capnphasma (capnphasma) wrote in thegalaxy, @ 2016-04-18 15:27:00 |
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Entry tags: | captain phasma, general hux |
Blood suits you
Who: General Hux and Captain Phasma
What: Two pent-up soldiers use miners as an excuse to vent frustrations.
Where: Sullust
When: Indeterminate
Rating: Strong R for adult language, excessive violence, depictions of death, sexual situations, and lots of blood. You have been warned! Also, it's really long.
Sullust. Phasma found that she rather enjoyed the barren landscape, with the strange red lava flows, the blinding brightness, the bleak flatlands. Of course, that was before they descended into the cities far below, where the natives escaped the oppressive heat, only journeying to the surface to work in the massive factories there.
She’d chosen Sullust for a few reasons. It was close to where the armada had temporarily posted, so she could be there and back within the three-span of days that Hux had allowed her. The planet was under Republic rule, after an uprising that had ‘liberated’ it from the Empire. She knew all about it, having studied it intensely. Sullust was valuable for resources, but much of the history attracted Phasma more. The Empire’s rule of Sullust had been peaceful, the workers appreciative of the stability and reliable work offered by the Empire to one of it’s prime manufacturing colonies. Until, of course, the Rebel Alliance had to bring war to their doorstep. In the years that followed, Phasma noted that the Republic’s presence on the world was half-hearted at best, lackluster police giving a semblance of the former protection that the people of Sullust had previously enjoyed.
Yes, this was a good place to start.
The chrome armor was nowhere to be seen, because of course she wasn’t coming here as a Captain of the First Order. No, Phasma wore the outfit of a merchant, loose black leggings with sturdy boots, an expensive quilted black vest over her tunic. She could not escape the need to wear her favored colors completely, as her tunic was crimson red, with sleeves rolled up over pale forearms. For all that she was comfortable, she felt an itchy sensation of someone always looking at her unguarded back, missing the security of the metal plating she normally wore. It did not show on her face other than her permanently intense look, which lent a formidable air to her presence. Along with the blasters, of course, on her hips.
The three others she had allowed with her, special ops who were trained in such infiltration, posed as her workers. Whereas she expected the Resistance would be seeking out support among the lower levels, Phasma had made inroads with the foreman some time ago, for information purposes, and now she cashed in on that. When she chose to be, she was a decent negotiator, but for now, she was only planting the seeds. With the Senate gone, she argued, Sullust had little need for police. What they needed was someone with a stronger hand, and she could train that. She didn’t care right now if the foreman allied with the First Order or not; this was a feint. Others were overhearing her speak. The payoff was yet to come.
She was not disappointed. It was late on the surface, darkness heavy, when they came. Just as she had predicted, the tensions in Sullust were not minor, and first those arrived who thrummed with hatred for the Empire, and wanted her and her kind gone. The fight was exhilarating; Phasma had forgotten the thrill of bare-handed combat, of her fist into flesh. A cut on her forehead, a rip in her sleeve, it was of no consequence. Because then the other side showed up to join the fray, eager to take out their frustrations on those they perceived as holding them back. Or perhaps they were just bloodthirsty. She could work with that.
Once the fight was over, Phasma had four potentials. All with equal prowess, a desire to return order to their planet, and above all, a willingness to answer to her. She took through the remainder of the last day to thoroughly test them; two were unworthy and she got rid of them. It served to solidify the remaining two’s allegiance nicely. She arranged for them to travel to Korriban to join other potential recruits; she would return later to see how they progressed. They were a test, no more, but she felt more buoyant than she had in weeks.
When she returned to the Finalizer, she had planned to change into her armor, but Hux explicitly demanded she report once she set foot on the ship. She had her cloak, however, and it kept the very few ‘troopers she passed any idea that she wore something other than regulation clothing underneath. She chose a route that was both direct to his quarters and yet avoided the more populous parts of the ship. No need to alert anyone that she had been on a specific mission, after all, and not just reviewing troops on the planet’s surface.
Pressing her hand to the door’s keypad, she waited patiently for the sound to announce her arrival.
Inside General Hux’s quarters, a faint chime sounded. Hux knew who it would be; he had cleared his men from his corridors hours before, anticipating her arrival and imminent good news. None but Phasma would interrupt him for hours yet. He ran a hand down his front, smoothing nonexistent wrinkles from the heavy black cloth. Then he crossed to the door, sliding it open with a press of his hand.
Three days she had been absent from his ship. He had felt that void more keenly than he ever would have said aloud. Where other officers required his seemingly constant command, Phasma was ever capable, ever anticipating his demands. If the look on her face was any indication, she had done so on this mission as well.
“Welcome back,” he said. His expression belied the emotionless tone of his voice.
