#worstorder

the shoot-out over unfair prices is reaching its zenith. somebody’s hand has reached for a thermodetonator. boba didn’t need to see it to know that it’s happening. he heard the familiar click of ignited wires. not much time left for anyone inside this trading post. 

he finally puts down the scope he’s been examining and leaves the shadowed corner. he picks up a chair with one hand on his way to the center of the store. he didn’t really feel like talking to anyone today but he supposes he has no choice now. boba stops next to ruby who was oblivious to his presence in the post until now. he gives him a short nod. and then without a warning, he throws the chair at the nearest window. the shattering glass is audible amongst the agitated rabble and beeping of a detonator.

he grabs ruby. first, an arm around his shoulders. then he bends down and locks the other arm behind his knees, picking him up. he blasts off with his jetpack through the opening he just created. and then the trading post explodes, spewing fire and glass shards everywhere.

but the two of them are already safe on a rooftop across the post, far away from the blast. boba deposits ruby on the metal surface and stares at the store engulfed by flames. something creaks and the building folds in on itself with another deafening noise.

The Force is not a frequency you can tune into and out of. It is not a radio. The Force will not hum you lullabies and it will not hum you dirges. If it makes a sound at all, few have ever heard it and fewer still have heard it rightly--it is not a whistle, it is a hiss. A hiss like a serpent. Luke reminds himself of this every time he can feel its hiss whistling straight through him like wind through a cracked brass bell.

Sometimes, very rarely, here on Ahch-To, Luke feels things through the Force. Things too daunting to not wash over him. Now, he can feel an obstruction on the Force. A presence. Somehow physical. Somehow here. Somehow right behind him. Foreboding. Possessive. Horrifying. He does not turn around. He keeps cleaning his dirtied drinking canister with a corner of his equally dirty robe.

he hooks his thumb in one of his belt loops, staring at the prospective employer. something is telling him that this isn’t another case of an ambitious politician wanting to move up in the world or a scorned partner looking for a payback. there’s something different about this potential contract. different doesn’t mean bad. different breaks the routine and that’s good when you’re boba fett. 

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. 

       ( kiss meme / @worstorder / accepting ! )

     sadly, ‘kiss a ginger’ day comes but once a year. he’s pretty sure. ( maybe he should look into that when he gets back. ) so he doesn’t really have any good segue’s into this, and he’s certain that if he tried to use some supposedly slick line, pepsi would laugh right in his face about it. 

     IF PEPSI COLA IS AN ALIEN, then,