Days like these used to mean something so special to the Rebel fighter; the Resistance had reached out and recruited new fighters. A few of the more promising ones had been allotted to learn beneath the prodigious command of none other than Poe Dameron, himself. The first couple times he had been turned loose to fresh, new pilots, Poe had treated it like a ceremony of sorts. Early to rise, he would have numerous events planned out, starting as minuscule as welcoming the new potential squadron. Dameron had a lot to live up to with his name and he wanted to ensure only the best for those he would be in charge of.
But that all quickly lost its appeal. Case in point, the day had arrived again. Only, instead of meticulous planning the evening before, Poe had been seen down at the pub on base, enjoying the rarely allowed downtime. His current squadron knew when to draw the line when it came to Poe, and these new ones wouldn't. He basically felt 'on-call' 24/7 the first week of training, meaning the new pilots would seek him for advice throughout all hours of the night. Poe simply wanted to enjoy what version of freedom he could, while he could.
The late night also meant a late morning. Poe awoke with a start, bolting up in bed with a gasped, "oh, Force!" He scrambled to ready himself for the group he knew was already standing at attention on the tarmac awaiting his arrival. That meant he wouldn't get to shave. Or find decently readied clothing. To say Poe looked a mess would be an understatement. But it worked for him. It showed his more carefree, laid back approach to life on base. Sure, things were building out in the galaxy, things not so swell, but that was there. Here, he felt more at home. Or, the most he could, at least.
Hopping off the back of a vehicle, Poe finished shoving his wrinkled shirt from the day before into his pants, trying to at least exude an ounce of decency for this meeting. He could see the group shift from a more relaxed appearance to that of soldiers lining up before their drill sergeant. "At ease," he teased, his hand lifting to brush back his unkempt curls. "Ah, so let's see what the recruiters claim to be the cream of the crop…" The pilot began walking down the line of newbies, giving a stern glance to each and every one of them. "You lot understand why you're here, right? This isn't pilot academy. If you think you'll get a chance to fly one of /my/ ships and call it a day, you are sorely mistaken! This isn't going to a walk in the park, neither! You were assigned to me. And if you don't know who I am, I suggest you start paying attention."
Down the line, Poe heard a male mutter to the girl beside him that he was the best pilot in the Resistance. That curved the Rebel's lips up into a smirk.
"Damn right, I am."
Among the men and women lined up to listen to the supposed 'best pilot of the Resistance' talk was a tall male, thin and wiry. His head was tilted slightly, jade eyes - almost silver - tracked the Commander's movements with an icy gaze. Fiery hair was hidden, mostly, under a loose beanie-beret style hat. The frost in his eyes was reflected in the snow white color his skin and the chilly aura he gave off. A red eyebrow quirked at the pilot's response to a whisper. How incredibly unprofessional.
To say that General Hux had found himself in a Resistance base happily was by no means true. The First Order needed someone to infiltrate enemy lines. Someone who would not be quickly recognized, but was highly skilled. The ginger had pulled the short stick. He was hardly newly appointed to the rank of General, but was still vastly unknown. The majority of his involvement in the First Order was working on secret and classified projects that kept him out of the public eye, let alone the spotlight, and instead had him pulling strings like a puppet master. More, Supreme Leader Snoke trusted him to carry out the mission or die in the process. And that was the true selling point. Put an informant in the mix who would not easily leave the system when they were set free.
While Hux would give his life and soul to the Order - and in many ways already has - he was not happy to be standing in line with the scum around him. Commoners, rebels, distractions, worthless - all of them. The pilot talking was no different. But he was commanded to keep his head down and act his role well - pretend to be a new recruit and pull information like a torturer pulls teeth. With more finesse, of course. It was an easy decision, as well, to determine where he would enter from. The Resistance was desperate for new pilots, despite what the curly haired commander was saying in his opening speech. If you had any background in flying at all and weren't recognized for being on their stolen and out-of-date list of First Order members, they snatched you up with so much as a second glance. It wasn't hard, really, and that almost disappointed the ginger. With that kind of security and background checks, once their weapon was built, the Rebels would crumble without so much as a protest. The red beam of Starkiller would be the last thing they saw.
