Chapter Text
Hux dabbed the thick cream under his eyes, sighing at the cold clamminess as he tapped it on his skin with his fingertips. He always kept it in the refrigerator (now yurt-sized mini fridge) to depuff his eye bags before applying makeup. Hux grumbled at himself in the mirror and blamed the extra-dark circles on jet lag.
The troupe had only been in the States since Wednesday. The first night was spent in a hotel, the actors stumbling around to each other’s rooms, sharing a bottle of vodka they bought in a nearby convenience store, Hux frowning and yelling at all of them to get some sleep. And they wondered why he insisted on a team-building, discipline-oriented, enforced educational stint in North America. Hux rolled his bloodshot eyes before squeezing drops into them to alleviate the redness.
Yesterday had been ten hours of patience-testing hell for Hux as the group’s leader (he didn’t like to be called the boss, though technically he was, and insisted on leader because then they were reminded that he was part of the troupe as well). Setting up a tent was apparently a skill none of his six fellow actors had ever needed to learn, and therefore each tent took several failed attempts to construct. Thank god Hux had hired a local company to come in and assemble the yurt and generator, or he probably would have ended up in one of his troupe's lopsided tents, ear plugs shoved deep in his ears, trying to ignore either chatter or snoring, and pretending he was still in his London flat.
As it was, the men who assembled the yurt also took pity on the other actors and helped get their tents to rights, probably due in no small part to the actors pouting prettily at them in distress. Hux had rolled his eyes, refusing to play the ‘damsel in distress’ routine the others - even Kurt and Brandon - seemed so good at.
This morning was the first day of their performance, and Hux already had a headache to end all headaches. He stared at his own face in the mirror, sneering at his freckles and the few visible lines he’d accumulated over the last few years.
He felt calmer as the makeup went on, layer after careful layer covering up his glaring flaws, until at last he could slip into his character’s skin and forget that he was anyone other than a woodland Elf. The long red wig completed the look, and he motioned for one of the other actors to come help him with the corset.
Rebecca loped over to him, her long legs kicking out the skirt of her robe carelessly, not in character yet. That was alright. Hux only required that they stay in character after the warm up, right before heading out for the faire. For him the act started as soon as he looked the part. He understood that it wasn’t the same for the others.
As Rebecca tugged at his corset laces, Hux braced himself against the makeup table and stared into his own eyes in the mirror. Only after the dark-haired actress was beginning to tie off the laces did Hux let his eyes drop to his body in the reflection.
“Tighter,” he said.
Rebecca rolled her eyes. “I can’t pull it any tighter than this. My wrists were literally trembling to get it this tight in the first place.”
“I’ll breathe out.”
“You’ll faint and fall into a mud puddle, Hux.”
“On the count of three, pull. One, two, three.” Hux blew the air out of his lungs and Rebecca leaned her entire weight back as she pulled the laces tight, tying them off before Hux could breathe back in. Predictably, the corset loosened slightly as everything settled into place, and as long as he kept himself in perfect posture and took only shallow breaths, he would be able to manage the eight hours ahead of him.
Looking at himself in the mirror again, Hux let his hands stroke over the sides of the corset, loving the long, lean shape of it over the robes. He knew he would be aching by the end of the day, but it was worth it to have the smallest frame possible. None of the others let themselves be laced this tight. Their loss, he thought, stroking over the small seams at his waist, feeling the way the fabric constricted around his ribs, holding him together. Keeping him whole.
He refused to think about Bronson, even as his own fingers traced over his ribs in the mirror, enough to trigger the memory of other hands. All that was in the past. This was a new beginning, and neither that man, nor his repellent father, was going to ruin it for him.
The faire was loud and muddy. They were constantly having to skirt around puddles, some of which were poorly patched up with gravel or had particle board laid over the top as makeshift bridges. Hux was glad he had insisted on high quality boots for all of them, complete with several coats of sealant that he had applied himself back in London. He ordered the troupe, on pain of death, not to get the hems of their robes dirty. None of them took it as an idle threat.
He kept them together as a group for the first day, making sure they knew how to handle the different situations that would crop up. They had trained for this for weeks before flying to the States, but he knew that they had no real idea how hard this was going to be on their bodies and minds. Staying in character for eight hours a day, with only short breaks for food, water, and using the facilities, was a brutal introduction to the world of acting. By tonight, they would all be exhausted and hating Hux’s guts. Their backs and heads would ache - even their faces would feel wooden from holding the ethereal demeanor of an Elf all day. Well, they had to learn somehow. He knew they had it in them. If they did not possess the skills to buck up and see this through, Hux wouldn’t have hired them.
His plan for the theater in London would work. He could whip this group of ragtag actors into shape, and their opening season would be fantastic. Hux wouldn’t need to rely on his father’s name or Bronson’s contacts to open doors for him. He would earn recognition in his own right.
