WIP: Celebrate Balmorra
Larr Gith brushed her bad mood aside. The Jedi were idiots, all but Teb. They didn’t understand people who went out and did stuff. Heck, the last time Master Kiwiiks tried to do something off Tython it ended with a planet almost blowing up. A situation, not to belabor the point, that Larr had fixed.
The view from the shuttle to Bugtown was cheerful. The sick nesting formations of the colicoids had been pushed into some lowlands a mile or more away from the bunker. The blasted soil had been evened out, and green things were growing in rows. A fat cluster of potted flowering plants stood shading the entrance. The scattered patrolling droids were colored in a hectic combination of clean factory lines and graffiti stickers.
Larr greeted the staff inside cheerfully, and at least half of them remembered her and greeted her back. Well, times had been crazy. Maybe it helped that she had Doc at her side.
They reached the public holo in the cavernous bunker center. “Okay, Doc, start holoing.”
They got the Hawkeyes, and Numen Brock, and two squads of infantry, all converging on where Larr sat at the Bugtown bar. She greeted them all cheerfully and announced the Emperor’s death. Then the drinks started flowing.
She leaned toward Doc. “I can’t help but notice these are all men?”
Doc cleared his throat. “The women who want to see me don’t want to see you.”
“That’s sweet. I think.” She kissed his ear.
And Iain Sarkus of the Hawkeyes sighed loudly. “You’re killing me, Doc.”
“Getting plucked out of obscurity is pretty strenuous, Iain. You have to be really sure you want it.”
