Ben's quarters at the Resistance base aren't anything noteworthy, as firstly, Leia would never give blatant preferential treatment to her son and secondly, Ben had beaten her to the punch by asking her not to. The room Anakin found himself in was plain and clearly not used much; there was a thick rug to sit on for meditating, a few holo-photos on a crate that had been turned into a makeshift dresser full of Ben's spare clothes, since his mother insisted he would get a cold running around in the winter without proper robes. There was a toy BB-8 made out of yarn Poe had gotten him as a gag gift sitting on the bed, but other than that, it could have been anyone's room.
Ben enters the room with the energy of a hurricane, turbulent and fast and a flash of dark colors. Through the Force he would best be sensed as a sea of contradictions, hope and despair, self-hatred and arrogance, wrapped into one being. At the sight of someone on the floor, his first instinct is no longer to draw his lightsaber, although that's mostly because his father threw it into the abyss back on Starkiller Base. Instead, it's a long-suffering sigh.
"Let me guess: you got drunk and couldn't remember which room was yours." The ability of people in this organization to get plastered after missions, victorious or otherwise, was breathtaking. He pinches the bridge of his nose, dark rings under his eyes revealing just how little sleep he's had. "I'm not in the mood to escort you to Medical, I-"
Then he catches sight of Anakin's face, and everything stops.
The Force stopped answering the prayers of Ben Solo long before he became Kylo Ren. He didn't expect it to start afterwards. And he certainly would have remembered praying for this. "...who are you?" he asks, swallowing, trying to reign in any sense of hope rising in him. The strong Force presence and near-familial resemblance was a coincidence, surely.
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Ben enters the room with the energy of a hurricane, turbulent and fast and a flash of dark colors. Through the Force he would best be sensed as a sea of contradictions, hope and despair, self-hatred and arrogance, wrapped into one being. At the sight of someone on the floor, his first instinct is no longer to draw his lightsaber, although that's mostly because his father threw it into the abyss back on Starkiller Base. Instead, it's a long-suffering sigh.
"Let me guess: you got drunk and couldn't remember which room was yours." The ability of people in this organization to get plastered after missions, victorious or otherwise, was breathtaking. He pinches the bridge of his nose, dark rings under his eyes revealing just how little sleep he's had. "I'm not in the mood to escort you to Medical, I-"
Then he catches sight of Anakin's face, and everything stops.
The Force stopped answering the prayers of Ben Solo long before he became Kylo Ren. He didn't expect it to start afterwards. And he certainly would have remembered praying for this. "...who are you?" he asks, swallowing, trying to reign in any sense of hope rising in him. The strong Force presence and near-familial resemblance was a coincidence, surely.