[ Fleetingly, she thinks of Finn and the sand that had whipped around them that fateful day on Jakku, clinging onto one another in their harried bid for survival. This time, she isn't wrenching her fingers away, wary of human contact; her fingers curl harder into Steve's wrist when he doesn't immediately comply, partially tempted to drag him away before he can invite the rabid woman twisting and contorting unnaturally on the ground to set her sights on him.
There isn't any need to, in the end, when he shakes from that daze as if he were trapped in a reverie. She knows that look with an intimate familiarity from having emerged from bloodlust herself, puzzled and dazed by how the violence had overtaken her until there was only the shrieking in her veins and the pounding of righteous fury at her temples. His nausea is her own in these moments, but the only comfort she can extend to him is the insistent pull of her hands as she takes off without warning in the direction he's specified.
The feral woman has already risen to her hands and feet to leap after them, but it's with a sliver of space between her outstretched hand and the scratchy material of Rey's tunic. Her leg bends behind her to kick at the body, sending her hurtling just a few inches away, but the opening is all they need to clamor into the building.
She shoves Steve first to ensure his safety, and then comes tumbling in after him. There isn't any guarantee that the woman won't invent a path for herself, pounding relentlessly at the door with her sputtering and hissing, but Rey ignores the rattling as she flattens her back to the squeaking door. ]
She isn't real, [ she says between panting breaths, now that they're alone and relatively safe. It sounds like a consolation, but Rey knows very little in the art of comforting anyone, herself included. ] That's what the others said. She's not human.
[ And, even if he'd slammed her head harder into the ground, he wouldn't be a killer. Not even in the loosest definition of the word. ]
no subject
There isn't any need to, in the end, when he shakes from that daze as if he were trapped in a reverie. She knows that look with an intimate familiarity from having emerged from bloodlust herself, puzzled and dazed by how the violence had overtaken her until there was only the shrieking in her veins and the pounding of righteous fury at her temples. His nausea is her own in these moments, but the only comfort she can extend to him is the insistent pull of her hands as she takes off without warning in the direction he's specified.
The feral woman has already risen to her hands and feet to leap after them, but it's with a sliver of space between her outstretched hand and the scratchy material of Rey's tunic. Her leg bends behind her to kick at the body, sending her hurtling just a few inches away, but the opening is all they need to clamor into the building.
She shoves Steve first to ensure his safety, and then comes tumbling in after him. There isn't any guarantee that the woman won't invent a path for herself, pounding relentlessly at the door with her sputtering and hissing, but Rey ignores the rattling as she flattens her back to the squeaking door. ]
She isn't real, [ she says between panting breaths, now that they're alone and relatively safe. It sounds like a consolation, but Rey knows very little in the art of comforting anyone, herself included. ] That's what the others said. She's not human.
[ And, even if he'd slammed her head harder into the ground, he wouldn't be a killer. Not even in the loosest definition of the word. ]