“Thank you, General.” Phasma offered a slight incline of her head for respect to his rank, as she stepped inside. The cloak moved to show that she still wore the red tunic and the black pants, different from her normal attire. The cut on her cheek had been cleaned but not bandaged, as she thought nothing of it. Certainly not right now, when she was eager to report to him. Frankly, she had anticipated seeing him since she stepped foot on the Finalizer, although she had chalked that up to her success planetside.
Responding to the gleam she saw in his eyes, she said, her crisp voice now mixed with a pleased tone, “Sullust was the right choice. Even with the most rudimentary of ruses, I coaxed out four potential recruits within one evening. They are only an indication of more. The Republic has left their mining areas to languish, unguarded and certainly without firm supervision, and the corruption is rampant. Frankly, it was almost too easy.” Her satisfaction was clear all the same. Without thinking, she added, “I had forgotten how enjoyable it is being in the field.” She realized at once that it was conjecture and he likely did not wish to hear that, so she only cleared her throat to say, “Of course, this shows me that a long term infiltration could be very profitable.”
Hux gave a small, clipped nod. His thoughts had run parallel to hers of late. The destruction of Starkiller Base had left him violently frustrated and in dire need of an outlet; he had felt an unfamiliar itch to leave the Finalizer and see the worlds beyond, to touch and taste and feel the realms the First Order would someday control. But Kylo Ren had been sternly reprimanded for his own such wandering, and Hux had little doubt that the Supreme Leader would look any more kindly on him should he do the same. With a sigh, he set this line of thought aside, and focused on the present. It was a simpler task than it might have been: the dark slash that marred her pale face drew his gaze and held it easily. For a moment he appeared visibly distracted. Then he blinked, and dragged his eyes to meet hers.
“That is excellent news,” he said. “The loyalty of these recruits is certain, I assume. Do you believe there are more promising candidates on Sullust?”
“I do.” Phasma had noticed how the cut drew his slight frown; she had forgotten it was there. But she would address that in a moment. “While I felt all four were loyal, above that is trainable. I will not waste time on those that cannot withstand the rigor. Two of them I cut after the third day.” She did not bother speaking of what happened to those two; they were gone and that was what mattered. Hux seemed to understand; a smile briefly flickered across his lips. “I felt the need to be very harsh on this choice, because if this mission is ultimately reviewed, I wanted to ensure that whomever I chose would not reflect poorly on us. They are our results, and we must have the very best for this.”
Phasma adjusted her cloak over one shoulder in a habitual gesture; it was how she preferred it, having her primary arm unobstructed. “I arranged for those two remaining to be transported to Korriban, as part of an incomplete fire team, under one commander that I trust implicitly. He will assess them continually and report to me. It is a good start.”
“It is indeed,” Hux said. “You do not disappoint. I’m eager to hear what your commander makes of them. Make certain he is aware of what to do with them should they fail.” It did not need to be said; Hux was sure Phasma had already taken care of such small and obvious matters. But he did not know how to properly broach the subject of her injuries. Concern was inappropriate. Curiosity was reasonable, and perhaps even expected given the circumstances, but there was always a chance she would read it for what it truly was. He cleared his throat. Otherwise his posture did not ease; he allowed no more familiarity to seep into his bearing.
“And your wound?” His chin tipped up, indicating the mark on her face. “Not from Resistance forces, I trust.”
“No such forces to speak of,” Phasma said, dismissively. “They are left to themselves, for the most part. However, miners there have little to do but spread rumors, and had I been too overt, it would ruin what we are trying to accomplish. Therefore, I chose to wait for any dissenters to approach our surface lodgings, which they did as expected. Blaster fire would have drawn attention, so we fought hand to hand, with what weapons were available.” Her fingers touched the wound, remembering that she had not covered it too late, so the brush actually caused a small sting. She would need to get that addressed. “A knife, no more. Another thing to keep in mind when we bring it under our control, as they should not have access to equipment outside of the mineshafts.”
Having reported the pertinent details, Phasma was surprised that she felt….eager to tell him about the rest of what she had observed, about the training, about the fight itself, the exhilaration. But it wasn’t vital to the mission, and he would wonder why she felt it necessary to share. It certainly wasn’t necessary, she just...wanted to speak with him about it. Tamping that down, she relented enough to say, “With the Republic in disarray, we may have more opportunities like this, moving into the Mid Rim worlds, and streamlining an infiltration process now would prepare us.”
They had served long enough together to know when one was holding something back. Hux felt certain she was doing so now, though he was equally sure that consciously or otherwise she would suppress anything she deemed of no value. Not for the first time, Hux found himself uncomfortable with that fact. The urge to know more of what she had seen -- more of her, if he was honest -- welled within him. He chewed his lower lip, and contemplated how best to draw this information out.
