Not a soldier. A concept so foreign, so ludicrous that Jyn has to bite the tip of her tongue to suffocate the bitter snort lurking at the back of her throat. Eyes deflect back down to the mug in her hand, fingertip gently skimming around and around the precarious edge of it like a pathetically slow cyclone, mind focused on the regulation of her breathing. She knows there's truth in his words, as there always seems to be, though the acknowledgement of said truth doesn't necessarily lessen the penetration of their sharp edges.
"Asking me to not be a soldier is asking me to stop being myself," she finally murmurs in reply, shame-ridden gaze lost in the murky depths of the tea she's barely touched. How can she explain that to him? How can she explain that the pig-tailed girl who'd fantasize about far-off battles galaxies far, far away, who'd imagine herself waltzing in luxurious, lavish clothing at the balls her father so often frequented with the Empire, who'd had no friends outside of the inanimate toys Papa had brought her each week while she slept didn't exist anymore? That she'd been murdered with her mother's last breath, with her father's retreating footsteps, with Saw's first words? That she'd been shed like an exoskeleton grown too small the second they'd placed a blaster in her hand (how it had been too large for her, how she'd needed both hands to even raise it to her shoulders)?
Even if she could explain, how could she expect him to understand?
"I've been - trying, to learn how to be a civilian. To exist as an entity outside of war. I suppose - that's a promise in itself, to continue to try?"
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"Asking me to not be a soldier is asking me to stop being myself," she finally murmurs in reply, shame-ridden gaze lost in the murky depths of the tea she's barely touched. How can she explain that to him? How can she explain that the pig-tailed girl who'd fantasize about far-off battles galaxies far, far away, who'd imagine herself waltzing in luxurious, lavish clothing at the balls her father so often frequented with the Empire, who'd had no friends outside of the inanimate toys Papa had brought her each week while she slept didn't exist anymore? That she'd been murdered with her mother's last breath, with her father's retreating footsteps, with Saw's first words? That she'd been shed like an exoskeleton grown too small the second they'd placed a blaster in her hand (how it had been too large for her, how she'd needed both hands to even raise it to her shoulders)?
Even if she could explain, how could she expect him to understand?
"I've been - trying, to learn how to be a civilian. To exist as an entity outside of war. I suppose - that's a promise in itself, to continue to try?"