Cruel Destiny | Kylo Ren

Heart Of Armour

Pans and trays all smack and slam in the back room where the chattering servants who are cooking lunch can be heard from the table where Three and I sit, joking and teasing, or perhaps even sometimes, shouting in stress when they find out the clock on the wall is slowly creeping to the busy lunchtime that they prepare for.

The young, blonde girl and I, stare through the long window opening that peeks out to the empty lunch line in the Dining Hall of The Supremacy. We were much too early for lunchtime, but the servants never kicked us out in our intrusion, either because they understood the trade that comes with our similar uniform or they truely know who we are in this order.

The design of the Hall was much like the one back on Finalizer, but more sharp in its edges and smaller in its entirety. The tables allowed for small groups to sit together and comfort was an afterthought as each chair was a small, silver stool that mimicked the cold metal of the benches. The walls were no different to the rest of the ship in its bleak white and the windows were covered by a thin metal barrier that was screwed on with chunky bolts – Some food had been obviously thrown against it, for there was dried up muck cemented on the frame.

It was so clearly, only made with the intention to be functional to the point of depression, which was ironic considering that was pretty much all the faces who walked this ship displayed – Was the food here perhaps laced with downcast?

A young servant is scooping slop into the cambros that face the front. Pink in the face, her brown hair frayed out of the headscarf that was pasted to her forehead with with either steam or sweat. She was child-like in her proportions but clearly an adult. As she notices Three and I watching, she smiled in the way all inconvenienced people do and we both smiled back.

I'm starting to believe that it was the latter of my previous options: That they all knew we were the children from Project Destiny, the ones supposably blessed with the power of the force and the purpose to carry it on – Only because, after the exchange, she made a small awkward bow and retreated, the smile vanishing from her diminutive features as her pace stretched out wider than looked comfortable and then she went to go hide back with the other servants who slaved away – They all began to talk about us in hushed whispers, but we could hear clearly.

Sighing and turning back to Three, who did the same, she chuckled and rolled her eyes – The white headscarf that was once sitting in the bottom of my drawers, untouched, now upon her soft, golden hair.

She mutters below her breath, intending for only my ears to hear from across the table, "I feel so out of place here." Three says, "I don't understand why people always cower away from us?"

Giving her a single, low laugh, I flick my eyes up to the ceiling and then back to her, cocking her a sly smile, "Tell me about it." I huffed, "I mean, we lived on an abandoned planet for eleven years and now, The First Order expect us to just fit in with their people?"

Three tuts, her green eyes gleaming with banter, "I know!" She gasps as if I had just said the very thing on her own mind. "Even though they dress us the same as the servants, everyone still acts as though we are high above them."

Her voice rises as she tilts her head backwards, talking loud enough for the servants who whispered about us, to hear, "I mean – I'm a seventeen year-old girl who doesn't even know how to use my so called, powers. I'm not the one people should fear."

I laugh loud in the empty hall, leaning over the table on my elbows as she uses her two fingers on each hand for quotation marks.

She joins in too.

When our laughter finally dies down and the hall is once again filled with just the sounds of plates and trays moving, the whispers silent, we both sigh with small grins and I watch Three glance out the caged windows behind me.