Generally-scheming - Blog Posts

“Stand in the ashes of a trillion dead souls and ask the ghosts if honor matters. Their silence is your answer.“

Fingers itched to grasp the vibroblade at her waist, but paused. Of all of their interactions, this was the closest Sabine had come to an actual threat of violence. To hatred-- pure and unadulterated.

“Trust, Armitage, that when you join the silence of my ancestors, no one will mourn you, let alone notice your departure. Despite all your efforts to be remembered, no one will feel joy or pain or heartbreak, because no one will have cared enough about your life to waste the energy.”

Anger read cleanly across their face, cool and unwavering. Motionless.

“At least I have a family, even if they are ghosts. Can you really say the same?”

@generally-scheming

📜

...listen bestie there were too many good results to choose just one...

@generally-scheming 

Hux: You often use humor to deflect trauma Sabine: Thank you Hux: I didn't say that was a good thing Sabine: What I'm hearing is, you think I'm funny

_

Sabine: What is your biggest weakness? Hux: I can be uncooperative. Sabine: Okay, can you give me an example? Hux: No.

_

Sabine: So are we flirting right now? Hux: I AM LITERALLY STABBING YOU Sabine: That doesn’t answer my question​

generally-scheming​ // Armitage Hux

If nothing else, Hux had to credit the photographer for so clearly capturing a moment he did not remember himself. The walk from the gala to Alton’s yacht was extremely fuzzy, but he’d hoped that — even inebriated — he’d had the decorum to keep his kriffing hands to himself until they were out of sight. Yet that was unmistakably Armitage Hux in the image, pulling a man into a yacht by his necktie. And that man was unmistakably Alton Kastle with his hand on Hux’s ass.

Hux knew better than to reach for the datapad. That didn’t stop his fingers from twitching when they stowed it out of sight.   (She’d won this round.)   No one who saw that image would have any doubt of what happened on Alton’s yacht afterwards. He narrowed his eyes. Their gown wasn’t so sheer that he could count out hidden armor or weapons. With a gaze every bit as sharp as the dagger up his sleeve, his eyes traced the skin above their neckline for vulnerable arteries. But that was only fantasy — he was not so keen to die today that he would take on a Mandalorian in hand-to-hand combat without backup. Especially not after he’d read Sabine Wren’s file.

“Yet you brought your concerns to me first. How courteous.”  Hux knew as well as she did — she was ex-Imperial — that countless cutthroat officers would love to get their hands on any ammunition that could be used against him. Not to mention that connecting a New Republic reporter to a man who’d tortured Padme Amidala would kill Alton’s career.  “What is it you want from me that you could not get from them?”

_

His eyes turned upon the image, and they smirked at his shift in tone. Like a glacier breaking into the ocean, he grew ever colder with the passing seconds. No doubt he wanted to react with some measure of calculated anger or violence, but he kept his composure all the same. The Mandalorian had to admit, given the brevity of the situation, that it was almost impressive.

“Hey, I’m a nice person, Hux. You ought to know this by now.”

They sipped the wine he’d ordered, looking at him over the rim of the glass the whole time. She took a breath before responding, took the conversation on their own time.

“I want you to owe me a favor.” They exaggerated the words, left them with weight unseen. “I won’t come calling today, or tomorrow, but I will come calling. And when I do, I just want to know that you’re willing to help. Nothing difficult, nothing incriminating. Just good old-fashioned reciprocity, one friend to another.”

Sabine folded their hands together in the space between them, leaning forward and never wavering from his steely gaze.

“What do you say, general?”

generally-scheming​ // Armitage Hux

His pulse accelerated when they produced the datapad, its blank screen mocking him with unknown possibilities. But what could she possibly have? Hux had been meticulous about covering his tracks — he’d hired a slicer to remove any trace of him from the security footage at 500 Republica on the night he delivered the infamous Amidala tape. Then he’d gone a step further and airlocked the slicer to eliminate the risk that they would talk.   (Saved him a few credits, too.)   And he had of course searched Alton’s penthouse for bugs. Every time!  Granted, that night at the New Republic fundraiser when he had first met Alton, he had been… thoroughly inebriated   (not by his own design! Damn that Seventh Sister)   and had perhaps not been quite as cautious accompanying Alton back to his ship as was appropriate.   (Appropriate being not at all, but it was too late for that now.)  

