isn't to say Han didn't teach him any games. They'd play 21, which Han thought was a good game for a little guy with small hands who was still learning his numbers, addition, and probability. And he and Lando would play with each other and Chewie, and once, the night before Lando's wedding, with Leia and Lando's wife to be, Annilee, and Ben did get to watch some of those games.
But, had he grown up with Han, Ben Solo, smuggler-in-training, would have likely set foot into a casino well before, now, creeping up on his 32nd birthday.
Rey meanwhile grew up around games like this, sort of.
Plutt owned them, and they could only "sell" their goods to him. He had control of the water and food supply, doling it out in small enough portions that no one would willingly part with it for any price. Everything else though… Barter, work it off if you had extra time, or throw the bones.
Rey was a nimble enough scavenger, and had enough untapped sources that she found when she was little, and could worm her way in, that she rarely played with the bones, she just didn't much need to, but she's familiar with the idea of it.
And Poe, having discovered the idea of Maji gambling, is teaching them games as fast as they can learn them. She likes them, a lot of them do, but…
Well, there's a reason why sixteen-year-old Padawan Ben wasn't playing card games at Luke's, and it's the same reason why many of the Maji don't play either, not for fun, it's not nearly as entertaining if you know the cards of everyone else at the table. And, at Rey's school, there aren't a lot of rules, but one of them is the Force sensitives aren't allowed to play against any-non Force sensitive, but Poe, and they can play Poe because he knows how to count cards, and, probably, has his deck marked in a way they haven't noticed yet.
So, right now, in "Padme's ship," three and a half hours from Gidi Secundus, a smallish, mid-rim planet, with what Poe considered a good selection of 'nice' but not 'overpriced' casinos, Rey's teaching Kylo the games he should have learned as Ben, but didn't.
The ship's on autopilot right now, hurtling through hyperspace. She's shuffling the cards, and he's sitting back, watching them file through her fingers, listening to her explain the rules. It's not that difficult. Get cards, look at them, arrange them in statistically less and less probable combinations, get rid of the ones that won't help with that, get new cards, repeat, and throughout this process bet.
"Ante up," Rey says.
He taps the table between them. Not like they have anything to bet with. She smirks at him, slowly removes her bracer, puts it into the center of the table, and then grins at him.
He raises an eyebrow, sensing where she's taking this. "Have I told you that pilot's a bad influence on you?"
"You have, but this was Rose's idea. Apparently, off-duty, late at night card games among Resistance members could get interesting."
Kylo laughs, and pulls off a glove, he's still in his command blacks. Then he drops it into the center of the table. "We should change before we get there."
"Exactly." She deals the cards. "Okay, look at them." They both do.
"Uh…" As soon as she checks her cards, he knows she's got the blue and red queens, a purple five, a yellow seven, and the red knight.
"I know. For right now, pretend you only know what you've got."
"Maybe next hand and the ones after, we work on keeping the other one out of our minds."
"Sure." That's a skill she's rarely worked with, and it's probably worth it, if for no other reason than so she can teach the others. "Okay, place a bet, or fold."
He tosses his second glove in, and she adds her coat. No snow on Lirium yet, but sleet and freezing rain are an almost every day occurance, so all the time they're wearing full coats, long trousers, long sleeves, and whatever jackets and sweaters they can make.
"How many cards do you want?" Rey asks.
"You're asking?"
"Just because I know what I'd do with that hand doesn't mean that I know what you want to do."
"Three." He passes his red two, blue six, and yellow nine over to her. "Exactly what you would have done."
"Yeah." She takes two of our own. "Okay, bet or fold again."
Kylo undoes his belt, and tosses it on the table. "You know, this would likely be different if you actually cared if you won or lost."
"I'd imagine it is." She pulls her sweater over her head, baring exactly nothing, because she's got a long-sleeved shirt on under it. "It's likely different if you're also trying to win, as opposed to just staying in the game to get me to take more of my clothing off."
He smirks. "I wouldn't do that, would I?"
"You've got a king, three, seven, nine, and four, in all four colors."
"You won't know what I've got next time," he says sounding confident.
"You didn't keep me out of your head before, you won't now." She's got a cocky grin on her face as she takes the clothing from the center of the table, and hands him the cards. He's slower at shuffling, unpracticed, and the first time he tries the bridge they go flying. He sighs, and then calls the cards back to him. At least cleanup is fast if you've got Force skills.
"I did it the first time, too."
"Good." He deals out the cards, and she just looks at him. "Right." He pulls off a boot, and puts it on the table.
"Why do you have so much clothing?" Rey asks.
He stares at her in disbelief. "You're wearing more than I am."
"I live on a planet that has winter and substandard insulation. You've got chin to toe clothing and fully functional climate control."
