#sims4yavin

Hux (reading): "...while not required for your vote to count, you are welcome to elaborate on why you voted the way you did."

Hux isn't accustomed to sliding and typing with his fingers. In the rare event when he didn't have a pen on him, his gloves had protected him. But now he runs his bare, satelite-virus infested fingers over the screen as if it would run away otherwise.

Hux (typing): "The fact that you are even holding this vote means that you have the funds to build the hydro power plant ready in case "yes" wins. So ask yourself, is there a better project to spend the money on? And if so, put that in motion without further discussion.

But if there is none, yet the public refuses to "defile" the ruins, consider building the plant at another, less scenic, waterfall of which there should be plenty. There is really no need to reject a project that would benefit Wetyin just because the initial idea came from a political opponent."

Hux (now having found himself a pen): "The colony has gained three hundred new settlers. There is demand for more energy and no shortage of people to train in running the plant."

Hux (thinking): Poor little Republic. Totally lost without me.

Mission objective: Get healthy again. Mission details: No heavy weapons.

Hux has slept for as long as his body needed, remained in bed until he felt fit and taken a bath. As a result he has breakfast at sixteen hundred.

But while yesterday evening it had been crystal clear that being weak isn't a character flaw, the realisation will take time to take root. As of today, Hux has compromised to "weakness isn't a glaring character flaw".

BEEEEEEP!

"Huh? A message from the townhall? But not about the expedition..."

The Dameron house isn't finished by far. The hobby room, for starters, is just empty space that the Damerons shove furniture into as needed, with the only fixture being the holonet receiver. (Also, paint that eyesore of a hangar, Poe!)

Rose: "The new Sewer Swoop levels are uploaded! Are you coming, Poe?"

Poe: "Can't. The mayor saddled me with preparing and processing the Are Votes on the upcoming referendum."

Rose: "The what?"

Finn: "R - as in residential."

Poe: "Whenever the colony votes on something, those who live here for a significant time, but are not citizens, like the former stormtroopers, get sent the same documents. Just for reference, so that the government gets the full picture of opinions."

Finn: "It's only fair that residents can get their voices heard, since they'll have to live with the consequences of our decisions."

Poe: "Ugh. Nightfall, Jet, Whirlwind and a bunch of others will be eligible to vote when the referendum will be held, but aren't yet by the time I have to send out the R-papers. Won't they love the confusion..."

Rose: "No offense, Poe, but that's why sane people don't go into politics."

Poe: "I won't send mixed signals to persons who got lied to and used all their lives! Everyone only gets their R or C papers, not one and then the other. Unchecking lots of boxes here... commit and save!

Rose, according to this you'll get an R letter, too. As will... Shoot. As will Hux."

"Timmain, move! Timmain? Would you move aside?"

*gentle nudge*

"Timmain! Move! I won't carry you!"

"Enjoy your shower, Timmain."

Rose: "You're more whiny about having caught a cold than you were about the end of the First Order, just saying."

Hux: "The Damerons don't need me on the farm. Everything I can do, of the things they still let me do, that is, a droid or settler can do better. And we wanted to date..."

Rose: "Who says we can't? We just have to glue our noses to something other than your satellite-virus filled one!"

Rose: "Here!"

Hux: "What is... I know that game! Unfortunately we had to outlaw it in the First Order. I don't remember who exactly pushed that through, only that General Quinn played it regardless."

Rose: "What did you like about it?"

Hux: "The cavalry stuff. Like saddles having an actual impact on stats and the knights petting their horses after a kill."

Rose: "That's so adorable, isn't it?"

A military officer isn't automatically superior to a civiliian in a tactics game, for many aspects that Hux has taken to heart are gamy-fied in unexpected ways.

Rose' gaming experience coupled with Hux' brain being slowed down by the cold gives her the victory in almost every match. When he can use his brain again, however, they will be evenly matched.

The war ends on the push of a button, not because that would fire the world ending super-weapon, but because it brings them back into reality. And in reality...

...being useless doesn't kriffin' matter.

It's only a detriment when the survival of a group is at stake. Weeding out the unfit just isn't neccessary when one creates a peaceful environment. That way the full genetic diversity can get preserved, along with all the wonders that might bring somewhere down the generations.

Hux finds an old, worn-out sweater, that he can only hope had once belonged to Kes or Han, not Poe.

He tries to read, at first Kes' unfinished book about cowplants, then a work of fiction (not featuring cowplants), but finds it difficult to focus.

What he has for lunch, he doesn't remember. In his state it tastes same as everything else: like snot.

Rose: "Back again! Bored to death already?"

Hux: *violent coughing*

Hux: "Sit down! I'll make you a tea..."

Rose: "Oh no, you won't! No touching any appliance that is involved in food prep for you in the next handful of days!"

Hux: *sniffling*

Rose: "Ah, that was good! What would you like to go into yours now?"

Hux: "Coryza-Con... The berry flavored ones..."

Rose: "Oh, c'mon! You're the paragon of efficiency, why would you want to take meds that make you functional, but delay your actual recovery instead of giving your body all the assistance you can?"

Hux: "To function!"

Rose: "Best I can do is banana, star fruit and a seething hatred for the First Order."

Hux: *gulp, gulp*

Hux: "Good morning, Rose!"

There. He made it through a full sentence before sneezing again. And calling her "Rose" instead of "Tico" or "Commander" warms his heart. Unfortunately the satellite-virus drains all warmth from the rest of his body and puts a tight ring around his head.

Rose: "BB-8 already told me that you were ill. I have stuff in the hangar to do that I was looking forward to... will you be alright?"

Hux: "I have plenty of indoors work to do myself. I just thought... Is an anti cold shot really asked for too much? You guys gave me a room and a place at your table, but expect me to work without a cold relief? Pardon me, but that doesn't track!"

Rose: "What are you talking about?"

Hux: "BB-8 refused to find me some Coryza-Con."

Rose: "That stuff is way too strong to use in any other situation than a full-blown invasion. Just go back to bed!"

Rose: "Oh, and you should take a bath! Or was that bad for a cold? I can never remember."

Hux: "I think it's only bad when you are fevering. But..."

Rose: "Ah, good. See you later! And don't worry about Tiny Kylo, he likes the same fat flys Timmain does. I'll catch him a nice one!"

Weak... frail... paper-thin... Hux knows all the various expressions for him being a disease-magnet. As a child on the run from the Republic that had been difficult, but in adulthood lots of medications had been available to restore the ability to function.

But now? Now the work he is doing for the Damerons isn't even worth a glass, pill, shot or other appliccation of CC. It doesn't matter if his tasks on the farm get delayed or done at all. Just when he had started to make peace with this new "career" of his, he has to learn that they don't need him at all.

Not just weak.

"Good morning, Kylo! Hear the randrops? That means all the pests will huddle inside the toolshed today. I'll bring you a nice Gauromydas home from work."

It is early, but not inhumanely so, in the morning, so the door is unlocked already. All Hux needs to do is stroll over, push the handle and enter the big wide world that is the living room.

The distance feels insurmountable, though, and the very idea of mustering enough strength to get the door open wide enough to pass through is laughable.

"Just a f... f... phoooooo!"

A volley of sneezes later, Hux realizes that "just a few breaths sitting here" won't cut it. If what he is doing can rightfully get called "breathing" anyway. If his lungs were a star destroyer, he wouldn't clear it for deployment.

"Ah, BB-8! I'm proud to announce that my upkeep cost has just increased by one large pack of CC."

"A large pack of what?"

"Coryza-Con? Or whatever that's called in the Republic."

"We call that plenty of bedrest, mate. Alright, see you around later!"