But even as reason urged him to tread carefully, pride demanded he call her bluff. Hux returned their gaze with haughty, manufactured confidence.  “I would do nothing,”  Hux said firmly, as if saying it with sufficient authority would make it so,  “Because you have nothing. It does not exist.”  Cold sweat slicked his palms as he waited for her response.

_

His words rang with hollow intent in Sabine’s ears. Of course, he’d try to deny her accusation (no doubt a result of years of practice). She followed his glance once to the datapad and held it lithely in their fingertips, toying with the edge of the screen. He was trying to measure the truth in her words, trying to pry the evidence from them. Fine. She’d lean into the game. (No reward without risk, right?)

“Okay, Armitage. If that’s what you really think, who am I to stop you? After all--” they picked up the datapad, letting the grain of an image flash in his direction  for just a couple of moments before stowing it out of sight. “--I’m sure there are plenty of people who’d like to believe otherwise. Maybe I should take my concerns to them and be on my way.” 

They moved as if readying to leave, examining his face for any reaction. Stealth armor pressed into her skin beneath the dress, vibroblade at their thigh cool to the touch. Cowardly though Sabine thought he was, if there was any chance of a fight, she’d be ready. An inhale and an exhale marked her lungs, and excitement ran electric across the Mandalorian’s skin. The ball was in his court now, and Sabine couldn’t wait to see how he’d play.

generally-scheming​ // Armitage Hux

Interesting, the way they lingered over their disdain for Brendol. But if she had plans to remove him from the picture, that was not why she had come. Sabine’s question put ice in Hux’s stomach. He had been so careful — no one knew, not even his closest associates — he had been certain never to leave a trace of Alton’s name on any calendar or message, always labeling their trysts as public relations consultations. Hux willed himself to remain stoic. The accusation was harmless without proof, he reminded himself, trying to drown out the rising anxiety.

“You’re joking. Kastle? The one on Holonet News, with the hair?”  Hux kept every muscle in his face on strict lockdown, willing his expressionless mask to remain intact.  “I’m flattered that you think I have the time to court glamorous holonet personalities, but I’m simply too busy for that sort of thing. And you cannot prove otherwise.”

Suddenly aware that his grip on his wine glass had become unnaturally tight, Hux relaxed his hand and took a sip. He’d ended on a needlessly defensive note — one which he hoped Sabine would pick up on to spill exactly what they were threatening him with. Once he knew that, Hux could decide whether this was a fire which could be controlled, or one which needed to be extinguished.

_

His face was cold and calculated, down to the flutter of eyelashes and upturn of a brow. Nothing less than what she’d expected.  An attempt to brush off the accusation, almost delivered with an air of defensiveness. Almost. She knew that he wouldn’t panic unless the Mandalorian had proof, and that was more than fair. Slowly enough to almost taunt, they withdrew their datapad from the folds of her dress and laid it in the middle of the table, screen still blank. If the target on her back was going to be enlarged, they might as well take their time.

“Oh, but you should be flattered. It’s not every day that I decide someone’s important enough to investigate. After all, a few flights to Coruscant aren’t cheap. But you already knew that, didn’t you?”

Now, Sabine sat upright, leaning forward the slightest degree. In honesty, they weren’t sure what to expect. A blaster bolt to the beskar? A defensive peal of laughter? Whatever it was, they sat ready.

