albinomilksnake | STAR WARS: possible spoiler warning

[In the empty silence of the hall surrounding them it's impossible to mask the sound of leather rubbing against itself as his nails dig deep into his palm, an instantaneous reaction to remind himself not to snap back defensively at that comment. Of course he should have known better. Ren would know exactly where to push his buttons, and this game has gone on too long for either of them to resist poking the soft spots.

Containing what would border on banshee-like screams is easy, but containing his emotions enough that they don't reach his face is impossible. Nose scrunched up with lips pressed tightly together, pupils twitching to fine points before widening back again in the dimmed light.

But still with his anger, there's also a chill because even he is not above feeling fear at times in the Kylo Ren's presence. And while he can contain his instinct to scream at that face sizing him up, the care he'd normally take when he does open his mouth slips right out of reach.]

Stay out of things that don't concern you. [Like his pride. As if you care. Jerk.]

As I recall, the last time I did, Starkiller Base was destroyed. [His tone stays as even as his stare when he says it, but there's a certain keenness to it that hints at something darker-- something sharper-- lurking just beneath the surface. In truth, he had been involved in the events that led to Starkiller's loss; fulfilling Snoke's task had been the penultimate linchpin pried loose, and had he not acted as he did, the charges might never have detonated.

Still, though, he could cite success in his task, however much it wounded their defense. Hux, on the other hand...

Ren turns to face his companion fully this time, mirroring the gesture he'd been shown just a few moments prior - feeding off the visible distress he's managed to inflict.] Abandon your petty insults, General Hux. You'll find no comfort in this course of action.

[There's no moment of pause or doubt or second thought before Hux throws himself at him, arms up to grab fistfuls of the draping mantle round Ren's shoulders. Snarling, teeth bared, nothing but the animal rage he'd so often rolled his eyes at whenever seeing the by-product of one Sith tantrum after the next, taken out on whatever equipment was unfortunate enough to be nearby.]

Do not begin to think that you are above responsibility for what happened! That base was everything to me. If your curiosity hadn't run wild, if you hadn't captured the girl instead of the droid, then maybe - maybe it would still be there today.

[There's no hiding in this moment how much he's really falling apart over this, face red, eyes wet, and every inch of his body shaking, and he knows that he has fault in this too but it's easier to project than accept in times of extreme distress.]

[It shouldn't be satisfying, breaking skin and watching blood pour from the wound-- Hux's trembling, gripping fingertips, the redness in his eyes where he's brittle and breaking-- but it is. Clearly, cleanly, it is.

His own nerves are still raw from the snapshot memory of Solo faltering before him, vulnerability wrenched free along with so much of his own senses, and for the first time since both Rey and her accomplice stood before him, he finds purpose in causing pain.

Perhaps he should thank the General for that: the gift of an iron-clad leader, the one their troops watched obediently in service nearly every day, brought to an angry, bitter collapse. He was always so defensive of his assets, so protective of the program he oversaw.

Curiosity bristles at the forefront of his mind - an urge to reach in and discover whether the loss of so many of them had been like losing family.] FN-2187 was with her.

[He cocks his head, once again deflecting the blame before leaning in to meet Hux's stare, unblinking.] Did you know that?

[Oh, he'd be so tickled if he knew what great sense of fulfillment he was giving Kylo Ren, truly.

The mention of FN-2187 does hit something - a variable, an anomaly that stood out in the ranks of others that had taken so well to the training problem that his father had come up with. He had so many questions he wanted answers to about that one. What had happened that made him different from the others? Was it something the defector had inherently or was there a flaw somewhere that he was missing?

This was actually a thought that had come and gone only to come back again and bring new kernels of doubt with it. And then of course there's the matter of FN-2187 having joined up with the Resistance, which just underlines the doubts that form.

It's not a feeling like familial loss, but the level of personal responsibility he has felt over it has taken a toll, playing part of what has caused him to reach this point.

And it chafes him so much that Kylo can just say this so passively, to the extent that he just wants to throttle him. Take up that old Sith pastime of choking people. Instead his fists continue shaking in bundles of cloth against his chest.]

I'd received some speculative intelligence regarding such, but no confirmation until now.

Then allow me to congratulate you on your enlightenment-- and your success. [There's so much vitriol in it when Ren sets his teeth to the syllables that it's nearly tangible, air between them unnaturally heavy - the cleanest shift between feigned indifference and barely contained enmity. Pressure not from his own hands (they're still hanging passively at his sides) bears down to pry Hux's fingertips from their current task.

