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ImpossibleJedi4 @
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Kersom @
Morningstar666
The moment Peitt finished hurriedly explaining his plan, an alarm burst from the ship's console.
"Sir!" snapped the pilot. "An unauthorized ship has jumped into the area. Requesting orders, sir."
The captain turned quickly to the main viewport and peered out, taking in Nathen's ship in the distance. "Hail them," he said quickly. Now was not the time for the rebels to be showing up to get their new recruit. "Unidentified Craft, this is Shuttle Pastillion of the Imperial Navy. Identify yourself and state your business at once."
Garrik shook his head slowly. "Oh...I'm not sure about that. You think about what happens if you start acting on that curiosity...You're from here, right? I'm sure you know what happens to people who ask too many questions." His words, he hoped, would not come off as a threat because thew weren't supposed to, and he grinned just a touch to try and show that. Actually, he was, if a little slowly, starting to warm up to this man. It was sort of gratifying to speak to someone who believed a few of the same things he did for once, even if his volume was terrifying. Imperials on the same
street would probably hear that laugh.
'Let's drink to Vader's death!'
Forget the laugh: bigger problems! Garrik almost went to slap a hand over his mouth and the treacherous toast, but someone across the room (someone possibly just as drunk) seconded him.
"Yeah! Death to the Cyborg Tyrant! And his prune-of-a-master too!"
Garrik's eyes widened for a moment, but he seemed to relax. Apparently, the man next to him was right: the Empire was not well liked down here at all. Slowly, very slowly, he placed a credit on the counter, picked up the mug as it skidded into his hand and raised it. "Death to the Empire," he said, still sort of dully amazed.