Photophobia

The Villain

In the evening they sat around the fireplace. Hux stirred it with a twig, trying to think of a topic they could talk about. But everything that came to his mind was tainted: the planets he had been on, the people he had met ... everything he had ever done was for the Order and in his capacity of being commanding general.

He registered that she checked her overalls, obviously keen on getting rid of his overcoat. And why wouldn't she? They were enemies after all.

He watched her using his dagger to whittle ornaments from a piece of wood. She skilfully carved flower petals and what looked like vines on it. Even at that she was perfect, he thought in awe.

Finally she had finished the carving and put the wood down, he realised that he had stared at her like a moron.

"What was the special occasion?" she asked.

His blinked at her. "What?"

"When you bought the blade."

Stupid. He shouldn't have brought it up.

Rose rolled her eyes. "Come on, we're stuck here and it's boring."

He sighed. She was right of course, it didn't matter what he told her. "Alright, if you tell me about your medallion first."

She chewed on her lower lip, then she said: "My sister made it. She kept one half and gave the other to me."

"And why didn't you want to talk about it?" he asked.

"Because she's dead," she said calmly. "She was the pilot who destroyed your dreadnaught."

Hux tensed up, memories of how Snoke had thrown him around like a rag doll resurfaced before his inner eye. He remembered the shame and humiliation as well.

"Your turn," she said.

He clenched his fist. He wanted to lash out, to show her that he wasn't some laughing stock, some ... some weak-willed pushover. "I bought it after my father was killed," he said coldly. There was no doubt in his mind that she would ask how he died, he thought grimly. Then she would see that he was cunning and strong.

"Oh ... so was he killed during a battle?"

He leaned forward and said slowly: "I orchestrated his death." Then he leaned back again and said casually: "I bought the knife to commemorate the occasion."

It was oddly satisfying to see the look of respect on her face. Only moments later, he realised that is wasn't respect he saw, only fear.

"You killed your own father?"

"He got what he deserved." He had pictured that it would please him, the way she stared at him after confessing what he had done. But seeing her wrapping the large coat closer around her as if she was cold didn't feel good, it didn't even feel satisfying.

It didn't matter, he had to drive the point home – show her who he really was. "It really bothers you, doesn't it?"

"He was your father."

He wiped across his face. "If you'd known him you would understand." He paused. Images of Brendol brushing over the waitresses' wrist resurfaced. "Or perhaps you do understand – I'm told I'm the spitting image of him. A cold, merciless sadist."

The expression of disgust that crossed her features gave him a lump in his stomach.

"And here I thought you delude yourself about bringing the galaxy order and stability, but you actually admit that you're evil."

He tried to laugh, to shrug off the uncomfortable sensation in his guts. She had to know, he wasn't sure why it was important the she knew ... but she had to know. "Evil is a relative term is it not? But I know what I am – I blew up an entire system, killed billions. Men, women and children. Don't tell me that you wouldn't kill me if given the chance."