He looks at the boot pointedly, and she adds one of her own boots to the table. This is somewhat less sexy than she'd hoped.
He taps his cards, but doesn't look at them. "Probably easier if we start one at a time. Don't go looking for them, just let me keep it to myself for this hand."
"I can do that." She glances at her cards, and then focuses on his fingers holding his cards.
A second later he says, "That's distracting." The image of her gently sucking on his index finger is filling his mind. After all, right now he's keeping his thoughts in his mind, not avoiding hers.
"That was the idea. I have no idea what's in your hand right now." She grins. "But I can think of a few places I want your hand."
He laughs at that. "Your bet."
She puts her other boot in, and he follows. "How many cards?"
"Two."
He slides her two cards, and gently strokes his index finger along the back of her hand as he does. She catches his hand, lifting it to her lips, and lightly sucks the tip of his index finger for a moment. "That might be more inspiring than pulling off clothing." He takes two cards for himself. "Winner gets two minutes to do whatever they like."
She grins at that. "That may indeed be more fun than strip poker. Bonus minutes for keeping our cards to ourselves."
"So, no betting or ante then. Just winner takes… does… all?"
"Sure," Rey says.
"Then get over here."
"You're not even going to flip your cards over?"
"I know I won."
"Uh huh." She stands up, straddling his legs. "What happened to one at a time?"
"It's boring." His hands come to her hips, and begin undoing her belt. "Timer, two minutes."
They know the ship will let them know when the time's gone down.
"And what do you want for your two minutes?" Rey asks, as if she doesn't know.
"Right now, I'm getting you naked, and if there's any time after that's done, I'll have you sit in my lap." He's unbuttoning her shirt, and tugging it off, tossing it behind him.
"And what am I going to do in your lap?"
He pulls her belt free, tossing it aside, then her pants, pushing them down. She kicks them off, lifts up, sitting on the table, and puts her foot in his lap, wriggling her toes. He pulls one sock off, and then the next. "Temperature to 25." Her skin is prickling a bit, but the heater in the ship kicks in, warming the air.
She's down to her tank top and shorts. He feathers his fingers over the undershirt, watching her nipples perk. His eyes trace over her, and he reaches up, stroking along her arm. "Gods, you're so fucking beautiful." His voice caresses over those words, practically licking them to her, and she shivers a little at it.
Tweep, tweep, tweep, twee—"Alarm off."
Rey grins down at him, briefly, lowers herself into his lap, rubbing up against in him in an extremely pleasant manner, and then grabs the cards, and crosses to her side of the table, shuffling.
"Keep the cards to ourselves, winner gets two minutes, four if the other one doesn't know what you've got."
"That's the game," he says, eyes dark with excitement, and on her.
She deals the cards, and before he even picks them up, a vivid, full-color, full-immersion view of her in the pilot's seat, naked, legs spread, him kneeling before her, lapping at her maomao as he strokes himself springs into her head.
"That's cheating!"
"As long as it keeps my cards out of your head…" He's still smirking, and keeping up the image. She's gripping his hair now, pulling a little, as he sucks her pearl.
Two can play that game. She flips the image, putting him in the pilot's chair, his legs splayed wide, as she kneels between them, holding his shaft in her hands, and gently, slowly licking the length, before skinning back the cap to suckle his tip.
He chokes a little at that image, feeling it thrum through him, and she gives him a triumphant look. Her cards are safely in her own head and—
"Fuck."
His turn to smirk. She dropped the image to look at her cards, and he knows what she's got now.
He shifts the image again, they're in his throne room now, same general position, but he's on his throne, in his full, formal Emperor Ren-wear, and she's in a long, flowing cream colored gown, hair curled and flowing around her, lightly sucking him, and he's stroking her hair, bending forward a bit to whisper in her ear, "That's it, Love, please your Master."
Her eyes go wide at that, not expecting the fast flush of arousal and somewhat confused by the idea of calling him Master getting to her.
"Two cards," his voice, here, now, says. And she slides them over.
He's looking vastly too pleased at himself and his ability to keep both lines of thought going at once. Granted, they literally owe their lives to his ability to do that, so playing cards isn't exactly the crowning glory of this skill, but still…
She intensifies the vision. She hasn't looked at her new cards yet, and if she can just… She's still on her knees, his shaft in hand. She looks up at him, eyes soft, tongue and lips wet, shining, gently licking his shaft, and then rubbing the tip of it over her wet lips. She makes sure he's got a very clear image of her tongue just gliding over the underside of his shaft as she kneels before him, keeping up full eye contact, and pulls back to say, "Yes, Master. I love to please you," before sucking him as far down as she can go.
