#cvijeta

“And I’d like to know you a little better than just your name, occupation, and the fact that you’re apparently a big softy,” he said.

“I’m not a big softy,” she protested, putting the now-empty bag in a locker. She picked up the contents of the bag and casually tossed them into what he presumed to be her room. Apparently she’s not big on being tidy. “I know Wilkes betrayed you, but he did you a favour, really. If he and the rest of the crew hadn’t mutinied, you’d be half-mad from the artifact, too.”

Andronikos grimaced. That artifact was currently safely locked up in ship’s storage, using Sith methods and protocols, but he still didn’t feel very comfortable being on the same ship as it. “He still mutinied. And stole my blasters. Which I never got back, by the way.”

“I’ll get you newer, nicer blasters,” she assured him with a brilliant smile, patting his arm as she passed by.

“Being a Sith Apprentice pays well, huh?”

“I suppose? I get an allowance from Zash, and if I do any work for the military or mercenary work I get paid for that, too,” she said. “But whether or not it pays well... I don’t really have a basis of comparison.”

“Grew up sheltered, or poor?” He had strong suspicions it was the latter, but you never knew. One of the most vicious bounty hunters he’d ever known had grown up unbelievably sheltered.

“I was less than poor. I was a slave,” she said simply, and the carefree ease of which she stated that simple fact took him off guard. “But, now I’m not. I got lucky. I was given a chance to become more than what I was and I succeeded.”

He was getting the feeling that this was something she didn’t really want to talk about. “So what’s with the getup?” He asked, gesturing.

She looked down at herself. She was wearing a cropped jacket over what was effectively just a bra, a red scarf wrapped around her neck, her midriff left bare, with her legs the most modestly covered part of her with some standard leather pants and boots. “What about it?”

“It’s not very Sith-like,” he said dryly.

“I like it.”

“Looks a bit drafty.”

Her eyebrows went up. “I wouldn’t have taken a pirate to be so puritan.”

“I’m not; I just don’t think children should be running around half naked.”

“Children- how old do you think I am?” She asked, eyes wide with incredulity.

“Judging by your reaction, I’m guessing younger than you actually are,” he chuckled. “You can’t be older than... what, 16? 17?”

“I’m twenty years old!” She all but shouted, voice going up several octaves. I’ve hit a nerve. “In fact, in a few months I’ll be twenty-one!”

“Uh-huh. Next you’ll be telling me that you’re naturally purple-haired.”

She tugged on one of the short strands. “No, that’s a dye job. I thought it would be fun. I’m naturally blonde.”

He stared at her, and her complexion that was as dark as his. “Bullshit you are.”

“I am!” She insisted, frowning. “I take mostly after my father... presumably... but I get my eyes and my hair from my mom.”

“You are not a natural blonde.”

She glared at him. “Should I take off my pants and prove it?”

“If you wanna,” he grinned. He knew she wouldn’t do it.

She rolled her eyes in an overly dramatic fashion. “Men!” She said to the ceiling. “Weren’t you just saying that you were uncomfortable with how I was dressed because you thought I was a minor?”

“I was calling your bluff. Show me a birth certificate showing your age, maybe I’ll change my mind,” he said easily. “You mind if I do the takeoff? We probably shouldn’t keep Zash waiting.”

She gave him a dismissive wave of her hand, muttering to herself something about “lunkheaded pirates” as she strode off to look in on her monstrous bodyguard, or whatever he was.