The Force is nothing if not driving.] Your program finally produced a capable soldier.

[One capable of facilitating nearly every major catastrophe suffered since his initial defection.]

[That, coupled with the ghost pressure working at his hands because how he hates these little assertions of Ren not needing his hands to do a single thing and still get what he wants, is enough to break the part of his superego that was still hanging on. He roars with so much indignation, giving into the force pulling his grip free and shoves himself away from the apprentice.

His brain scrambles to find some sort of comeback from that but there's nothing and he can't stand to look at that face anymore, eyes burning holes into him.

Hux knows there's no point in trying to recover his image in this moment - he's too furious. Instead, he departs the hall, managing to draw his lips out of a snarl and back into a tight frown. Waves off anyone who approaches him, who don't bother hanging around for too long after a good look at his face.

Kylo Ren can't be avoided forever but he needs time to regroup and get his thoughts together. Alone. Meditates in his temporary quarters for a time before he has to exist in the same space as him again.]

[Unfortunately for the both of them, privacy is a luxury neither of them can afford. The soldiers still require attention (losing Starkiller Base is an obvious wound, but giving no routine, daily address is equatable to visibly flinching) and between the three granted power beneath Snoke, only Hux is suited for the task.

That, and the fact that Phasma refused to take on dragging the General from his seclusion, citing her own issues with reforming and restructuring the standards their troops operate by.

So he's there, just beyond the polished doors of Hux's given quarters, impatient in both posture and duty as he opts to rap gloved knuckles against them, not bothering with the intercom left specifically for announcements. Shifts, shadowed eyes flicking back and forth as he exhales harshly through his nose.

He doesn't regret crippling his compatriot's already damaged pride, but he does dislike the idea of cleaning up after it.]

[As soon as the doors had closed behind him, he'd tried settling in to routine deep breaths drawn in and out, tried quieting his mind, and even focusing on other things when emptiness didn't work. There's too much noise involved in being an intelligent, rational being right now, so instead of wasting precious time lingering on meditations that wouldn't help right now, he strips down completely bare. Lets the cool of the carefully controlled environment sink through all the sweat and heat radiating off his skin, manifestations of his stress that clung to him like a weight.

The shower that follows is brief but effective in helping him reset. A clean uniform makes him feel new again.

He's just pulling his shirt onto his shoulders when there's a knock on the door. There's two guesses of who it could be and neither guess deters him from answering without being fully dressed. The level of Do Not Care is something he needs right now, so he decides to let it in.

He taps away on a control panel near him, and the door to his quarters open as he carries on with buttoning himself up, only glancing over at Kylo for enough time to know that it's him there, not Phasma.]

Here to apologize so soon? [He knows that's not it, but it's the first response that pops out and he can't resist poking a bear.]

If your patience allows it, I'll be ready in a moment. [You're welcome to wait, hatred aside.]

[Kylo says nothing, but the way his lip peels back to displace the scar running across his face is more telling than he could otherwise be. As long as they've served together, as often as they've relied-- even if only indirectly-- on one another, it's rare for casual, unguarded interaction to be set down as an option. Necessary as it is now, he isn't any more fond of it.

Particularly with his own, excised weakness leaving behind too much scar tissue.

Still, he stalks inside, pointedly ignoring Hux's current state, his own shoulders hunched forward as if he's somehow tracking prey; wholly incapable of settling.] Snoke wants to be sure you're still capable of fulfilling your duties.

[Which is a lie, but a more palatable course of action than admitting he'd prefer no backlash should Hux turn to isolation and dismay.]

[There's a small sound, something that could have been a laugh if he had any sort of joy within him, but it's deformed by spite and displeasure at the weakness that kind of statement implies. He steps back into the attached bath for a moment to towel some more moisture out of his hair before returning, hair hanging around his face as he straightens out his sleeves to button the cuffs.]

He has every reason to doubt at this juncture but I have it within me to regain his confidence.

[With every single step of getting dressed it's clear how Just So everything must be before he moves on to the next step, but it's so routine that he does it all with swift efficiency. This too helps him regain a hold on his sense of self, because it helps him reestablish the pride he takes in his appearance. The process cements how important his head-to-toe presentation makes all the difference in his confidence.]

Are you going to babysit me for him? I really don't think you're qualified for that.