That absolutely has the desired effect. Kylo has literally no idea what her cards are, or his for that matter, or that they're playing a game, or much of anything besides how infernally tight his fucking pants are, and how they need to come off right fucking now, if not five minutes ago.
She flips his hand over, and smirks. "I won."
He's in such a hurry to get up, he flips the table between them. "What do you want?"
"Clothes, off." As he's yanking them off she says, "On your throne, really?"
He floods her mind with about half-a-dozen images of them fucking away on his throne. "I like to think about it between meetings."
"That's!" She groans as he runs his lips over her throat, while both of them unfasten his tunic. "What you do between meetings?"
They're not having great luck getting his tunic off of him. It's unfastened, and shoved back, but his hands are spanning her back, thumbs along the sides of her breasts, fingers spread wide, little finger to little finger at her spine, and he's nuzzling from her throat to her breasts. Can't get the tunic, let alone the shirt, off of him if he doesn't move his hands.
"Damn thing's not good for much else. It's the most uncomfortable fucking chair in the galaxy. Might as well be fantasy fodder," he says between kisses and licks.
Her back arches toward him, and he sucks harder, lips pink against her nipple. Right now, they're in his ship, she's on the bench seats on the left side of the ship, he's on his knees, between her legs, lips on her breast, hands across her back.
He floods her mind with the trappings of the fantasy. The throne room. His formal clothing half undone and shoved aside, hair falling from its queue. Her in an exquisite gown, pushed and pulled aside. The breast he's currently lavishing attention on cupped in his hand, bodice of the gown askew. The skirt rauched up around her hips as one of his hands drops between her legs.
His real hand does that, too. His thumb stroking back and forth over her pearl, the fabric of her shorts wet between the pad of his thumb and her skin.
He shifts his hands, pausing for a moment to shuck off his tunic and shirt, and she pulls her shorts off. Then he's between her legs again, holding her butt, raising her up a bit, because the bench seats are a bit too low for this. His mouth finds her, nothing soft or gentle about this, no light saying hello strokes. He's holding her to his face, feasting upon her, and filling her mind with the fantasy of him on his knees, worshipping his queen, in his seat of power.
He lets go of her for a moment, her hips hovering by her own strength and the Force, and she expects to feel his fingers in her, because that's happening in the fantasy, but she doesn't. She hears rustling fabric, the sound of his groan, and knows he's fisting himself.
The fantasy shifts. He's on the throne with her. She's straddling his lap, her back to his chest.
He helps her shift positions in the real world. Matching the image in the fantasy.
He's still in his full Emperor wear, just with the fly undone. She's naked. Covered by nothing but her hair, the Maji symbol, and his hand cupping her maomao, fingers gliding over her pearl.
He licks her neck, so far into the fantasy that he's having a hard time deciding where they really are.
She moans, sinking down on him. She shudders a little as he pressed harder, but doesn't add any speed to his fingers.
He rocks his hips. "Let…" he's panting for breath between words, "everyone… see… where… you… belong."
"On your shaft?" she says with a deep grind, making him moan.
He tugs on one of her nipples, and she shivers, body fluttering around him. She's close and knows he is, too.
He lets go, taking her face in his hand, twisting her toward him, and he kisses her, teeth on her bottom lip, before saying, "On my throne," the image, the vision of Lord and Lady Ren flowing through his mind. His hips jerk when he says it, and she knows that admitting it, out loud, put that plainly, sent him over the edge, and him jerking hard against her, his eyes open, dark, watching her, sends her over, too.
When they've cooled down a little, when their breathing has slowed down, and she's flipped around so she's across his lap, between his legs, he's feeling a little sheepish about laying it out that clearly. Especially like that.
And she's not sure how to respond to it. And not sure how to feel about how it made her feel.
He knows this isn't something she actively wants. And he's been doing (at least what he considers) an awfully good job of not pushing her toward it. But he can still see it. His mother and Luke often seemed to have flashes of prescience, but the closest he's ever gotten to that is when he fights. Fist, saber, or ship, he's got a general sense of what's going to happen a heartbeat or two before it happens. Beyond that, the image of the two of them, Lord and Lady Ren, ruling the Order together, is it. That's the sum total of his experience with any sort of prescience that seems to matter.
And that image has gone nowhere, save forward, becoming clearer and more detailed.
And in the image, she's the one on the throne, and he's standing a bit behind and to the side of her.
So, he's feeling a bit stupid about tossing it in her lap like that. Especially like that.
And he can feel it's making her uncomfortable, too.
Finally, both of them sitting there, feeling awkward breaks when she says, "You're allowed to want it. I'm not saying I want it, or that it's happening, but, you're allowed to want it and let me know you want it."
