LT. MITAKA. ( @dediicated. )
★–❝I need my sleep schedule fixed…❞ Dopheld mumbled to himself,
sending a quick glance down at his datapad. He knew there’d be
nothing on there - he’d have felt a vibration if there was any sort
of notification, but he checked anyways - out of habit, of course.
Why was he talking to this technician again? Who even was this
technician, again? The nametag read Matt. Matt. Such a strange,
simple name… Matt. Clearly, the man didn’t come from an Imperial
family, with a name like Matt. Then again, if he’d come from an
Imperial family, he wouldn’t be a technician, either.
★–This is a mess… his thoughts were wandering. That was bad - his
thoughts never wandered before… before the incident. Kylo Ren
was to blame - not a second passed without Mitaka’s mind
wandering, conjuring up different ways the man wanted to torture
him. Kylo Ren hated him, he believed - there was nothing in the
past to prove otherwise. Only a hand around his throat and
blinding lights in the medbay and, now, lack of sleep, twisting
and turning every night, and - wait. The technician, that’s right.
He was mid-conversation. ❝I’m sorry, did you say something…?❞
Matt - such a strange name. Did he even speak? Well, Dopheld
wasn’t sure. What a name - Matt - were his parents insane? No
wonder he was so lowly - did he even have an ounce of respect
onboard this ship? He wouldn’t - if he kept offering officers such
repulsive excuses for food. Matt. Muffins. Not Imperial at all.
Ahh, yes. The nightmares. The way Dopheld tosses and turns and sweats. gets up, paces around, crawls out of bed too early, returns to it too late. It had started around the time that Kylo Ren had assaulted him. It bears to reason, then that the two events are connected. It’s not something he should envy, he knows; still, he can’t help but wonder what that must have felt like. But that would require him being noticed, far more so than he’s comfortable with. If Kylo Ren takes notice of him, then he’s done something really wrong.
He doesn’t mention the nightmares he knows the man suffers from. That’s just a little too familiar. This is the first time they’ve spoken. Not the first time they’ve met; he’s run into Dopheld before, from time to time. But they’d both been working, then. The thing is, technicians are all but invisible to the officers; it’s something he’s relied on in more than one occasion. See, he just doesn’t like talking to people; it’s easier, less messy, to just watch. This, even, had just been happenstance.
Disdain. He sees it on Dopheld’s face. The way his eyes wander to his nametag. The short, plain, simplicity of it. Matthew in the Academy, Matt now. Quicker, but not imposing. Not Imperial. He doesn’t have to be a mindreader to know what that means to people here.
He turns the muffin a little idly in his hands, just to keep them busy.
“Uh. Not really. Nothing important. You’re probably busy, huh?”
stormborns
2087
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romaincrisis
