Grand Marshal Orion Hux did not have many moments of questionable cleverness.
Whatever about his appointment as Grand Marshal, he had undeniably advanced himself through enough cunning and determination to secure himself as the acting head of the First Order in his own right. His military strategy (right back to his time at the Academy) had always been flawless, his choice of commanders always led to the best results, weapons development under him had upped the ante on his predecessors, almost drawing him equal with the famed Wilhuff Tarkin. What I mean is: Orion Hux was not a stupid man.
If only he proved it on that particular morning when he woke with a heavy head and a mouth like an ashtray. Had he thought it through, he might have given himself a good talking to, given his wife some time to cool off, then gone hat in hand into the belly of the beast: His wife's bedroom.
But Orion didn't do that.
If anyone in the galaxy was entitled to breakfast in bed, it was Lucilla Hux. And, of course, little Lilia.
Not only was it her right as Queen of the Known Galaxy, but the night previous had been… shall we say, taxing. And the early hours of the morning? Downright exhausting. As she wiped egg yolk from Lily's chin with a soft, playful tut, the Little Empress felt the tug of an endeared grin pull at the corner of her lip; the tumble of toast crumbs into the sheets mattered not during that affectionate moment of bonding between mother and daughter.
A knock at the door, far from an unusual occurrence at that time of the morning, barely tweaked Lucilla's heed but just enough for the distracted utterance of "Come in" to authorize a newcomer. So enthralled with cleaning Lily's mouth and infected by the toddler's entertainment of a damp napkin on her face, she could assume it was one of a few people but did not feel the need to look up; not yet at least. But the newcomer got there first.
"Good morning."
Like a blaster bolt to a balloon, those two cautious words and the voice that delivered them ripped through her morning merriment and left it in tatters. Suddenly cold eyes, their warmth stripped in a second, landed on the hesitant Grand Marshal; the same one who took his steps forward with the utmost wariness. The empty swallow in a barbed wire throat had been born of nothing but fear and apprehension when he found himself the target of restrained contempt. Lily may have no longer her mother's main focus, but she was not forgotten and became folded to the Empress' side while her "father" all but cowered at the foot of the bed.
"I didn't think we would see you until this evening." Poised, but no less venomous, the nonchalance cut deep into the redhead. "By the time you slept off your evening, puked up the rest of it then scraped together the gall to face us after your behaviour, I would have thought dinner to be a stretch." Once more, Orion's purposefully empty stomach lurched at the mere mention of a meal; the smell of leftover breakfast only worsening his plight. Teacup lifted from the tray, the action of it adding to the casualness that whittled the usually pristine and proud Grand Marshal, he felt a strum of regret for turning up feeling and looking less than his best. Hair still askew, bristle starting to sprout, bags beneath his eyes; perhaps he should have still been in bed.
However, in a bid to remove scrutiny from himself, he opted to place it on a somewhat grimmer topic that had come to his attention; a topic that, in hindsight, did not surprise him. What had, though, was her speed in getting it done.
"Apparently, a maid found Colonel Damten this morning. Near decapitated, I hear. The blood seeped halfway to the door."
Despite his overly keen observance for some scrap of emotion; be it surprise, shock, or even glee, Orion found nothing. Only bored expectation, like she waited for something more, for something she didn't know. Rather, she added to it with disturbing indifference.
"Short of a few nerves and a sliver of skin, I believe. I have the holo, would you like to see it? It's rather grizzly." Not only did she truly have the holo, she would treasure it always; right there on a parr with Varden's skull.
"N-No, that's… that's quite alright…" He told himself the turn in his bubbling stomach came from the excessive alcohol the night previous, the lingering food and was nothing to do with his little dove's ruthless streak. Scrutiny unwavering but for the rim of a teacup, Orion's ruffling discomfort reached the next peg.
"What else did you hear about the dear Colonel's untimely but not entirely undeserved demise?"
"They say it was done by blade. But not a lightsaber blade." The mere mention of a lightsaber (and only one in the immediate vicinity of the palace) prompted the cock of a silky, ebony eyebrow. Knowing, but not telling.
"I can't account for Ren's whereabouts last night-" Lies. "But even if I could, clearly he is not the only one willing to do what is right by his Empress and her honour. Had it been Ren, we would have to replace the entire bed, not just the mattress."
"You know who did it then."
"I do."
"Are you going to share that information?"
"And why would I do that, my love? For "justice"? As far as I can see, it has already been done. With much more to come. And speaking of nerves, what are you doing here?"
"I thought you weren't due back till tomorrow?"
It had become wonderfully routine, the three of them sitting there. Usually, conversation floated as basic as the oxygen in the surrounding air, but that evening it held companionable silence. Mostly, at least. It took General Dopheld Mitaka a moment to realize he had been addressed in the midst of his concentration; after all, Sabacc can be a very absorbing game.
