[On Jakku, Rey had been a creature of habit. In the morning when she first woke up she would spend the early hours practicing with her staff as a way to hone both her body but also her mind, desperate for something to keep from thinking about food. She would go through the forms that centered her and made her strong, clinging to the way her body never gave up on her no matter how little she was able to give it in return, and she would make a plan as she moved.
Form one, make a mental list of the newest discovery in the sands. What parts were selling well, what was junk. Form two, assess just how much of the junk was actually something that could be salvaged and cleaned up or repaired into something valuable. Form three was the hardest every time, but it was also the most important. Form three was when she would start a sort of cool-down routine, muscles pleasantly aching and her belly feeling like an angry pit but no longer growling, beaten into submission by her own stubbornness, and there was no planning then. By that time she had her entire day mapped in her head and the only thing standing in her way was how quickly the sun would set.
That pattern had never left her, even after she had left Jakku. She still trained on her own on Ahch-To and then on Ajan Kloss, but she had traded the staff for lightsabers. Now, on Ximilia station, it's the same. Early morning has her leaving her little hammock in the sunlight room to go to the training room this time, and there she sets clears her mind and goes through forms that are not so well known to her.
Fighting with two lightsabers is still something she isn't used to, but she's been practicing enough with much safer practice swords that now seems as good a time as any to try with the real thing. The hilts are a heavy, familiar weight in her hand by now and when she activates them the hum settles her mind more quickly than she would have expected. It's like holding on to Luke and Leia and as she starts to move, twin beams of blue that spin and twist around her as she carves out patterns around but never strikes the training dummies.
It's something she came up with on Ahch-To, something she means to use as a way to force herself to learn to control them and the way the blades move. Come close to striking, but never actually cleave through-
... Except she does. On one pass she twists on the ball of her feet to spin around and drop down as though she's dodging an overhead strike, but as she does it she sweeps both sabers through the air directly in front of herself and neatly bisects the training dummy in a flash of heat and a sizzle that makes her swear lowly under her breath.]
Not again...
[To her credit, it had looked and felt good right up until then. With a frown she turns the sabers off and pokes at the top of the dummy with the toe of her boot, and then quite suddenly turns when she feels a presence behind her, something... cold and deep like the ocean in the cave under Ahch-To, just and dangerous but also worn down like smooth stone. She has an image in her mind of rain rolling down granite, impossible to penetrate and slow to warm, water pebbling and sliding away with no hope of ever doing any damage.
To see Itachi standing here as the source of those feelings is... certainly odd, and there's a slight pinch between her eyebrows as she fits these impressions in with the person she had shared such a brief moment with on a train what feels like weeks ago. But she inclines her head, a nod of hello, and her eyes are soft enough that it could be a smile if it weren't for the fact that her lips don't quirk up.]
（ it's a cursory greeting, returned in kind with a nod that mirrors her own. he had only just arrived, and so the only thing he witnesses is the dummy's tragic end, he gestures to it with a lift of his chin. ）
I wouldn't concern yourself about property damage — Viveca-san seems able to replenish or replace anything in this room quite handily.
[Her hum is one of dissatisfaction as much as one of acknowledgement, and as she turns to face the mess she's made she shakes her head.]
The idea was to not make a mess, but control is still something I struggle with. I get too wrapped up in the motions and forget not to cut things in half.
（ being too ruthless, too easily lost in battle math and emergent victory, is never a bad thing in his line of work. but he understands why someone would prefer to be otherwise. ）
You did make me wonder about how good you are on the train.
[It's an easy enough thing to admit, but as she rolls her shoulders to alleviate some of the tension in them from her mistake with the dummy she has to admit she's a little unsure.]
I don't think Finn would like it very much if I accidentally sliced his friend in half, though, so we should probably just stick with practice swords.
[She's giving him a look now, something searching and curious to see if he'll want to actually play it safe or just go all in.]
（ the first part merits no response — saying anything would only be egotism, and removed from the confines of a mission that necessitated a playful edge to his personality he does not have the taste for it. ）
As you wish.
