circumstance.

han solo, glorified babysitter. independent & oc-friendly post episode-vi, semi-au

[notsuchabadpilot]

we could be immortals || scruffiests

[notsuchabadpilot]

Luke rolls his eyes skyward, fond exasperation in the smiling curl of his lips. Han is just as bad a winner as he is a loser, though Luke isn’t quite fool enough to take it without the obligatory pinch of theatrics that so often accompanies Han’s teasing.

In a way, Han is right. It does feel more natural, somehow, for Luke to lose to his friend. No, he’s more than that – Han is his hero, has been since the day they met in that crowded cantina on Mos Eisley. He’s everything Luke has always wanted to be: a free man, able to spread his wings amongst the stars and fly from port to port on adventures to rival the books Luke has grown up absorbed in.

Things are different now, of course; he’s no longer trapped on Tattooine, though the dust and dunes of the desert planet remain forever engrained in the pores of skin. He’s as free as Han now, but that doesn’t stop Luke from admiring him for other, lesser witnessed qualities. He’s smart, far smarter than people give him credit for, and brave. He risked his life to save Luke on Hoth, Luke’s own recklessness almost getting them both killed in the process, and he’d done it because Luke was his friend. Not to mention the carbonite, a suspended tomb Han had had no idea of knowing if he’d ever leave alive. It’s that selflessness, hidden deep beneath layers of sarcasm and false bravado, that Luke admires the most.

Not that he’d ever tell all of that to Han, not to his face at least.

"I think my reputation will survive. I could always say it was a pity victory.” His grin falters a little, a quick glance toward the doorway checking for any hovering Padawan. “Are you serious about me cooking dinner? You know how that’ll end - I’ll be exiled for poisoning my own students.”

He fixes Han with a look, his tone heavy with meaning, “A gracious winner would help the loser out.”

[scruffiests-blog]

Han barely has the time to gasp in offence at being called anything in relation to pity before Luke speaks again--and speak he does in a way that has that offence melting away into pure amusement. He's perfectly aware of Luke's culinary skills; besides the fact that he'd grown up on his aunt's home-made cooking and never felt a necessity to learn how, being in the desert for most of his life can only mean Luke's knowledge in food is... decent, at best.

Anything about Luke being "decent at best" is admittedly something Han automatically becomes fond of regardless of what it is. There's something about Mr. Selfless Jedi Master not being able to do things, really.

"Who said I was a gracious winner?" comes Han's expected quip, but what else is there Luke could have predicted from him? To be a Solo is to make things more difficult than they have to be at all times, even if “things” involve Han's best friend (who by nature he'd never call his best friend out loud). "You lost fair and square, kid. You better serve your punishment fair and square, too."

It's obvious in the twitch of Han's jaw that he doesn't mean what he says--that he'll cave if Luke asks a little more, as he always does. It's remarkable that Luke convinces him all the time, but it's even more remarkable that Han doesn't even care any more.

Han's fingers curl around his own hips as he rocks on the balls of his feet, false in his innocence as he always is. "I mean, I know you'll miss me in exile, but you'll just be getting what you deserve now, won't you?"

[10jiro]

Visit Original Link

EXILE - ki・mi・ni・mu・chu

[scruffiests-blog]

spice // ( notsuchabadpilot )

@notsuchabadpilot

It wasn’t supposed to turn out this way.

For all intents and purposes, Han was supposed to complete the Kessel Run and get to the other side unscathed. He wasn’t supposed to be ambushed by the end of it, and he most certainly wasn’t supposed to have the Falcon surrounded by Imperial ships after as he’s escorted to God knows where.

It’s not like he even has the goods any more; he’d dumped everything once he caught wind of the Imperial Starfleet on his trail for some god awful reason. So when he’s escorted out of his ship and taken with his hands cuffed behind his back to who he can only assume is their superior, he’s frowning.

