Copper for the Charlatan

Side-effect of Spite

Spite, smut, and a little murdering. Phasma finally gets something for her patience lol

Phasma stood outside of Ichara's chambers, a beleaguered sigh crackling through her vocoder. The irritating burden of politics only increased the further she climbed the ranks. Being the closest thing Hux had to a friend meant that she avoided most of the bureaucratic nonsense, but unfortunately it also came with its share of strange requests as well. She went to push the comm button but stopped at the sight of Kylo Ren storming around the corner.

"Captain Phasma."

She straightened, grateful for the chrome helmet hiding the expression of pure disdain on her face. "Sir."

"I didn't take you for the social type. Perhaps if you spent less time fraternizing we wouldn't have had the FN-2187 incident."

His eyes darted down as she clenched her fists. "Perhaps another time, Sir." One day I'll have his head on my pike

"If you weren't so painfully loyal to Hux, I would have use for you."

"I am loyal to the First Order, sir. If you need to give me orders, do it."

He stared into her visor for a moment as if he were thinking "You're dismissed."

She marched past him, dreaming of the quickest ways to dismember someone that was about her height.
-

Ichara jumped when he entered her quarters unannounced. She had dimmed the lights, and the painfully bright hallway cast him as a hulking silhouette in the doorway. She scrambled to her feet, straightening what was essentially pajamas; silken shorts and a tight fitting camisole. (Her cousin had sent what she would consider ridiculous clothing, but had to admit it was very comfortable.)

"Supreme Leader. I'm sorry, I wasn't expecting you."

"I heard about the incident in the cantina and wanted to make sure you were alright. You should have told me." His sudden concern for her well being was suspicious.

"It was nothing. They paid for what they did." She quickly picked up her drink and finished what was left. One drink had served to soothe her nerves, but this situation was a little much. "Oh, would you like a drink? I, er, sorry, this all caught me off guard."

He sat down and reclined in the corner of her couch, spread out languidly, arm across the back. His relaxed body language clashed with the hardness of his eyes, fixated on her like a panther watching its prey.

"If you don't mind."

She retrieved another glass, and his eyes trailed the deep purple scar across her back down to the marred surface of her leg. He'd never seen this much of her.

"So how exactly did you get that?"

"My cousin sent me over a few bottles, I really don't drink much, but-"

"No. The scar."

"Like I said- someone I trusted turned on me. I don't like to talk about it." She was grateful her body blocked his vision- her hands shook as she poured, the stress of the situation only getting worse with every passing second.

She handed him his very full glass and sat back down, taking a long pull to steady herself. He cleared half the glass as he drank, studying her over the rim of the glass. He set the glass down and reached over to run a gloved finger down the rippled surface of her scarred thigh; she flinched at his touch. "And this is the fire."

"Yes."

He let his hand linger on her leg as he leant forward, eyes never leaving hers.

"Why are you so afraid of me? I can feel it... I can see it... So nervous." The deceptive softness of his voice only served to make him more frightening.