Kylo looked around at his dorm and almost wished he could have the cage back. This was even more depressing than his spartan room on the Starkiller and, what was worse, he didn't even have his grandfather's calming presence to soothe the call to the Light within him. He fiddled around on the network, scrolling back, picking out people from his universe easily enough and almost having a heart attack when he read Dameron's post and saw who had replied. Avoidance, he thought, was the best way to go about that particular conundrum, lest he lose his temper, kill his mother, and risk breaking one of the many rules (not that he cared all that much about rules, but if he was going to get out of this place, he was going to have to try to play by them).
So he fiddled around on the network, talking with various people who seemed to be just as confused as he was, before changing out of the white shift and back into his robes. Wrapping himself in darkness was always comforting, as was lowering his mask over his head and hearing the locking mechanisms engage. What was truly comforting, though, was clipping his lightsaber to his belt, gloved fingertips drumming against the hilt of it in a quick rhythm designed to comfort himself when faced with the unknown. And what was outside his door was truly unknown, a place where unseen masters controlled everything.
And he would not let them see him as weak.
So he stormed out, walking at a quick pace, barefoot because he didn't have his boots and wasn't about to wear the orange monstrosities provided to him. He rather regretted the loss of his boots, as they made noise and that lent to his intimidating posture and stance, but he would make do. He had to make do until he could get back to his own galaxy and continue wrecking havoc.
The sharp whistle caught his attention and he tilted his mask up. "I'm not a pet to be summoned." He growled loudly. "If you want to talk to me, come down here."