• goofs

    Priorities

    Hux: Given the choice, Captain, who would you save from certain death first, Kylo or me?

    Phasma: Given the choice, I would first saved my own neck.

  • phasma's rp

    Choices

    Desolated world. I was born there. It helped to shape me who I am. But the final choices were always mine.

  • goofs

    Tempting Ideas

    Hux: *looking at the amount of paperwork* Someone kill me please.

    Phasma: Is this a request, order or the casual toying with the idea?

    Comments Off on Tempting Ideas
  • phasma's rp

    Surviving

    Surviving.

    Her main credo. It was not an easy one. But for her meant everything.

    When she managed to free herself from the trash compactor, she knew she has to clear her way back – and after her.

    That was not easy. But who said her course ever was?

    Surviving.

    Clearing path from debris was her speciality. Leaving things behind was never an option.

  • goofs

    Small Incident

    PHASMA*calm collected voice* I am going to shoot down everyone who mentions this small incident.

    HUX: You mean being kicked in the head, almost dying in the trash compactor, facing a deadly inhabitants of some awful planet, falling off the platform to flames, being blew out into space… small indeed!

    PHASMA: I ask for permission to shoot you down, General.

    Comments Off on Small Incident
  • short fics

    Pets

    “I heard you like corellian hounds, Captain.”

    Phasma grimaced under her helmet. That of course had to spread. The cafeterie was open for all officers to come and go and – talk about what they heard. Sometimes the higher ranked charges of First Order were not much unlike a bunch of young Jedi padawans talking over newly got lightsabers. If that comparision wouldn’t be wiped out by her own allegiance.

    “They are good in battle, General.”

    Hux looked at her with visible disbelief mixed with a slight hope of wanting to believe her. It would be after all strange, if she, of all people, was fond of petting dogs.

    “Have you used any during our campaigns?”

    “No. But we got few when… I was younger.”

    That was almost finishing the topic. The youth has been something Phasma didn’t like to even mention. But something in her voice made him stretch the conversation.

    “I can’t imagine you surrounded by dogs, Captain.”

    “They were efficient warriors. Owning one was an actual honor between my clan.”

    “Ah.”

    The unwanted image of Phasma, sitting in her settlement, or however that cursed place was called, looking into the night sky, with a big dog head on her knees, scratching it under the ears, crept into his mind.

    “Before you ask, General, I wasn’t using them as pets.”

    Hux scoffed.

    “Liking animals isn’t anything shameful. I had cats since I was young, getting my first when I reached six.”

    Getting no response from her, he cleared his throat. Phasma knew almost everything about him, helped him hide many dirty secrets, yet he still couldn’t say the same about her. She was hiding behind that helmet not only her face but also all of dark past, present and maybe even future.

    Working with Phasma was easy, she was fulfilling all orders profesionally and without questions. But something in her was making him sure that if she didn’t see personal gain in all of it, his life would have taken a completely different course.

    “We should allow your troops for animals.”

    Phasma cocked her head.

    “I doubt it would be wise.”

    “You said they were good in battle. The hounds.”

    “On planet where dangers weren’t automated. I won’t send a dog after machine. Nor against a blaster.”

    He looked at her sternly.

    “This could do at least as a good training.”

    She didn’t show if she took his rare joke or not. At least he didn’t have to see her sour dissaproval over his idea, painted on her face.