So far most of my works-in-progress at the moment are weird little passion projects that I can at least be assured won't be duplicated by anyone else. Besides that, I cannot speak to their quality. In any case, here is a story about Kylo Ren throwing himself a birthday party.
It's Your Birthday Party, Kylo Ren!
Kylo Ren is staring moodily (one assumes, considering his face is covered by vanity headgear) at the rotted husk that once was Darth Vader's helmet when Hux first spots him. "Ren, what is the meaning of this?" the general asks, brandishing a small, folded piece of flimsy.
Eyeless eyeholes fix on him. "Ah, good," Kylo Ren says, nodding slightly. "You found it."
Hux's small form quavers in barely contained anger. "You left it in Millicent's litter box," he retorts. "That's not where I receive my mail, by the way."
There is some muffled snickering. "It seemed like the best way to ensure that you would see it in a timely fashion." Hux just stands there. "Did you come here to ask after gift ideas for me? I have several for you to choose from."
Hux continues glowering. "Is this serious, then? You're really throwing yourself a birthday party? You're not a child, for gods' sakes. You're a thirty-three-year-old stanging man, Ren."
Kylo Ren is probably scowling now, too. "Thirty-two. And it's a special occasion."
Hux snorts. "The first year you won't receive a card from Mummy and Daddy addressed to 'Our dearest Ben'?" He's gratified that this causes the other man's gloved hands ball into fists. "I'm not sure how readily available small scale models of your dead father's garbage can of a starship will be," he continues, smirking with the success of having gained the upper hand.
"I would feed it to your garbage can of a cat, and then feed her to you," Kylo Ren intones darkly.
Hux's eyes narrow a little. "You leave Millie alone." He taps the folded invitation. "You can take this back, in any case. It was a clever joke, though, I will give you that."
"It's not a joke," Kylo Ren bristles. "You're coming to my birthday party. In fact," he adds, pausing for dramatic, dickish effect, "you're throwing it for me."
"I will do no such thing," Hux declares. "I'd just as soon wrap this around Millie's used litter and eat it."
"That can be arranged." Hux rolls his eyes, and just barely manages to sidestep Kylo Ren's latest bout of aggression being taken out on the unlucky control panel that has already been replaced four times in as many months for the same reason. (The Stormtrooper duo that succeeds him, also carrying invitations, are not so lucky.)
Snoke is not so nearly physically imposing in person as he is via a gigantic holographic projection of himself (though to be fair, neither is the First Order's temporary locale in the wake of the Starkiller Base's destruction terribly impressive), but there is still an aura of power about him that is at once seductive and intimidating. Likewise, Hux is yet dwarfed before Snoke's ornate throne, his private chambers largely empty otherwise. The air is cold, and the general's nostrils turn red as he grows accustomed to it. As a sickly child, he had had trouble staying warm, but the thick, high collared uniform few have seen him without is suitable accoutrement to aid him in this goal.
Snoke watches him approach. "General Hux." He does not strain to be heard, and Hux is silent as he drops briefly to one knee. "To what do I owe this interruption?"
"My apologies, Supreme Leader." Hux's mouth is a thin, unreadable line. "I have come on a matter of unexpected urgency, however."
"Very well." Snoke waves his hand. "What is it?"
Hux produces the blasted flimsy invitation from Kylo Ren. "Ah, yes, the party." Snoke sounds significantly more pleased, to Hux's chagrin. "I trust you have made all of the necessary arrangements."
Hux's brow furrows in confusion. "Supreme Leader, I confess a lack of understanding as to why Ren, er, warrants a 'birthday' party at all. It is not a typical tradition, nor will the party be commemorating a particularly important age." He pauses. "I also do not understand why I have been specifically approached to organize such an event."
Snoke's voice remains warm and hushed, nearly paternal, to Hux's disgust and vague envy. "Ren deserves a commemoration of his many achievements over the past several months. He has accomplished many things for the First Order."