（ it isn't up to him to push her — he will give her the grace of knowing her limits, even if he is not especially concerned with the possibility.
there is a wide array of practice swords on the wall, a sturdy plastic with which he's unfamiliar rather than the wood that comprises most boken in his home. he takes two down, testing the weight with a practice swing, and then falls back into position. he prefers to fight with only one sword, leaving one hand free to block other attacks or form seals, but he has no especial need doing so. it's the entrenched habit of a long-range combat specialist. ）
[She can't do much to learn about how he fights just watching this much of his preparations, but she can at least tell that he's familiar with the weapons he picks up. More so than her, she has to admit, but as far as she can remember she had been up front with that particularly bit of information. It's still a work in progress for her but what better way than to just hit someone with sticks until you get it right?
She waits for him to seem ready, to face her again, and once he's in position she just goes for it with the assumption that when he wants to stop he'll either say so or make her stop.
Her first swing is an overhead one, slow enough to give her time to pull it back if he isn't ready but not so slow that it'll be insulting when he looks so prepared all the time.]
（ their match, for a time, is her testing in this way. he understands what it means to have great strength, and to be wary of harming others with it, especially when their purported skill could simply be a matter of arrogance. he has very little pride in this way, and is not one to take offense at her caution. he understands that it is likely a matter of how her experience has informed her.
but every swing she brings to bear against him is blocked calmly, dark eyes tracking her movements with uncanny calm. he lets her measure what she wishes to of his strength and speed, and he is... amused to note that some of the moves she makes are very similar in nature to finn's.
but it isn't until she seems more comfortable 'cutting loose' with him, so to speak, that he starts doing more than blocking himself — instead counterattacking in ways that push her to block, or step back.
[At the start it goes smoothly enough. Once it's clear he's going to meet her strike for strike she stops holding back in any kind of way, not just out of a desire to keep from hurting him but also just because this kind of fighting style is not one she's used to. Fighting with a sword is the antithesis of everything she knows when it comes to fighting with a staff and her swings are too heavy, too aggressive to be sustainable.
For all that she hits like a truck, she has to pull on the Force more than she should need to to keep the stamina up to continue to hold her ground. It's tiring and when she bears her teeth and swings at him like a feral animal with one sword followed quickly by a second, he'll see the gaps in her training that are a mile wide.
And the worst part is she can feel them once he starts to actually meet her halfway instead of just gauging her ability. When he shifts into more of an attack stance and she moves with him into one of defense, her movements to evade him are graceful and easy but immediately followed up with a swing at his face that would be more at home on a baseball diamond than a battlefield.
it is obvious, but it is also interesting in its own way — there is a certain fearlessness to her, a desperation to the way that she fights even on her back foot that tells him that she is well-accustomed to it being a matter of life or death.
his stamina is not so exhausted, but he suspects it is not because he has more than her, but because he uses what he has more efficiently. his strikes are always controlled, precise, just enough strength to block or finesse his way out of one of her blows. she uses her strength like a battering ram.
used to fighting for her life, but not against people like him. at least, not as the bulk of her opponents.
that swing at his face, wildly feral, gets an angled guard that lets the force of it slide up and past his face rather than trying to block it first-hand, and then he steps back, holds up a hand to request a pause in their match. ）
You said you were more accustomed to a staff. May I ask why you have chosen to take up swords?
（ it is one thing to wish to learn, but she seems genuinely frustrated by the weight and balance of her weapons. ）
[There is a distinctly un-Jedi like flash of white hot rage when he steps away and signals for a stop because that is entirely unsatisfying, being forced to give up before she feels like she's made any progress, but apart from a quiet growl of annoyance she rolls her shoulders and lowers the swords.
This is Finn's friend, she reminds herself. No one would thank her for shouting at him just because he stopped her from trying to remove his head from his body.
（ normally, he would leave it at that, with no further explanation. but it is instinct, perhaps, that suggests she may need one. he cocks his head to one side, and then — ）
A weapon is meant to function as an extension of one's body. If your mind and body are at odds in this way, it will often feel like an exercise in frustration.
（ there is fluidity and grace to how she moves. she is sure of herself and her body. she has clear, identifiable skill — but he would be curious to know if anyone has ever actually taught her how to wield a sword. ）
[The look that she gives him is not kind, not when what she hears in that is mostly just condescension.