Just last evening, he’d received a text from his contractor updating him on the work being done to the stage area of his theater. The man had sent a few pictures, and Hux had pointed out some issues he’d noticed with the way the trap doors were being redone, but otherwise everything looked like it was going as planned. It had been a leap of faith to leave in the middle of construction, but he trusted his contractor and friend, and the actors were a bigger problem than the theater at the moment.
By lunchtime, the troupe had started to unravel from the combined torment of the sun and the constant requests for pictures, all while needing to stay in character. Abbie was starting to complain at alarmingly increasing volume that she was hungry, and Brandon kept slowing down around the pubs, giving them sad puppy dog eyes as they passed by.
At precisely one o’clock, Hux herded them all back to their campsite to have some lunch. He had prepared some healthy wraps that were easy to eat without destroying their makeup, and a huge bowl of cut up fruit. He made sure everyone had a bottle of water with a straw (again because of spill and makeup concerns), and once they were through, he made everyone chew a stick of gum before retouching makeup. Then it was back into the fray for the rest of the faire day, the expected amount of grumbling buzzing around him until they made it back to one of the lanes of shops.
Rebecca, Nina, Carissa, and Kurt were doing fairly well, though Abbie and Brandon kept mumbling that they were going to die any moment from a long list of things that included: their corsets, lack of snacks and/or beer, their sore feet, and handsy photo ops. Hux quietly reprimanded them when they got too loud with their whining, and that helped for a few minutes. They weren’t even halfway through the afternoon, and he was already considering bribing them like they were unruly toddlers at the supermarket. Maybe he would simply reward the other four who were behaving, rather than punishing the two that weren’t. That might work better, actually.
His musing was cut off by a large group of guests asking for photos. Hux inclined his head the way he’d been practicing for weeks- the perfect mix of haughty and gracious that fit his character perfectly. The whole troupe posed for several shots, and then one of the guests started chatting with him about the costumes and how lovely they were. Hux answered in character, explaining in his rich put-on Elf voice that he got his robes specially made by Rivendell Elves, and the gems were mined from Erebor. He was interrupted by a peal of laughter coming from his troupe.
To Hux’s astonishment, it was Rebecca who had crumpled in mirth, with two of the tallest, most terrifying people Hux had ever seen standing in front of her. He shot her a death-glare before turning back to the guest and finishing up their conversation.
Hux was annoyed that, out of all of them, it was Rebecca who’d so completely broken character. He normally held her up as a model of self-discipline, and here she was, acting like they were hanging out backstage and not in the middle of a performance. He watched from the corner of his eyes as she said goodbye to her new acquaintances, looking appropriately shamefaced.
The two terrifying giants drew his attention again. They were most certainly performers themselves. No one who wore that kind of armor was a mere guest. It looked like they actually lived in those outfits. They wore them like other people wore t-shirts and jeans. Hux could see bits of leather that had been sewn back together on the various straps holding the woman’s armor together. There were soldering marks on the knight’s breastplate, barely showing up in the black metal, along with gashes that must have been made by some sort of blade slamming into it repeatedly. These were not new costumes. They had seen years of use and wear and had been painstakingly mended time and again.
Hux’s gaze flicked to the woman’s face. She was done up in blue war paint, the markings not so much delicate as authentic looking. It gave her the look of someone out of time. As though she had stumbled out of an ancient Celtic realm, rather than looking like a mere cosplayer. She carried a battle axe that looked like something out of a museum, and her breastplate and chainmail looked old, worn shiny in some places and tarnished in others.
The knight who stood just behind her was dressed head-to-toe in black armor. It was the sort of thing that was made to actually be worn into battle rather than just for show. It looked fully mobile, lithe instead of clunky. The vital parts of him were covered in metal- head, chest, arms, thighs. The rest of the armor was mostly black leather encrusted with coal-hued chainmail. The helmet didn’t show anything of his face, but the width of his shoulders and his height alone were intimidating.
He reminded Hux of something, someone, so strongly that he was shocked when he couldn’t remember who. As he motioned for the troupe to follow him down the lane, he peeked one more time at the knight, standing menacing and silent at the blond warrior’s side, and raked his mind for a name.
The way the man had been standing when he first laid eyes on him… something about the heft of those shoulders, the stillness…
Hux knew he’d remember eventually. Besides, it wasn’t important. What was important was getting his motley crew through the rest of the day without any meltdowns. Rebecca was probably chastened enough to not cause any more problems, but Brandon was practically trying to sneak into line at the pubs they walked by, and he caught Abbie trying to buy cinnamon donuts when his attention was diverted by a guest. He promised them both that there were plenty of treats and alcohol back at the campsite, and that they could have as much as they wanted in two hours, they just had to make it until then.
All the while, Hux ignored the pain in his back. He ignored the way he had to breathe so shallowly that he felt lightheaded. Instead, he focused on the others, helping them to keep going, allowing Carissa to loosen her corset when she felt dizzy. He kept them hydrated and out of the sun as much as possible. And when the guests gasped at the picture they made wandering the lanes under the tall trees, he knew it was all worth it.