Little more disturbed said quiet than the tinkle of ice cubes in tilted glasses, the occasional click of a focused tongue and the clinks resulting from a rooting hand causing a well in the centre, scraping the customary pepper pretzels within against the crystalline edges of the bowl.
Or… Perhaps… He simply mulled his answer and took his time doing so while cagily choosing his words.
"I was supposed to return to the palace tomorrow evening as opposed to last night, yes."
"Uh… Huh. So… What changed?"
More mulling, more seeming distraction from the benign (but increasingly sceptical) inquiry. Until…
"I was sent for late last night. So, I left Risorgimento-" Yet another bone of contention for the likes of Pryde; the fresh General Mitaka being given charge of the First Order's newest Destroyer over a more experienced and "deserving" officer. "…in the Outer Rim and made my way here in my own shuttle."
Evelyn's stunning grey eyes flickered between his companions behind his cards; unlike would be expected in the game, he did not seek a tell-tale sign of their hand. Rather, the true bridging points of the Resistance and the First Order were being examined by a somewhat mutual party in a semi-sick excitement for the drama to follow. After all, Evelyn prided himself on knowing everything.
"I just think it's weird that you weren't due till tomorrow but then… you just happen to turn up in the middle of the night. The same night Colonel Damten's throat is cut so deep, he's almost decapitated in his bed."
"Hardly decapitated. There was still some skin attached at the nape of his neck. Perhaps some muscle and spinal cord-" Cue the bang of a triumphant fist on the table; and the rattling shake of the various objects perched upon it. Enough for Evelyn to unaffectedly steady his glass.
"I knew it! It was you! You did it!"
Dopheld, in his semi-surprise, regarded the Resistance pilot with something akin to curiosity, like… how could Poe not know it was him? The unwavering loyalty dating back years came with a stomach and will to do anything required of him for the preservation of the darling creature to whom he owed so much. So, what's a decapitation? Or two?
"Of course I did it. My Empress commanded it."
"And it's kind of you M.O, isn't it?"
Cue the unnerved swap of chocolate eyes between two males of equal nonchalance; General and Imperial Advisor. At least Dopheld had the decency to portray purpose in his actions (and seeing nothing wrong with them once they were duty driven) while Evelyn simply radiated outright smugness for the sake of it. Enough to stoke uneasiness in Poe.
"M.O? What's he talkin' about?"
"He's decapitated someone before. Haven't you, Dopheld?"
Blinking placidly but somewhat bewildered by Poe's discomfort (wouldn't he do the same thing?) General Mitaka absolutely did not deny it; much to Poe's disturbed incredulity. Surely not? His gentle, demure friend? It couldn't be. Again, the lack of refute did not help the (mostly) pacifist pilot.
"I did it to avenge my Empress then, and I did it to avenge her once more last night. She called, distressed, and I just did my duty."
"You did your duty?" The cynicism spawned yet another swapped glance; one end fizzing with amused contempt, the other with innocence that did not match the deed and continued confusion with the reaction it prompted.
"I infiltrated the compound where she was kept and trained. I decapitated the ringleader: the man who broke and sold her. I freed the girls, gave the order to have his cohorts executed then I burned the fucking place to the ground. She keeps his skull on her dresser; I stripped it of flesh myself."
Poe stared during the matter of face recounting; wide-eyed, his cards and drink forgotten. Had that really kriffing happened? Then again, despite Dopheld being the essence of what the Resistance, and by extension, Poe, fought against, he had never known him to lie. Evelyn, maybe, but not Dopheld. It also struck a sad chord within the pilot-turned-advisor that even now, he still did not know as much about his cousin's life as he probably should have. Did he want to know? Maybe not but wanting and needing are two starkly different things. What else didn't he know that Dopheld, a non-relative, did?
"If it's any consolation, Poe-" Rousing himself from his melancholic reverie, the olive-skinned male readjusted himself to his surroundings (his own apartment) and his company to find his General friend trained on him with sympathy and a hope for understanding. "I didn't enjoy it. I felt righteous, perhaps, but other than that…"
And that, Poe decided, was about as good as he was going to get.
"So… Was he awake when you slit his throat?"
Instead of unnerving him further, the chuckle and rattle of ice cubes in a lifted glass induced a similar reaction in the flyboy. Whatever about some nameless, faceless slave dealer, maybe Poe was not so averse to Colonel Damten being dispatched like some unfortunate beast in a slaughterhouse; minus the comfort of a palace bed. It seemed like a waste of perfectly good bedspread.
"Oh yes. I made absolutely sure of it."