Mostly, but not totally. He's right and it rankles but she won't admit it to him. Instead she just tosses the swords to the side and holds her hand out towards the wall of weapons. With a pull that she doesn't even have to think about a staff lifts from the wall and flies to thud into her palm, the familiar weight at once something that eases some of her tension.
She twists it around her to get the balance of it fixed in her head and then takes a step towards him, entirely intending to pick up where they left off.]
（ in response, he tosses one of the swords lightly aside. he anticipates by the change in her stance that the fight will become considerably more difficult now, and wishes to keep a hand free. ）
[What he's expecting is exactly what he gets and if she knew he was expecting it, she might be a little annoyed by how well he had her pegged already. There's nothing but balance to her movements as she twists and spins the staff around herself, each strike paired with the perfect block, a new kind of energy to her once she stops fighting what she is, stops trying to fit herself into a perfect Jedi box.
She will never fit inside it and Leia knew that. Leia had tried to tell her, tried to show her the ways to move outside of the rigid teachings of the old Jedi and forge her own path, make her own rules. Leia had trusted her to do the right thing, to remake the Order or reforge it into something new. This seems like a good first step.]
（ so, they continue in this fashion. he is more on the defensive now, the natural ebb and flow of her strikes means he has to pay more attention, sharingan tracking her moves and memorizing patterns innately. they are not entirely unmatched in this respect — though she does not utilize the force for speed as he does chakra, her skill more clearly shines through here.
his stamina has improved, since arriving here and receiving the transplant of his father's eyes, but it is still not at the point he would like it to be. so there is a moment, eventually, when he falters and his guard fails. she scores a hit against his shoulder, enough to wind him, and he steps back. ）
[It feels good to fight like that once she allows herself to just fall into the rhythm of it, when she's not trying to fit herself into a mold she was never meant for in the first place, and he's a good fighter. He doesn't hold back, either, and by the time they really get into it her estimation of him has risen simply based on the fact that it's nice to find someone she can spar with that she knows will simply go all out and give her a good fight.
When she does manage to land a hit and he steps back her eyes narrow just a little in concern, but she doesn't ask if he's okay. She's breathing hard herself as she rests the end of her staff on the ground and gives him a grin instead, looking quite pleased by how things have ended up.]
I am here every morning, from 0400 to 0700. You are welcome to join me whenever you might like. Occasionally, I am also present in the afternoons.
（ he trains diligently. even when injured, there is always something to be done. it was only the bone-cracking fever from infection that kept him shut up in his room after taeum, but even then he had rested only as long as his body required before he began pushing himself anew. his right shoulder is still not completely healed, though it is now only something to push through than something to take care with. ）
[On Jakku it had been a necessity, but it's a habit that stuck with her even when she no longer had to worry about the sun rising and the temperature on a desert planet shooting up through the roof and turning the metal starships she scavenged from into literal ovens.
She looks him over for a moment, eyeing where she got that hit in on his shoulder and then tracking up and down his body, gauging without pulling on the Force if-]
Did you want to quit or would you be up for going again?
[It is very possible she would spar with him until one or both of them passed out.]
（ he could, of course — he has never truly lacked the capacity to go well beyond what he should. it is the act of seeing his body as a tool to be wielded rather than something he owes any measure of kindness to. something to inhabit, and damage or destroy as necessary.
so, as to continuing? that would be a simple matter.
however, after a moment, he shakes his head. ）
I think I would prefer breakfast. Would you like to join me?
[That's the benefit to being on good terms with a Jedi, then. Free heals when you've done too much but still have more you need to get up to.
It doesn't take her much effort to switch modes from wanting to keep fighting to being more than ready to eat, so with a nod she just turns to pick up the swords she'd so carelessly tossed aside. Rather than use the Force for something so mundane she returns them and the staff to the wall of weapons, setting them carefully back into their proper spots.
There's a moment as she's hanging up the staff, though, that her hand lingers on it.
But she won't dwell. A plan is already forming, a solution, but for now she turns back to Itachi to focus on the much more important question of food.]
Mm. I generally prepare dishes you may not recognize by their names — （ after all, finn didn't, he has no reason to suspect that rey might know what he means when he says miso. but he has encountered many situations where others recognize a similar dish by another name, so instead he describes them as plainly as he can. ） but breakfast is customarily a type of protein such as fish or egg, rice, and a broth soup made from a fermented legume.