“I agree,” he said. “Further work on Sullust is required. It would be unwise to move on to other recruiting grounds without a solid, tested plan. Were the officers you took with you enough, then, or do you feel more are needed?” Another answer he already knew. She had likely welcomed the fight; close quarters combat after years about Star Destroyers and at the head of sizable battalions often left one aching for something more primal, more direct. Again he felt the stirring of his own cabin fever. He waved a hand, dismissing his own question.
“No,” he said, “I’m certain you handled yourself well. Tell me what happened, then. A high level overview is sufficient for my own inevitable reporting of this operation, but… I have a vested interest in deeper details. I cannot properly direct you if I do not know precisely what you face.”
Phasma shifted, feeling that something was displeasing him, but she could not yet put her finger on it. Opening her mouth to answer his first question, she closed it silently as he waved that one off. Had she appeared too eager? No, he wanted more details. Glancing slightly down for a moment, mentally reviewing how the operation had progressed, she could find no fault in her actions or the actions of her officers. She could describe it, then, for his benefit.
Actually relaxing slightly, Phasma said, “I approached the foremen first….primarily, I wanted to see if they would attempt to bribe or place me against any other masters. That would tell me if they were being paid or otherwise manipulated by the Resistance, because they would want to see if I could better their offer. They were slavishly eager,” she replied, almost rolling her eyes, a surprisingly casual gesture for her, but then, her face was so often concealed. “I could ascertain right away that no other such offers had come their way. But I trusted rumor to start right after I left, and I was not disappointed. Among any such group, you have those who are slaves to their own oppression, and do not want any changes to even their inattentive and uncaring masters. Those that came to our encampment that evening were such. Republic sympathizers.” She shook her head, more in pity than anger or disgust. “They would rather work in chaos, so that’s what we gave them. There were perhaps a half dozen, armed with whatever they could scavenge from the equipment lockers. I had no interest in simply shooting them, as such creatures will talk when they see they are on the losing side.”
“Naturally,” he said. A smile quirked the corner of his mouth. He let it linger. If he was to remain confined on his ship, the least he could do was enjoy a bit of vicarious violence. “And I assume you gave them much to talk about. What happened to the one who gave you that?” He arched a brow, looking pointedly at her wound.
Her own lips moved slightly in response to seeing his smile, taking it as a good sign. She had spent enough time in his company to see now what he was eliciting from the conversation. “An Orthellian, although I don’t know how he ended up on Sullust. Fast, though.” Her eyes gleamed. “Their equipment is rusty, but they are nothing but muscle themselves at this point. I always appreciated miners for that; physically, they can be unequaled.” She rested her hands at the small of her back, but she seemed to be contained energy. “Three of them were easily put down, but he and two of his...compatriots, put up a much better resistance. My commanders pinned the other two, and this one was quick with the knife. His reach was exceptional, and he was very focused; I rather wish I had been able to convince him to join us in the end. I let his feint draw blood, and as I expected, it made him overconfident. I cracked at least three of his ribs, then his jaw, and he went down.” She tilted her head, just barely, then said, “You would have enjoyed it, I think. Close quarters, and it was dark. We had to pinpoint them by sound and the gleam of their weapons, of which there was not much.”
Hux allowed himself a quiet sigh. His eyes had drifted shut; he looked like a man caught in a waking dream, a pleasant one from which he had no desire to stir. With every moment his mind was more firmly made up.
“It has been too long,” he said. “I’m pleased to know your edge has not been dulled by your time away from the front lines. Perhaps you made your point well enough with this Orthellian, that he might be swayed to our cause when you next meet. If not...” He shrugged, smirking deeply. “I’m sure his friends will see his state and consider their allegiance more carefully. This is the beginning of something very fruitful, I think.”
He stepped closer: an unnecessary gesture, but one that pleased him all the same. When he spoke again there was something softer in his voice; something careful, something bare. “Perhaps I should join you on your next trip down.”
Phasma’s smile almost widened as her descriptions caused his eyes to close, letting him picture the fight. Yes, they had both been cooped up in the ship for too long. Not that she didn’t love training her troops. “A simulator only does so much,” she admitted, her tone equally longing. “Destroying the capitol was a grand gesture, effective, but...you and I were raised in an environment outside pristine ships and computerized holograms.” In her mind, the fight had been over too quickly. What other action had they seen since then? Wiping out a village, some recalcitrant miners? “I miss the simplicity of being able to see my enemy’s face. I realize that we are only at the beginning of the battle, and I expect it will not be a short one….” She let her voice trail off. “I suppose it does nothing to be impatient, but I believe this short trip only encouraged that.” Her eyes were considering. “I would find it highly satisfying if you could come along when next I go into the field.”