Pristine Condition

BY : HarrisHawk
Category: Star Wars (All) > Het - Male/Female
Dragon prints: 653
Disclaimer: I do not own Star Wars, nor the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Hair darker than dark. Skin paler than pale. Eyes bluer than blue. Maybe twenty three or twenty four years of age. Not very tall. Petite. Angelic facial features. Lucilla was striking. He circled her with his hands clasped behind his back, surveying every inch of her with both confusion and irritation marring those stern, pallid characteristics; if this didn’t make her feel self-conscious, nothing would.

“And she just…. Arrived?” He quizzed the chrome Trooper behind him incredulously, as if the woman before him couldn’t speak.

“Yes, sir.” The Trooper’s drawling response indicated she couldn’t have been more bored with the proceedings. The urge to fidget and shift uncomfortably grated at Lucilla but she held herself. Men will be cruel, they will be cold. They will punish you. “Only half an hour ago, sir.”

“And my father sent her?”

“Seems so, sir.”

A roll of those icy blue eyes and a disgruntled tut indicated that he was far from pleased with his father’s gift. Lucilla took this all in; she may have been verbally silent but her nervous mind was calculating everything. Did that mean she could go home? If that could even be called home. If he didn’t want her, if he wasn’t taken by her; would she be released? But she had been paid for, it wouldn’t be that simple.

“I’ll contact my father.” His response was final and dismissive. Lucilla wasn’t sure what was expected of her at that moment but she didn’t dare move. She had always been docile, gentle and open to taking instruction; that was (more than likely) why she’d been selected for this endeavour. “Take her to my quarters; I’ll deal with her later.”

 


 

 

Lucilla was escorted away by the chrome Trooper. Even walking through the halls of Finalizer (apparently that’s what the ship was called), said Trooper strode with her weapon ready as if marching into battle rather than delivering a woman to a bedroom among her own people. The vessel must have been colossal as the pair walked for seemingly hours, the meek stranger following the Stormtrooper who also appeared to be female; it had her wondering how many of the white clad soldiers were actually women. Her walk through the ship did not go unnoticed; while the Stormtroopers ignored her (she assumed they knew better), the staff dressed in black stared at her as she passed.

 

She wasn’t a prisoner, she had no stun cuffs. A visitor? She was a little more than that, or she was supposed to be; maybe she wouldn’t be for very long as soon as the General contacted his father. Even a dark, masked figure watched the unfamiliar lady pass from the shadows. They caught each other in a glance; he radiated danger so she quickly looked away to try and keep up with the long stride of Captain Phasma. Eventually, her guide came to a stop outside an unassuming door which looked like all the others they had passed. A key code was entered (one very few were privy to) and the door slide back with a whoosh.

 

Nerves heightened, Lucilla stepped in after Phasma. As though on a sensor, the lights flickered on at their presence so she could take in her new surroundings; there was a theme of black leather and metal combined in the upholstery: the sofa, two armchairs by a freshly lit fireplace (someone must have been sent ahead to do that duty). The desk in the corner was of a dark wood that she couldn’t identify; it was most likely an antique, she wouldn’t be able to tell just by looking at it and the chair behind it was more or less the same as the other seats. The continued motif of the metal walls and floors was still present though they seemed darker, probably because of the décor.

 

This was her new home, maybe not for long but for the time being. Another sliding door lay a few feet behind the sofa but she didn’t approach it. There was no sign of a bed; that must have been in there with a bathroom; she doubted the General would share a bathroom with the general population. A round window caught her attention by the fireplace; it looked out onto a mass of stars and just then Lucilla could see this simple, standard thing being of a great comfort to her.

“The General will be with you when he is ready.” The drawl of the chrome Trooper brought her back. “I would not recommend getting too comfortable.”

“He doesn’t like me, does he?” She asked softly; speaking for the first time since her arrival with something Coruscant about her accent.

“I cannot speak for the General.” Phasma answered with a twinge of impatience.

“Will he kill me?”

“I cannot speak for the General.” Almost robotically, the response was repeated and internally, Lucilla felt herself crumble.

 


 

 

“General.”

“Admiral.” Hux stood alone in an empty control room, specific orders given that he was not to be disturbed. The disembodied voice shared his accent but it was deeper, somewhat colder than the General’s if it was possible.

“You got my gift?”

“I did.” The General confirmed, his hands never seeming to leave their clasped position behind his back.

“And?”

“I’m afraid I don’t understand. What is her purpose? What do I do with her?”

“What’s to understand, General? Do what you want with her. She’s yours to do with as you please. A companion by breed; she will submit, she will be servile; I have been guaranteed of that.” It was an odd present for a father to give his son; then again, his relationship with his father had never been close. It had never been typically father and son but more like mentor and student.

“But I don’t want her.” Hux protested lightly but taking care not to anger the Admiral.

“So kill her, General. I don’t need to know about it.” He probably wouldn’t go that far. If she enraged him, he might.

“Why did you send her?”

“You’re not married, General. Even if you were, I would still have sent her. You need something in your down time; you cannot work constantly. That is how young men meet the grave.” Rich coming from you! Hux thought bitterly but knew better than to voice it. 

“How long will she be staying?”

“Indefinitely. She is a companion. Keep her as long as you like; her life is paid for. Dispose of her if you don’t want her.” How kind of him. A whore for life.

“Does she have a name?”

“Ah so you are keeping her?”

“I didn’t say that.”

“I don’t know if she has a name or not, General. I picked her out, I didn’t ask for her life story. Find out for yourself.” It ended there.

 


 

 

Hux left the control room and the guarding Stormtroopers were dismissed to resume their normal duties. It would have been no harm to have another look at her; one on one, so his course was directed to his own quarters. When he entered, she jumped from the armchair she had been perched lightly upon the edge of as though electrocuted. He surveyed her again, she was definitely a lot younger than him.

Donning a modest powder blue dress with those dark locks down around her coating her shoulders, chest and back; he still didn’t understand why his father could possibly think he’d want a ‘companion’. Standing with her hands folded in front of her and her head bowed, she was the definition of simpering; it nearly made him retch. Hux waited until the door slid shut before he spoke.

“Your name.” She looked up to answer but she wasn’t fast enough. “Your name, girl! Are you mute?!

“Lucilla.” He almost didn’t hear her over his own bark; she was quiet and positively petrified, her voice gentle and sweet which only made his impression worse.

“Lucilla.” He repeated her name with disgust as if it were a vile curse word. Her accent was Coruscanti, he could tell that much. Whether she was actually from Coruscant or she had just been taught to speak that way for appeal was another matter.  “Lucilla what?!”

“I don’t know.” He arched a mocking eyebrow at her. He’d heard of these; heard how the prettiest orphans were handpicked, trained, their confidence knocked constantly to ensure they were broken and completely submissive to whoever purchased them when they were old enough. Kept as slaves, usually sexual; their primary market was powerful, egotistical and often cruel men. And now he had one in his quarters.



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