（ plain, simple fare. he still makes okayu when he is craving it, though it is no longer a kindness done to a failing body. ）
Other side-dishes can be added as one desires, though I tend to first take stock of what is available in the kitchens.
[Bro calm down she's used to bread that's made by mixing powder and water.
But there's a definite interest to her as he lists all those things whether she would know the names or not, a never ending desire to learn about the different types of food that exist and, much more importantly, to eat them.]
If you tell me what to do I'll help you, that sounds like a lot of work for just one person.
[Plus with two people cooking it'll mean it all gets finished faster and she's that much closer to eating all this mystery food.]
（ frankly, he finds it soothing. but it is not a no, either, as he forms the seals for a shadow clone. it remains behind to clean the room as the two of them carry on towards the kitchens. ）
[That's easy for him to say, but there's nothing to be gained by pointing out that even one dish per meal is something to be considered just this side of extravagant and worth offering to help with.
What's easier to focus on is the gestures he makes, the clone appears and starts to clear away the mess they've left and, more interestingly, the fact that he draws no attention to what she's sure most people would consider something quite unique. If he weren't being so humble about it she might compare him to Luke, a silent display of ability that her master would have used to show off looking simply like an easy extension of power that's as easy as breathing for Itachi.
She watches over her shoulder as she falls into step beside him, but chooses not to comment when he doesn't. If he wanted to talk about his powers he'd do it and she doubts she'll get anything out of it if she decided to pry.]
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straight to action baybee
Form one, make a mental list of the newest discovery in the sands. What parts were selling well, what was junk. Form two, assess just how much of the junk was actually something that could be salvaged and cleaned up or repaired into something valuable. Form three was the hardest every time, but it was also the most important. Form three was when she would start a sort of cool-down routine, muscles pleasantly aching and her belly feeling like an angry pit but no longer growling, beaten into submission by her own stubbornness, and there was no planning then. By that time she had her entire day mapped in her head and the only thing standing in her way was how quickly the sun would set.
That pattern had never left her, even after she had left Jakku. She still trained on her own on Ahch-To and then on Ajan Kloss, but she had traded the staff for lightsabers. Now, on Ximilia station, it's the same. Early morning has her leaving her little hammock in the sunlight room to go to the training room this time, and there she sets clears her mind and goes through forms that are not so well known to her.
Fighting with two lightsabers is still something she isn't used to, but she's been practicing enough with much safer practice swords that now seems as good a time as any to try with the real thing. The hilts are a heavy, familiar weight in her hand by now and when she activates them the hum settles her mind more quickly than she would have expected. It's like holding on to Luke and Leia and as she starts to move, twin beams of blue that spin and twist around her as she carves out patterns around but never strikes the training dummies.
It's something she came up with on Ahch-To, something she means to use as a way to force herself to learn to control them and the way the blades move. Come close to striking, but never actually cleave through-
... Except she does. On one pass she twists on the ball of her feet to spin around and drop down as though she's dodging an overhead strike, but as she does it she sweeps both sabers through the air directly in front of herself and neatly bisects the training dummy in a flash of heat and a sizzle that makes her swear lowly under her breath.]
Not again...
[To her credit, it had looked and felt good right up until then. With a frown she turns the sabers off and pokes at the top of the dummy with the toe of her boot, and then quite suddenly turns when she feels a presence behind her, something... cold and deep like the ocean in the cave under Ahch-To, just and dangerous but also worn down like smooth stone. She has an image in her mind of rain rolling down granite, impossible to penetrate and slow to warm, water pebbling and sliding away with no hope of ever doing any damage.
To see Itachi standing here as the source of those feelings is... certainly odd, and there's a slight pinch between her eyebrows as she fits these impressions in with the person she had shared such a brief moment with on a train what feels like weeks ago. But she inclines her head, a nod of hello, and her eyes are soft enough that it could be a smile if it weren't for the fact that her lips don't quirk up.]
Good morning, Itachi.
