"Come in."
The knock was heeded but the only other move Poe made in response was to lift his glass to his lips; much to the endearing concern of the new arrival. The pilot's eyes, bloodshot and puffy, fixated ahead at the winking city lights, sealed in his own bubble of self-torment and blame. The door closing and the sigh that followed were little more than background noise but Poe, slowly pickling himself from the inside out, scarcely acknowledged it.
"That must have been difficult."
"Something I can help you with, General?" Poe verbally waved off the concern, to do so physically required strength he did not possess; he reserved that for lifting and lowering his glass.
"I'm not here in a professional capacity." Came the placid reply of General Dopheld Mitaka through a troubled grimace but took his usual seat beside his unlikely friend and ally regardless, and aligned his vision with Poe's; his brow creased with worry and anxiety that he carried in every step. "I heard what happened. I came as a friend, to see if you were alright, if you needed anything."
"Oh good. I thought you'd come to arrest me for treason."
Despite being touched (or he would be if he could feel anything beyond his self-anaesthetisation), Poe had not seen his cousin since she berated him from the depths of her grief. Still, he understood that grief can be responsible for dreadful reactions (like locking him in a room with a Force-wielding monster) and so, his mind drifted to her instead of his own languishing.
"Forget about me. What about her, is she okay?"
For that delicate inquiry, the fresh General Mitaka (and that new appointment tended to rub some, namely General Pryde, up the wrong way) took a breath.
"Naturally, and with no surprise, she is beyond devastated." Dopheld, even several hours later, still felt his gut plummet when he recalled it: arriving late to the re-grouping call to the throne room and skidding in the boots he had only become accustomed to wearing, arriving as everyone else (Lucilla included) was leaving. As if that wasn't bad enough, being singled out in such a way with every pair of eyes on him, the Little Empress appeared from the middle of her protective entourage and Dopheld just about caught her as she stumbled to him; dumbfounded and numb.
The bloodcurdling shriek that erupted into his chest when she was safely enveloped in his arms still rattled each vertebrae of his spine when it involuntarily replayed it in his head. And really, if he had lost Yvette so prematurely (or at all), he knew his reaction would mirror Lucilla's to a tee; it did not bear thinking of.
"She wanted to go to the aviary, so I brought her to the aviary." The sentimentalism of that was obvious; enough to make Poe's stomach churn and scowl into his whiskey. In one of the many materialistic ways (even if this one had serious thought behind it) that Hux had tried to balance his vast array of fuck-ups, he had tasked himself with filling the empty, desolate aviary with a mated pair from varying species of dove from across the galaxy. In homage to his own "little dove", of course. "I think she's going to be spending a lot of time there in the coming days and weeks."
"She still there?"
"No, Doctor Craven has given her a sedative. She's resting now."
"And Lily?"
"With the nanny. There was a blaster bolt dodged here, Poe. If Lily was any older, we would have a hell of a time trying to explain all of this to her." Poor Princess Lilia. Not even a year old and half orphaned by a once-off terrorist attack.
"That her papa was murdered by her grandpa? Yeah…"
"There will be a bit of confusion for a while, but it will pass. I would hate to say she will forget him but… his lack of presence will help the memories to painlessly fade. Unfortunately, her mother will not be so lucky."
The "would be's" and "thankfully's" tapered off into companionable and somewhat mournful silence; not necessarily for Hux but for the way things had been and apprehension of the unknown going forward. Dopheld would usually have helped himself to a drink by now without the need for Poe's invitation but it seemed the "usually's" had been dispensed with as well on that evening of extraordinary proportions. That said, the pilot took solace in what he knew: his favourite whiskey, and the knowledge that Mitaka would join him in a glass at some point; if only in solute to his deceased superior. Until…
"Why did you tell him where the scavenger girl was?" Therein lay Poe Dameron's biggest plague. The Million Credit Question. And even though Poe knew the answer (he had chewed on it extensively while he tormented himself with it), Dopheld was left expectantly waiting.
The fresh General found himself leaning forward, his elbows supported by his knees and his concern climbing by the sorry state of his friend; a former enemy. Was it possible for his plucky pilot companion to have waded deeper into the misery supplied by his own actions? Certainly Dopheld saw it in the sag of that usually proud and brazen frame of the Resistance's Best Pilot. The same Resistance that was now as dead as the First Order's Grand Marshal. Poe was almost immune to the focus of melancholic disquiet that bombarded him from the next armchair but that did not stop Dopheld radiating it all the same.
"I…" To justify it felt and tasted monstrous, but Poe's hands had been bound by depleting options and the pressure of Ren closing in to render him useless completely. This way, at least, he had some minor scrape of control; if it even worked. But he had to try. "Rey… She's Force-sensitive, like Ren. I've seen her in action, been told about what she did to him on Starkiller. If anyone can hold their own against him, it's her. That's why I steered him towards Chandrila, and away from everyone else. No one else would've stood a chance. But she will."