He relaxes when she says that. He thinks for a moment, feeling how she's not sure what to do with how she reacted to it. "And… you're allowed to like playing with the idea, without it meaning anything. Without me thinking it means anything. It's… just playtime."
She nods. "Okay." She's got the sense though, that allowing herself to play with ideas like this is the first step toward actually making them real. Her face is against his chest, feeling the beat of his heart against her forehead. Her voice is quiet when she says, "I don't know how to be a fancy lady in a pretty dress."
He pets her hair. "I know." He kisses the top of her head. "I'm not exactly impressing anyone with my Emperor Ren skills, either. Jon and Kinear would likely have me in full-time decorum training for the next six months if they thought I'd agree to it."
She snerks a little at that.
"It's playtime. If you're ever wanting it to be more, I'll jump on that with both feet, but until you want it, it's playtime."
"Okay."
He strokes her hair again, and then looks at them. He's in his socks, with his pants and briefs around his ankles, and he doesn't remember taking off her tank top, but it's gone now. "So… we're two thirds of the way to changed, and I think I've got the rules of poker down, so…"
She laughs at that, standing up, legs feeling a little shaky, and grabs her shorts to wipe up with. "Finish getting changed, and then jinny?"
He stands up, picking up the table, and setting it and his chair to rights. "Sure."
She's gone over the rules and dealt the cards, when exactly the same issue that hit them before hits again. This time it's even more troublesome than before, namely, they still know what the other one has in their hand, and in jinny, you can pick up your opponent's discard, and it's really difficult to play a real game if you know who's got what.
"Neither of us really kept the other one out of their mind," Rey says, looking at her hand, unable to get rid of anything because every card in her hand is something she needs or he needs.
"I'm actually not sure it's possible. Not without cutting yourself off entirely."
"Two thoughts at once?"
"That was the only thing I ever found that kept Snoke from dissecting my head. As long as the stronger set of thoughts were ones he approved of…"
Rey nods a bit. She watched him do that first hand, and it was utterly terrifying, because just like Snoke, the only version of it she saw was Kylo getting ready to take her head off with his lightsaber.
"Kinear, when he gets nervous about something, or wants me not paying too much attention to what's going on skips from thought to thought to thought really fast. Tons of them. According to his wife, back in the day, you couldn't go for a walk on Coruscant without tripping over a Jedi, so that technique works well enough he was doing it back in the day of the Republic."
"Does he do that a lot?"
"Enough."
"That's ominous."
He half inclines his head. "Half of the time he's doing it, it's because he thinks it's better for me."
"And the other half is better for him."
Kylo nods. "I can feel he genuinely likes me, and what I can do for him, but that won't, in any way, pause or slow him down if he's ever better off by me not being in the picture."
"That's not comforting."
Kylo shrugs at that. "I think it is. He's a lot like my saber, I can cut myself on it if I'm not careful. Same with him. I can trust him utterly to be himself. He knows he's in it for him and his family, and as long as I'm moving in a direction that will benefit them, I've got him on my side. And if I'm ever going to move in a direction that isn't, I know I need to remove him before I do it. In the meantime, I've got him one hundred percent behind me, and he removes the people who aren't interested in going where I want to take them."
Rey's not sure she likes that.
"Are you going to discard?" Kylo asks.
She sighs, and looks back at her cards again.
Fashion is a language neither of them are particularly fluent in. Because of the last year, and Jon, and Kinear, and the occasional state-dinner-type-thing, Kylo's poking a toe into the world of fashion, becoming vaguely aware of the idea that clothing sends messages, but it's not like it's second nature to him. And while he's beginning to get the idea that he's sending messages with what he wears, he really doesn't know how to read what the people around him are telling him with their clothing.
Meanwhile, that toe is still quite a bit more than Rey's been doing with this. No one cares what anyone wears on Lirium. The primary virtue of any piece of clothing over there right now is warmth. Anything else is moot.
That said, both of them can feel exactly how out of place they are in his trader gear, and her Naboon dress. Local men's fashion appears to dictate bright silks, with a lot of vibrant patterns and sheen. The men are wearing what Kylo thinks of as long jackets, coming to mid-thigh, loose trousers, and some sort of sandal things. Many of them have their hair in a turban of a coordinated, but not matching, silk.
He's never been anywhere men would wear pink jackets covered in gold paisley and lime green trousers, or vice versa, but that appears to be a rather fashionable combination here. As they're walking from his ship to their hotel, he sees three other men in variations of those colors.
The women are wearing… neither of them have any idea what to call this. It looks like a long sheet of fabric that wraps around the hips, covering from hips to ankles, and creeps up the torso to drape over the shoulder. Under it is a small breast band. Many of them have fine gold or silver chains around their waists and/or wrists. Most of them have their hair long and loose, and he's seen more nose rings than he knew existed.