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（ it's a cursory greeting, returned in kind with a nod that mirrors her own. he had only just arrived, and so the only thing he witnesses is the dummy's tragic end, he gestures to it with a lift of his chin. ）
I wouldn't concern yourself about property damage — Viveca-san seems able to replenish or replace anything in this room quite handily.
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[Her hum is one of dissatisfaction as much as one of acknowledgement, and as she turns to face the mess she's made she shakes her head.]
The idea was to not make a mess, but control is still something I struggle with. I get too wrapped up in the motions and forget not to cut things in half.
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The control will come.
（ being too ruthless, too easily lost in battle math and emergent victory, is never a bad thing in his line of work. but he understands why someone would prefer to be otherwise. ）
Would you care for a partner?
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[It's an easy enough thing to admit, but as she rolls her shoulders to alleviate some of the tension in them from her mistake with the dummy she has to admit she's a little unsure.]
I don't think Finn would like it very much if I accidentally sliced his friend in half, though, so we should probably just stick with practice swords.
[She's giving him a look now, something searching and curious to see if he'll want to actually play it safe or just go all in.]
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As you wish.
（ it isn't up to him to push her — he will give her the grace of knowing her limits, even if he is not especially concerned with the possibility.
there is a wide array of practice swords on the wall, a sturdy plastic with which he's unfamiliar rather than the wood that comprises most boken in his home. he takes two down, testing the weight with a practice swing, and then falls back into position. he prefers to fight with only one sword, leaving one hand free to block other attacks or form seals, but he has no especial need doing so. it's the entrenched habit of a long-range combat specialist. ）
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She waits for him to seem ready, to face her again, and once he's in position she just goes for it with the assumption that when he wants to stop he'll either say so or make her stop.
Her first swing is an overhead one, slow enough to give her time to pull it back if he isn't ready but not so slow that it'll be insulting when he looks so prepared all the time.]
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but every swing she brings to bear against him is blocked calmly, dark eyes tracking her movements with uncanny calm. he lets her measure what she wishes to of his strength and speed, and he is... amused to note that some of the moves she makes are very similar in nature to finn's.
but it isn't until she seems more comfortable 'cutting loose' with him, so to speak, that he starts doing more than blocking himself — instead counterattacking in ways that push her to block, or step back.
it is, in a word, almost 'fun'. ）
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For all that she hits like a truck, she has to pull on the Force more than she should need to to keep the stamina up to continue to hold her ground. It's tiring and when she bears her teeth and swings at him like a feral animal with one sword followed quickly by a second, he'll see the gaps in her training that are a mile wide.
And the worst part is she can feel them once he starts to actually meet her halfway instead of just gauging her ability. When he shifts into more of an attack stance and she moves with him into one of defense, her movements to evade him are graceful and easy but immediately followed up with a swing at his face that would be more at home on a baseball diamond than a battlefield.
If either of them knew what baseball was.]
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it is obvious, but it is also interesting in its own way — there is a certain fearlessness to her, a desperation to the way that she fights even on her back foot that tells him that she is well-accustomed to it being a matter of life or death.
his stamina is not so exhausted, but he suspects it is not because he has more than her, but because he uses what he has more efficiently. his strikes are always controlled, precise, just enough strength to block or finesse his way out of one of her blows. she uses her strength like a battering ram.
used to fighting for her life, but not against people like him. at least, not as the bulk of her opponents.
that swing at his face, wildly feral, gets an angled guard that lets the force of it slide up and past his face rather than trying to block it first-hand, and then he steps back, holds up a hand to request a pause in their match. ）
You said you were more accustomed to a staff. May I ask why you have chosen to take up swords?
（ it is one thing to wish to learn, but she seems genuinely frustrated by the weight and balance of her weapons. ）
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This is Finn's friend, she reminds herself. No one would thank her for shouting at him just because he stopped her from trying to remove his head from his body.
You know, in a friendly way. Because sparring.]
Does it matter?
[Ah, but she can't quite help her own nature.]
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（ normally, he would leave it at that, with no further explanation. but it is instinct, perhaps, that suggests she may need one. he cocks his head to one side, and then — ）
A weapon is meant to function as an extension of one's body. If your mind and body are at odds in this way, it will often feel like an exercise in frustration.
