Biscuits and Beskar: Ch. 11
Pairing: Boba Fett x OC Kaylee Manu
Rated: Mature (Violence!)
Warnings: cannon typical violence, language and derogatory terms used for canine species, old wounds/ past trauma getting reactivated, Death and mentions there of, plotting, evil baddies doing evil baddie things!!! Cad Bane (a warning unto himself)
A/N: I am PROFOUNDLY sorry for the long wait, my course work in school is slowly killing me. Please know that I always want to put out a quality piece and that I am always working on something for you wonderful people. I hope that you are all well and eating something delicious today!
Again I take no credit for the actual dialogue from the show, that's all to the wonderful writers. I did my best to blend and convey the scenes on paper and to work the different pieces together. That being said I hope that while this is a good bit of thrilling action even if somewhat bloody.
GIF by @monikanarnia
Words: 5800
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“The Pyke Syndicate has not yet arrived in numbers. The minute they do though, we will see them before they see us.” Fennec paused, looking to the Daimyo. Boba had that look, far and solemn, that belied what all of them felt. Trying to refocus on the task before them she continued, “The truce you negotiated with the families of Mos Espa should ensure their neutrality, allowing us to gain the upper hand.”
“Should,” Boba grunted as he continued his observation of the main street. Life did not operate on should's and would's, only what was. Which may or may not spell the end of them.
Probably the former.
Elsewhere Drash and Skad wove slowly through the streets of the old city. Maintaining a controlled facade while keeping a watchful eye had all but become second nature. The red and blue machines rumbled comfortingly as they passed through the star port. Moving through the Municipal Center the Wookie raised his brow as they passed, none too happy to be in Trandosian territory. As the two returned to the workers district there was a change in the air, unease seeped into their very bones.
“Look there,” Skad gestured to where old monger Peale was smirking. Something in the way the man's eyes crinkled gleefully that was wrong to the core. “Wonder whose tooka he kicked?”
“Let's get back to the others,” Drash whipped her bike down the alley. The old bastard knew something.
He always did.
The suns had risen, cresting the mesas surrounding the Palace.
“R-4, anything on the scan?”
The droid replied in a series of beeps and whirrs confirming that nothing had breached the outer perimeter. The surrounding trails now impassible after a hard nights work. Barricades, remote sentries, and scanners were somewhat reassuring to you. Still sensors were easy enough to fool, so you had continued the droid rotation. It was the best you could do.
Glancing across the hard pack dirt apron and the road beyond, you watched for any dust rising. The Pykes could approached from the air just as easily though, thus your current station on the high balcony. Gazing out from your perch you tried to remain focused on your task. Fennec had called delegating the task of monitoring their positions, the holo table had since been alight with the city map. Each marker a person to whom you had grown close.
Ro and Wheem
Krrsantan
Your kids
Fennec and Din
Boba
Three flickering lights were in the Sanctuary. Remaining in that hollow shell was unwise in so many ways. Was it a cowardly thing to want your little family to remain safe despite their duty? If it was then you were the worst sort of person.
But you could abide that, so long as they lived.
Nikita had done well, you'd placed the girl in the catacombs of the basement level under the droids protection. There was an old delivery passage through that level, long ago bricked over but easily blasted open. It was an option to get to safety.
If the worst came you could buy Vol and 'Kita time.
And take as many of the bastards down that you could.
Petain had been siting patiently in the ruins of the once glorious night club as the others had talked. He would give begrudging credit to the assassin it was a masterful plan. Though there was likely already a garrison of Pyke here, if the Mayor's past dealings were any basis of comparison. So he sat hands cuffed, at the end of it all. Waiting for his former employer to kill the Daimyo and likely be caught in the crossfire. Pulling out a deck of cards he gave a little wave, “I don't suppose anyone would mind if I?”
Fennec looked over increadously to the tailhead as he raised a Sabacc deck. Rolling her eyes she gestured her permission. They had little else to do.
Petain rambled, often really and mostly when he was nervous. A terrible habit, he knew, but one he had developed into an envoy skill of sorts. “You know I was told once, back on Coruscant, that all life is a game of Sabbac. Half of it skill...”
Boba watched as the Twi'lek made a flourish of shuffling the cards mid air.
“...and half luck.” Petain smiled as the Bounty Hunter in silver came to lean by the counter, taking a hand in the game.