“Tell me, Hux. If, hypothetically, I did have proof-- if it was sitting on the very table before us, what would you do to keep it from prying eyes? Are you willing to bet your honorable standing as a general of the First Order?”

generally-scheming​ // Armitage Hux

“They work for me,”  Hux snapped. His teeth ground together when the Mandalorian had no answers for him. That scared him most of all — the explosions, the carnage, even the New Republic’s fickle new allies opening fire on their guests paled in comparison to the threat of an unknown enemy. Under other circumstances, any enemy of the New Republic was a potential ally, but the alien warriors did not stop to ask questions as they sliced through the crowd with frightening efficiency.  “Call me ‘sweetheart’ one more time and I might just change my mind about not killing you.”

Hux caught the stake with a grimace.  “We’ll have to do better than this.”  What a joke. Architects of planet-scale superweapons and they were armed with sticks. He ducked under a table, definitely because of tactical advantage and not cowardice. A passing Hapan guard crumbled to the floor when Hux sank the wooden shard into their shin. But they still overpowered Hux when he grabbed at their blaster. He squirmed under their superior strength, grappling for his life. He clawed, he bit, he pulled every dirty trick in the book, and it wasn’t going to be enough.  “Wren— Sabine— your new friends are going to kill us all!”

_

The Mandalorian spat out the blood pooling in her mouth, wiping hastily with the back of her hand. Their newfound ally ducked under a table, and Sabine crouched near him, surveying the scene for anything else that could be used as a weapon. A guard approached with hurried hostility, and Sabine watched as Hux plunged the shard into their leg. Not enough to kill.

“As if you could get out of this on your own.” The statement may well prove to be true of her, too. As sour as the thought was, the two needed each other.

The seconds passed in a fervor, and each brought with it clarity: he’d lose without their help. Reluctantly, she sprang at the guard, tackling them and digging the jagged wood into the exposed skin on their neck. Just as soon, a crack! sounded above them, and she dove at Hux, pulling him out of the way of falling rock.

“Think I’m not trying? And they don’t work for me, either, asshole.”

She swore under their breath, brown eyes scanning the scene for a route of escape. The room would be engulfed in flame in just minutes.

“We’ve got to make for the armory. Either give me the blaster or tell me you’re a better shot than you look. We’ve gotta go, now!”

generally-scheming​ // Armitage Hux

“I prefer documentaries, actually,”  Hux replied through a faint sneer.  “The linear progression of history. Cause and effect laid out in rational sequence. No cheap gimmicks or red herrings.”  He punctuated his answer with a sip of wine to underscore his disdain for this entire conversation.   (Which was growing by the second, now that they had indicated they were too well-versed in these games of intrigue to hand him any more free intelligence.)

He scoffed openly at Wr— at Sabine’s choice of words. No one who had ever met Brendol Hux would call him dignified, not even his friends. Nor could she begin to imagine what it had been like to grow up in Brendol’s shadow, and Armitage had no intention of illuminating her.  “Oh, bereft, yet I might just be able to hold back my tears for love of the Empire.” 

He narrowed his eyes. They were toying with him, dragging out the exchange to watch him squirm. Her opening gambit had been a threat; that meant she would give him nothing unless he offered something more valuable than she believed her   (yet to be substantiated)   blackmail to be. He had to determine their price — continuing to play would only benefit them, not Hux. So he cut straight to the point.  “But you’re right. You are obviously not here to ask after my father’s good health, so what do you want?”

_

The admission almost brought a huff of laughter to pass their lips. Of course he would. Never one to have a little fun now and again. Sabine could tell by now that he was growing impatient (irritable? resentful? at any rate, he was even more tightly-wound than she could have hoped for). His attempt to cut past the foreplay of it all was almost impressive-- if it wasn’t solely for his own gain. He wouldn’t attempt to harm the Mandalorian yet, so long as they proved to be useful. And she had a feeling that the clock was ticking.

“You’d certainly be right on that front, general.” She examined the drink before cautioning another sip, attempting to hint at the contempt they both shared for the man. Ah, but he seemed unamused and unwilling to bait the hook. Perhaps that conversation would have to wait for another, more opportune time...

