Hux.02 - Blog Posts
generally-scheming // Armitage Hux
If nothing else, Hux had to credit the photographer for so clearly capturing a moment he did not remember himself. The walk from the gala to Alton’s yacht was extremely fuzzy, but he’d hoped that — even inebriated — he’d had the decorum to keep his kriffing hands to himself until they were out of sight. Yet that was unmistakably Armitage Hux in the image, pulling a man into a yacht by his necktie. And that man was unmistakably Alton Kastle with his hand on Hux’s ass.
Hux knew better than to reach for the datapad. That didn’t stop his fingers from twitching when they stowed it out of sight. (She’d won this round.) No one who saw that image would have any doubt of what happened on Alton’s yacht afterwards. He narrowed his eyes. Their gown wasn’t so sheer that he could count out hidden armor or weapons. With a gaze every bit as sharp as the dagger up his sleeve, his eyes traced the skin above their neckline for vulnerable arteries. But that was only fantasy — he was not so keen to die today that he would take on a Mandalorian in hand-to-hand combat without backup. Especially not after he’d read Sabine Wren’s file.
“Yet you brought your concerns to me first. How courteous.” Hux knew as well as she did — she was ex-Imperial — that countless cutthroat officers would love to get their hands on any ammunition that could be used against him. Not to mention that connecting a New Republic reporter to a man who’d tortured Padme Amidala would kill Alton’s career. “What is it you want from me that you could not get from them?”
_
His eyes turned upon the image, and they smirked at his shift in tone. Like a glacier breaking into the ocean, he grew ever colder with the passing seconds. No doubt he wanted to react with some measure of calculated anger or violence, but he kept his composure all the same. The Mandalorian had to admit, given the brevity of the situation, that it was almost impressive.
“Hey, I’m a nice person, Hux. You ought to know this by now.”
They sipped the wine he’d ordered, looking at him over the rim of the glass the whole time. She took a breath before responding, took the conversation on their own time.
“I want you to owe me a favor.” They exaggerated the words, left them with weight unseen. “I won’t come calling today, or tomorrow, but I will come calling. And when I do, I just want to know that you’re willing to help. Nothing difficult, nothing incriminating. Just good old-fashioned reciprocity, one friend to another.”
Sabine folded their hands together in the space between them, leaning forward and never wavering from his steely gaze.
“What do you say, general?”
generally-scheming // Armitage Hux
His pulse accelerated when they produced the datapad, its blank screen mocking him with unknown possibilities. But what could she possibly have? Hux had been meticulous about covering his tracks — he’d hired a slicer to remove any trace of him from the security footage at 500 Republica on the night he delivered the infamous Amidala tape. Then he’d gone a step further and airlocked the slicer to eliminate the risk that they would talk. (Saved him a few credits, too.) And he had of course searched Alton’s penthouse for bugs. Every time! Granted, that night at the New Republic fundraiser when he had first met Alton, he had been… thoroughly inebriated (not by his own design! Damn that Seventh Sister) and had perhaps not been quite as cautious accompanying Alton back to his ship as was appropriate. (Appropriate being not at all, but it was too late for that now.)
But even as reason urged him to tread carefully, pride demanded he call her bluff. Hux returned their gaze with haughty, manufactured confidence. “I would do nothing,” Hux said firmly, as if saying it with sufficient authority would make it so, “Because you have nothing. It does not exist.” Cold sweat slicked his palms as he waited for her response.
_
His words rang with hollow intent in Sabine’s ears. Of course, he’d try to deny her accusation (no doubt a result of years of practice). She followed his glance once to the datapad and held it lithely in their fingertips, toying with the edge of the screen. He was trying to measure the truth in her words, trying to pry the evidence from them. Fine. She’d lean into the game. (No reward without risk, right?)
“Okay, Armitage. If that’s what you really think, who am I to stop you? After all--” they picked up the datapad, letting the grain of an image flash in his direction for just a couple of moments before stowing it out of sight. “--I’m sure there are plenty of people who’d like to believe otherwise. Maybe I should take my concerns to them and be on my way.”
