The smirk Hux wore and flashed each time his 'mentor' locked eyes with him was closer to a Cheshire grin than a sneer. He didn't care that he had to reveal his wild card so early - everyone, literally everyone, was thrown off by his hair color the first time they saw it. He had grown used to having to do things such as repeat his orders to new recruits on their first days. No, he was content and pleased to have knocked the cocky pilot down a few notches. A man beside him gently bumped his elbow against the ginger's. Hux glanced at him and the recruit gave him a smile and nod, whispering, "That was bold, man. I'm Rico."

He nodded back, "Hux. A pleasure."

The First Order General had long since tuned out what the Resistance Commander was saying. Green eyes scanned his surroundings. The Order had received a rumor that there was a mysterious map that led to something that could help these rebels turn the tides of the war. He needed to find a way to the source of that rumor without the dark haired man breathing down his neck. With that thought in mind, he turned back to Rico. The man was shorter than Hux with chestnut hair and hazel eyes that shimmered with uncontrolled excitement.

"So what made you want to be a pilot, Rico?"

Never, in all his years dealing with recruits, had Poe been so blatantly unnerved before. His words soon fell to silence as he adapted an uncaring appearance; hip jutted to one side, arms folded over his chest, and brow quirked in mock curiosity. With his attention now drawn to Hux after the little charade he pulled, Poe flicked a gaze over to him, only to find him immersed in a conversation with the recruit beside him. After a moment of watching them, the Commander decided to clear his throat to let himself be known. When he felt stares returning to him, he chortled, eyes once again narrowing in on Hux. This man was proving to be more of a nuisance than anything useful.

"Oh, I'm sorry!" The Rebel pilot feigned apologetic, bringing a look of shame to his expression and placing a hand over his heart. "Did I…I didn't mean to disturb social hour! Forgive me, Hux. Please. I wouldn't want to upset you." For a brief moment, his bottom lip jutted out, very reminiscent of a scolded child and he dropped his line of sight to the ground. But then a sneer replaced the sadness and the heat returned to his rather puppy-like eyes. "If nothing I have to say to you is too important, clearly you've heard my speech a thousand times before. Would you care to step up here and recite it to the others?'

A smirk curved the corner of his lips as he quirked a challenging brow in the ginger's direction, daring him to disobey. "That wasn't a suggestion, Hux. Get up here and give my speech for me." Poe stepped to the side and made a motioning signal at the spot he was just previously standing in, alerting the other pilot to step forward and proceed. "We're waiting, Princess. Losing valuable sunlight here." The Commander was going to make it his personal mission, now, to crack the foundation holding together Hux's rather porcelain looking skin; he was going to open him up and expose him for all that he could.

The redhead's amicable smile fell away and he glanced at Rico, then at his mentor. Was the man really calling him out again? Challenging him, even though the General had already put him in his place? Additionally, did he really just try and scare Hux by asking him to make a public speech in front of a handful of people? The ginger was used to that sort of presentation - in fact, he was used to speaking to thousands of people, rather than just a squadron. He gave a look to his neighboring recruits before slowly approaching the Commander.

"As you wish, Sir," He answered, turning to face the other pilots. He thought about his words carefully. How, exactly, was one supposed to give an introductory pep talk to their enemies without saying the wrong thing? He cleared his throat, shooting a final glance at the shorter man beside him - a last minute way for the Rebel to get out of this game - before speaking. "Today is the first step in changing the galaxy. Today you - men, women, human and not - stand against the terroristic reign of the First Order, an organization that does not differentiate between right and wrong, but rather slave and enemy. They will do whatever they can to intimidate the Resistance - to make you bow before them." He tossed a sneer to his mentor. This was his stage, his element. He was an orator, a strategist, a leader. Only after all of those was he a soldier. It was his job to control the masses and rule above others. This was no challenge, it was a bloodbath.

"To kneel is to retreat. To die is to give yourself to the cause. To survive is to rise and fight again another day until the last breath is drawn in this war. Sacrifices will be made, hardships come daily, but if you accept the opportunities given to you, work hard to perfect your trade, and fly into battle beside the, heh, best, then these obstacles and pain will not be made in vain." He turned to the Commander as he concluded, emerald eyes clashing with onyx in a collision of gemstones and hard edges. "Welcome to the Resistance."