Is it because of the drugs? Han’s left to wonder whether this is the reason for it at all any more. There was a time long ago when he’d been a celebrated lieutenant--a man honoured for his work with the Galactic Empire and its endeavours to conquer and conquest. While his dismissal had had all his titles and honours stripped from him (and had effectively made it so that it was like Han never existed to begin with), he’s sure his murder of a general and his liberation of a prisoner hasn’t gone unforgotten.

It’s just strange to be punished for it almost two decades later.

Wracking his brains for what the Imperial Starfleet could want from him could warrant a number of possibilities, this much Han is certain of. He’s done enough in his lifetime for them to want a multitude of things from him. So he stops thinking about it and steels himself while he’s taken to the interrogation room, his lips pressed together as the door slides open.

If his memory serves him right, this is most definitely the part of this class of ship without any torture devices. Han hopes for the best.

[notsuchabadpilot]

we could be immortals || scruffiests

[notsuchabadpilot]

It takes long enough for Han to return the hug that a spike of pure panic stabs unbidden through Luke’s gut. Is this too much? They’ve hugged before, when spirits were high, but each time had been fleeting and rough – their brief embrace after the Battle of Yavin had been more a clash of flailing limbs than anything else. This is a hug, pure and simple, and in front of a group of gaping children to boot. But then Han’s palms are pressing to his back, his chin dipping toward Luke’s ear to murmur a snide comeback – of course, this is Han Solo we’re talking about – and Luke immediately relaxes.

Well, mostly. Han had still whispered into his ear, his words teasing and soft and running molten down the length of Luke’s spine. He can’t exactly relax when his knees are threatening to buckle.

The hug ends far too quickly, though Han’s arm remains a warm weight around his shoulders. Luke doesn’t have time to protest before he’s dragged into a deep bow, a curtain of blond hair flopping forward to fall over his eyes.

“You want me to what?” So distracted by Han’s compliments, it takes a moment for the smuggler’s words to fully sink in. Cook dinner? Luke is no master in the kitchen. In fact, the last time he’d tried to make a meal, a droid had had to put out the fire left in its wake. He knows water, can tell you exactly what grade it is and what planet it came from with a single sip, but actually cooking something is a task he finds difficult to grasp.

Still, he’d lost the match fair and square, and Luke isn’t one to turn down a challenge when presented to him as such. Besides, it’s not like he can turn it down with the younglings looking at him like that, eager and bright-eyed. Okay, so it might result in him unintentionally poisoning them, but a challenge is a challenge.

Meeting Han’s shit-eating grin, Luke smiles at him in return as he throws a reciprocating arm around the taller man’s waist. “I guess I could whip us something up.” His attention returns to the younglings, his nod both respectful and a means of dismissing them. “Dinner is at six – may the force be with you.”

And hopefully, strong stomachs.

Waving the younglings farewell, Luke waits until the last braid is out of sight before shoving Han away playfully. “So, how does it feel to win for a change?”

[scruffiests-blog]

There’s something in Han that flares up when Luke shoves him away, but it’s all good stuff--splendid stuff, really, that Luke has enough of a backbone to do such a thing (not that it’s new, but it’s always welcome). The smile that plays on the Jedi’s lips is one absolutely free of burden, and to know that he’d inspired such a reaction in him simply by winning makes Han start to think he ought to up his game more often.

Still, he replies: “‘For a change’, huh?”

It’s not that Luke’s wrong; the only one who reminds Han of how many times he’s eaten dirt both literally and metaphorically more than Luke does is he, himself. As a winner, however, he gets bragging rights now! And by having bragging rights he can pick apart Luke’s sentences as much as he likes and work in some little jabs of his own in-between.

“Well for one thing it’s pretty bad," is how he decides to start the whole ridiculous thing, "since Master Skywalker--the loser, might I remind you--just insinuated that I, Han Solo the winner, have never won a battle in my life.”