“Besides the sheer pleasure of drinking with you, I did have a question. Armitage, indulge me, would you? Does anyone else know about your sleeping arrangements with the holonet reporter Alton Kastle?”

generally-scheming​ // Armitage Hux

Hux peered down his nose at his glass, following the proper steps of savoring a new wine as he considered her comment about destruction. They must know about Starkiller, then. Good. Let her spill more and more of her intel in the guise of gloating. The comment about Rens wrinkled his nose, a gesture he hid behind sniffing his wine. And if the absurd pretense of a date meant they were suggesting anything other than professional history, Hux studiously ignored the implication.  “The Knights of Ren are an entire group which I’ve had the misfortune of associating with. You’ll need to be more specific.”  And in doing so, show exactly which cards were in their hand.

Her flirtatious behavior set him on edge.   (And that was exactly the point, wasn’t it?)   He had no doubt the individual across the table would sooner kill him than kiss him, and that, at least, was mutual. Every suggestive whisper or raised eyebrow was met with a narrow-eyed glare or a tightening of his well-practiced emotionless mask. But the mention of his father Brendol cracked the facade, a flash of raw fury lighting up his eyes. Hux smothered the fire and considered his options.

“To disappointing our parents,”  he answered instead, raising his glass to meet theirs. Weighing his words carefully — he had selected this bistro for its acceptance of an Imperially-aligned clientele — he met her gaze with singular intensity.  “Such a decorated figure in his field, my father. I can only imagine how pleased the New Republic would be if anything were to happen to him.”

.

There it was, the flash of emotion behind a facade of indifference. For just a second, this man let go of the carefully crafted mask. Then he quickened back to the haven of professionalism and dug at them, asking her to share what they knew of the Rens. Sabine understood the game. And she knew that he did, too. Perhaps better than anyone they’d had the pleasure of dining with of late. Information could be traded and turned like pawns in a game of chess. And it simply wouldn’t do to lay their playbook out for him to read at his lesiure.

“No, I don’t think I will. You seem like a man who just loves a mystery, Armitage. Besides, a girl’s gotta have their secrets.”

Instead, they zeroed in on his discomfort (anger? hatred, perhaps?) with her casual aside about Brendol. So, they’d guessed right. His name was like a spear, offering a chink in the armor of apathy. She took the gateway with greed, digging a foothold in the injury.

“Oya.” They took a sip of the wine. It would have been pleasant if it didn’t carry so much baggage. But, there wasn’t time for that. The game was in session, and it was Sabine’s turn to move. “I won’t disagree with you on that front. He is quite distinguished and respected, isn’t he? I can only imagine how hard it was for you to grow up in the shadow of such a dignified man. But we’re not here to talk about him, Hux.” They made sure to address him this time by the name shared with his father before echoing his words back at him, “If anything were to happen to him...how would you feel?”

generally-scheming​ // Armitage Hux

Hux opened his mouth to retort that it might kill her, but an explosive roar drowned him out. The shockwave hurled him to the ground. His ears ringing, broken glass cutting at his hands and knees, he scrambled to find the source of the attack. His eyes darted past smoke, rubble, and the bodies of guests and Hapan navy alike. Overhead, a tall grey humanoid brandished an — eel? It snapped into a rigid spear when thrown to earth, head sizzling bright with plasma. Hux seized Sabine’s arm.   (Just a little push! End them!)    But at a last second realization, he reluctantly pulled them towards cover. They both narrowly escaped the blast.

“That’s not us,”  he hissed. Who but the First Order would attack a New Republic gala? His only clue was the bizarre weaponry, and the Mandalorian beside Hux was perhaps the galaxy’s second-best living mind in weapons development.  “Have you ever seen these explosives? They’re not Imperial. CSA? An enemy of Hapan?”

.

The shift was immediate. Suddenly, Sabine was on the floor, blinking up at passing lines of flame and shadow. Of fucking course something would shit on her one actual chance to preserve the heritage of Mandalore. Beneath her leg was the familiar discomfort of shrapnel digging into skin, and then a pull-- and not a minute too soon. Meeting that familiar face brought an anger to her stomach (of course she was stuck with the one asshole in this gala who would leap at the chance to make their life a living hell). But as another explosion rattled the building, Sabine realized all too clear: it was cooperation or death.

