i've got a bad feeling about this

@gnkdroids​

jabba’s palace is always an unpleasant place after the first sunrise. the night of indulgences usually leaves it littered with passed out bodies, extinguished pipes and spilled drinks. but before the second sun follows the first one over the desert, there is a small window of time during which boba can almost tolerate this hovel. probably because of the silence. he finds a seat that isn’t covered in something sticky and pulls out his datapad, ready to sort out the daily business. it’s peaceful, not that boba is well acquainted with the concept.

a glass crunches underneath a boot and he immediately lifts up his helmet, catching solo in an attempt to sneak out. they make eye-contact. boba tilts his head to the side, a substitute to a raised brow. 

“you know jabba wants to speak with you.” not a question. he sets down his datapad.

given three more minutes, a measly three minutes, he’d have cleared the door and been freed from the stink of gamorrean sweat and something he hopes he’s misidentifying as piss. he retraces his steps, backwards, with his hands raised, kicks the pile of glass shards apart and shrugs. han would call it an act of spite, it’s more like sulking. of all the desperate and gullible sad sacks who hang around at this hour, of course he’d have to be caught by the one exception to the rule. 

 ‘ and what about you boba, what do you want? jabba this, jabba that, how come we never talk? ’ 

he grins, even puts in the effort to try and make it seem sincere, not that it could be reciprocated in any knowing way. when han tries to picture what might be rattling around under that helmet at any given time, it’s always a frown. 

he can’t say it, the words he’d need are too unfamiliar, but what difference would it make if he could? really? he’s not withholding the death star plans, nothing changes between luke knowing or not, so it’s a waste to spin a guilt trip over. what’s a little more debt to the mantra of “no harm, no foul?”

someone’s taken his ration box, lifted it over to a table three away from where he planned to sit. it’s not a someone he recognizes, so he tries not to assign motive, chalks it up to being a mistake. they’re military grade tins, which means they’re utterly uniform aside from acquired dings. he’s probably done the same and walked off with the wrong lunch before, but he’s too hungry to wade through storage looking for another free of scrap rats. hungry enough that he’d very graciously describe what’s waiting inside as appetizing. 

closing in on the stranger, finn feels an old knot in his stomach pull through. their face, which seemed to be static and humanoid from a little distance, ebbs and flows like a crowd of at least thirty in between blinks. a strobing image of someone sweating, melting, oozing without losing mass. one of the more inarticulable things he’s seen today, it doesn’t make him want to hurry forward. it’s a shame he’s come near enough now to collide with the bench. when he looks up from cradling his knee, the spectacle's fled and left only a bad feeling. 

pre game timeline: traveling fortune teller xzara. having a great time, making good credits, can’t be bothered to know anything about the force other than the fact that it’s called the force. an impending padawan, but that’s between us. will unfortunately think the rat tail is cool. in star wars canon, pre prequels. 

mid game timeline ( probably to evolve as i play but im bad at games ): has been exiled from the jedi for serving as a general during the mandalorian wars, drowning in guilt and losing touch with the force. still traveling, mostly to avoid bounty hunters. not a party pooper, though. i know this sounds like a dark and gritty turn, but xzara is still trying to make a go of it, a pure refusal to be put down all the time. looking for a come back in the form of a nice house and a loth-cat for company. 

‘ you’re gonna want to let it sniff you first. ’ she holds out her own hand in demonstration, dax the orbak bumps its muzzle against her palm and grunts like an engine in bad need of an oil change (it’s fine though, nothing to worry about, that’s how they sound on a good day). 

‘ a little common courtesy, right? a thanks for not getting knocked onto your ass, you get it. ’

The punchline hits Luke and he’s as annoyed at Han as he is at himself for falling for something like this. Again. His gaze flicks up at Han, bores straight into him.

          “That’s a lousy trick.”

He lets the annoyance fill him, then lets it go. It looks like this: his face softens, he releases Han from his unamused stare.

Luke’s hand brushes across his own cheek, feeling for anything funny that Han might’ve stuck on him during the touch. He doesn’t feel anything. But, his cheek does feel a little warm. Han’s hands look clean. Clean for Han’s standards. Luke’s nodding, self assured, his tone is goading:

          “Do you say those sorts of things to every person you lose to?”

With a wave of his hand, the holochess table flickers back on. Luke slumps forward and sets his eyes idly on the game. Absentminded, he makes his next move. Some pawn to some lonely spot that won’t make any difference.

‘ hey now, i don’t lose very often. ’  this said as he pushes a piece forward into the next empty square without a plan in mind. his interest in the game is swiftly waning, if he stays staring at luke he might forget they’ve been playing at anything other than banter. that wouldn’t be an unhappy outcome at all, it’s just got to be an unconscious sabotage or han will snap out of it and pick a piece of wall behind the blonde hair to turn his attention on. 

      ‘ you just happen to be winning a lot, which has absolutely nothing to do with my usual track record of remarkable success. ’ 

it’s a good thing chewie’s not here to voice a second opinion. luke is sure to see straight through him, he’s not stupid, but he can’t yell loud enough to make him regret the lie- not like a wookie can.