He talks with the same self-important, pompous air he recognises every politician holding, but there’s a little quirk to his lips that says it isn’t anything serious at all. "Feels like the universe is in balance, though--finally." Han is digging his own grave here, but there's nothing like the exhilaration of teasing Luke to his highest potential. "Like this was how it was always meant to be, kid."

Admittedly, Han believes beating Luke once means he'll never get to beat him again. It's one of those amazing, one-in-a-million chance types of lotteries--in the time since they'd started training Padawan, Han had figured out a simple sentence to elaborate on it.

Trick a Jedi into losing once and it's the Jedi's fault, but accept the fact you can never use the same tactic again.

That being said, Han's running out of ways to tickle him. But if he can't make Luke laugh like a child by physical means, there's always conversation--which Han implores to be on his god damn side for once.

"I should be asking you that question," he purrs, and if it isn't already obvious this is just a ploy to get Luke to--in no uncertain terms--swoon about how incredible Han is and how he could never bear to run this entire joint without him. "How's it feel to get a spot on your perfect record?"

[notsuchabadpilot]

we could be immortals || scruffiests

[notsuchabadpilot]

Now this is more like it. 

Luke falls deep into a trance-like state of concentration, allowing the Force to shape and govern each quickly calculated swing of his lightsaber. It’s not easy; Han is deliberately trying to throw him off, filling his mind with oblique images of the Jedi himself rather than his next target area. A wave of pride threatens to snap Luke from his reverie, one bolt landing dangerously close to his boot as he pivots from its path. Han gets better at this every time they practice, almost unrecognisable from the cursing, red-faced smuggler Luke had faced during their first real training sessions.

Another shot, another, Han’s smooth control of his weapon matching Luke move for move. Bolts fly furiously across the room, striking the walls and ceiling though never quite landing near the younglings. The attack is relentless, both punishing on Luke’s body yet undeniably rewarding to see Han so driven, so –

The next bolt shifts trajectory, a last-second flick of the muzzle that catches Luke off-guard. It’s too late to change the angle of his defence; the bolt scores a direct hit on the hilt of Luke’s saber, spinning it out of his hand to clatter across the training room floor.

A stunned gasp goes up from the younglngs, their eyes blown impossibly wide. Luke can only stare at the fallen saber with his lips parted in silent shock, barely even noticing that he’s holding the wrist of his now slightly-smoking right hand. He finally looks to Han, and it’s like a dam bursting its walls. Forget that the whole point of this exercise was blocking the incoming attack; in that moment, Luke cares only about Han’s progress. 

“You did it! You actually did it!” Crossing the room in a few short strides, Luke drags his friend into an elated embrace by the bridge of his shoulders, slapping him on the back. The younglings begin to cheer, their excited laughter infectious. 

“You finally managed to disarm me. Don’t let it go to your head, though – it’s big enough for two already.”

[scruffiests-blog]

Thing Han didn't expect number 1: to succeed.

Luke's lightsabre made a funny little thunking noise when it hit the floor and slid away. There was a resounding gasp. There was also, without a doubt, that swallowing, buzzing noise that accompanies every time the sabre is withdrawn and its power cut off.

Thing Han didn't expect number 2: to have Luke's arms around him.

The kids are laughing now. Han's not sure what's so funny; he didn't make any jokes, and it's not like Luke's some kind of comedic genius. The kids are laughing and Han is at least twice as warm as he usually is. He's warm because Luke is holding him. He's warm because he's getting a hug.

Thing Han didn't expect number 3: to not, for once, have a witty comeback to the end of their battle.

The routine is that Han loses and accepts his fate, but not without a sneering little comment to keep Luke in line. That's what they always do and they've never really strayed from it. Actually winning a sparring match against Jedi Master Luke Skywalker is like finding out something you believed in that everyone said was wrong was actually right--but only after they'd all convinced you it was wrong already.