“You sure the bastards you work for aren’t finally ready to dump your sorry ass?” She muttered between gritted teeth, the sharp iron of blood on her tongue. “No, I’ve never seen anything like this!” They yelled to be heard over the din of chaos that was erupting around them. “I don’t know who the fuck this is or who they’re targeting, but it looks like we’re gonna have to work together.” She surveyed the area, tossing him some long shard of wood like a dagger and grabbing one for themself.

“Happy fucking new year, sweetheart.”

generally-scheming​ // Armitage Hux

Hux narrowed his eyes at this outrageous Mandalorian covered in bright purple from her dress to her hair. He did not dignify her insinuation with a reply.   (They couldn’t have proof ! Kastle’s reputation would be in tatters, and therefore useless to him.)   Hux’s nails dug into his palms as she continued her absurd pretense of flirtation. Midnight loomed, his agitation compounding as the seconds ticked away.

“I don’t like you,” he hissed, striding forward to confront them quietly. “A feeling which is obviously mutual, so let’s put an end to this farce. I would sooner walk directly into enemy fire than kiss you, Wren.” He flushed hearing the words out loud. “Mandalorian.”

.

This was something they were good at, something she prided herself in. Bending his composure under the weight of flattery and thinly-veiled threats. They had every reason no specific reason to harm him now (and especially not in a place so public), but it was fun to watch him squirm.

“That hurts, Hux. I happen to actually enjoy our chats.” And, that was partly true. Who else could they have this much fun toying with without it becoming something truly dangerous? “Oh, come on, Armitage. Would it kill you to at least play along? It’s not like it would be the end of the world.” 

With those words, the clock struck midnight. And all hell broke loose.

generally-scheming​ // Armitage Hux

Another ostentatious gala. Hux had no choice but to attend now that the Hapes Consortium’s alliance with the New Republic posed a threat. This time Hux kept to the shadows at the edge of the party, only listening — and certainly not eating or drinking anything he was offered. As Hux checked the time, his shoulders tensed. He’d heard of the preposterous New Republic tradition of kissing as the clock struck midnight, and he knew Alton Kastle was at this party. He hoped the reporter would not be foolish enough to try something so incriminating in public. Sure enough, he felt a tap on his shoulder. Hux mentally prepared his ‘we mustn’t, not here, we can’t be seen,’ but as soon as he turned he stopped dead.

“Not you.”

.

Sabine should have expected he’d be at a party like this. Nothing like a gala to bring out both the best and worst in the galaxy. They shouldn’t have been surprised when she noticed the general standing on the edges of the party, no doubt sulking too much to enjoy a drink or two. Pity.

“What’s wrong, Armitage? Expecting someone else?”

She took a short sip from the drink poised delicately in their hand. Something light and fruity, and nothing too alcoholic; there was work to be done, after all. But that plot wouldn’t be set in motion for another hour or two. For now, they had time to mill around, to act as though she wasn’t standing on the bones of her people.

“That’s, what, two dates now? And still no first kiss. I’m starting to feel like you don’t like me, Armitage.”

generally-scheming​ // Armitage Hux

Hux scowled, recollecting her irritating and unprofessional banter during their last battle. It had been a week before the petty officers stopped giggling when they thought he wasn’t looking. His eyes darted around the bistro like a cornered animal. They had positioned themself between him and the exit, and Hux was not fool enough to start a knife fight with a Mandalorian.   (Not even one who had foregone beskar for a shimmering gown. At least it met the establishment’s dress code.)   The only move was to stay, figure out how much she really knew, and deny everything.

“No.”  Hux raised a hand to halt the waiter.  “The Merlot from Tal'onidir wineries will do. Two glasses of the most recent vintage.”  As they retreated, Hux turned his gaze back on the Mandalorian rebel.  “The last vintage, that is, before the vineyard burned. But you know all about that. The Empire would never have brought Mandalore so easily to its knees without your contributions, would they, Wren?”

