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Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Hux pulled the covers over his head. It was the last day of term at the Academy, he had already taken all of his exams, and his final project--a deconstruction of the security and structural flaws in the first Death Star--was sitting on his advisor's desk, waiting to be turned in. So why were the lights on and buzzing at seven in the morning?

Phasma clapped her hands in Hux's ear. "Time for a run!" she shouted. "Up and at 'em, Bren."

Hux groaned. "I had a rough night, Phas. Let me sleep in."

"You can't lie around snoozing on a Star Destroyer, you know," Phasma said. She was already jogging in place. "Inactivity is death."

"So let me laze while I can." Hux covered his head with a pillow. Eventually, he heard Phasma's footsteps moving away from the bed and down the hall. He wouldn't have to jog when he was a General.

*

The canteen was abuzz with rumors about Kylo Ren, Snoke's new functionary aboard the ship.

"I heard he's the strongest psychic in the galaxy. Like, he can look into your mind and see all your secrets. He wears that mask so other people can't read his back."

"I heard he's a wizard. He uses magic--you know, real magic. The kind you can't program. We're all gonna die."

"No, man, he uses the Force. It's just..." The Stormtrooper waved his hand. "It's kind of like magic. But it's everywhere."

"That's bullshit. The Force is bullshit."

"Nah. It's just religion."

"So what, Kylo Ren is some kind of saint?"

Phasma put her tray down at the end of the table. "Kylo Ren? A saint?" She snorted.

The table of Stormtroopers quieted down until one brave soul asked, "What do you think, Phasma?"

Phasma sat down. "I think that the history of saints is mainly the history of insane people." She shrugged and start to eat.

*

Phasma's speeches weren't given into microphones, or in front of huge crowds of clean white helmeted Stormtroopers. Her voice would never echo among the clouds. They weren't long, and they weren't written out beforehand and committed to memory.

No, her speeches were given in barracks that smelled of sweat. They were given in tank tops and cargo pants, to faces of tan and brown and green with worried and scared expressions.

"I know it's strange to be out of armor. I know we've come to rely on it. But I need you to be strong in here." Phasma thumped her capacious chest. "Where it counts. This is a Black Ops mission. No identifying marks. If you're caught, you won't be rescued."

One trooper raised his hand. "But that means we won't be able to use First Order blasters, or First Order stun sticks, or--"

Phasma shook her head. "No. But your weapons are better than that."

"But how, Captain Phasma?"

"We're striking at the very core of the enemy. Let us have a dagger between our teeth, a bomb in our hands..." She placed a gentle hand on the Stormtrooper's chest. "And an infinite scorn in our hearts."

You know what? Headcanoning this. Through weird shenanigans in the fabric of space-time Phasma is absolutely quoting Mussolini and is an avid fan of his philosophies. It fits the First Order aesthetic perfectly.

Right? Fascism is always fascism. And Mussolini is certainly one of the more quotable fascists out there. TY :)

Wow them quotes fit seamlessly.

Yeah, wow, the quotes are really well used here. I always enjoy these sort of slice-of-space-life fics, where little glimpses can tell you so much -- I never thought I'd see one inspired by Mussolini though. That's the magic of misfires!

PROMPT POST #3 - CLOSED

This post is closed to new prompts! Go here

Misfire Fill: Three Times Phasma Quoted Mussolini

Re: Misfire Fill: Three Times Phasma Quoted Mussolini

Re: Misfire Fill: Three Times Phasma Quoted Mussolini

Re: Misfire Fill: Three Times Phasma Quoted Mussolini

Re: Misfire Fill: Three Times Phasma Quoted Mussolini