"Then why are you so worried? If you're confident she can handle him, why-?"
"I'm worried in case he bests her. I'm worried in case something goes wrong and it traces back to me."
"Because then you'll look like a traitor."
"Some of them already think it. Whatever happens, I've just solidified it for 'em. The ones that didn't, definitely will."
Before Poe could sink further, the door to his lavish apartment nicked his attention again; but instead of a chime at the bell or a respectful knock (like Mitaka), the door simply pocketed itself for yet another new arrival. The newcomer, as familiar with these quarters as Dopheld, did not pass the open bar. Rather, Evelyn Tesk started to pour before parking the small of his back against the countertop; tumbler in hand and casting a haphazard glance to his already-seated friends. A human standing six-feet-tall, dark hair starting to pepper with grey, eyes of Sarka green and remarkable bone structure, there was little wonder why he was so… popular. Then he opened his mouth and that popularity could waver.
Evelyn was a very useful connection and ally for Poe to have; not to mention someone on his own wavelength in the otherwise borderline-smothering propriety of palace life. Evelyn knew everyone and everything worth knowing, despite only returning to the palace recently from Republic-imposed exile on his family (a consequence of his father's loyalty to the previous Emperor) that spanned from his childhood until a few months previous. While his twin brother Masas tended to be quiet, reserved and private but always at the Empress' beck and call, Evelyn was known to be the opposite; two different personalities but none less versed or dedicated in their role than the other.
"Well… That was one hell of a royal shitshow."
"Have a bit of respect, Evelyn!" Dopheld hissed with uncharacteristic ire. "The Grand Marshal is dead!"
"Hey, you're military. I'm not." Surfacing from the glass, the seasoned advisor (and unofficial mentor to Poe) coolly retorted in more of Poe's style and rhetoric than others in the palace. "That's your lane. Hux was your boss, not mine. My concern is Her Imperial Highness, not the Grand Marshal."
"No, but the fallout of this is going to be absolutely massive! You're going to need to instruct the Empress in-!"
"So, what is going on out there?" Poe's first words to Evelyn Tesk that dire evening were not playfully scathing remarks like normal; hence the newcomer reading the situation as one more sombre than mere loss of the Grand Marshal. Tesk took another sip (Poe did not see what bottle he had poured from) and fingered the pristine crystal thoughtfully: Where to start?
"Her Imperial Highness is resting but while her bedchamber is quiet, the media is in a frenzy and every holo channel is playing the security footage of a nearby freighter that happened to capture what happened- Yes, the media team is trying to get a handle on that." Judging by how quickly Dopheld closed his mouth, there was little doubt that that was his gripe. "An excavation team's been sent out-" Did that mean what Poe thought it meant? "They're looking for… larger… remains, testing whatever they find and if it belongs to the Grand Marshal, at least Her Grace will have something to cremate." Yup. Grizzly.
"No prizes for guessing who came up with that stunt." Dopheld scoffed, reviled that someone would jump on something so sensitive to further themselves.
"Mmmhmm." Was all Evelyn managed with a cigarra wedged between his lips and the ignitor poised at the end while he lit it; he then tossed it to the General's waiting hand when he passed to occupy another armchair. "That's why the slimy fucker, Pryde, wasn't in the throne room and tried to send his Captain in his place, but the Guardsmen were having none of it. He wanted to be personally seen coordinating an effort to "comfort the Empress". And even if it fails, if they find nothing, it still looks like he did something."
"Yeah, just to jump into Hux's grave as Grand Marshal."
"She would never agree to that, she absolutely detests him."
"He must really think she's stupid if he thought that would work."
"We all know how he feels about women, he probably does think she's that dumb."
"I can't wait for the day Phasma snaps and beats him to death."
"Dopheld! So violent!"
"Tell me I'm wrong."
"Decidedly not, my dear fellow. I wait for it with bated breath myself."
In that flurry of light-hearted exchanges, Poe's spirit started to lift with the chatter and normality began to return in promising trickles; Dopheld rising to pour himself a drink meant more to the pilot than anyone seemed to realize. Refills, the occasional click of a cigarra ignitor, laughter and BB-8's delightful chirps when he eventually joined them all served to ease Poe's conscience and loosen the knot in his stomach. Or maybe that was the whiskey, on both counts. But nothing lasts forever, and it appeared Poe was doomed for this joviality to be short-lived.
"Speaking of beating things to death…!" Evelyn, with the whiskey getting to him, called (a little too loudly, with a touch of raucousness) over the steadily heightening din of Poe's open bar/living room. "Where's the other psychopath?! No one's seen him since the throne room!"
"That…" Dopheld glanced to a rapidly re-deflating Poe (Evelyn's harmless question triggering it) with sympathy and apology while a curiosity creased Tesk looked on. "That is something of a sore subject."