Hux’s expression soured as the name rolled off his tongue. That syllable came preloaded with animosity for a different target; it felt wrong. He refocused on hiding his mounting anxiety. In conversation as on the battlefield, the best defense was a good offense.  “All this wild speculation about my love life, as if I have that kind of time. Does someone have a crush? What ever would your family think? I suppose we’ll never know.”

.

His eyes flitted around the room, no doubt searching for exits. But she knew he wouldn’t act so quickly if he didn’t have to. Hux wasn’t the kind to cause a scene if it could be avoided. They could tell he was starting to get defensive. Good. The anger could easily be mistaken for attack, but Sabine could read him better than that. When he snapped, it was out of pure self-preservation. In this way, Sabine disregarded the comment about the wine, shrugging it off with a wave of her hand. They’d done their research and come prepared. She had time for mourning and regret later, but for a man like this? He didn’t deserve any of her emotions. Instead, eyebrows raised in a practiced flirt, an attempt to sow discontent from the growing tension. They reflected on the informants she’d taken weeks to track down, the spies she’d had to weigh truth and lies from. One specific canary came to the forefront of their mind, and she rephrased their words with a gentle lilt.

“Well, it takes two to tango, doesn’t it, Armitage? And from what I hear, you have quite the taste for destruction, yourself. I mean, I can’t help but notice how familiar my surname is to you. Just a letter away, really. You have history with not one Ren, but two, am I right?”

The server returned with the requested bottle, and she nodded thanks as the glasses filled. Though their stomach churned at the idea of savoring something created by the people she’d helped destroy, Sabine didn’t let that sway her attitude. This persona, this mask, it was carefully curated just for him. (And wouldn’t that just flatter him to know?) There was no time to falter.

“Perhaps they wouldn’t be too pleased. But, then, dear old dad wouldn’t be too proud of your wine and dine with a Mandalorian, would he?”

Sabine smirked into their glass, before raising it in a mock toast.

“To forbidden romances.” They whispered, just loud enough for the general to hear. Perhaps that old adage still held some measure of truth. You can catch more flies with honey than with vinegar. And even if it wasn’t right, oh, was it fun.

generally-scheming​ // armitage hux

@call-me-spectre-five  //  re: Sabine Wren; continued from here

Hux’s shoulders stiffened as this rebel scum had the audacity to touch his collar. The monomolecular dagger up his sleeve would already be at her throat if she had not managed to corner him at a public bistro. Hux hoped their presence would be enough to scare off the former Imperial contact he’d arranged to meet here.   (For business purposes!)   He was weighing the risk of stabbing them anyway when their comment about the holonet reporter put ice in his veins.

“I haven’t the faintest idea what you’re talking about,” Hux said out loud.   (kriff, kriff, kriff)   (how could she possibly have found out about his arrangement with Kastle?)   (kriff)  

.

Oh, his fury was intoxicating. Little did Sabine have the chance to play this role, the swaggering informant who knew just enough to vie for leverage. Something about his uptight manner and defensive pettiness intrigued them. The anger was visible, a red nearly as bright as his delicately coiffed hair. She knew the tight-lipped tension of ranking Imperials. Knew the way their fingers curled around communicators and blasters. They could place the stiffening of a spine, the twitch of a lip. More importantly, they knew how to make those soldiers tick.

“Come now, Hux, don’t play hard to get. I thought we knew each other better than that. You still owe me that date, or don’t you remember?”

It was with ease that she sat at the place set for another, sheer fabric of the evening gown almost exposing the stealth armor and vibroblades hidden beneath. Almost. They turned to the server nearest, pushing the unused menu card to the side.

“Something light and sweet for my friend and I, please?” As they nodded and dutifully walked away, she turned attention back to the general they’d so long sought more information about. “Armitage, please, join me for a drink, won’t you? It seems we have plenty to talk about.”

generally-scheming​ // armitage hux

“You should be so lucky.” Hux bristled, his pitch creeping higher. The foreign words unsettled him. There was little he hated more than not knowing things. He turned to a communications officer seated at a nearby console, his voice crisp as an icicle. “What language is that? What does it mean?”