（ there is fluidity and grace to how she moves. she is sure of herself and her body. she has clear, identifiable skill — but he would be curious to know if anyone has ever actually taught her how to wield a sword. ）
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Mostly, but not totally. He's right and it rankles but she won't admit it to him. Instead she just tosses the swords to the side and holds her hand out towards the wall of weapons. With a pull that she doesn't even have to think about a staff lifts from the wall and flies to thud into her palm, the familiar weight at once something that eases some of her tension.
She twists it around her to get the balance of it fixed in her head and then takes a step towards him, entirely intending to pick up where they left off.]
One more round. I'll tell you after.
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（ in response, he tosses one of the swords lightly aside. he anticipates by the change in her stance that the fight will become considerably more difficult now, and wishes to keep a hand free. ）
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She will never fit inside it and Leia knew that. Leia had tried to tell her, tried to show her the ways to move outside of the rigid teachings of the old Jedi and forge her own path, make her own rules. Leia had trusted her to do the right thing, to remake the Order or reforge it into something new. This seems like a good first step.]
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his stamina has improved, since arriving here and receiving the transplant of his father's eyes, but it is still not at the point he would like it to be. so there is a moment, eventually, when he falters and his guard fails. she scores a hit against his shoulder, enough to wind him, and he steps back. ）
I believe that counts as a round.
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When she does manage to land a hit and he steps back her eyes narrow just a little in concern, but she doesn't ask if he's okay. She's breathing hard herself as she rests the end of her staff on the ground and gives him a grin instead, looking quite pleased by how things have ended up.]
We might have to make this a regular thing.
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（ he trains diligently. even when injured, there is always something to be done. it was only the bone-cracking fever from infection that kept him shut up in his room after taeum, but even then he had rested only as long as his body required before he began pushing himself anew. his right shoulder is still not completely healed, though it is now only something to push through than something to take care with. ）
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[On Jakku it had been a necessity, but it's a habit that stuck with her even when she no longer had to worry about the sun rising and the temperature on a desert planet shooting up through the roof and turning the metal starships she scavenged from into literal ovens.
She looks him over for a moment, eyeing where she got that hit in on his shoulder and then tracking up and down his body, gauging without pulling on the Force if-]
Did you want to quit or would you be up for going again?
[It is very possible she would spar with him until one or both of them passed out.]
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so, as to continuing? that would be a simple matter.
however, after a moment, he shakes his head. ）
I think I would prefer breakfast. Would you like to join me?
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It doesn't take her much effort to switch modes from wanting to keep fighting to being more than ready to eat, so with a nod she just turns to pick up the swords she'd so carelessly tossed aside. Rather than use the Force for something so mundane she returns them and the staff to the wall of weapons, setting them carefully back into their proper spots.
There's a moment as she's hanging up the staff, though, that her hand lingers on it.
But she won't dwell. A plan is already forming, a solution, but for now she turns back to Itachi to focus on the much more important question of food.]
What did you have in mind?
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（ plain, simple fare. he still makes okayu when he is craving it, though it is no longer a kindness done to a failing body. ）
Other side-dishes can be added as one desires, though I tend to first take stock of what is available in the kitchens.
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But there's a definite interest to her as he lists all those things whether she would know the names or not, a never ending desire to learn about the different types of food that exist and, much more importantly, to eat them.]
If you tell me what to do I'll help you, that sounds like a lot of work for just one person.
[Plus with two people cooking it'll mean it all gets finished faster and she's that much closer to eating all this mystery food.]
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（ frankly, he finds it soothing. but it is not a no, either, as he forms the seals for a shadow clone. it remains behind to clean the room as the two of them carry on towards the kitchens. ）
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What's easier to focus on is the gestures he makes, the clone appears and starts to clear away the mess they've left and, more interestingly, the fact that he draws no attention to what she's sure most people would consider something quite unique. If he weren't being so humble about it she might compare him to Luke, a silent display of ability that her master would have used to show off looking simply like an easy extension of power that's as easy as breathing for Itachi.
She watches over her shoulder as she falls into step beside him, but chooses not to comment when he doesn't. If he wanted to talk about his powers he'd do it and she doubts she'll get anything out of it if she decided to pry.]
How much has Finn told you about the Jedi order?
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