"Like letting Luke Skywalker slip through our fingers?" Hux bristles. "Or being bested and mutilated in battle by a scavenger girl with no prior fighting experience?"
Snoke's gnarled face hardens abruptly. "You forget yourself, General," he intones, and Hux immediately bows his head.
"I deeply apologize, Supreme Leader." He chooses his next words more carefully. "Would Captain Phasma not be better suited to ... party planning?"
"Kylo Ren specifically requested you," Snoke reveals.
Hux's mouth gapes in disbelief. "Why?" he exclaims, resisting stamping his thickly booted foot. "Just to spite me?!"
"Perhaps." Snoke's fingers steeple, possibly in bemusement, it is difficult to tell. "In that manner, I entrust you to ensure all the necessary details are taken care of."
Hux nods with substantial reluctance. "Yes, Supreme Leader." He's walking towards the door when Snoke calls out, "And make sure to get him a suitable gift."
Hux holds back a sigh. "Yes, Supreme Leader."
Phasma is putting her men through an intense set of drills when Hux arrives, still somewhat flummoxed by recent events. It doesn't help when Phasma greets him by asking "how Ren's shindig is coming together."
"Does everybody know about this?!" Hux gripes.
Phasma's wry expression, rarely seen, given her Order-encompassing knack for leaving her helmet on more often than not, is sympathetic, at least. "Ren's pretty excited about it," she says. "He even thinks he might get a birthday visit from Darth Vader himself." Hux must look baffled, because she adds, "You know, his Force spirit, or what have you. I figured you'd know?" she queries. "It's your job to get him to attend, after all."
Hux looks appalled now. "How in nine karking hells am I supposed to accomplish that?! He's been dead for thirty years! I have no idea how to contact a Shit Lord, or whatever they're called." Phasma shrugs. Hux continues scowling while Phasma laughs at him. "You're much better equipped than I am to make all these preparations, you know," he says, and trailing off just as Phasma's hearty giggling abruptly ends leads to a sudden, awkward silence.
"Why?" Phasma asks after a moment. "Because I'm female?" She cocks a blonde eyebrow. "I figure that puts me just about on par with you, actually."
Hux frowns warily. "How do you mean?"
Phasma shrugs again. "You know, you're broggling Ren, the whole 'cat thing' ..."
"I am not 'broggling' Ren!" The loud outburst causes a couple of Stormtroopers to peer in their direction, but they quickly resume training following a curt handwave from their captain. "And I'm not the one with a 'cat thing.' It's not my fault Ren is obsessed with Millicent's litter box, or her leavings. It says more about him than it does me."
Phasma just smirks. "Wasn't it his enemy ash collection first though?"
Hux's hands unfurl a little. "Maybe. He brought it upon himself, with his hubris." He glowers anew when Phasma insinuates a raunchy interpretation of his and Ren's relationship by way of smushing her index fingers on either hand together. "What are you giving him for a gift, anyway?" Hux asks relentingly.
Phasma looks thoughtful. "I'm toying with preparing a choreographed performance from the 'troopers in his honor. Or maybe I'll just give him a big, black, plastisteel fist and tell him to think of Grandpa when he uses it."
Hux allows himself to smile, just a little. "There goes my idea," he jokes. Phasma laughs and claps him heartily on the back. It hurts, but she graciously doesn't make fun of him for wincing as he walks away.
Delegating party-related tasks to his subservients allows Hux to nominally ignore pretty much the entire blasted thing, until, several days later, he receives a proper summons from Snoke. "I'm going to conjure our friend, Darth Vader, so that you can request his appearance at Kylo Ren's special day," Snoke tells him by way of greeting.
"Why me?" Hux protests, but he's quickly silenced by the triangular device currently cradled in Snoke's palm when it begins to glow with an ethereal red light. He's always downplayed his interest in the mysteries of the Force, mostly to piss off Kylo Ren by ignoring him when he starts to brag about his abilities, but also because, if Hux is honest with himself, he is intimidated by the nature of its power; namely, the fact that he can never attain it for himself.
