GENERAL (arkanis) wrote in incompletedata, @ 2018-06-12 13:27:00 |
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Entry tags: | marvel: mcu: natasha romanoff, star wars: canon: armitage hux |
Who: Armitage Hux and ... everyone?
When: Today
Where: Security Office
What: The Security Office has CCTV surveillance of all specimen living and common areas, which Hux is dutifully ... surveilling. He's bound to see something surprising / shady / touching / confounding / horrifying, right? Tag in with some shenanigans for the security cameras! And if you want him to tell anyone, you know, lmk. Let's start some rumors.
Rating: G. So far.
In its dim near-silence, its light and sound both muted to a businesslike grey, this place approximated a command bridge in many of Hux's favorite ways. Its tidy streams of information flowed in from rather less distant parts than he was accustomed to, of course, feeding from a smaller territory than the galaxy entire - but it was somehow soothing, nonetheless, to stand here gazing at the displays before him, his eyes traveling from the library to the cafeteria to the training center and all about the perimeter of this place which had become his universe. He could see it all, and sum it up for himself, and feel that it was, if not within his control, than at least - graspable. He was keenly aware that it was a false sense of security (an irony that probably bore some examination, considering his current position), given that his ability to do anything to alter his situation in any meaningful way was vanishingly small, but it was as close to a homey feeling as he'd come, yet. And then - the distance between himself and the miniature figures moving about onscreen and the utter lack of eye contact were calmingly familiar. The sense of being on the outside looking in - of trying to marshal something without quite being a part of it - was an alien development, new since his arrival here, and one he'd been surprised (distressed, perplexed, a little disgusted) to find made him unhappy. It was only to be expected, naturally, that being deprived of one's lifelong cause would leave a vacuum; but he would have preferred to think of himself as someone capable of filling such an absence with something molded to fit. Someone, in not so many words, who was adaptable. Because the ideals for which he'd always fought existed everywhere. They were adaptable. And yet. And yet he stood here, slurping on his cooled coffee, staring at rooms milling with various combinations of a hundred people he'd known now for days or weeks or months or a year, and he had no idea what in the great black mess of space he was supposed to do with any of it. They were capable of organization (they were in fact organized, if into opaque categorizations that didn't seem to have much in the way of logic behind them, he reflected, scanning the inhabitants of the various block common areas), but if there was a way to turn it toward a purpose - he had missed it, clearly. He had missed quite a lot. Whether watching them all pantomime their way through their days would provide any additional insight, he had no idea - but at this moment, they were all quite obscure to him. It could hardly get any worse. |