The ginger ducked his head to keep from meeting the eyes of his 'mentor'. Play shy and nervous - he could do that. He could pretend and act his part without hesitation. None of this was difficult. None of the mission would be complicated. It was routine. And he was a damn good soldier.
The rabble of potential pilots before Poe was less than decent. Impressive, most certainly not. They looked as though the Resistance picked up the first hodgepodge of nobodies that they could find. The Rebel Commander had to roll his eyes, fighting back a sigh of disappointment. Just once, he wanted someone assigned to him that intimidated simply by pure look alone. Was that truly too much to ask for? Nobody in the lineup even dared catch his eye. They were looking at their feet, off to the side; anything to avoid the scrutinizing gaze of their Commander. Which Poe didn't mind one bit. They seemed easy enough to whip up into shape. Maybe he'd be finished before the first week was even over.
"And what, might I ask, do you think you're going to bring to my squadron, newbie?"
Poe had stopped directly in front of a pale-skinned male, taller and thinner than himself. He slowly lifted his gaze from the male's boots, up his lithe body, then finally settled it on his face. This one, too, avoided his gaze. Shy, perhaps. Intimidated. Poe got that frequently, though to those who knew him, he was one majorly laid back fella. Darkened eyes narrowed on the natural disposition this potential pilot held; was that a sneer hidden just beneath the down-turned lips? Distaste, perhaps, lingering in an unenthused gemstone-tinted gaze? Something wasn't sitting well with Dameron when it came to this guy. He stepped a bit closer, getting much more into the stranger's personal space as he inspected him more thoroughly.
Hux tried to keep his head down, tried to keep his gaze averted, tried to keep his stance relaxed and open, but the moment the Commander stepped closer, the General's eyes trained on him. There was no way the dark haired man could know about him. No possibility that the dark eyes watching him with a fire could melt away his defenses and see the dark agent of order that hid in the false pretense of a student. To have someone of lower rank, more, to have a Rebel so close and defiant caused the ginger's instincts to take control. He barely bit back the sarcasm and scowl that wanted to be let loose on the pilot. Instead, he schooled his features, feigned a nervous smile, and responded. "Hux, sir."
He debated his answer to the annoying question presented to him. He hadn't had time to read the man before him, couldn't quite decide what the man wanted to hear. He could lower himself to be starstruck - the moment he even considered that option, his pride and loathing toward such rabble-rousers crumpled it up like paper and threw it to a far corner of his mind. He didn't care if he was undercover, he would not just roll over for the Resistance. The ginger scanned his gaze over his mentor. Golden skin, sculpted features, unruly hair, and piercing eyes. The man's muscles were mostly hidden under clothes, but the few hard lines that Hux could see told him about the man's physical state of being. The man had joked about his piloting prowess, so the General twisted his snark into a response.
"Well, I'm certainly bringing you a new hair color," his false smile turned into a smirk for a moment before he turned serious. "I'm here for the cause, Sir. Willing to put my life down for a greater purpose."
He watched the slightly shorter man like a hawk for a few seconds before dropping his gaze to the floor. This pilot, he already could tell, was going to make the mission frustrating. For some reason, the commander had honed in on him and, now, within the first few minutes of the operation beginning, Hux was already on thin ice. Fine. Be it so. He could play this game of chess, pit the dark and light against one another as the two kings of the sky battled one another on the ground. He glanced at the pilot, then immediately back down.
"Sarcasm should have been your answer, Hux." Did this newcomer truly feel as though he could waltz right into Poe Dameron's squadron with such sass and snarky comments? It made the pilot scoff, "tch," then start circling around him, eyeing him from head to toe. There was definitely an odd something going on with this feisty redhead...the lifted gaze that held such unhappy emotion that, also, quickly fell into an almost shy look… "Well, it would appear right now as though a different hair color is all you can offer me." The pilot's steps halted when he was standing in front of Hux once more. "Clearly, you are no match for physical combat. How would you handle yourself if one of the Order's brainless monkeys approached you and your blaster malfunctioned? Could you even throw a punch to at least make your opponent whine?" Had it been any other circumstance, Poe's eyes would have gladly scanned that slender body for other reasons, but those sort of thoughts couldn't happen in a situation like this.