“Mando’a, sir.” The officer’s mouth twitched. Was that a laugh he was stifling?

“Look at me when I am talking to you, officer.” The officer’s amusement was highly inappropriate. “What did she say?”

“She said…” The comms officer’s face went pale as he met Hux’s gaze. Looking as if he were in real, physical pain, he squeaked out, “ ‘Cheers, sweetheart.’ ” He cleared his throat. “Sir.”

Silence descended on the bridge. These officers were well-trained; they knew better than to laugh audibly. But Hux could feel the held breaths, the shoulders shaking with the struggle to contain their amusement   (his shame).   His jaw clenched. He would maintain professionalism, even if these classless rebels did not. “Thank you, Officer Norton,” he said quietly. He pivoted to address the entire bridge, the very picture of control until he opened his mouth.

“Divert power from deflector shields to boosters! GET them IN RANGE and FIRE TURBOLASERS! NOW !!” Officers scrambled around him. Face burning, he lowered his voice to a stiff sneer as he spoke into the comms. “I hope you like it hot, Mandalorian. Shame that the rest of your planet didn’t.”

. 

A crew member indicated that the larger vessel was shifting power to thrusters, and she nodded without much concern. These ex-Imperials may have more firepower, but Sabine knew this ship, knew its people. The Rebels were faster and knew the less-traveled hyperspace lanes like home. They had to if they wanted to survive.

At the response on the com, Sabine smirked. So, it was that easy. Though the comment should have stung, the Mandalorian shrugged it off for now. This wasn’t the first time someone had said such things to them in the heat of battle. And it sure as hell wasn’t going to be the last. Were it another bound by Creed, they might have panicked, have spiraled into anxiety or fear or guilt-- but to this hut’uun, all they heard were words, devoid of knowledge or feeling.

“Oh, low blow, general. You kiss your superiors with that mouth?”

She asked, but had little doubt about it. From what they heard, some Imps were willing to do just about anything for a promotion. It wasn’t her business, but it was amusing. They gave their attention back to the focus at hand: the jump to New Republic space just a few parsecs away was calculated, and the only thing left was to give the command.

“Oh, and translator? Why don’t you tell the general-- te’habi bevik gar’shebs! I’m sure you’d all be better for it!”

As she gave the signal for the jump, they smiled lightly under their palm. Secretly, they hoped to run into him again-- this was the most fun she’d had all week.

generally-scheming​ // armitage hux

“Buckethead?” Hux turned to the petty officer stationed nearby. “They do know that officers don’t wear…” A pilot glanced back at Hux from under a rounded helmet that flared dramatically at the base. Hux cleared his throat.

“Bold talk, rebel scum. If you’re so confident, why don’t you come a bit closer?” He gazed out from the bridge of the light command cruiser he’d acquired for what was meant to be a stealth patrol. The rebel ship hailing them was just beyond range of their turbolasers.

“Oya, cyar’ika, at least buy me dinner before you start the sweet-talking, okay?” Sabine teased with an amusement that was only half nerves. Their Rebel ship was still out of range. She just needed time to calculate the hyperspace route. “The again, you’re not really my type. And, I’m gonna go out on a limb and guess I’m not really yours, huh?”

The speaker had some sort of pride, they figured. Something to prove. Probably has a shit-ton of people under their ranks, but was still starving for blood, for a chance to be the best. Sabine had seen this type before. It was all too easy to piss them off, and it brought a genuine smile to their face.

“Listen, I’d love to stick around for that date, general,” she emphasized the title for effect (hopefully the other officers were listening). “But I think I’m gonna take a rain check.” Silently, they diverted power to the hyperdrive, but didn’t yet signal for the jump. She wanted to hear first if there were any parting remarks. Much as they hated what little remains of the Empire were left, she did enjoy this kind of banter. And who knows? Maybe they’d run into each other again.