Snoke's eyes slide shut. The glowing expands, encasing the entire object - Hux fuzzily pulls the word 'holocron' from a long ago conversation - and coloring Snoke's pale face and throat in a rouge pallor. Hux remains where he is, vaguely priding himself for facing this unknown situation head-on.
Like an otherworldly flower enveloped in fire, the holocron opens. A couple of forms half-heartedly dance overhead, but never solidify. Hux watches raptly, yet unsure what his role is here. He's somewhat relieved when he heard Snoke's soft, sinister, whispery voice: "Lord Vader," the Supreme Leader breathes. "Your presence is yet again requested on this mortal coil. Rise."
Perhaps unsurprisingly, the vague assortment of body parts begin to coalesce. The shape that is formed is not that of the Dark Lord of which Hux is familiar from the handful of documents and holograms that he's seen. Nonetheless, there is a familiarity to it, a fluffy hair and build that are astonishingly alike to ... well.
Hux fishes Ren's invitation from his pocket. "Lord Vader," he offers, and the figure, transparent, he can even see Snoke's expectant gaze through its midsection, seems to affix its gaze upon him. The face is attractive enough, but its presence yet confuses him. "I ... that is who I am speaking with?"
He expects a cutting remark, or even outright dismissal. Instead, the man, Hux would place him at about 23 or 24 standard years in appearance, rolls its eyes. "Technically," it remarks, and the voice is husky, but nowhere near the low decibels Hux has paired with holo clips of Darth Vader's old speeches and the like. "Obi-Wan says I'm supposed to go by 'Anakin' again now, though."
Hux blinks. Snoke shifts a little, but seems to be urging him to continue. "All right," Hux agrees. "I am officially requesting your, erm, presence at a celebration commemorating the birth and subsequent achievements of Kylo Ren, of the First Order." Behind the apparition, Snoke nods.
On the other hand, Anakin looks confused. "Who?" he asks, still nearly nowhere as irritated as Hux expected him to be, though his form flickers somewhat warningly.
"Kylo Ren," the general repeats. "Leader of the Knights of Ren." There is no change in expression on Anakin's face. "Your grandson?" Hux says searchingly. "Formerly Ben Solo?"
Recognition dawns. "Oh. Him," Anakin snorts, the casual disrespect leaving little doubt in Hux's mind of the connection in lineage. "He's always trying to get me to tell him things about the future." Hux must look significantly more interested, because he adds, waving a hand, "I can't, by the way. There's like, rules here." He seems to consider Hux's request. "A celebration? Are you his boyfriend or something?"
"Er, no," Hux says quickly, not exactly pleased that this exchange seems to amuse Snoke. "I've simply been tasked with ... party-planning. In any case," he forges ahead, "Ren would like you there to help him commemorate this milestone."
"Which milestone? Is he like, getting Knighted or something? Which birthday is it?"
"His thirty-third," Hux intones.
"That's not an important one," Anakin balks, and Hux would have laughed outright at this were it not for the way Snoke was pursing his lipless mouth. As it is, he silently pats himself on the back for the small sense of vindication.
"In any case," Snoke suddenly says, and even Anakin looks kind of surprised, "we would be honored if you would make an appearance for Kylo Ren's special day."
"Huh," Anakin mutters, as though Snoke seems familiar to him for some reason. "Sure," he says finally. "Whatever." His apparition begins to fade.
"Stop!" Hux holds out a hand. "Er," he backpedals, "don't you need to know the date and time of the party?"
"I'll figure it out," Anakin says breezily, and then he is gone. Hux and Snoke both watch as the holocron's red glow reduces to nothing. The out of sorts feeling, inspired by the reality of the man behind the myth of the fearsome Darth Vader, yet persists, however.