They moved as if readying to leave, examining his face for any reaction. Stealth armor pressed into her skin beneath the dress, vibroblade at their thigh cool to the touch. Cowardly though Sabine thought he was, if there was any chance of a fight, she’d be ready. An inhale and an exhale marked her lungs, and excitement ran electric across the Mandalorian’s skin. The ball was in his court now, and Sabine couldn’t wait to see how he’d play.
generally-scheming // Armitage Hux
Interesting, the way they lingered over their disdain for Brendol. But if she had plans to remove him from the picture, that was not why she had come. Sabine’s question put ice in Hux’s stomach. He had been so careful — no one knew, not even his closest associates — he had been certain never to leave a trace of Alton’s name on any calendar or message, always labeling their trysts as public relations consultations. Hux willed himself to remain stoic. The accusation was harmless without proof, he reminded himself, trying to drown out the rising anxiety.
“You’re joking. Kastle? The one on Holonet News, with the hair?” Hux kept every muscle in his face on strict lockdown, willing his expressionless mask to remain intact. “I’m flattered that you think I have the time to court glamorous holonet personalities, but I’m simply too busy for that sort of thing. And you cannot prove otherwise.”
Suddenly aware that his grip on his wine glass had become unnaturally tight, Hux relaxed his hand and took a sip. He’d ended on a needlessly defensive note — one which he hoped Sabine would pick up on to spill exactly what they were threatening him with. Once he knew that, Hux could decide whether this was a fire which could be controlled, or one which needed to be extinguished.
_
His face was cold and calculated, down to the flutter of eyelashes and upturn of a brow. Nothing less than what she’d expected. An attempt to brush off the accusation, almost delivered with an air of defensiveness. Almost. She knew that he wouldn’t panic unless the Mandalorian had proof, and that was more than fair. Slowly enough to almost taunt, they withdrew their datapad from the folds of her dress and laid it in the middle of the table, screen still blank. If the target on her back was going to be enlarged, they might as well take their time.
“Oh, but you should be flattered. It’s not every day that I decide someone’s important enough to investigate. After all, a few flights to Coruscant aren’t cheap. But you already knew that, didn’t you?”
Now, Sabine sat upright, leaning forward the slightest degree. In honesty, they weren’t sure what to expect. A blaster bolt to the beskar? A defensive peal of laughter? Whatever it was, they sat ready.
“Tell me, Hux. If, hypothetically, I did have proof-- if it was sitting on the very table before us, what would you do to keep it from prying eyes? Are you willing to bet your honorable standing as a general of the First Order?”
generally-scheming // Armitage Hux
“I prefer documentaries, actually,” Hux replied through a faint sneer. “The linear progression of history. Cause and effect laid out in rational sequence. No cheap gimmicks or red herrings.” He punctuated his answer with a sip of wine to underscore his disdain for this entire conversation. (Which was growing by the second, now that they had indicated they were too well-versed in these games of intrigue to hand him any more free intelligence.)
He scoffed openly at Wr— at Sabine’s choice of words. No one who had ever met Brendol Hux would call him dignified, not even his friends. Nor could she begin to imagine what it had been like to grow up in Brendol’s shadow, and Armitage had no intention of illuminating her. “Oh, bereft, yet I might just be able to hold back my tears for love of the Empire.”
He narrowed his eyes. They were toying with him, dragging out the exchange to watch him squirm. Her opening gambit had been a threat; that meant she would give him nothing unless he offered something more valuable than she believed her (yet to be substantiated) blackmail to be. He had to determine their price — continuing to play would only benefit them, not Hux. So he cut straight to the point. “But you’re right. You are obviously not here to ask after my father’s good health, so what do you want?”
