[His mask remains emotionless as their ship pitches and glides with expert precision; he makes no sound, not of fear or anticipation or excitement, and he should be glad it is the only barrier left between the facade he maintains and the rapid beat of his own heart if only because nothing else would suffice. There is poetry in the deftness displayed without hesitation. A mastery of the Force that is his own inheritance, played out in Anakin's grip.
Still, his role is not that of an idle spectator, and no time is wasted in reversing the shields as bright spots fleck against the horizon.] I see it.
[Untrained as both a pilot and a gunner, there ought to be a certain amount of anxiety there for his own limitations-- but his past was spent amongst cockpits and the scent of broiling couplings, his father's steady movements too easy to chart, no matter the fact that it's been twenty years since. More than, perhaps. Here, now, beside the shadow of all he strives to be, there is only one truth left to accept.
He has no limitations.
The yoke shifts heavy between his fingers, trigger as solid as the hilt of his blade as he flips what few switches remain to prime their primary cannon.]
ok but he has a great snapchat tho
Still, his role is not that of an idle spectator, and no time is wasted in reversing the shields as bright spots fleck against the horizon.] I see it.
[Untrained as both a pilot and a gunner, there ought to be a certain amount of anxiety there for his own limitations-- but his past was spent amongst cockpits and the scent of broiling couplings, his father's steady movements too easy to chart, no matter the fact that it's been twenty years since. More than, perhaps. Here, now, beside the shadow of all he strives to be, there is only one truth left to accept.
He has no limitations.
The yoke shifts heavy between his fingers, trigger as solid as the hilt of his blade as he flips what few switches remain to prime their primary cannon.]