Unlike their male companions, most of them are wearing dark colors or jewel tones, though the part of the wrap that drapes over the shoulder seems to be generally printed with some sort of shiny, metallic pattern.
All in all, this is one of the most ornate place either of them have ever been.
And, him in green trousers, brown boots, a white button up shirt, and brown leather jacket; and her in a loose and flowy coral dress that just brushes the back of her knees are attracting a lot of attention. People are looking at them. Poe may have suggested this place, and maybe it gets a lot of travelers from elsewhere on the planet, but off-worlders, or people who dress like them, appear to be rare.
"Why did you pilot recommend this planet again?"
"Trust me, I intend to ask him that as soon as I see him," Rey replies, noting someone watching her legs, looking somewhere between scandalized and ready to proposition her.
"We walk into a casino like this and everyone is going to notice us."
Rey nods in agreement.
This time, they have absolutely no trouble attracting the attention of the desk clerk. He's borderline appalled to see them in his hotel, but he's more than happy to set them up with the local currency, get them into their room, and out of the line of view of anyone else in the lobby, as fast as possible.
He's happier yet to suggest a street where there are apparently multiple places to get clothing.
As they're in the elevator, heading up, Rey says, "According to Poe, if you're going to do this well, you are supposed to bend in. Look like the people around you. Not attract attention. And that means matching whatever the local look is. Part of us not hitting any of the expensive gambling cities yet is not having enough money to get a fancy yacht and clothing to go with it."
Kylo assumes Poe would know.
"He doesn't want us to try Canto Bight until we can seed ten million credits into looking right and losing before we win."
Kylo blinks at that. "Ten million?"
"He's figuring we'll take at least fifty, but yes, between the ship, the clothing, the hotel rooms, and the rest of it, yes. We've got to look right to even get a seat at the sort of table where we can win that sort of money."
"Okay." He smirks a little. "And I suddenly know why my father never went after a really big score. He probably couldn't get through the door of the sort of place where they played for that kind of money."
"Or Chewie couldn't."
He smirks at that, too. "Chewie goes wherever the hell he wants to go, and everyone else just gets out of his way."
The elevator doors open, and Rey has to admit that's likely true.
Why Poe may have suggested this planet, this hotel, and this casino is (possibly) becoming apparent when they get into the room.
Poe had said the Excelsior was nice. He also said the exchange rate would work in their favor. Standard credits going fairly far on Gidi Secundus. And that was pretty much all Rey had to hear. Nice, comfortable, inexpensive. Sign her up.
Okay, this is not nice.
This is nice's beautiful, fashionable cousin dressed up for her wedding night. This is opulent and sexy.
The room is huge. Kylo's room on the Supremacy and their entire home on Lirium could fit in here and get lost. There are huge, arched windows on every wall, framed in intricately carved screens of wood. The bed practically the size of their living room, strewn with jewel toned pillows, and curtained in gauzy silks. There's a dining area, for four. And a fully stocked bar. More of those windows, thrown open, showing off a balcony overlooking the city. Rey's almost afraid to venture into the bathroom, fairly certain it's going to have a swimming pool or some other over the top luxury.
Kylo dryly says as he looks around, their one bag on his shoulder. "A warm, intimate space for us and two dozen of our closest friends?"
"We don't have two dozen friends."
"We better start making some if we've got this much space."
She laughs a little at that, gently stroking the spray of orchids in a vase on the dining table. "I'm really starting to wonder what the hell Poe does when he's not on Lirium."
Kylo arches an eyebrow at her. He grew up in fairly posh circumstances, and this just blows that all away. He's actually a little nervous about touching anything, and a little more nervous that someone recognized him and upgraded them. If this isn't the best room in this hotel, he'll be stunned. "Starting?"
He heads for the bed, touching the sheets. He assumes there have to be blankets somewhere, but they don't appear to be on the bed. Just rich, silk, amethyst sheets, and six million pillows in every variation on the theme of purple he's ever imagined. The mattress under his hand ripples a little, which makes his eyes go wide.
He sits, tentatively on it, and sees why there aren't any blankets. "It's a water bed." And from the feel of it, it's kept at just about blood temperature. There have been times when he's been relaxed enough that drifting off for a nap in the bath seemed like a good idea, but drowning wasn't, so he dragged himself out.
That wouldn't be an issue here.
"You booked this room?" he asks Rey, looking around.
"Uh… I'll admit this certainly wasn't what I was envisioning. Two hundred credits a night sounded like right about where to aim, and… assuming this is what I reserved, this is two hundred credits a night." She'd been on their communications hub, Poe's suggestion in mind, spent a few moments looking the place up, picked their second from the top of the line room, and then used her brand new, in her own name, credit chit, to book a room for them. Just doing it made her happy for three days. She sits next to him and the bed ripples. "Well, that'll be interesting."