"So, am I ... excused?" Hux ventures.
Snoke blinks as if he'd forgotten he wasn't alone. "Sure. Whatever," he says, waving a hand idly at Hux, who is already halfway out of the room.
On the day of Kylo Ren's birthday party, Hux is awake nearly as early as the Stormtroopers, though he refuses on principle to acknowledge the event by occupying space where setup is taking place until he absolutely must. Unfortunately, the time soon comes to put in an appearance.
Several of Phasma's men, as well as a few other groups of First Order underlings, have transformed a large meeting hall into, well, a large meeting hall that's been adorned with cheap-looking flimsy decorations. Hux recognizes Anakin's face on corresponding plastisteel plates, cups, and napkins, and smirks. "I take it Darth Vader decorations were hard to come by?" he asks a random Stormtrooper.
"We were only able to find, er, party memorabilia from old propaganda campaigns from the Clone Wars," the 'trooper says nervously through his helmet. "Unfortunately, the lot of it seems to have been intended for use at events for children, rather than someone of Lord Ren's status."
Hux's smile deepens. "I see no difference," he murmurs, and leaves what is likely a very confused Stormtrooper in his wake as he passes by.
The birthday guest of honor arrives a short while later, after several other guests, all First Order employees under direct mandate to attend, file in. A large pile of gifts, in various sizes, wrapped in brightly colored and at times oddly decorated flimsy, begin to cover a table in a corner of the room. Kylo Ren himself is helmeted, but appears somewhat less harried than usual. He makes a small gesture and several 'troopers begin hurrying around the room, distributing pointed hats, themselves decorated in the Anakin-centric design on all of the throwaway dishware. Hux is presented with one, and glowers when the small length of elastic slaps against the underside of his chin. "Will you be needing one for your cat?" the 'trooper tasked with this particular indignity asks.
"No," Hux says flatly, and the 'trooper nods, filing away quickly.
One of the few saving graces of the event is that there is food to partake in, thus eliminating the obligation of creating things to make polite conversation about, a task that Hux finds utterly useless. The food, large quantities of some rounded bread adorned with sauce and odd combinations of meats and vegetables, is garbage, to be certain, but its overall purpose is nonetheless served.
A short while later, Kylo Ren, who has painstakingly removed his helmet to eat, stands. The room immediately goes silent.
"There will be confectionaries," Ren announces, "and presents. But first, all in attendance are required to sing my praises." His gaze swivels around the room, coming to rest on Hux. "General, Ren says, and Hux would bet money that his singling out is intentional, "you shall start."
Hux stands stock still as a small voice elevating device is handed to him. The sea of masked faces before him appear to watch him expectantly; though no one would say so for fear of swift retribution (well, not Phasma), Hux knows he looks ridiculous in the party hat sitting stiffly atop his head. Most of the 'troopers have placed theirs strategically to adorn their helmets. Phasma, who has two hats for whatever reason, has arranged them on either side of her own helmeted head. Kylo Ren also has a hat, though it sits next to his discarded helmet on the table before him. Hux bites back a sigh.
"Today-"
"Wait." He is interrupted by the birthday boy, which makes the situation even more appalling, quite frankly. "I believe I requested a seat fit for a guest of honor of my stature."
"Here, my Lord!" A 'trooper gingerly beckons at Ren, who stalks over to a large throne, adorned with birthday balloons. The bobbing, brightly colored things add a sense of absurdity to the already ridiculous chair, but Kylo Ren perches on it, rubbing his gloved hands along the armrests briefly. Another 'trooper quickly brings him his helmet and birthday hat, both of which he dons. A couple of people titter, and those nearest Ren nod supplicatingly as though this will keep him from acting out against anyone disrespecting him. It works, surprisingly; Hux suspects it's due to Ren receiving so much unyielding attention at once.
