It is not the same, watching Amidala writhe from a safe remove on the other side of a video feed. Still, Hux must be patient. He offers his curt smiles to the two Sith doing so much of the dirty work when they cross paths, (smiles worn thinner for Aiya Ren than for Seventh Sister), and he watches from the control room with a fist pressed to his lips, and he waits his turn. When he strides into her bleak, gunmetal holding cell and tells his guards, “Leave us,” they do.
“Good morning, Padme.” Today is the first day he addresses her by her first name. It is not the first time that he wipes her superficial wounds with a cool cloth and cruel words. The latter is for Hux, a series of mostly political jabs for his own satisfaction, but visit by visit the former will condition her to respond more positively to his presence than either of the Sith’s. Slow work. But Hux does not have the Force at his disposal, so he must rely on every tool in his arsenal, and brainwashing an entire generation of kidnapped troopers has provided a few choice selections. For the rest, he has Kylo Ren to thank.
He rests his hand under the battered senator’s chin and tilts her head up to examine the damage. His colleagues have made a brutal canvas of her neck. Cold leather fingertips trace the marks. Not enough to hurt. Yet. Just enough to remind her that they are there. He wipes away a little sweat, a little blood, then holds a bottle to her lips.
“Drink,” Hux says. Thick amber liquid flows towards Amidala’s mouth, the scent sweet and herbal. “It will ease the pain.” Delicately, so softly that it could almost be incidental, Hux clears his throat. “I have not introduced myself. My name is General Armitage Hux. I am from the year 35ABY.” He pauses, a calculated little beat, the uncertainty in it not quite as feigned as he would like to believe. “I don’t suppose that Ben has mentioned me?”
@fearlessenator
