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“We should focus on getting more troopers. They are strong, yes, but we need more bodies.”
“That we are working on. These things take time, may I remind you, and frankly if we stop having to revisit this conversation maybe we could get things done.”
“And pilots?”
“Discuss that with the admiral. That’s her business, not mine.”
The voices continued. General Hux and several other officers droning on, with the only thing louder than them being the large fan moving air through the room.
Armitage stood by his father, eyes straight ahead as he listened to the shifting blades of the fan. He should be listening to them, to his father, as they spoke about important matters. It would be him in his shoes one day, as he’d say.
If he could make it. That little insult was always tacked on. If he stopped sniveling after every “lesson”. If he didn’t stumble after every strike, maybe then he could be just like his father.
What an achievement that would be.
He sniffled, feeling a drip from his nose. The room was cold, everywhere in the ship was, but not cold enough to make his nose run. He sniffled again and hoped the fan was loud enough to quiet the noise so his father wouldn’t notice.
Drip. Drip drip.
It ran down his lips, down his chin. Too sticky. He knew the feeling, looking down, neck stiff and anxiety gnawing at his gut.
Blood. Two drops–now three. Red against the steel grey flooring. He could see his reflection looking back at him, the pink staining side of his face and the red line running down from his nostril.
Drip drip drip.
“Brendol, your boy. He’s bleeding.”
He took a deep breath. Some of the blood trickled down his throat. He didn’t want to look back up, he could see his father’s fists clench before he turned. Some of the blood splattered on his boots.
“Armitage.” His father's breath hit the side of his face. “Go fix yourself. Be prepared to clean the mess you’ve made.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Now.”
His feet turned as he left the room and headed for the closest ‘fresher. He didn’t want to lift his head, he was trailing blood, he knew his father would only be angrier. It was unavoidable. There was no difference between a few drops or many. He expected punishment as usual. There was no room for mistakes.
The ‘fresher door closed behind him and he reached for the tissue paper. Several bunched into his hand as he pressed it tightly against his nose hoping the bleeding would stop quickly.
He could tilt his head back, ingest so much blood it would make him sick.
No. He waved the thought away. He couldn’t stand vomiting, it would be more of a punishment to himself than anything his father had. He didn’t need to make himself weaker. He can prove himself. He is competent.
Collecting himself and checking to see the blood had finally stopped, he threw away the bloody tissues, turned on the faucet and ran the water over his red stained hand. He leaned in and scrubbed the blood off his lips and chin, tasting the faint metallic taste as some of the water dripped into his mouth. The last of the ruddy water ran down the drain and he looked up to check his reflection in the mirror.
An older man stared back at him. Taller and broader wearing a coat, similar to the one his father wore but darker, sleeker. He looked…powerful. He looked almost like him. Armitage prayed it was him, taking his father’s place…no one to push him around, to yell at him, to–
The alarm stirred Hux from his sleep. It felt like it had only been a second, the remnants of whatever dream he was having already fading with only a taste of blood in his mouth. He licked his lip, a sharp sting and the bite of metal tainting his tongue. Ah, right. Snoke. His officers watching him get dragged like a child. Reprimanded like one, too. He clenched his fists and got up to prepare for the day, to hopefully witness the resistance be crushed.
They will be crushed, Hux will see to that. He will prove himself. Snoke will see him, see his power.
No one will get in his way.