Would you prefer I ask Captain Phasma? [He's found one of the plush, military couches laid out in the other room, settling in as if he belongs: elbows across his knees, dark hair disheveled and drawn across his brow. Hux is, if anything, punctual to a fault, but that doesn't mean he's quick to dress himself, or right the flaws in his appearance.

Considering the frayed, punched-in hemlines of his own robes, the two couldn't be more opposite if they tried.] Or perhaps your father could be persuaded to join us.

[He's meant to be facilitating common ground between them; he's also (shamefully) failing.]

[His back is turned to Ren when he says that, and he's thankful for it because of the lack of dignity in the way his face scrunches up before he can right himself. But, at least he had a functional relationship with his family, so it only takes a moment for him to brush it off, run his hands through his hair to lay flat out of his face - the final touch - and turn to face his company again.]

I'd rather waste your time proving you wrong.

[He procures his holopad and flips through things necessary for his next message to the troops, all while striding out of his quarters now with purpose. Doesn't even glance behind to see if his company is following along.]

Edited 2016-01-07 09:02 (UTC)

I admire your tenacity, General. [Said from just beyond Hux's shoulder (he's there - of course he's there) with a certain sharpness that seems to emphasize the exact opposite.

Still, in a way, he does admire Hux's ability to bend without breaking after the catastrophic collapse of their greatest advantage. Damaged pride, fractured faith - all of it should be tearing him to the palest point of himself; instead he's here, striding forward without fear. It's the same as how Ren admired FN-2187's boldness in battle, and Rey's raw, untrained proficiency with the Force.

It doesn't equate to much, but it is something.]

[That gets little from him except a brief "hm" sound, too focused on gather and rearranging data into a rough outline on his datapad to be bothered with some sort of remark.

He strides out to a balcony overlooking one of the hangar bays, where many of the troops are still - checking supply inventory, tending to those with minor wounds, getting those still shuttling in with more serious injuries onto stretchers so they can get medical care immediately. A few simple taps and he's broadcasting to those who are busy with work in other parts of the ship.

The address goes over the losses that occurred, painted with words that honor the lives lost and inspire thoughts of vengeance against the Resistance. It's with a different kind of passion than what the address on Starkiller Base had, but with nothing less than the same amount brought forth and echoed outward to ring in the hall of the ship and the hearts of every stormtrooper there. He speaks of how they will not waver in the wake of disaster but press onward until the unchecked chaos needling its way through the galaxy is brought to an end.

They will be the beacon that the lost turn their eyes towards in the darkest pits of space.

Moments like these brought him the greatest sense of inspiration under duress, even if he was the orator, not the audience. Perhaps it was because speaking was something that was so focused on one united emotion, and he could focus all of his own into that versus the level of carefully maintained conduct and leadership involved everywhere else.

It's clear as he closes it off and dismisses everyone to return their focus back to their responsibilities that he's found himself again. There are still shadows lurking but they aren't ruling him like they were back in walls of the vast hall where they spoke to the Supreme Leader. There's a look over to Ren before he starts off again to his next responsibility.]

[Which is perhaps why Ren is quick to stop him from continuing his given tasklist, stepping pointedly in front of the General's path in the middle of a narrow, dropping corridor once the matter of his speech has been seen to. Still and squared-off from the sharpness of his stare to the set of his broad shoulders beneath their cloak; quiet, though that isn't uncharacteristic of the apprentice in general.] You seem better.

[It's an attempt at broaching conversation - or perhaps successfully making amends the way he failed to earlier. He knows-- just as he's always known, in spite of their inability to see eye-to-eye-- that there is truth in his galvanizing speeches. That they are intended to be a machine devoted to the galaxy, bringing order where none exists, guided by the Supreme Leader's hand. So long as the events that led to Starkiller's collapse are a bitter, open wound, they stand little chance against overwhelming chaos.]

[After earlier, he doesn't find the thought of having a conversation with Ren very entertain (though when has ever). Even if those events were entirely instigated by his own pride, and especially because honestly the taunting he had received had actually helped him to reset.

He would never admit that Ren, who was so notorious for his tantrums, had helped him on an emotional level.

So, he gets A Look and Hux decides to be the efficient cog, multitasking what he can on the datapad.]

Amazing, that a brain can chemically re-balance itself.

Fascinating, if nothing else. [Offhanded, objective to the last emotionless consonant. It paints the image of someone willing to test those limits, possibly on his own conversational partner-- though if he does, he chooses not to act on it.