He smirks a little at that. "I imagine."
"I bet you do." She gives him a little kiss. "So, shall we attempt to blend in?"
He starts to run his fingers through his hair, but he put it up when he changed into his Padme clothing, so he stops, midway to the gesture. "Sure."
In the lobby again, Kylo really looks at the desk clerk, but if he's figured out who Kylo is, he's got it buried so deep in his mind that Kylo can't pull it out.
Spell's holding he thinks to Rey.
Then I guess that's what two hundred credits gets you here.
If that's true… What do we have to do to get to the high stakes tables?
Rey shrugs a little. I guess buy the chips and look like we blend in.
Okay. He thinks with a grin.
Approximately nine minutes into the hunt for clothing, Kylo has come to the conclusion that he'll happily stay here, if it means watching Rey "blend in," for just about all of eternity.
He's certainly aware of the fact that women wear clothing.
He's even starting to develop preferences for certain cuts and styles, at least on Rey.
And here, in this shop where they aren't the only people not wearing local dress, and the lady helping Rey looks pretty comfortable with the idea that none of them know how to do this, he's thinking that whatever they call this, he really likes it.
A world where the ladies walk around with their waists and backs and arms naked, the rest of them draped in softly flowing fabrics, hair long and loose, soft, shimmery silks shifting around them with each step, and fine sparkly chains of silver and gold on their curvy bits… Yeah, he's digging this.
Rey meanwhile is thinking about how it's been, literally, less than three hours since she said she didn't know how to be a fancy lady in a dress.
Apparently, this, is a crash course in the subject.
They're called sarees.
They are, objectively, very pretty.
The store they're in has a wall covered in skirts in an appealing array of colors, all of them dark or jewel-toned, and she's liking the slate blue skirt and breast band she's got on. The skirt is long, covering from just above the swell of her hips to the floor. And the breast band looks like it shouldn't have much support, but it's comfortable, so…
Okay, this part is fine.
And the fine silver chain she's wearing that sweeps around her neck, down her chest to loop over her ribs. That looks great, and she can see Kylo staring at it, paying attention to what she's wearing in a way he hasn't since the first time she wore panties.
The thin silver chains around her arm. Also great. She really likes them.
Then there's the actual saree part.
It's beautiful. She loves it. It's a shimmery blue-gray silk with a band of ornate silver lace/designs on the hem. That said, it's complicated. The lady does… something. And she's really trying to pay attention, but… There's tucking, and pinning, and pleating, and more tucking, and more pinning, and more tucking, and more pleating, and then a bit more tucking and…
"Perfect!" the lady says, looking Rey up and down, very pleased with both how this came together and the fact that Rey's standing about in some of the more expensive clothing in the place.
Rey's looking in the mirror, and she likes what she sees, but she's terrified of catching the skirt in her sandal and pulling everything loose, or eating something and dropping it on the saree, or… oh gods, at some point she's going to have to go to the 'fresher, and…
And apparently a certain level of panic is clear on her face, so the lady gently pulls her aside and says, "It's a very fancy one, made of fine silks, but it's practical, too. These dresses, originally, were worn by women who worked in rice paddies in a hot climate. You can pull the skirt up, knot it at the waist, and wade through shin deep water, pulling up rice shoots. The pins will keep everything in place, and… when you need to, you just hike it up, and when you're done, drop it, shimmy a little, and it'll drape properly."
That's a bit of a relief.
Still, it's the finest thing she's ever owned and she's nervous about it. Let alone getting back into it. "Do you have… instructions for how to do this yourself?"
The lady smiles, and nods to the counter, where there are pamphlets on how to fasten a saree. "We get a lot of travelers here. Probably why your hotel sent you over. And I can promise you, it's much easier to get into the first few times if you've got help." She eyes Kylo, who is certainly watching her like he's going to especially enjoy helping her out of this, and likely back into it later.
That puts Rey at ease, some. She's still very careful as she takes her first few steps. It feels odd to have a skirt swishing around her feet. And she's certain that when she attempts to eat anything, she's going to be nervous the whole time.
That said, she's enjoying the warm, happy, content cloud of ohh that's just lovely more or less pouring off of Kylo right now.
And she's somewhat amused at him idly thinking about maybe buying the shop. Then somewhat disturbed when she realizes that those might not be idle thoughts. He's actually working through the credits conversion in his head. Though in the end, she doesn't have to glare at him too hard to keep him from buying her more than three of them.