_
The admission almost brought a huff of laughter to pass their lips. Of course he would. Never one to have a little fun now and again. Sabine could tell by now that he was growing impatient (irritable? resentful? at any rate, he was even more tightly-wound than she could have hoped for). His attempt to cut past the foreplay of it all was almost impressive-- if it wasn’t solely for his own gain. He wouldn’t attempt to harm the Mandalorian yet, so long as they proved to be useful. And she had a feeling that the clock was ticking.
“You’d certainly be right on that front, general.” She examined the drink before cautioning another sip, attempting to hint at the contempt they both shared for the man. Ah, but he seemed unamused and unwilling to bait the hook. Perhaps that conversation would have to wait for another, more opportune time...
“Besides the sheer pleasure of drinking with you, I did have a question. Armitage, indulge me, would you? Does anyone else know about your sleeping arrangements with the holonet reporter Alton Kastle?”
generally-scheming // Armitage Hux
Hux peered down his nose at his glass, following the proper steps of savoring a new wine as he considered her comment about destruction. They must know about Starkiller, then. Good. Let her spill more and more of her intel in the guise of gloating. The comment about Rens wrinkled his nose, a gesture he hid behind sniffing his wine. And if the absurd pretense of a date meant they were suggesting anything other than professional history, Hux studiously ignored the implication. “The Knights of Ren are an entire group which I’ve had the misfortune of associating with. You’ll need to be more specific.” And in doing so, show exactly which cards were in their hand.
Her flirtatious behavior set him on edge. (And that was exactly the point, wasn’t it?) He had no doubt the individual across the table would sooner kill him than kiss him, and that, at least, was mutual. Every suggestive whisper or raised eyebrow was met with a narrow-eyed glare or a tightening of his well-practiced emotionless mask. But the mention of his father Brendol cracked the facade, a flash of raw fury lighting up his eyes. Hux smothered the fire and considered his options.
“To disappointing our parents,” he answered instead, raising his glass to meet theirs. Weighing his words carefully — he had selected this bistro for its acceptance of an Imperially-aligned clientele — he met her gaze with singular intensity. “Such a decorated figure in his field, my father. I can only imagine how pleased the New Republic would be if anything were to happen to him.”
.
There it was, the flash of emotion behind a facade of indifference. For just a second, this man let go of the carefully crafted mask. Then he quickened back to the haven of professionalism and dug at them, asking her to share what they knew of the Rens. Sabine understood the game. And she knew that he did, too. Perhaps better than anyone they’d had the pleasure of dining with of late. Information could be traded and turned like pawns in a game of chess. And it simply wouldn’t do to lay their playbook out for him to read at his lesiure.
“No, I don’t think I will. You seem like a man who just loves a mystery, Armitage. Besides, a girl’s gotta have their secrets.”
Instead, they zeroed in on his discomfort (anger? hatred, perhaps?) with her casual aside about Brendol. So, they’d guessed right. His name was like a spear, offering a chink in the armor of apathy. She took the gateway with greed, digging a foothold in the injury.
“Oya.” They took a sip of the wine. It would have been pleasant if it didn’t carry so much baggage. But, there wasn’t time for that. The game was in session, and it was Sabine’s turn to move. “I won’t disagree with you on that front. He is quite distinguished and respected, isn’t he? I can only imagine how hard it was for you to grow up in the shadow of such a dignified man. But we’re not here to talk about him, Hux.” They made sure to address him this time by the name shared with his father before echoing his words back at him, “If anything were to happen to him...how would you feel?”
generally-scheming // Armitage Hux
Hux scowled, recollecting her irritating and unprofessional banter during their last battle. It had been a week before the petty officers stopped giggling when they thought he wasn’t looking. His eyes darted around the bistro like a cornered animal. They had positioned themself between him and the exit, and Hux was not fool enough to start a knife fight with a Mandalorian. (Not even one who had foregone beskar for a shimmering gown. At least it met the establishment’s dress code.) The only move was to stay, figure out how much she really knew, and deny everything.
“No.” Hux raised a hand to halt the waiter. “The Merlot from Tal'onidir wineries will do. Two glasses of the most recent vintage.” As they retreated, Hux turned his gaze back on the Mandalorian rebel. “The last vintage, that is, before the vineyard burned. But you know all about that. The Empire would never have brought Mandalore so easily to its knees without your contributions, would they, Wren?”
