[Like paper punched through without either effort or force, that single word cuts him to the quick. He doesn't breathe, doesn't blink, mouth twisted into a telling grimace— and it makes him look (despite his stature, his brutish posturing and the grizzly scar that carves a path from forehead to shoulder) so much younger. Smaller. As fragile as spun glass on the verge of shattering completely.
And then something in him shifts. He's up on his heels, chasing after the ghost of her footsteps where she fumbles; this time Ren reaches for her throat with his own fingers, unwilling to let old shadows dictate his worth. His identity.]
That name means nothing to me— [Transparency evident in his rage, there's no masking that lie.] Who told you?
[Nostrils flaring, he's only half a breath away from tearing it from her, the only promise he knows to make to himself in the moment.] Who are you.
no subject
And then something in him shifts. He's up on his heels, chasing after the ghost of her footsteps where she fumbles; this time Ren reaches for her throat with his own fingers, unwilling to let old shadows dictate his worth. His identity.]
That name means nothing to me— [Transparency evident in his rage, there's no masking that lie.] Who told you?
[Nostrils flaring, he's only half a breath away from tearing it from her, the only promise he knows to make to himself in the moment.] Who are you.