There's triumph, but there's also shock. Han actually has to blink a few times to let everything sink in.

And then, his hands moving up to Luke's back to return the gesture of good-will (in his own special brand of awkward inability; Christ, when's Han finally going to learn how to act like a normal human being?), Han dips his head so he can say ever so quietly:

"I don't think the loser can tell me what to do."

But the grin that pops onto his face is as shit-eating as they get.

He's got one arm around Luke as he turns to face his new legion of temporary fans, his blaster set into safety mode with a flick of his thumb and returned to its rightful place at his side. "Thank you, thank you!" he calls out, bowing at the waist and taking Luke down with him, "You're too kind--all of you. Really! You got me blushin' here.

"However!" Here Han nods his head gravely, his voice taking on a more self-important tone. "I have to admit, it wouldn't have been as brilliant a sparring session if not for my partner, the good Master Skywalker who, now that he's lost to me, will be responsible for making everyone's dinner tonight."

The kids are cheering and Han's pulling promises out of his ass, but he's sure in the good spirit of things Luke couldn't possibly say no. He turns to look at his shorter companion and half-smirks, the expression tugging up the corner of his mouth in a definite ruffian fashion. "Won't you now, O Powerful One?"

[notsuchabadpilot]

we could be immortals || scruffiests

[notsuchabadpilot]

It still feels a little odd to hear Han address him seriously as Master Skywalker. For all of his relentless teasing – something Luke has swiftly come to enjoy over the passing years – Han is always quick to ensure the youngling’s respect for their Master never wavers. It’s as much for their sake as it is Luke’s, a way to keep them in line whilst maintaining their trust and attention. Luke can’t help but wonder if Han even realises how wonderful a father he’ll make some day.

The third shot flies over his shoulder, so close Luke can feel its searing heat graze his neck. It’s a good thing he trusts the smuggler with his life; that one was close.

Two more shots, each of them curving in a perfect cupid’s bow until knocked back with well-timed strikes from his saber. It’s real effort behind his movements this time, concentration evident in the tension of his shoulders and biceps. It’s imperative he stay focused; the last thing both he and his students need is for him to miss-calculate a shot and end up sprawled dead across the training room floor. Ruthless tease or not, he doubts Han would be very happy about it either.

More eager voices answer Han’s next question, though only one shy whisper points out Luke’s stance. His bent knees and planted feet, the almost elegant pivot from one posture to the next; movement is key when using a lightsaber. Tripping over one’s own feet would probably get you killed, if not by your opponent then by your own stupidity. 

“Well spotted, Tionne.” Switching the saber to his left hand, Luke pushes the blindfold up over one eye with the hook of his thumb. “If my posture was sloppy, no amount of luck could help me deflect Master Solo’s shots. The Force has to move through you, influence your body as well as your mind. I found it hard to grasp once too – I couldn’t even defend myself against the Remote, never mind someone as talented as Han. It takes time, and practise.”

Letting the blindfold drop back into place, Luke returns his attention to Han, dancing the lightsaber back and forth as he drops into a defensive stance. “Think we have time for a real challenge before the end of class?”

[scruffiests-blog]

Han will never forget the kid he met in Mos Eisley, that much is for certain, but the Luke that he sees now--speaking of how the Force moves and exists, how it assists and aids--is such a faraway change from the bright-eyed boy who wouldn't shut up on his ship. And it's not that it's a bad thing; travelling with Luke is much easier now that Han doesn't have to answer twenty questions every five minutes. It's just a little jarring sometimes when it registers, like now when Luke stands in a way Han can only compute as a 'hit me with your best shot' position.

While he'd been a little distracted by his thoughts watching Luke speak and gesture for his students' sake, the sentences the young Jedi’d spoken run one more lap around Han's head for proper processing.

When they register, he frowns again. "Who're you callin' Master Solo?"

