revivalproject | A General's Mind

Entry tags:

A General's Mind

WHO: Hux and You
WHERE: Hux's calibration room
WHAT: Exploring Hux's mind.
WHEN: During the Calibration Event [ June 3rd - July 10th ]
WARNINGS: This is going to be heavily labeled with many warnings. Hux's life was not pretty. If any of this makes you uncomfortable I advice that you don't interact with this post. Cw for death, violence, alcohol abuse, physical and mental abuse, and discussions of war.

It's a simple office that Hux had back when he was on the Finalizer. It had a metal desk with a data pad perched on it. A name plate on it with his title an full name. On the wall was a large painting of a sunset over Arkansis. There were two other doors, one leading to his living quarters, and the other a simple refresher. His Great Coat was hanging on a coat rack in the corner. His Officer's hat hung on another hook. Gloves and a cold half filled mug were also on the desk.

If someone continues to dig through the office they can open the drawers in his desk. Inside the top drawer is a bottle of expensive whiskey. It looks as if it hasn't been opened yet. There's also a couple of bottles with various painkillers inside. In the second drawer there is a bunch of very old books.

Inside the coat pockets are a pack of cigarettes and lighter and a stylus pen. In the other pocket are a hand full of credits.

Hux had made sure to keep the office as sparse as possible and not much in the way of personal stuff that can be used against him. The doors to the other rooms will not open at this time.

Threaded | Top-Level Comments Only

Maybe it's his luck that he appears in offices. This one isn't as packed to the brim of anything and everything that came out of a nightmare. Cloud looks over the office carefully. His lips are pressed tightly as he's really not one to snoop into people's lives. However, he is curious to know them. The more he takes in of the office, it feels as if it belonged to someone in the military or they liked very expensive furniture.

Cloud notices that whoever's room this is, they weren't in the office at all. He frowns deeply at that wondering if this was a trick. He walks towards the metal desk. The name plate catches his eyes and he doesn't recognize it. But he'll hope to remember it in case he encounters them. Cloud reaches out a bit hesitantly towards the data pad. His fingers curl in before he does touch the edge of the data pad.

That this space belonged to Hux was easy to see. That great coat was striking after all, and Altair could recognize it anywhere.

Thing is, whatever game the Agrii are putting them through this time, this chance to look at lives that are not their own, Altair doesn't want to play it. Especially not with Hux.

The two of them are good at one important thing- communication. If there's anything Altair wants to know, he'd ask. Hux could answer, or he could not, and Altair would never hold that against him. Altair has secrets too.

Ones he wouldn't want anyone to see.

He did move to take a look at the painting, looking at it without touching it. It looked similar to some of the art he'd had in his apartment on Dromund Kaas.

Worst room choice ever. Tommy hadn't really CHOSEN it, he'd wandered in, okay? That's how he's defending himself being here, defending that he was prying into the mind of someone he didn't want to be anywhere near.

Bad life choices, the name is Tommy Shepherd.

Still, with no sign of the resident or whatever, Tommy absolutely pokes around, opens drawers, shuffles through stuff, considers touching things and doesn't. It's not until he finds the bottle of whiskey that he really reaches out for real. Tommy could TOTALLY stand for that. Did drinking in someone else's mind get you drunk? Time to find out.

As soon as Tommy touched the bottle, the room began to blur. The office was replaced with another one.

A young Armitage Hux could be seen in a grey uniform that looked too big on his thin frame. He was standing before his father, who stood before him. Brendol Hux appeared to be broads shouldered and heavy set, but sported the same red hair. He wore a black uniform that seemed to be straining around his waist. He appeared to be angry, his face blotchy with anger and a bit too much alcohol intake.

They were standing inside his heavily furnished office. On the desk was the same bottle of expensive Whiskey that Armitage kept himself later in life. Armitage kept his head lowered and fearfully refused to make eye contact with his father. His body slightly trembled.

In a blurry motion Brendol slapped him hard cross the face. Armitage knew that was going to leave a mark. He bit his own lip to keep from crying out knowing it would encourage him more. Another followed and Brendol paused to take a long drink from his glass.

Brendol made Armitage take his shirt off and turn around. Brendol slipped his own belt off and began to hit him several times across the back with it. There were already old scars from before and some that were just starting to heal.

"How, am I supposed to shape you into the leader of an Empire?!" He shouted.

"Look at you! So weak and spineless. You let those boys gang up on you and beat you up. When you should be the one putting them into place. What a disgrace! The only child I get and it's a weak thing like you. I'm better off taking someone in who could do a better job then you!" Brendol continued his tangent as the belt proceeded to fall on him.

Armitage could feel his face burn with humiliation and failure. He could never fight them. He didn't have the build for it. He found other means to dispose of his bullies. Later he would put that into action making sure nothing lead to him. It was always how he handled things. What he couldn't make up in physical strength, he made up with his intelligence.

