Work Text:
Glasses clinked. Guests tittered. String ensemble serenaded. The atmosphere was set perfectly in the Firmus Piett Art Gallery.
So then why has no one approached my paintings? Mitaka thought.
He stood at attention, shoulders squared, hands tucked behind his back, chin up like some military officer, though he was about as far from a soldier as one could get. Art was his one and only passion and today he finally mustered up the nerve to display that passion in his very own art show with the help of Mr. Piett.
“Don’t get discouraged too quickly today, son,” the gallery owner had cautioned him. “Give the guests time to mill about. Greet them. Be friendly. Don’t forget to smile.”
For the first hour, the young artist wore a genuinely broad grin just for being there in an actual gallery displaying his artwork. But as time wore on, as people wandered by his work without so much of a glance, that smile began to waver. Two hours in he was starting to feel as invisible as the art displayed beside him.
He looked across the room to find the gently wrinkled face of Mr. Piett who lifted a champagne glass to him then waved it in front of his own smile. Mitaka acknowledged the gesture and forced his lips upwards to which Piett nodded approvingly before returning to his conversation with a pair of gentlemen dressed in exquisite three-piece suits.
So dapper …
Mitaka wondered if he should have rented a tuxedo for the occasion, but Mr. Piett insisted he be comfortable. “Wear something with a dash of class, but comfortable. You need to feel in your element and collectors appreciate realism. Do try to wear something that is not riddled with holes though, yes?”
Mitaka had managed to dig up a pair of dark jeans that fit his narrow waist comfortably, held up with a solid black belt fitted with a silver buckle. He also managed to find a black turtleneck sans paint stains that flattered his solid chest. He rolled up the sleeves to reveal a pair of sculpted forearms, honed from working with stronger mediums like clay and metalwork.
Smile...smile...smile…
Mitaka was tired of smiling. No one was looking anyway. With a sigh he turned to his collection. The easel next to Mitaka said in block lettering Her Majesty: A Dopheld Mitaka Collection. Each painting depicting various ships of Britannia circa 1700s-1800s. Among the pieces was the HMS Bounty of the famous (and vastly exaggerated) mutiny, the HMS Endeavor which whisked Captain James Cook away to discover Australia, and art of a few lesser known ships that Mitaka just found aesthetically pleasing with no history attached to it.
Mitaka stood next to the largest of the pieces, the painting that made him most proud. The HMS Sovereign, a ship of the blackest wood and ominous grey sails drifted along a calm sea cloaked in low mist. A perfectly round silver moon, pockmarked with a large circular crater, lurked partially hidden behind dark clouds.
“The HMS Sovereign,” remarked a sharp British voice behind him.
Mitaka’s grin refreshed. Someone noticed! He spun on his heels to greet the newcomer.
“It is! I see you know your-”
Mitaka froze.
He held his breath.
His dark eyes locked with a pair of azure orbs, cool, deep, alluring.
“Admiral Tarkin or Captain Vader?” The stranger said.
Mitaka blinked. “What?”
A stern and vibrantly red eyebrow arched. “When you painted this, did you have Tarkin or Vader in mind?”
“Admiral Tarkin, of course,” he breathed.
The stranger hummed quietly, and those eyes broke away to examine the painting.
“You went with grey sails. Most artists depict Tarkin’s ships with grey wood and black sails.”
“They do, but it's actually inaccurate,” Mitaka said, gently. “Vader’s ship, The HMS Executor , bore black sails as did many in Tarkin’s fleet, but the Admiral’s flagship always possessed grey sails.”
Another nondescript hum.
Am I being tested? Mitaka wondered. Am I passing?!
Mitaka was not sure whether he was more intimidated by the sudden barrage of questions or by the sheer presence of this dashing stranger. As he scrutinized Mitaka’s masterpiece, the artist took the opportunity to study this beautiful creature standing before him.
The man’s impossibly red hair gleamed in the warm lights of the gallery, trimmed expertly and combed to perfection. His face was smooth save for a pair of flawlessly shaped sideburns that framed a face with high cheekbones and a regal nose. His narrow lips were pinkish and glossy and they pursed as those hypnotic eyes scanned the painting. Mitaka reflexively began to layout the color palette of this stranger in his mind, planning which shades of creams and oranges and soft pinks would capture his beauty best.
The seconds stretched for eons while the stranger tilted his head to the side, finger tapping against his lips in contemplation.
Finally, the man straightened. “This is fine work.”
Mitaka practically blew all the tense air from his lungs at the casual compliment. “Thank you, Mister…” Mitaka extended his hand.
The man slid his hand into Mitaka’s, though he did not shake it. He merely...embraced it. His hand was soft and warm, and Mitaka became painfully aware of how cold, calloused and clammy his own hands were. The man did not seem to mind.
“Hux,” he said, “Armitage Hux.” Though his voice carried a tenor note, it possessed a sharpness, like an elegant, steel blade. “Your work truly is impressive. It is obvious you know your nautical vessels, Mr. Mitaka.”
“Phel,” Mitaka said automatically, blinking at his own forwardness. He rarely let anyone call him that. Even Mr. Piett called him Dopheld.
“Phel,” Hux said in a soft husky tone. Heat rose to Mitaka’s ears and his smile came a little easier to him.
“I know ships well enough,” Mitaka said, quickly, “though not as well as I’d like.”
“Have you ever sailed, Phel?”
