paper prison ➝ star wars

iii

The pounding of her head was the first thing Valyrie felt when she woke up. 

Her eyes flickered open, and she stared at the wall that met them from where she lay on her side. Not again.

Mentally cursing, she sat up slowly, as not to not jar her headache. 

Running her hands through her hair, wincing when she felt how knotted it was, she left out a huff of air. Her eyes were sore, her head felt heavy and dull, and waves of nausea passed through her in pulses - she was pretty hungover.

She couldn't tell if she would be able to make it through training in the state she was in, but she knew that Kylo wouldn't let her off even if she had lost a limb. She was going to have to down some tablets, grit her teeth, and get through it.

Hauling herself up, she winced as a head rush blurred her vision. A groan emitted from her lips, and she rubbed her face with both hands. When the rush ebbed away, she swung her legs over the side of the bed and stretched her arms leisurely. Yawning, she rubbed her eyes once again, and leaned over to check the time.

She felt her blood run cold.

She had woken up late. 

"Fuck!" she yelped, and shot to her feet, her hangover forgotten.

She ran to her cupboard, yanking out the first garments she saw, which ended up being a large black shirt and trousers that she knew were too small. As she pulled them on, the material kept snagging or getting stuck, and she lost precious seconds. Growling in frustration, she smoothed her hair as she ran to the door. She didn't have time to eat. She didn't have time to do anything but run.

So she flung her door open and proceeded to sprint to the training room. 

Her arms pumped by her side, her legs clearing a few feet each second as she let out regular puffs of air, her face set like a warrior. But, while she ran fairly easily, her head pounded with every footfall, and the sudden shift in lighting hurt her eyes. 

But, it wasn't far. She could make it without making herself sick. 

She had to push past a few people, who thought nothing of it. They were used to her behaviour. Still, she barely regarded them. All she was focused on was getting to that training room.

Normally, it took her about ten minutes to get there. But that morning, her determination and fear of Kylo drove her there in under five. 

When she finally skidded through the doors, she didn't have time to celebrate. She only squinted against the brightness of the white walls and met her master's gaze.

"You're lucky, Marlowe," he murmured. He was stood a few feet before the door, arms folded, helmet off. Without it, she could see his messy black hair, just brushing his jaw, and that scar that he had never explained running diagonally down his face. A healing strip covered it, stopping it from becoming infected. She recognised it from when she used to go to the medical ward. Wincing a little, she looked at him properly, and released a breath when she saw his expression.

"Just in time. By seconds."

Thank the stars.

Her arms dropped to her sides, and she stalked up to him, almost grinning with relief. She did her best to ignore her worsening headache, jarred by the running and panic, and tied her hair back as he rolled his neck impatiently. 

"We need to perfect your lightsaber combat technique. And at some point, we will need to work on resisting. Yesterday's performance didn't suffice," he muttered without meeting her eyes.