Maybe it's cheesy to start a demonstration with a one-liner like that, but Han cares little for the little details. It's the big picture that matters, and the big picture is that Luke doesn't want him to take it easy any more.

A good line of logic Han's determined since living in what he likes to call Luke Skywalker's Wayward Home for Young Padawan is that whatever Luke wants, he probably ought to get.

Like now.

A one-handed grip turns into a two-handed grip, power and experience written into the stance that Han takes. Over twenty years of firing weapons certainly gives him some level of authority, and it shows when he finally starts shooting the way Luke wants him to. There are no more pauses in-between each shot, no more moments in which Han gauges the reactions of his audience. Right now there is only him and Luke and a small pocket in a vast galaxy--right now all Han is trying to do is be able to blast his lightsabre out of his hands.

Of course, alerting Luke to what he's aiming for (both in the directions of his shots and thinking too deeply about it) would be like assuring his own downfall. For this reason Han only watches Luke--makes it so his mind is filled with the image of him blind-folded, prepared, and swathed in robes that Han swears are too big for him. He allows his mind to be swarmed with every little detail as he aims not in one concentrated area, but in many scattered ones--such is the only way for him to be able to counter-attack Luke being able to read his movements through the Force.

And when he sees it, finally--his chance, his opening, his possible moment of shining glory--Han flicks his wrist and suddenly shifts his aim from Luke's torso to the small, small window of his false hand and the lightsabre that rests upon it.

[notsuchabadpilot]

we could be immortals || scruffiests

[notsuchabadpilot]

“Beating you in front of an audience is a lot of fun, sure.” Luke nods thoughtfully, matching Han’s light-hearted tone. “But it’s not as though I’m cheating, not technically. Once mastered, the Force isn’t something you can just flick on and off like a–”

Luke’s words come to an abrupt halt as Han virtually melts into his personal space, his lips falling slack in silent surprise and – and what? Anticipation lances through Luke’s chest, his heart skipping a familiar yet unwelcome beat.

No. He thought he’d pushed these ridiculous feelings aside long ago, buried them somewhere deep enough they’d likely never resurface. But with Han right there, those sun-warm eyes peering down at him and the scent of engine oil and ozone filling his head, it’s suddenly distinctly hard to remember why he’d ever denied them in the first place.

The blindfold is plucked from his hand and pressed over his eyes, both obscuring his vision and snapping him out of his humiliating stupor. He stands obediently still as Han secures the ties, more from embarrassment than anything, desperately hoping his friend hasn’t noticed the pink tinge to the tips of his ears.

Clearing his throat, Luke forces himself to concentrate and takes a much-needed step back. The saber is less of a weapon than it is an extension of himself at this point, every scratch and dent recognisable beneath his palm. The class falls silent, awed by the deep hum of focused energy as it sparks to life. 

Han is right, of course; even with the blindfold in place, Luke can still see him. Perhaps not as clearly as with true visual sight, but this is a purer, untainted sense. He knows exactly where Han is, knows the location of every youngling in the room. He can feel Chewie in the common room above, knows he’s stealing Han’s share of the blue buttermilk biscuits. He sees Leia, perhaps brightest of them all, in her personal study.

But even with the Force aiding him, Luke knows never to underestimate his opponent. Han Solo is good, a true master with his weapon of choice. Luke may be able to predict when the blasts will come, but sometimes, their trajectory isn’t always what he’d expected. 

The first shot is an easy one. Luke swings the saber in a simple arc, feels the blast bounce away with a crackling hiss. The angle of his defensive move means the bullet flies back toward Han, leaving a charred mark by his friend’s boot.

“Not much of a party, Han. Try again.”

[scruffiests-blog]

"Hey, if I partied at a hundred percent we wouldn't be allowed to have the kids here."