Mitaka’s mind flashed to an awkward first date he had a year ago involving a romantic riverside picnic, an awkward first kiss, an upended raft, and no second date.
“No, never,” Mitaka replied, firmly believing that experience did not count .
Hux arched an eyebrow. “Never? Your passion for ships shows in your work,” he remarked, waving to the other five paintings lining along the wall. “It is a shame you never had the pleasure.”
“Have you sailed, Mr. Hux?” Mitaka asked, eager to push the spotlight away from him.
“Please, just Armitage,” Hux said, waving a hand. “And I have a small schooner, yes.”
“You have a schooner?” Mitaka balked.
Hux smiled. “A small one, yes. Regrettably, I have been neglecting her. I have such little time to myself with work consuming my life. I was lucky enough to steal away today to visit your showing.”
Mitaka bit his cheek to prevent himself from losing control of his mild smile.
“You would love her, I think,” Hux continued. “I customized The Finalizer to bear grey sails as well, a tribute to our Admiral Tarkin’s mighty warships.”
“She sounds spectacular.”
Hux looked at Mitaka with a peculiar, thoughtful expression. “She truly is,” he said, but his voice was quiet. Then after a moment he asked. “Phel, do you paint portraits?”
“I've...never had the occasion. I prefer nautical landscapes.”
Mitaka braced himself for a look of disappointment from the gentleman, but instead Hux’s eyes flickered. A sly smile spread across those glossy lips. “Oh? Then that means I will...be your first.”
Mitaka gulped. “My...first…”
“Portrait, of course. I have been looking for an artist capable of capturing my,” he glided a hand over himself with an elegant flourish, “ essence , if you will.”
Mitaka dropped his gaze and rubbed his neck, “I don’t think I am-”
His words died as Hux stepped in close...so close.
His scent was fresh, an expensive aftershave that reminded Mitaka of a gentle ocean breeze, and yet it was worn by a man whose sheer presence resembled the portents of an electrical storm. Mitaka kept his eyes lowered, forcing his breathing to ease as Hux drew in closer.
The edge of a soft finger stroked the bottom of Mitaka’s chin.
Every nerve in Mitaka’s body focused on that singular spot. With each gentle stroke, Hux coaxed Mitaka’s bowed head to tilt upwards to face him.
“Do not be so modest.” Hux’s tone was low and soothing. “You are perfect. Those meticulous lines, those soft...strokes…” Hux’s finger slid along Mitaka’s smooth skin a final time before falling away, “those aggressive colors. If you put half as much heart into my portrait as you do these paintings I’m sure it will turn out magnificently.”
Mitaka felt the absence of that simple bit of contact profoundly. He swallowed hard. “Mr. Hux…”
“Armitage,” Hux reminded him.
“Armitage...I do appreciate your faith in me, but it is not my expertise.”
“Practice makes perfect,” Hux insisted, reaching into his blazer pocket. He pulled out a small golden card case, flicked it open and produced a business card. The card was bone white with a deep red insignia of an inverted sun that looked familiar to the artist though from where he was not certain. Reaching into another pocket he pulled out an exquisite ebony Mont Blanc pen with platinum accents. He scribbled something on the back of the card and handed it to Mitaka.
Mitaka turned the card over in his hand and gave a start. Beneath the red symbol, embossed in gold lettering read “Hux and Snoke Law Firm: Our First Order of Business is Defending You .” Suddenly, he realized why the symbol looked so familiar. Any and all high profile cases involving high-ranking members of the local crime syndicate, were almost always represented by Hux and Snoke Law Firm. With the recent arrest of Kylo “The Knight” Ren, the firm seemed to be constantly in the news with some respect. Mitaka never remembered seeing Armitage. Instead it was always a tall, cadaverous man with sunken cheeks and beady black eyes guiding his client into the courtroom with a bony hand.
“Are you the Hux in ‘Hux and Snoke’?” Mitaka asked.
Hux hesitated. “My father was the ‘Hux’ on the business card long before I joined his firm, but...I suppose now that he has retired and I have risen to senior partner yes,” a slight rosiness surfaced on Hux’s cheeks, “I suppose I am.”
Mitaka turned the business card over. A phone number was scrawled out in long flowing lines.
“On the other side is my personal number, so do try to keep it safe. I do not give it out lightly, but if you are to become my personal artist, it is only fitting you can contact your patron at any time.”
“Your personal artist?” Mitaka could hardly believe his ears.
Hux did not seem to hear him. “In the meantime, let's get these wrapped up and be on our way.”
Hux snapped at a young man in a chauffeur suit.
“I...still have an art show to finish, Mr. H...Armitage.”
Hux uttered something to the young man who nodded, took his pocket book and walked towards Mr. Piett. Hux turned to Mitaka, regarding him curiously. “You do? Do you have another collection here?”
“I...well no. Which...paintings are you purchasing?”
Hux huffed. “All of them, obviously. I have sent Thannison to arrange it with Mr. Piett. And I hope he will not mind if I steal you away this afternoon. I am going to need your artistic eye to find the perfect spot to display my new collection in my beach house.”
“Your...beach house...” The world seemed to spin around Mitaka, his heart spinning with it.
Hux smiled patiently. “Yes, of course, you did want to see my schooner correct?”
The world snapped back into attention at the mention of the schooner. “Yes,” Mitaka said, his smile brightening at his new...patron. “Yes, absolutely.”
“Then let’s be on our way.” Hux said extending an arm to Mitaka, “ The Finalizer awaits.”