｡𖦹°‧ ━━━ beneath the eyes of an archaic sculpture of a sith, there is respite to be found from the endless chatter of the curators. it would last but precious minutes, as there was a stern program set for the day's activities. as part of the effort toward cultural and educational restoration, the galactic museum on coruscant had been refurbished, and the grand re-opening had drawn crowds of reporters, galvanized by the announcement that a small party, including the chancellor would be in attendance for a private tour — accompanied by the supreme leader.
the cavernous sith hall had been deconstructed at the height of jedi standing. it had been richly funded during the days of the high republic, as far as he recalled, but it was seen in poor taste to showcase sith history with the jedi on the frontlines of the republic. under the imperial banner, jedi relics had been banned for much the same ideological ideal. a thing that can be controlled cannot also be powerful.
idly, ren had noted the specifics of the statue as belonging to darth gravid, under whose mad reign much of the ancient lore had been lost. the forgotten knowledge was palpable amid his own studies. hux had scoffed, unimpressed, as he often professed to be when it came to matters of the force. the force is not a field pragmatic enough for the logical mind of an engineer ━━ ren might attach more merit to that assessment, had he not felt the snaking of intrigue amid armitage's mind when he deemed to caress the periphery of the man's projected thought, which grew dark, and his dreams, which grew darker.
❝ the sith believed power came from worship, as did the jedi, the nightsisters, every other force faction across the galaxy. it only made them weak. power built on belief is fragile, because belief is fallible. it can be toppled as easily as a statue. ❞ with a shift of his hand, the statue shivers in its vitrine and begins to fall. the hall is too sanitised for his taste, ordained by new standards. as any imperial policy, it is to be a curated visual. belief is a myth, and a myth is a story, and a story can be reshaped. before it shatters against the floor of its box, he restores it back in place.
❝ I know you think the dark side is some trick i indulge on a whim, and it has no place in your administration, ❞ aside from when it is weaponised to serve hux's propagandised myth. effectiveness notwithstanding, ren mislikes tangling his own mastery of the dark with any political ideation. the senators misunderstand, of course. some willfully, to excuse their trembling avoidance of him; others out of pure, pitiable ignorance. it makes no difference ━━ the dark is the only power that matters. that is not how hux must see it, but it delights ren to see him confront the shadow caressing the vestige of his being, the secret escarp of his heart where ren's darkness nestles. ❝ but it is more than that. i should hope you do not still see me as some zealot, chancellor. ❞
where his dark figure looms, it is eclipse. enveloping the chancellor like a coffin, he lingers behind him in his black day-coat, gloved hand lying to rest over his back in a gesture mimicking courtesy. ❝ i don't purport any tenet. the dark is just an instinct, like an appetite. you have felt it as i have, no? ❞ with jaw near the slope of a pale neck, concealed by the high collar of ornate attire, he diverts hux's attention back to the statue with a wave of his hand, and then @acharnemcnt murmurs in a velvet rebuke ━━ 𝙄 𝙃𝘼𝙑𝙀 𝙁𝙀𝙇𝙏 𝙔𝙊𝙐 𝘾𝙍𝘼𝙒𝙇𝙄𝙉𝙂 𝙇𝙄𝙆𝙀 𝘼 𝙎𝙀𝙍𝙋𝙀𝙉𝙏 𝙄𝙉 𝙈𝙔 𝘽𝙊𝘿𝙔.
❝ you allow me in, time and time. ❞ it is half an accusation, and half an appraisal. the shadow of him falls over the chancellor like a shroud. the spectral haze of blue-gray beguiles him closer, that restless melancholy of pale dawn. he likes it when it is tinged black with the ash of his own. to share in the dark is as though his ribs were split open, exposing the thrum of himself. it is understanding made flesh, and to speak of it is to touch a raw nerve. this game they play has teeth, and they sink in the softest places. ❝ even if you refuse to name it, or acknowledge it, it has found its way inside you. ❞ his voice lulls, ❝ i must say, darkness becomes you. ❞ alas, the inane voices of the entourage come upon them from the atrium. they test ren's patience, and it a testament to his good will that he has not yet caused a scandal, yet he steps back in feigned propriety. their company awaits, and so he offers an arm to his husband as they depart for the remainder of the tour.