Yet, it didn't seem that his father didn't appreciate it. Even with his high marks and constant praise from his teachers, his father was never satisfied.

He kept silent and waited till Brendol finally dismissed him. He quickly slid his shirt back on before his father could change his mind. As he left he could see his father pouring another drink.

Shit. Tommy knew what was going to happen the moment the scene shifted and saw the way Hux was holding himself as a kid. It was a posture Tommy knew well. Very well. Too well. He knows the blow is coming before he sees it, and he's half sick with the knowledge of it.

You learn, quickly, that the tears do nothing. They don't stop the blows. You learn not to let them hear you cry out, because what's even the point. You learn too many things.

The belt thing... Tommy cringes and looks away, because dammit, he knew that too. The weight and sting. The way it left your body raw and aching was brutal. You carried that with you forever.

It's all familiar. But different. For Tommy the violence had just been because he was there. He had been a disappointment just by being born. And revenge was something he could never have.

And when it ends and he's back in Hux's mind room, Tommy settles on the floor, shaking just a little.

Hux quietly stepped into the room, a little surprised to see that the person before him was Tommy. Of course he would be intruding on his personal space. Judging by the way he sat an the bottle left on the desk, he figured out what happened.

He didn't say anything for a while, but merely opened up the drawer that had the bottle and pulled out two tumblers. He filled the glasses half way with the whiskey and offered on to Tommy, not particularly caring if he was old enough or not. After all, wasn't he trying to drink the bottle originally?

"That was probably one of the worst memories you would have found here." He quietly spoke.

Quietly, Hux walked into the office. He was surprised to see Altair standing before the painting an realized then that this had to be a dream.

"That's what my home planet looked like before the Rebels took over. This was toward the end when the Empire had pretty much lost the war and they were just regaining what land the Empire had." Hux explained as he moved to stand beside him.

Fuck, yeah, the alcohol is readily accepted and Tommy throws it back quickly. If only this was real. If only it could truly burn going down. Once it’s consumed he goes back to sitting on the floor, completely unwilling to touch anything else.

For a long moment he’s quiet. And when he speaks, he’s not looking at Hux.

“Frank always started with shouting, but the fists came really soon after. After he told me I’m a worthless shit he never wanted. After he reminded me I was absolutely useless. I’d be black and blue everywhere, but my bones were already stronger than a human’s. Guess that’s why he never broke any bones, why I healed so fast. But when it was serious, there was always the belt.”

Hux quietly listened and didn't say anything till he was allowed to speak. It made sense though now....he supposed his shouting triggered the rest and ended in the result it had. Hux downed his own glass and poured them another round.

"The belt was usually the worst. I can always heal from broken bones, but the scars always remained. But those were tame...compared to the other things he used to do.

I was considered a bastard child and was reminded frequently of it. He only acknowledged my existence because the remaining Empire desperately needed children. But even then I was considered expandable. If I didn't prove my worth I was nothing."

The shouting absolutely triggered things for Tommy, things he wasn't far enough away from to actually handle in an adult way yet. With the glass refilled Tommy takes it again and downs it once more.

"I wasn't a bastard. But I wasn't wanted. And he made sure I knew it. Always made sure I knew it. So when I got arrested for something I couldn't control, he... he just signed me away. To be experimented on. To be turned into a weapon. But he never wanted me."

"I see. The painting reminds me a little of the ones I'd keep in my apartment on Dromund Kaas."

That was long ago now. Five years he'd spent in carbonite, and then he'd been woken to a very different galaxy, and the war. What had happened to his apartment, his artwork, his relics, all that once had been his, he didn't know.

Perhaps it had been looted.

Or perhaps it was still there, locked up, waiting for him to come home to it. However unlikely that was.

"Do you want to talk about it? Or is it okay if I touch it?"

Hux gave a nod in understanding. "I recall you saying what Dromund Kaas was like and it reminded me a lot of my home world. So it's interesting to learn how you connected the two."

There was a long pause as Hux debated on what to say. This was a topic he didn't talk about much, but he was comfortable enough to share it with Altair. Only, it was extremely hard for him to tell it.

"It'll be easier if you touch the painting. It's not exactly a story I enjoy telling."

"It's still just as bad. I know my own father used to do various experiments on me as he tried find ways to make me stronger and immune to a lot of stuff that was going around at the time. It only really backfired and so instead becoming his ideal person, I got worse."

Hux explained after he downed his second glass.

"Don't take this as a contest between the worst fathers....it's more or less me explaining what went on since it seems we have quite a bit in common...I would never want to wish this on anyone not even my worse enemy."

"I would," Tommy answers, unable to keep the anger out of his voice.

Perhaps spite just runs in his family.

"Dude, it's not a competition and I get it. I don't think you're doing that. But I think... I get it. Though here I am, wondering something. If you hate him so much, why the fuck do you gotta act like he did?"

Victims of abuse sometimes fell into those cycles of behavior and Tommy had to fight not to do it.