A few of the recruits nearby in line sniggered, while the others, the smart ones, remained silent with their gazes dropped. Poe wasn't stupid; he knew there was much more to strength than just basic, first glance appearance. And where some lack physical strength, they greatly make up for it with their smart wit and quick thinking. This was merely a tactic of sorts. A way for the Commander to weed out who appears to be a sturdy brick ball but quickly crumbles under the first sort of pressure. To see who could handle themselves in an uncomfortable position. He was going to make a lesson out of the male if nothing else.
Around them, a gentle breeze kicked up. The trees set off to the side surrounding the tarmac shivered, sending leaves to noisily fall around them. That same breeze lifted some of Poe's unruly curls, causing them to fall in his eyes. But he didn't allow that to deter him. His gaze remained locked on Hux's expression, even if the jade depths didn't lift to meet his own charcoal orbs. "Tell me, Hux. Could you handle yourself in a situation surrounded by three, four, five of their greatest fighters? Granted, that's not saying much. I've seen toddlers in a playpen fight more ruthlessly than I've ever seen a member of the Order fight. The lot of them are nothing but spineless, mindless, brainless fiends. So, then again, maybe you could handle yourself against them."
The ginger bristled as the pilot spoke about his Stormtroopers and then challenged him outright. It was true that his armored-clad soldiers may not be the most effective, but they were mere pawns in a greater plan. They weren't even worth actual names - just numbers in a coded system. His hands clenched behind his back. He knew this tactic - had done it on his own officers multiple times. The rebel was trying to see if he would crack. If that's how the Commander wanted to play, Hux would rise to this verbal provocation with his own strategy.
He leveled his mentor with a hard gaze, frozen and cold. He had to be careful. Get under the man's skin and into his mind, of course, but he had to keep his own background and motivations leashed and held back. The recruits that had snickered at the previous words had mostly fallen silent. The gentle wind was strong enough to shift his hat uncomfortably.
He smiled, an idea slipping into his mind. He reached up, calm, to pull it off. "Could I handle myself against First Order soldiers, Sir? I would hope so. Muscle does not make the man," he tilted his head. The hand holding the hat ran through his hair, smoothing it, before dropping behind his back. "But, then 'handle' could mean a great many things, including, for example, standing toe-to-toe with a superior officer and forcing his attention to focus only on what you want him to see," his other hand tapped a finger on the pilot's still-sheathed blaster, where it had secretly moved to rest while he purposefully pulled attention to revealing his hair.
The collective sound that surrounded Poe had his cheeks flaring up with heat and his brow furrowing with offense. Of course, the moment Hux had outwitted the Commander, the other recruits all responded with an almost daring, "oooooh!" that weighed heavily with baritone mocking. Charcoal eyes flashed even darker, mimicking an orb of onyx as they narrowed into small slits on the redheaded male trying to outwit him. With a clenched jaw, Poe tried to come up with some comeback that would take the attention off of Hux and put it back on him. But, try as he might, he was rather impressed, enough to leave him speechless. And that, above all else, pissed him off.
"Take your hand off my blaster, Recruit." The Commander's words were angry and full of stern demand. What bothered him the most was how focused his attention had gotten to watch that slender hand brush through locks of hair that were previously concealed by the hat. And Hux knew it would quickly steal his attention. Poe's jaw clenched even more as his nostrils flared, then he abruptly took a step back and turned away from the recruits. Somehow, he had to regain control of the moment. If the others saw how easily manipulated he was, then they would eventually end up taking full advantage over that. A Commander couldn't be great if he didn't gain the respect from his squadron.
"The X-Wing!" He finally decided it best to just change the subject completely. "Should I pass you as pilots, will become your new home! And if you haven't had any experience flying one before, or even something vaguely similar, then you probably have no business standing here on my tarmac!" The pilot tried to keep a loud, attention-drawing tone to his voice, hoping it would snap them out of their amusement from the little mishap and back onto his leadership. "You will do more than just pilot a simple craft. You will be in charge of weaponry, engaging fully in battle, and maneuvering in ways you never dreamt possible. I have rules you must abide by!" Poe finally turned back around to face the mangy lot, hands clasped tightly behind his back. "If you puke in my Starfighter, you will be banned. If you break any piece of my Starfighter, you will be banned. If you crash my Starfighter, you will be banned. And by banned, I mean permanently. There are many roles to fill here on this base. Standing here doesn't mean you're qualified as a pilot."