Hux’s expression soured as the name rolled off his tongue. That syllable came preloaded with animosity for a different target; it felt wrong. He refocused on hiding his mounting anxiety. In conversation as on the battlefield, the best defense was a good offense. “All this wild speculation about my love life, as if I have that kind of time. Does someone have a crush? What ever would your family think? I suppose we’ll never know.”
.
His eyes flitted around the room, no doubt searching for exits. But she knew he wouldn’t act so quickly if he didn’t have to. Hux wasn’t the kind to cause a scene if it could be avoided. They could tell he was starting to get defensive. Good. The anger could easily be mistaken for attack, but Sabine could read him better than that. When he snapped, it was out of pure self-preservation. In this way, Sabine disregarded the comment about the wine, shrugging it off with a wave of her hand. They’d done their research and come prepared. She had time for mourning and regret later, but for a man like this? He didn’t deserve any of her emotions. Instead, eyebrows raised in a practiced flirt, an attempt to sow discontent from the growing tension. They reflected on the informants she’d taken weeks to track down, the spies she’d had to weigh truth and lies from. One specific canary came to the forefront of their mind, and she rephrased their words with a gentle lilt.
“Well, it takes two to tango, doesn’t it, Armitage? And from what I hear, you have quite the taste for destruction, yourself. I mean, I can’t help but notice how familiar my surname is to you. Just a letter away, really. You have history with not one Ren, but two, am I right?”
The server returned with the requested bottle, and she nodded thanks as the glasses filled. Though their stomach churned at the idea of savoring something created by the people she’d helped destroy, Sabine didn’t let that sway her attitude. This persona, this mask, it was carefully curated just for him. (And wouldn’t that just flatter him to know?) There was no time to falter.
“Perhaps they wouldn’t be too pleased. But, then, dear old dad wouldn’t be too proud of your wine and dine with a Mandalorian, would he?”
Sabine smirked into their glass, before raising it in a mock toast.
“To forbidden romances.” They whispered, just loud enough for the general to hear. Perhaps that old adage still held some measure of truth. You can catch more flies with honey than with vinegar. And even if it wasn’t right, oh, was it fun.
generally-scheming // armitage hux
@call-me-spectre-five // re: Sabine Wren; continued from here
Hux’s shoulders stiffened as this rebel scum had the audacity to touch his collar. The monomolecular dagger up his sleeve would already be at her throat if she had not managed to corner him at a public bistro. Hux hoped their presence would be enough to scare off the former Imperial contact he’d arranged to meet here. (For business purposes!) He was weighing the risk of stabbing them anyway when their comment about the holonet reporter put ice in his veins.
“I haven’t the faintest idea what you’re talking about,” Hux said out loud. (kriff, kriff, kriff) (how could she possibly have found out about his arrangement with Kastle?) (kriff)
.
Oh, his fury was intoxicating. Little did Sabine have the chance to play this role, the swaggering informant who knew just enough to vie for leverage. Something about his uptight manner and defensive pettiness intrigued them. The anger was visible, a red nearly as bright as his delicately coiffed hair. She knew the tight-lipped tension of ranking Imperials. Knew the way their fingers curled around communicators and blasters. They could place the stiffening of a spine, the twitch of a lip. More importantly, they knew how to make those soldiers tick.
“Come now, Hux, don’t play hard to get. I thought we knew each other better than that. You still owe me that date, or don’t you remember?”
It was with ease that she sat at the place set for another, sheer fabric of the evening gown almost exposing the stealth armor and vibroblades hidden beneath. Almost. They turned to the server nearest, pushing the unused menu card to the side.
“Something light and sweet for my friend and I, please?” As they nodded and dutifully walked away, she turned attention back to the general they’d so long sought more information about. “Armitage, please, join me for a drink, won’t you? It seems we have plenty to talk about.”