In any case, he's settled in now. "Proceed, General," Ren commands, and Hux's face is stoic even though, in his mind, he is giving this whole dastardly operation the galaxy's biggest eyeroll.
"Today," Hux begins again, "we commemorate the birth of Kylo Ren, and his many accomplishments towards the betterment of the First Order. Who could forget," he continues, "his incredible victory against a new Jedi uprising nearly one standard year ago, or the means by which he squelched resistance within our very ranks. The defeat of our fallen comrade, FN-2187, at his hands, at absolutely no cost to himself or to the Order's prized base, due to his incredible lightsaber skills, of course, will never be forgotten." Murmurs arise. Out of the corner of his eye, Hux can see Ren's form stiffen. Gracefully, he holds up a sodden paper cup, half-filled with some alcoholic juice concoction. "To Kylo Ren," he toasts. "He'll never be Darth Vader, but he'll never stop trying to be." A sea of arms raise in a hesitant wave. Hux is fairly certain it is killing Ren to keep his composure at this point, and he smiles in self-satisfaction and takes his seat.
The toasts continue, many of them from significantly more gushing and stammering subjects. A Stormtrooper is right in the middle of talking up Kylo Ren's "extreme grace and dignity," when the man in question waves a hand boredly. "Presents," his voice booms. "I want my presents now." Immediately, the large table piled with gifts is carried over and set in front of its recipient. Kylo Ren begins tearing into them, completely uninterested in which of his subjects has given him which gift. Nonetheless, a 'trooper makes a valiant effort to announce who each one is from as it is handed off to its impatient man-child of a recipient.
"This next one is from General Hux," the 'trooper says suddenly. As if on cue, Hux feels something needle him gently between the shoulderblades. "Nice speech," Phasma murmurs in his ear. She takes a seat nearby. "What did you end up getting him, anyways?"
"Who knows?" Hux answers honestly. As with everything else related to this confounded event, he had farmed out present-acquiring duties to an underling. Seconds later, several other party-goers automatically 'oooh' at a cheap-looking bubble dispenser in the shape and color of Anakin Skywalker's lightsaber, more Clone Wars memorabilia that one might purchase for a squalling child at a random trading post on a nondescript Mid-Rim planet. "Nearly as good as the real thing, I'm sure," Hux offers, and Phasma snorts, loudly enough for Kylo Ren's head to snap up. His ire is met only by Hux's cool, placid stare, however, and eventually goes back to dismantling the present pile.
The arrival of Supreme Leader Snoke appears to be strategically timed, as it occurs just as Kylo Ren has nearly cleared the table before him. Snoke's presence commands immediate attention, and even Hux leaps to his feet with nearly the same urgency as everyone else. A chair, similarly-sized to Ren's, is produced and set next to its partner atop the room's makeshift dais.
"Happy birthday, Kylo Ren." Sitting now, Snoke pats Ren on the shoulder, smiling at him in a way that is at once magnanimous and creepy. "I wanted to save the most important gift for last," he says, and produces from the folds of his robes a thin, palm-sized package. Instead of handing it to its recipient proper, however, Snoke pulls the top off himself, and then lifts out the card, holding it between two long, bony fingers. "During the apex of his reign, Lord Vader was the sole proprietor of a palace on the planet Mustafar. It was created for him as a means of channeling the energies of the Dark Side in their purest form." Snoke picks up the younger man's gloved hand, palm up, and places the card in it. "It now belongs to you."
"Thank you, Supreme Leader." For the first time, Kylo Ren appears to be genuinely grateful. His fingers wrap around the card. "I will treasure this, and use it to carry on Lord Vader's work."
"What work would that be?" The voice is new, though not completely unfamiliar to Hux's ears. A few lights flicker overhead, though he wonders whether this is incidental, or something its cause is doing purely for the sake of levity. "Do you mean sloughing off dead skin twice a week and tending to joint attachments like you're a kriffing robot?" The appearance of Anakin's apparition yet causes a number of gasps around the room. "Or did you think Palpatine built a castle for me to practice my cape twirling?"