That would become the second time that day that Poe had been silenced into pure humiliation. Of course it turned out to be an amazing speech; only a fool would challenge someone to go up against a hungover male stuck out in the blazing sunlight to a contest of wits and vocabulary. The rest of the recruits seemed thoroughly engaged now though as they cheered and clapped like Hux had just won some victory. Truth be told, though, that Poe found himself…inspired, in an odd way. Had he not already been well involved with the Resistance and he was approached by someone giving that speech, he easily would have dropped whatever he had going on in life and joined without second thought.

"Oh. Force…" Rolling his eyes, Poe had to look away once more. Twice now. TWICE. He had attempted to stand up to his fiery nobody and was quickly smacked right back down into place. The Commander was beginning to doubt himself now. It seemed at the moment that nothing he could do would deter Hux. Nothing would break him into a picture perfect pawn in the war. No. There was too much backbone with him. Too much… "You, me. X-Wing, now." He seethed through gritted teeth, giving his head a swift jerk in the direction of his own customized X-Wing. "You spit a mean game, Pal. You may have them convinced you're something special, but the true test will be once we get up in the air. Go."

"On your mark, Sir," Hux chuckled at the seething commander. It had taken almost no effort to bring the man crumbling down. He turned his back to the troops, giving his new rival a toothy smile - a Cheshire cat mimicking the crescent moon - and began to make his way in the direction previously indicated. Murmurs, whispers, and footsteps followed him. Truthfully, he had not flown in a while and he knew that he would have to remember the logistics of it rather quickly. Undeterred, he approached the craft. He glanced at the under-wing and the identification information found there. 'Poe Dameron'. So that's the man's name. The General hummed, then climbed into the cockpit. He very purposefully took his mentor's helmet and strapped it in place before the man could enter the X-Wing with him.

Perhaps the ginger was being petty. Perhaps he had put his mission aside to instead goad the pilot into a partial state of submission. Perhaps he really shouldn't be playing with fire when he completely expected to be burned for it later. Perhaps none of this mattered anyway and he was going to upstage Dameron at any chance he could get.

Hux adjusted his seating - long legs finding a comfortable position, one hand of the driver's stick, the other flipping on the control panel to check the readings. His brow furrowed. These were not the normal controls or the standard settings and steering. In fact, not much of the ship was regulation. Most of it seemed to have been taken apart and changed and built from scratch by a mechanic that deeply cared for the craft.

So that's how this was going to go?

"You can't beat me fairly so you put me in an altered environment. Clever," he whispered to himself under his breath. "And annoying."

The shorter Resistance fighter had to nearly double his speed to simply keep up with the longer legs the redhead possessed when they walked to the ship. He was beginning to feel at a complete disadvantage with everything; wit, speech, speed, size. So, needless to say, the pilot was already fuming when Hux had ascended the rope ladder leading into the cockpit. That wasn't what he wanted. Or needed. Any more advantages given and Poe might as well just hand over his entire squadron to the command of this sarcastic nitwit. It didn't help, either, that his cockpit simply wasn't engineered to accommodate two pilots. It was very much made around him, solely. Had he not allowed his emotions to get the best of him, he would have taken his chances in one of the trainer X-Wings that had two separate seats and controls for him to take over if need be.

Wedging himself uncomfortably behind Hux had Poe feeling more embarrassed than anything. It was like trying to jam an incorrect puzzle piece into a random slot; it just didn't fit. But he managed after several not so accidental kicks to the ginger's long legs. "Half expected you to be up in the air and back by now," he growled with annoyance, smacking the side of his helmet that currently resided on top of Hux's head. "Pendejo…" After receiving a helmet for himself, he simply sat back, motioning wildly for Hux to do something. "Really. All talk and no action? Have to admit, I didn't see that coming, Mr. Know-It-All." His taunting words truly were nothing more than childish, but he hated to be upstaged by anyone. Especially in front of a group of strangers he was meant to impress, intimidate, and command.