There was a long pause as Hux took in what Tommy said and he struggled to find the words to explain what happened. He wondered when Tommy was going to bring this up, and he didn't disappoint.

"I try my best to not act like him and separate myself from him. The biggest thing I know I carry from his is his anger and quick temper. I've learned over time to control it and not let others see it to point.

However, when we had the issue over your project... I had just pretty much completed the project and was testing things to make sure everything was running smoothly, before I was going to contact you. So I was furious when I saw your initial post. I realize you were trying to fix the situation, but at the time your approach had hit a nerve. Badgering me over it didn't help and just made it worse.

It wasn't my most graceful moment. Altair had managed to talk to me and to get me to calm down. It's still not an excuse, but that is what happened and why."

Hux stared at his empty tumbler and debated on a third glass. He opted to place the glass back down on the desk.

Tommy sighs, shaking his head. Altair is a good man, he doesn't deserve that friendship.

"Yeah, my brother was trying to make a system too, before I asked for help and you offered it. But that asshole dude was pushing, so there's that. And it felt like I'd asked forever ago. Time is different for me."

"There was a lot going on so communication wasn't great on both ends of the project. On top of that finding supplies was just as difficult. I apologize for how things have transpired.

This has been a difficult transition for me since my return home. I no longer have a sense of purpose and I've been trying to find that once more."

Hux replied glancing at the other to see how he handled the response. He realized the apology was overdue. He was not one to offer one and when he did it was rare. But he was trying to mend his ways and change things. Granted, he wasn't sure how much the apology would hold since this was done in a dream.

Hux apologized. To him.

No one apologizes to Tommy. Except for Billy. He does it a lot. Too much sometimes. Even for shit he didn’t do.

But adults? They never apologized. So Tommy is just... left staring for a very long moment. Before he stands and moves to the desk, offering his hand out to Hux.

“Hi, I’m Tommy Shepherd. I’m an asshole. Part of it comes from the fact that I focus, I can count picoseconds. It means I’m impatient, and sometimes i think of smart things, but in the time it takes for a person to hear them, I have been through months and it’s sorta gone out of my head again. I try to keep up to normal people speeds and it’s not always possible, but it means I put my foot in my mouth. And I forgive you, if you can forgive me for the fact that when certain kinds of adults start pushing, sometimes I cave. Not often. They gotta push exactly the right buttons, but sometimes I do it. Because of fear, or annoyance, or just to get them to shut the hell up.”

Hux moved to return the handshake in a firm grip. Surprised as well that Tommy accepted it.

"It's Armitage Hux....please just call me Hux." Hux replied. He purposely dropped his title sense it was a title he no longer held and nor did it have impact here.

"I'll be sure to keep this in mind. If I request some time to cool off, please let me have that time. I'll be sure to reproach anything at a better time."

“I’m terrible at time on scales other people need. But I’ll try,” Tommy agrees.

And then he’s pulling his hand back. It was a good shake, he’ll accept that.

“Also, you tell anyone about what I told you? I’ll make your life miserable. You of course get to do the same if I do it to you. Only fair.”

This place reminded her of the Fright Zone, and Catra looked about curiously, not taking the greatest care. She turned the name plate to read it, dropping it back out of place before trying her luck with the doors, pounding on them and trying to force them open with a sigh before turning her attention back to the office.

She wandered over to the coat rack, nudging it and making it wobble before reaching for the hat to examine the insignia.

It's another remarkably clean office the Archivist finds himself in this time. Why is everyone else having such immaculate office spaces that aren't located in dingy basements? Well, maybe better not try to dwell on that, right?

What else is odd, is the lack of an occupant, and yet the name plate isn't hard to spot and the Archivist frowns a little. But then again, maybe it does fit this man. And maybe he isn't around because he isn't too keen on meeting Jon. So he takes to wandering the place silently, for now settling to look with his eyes rather than his hands. Of course there will be memories hidden here as well, but does he really wish to trigger any?

"The feeling is mutual should any information be shared." Hux replied in a dry tone. He left one last explanation of his past. It was more of a simple warning that he wasn't one to take lightly or to be on the receiving end of things should he eventually cross the wrong path.

Hux was still willing to work with the young man, should he choose to approach him again. He did hope that considering they were both raised in a similar way he would understand why things had transpired in the manner they had.

"I had my father disposed of when the time was right."

"If I could... I would have had the same happen to my parents," Tommy answers. And he doesn't like that. That he's so bad.

Footsteps could be heard approaching and a brief pause as the door hissed open and Hux stepped into his office. He raised an eyebrow seeing the occupant and only then realized that this was indeed a dream. Jon wasn't from his world and nor could he get into his office with out the proper codes.

"I see you have discovered my old office. What do we wish to find here?" he questioned. He clasped his hands together behind his back as he stepped in, his old habits returning.

Threaded | Top-Level Comments Only

Page 1 of 3

A General's Mind

Way less clutter

no subject

no subject

CW for child abuse, and alcohol abuse.

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject