[Kriff it, Skywalker, just leave. He wants to. Desperately. All these conversations do is leave him mired in that stagnant not-yet-guilt, frustration, and loss. There had been a time, before the Moira, longer ago now than he wants to admit, that he'd thought only Master Yoda or Windu could reduce him to this kind of speechless chagrin.
All his daughter has to do is narrow her eyes, and he's that same child, out of his depth and desperate to prove...something.]
I didn't know your father that well, and maybe I won't, but I knew his politics. I know enough to know that he wasn't the kind of person who held people at blaster-point over slights they never committed. How does this sense of justice make you any better than the man you think I am?
[He doesn't care how short-lived the vindication will feel. This won't fix anything. But nothing else seems to either. Not silence, not sympathy, not reason. All they have in common is this anger. This indignation. And for all the regret he already feels, the anger burning, heat rising obvious and visible in his face, he finally pushes through the door.]
no subject
[Kriff it, Skywalker, just leave. He wants to. Desperately. All these conversations do is leave him mired in that stagnant not-yet-guilt, frustration, and loss. There had been a time, before the Moira, longer ago now than he wants to admit, that he'd thought only Master Yoda or Windu could reduce him to this kind of speechless chagrin.
All his daughter has to do is narrow her eyes, and he's that same child, out of his depth and desperate to prove...something.]
I didn't know your father that well, and maybe I won't, but I knew his politics. I know enough to know that he wasn't the kind of person who held people at blaster-point over slights they never committed. How does this sense of justice make you any better than the man you think I am?
[He doesn't care how short-lived the vindication will feel. This won't fix anything. But nothing else seems to either. Not silence, not sympathy, not reason. All they have in common is this anger. This indignation. And for all the regret he already feels, the anger burning, heat rising obvious and visible in his face, he finally pushes through the door.]