So there they stand: immovable in their unwillingness to concede any codependency, any benefit to one another's presence, but aware of it none the less. He feels that much without the Force thrumming in his veins, whispering of what lies in Hux's convoluted little skull. A maze of rules and consequences, of appearances and their significance to the universe, not just his own reflection.

He's calmer now; his wounds have healed, and for all his exhaustion he is...changed. Perhaps it is not so unbelievable to think that for all their missteps, Snoke has made no mistake in leaving them to their own devices. Which is why his next question is so direct, so blunt, that it might as well come with the courtesy of a punch to the stomach.]

Knowing what you do: you blame me for Starkiller's destruction?

[He takes it about as well as he'd take a punch to the stomach, which is with a good amount of resilience of face actually, but he does flinch, expression going from snarky detachment to a tightly clenched grimace. The blow, like some, is unstoppable. It's how it's processed that is controlled, adapted to.

Honesty is the only thing he has to give in return, and perhaps it's a question that Ren already knows the answer to so what would there be to gain from denying it?]

I do.

Why. [He needs to know. Needs to hear it from Hux's barely useful mouth while he still has it in him to stopper the flow of his own vitriol. Because he knows were their tasks-- their places-- switched, the General would have been decimated in a matter of seconds. Because it was his charge that betrayed the Order and assaulted Captain Phasma, that led the Rebellion to the only weakness Starkiller possessed that would save them from their own desperate, dying thrashing. In that, he feels more secure, even if the events that transpired are...

--were haunting.]

You said that FN-2187 was with the scavenger - if his allegiance to her goes back to the events on Jakku then I see the result as this: If you had brought back the droid, they might have still tried to pursue the same plan regarding the destruction of Starkiller Base. The key difference is that the manpower you had to use to track down an escaped Force User [his face scrunches up more, even if it was his own word choice] could have been redirected to properly defend against the attack.

[He refuses to not let Ren bear part of the blame. He knows that FN-2187 played a large role in its destruction and for that connection he does hold responsibility, but it's just so fixed in his mind that this whole ordeal was a byproduct of an emotionally stunted man's poor decisions.]

Compassion was a known trait in FN-2187 before he defected, and you brought one of his people into our house. Of course he would bring the fight to our door. Surely, with your abilities, you must have felt that somehow. [so much salt, so salty]

And was it not your men that were supposedly equipped to deal with FN-2187, the wreckage of our stolen fighter and return one small, supposedly inconsequential droid? [It was, after all, his ability to strip the resistance pilot to the bone using the Force that has yielded results; it was Hux that assured him he would deal with it. Kylo Ren's stare stays level, but he works his jaw for a beat before adding:] The droid that I was later informed had 'stolen a freighter', making our raid a necessary course of action.

[His face turns red, lips tense as he takes in all the accusation and tries to figure out how to counter. Tries really hard.

Droids stealing freighters. The way that whole situation had been worded was ridiculous.]

FN-2187 was one of our most talented cadets. It was greatly underestimated how much the loss of him to the enemy would affect us, and yes - [his free hand, resting at his side, balls into a fist, a shaky inward breath taken as he processes the gravity of the words to come out of his mouth next.]

I am to be held responsible for that.

Good. [His dark eyes flick up, down towards how Hux is drawn so tightly around himself again, feeling out the depths of that temper without relying on the Force to reaffirm what he already knows. He encroaches no further.] If we are to bring order, General, we must exact our vengeance.

And if we are to do that, the mistakes we once permitted to fester can no longer be entertained.

[His weakness, Hux's short-sightedness: all of it had to be overcome. The pain of Han Solo's death may not have brought power, but it did, at least, bring clarity alongside the ache deep down in his ribs. Perhaps coexistence was not so impossible an idea.

The only peace offering Kylo Ren could ever extend. Mutual contempt, paralleled passion.]

[It infuriates him how much someone like Kylo, with his destructive fits and temper, can appear so in control. That if he needed to reach out for something to hold onto if the ground gave way below, the thing most stable in this moment was a powder keg of ancient mysticism and the coping mechanisms of a child.

But he was right- and he hated that, but if they were to have any measure of success he'd have to let those emotions take a backseat. For what mattered, for what the galaxy needed them to do. For what they needed to do.]

Then let's not waste any time. What did you have in mind, Ren? [The closest thing to Hux saying "I accept."]

STAR WARS: possible spoiler warning

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