The wink Han does that follows this sentence is so painfully obvious it doesn't take any genius at all to be able to tell he did it--blindfolded or not. "And besides," he says around the next fired bolt, "we should start simple for basic lessons, shouldn't we?" As predicted, Luke easily deflects Han's second shot, once more making it fly close enough for him to worry about his clothes burning, but not about dying. It whizzes over his shoulder and crashes into a nearby surface.

"Now, kids," Han starts, one hand holding his blaster and the second gesturing vaguely (and pointing, as rude as Han's always told it is) Luke's way. "Look closely at how Lu--Master Skywalker's standing. Can anyone tell me if they've noticed anything?"

Han gets a number of chirping, high-pitched voices in return: Master Skywalker holds a sabre with two hands! Master Skywalker doesn't move his head much! Master Skywalker is really really handsome!

And while he approves of all of them in a general sense, they aren't what he's looking for.

"I'm gonna shoot him again," he declares. "Now watch carefully."

This time, Han adds an arc to his movement, his hand's starting position being behind him and his blaster actually firing after he's gotten his arm slicing through the air at his side with a semi-circle. It stays directly at shoulder-level, and while the demonstraton itself looked more dramatic than called for, the associated bolt had taken a curved trajectory on its way to Luke--effectively whizzing a hair's breadth above his shoulder. Han has absolutely no intention of hurting Luke--not even accidentally--and he has extremely low trust in whether Luke can hold back bolts at all, even if he's seen it happen before.

Han fires two more shots, but what he focuses on isn't actually Luke's skill in defending. It's the children that capture him, really: their curiosity, their malleable minds. And the fact that their eyes are bright tells Han that for once, he's doing something great by Luke's side--as things like this should always be.

"Anyone catch that?"

He's just waiting for someone to point out Luke's beautiful posture--his starting form, that is---out? Right?

[flyingrainbowdust-deactivated20]

[pawpriints]

this seemed funnier than it is in the middle of the night

[notsuchabadpilot]

we could be immortals || scruffiests

[notsuchabadpilot]

A thoroughly self-satisfied smile is Luke’s only armour against the vice-like grip on his shoulder, Han’s hatred of his new title something the Jedi will never fully understand. He clearly remembers the first time he suggested it, how he’d watched Han’s face contort and his chest puff up like an angry bird. A firm no, then. Still, Luke had persisted, slipping the title into lessons and casual conversation until his students slowly began to pick up on it. He’d laughed in delight the first time a youngling had called Han Master Solo to his face.

It’s not all meant to be teasing, even if that is a (pretty big) part of it. Han is a wonderful teacher, a true natural with the younglings. He makes them laugh as they learn, something Luke struggles to do, leaves them smiling and restless for another class. He’s more than earned their respect, and to Luke, that’s enough to call him Master. He’s read about Jedi who were called the same for far less.

An idea forms in his head, sudden and bright like the burst of a flare. “Why don’t you join us instead, Master Solo?” He answers smoothly, sweeping aside his robe to reveal the lightsabre at his hip. “A practical demonstration for my class. That way, the whole group will benefit from seeing the sabre-angles we can show them. What do you say?” He twirls the blindfold around his finger, hoping the teasing gesture will lure his friend like a flag to a bull. “I’ll even give you the advantage.”

[scruffiests-blog]

"Number one, it's Han." He's never going to let that go, clearly. "Number two, 'advantage' my ass," Han grunts, but there's a good-natured vibe to the whole thing despite his indignant pout. "You just wanna beat me in front of the kids again, don't you? Y'sly little brat."

That gets some laughs, which Han inwardly relishes. Sometimes he wonders why it is he's as strengthened by their joy as he is, but he pushes that aside and gets to his feet instead, his hand moving towards his holster in smooth, easy habit. "Whether you're all blind-folded or not doesn't make a difference with the Force, now, does it?" he huffs, but either way he finds himself walking over to where Luke stands and unravelling the cloth that's curled itself around his finger.

