If you love something, set it free. If you don't, keep it and make it suffer.
Lucilla noticed everything on her first night, right down to the time that he had returned. After the General barraged her about her name; he ignored her, pretended she wasn't there. This was her opportunity. She knew what she had to do. Gather the information she needed to make herself useful and therefore persuade him to keep her; Finalizer didn't seem so bad as long as she stayed out of the way. If she couldn't manage that, it was very possible she'd be disposed of or returned to where she came from.
His pattern seemed to be obvious. She noticed how he shrugged off his greatcoat and hung it up beside the door. She noticed how he'd run his hands down the length of it to prevent any position that might cause it to crease overnight. His gloves were stripped off and tucked carefully into the pockets of the coat. She watched as he poured himself a glass of something (she didn't know what it was but she took note of what bottle it came from and how much he poured) and carried it towards one of those armchairs.
She had shuffled hurriedly aside since it seemed he had no intention of stopping for her. The glass was placed down on a tall, small surfaced table between the two armchairs; the only other thing on it was a holopad. It was a temporary resting place as his boots were eased off and set aside neatly. Both glass and holopad were seized and he literally sat there for hours; combing through information, taking the occasional sip and ignoring his gift as she stood there.
When the glass was drained, he set it down on the table, followed by the holopad and got to his feet. He bent backwards and a loud crack made Lucilla flinch. Thankfully, he was still ignoring her not to notice it. When he straightened up, he headed for the sliding doors she had not ventured towards and suddenly, the room plunged into darkness. She was left standing there alone to figure out a sleeping arrangement for herself.
Dressed and ready to command the Finalizer, the General left his bedroom and was faced with the dark haired female curled up on the floor in front of the dying and dead embers of the fire. Seeking heat like a dog; like some pathetic beast. Still fast asleep with her hair coiled under her face like a pillow; the way her body curved towards the fireplace made her look strangely serene and at peace.
He reclaimed the armchair to pull his boots back on. He eyed her with disdain; even when she was asleep and neutral, she annoyed him. Hux hauled back his leg and drove the sole of his boot hard into the sleeping girl's back. She woke instantly with a delicious yelp and immediately dragged herself out of his leg's reach with a wounded gaze.
"Get up." He snarled with disgust before doing so himself. With watering eyes, Lucilla picked herself up despite the harsh ache in her back and waited. No instruction, no interaction; nothing. In the corner of Lucilla's mind that made this situation normal; it meant that he was taking notice of her, that she was in fact there. That cruelty was their only communication that morning. He left for the bridge, leaving his gift behind him.
He didn't like that he found himself thinking about her in any capacity while he was working. His lip curled upwards with distaste as he recalled the way she'd looked at him that morning when he'd kicked her. She was a miserable excuse of a human being and he wanted her gone. He didn't care what happened to her as long as his quarters were his own again.
His father had (in a roundabout way) suggested that he keep her and bed her, let her remain with him as a bed warmer. He wanted her nowhere near his bed. She was too close as it was. Besides; who knew what she had? She may have been pretty but she was an urchin of unknown origin; there was no telling what she was carrying or who she had been with before. The very idea of it almost made him see his breakfast again. It would have been reckless to place not only his wellbeing but also his reputation on the line for the sake of that weak minded creature.
She didn't even appeal him. She had literally stood for hours as he relaxed the night previous; how broken was she?! Submissive was one thing but this girl was another. It was clear every ounce of confidence and self-respect had been stripped from her in anticipation of shameless servitude. If he had any mass in himself for her, he would have pitied her. He didn't. His mind was made up. She was leaving tonight.
He had arranged transport for her to a nearby planet; two Stormtroopers waited in the corridor to escort her to it. The General was caught off guard when he arrived back in his quarters that evening though. She was waiting for him by the door. Everything was clean, neat and orderly; not that his quarters were anything but well kept. Pale hands reached up and removed the coat; sliding it down his arms which he numbly let her do.
It was hung up and caressed the way he always did to keep the creases out. He allowed her to remove his gloves; tugging them off, allowing the air to grace off his skin and tuck them into the pockets of his coat. He recognized the routine as his own. She had been observing and taking notice the night before. He watched her, confused, as she left him by the door and took the glass he had left the night before (she had cleaned it during the day) and poured from the same bottle he had savoured the night before.
It was filled to the same level and with that done; she stood beside the chair, glass in hand and waited. She did not look at him throughout the process. Eye contact was submissively avoided. Somewhat dumbstruck, Hux turned and opened the door to find himself face to face with the Stormtrooper duo.
"Postpone the transport until tomorrow." The door cut him off from the Troopers so he made the decision to see where this would go.
He didn't notice the change in wardrobe. Instead of the sickly powder blue dress that almost given him a headache; she wore a slim line, slip-like dress of black silk. It fitted in with the room, as if she was becoming part of the furniture. It seemed his father had sent on a variety to pique his son's interest. So far, it wasn't really working but time would tell. His grudging curiosity was maintained as he crossed the room to the chair where she waiting. The glass was handed to him as was the holopad and before he knew it; she was on her knees in front of him.
It was not a sexual action but it would be easy for it to be initially mistaken as one. She was trained to never initiate sexual contact. For her to do so indicated she was placing her needs above her master's and that was unthinkable. If he wanted her, he would take her and she would accept without protest. Even if he didn't voice it; she knew how to read the signs and how and when to act upon them. With effort for such a frail female, his boots were removed and he was vigilant of the process. If she scratched or scuffed them, there would be trouble. Luckily for her, the chore passed without incident.
He settled back in the chair with the holopad and the intention of resuming his ritual but something made him stop. She had peeled away his socks and set them aside to wash them later. He scrutinized her again as she performed the unsolicited task, waiting for an excuse to lash out at her. Surprise gripped him again when those dainty pale hands took his left foot and gently but firmly massaged her fingertips into the skin. Involuntarily, Hux sank back in the chair and allowed his breathing to deepen in relief and enjoyment that he didn't think he'd ever felt. It was certainly welcome after being on his feet in the command centre for the vast majority of the day.
Eyes barely open, he stiffened almost in protest when she released his foot but relaxed again almost immediately when she took his right. It was as if she hadn't received such a (literal) rude awakening that morning with the care and attention that she paid to the duty she currently (and willingly) undertook. The ginger General's mind was so listless that the thought process of keeping her or disposing of her just couldn't seem to form. But the decision was unconsciously made. Whoever had trained her had done so exceptionally well.