The redhead grumbled little nothings - half formed curses and insults that he bit back just before they could be fully vocalized. At the mockery, Hux took control and turned the ship down the tarmac, driving it slowly around the recruits who had gathered onto one side to watch the grudge match come to fruition. "All talk, Commander, is what led you to feel the need to take me off to the side and challenge me, again. As it stands, Sir, the score is in my favor."

He shifted around. The small space was obviously not used to holding more than one pilot. More, it wasn't used to having two men shoving and kicking at each other in pathetic excuse to get comfortable while accidentally hitting each other. Hux put an end to the push and shove fight they were having to, instead, be the mature one of the two. He pushed his weight against his mentor once more before straightening his back, leveling his shoulders, and acting professionally. More or less. He drove them down the runway, picking up speed until he could flip on the thrusters and take them airborne. He piloted them just above the trees surrounding the base, making sure to mentally map out everything for future battle plans. The Resistance had cornered themselves in a thick forest, nowhere to run and everywhere to hide and wait for an ambush. How sweet of them. They were practically defeating themselves.

A fear surged deep within Poe's body and rooted itself permanently inside his gut; they were in his own personal X-Wing. The one he had slaved over during any allotted down time. He had put more blood than tears into this Starfighter than anything and now it was completely in the hands of a stranger. One that he had poked and prodded and angered, threatened, challenged… All within less than an hour of meeting. He had never allowed himself to show such emotion to any of the recruits, especially not so quickly! His big mouth, once again, got him into a predicament he easily could have avoided. Poe blamed his father for that annoying trait within him. Kes Dameron was quick to defend his pride and put anyone to rest that dared make a mockery. It was only natural his offspring would get stuck with the same problem.

Trying to be as subtle as he could, Poe's hands lowered to his side, grabbing onto anything that could possibly keep him alive if they were to crash. And his heart was telling him that a crash was very much possible. Not only did he know nothing of Hux's piloting abilities, but he had rerouted his steering and his controls to properly suit him. It was so far from normal protocol, that not even his best pilots could handle his Starfighter, if they had to. Granted, he could use this moment as a teaching opportunity in the end…maybe that could help deter the other recruits from assuming him some hot-headed imbecile. Without meaning to, Poe's eyes began to shut as they were lifted into the air, and when he finally convinced himself that they hadn't crashed, he opened them up again.

The General clicked on his radio. "Anything you wish to see, Commander, or did you just want to have a heart to heart?"

"Oh, thank you…" the dark-haired man breathed out before whispering a small prayer in Spanish. As soon as he heard the radio in his helmet click on, he sat straighter, the best he could, and tried to recompose himself. "Huh?" Oh, real smooth, Dameron. "Oh, no...Uhm," regardless of whatever anger or sadness or heartache Poe felt on the tarmac, the moment he became airborne, it all seemed to drain away. The sky and the stars truly were his second home. And they had that comforting ability to reground his rampant thoughts and allow him a moment to just breathe. "This is more than just a challenge, Pilot. This will be your determining test as to whether you remain or not. So, I suggest you show me what all you can do." The Commander's words were much softer spoken now as he turned his head to the side, watching the beauty of the surrounding land stretch out before his very eyes.

The ginger had the nerve to scoff at the other man's words. A test to see if he could stay? Fine. "You already know my name, Commander, you might as well use it," Hux huffed. The controls were different, here, the space too closed in for a proper sitting position, the air too warm with two people forced into a place that should only hold one, if that. Regardless, the General never backed down when someone questioned him. He had graduated the youngest of any Academy graduates, ever. He was now the youngest General in the Order and the most influential. He didn't get to where he was by rolling over, and he certainly didn't get here by skimping out on flying lessons and mastery. After all, he controlled the stars with his aerial tactics and strategies, he had to know how to at least hold his own while flying to be able to win wars in the air. "Hold on, Flyboy."

