Dom is more motivated the week following his space dream than he's felt in a long time. He handles client cases, does paperwork that he's been putting off, and schedules his next dental appointment. It's not that he usually views himself as incompetent, far from it, but lately, he feels as though he could single-handedly spin the Earth. That dream, the one that had been the impetus for his burst of inspiration, hasn't faded with time like dreams normally do. This is probably because it's about all he can think about and going over the same images has solidified them. He can still hear the clink of his boots on the metal grating of the facility's walkways, feel the cold unpliant texture of his black gloves, and breathe in the taste of recirculated air kept in storage tanks. All these sensations hover around behind the thoughts of his foremind as it does things like making phone calls and updating account information. By the end of the week, he may no longer feel like General Armitage Hux, high ranking official in a space government, but he's not feeling like pathetic desk jockey Dom MacDougal either.
He spends the weekend watching sci-fi movies with Millicent. He compares the ship size to his own, well, his dream self's own. Millicent doesn't much care for cinema, she likes his body heat and the ugly four-toned fleece blanket that he keeps on his lap. It provides a layer of protection when she decides his legs needs to be massaged with her claws. His body is already hard at work healing his hand and he doesn't want to add more perforations to its agenda. It itches like crazy, the reddish scab, and he worries that lingering bacteria from the cat food might be festering beneath the surface. At least he's up on his tetanus vaccination, had checked the medical paperwork in his home filing cabinet just to be sure, so he needn't worry about that particular disease. At work, he'd had many coworkers ask about the bandage. Rather than offer up that he'd been brought to near-fainting by a row with a cat food tin, he stretched the truth and told them that he mishandled some scrap metal. If they found any misalignment between his physical appearance and the manliness of the accident as he'd described it, they don't mention it.
On Sunday night while Millicent sleeps peacefully curled in a ball on the curve of his back, his head swirls with visions of spaceships and aliens from his movie marathon, and he returns again to Hux's universe.
One of Snoke's knights is to be joining the crew and Hux is, as can be expected, pissed beyond reason. Despite performing all the duties of an officer with the title, Snoke still hasn't officially made him Grand Marshall. Cruelly, Snoke dangles it over him, like one would a kitten with string and Hux can never resist trying for it again and again. Now comes this new slap in the face: he's to share what power he's come by with this Kylo Ren. "He has an important role to play in the First Order," Snoke had said, as though Ren's the only person in the galaxy that could be applied to. Even some of the damn stormtroopers could be said to play a role and they are no more pivotal than, though just as prevalent as, womp rats!
He is predisposed, then, to hating this new intruder on his Finalizer. He glares angrily at the bay doors as they open to permit Kylo Ren's shuttle which is a one-man cruiser. At least This Kylo Ren is not so arrogant as to expect others to shuttle him around. Hux approves. This approval vanishes instantly when out of the tiny ship, rises a black robed and helmeted figure. One of Hux's eyebrows rises judgmentally. Snoke's apprentice is dressed up like Darth Vader? Hux actually looks around, as though he expects his men to be laughing instead of standing alertly at attention. No, this can't be Snoke's pupil, can it?
After straightening up, the sad parody of Vader tilts his helmet first to one side and then the other leading Hux to wonder how long he's been at the controls, cramped inside the dinky pod bay. Still, the man's movements are far from clunky when he steps forward towards Hux. Regardless of any leg tingling or back cramps, he glides lithely, a duelist's gait. Interesting.
"Kylo Ren," Hux says, not making it into a question out of deference to the austerity of the situation though he still thinks the costume is a bizarre choice for a knight.
A deep, mechanically-modified voice resonates from the helmet's mouthpiece. "General Hux," the mask says back.
"Welcome aboard the Finalizer. Master Snoke seems optimistically enthusiastic about your potential assistance to our cause." Hux allows his bitterness to cut the syllables in the word "optimistically," lets each one hammer home how unwelcome this Mr. Ren really is.
"As I understand it, he views my presence as a necessity. I'm sure you wouldn't question the Supreme Chancellor's judgment."
The challenge hangs in the air as Hux stares at where this costumed clown's eyes must be. Finally, he replies, "You've had a long flight? Would you prefer to rest first or would you like to be debriefed right away?"
"Whichever you would find more convenient, General." Somehow, even with the voice modification, Ren sounds mocking. There's something about the uptilt to his words, as though he's patronizing him.
"I'm sure we'll find more of a use for you when your rested. Hawkins here can show you to your quarters."
The mask nods slightly at the officer who steps forward. "Very well," he says. Hawkins pivots but walks slowly, giving Kylo Ren a chance to add anything more to the conversation before they depart for the officers' quarters. It appears though that both men are finished with whatever they were doing, because Ren follows the officer and Hux pulls out a tablet, ready to move on to less annoying tasks that must be done.
Their first meeting is not an exceptional one. Every interaction they have in the two weeks following Ren's arrival proves itself just as infuriating. Ren doesn't ever take off his stupid dress-up costume and, rather than that making him a laughingstock, the men actually seem to be afraid of him, as though he is some sort of black-clad boogeyman. Hux hears their ghost stories about the sith: that even just the apprentices are powerful enough to kill a person from a galaxy's distance away, that they must shed the blood of an innocent before beginning training, and other nonsense. He also hears reverential gossip about Ren himself: that he's the ghost of Darth Vader himself, that beneath his mask is something so hideous that most men would go mad to view it, and the most troubling bit, that he's come to the Finalizer to take control of the entire First Order, to rule over Hux and, someday, overthrow Snoke.
It's not surprising that the troopers, whose lives are spent solely in the company of their peers, only venturing into the other reaches of space in order to subdue or kill, would be gullible and prone to this sort of childish nonsense. In a way, they still are children, having never reached the emotional maturity that comes with independence. He doesn't blame the troopers. He blames Kylo Ren.
He blames Kylo Ren for arguing about how many spies to send to Naboo, as if he has any concept of tactics of espionage! He blames Kylo Ren for force-choking Lambert until he loses consciousness, even if no permanent damage is done. He especially blames Kylo Ren for his damned continual presence. Does the man never sleep? If his helmet was larger, Hux would suspect him of being a Bith or a Gand, but his overall shape appears human. Perhaps there is some truth to the rumor that force users do not sleep, but instead meditate for brief periods? Probably not, but yet there Ren is everytime he turns around. When he begins and ends his shift, Ren is there, silently watching others move around him as though time itself doesn't affect him.
Hux snaps one day, unable to bear it any longer. "Is there not something you should be doing?" he demands of the unspeaking ghoul haunting his command deck.
"When Snoke commands me."
"And in the meantime, you're meant to just stand there taking up valuable space and oxygen?" Hux doesn't often let himself lash out, even in this verbal manner. There are much more effective ways to cut a man down. Hux doesn't want to be effective; he wants to be petulant and he seems to be succeeding at it.
Kylo Ren stands motionless, as usual, and Hux comes to believe that the immobility is in itself an answer, but then Ren asks, "Would you prefer me to stand somewhere else?"
It's enough to drive a lesser person mad.