"Don't you move," Han commands, simple and easy as he secures the blindfold around Luke's eyes. There's a moment's nostalgia somewhere--he remembers when Luke himself had done these exercises with an old helmet, and somehow that does something to him--but Han pushes that sentimentality away in favour of giving Luke's temple a small tap to let him know he's secured the cloth away.

"Okay, kids--" Han turns, regarding Luke's sizeable class with his hand lifted for dramatic emphasis. "Let's all gather 'round for the Dramatic Loss of Han Solo, shall we?"

His audience is giggling again, but Han jogs over until he's a significant distance away from where Luke stands. "Hey, draw your sabre!" he calls out, taking his blaster from its holster. Knowing Luke would have more than enough skill to be sure his deflected bolts wouldn't hit the children, Han figures there isn't any risk in using a very real weapon.

"Let's get this party started, hotshot."

And so he fires the first shot.

[notsuchabadpilot]

we could be immortals || scruffiests

scruffiests

The training remote hovered silently a few feet above the ground, turning slowly on its axis. Luke watched the youngling’s knuckles tighten around the handle of her lightsabre, grim determination in the clench of the girl’s jaw. He had to smile at that, a nostalgic curl of his lips. Had he looked this skittish his first time, vision obscured by a helmet’s visor as he waited for the first shot to fire? It all seemed so long ago, even if it was only a handful of years in reality.

“Concentrate, Kirana. Pay attention – feel your surroundings.” Calmly circling his blindfolded student, Luke moved the remote with a short wave of his hand. It floated a foot to the Padawan’s right, spinning a little faster as though channelling the near-palpable excitement crackling throughout the room. Kirana nodded stiffly, her shoulders tense and hunched.

The remote fired with a shrill pew!, a blast of pure energy hurtling toward the youngling. Kirana squeaked in alarm, her blue-bladed lightsabre raising in one quick, panicked motion. The energy bolt ricocheted – Luke gasped, ducking swiftly; the bolt slammed into the wall an inch or two above his head. Stars… good thing he’d set the remote to sting rather than stun or kill.

Giggles erupted from the small crowd of watching younglings gathered by the opposite wall, their innocent laughter echoing from the training centre’s walls. Luke shook his head on an exasperated smile, only hoping his hair wasn’t singed and smoking. 

“Well… at least you deflected the shot.” Patting Kirana on the shoulder, Luke tugged the blindfold from around the youngling’s eyes. “We just need to work on your aim. I’m sure Master Solo can help you with that.” 

[scruffiests-blog]

"Who's this 'Master Solo' bojo you're talking about, kid?"

That's him, obviously, but for the year or two they've been running his joint, Han's contested the name every time with a grit-teeth smile and a 'Han's fine'. Even now as he walks in--never in master's robes, though Luke once tried to get him to wear them for the "Jedi effect"--he's smiling that same fake smile as he comes over to thump his hand (hard) on Luke's shoulder.

He's never going to admit it, but it sure makes him happy when the kids around him start giggling. Han's no brilliant father type, but he's more than fine playing the part of fun-guy-to-Master-Skywalker's-boring-everything.

"Please," he says, all false sugar and candy-coated hearts as his hand tightens the way it curls around Luke's shoulder, "call me Han. This guy doesn't know what he's talking about."

One hand lifts at the same time Han crouches down, his index finger curled out to point at her as he offers her an amused grin. "Kirana, right?" The girl nods, giggling with rosy cheeks when Han winks at her. "I never forget a pretty face.

"But look, so we don't kill your master, why don't we go off to the side and work on those sabre-angles together, huh?" Han pats on the sabre gripped tightly in her little hands. "I might not feel the Force, but I do know how to shoot a blast right back if I can see it. It'll be easy as pie."

The girl nods her head, so Han lifts his own to regard Luke with a crooked smirk. "You gonna let me kidnap your pretty Padawan here?" More giggling resounds, and at the same time his ego flutters like nothing else. "I promise I'll give her back before your lessons end. How's that?"