"Grandfather." Kylo Ren appears unfazed by the sarcasm being leveled at him, such is his adoration of the figure before him. He begins to pull off his helmet. "I have been waiting for you to appear to me for so long. Were you waiting for a suitable time to introduce yourself to everyone?"
Anakin scoffs. "I came here to see what my ridiculous progeny was up to. I'm not surprised that this," he says, gesturing at Kylo Ren disdainfully, "is what the son of Han Solo amounts to."
"I do not recognize him as my legitimate father." Kylo Ren is equal parts prideful indignity and desperation now. "I killed Han Solo."
"Good job." Anakin rolls his eyes. "Was it because he told you how stupid that helmet is? Did that guy ever explain to you," he continues, motioning towards Snoke, "that I only wore the suit so I had somewhere to mount the slab of charred flesh and the sack of vital organs that comprised my body for the last twenty years of my life?" He stops and peers more closely at Kylo Ren's bare face. "Did you give yourself that scar?"
Kylo Ren appears desperately to be struggling to keep his composure. "Everything I am, everything I have become, is modeled after you and your teachings, Grandfather."
"What teachings?" Anakin addresses only Ren, though the entirety of the party is hanging onto his every word. "How to get swindled by some pervy old guy?" He acknowledges Snoke once again, who, to his credit, does not react. "Have fun with that, by the way."
From the far side of the hall, an impressively sized cake, adorned with none other than a frosting-based replica of Darth Vader's helmet, is being rolled towards the center of the room. "Cake," Anakin scoffs. "The Emperor threw me a similar sort of ceremony when I turned forty. I got to watch him gum down food I couldn't smell anymore, let alone eat." He glides towards the multi-tiered dessert, and Hux hears Phasma inhale a small, sharp breath in anticipation of its destruction. Alas, Anakin's Force Ghost goes right through any and all solid objects, though he seems to content himself with briefly waggling his (thankfully clothed) nether regions through the cake's middle. "I'm out," he announces, and then he's gone, just as quickly as he had come.
The room is stock still for a long moment. An unlucky Stormtrooper eventually breaks the tense silence. "My Lord, I apologize for the, er, interruption. Shall we continue with the cake ceremony?"
Kylo Ren's gaze is far away, however. "That," he murmurs aloud, "was wizard."
For several days following his party, Kylo Ren's presence is scarce, likely due to his preoccupation with his many gifts, or his brutal roasting by Anakin Skywalker which he seems to have interpreted as a complement of the highest nature. It's a surprise, then, and not a happy one, when Hux draws near his cat Millicent's litter box one afternoon, noticing that it has been disrupted by something other than its usual feline occupant, and finds-
"Seriously?" he gripes. The party hat is nestled deeply within chunks of used litter, but is still visible, and Hux makes a disgusted noise as he removes it. Ren, he supposes, is not far away; sure enough, the other man's lanky, black frame winds around the door jamb not a minute later. "What is it with you and bothering my cat?!" he complains, and Ren, yet helmeted, snickers.
"I thought you might want a souvenir from my party." He appears to take in Hux's shorter form, at parade rest, but eternally scowling. "Your planning and participation of said event was ... adequate," he proffers, and Hux snorts.
With a short nod, Ren turns to leave, but impulsively, Hux stops him. "Wait," he says. "Why did you insist on my planning your party?" he asks. "Surely you know an equally adequate job could have been done by nearly anyone else in the Order. Why me, then?"
Kylo Ren appears to consider this. "Because," he finally replies, "I knew you would hate it the most." He takes his leave this time.
Exasperated, Hux stoops to collect Millicent, who gurgles a little at being interrupted from her trip to her private bathroom. "How wizard," he mutters, and Millicent kneads at his uniformed arm as he exhales slowly into her bristly orange fur.