That warm, happy, content, 'Look at me, I've got the most beautiful woman on the planet walking arm in arm with me, everything is spiffy' feeling lasts until Kylo's attempting to locate clothing for himself.
He's, kind of, in a maybe Jon said it or maybe he thought it and Kylo wasn't exactly paying attention when it happened, sort of aware that he might not exactly be a common size. And he's also, sort of, in a not really paying attention way, noticing that most of the humans he's passing on this planet are closer to Rey's size than his.
And this will come together in a very sharp, distinct frustration when it comes to attempting to locate fabric cut in a manner that he can stick it on his personal body.
The style of Gidian men seems to be a low-waisted trouser, made of soft drapy silk, tight around the waist, loosely pleated, falling to the ankle, and then fastened with a thin, tight band around the ankle.
Okay, fine.
He's on the tall end of what the shop has, but they've got trousers that'll match his leg length. Four of them. The absolute longest ones they have. They also have trousers that will match his thighs circumference, or waist circumference, but not both.
So, he can get the proper amount of drape on his thighs, and have the pants immediately go galloping toward the floor because the waist is vastly too big to keep them up, or he can get the waist right, and have his trousers snug against his thighs.
He opts for that. First of all, he's used to trousers snug around his thighs, second of all, snug is better than on the floor, and third, the jacket, assuming he can find one, will cover his thighs.
Then there's the jackets. They're similar to his command black tunics, with a lot of ornate printing. These come midway between the knee and hip, and fasten from the throat to the pelvis.
And like the trousers, the first problem is finding a jacket long enough. Okay, that gets rid of all but seven of them. Of the seven remaining ones, three fit his shoulders, and four fit his waist, but neither fit both. Since he can't close the jacket if it doesn't fit his shoulders, that becomes the size he aims for. They're baggier than ideal at his waist, but not ridiculously so.
Fortunately, they do have a pair of sandals big enough for him.
One of them.
And if Rey is feeling a certain level of discomfort in her finery because it's fine, Kylo's mostly reacting to the fact that the darkest tone in the entire store is fuschia, which doesn't much matter because the only jackets that fit him are in powder blue with a darker blue paisley, a bright, shiny spring green with that same darker green block print, and buttercup yellow with an ornate white block print.
He's sincerely thinking that right now would be an excellent time to decide to put his Padme clothing back on and get to the high stakes table by swagger and Force skills alone, but he can see Rey watching him, looking way too damn amused, with a tangible cloud of If I can do it, you can, too.
You don't look like an idiot!
Neither do you! It's pretty.
His eyes narrow. Have I ever come even close to suggesting pretty is anything I've ever desired being?
We can try other stores. Find something that fits better?
He rolls his eyes a little, and then looks at the blue, green, and yellow monstrosities in front of him.
Another store.
By the end of the third store both of them have hit what can be called shopping fatigue.
But, by the end of the third store, a, meaning one, singular, that required a bit of on the spot tailoring, pair of trousers, in, thank the Force, a subdued shade of maroon, had been purchased. As well as tan (If he'd been asked before setting foot on this planet if he'd ever voluntarily wear Jedi colors again, Kylo would have said no. Given the choice between tan or lime green, he decided he could put on Jedi colors again.) jacket with a maroon pattern that fit his shoulders nicely and was within a centimeter or two of fitting his waist.
It's brighter and shinier than he would normally choose to be, but it's not pretty and he doesn't feel like he's flouncing about in a rainbow of shiny pastels, so… It could be worse.
He asked about the turbans, but apparently they're a marker of religious affiliation, so he decided he didn't need one.
That said, leaving the third store, no one is watching them. They have succeeded in blending.
"Food?" Rey asks.
He's nodding vehemently. They haven't eaten in seven hours, and that's likely part of being grumpy. "Food would help."
Strolling around seems to help the mood, too. Locating a collection of stands selling yummy smelling meat on sticks, sizzling away over open fires helps even more. They wander from stand to stand, getting one of whatever it is they sell, trying them all.
And yes, Rey's very careful with the first few bites. But, after a moment or two, comes to the conclusion that she's not going to make a mess of herself, and starts to eat like normal. (Though she is holding a napkin under the kabob.)
"Why don't you like colors?" she asks him, as he nibbles a bite off their current kabob.
"I like colors just fine."
She snorts at that. "Not on you. You'd have looked less pained standing in front of an army than contemplating putting on a yellow jacket."
He rolls his eyes, taking another bite of this stick. It's… meat… definitely meat. Yummy meat, rubbed in warm spices and grilled golden and sizzling, but beyond that, he's got no idea what this is. He's also noticed that there are vendors with fruit and veggies, so they're going to hit one of them, next.
"I actually enjoy fighting, so that's a bad comparison."