With that as his warning, Hux spun them to the side, rolling them and spiraling them into air. He felt the thrill that came with being out in the field rather than behind a screen and let the adrenaline rush through him. Poe wasn't given ample time to boycott that downgrading nickname Hux huffed his way. With little to no proper warning, they began the ascending spiral. The grip Poe had on the side of his Starfighter tightened even more until his knuckles flashed white, not enough blood able to reach them. Dameron's jaw clenched so tightly that he was sure his teeth were going to break.

The ginger struggled for a few moment with the controls before adjusting to them and taking them through a few more maneuvers. He wasn't entirely comfortable behind the wheel. Wasn't really used to driving instead of ordering. Wasn't really used to not being in constant control and having his demands followed. But he dug down inside himself and went back over the books he read and practice runs he did while in the Academy.

The moves weren't exactly perfect; they were anything but. But the guy had style, Poe had to give credit where credit was due. Truly, he was not expecting any of the new recruits to be able to do any tight barrels, or a rather smooth spiral. The Rebel pilot could sense a great deal of hesitancy with Hux's actions, but that could easily be dealt with over the course of rigorous training. Had it not been the red head spitting words heavily dripping with sarcasm, Poe would have been greatly excited to welcome the pilot into his squadron.

After a few loops and dives and twists, the General leveled them out. He purposely jerked the craft, seeing if he could shake Dameron at all. "Ay dios mio," the stockier man breathed out after releasing his death grip on his safety bar a second too early. That jostle made his heart nearly jump out of his throat and he was prepared to reach around the male and right his wrong doing. But, when he determined it was a move made in pure jest, he scowled.

"Did I pass?" The paler of the two smiled over his shoulder, devious and knowing. His skills may be rusty, and he may not really enjoy piloting at all, but he still knew that he was the best recruit that had stood in front of the rebel pilot this morning. Pity for the Resistance that he wouldn't be staying long.

"If the test were on showmanship and pilot cockiness, then yes, you passed." Regardless, Poe was going to allow this man a chance to return the following day to continue with his training, but he didn't want to come across as too eager or too accepting of his decision. Sweat trickled down the side of the Rebel's face, slipping from beneath the helmet to get stuck on his stubbled chin. Reaching up at the tickle, he brushed it off and cleared his throat.

This man, this recruit, could become the perfect threat. He clearly had a brilliant mind that he wasn't afraid to use. His skills were, though a bit shaky, decent and could easily be trained into something lethal. Smart thinker, quick witted. A man like that turned over to the enemies could prove a grave mistake for them. And Poe couldn't allow his bitterness and his anger towards him risk that. So with a sigh, he nodded, though he knew the male in front of him could not see. "You passed, Hux. Good job." A simple truce would suffice, for now. Three times that morning he had challenged the other, and three times Hux came out victorious. Poe, though hot headed at times, knew when to lick his wounds and move on. And this was one of those moments.

The General chuckled - a low noise that lilted across the radio feed. Well, wasn't that delightful. The sound of defeat that clung to each of the Commander's words was a sweet victory. It was perfect and exactly how a Rebel should sound when talking to a leader of the First Order. Hux made a wide loop in the air, slowly taking them back toward the hangars. This was why no one challenged his rule and order. His bite was a bad as his bark, and he had every means to back up his words with action. More, he was a quick study - able to adapt to situations that would normally rattle or break lesser men. He simply shifted his stride and moved onward, stepping around the things he couldn't do and countering them with those which he excelled at.

It was, after all, just a large-scale, metaphorical chess match. And he was not afraid to put his king into play. On the contrary, he lived for the game of war and the miniature battles that made up the overarching narrative. This mission, this rebel pilot, this undercover operation, were nothing more than a part of the collective whole.

More than anything, Hux knew he should accept the victory and move on. He had won the battle today, there was no reason to push for a war. It was time to go back to being a recruit and keeping his head down and getting the information he needed. All of these things he should do. None of these things he actually did. Instead, he cocked his head slightly toward the smaller man, a smirk etching onto his pale lips and a glimmer painting his visor-covered eyes. When he spoke, his voice was less of a taunt and more of an insult, his disgust for the Resistance drying and cracking over each word. "For the supposed best pilot, Commander, you are easy to impress and please." Then his words dropped lower, the radio popping in his ear as it garbled part of his speech, much like another helmet he was used to encountering while he commanded the Finalizer. "Are you certain you would be able to defeat First Order soldiers?" He twisted the mocking question back onto the other man, spurred on by his own pride and small victories.

