#hux|character

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Allergies | Hux

One benefit of being general is that very few people have the actual authority to order Hux planetside. And oh how he hates being planetside.

Hux has, by virtue of being starship bound for the better part of the last thirty years, never had much experience to be outside the highly regimented atmosphere of climate control and recycled air.

Planets are almost always, without fail, either too hot or too cold. The sun leaves him red and burned, the bugs bite the exposed skin of his neck and hairline leaving it distractingly itchy. But worst of all is the very air itself.

Lots of people, his own crew included, espouse the virtues of the so called “fresh” air. He learned quickly that his two options when forced to the surface, are to dose himself with anti-allergens that leave him feeling a touch woozy and tired, or content with a runny nose and sneezing. So much sneezing.

The doctor onboard the Finalizer has always says that if he went planetside more often, that the allergies would be less severe as his body adjusts. Hux would rather avoid the whole thing altogether, and stick to starships.

[manynarrators]

“Loyalty is easy when you never see anything else. Hux had been raised to know that the Republic was corrupt, and that the world was best in crisp, grey lines. (Words did not have colours, and he'd learned young to ignore them).

He had known that, but it hadn't stopped him from falling into bed with Poe Dameron, even a decade later, or letting the colours spill over the harshly imposed lines he'd drawn.”

Hallelujah! I finished it, The Monstrosity Grey Area is done! And all of it was done to this playlist. I’m so proud of it, it’s only taken like two months, but it’s here for all to view now. 

[manynarrators]

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[manynarrators]

“ you can talk to me, or not talk to me, but i’m here. ” (( hux

Hux looked up from his datapad, gloved hand dropping from his temple where his fingers had taken to rolling circular motions into it to try and stem the headache. He’d need to get another stim if he had any hope of finishing the work. (It would be another night of no sleep, but that was no longer a note-worthy occasion).

Jason was... not a friend, he didn’t have those. There were tenuous allies, and junior officers who were loyal, but Jason was... something between those two. He wasn’t First Order, he was independent, but that wasn’t special. Pelin wasn’t Order either, and he was one of the few people in the world who could get away with actively questioning Hux, much less that used his first name on a regular basis. (The bounty hunter was a convenient investment, and was, like Jason, the strange area between friend and ally).

“An interesting position for you to take. I’m a monster after all, are you sure you wouldn’t be scared off?”

[manynarrators]

What Are You?

you are seeping

something sticky seeps from your eyes, your nose, your mouth, your veins. perhaps you use it to cling to people, or perhaps you use it to trail your honeyed substance onto others walls. maybe you feel bad about this, but maybe you're used to it. perhaps you should seal the substance in bottles, find a use for it. sell it, or use it as ink to write down your feelings with. it is never useless though, to sometimes just let it seep.

[manynarrators]

And could Hux tell us about Poe? (Cause I couldn't decide which, so you get both!)

“That rebel scum? I don’t think about him, he’s hardly more than a footnote in the occasional mission report. He’s a talented pilot, and a thorn in the First Order’s goals. The rest is inconsequential.”

“Dameron? What about him? He’s the Rebel’s darling; charismatic, favoured by General Organa, a talented pilot; if foolish and far too risky. If I cared for him at all, it would be a breach of everything I’ve ever known. No... Dameron- Poe, is best left to mission reports. Easier for both of us if he doesn’t think about me, nor I him. This is war, and we’re on opposite sides.”

[manynarrators]

Could Hux tell us about his mother?

“My mother...?”

“I don’t know how much there is to say, she’d died when I was young, in the Siege of Arkanis, as did Maratelle. For what I remember of her, she was a kind woman- young, though I didn’t realize at the time. I’m older than she was now, older than Maratelle was as well, though not by quite as much.”

“She loved me. When she would work in the kitchen, she’d set me on the counter and explain what she was doing. She sang me lullabies when I’d fall asleep. She was a servant, and I a bastard. Brendol should have ignored her, it would have been kinder.”

“She was soft, nothing like what we needed in this new world order. Maratelle came to us the night I was taken off-planet. I feel like I should remember it more than I do. Maratelle came down to the kitchens, and told us that the rebels were coming, and that I and Brendol were to be evacuated immediately. I didn’t understand at first, I was exhausted, and mostly asleep, but they did. Maratelle gave me her strand of pearls to remember her by. My mother too I imagine.”

“She walked me to the ship, hugged me, told me she loved me, and cried. It was the last time I ever saw her. My father says I looked like her- frail, useless, I don’t know if I’d still look like her.” 

“I don’t think she’d be proud of what I’ve become.”