She can feel what he's not saying. The scar, the sharp angles of his face, the thrice broken nose and once broken jaw, his general size. He doesn't feel like he belongs in bright, pretty things. They're just… not him. Maybe there was a time they might have been, but not for at least the last fifteen years.
She strokes his hand. "I feel that way about fancy dresses."
He nods. "It looks amazing on you."
"Thank you."
He stares at her, and just looking makes his heart feel tight. She's just so beautiful right now. He intentionally projects how this looks to him, how it makes him feel. Then he asks, "Do you think you look like an idiot in this? That it's just wrong on your skin?"
She shrugs a little. It's not that she thinks it looks bad. There's no idiot aspect to this. Wrong on the other hand. "Seven hundred and fifty credits on one outfit. I know where we're going in it. I know why it costs this much. I get that this is an investment, and given what Poe's told us, until we're ready to spend those sorts of credits on one shoe alone, we're not ready for Canto Bight, but… I'm an illiterate, nobody, desert rat. I don't belong in silks and satins, and silver jewels. This is clothing for an—"
"Empress," he says it, voice heavy, knowing that's part of why he's reacting so favorably to it. He kisses her, gently stroking his nose against her cheek. "I wish I hadn't said that to you."
"Mmm?" She's not immediately seeing what she said had to do with anything he's said in the past.
"That you were nobody. Snoke was always going on about the power of the Skywalker line, and this massive destiny of great families, and…" He rolls his eyes. "I'd meant you weren't part of that. Not… that you were worthless."
She blinks. "Oh. Uh… I never considered you'd meant it any way other than I was outside the 'family line.'"
"Good."
She looks around them, at the people on the street, and the fact that this sort of clothing is street clothing here helps, but… "When I got the clothing in Naboo… I could feel something shifting. It's just cloth, but…"
"But it's not. It's…"
She rubs her lips together, and he's a little amused to see that come back to him from her lips. "Choices. Options. It's control. It's not just floating along from situation to situation, picking whatever the best option is. It's actually deciding where to go and who to be."
"All is as the Force wills it?" There's a wry set to his eyes and voice as he says it.
She nods. "It's a lot easier to believe that when you're just floating along, reacting."
He nods at that, too, and another thought hits him, "And it's easier when you stay where you know what you're doing?"
That gets a loud sigh out of her. "Yeah. I don't feel like everyone will be watching to see if I screw it up when I'm teaching. I'm learning with the kids, learning from them, too. We're exploring and figuring it out together. And here, if I screw it up, no one knows my name or face, so it's meaningless. I'll be annoyed if I trip over the skirt heading into the casino and ruin it. Mad, too. But… in the grand scheme of things, it's meaningless. There are other places, other casinos, just go to the next one." She shrugs a little. "Somehow I've got the feeling it won't work that way for Lady Ren."
He shrugs a bit. "I feel like I'm constantly playing catch up when I'm out there. Like this is all stuff I should have learned as a child, and… And it's not, and I didn't, but I've still got to do it, and failure hasn't killed me, yet, so…" He kisses her again. "Come fail with me?" He winces when it's out of his mouth. "Speaking of sentences I wish I'd thought about before saying."
She squeezes his hand. "We're good. I understand."
He kisses her again. "Yeah, but if I'd been thinking ahead, I might have said something like, 'How about you and I make Jon and Kinear ecstatically happy. Take lessons with me, let's learn it together, and how about we succeed together?'"
She strokes his face. "That's a bit more polished, yes. And…" she sighs, shaking her head, "Let's just do this, here, now, and see how it goes."
"Okay."
They're halfway down the street, continuing to sight see, when another thought hits Kylo. "My dad hated this sort of stuff. And my mom kept dragging him into it. She felt like if he really loved her, he'd learn to be good at it. And he felt like if she loved him, she wouldn't keep trying to change him, and…" he shakes his head. "So… I'd like doing this with you. I want you by my side for this. But… I'd rather go this alone, and have you at home, happy to see me at the end of the day, than you on that throne resenting me for putting you there."
She nods at that, and says, "Good."
His fingers are on her hand, holding it to his chest, and he's looking her over, top to bottom. "And I love this, and if it were up to me, you'd look like this all the time, but, I want you, not my fantasy of you." I will not be Vader arcs through his mind at that. His touch is light, but his words are heavy. "You've taken Kylo, every dark, hurt, angry bit of him, and haven't tried to change me or pretend I'm someone else. You've given me the place, and option, and support to change myself, to become something different, something more, but you didn't demand it, and you've never made me feel ashamed when I take a step back, or feel angry and frustrated." He strokes the wedding band on her left hand. "And I refuse to do a millimeter less than that for you."
This time she reaches up to kiss him.