The anger that began to surge within the Rebel's body was a deep emotion he hadn't felt in a long time. His lips pinched up into a snarl so badly that his teeth were exposed, only adding to the menacing appearance he had going. "Land us. Now." Those three words were all Poe responded with, knowing damn well that if he were to retaliate, it wouldn't be terribly pretty. And truthfully, he wasn't looking to get into that much trouble so far. No other words left Poe's mouth as they landed back on the tarmac. Without hesitation, he removed his helmet and opened the hatch to the cockpit. Roughly, he shoved past Hux and jumped down with a grunt, not even bothering to fuss with the rope ladder or wait for help to get down. Taking the spare helmet he was given, Poe lifted his arm and threw it angrily down onto the pavement, watching has it shattered into several pieces.

Hux pushed the exact wrong button. No one dared challenge him on his abilities to fight and protect what he held valuable. No one ever dared call him out like that. Especially not some punk new recruit that had no idea when to keep their blasted mouth shut. Every step Poe took was with thundering anger, the rest of the recruits scattering to avoid getting in his way. He didn't look back. Not once. Not caring if the redhead was following or not. The way he was feeling currently, he would turn and land a solid punch right into that cocky expression. Oh, Hux boiled his blood. And he wasn't going to stand for it any longer.

No one dared stop him on his path to find Leia. He was sure steam was billowing from his ears and flames shooting out of his nostrils. No, this problem had to be fixed. And fast. If he was smart, he'd wait a little bit, simmer down and cool off before barging right into Leia's office and speaking through a haze a red. But then again, this was Poe Dameron. The man who lived on different emotions and acted accordingly. Finding her where he expected, Poe shoved through the door, barely giving it time to slide apart, then slammed a heavy palm down onto her desk. "I want him gone. He's rude, condescending, cannot take orders seriously, is continually trying to show me up. I want him on sanitation duties. Make him scrub the fuckin' bathrooms if you want, no me importa. But get him off my squadron before I estrangularlo con mis propias manos!"

-/-

Hux, meanwhile, had watched the professional pilot storm away, watched as his students scattered around him, watched as the man retreated and handed the ginger the trophy of victory. His cold grin was back, ice in his eyes and encasing his very being. Next time the curly haired Rebel faced him, he would know not to cross the General. He would know his place, regardless of how accepting he was of it or not. The First Order had shoved the Resistance into a corner, the king had been surrounded and the game ended in a swift checkmate.

The ginger hopped out of the X-Wing, suddenly surrounded by a few of the other recruits who had wandered over to him. Rico was among the group, a lopsided smile on his face as he approached, practically vibrating with his energy. Hux forced his features to soften as he hid his military persona once more. The small group bounced up to him, patting his back and lightly hitting his shoulders.

"Man, that was sick!" Rico laughed, hazel eyes sparkling. "Like, day one and you just wrecked shop!"

The General rubbed the back of his neck, his act back up. "Well, I mean, I'm not going to be talked to like that and just let it slide."

"And where did you learn to speak like that? I got chills, man. You should be a recruiter! I bet you could talk over First Order officers to the Resistance if you pitched them something like that," the brunette laughed.

They continued talking, and one by one the rest of the group introduced themselves and joined in the jokes and praises. Hux went along with them, putting his hands in his pockets and keeping his answers more or less lighthearted. It was only when they invited him to the base pub that his mistakes donned on him. He had drawn too much attention. Probably pushed too hard, if the destroyed helmet on the ground was any indication. He bit the inside of his cheek. If he was kicked out of the ranks or reassigned to another location, the mission would be prolonged and possibly a failure. The more time he spent here, the more he stood out. The more he stood out, the more suspicious that people would become. He followed the other pilots out of the hangar, determined to keep himself under more control - more militant and less obvious.