The smuggler sat at a side booth in a dark bar filled with vagabonds and killers of every stripe. Some had matted hair that looked more like fur. Some had faces that were scarred and broken, fronted by bulbous noses. Some bore the appearance of fairytale monsters and demons, and yet, somehow, they appeared least harmful of all.
The smuggler sat calmly, nursing his third drink, waiting for a warlord to sit in the seat opposite, and he let his eyes casually wander the room, taking in the sour sights of so much scum and villainy. However, between the men and beasts, he failed to spy the one person he was to meet. The man was supposed to have been there already, waiting for him, and yet the smuggler could see no trace of him. There was nothing but the thousand faces of lesser criminals, their heads ever so slightly bobbing to the tune of the band that played in one corner.
His attention momentarily elsewhere, the smuggler did not notice an individual sliding sidelong towards him from the far wall, and when finally he did see the approaching figure, he, or she, or it, was already sitting down, taking the empty seat meant for the absent warlord.
“Do you know who I am, Spice Runner?” the newcomer hissed.
“Can’t say that I do.” the smuggler answered in easy, charming tones. “But I’m waiting for someone, so you’ll need to be going.”
The newcomer’s eyes narrowed. “Hush yourself, spice runner.” it snapped, the words sounding like steam escaping from a broken pipe. “I am a hunter, and I have seen your face before. You are wanted by the Emperor.”
“Could be.” the smuggler replied. “A lot of people are wanted by the emperor these days.”
“Yes. But only one of them sits before me now.” The newcomer then leaned in closer, arcing its back over the table. “I can almost taste the reward.” it purred, flicking its tongue in and out like a snake.
The smuggler, who through the whole discussion had continued to watch the room, finally turned to face the hissing newcomer before him. “Listen, bub,” he said quietly, as though to a fellow conspirator, “I really don’t have time for this, but if you come back later we can talk more.”
The newcomer leaned back and growled, deep in its throat. “No. You are coming with me. Now! And I must say, I have been looking forward to this catch for a long time.”
“Yes. I bet you have.” the smuggler answered with a smile, and from below the table he fired his blaster. With a flash of sparks and cloud of smoke, the newcomer fell forward, his flickering tongue finally stilled, and Han rose to his feet. Shaking his head, he made his way toward Chewie, near the cantina entrance. “Well, old pal, I don’t love how often that happens here.” he said, and together they left, losing themselves in the noisy streets of Mos Eisley.
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