"I would like to know your account information so that I may send you credits. This is funnier than any of the comedy holos currently available, so I think you should be recognized for your work."

Hux looked down at the handful of flimsies Kylo was holding out at him.

"What do you mean comedy and I'm not giving you my accou-" He squinted at the first few lines, then snatched the document from Kylo's hands. "That's my speech!"

"Yes," Kylo oozed. "I found the bit about crushing under bootheels charmingly antique. The three paragraphs of extended harvest metaphors were particularly ironic considering there will be nothing left of these planets to harvest but cinders."

Hux shook, incensed. "This was on my private drive, under a password!"

"Mmm, yes." Kylo chuckled darkly. "About that password."

General Hux froze in place as Kylo leaned in, mask close to Hux's ear.

"I do in fact enjoy that particular... activity, just as your password suggests. I've been told I'm very good at it."

Hux's mouth went dry. The air filtering out Kylo's mask tickled his ear.

"But I only do it for people I like, such as people who write. Good. Speeches." Kylo leaned back away from Hux. "Right now, that excludes you. Improve your speech. Short, classic, memorable. Trim it down to a hundred words or less, and then we can talk."

Hux clutched the flimsies to his chest, watching the swirl of Kylo's cloak as he left.

"Lieutenant, take this watch. I'll need to... review the plans for tomorrow."