“I take it the Pikes weren't asking for this one back?” Din smirked under his dome, examining his cards.
Boba mused, “Offered money to kill him, thought he might be of use.”
“I can indeed be useful! You sir, strike me as a man of practicality.” Petain continued to flatter the Daimyo, couldn't hurt after all. He dealt out a hand for him, then checked his own cards. On a deep sigh his face fell. Petain placed his cards in the discard pile. “I do however, as you may have so keenly observed, have no luck.”
Fennec kept her eyes on the street, but the twi'lek's words rattled in her ears. How often had a hunt come down to those two inexplicable factors? Then again how often had Fennec made her own luck.
“Daimyo Fett,” 8-D8's shrill voice rang in the hollow room, “Someone wishes to speak with you.”
Boba set his cards down, cocking an eye at his second in command, “I thought you said no one would be sneaking up on us?”
Stepping into the midday suns he paused. Boba would have recognized that damn hat from a parsec off. It had been years since he had seen the old Duros, time had done nothing to lessen the sick feeling brought by his presence. Cad Bane was legendary in the Hunters Guild, but that wasn't what unsettled Boba. Bane was a wild card, a cold blooded murderer. He didn't wade through blood, the Duros bathed in it with glee. Watching as Bane's face contorted with a twisted sharp smile, Boba gnashed his teeth.
“Thought I smelled something.” He muttered through the vocorder, “If you're looking for a job you're late.”
“I've already got a job.” Bane's lip quirked up, “I'm here to negotiate on behalf of the Pyke Syndicate.”
“I don't negotiate with gutless murders.” Boba growled under his helmet.
“Well,” Bane sneered at the Mandalorian, “if that ain't the quacta calling the stifling slimy.”
“Clear out,” Boba spat the words between them, his disgust evident, “tell your bosses they're outnumbered.”
“Oh I wouldn't be counting on the people of Freetown to be coming anytime soon.” The Duros clucked his tongue at his own sick joke. Leveling his eyes at Fett's visor he smiled, displaying his razor sharp, yellow teeth. “You see, I paid Marshal Vanth a little visit. Never should have left him without his armor. Taught you better than that boy.”
Fennec and Din remained crouched behind the entrance pillars. While the adobe was scorched it still offered adequate cover, both peered around to make their presence known. Boba may be the one in the open, but he was far from alone.
Bane's head cocked to the side.
“Before you go getting any ideas I got back shooters too.” Not getting the desired response from Fett, he decided to lay all cards on the table. “Let the spice move through Mos Espa and all this can be avoided.”
“No.”
Sucking in air through his teeth in annoyance, Bane flicked the top of his hat, “What do you propose then?”
“I will only negotiate with the head of the Pyke Syndicate,” Boba had to buy more time. If it was true what the old bastard said then they were in trouble.
“You want to speak to Lucius?” Bane chuckled, “The one that massacred your Tuskin family and blamed it on a speeder gang?”
Boba's stomach dropped to his boots as the world tilted on it's axel. the feeling didn't last long, years of survival bringing him back to the present. He felt the rage, wanting nothing more than to pull it around him like a well worn cloak. Gripping the scattergun, Boba prepared to send his old mentor back with a message of his own. One that the enemies of Tattoine would quake from for the next millennia.
“Boba.” Fennec moved up to take a flanking position swiftly before he did something rash.
“Lets do this right here,” Bane grinned even wider, “right now.”
“No,” Moving closer she tried to make eye contact through the helmet. Even under the armor Fennec could see that the experienced hunter was ready to snap.
“He killed Vanth, the reinforcements aren't coming.”
“We fight on our terms,” Her voice was steady. It was what a good second in command did, protect their boss' blind side. “You pick the time and place, you are the Daimyo. This is your fight, not theirs.”
“Maybe they'll negotiate with that little lady at the Palace,” Bane's eyes crinkled as he watched the boy puff up even more. Now there was a sore spot, just as he'd though. “I hear she's quite the fire cracker.”
Molodoy, the heir of the Klantoonian family chuckled evilly as the speeder rounded through the canyon passages. His uncle had specifically sent him to fulfill this mission, paining Fett had become a new obsession of his. Even crime lords needed hobbies.
“Remember, we take the woman alive.”
Molodoy was from a long line of underworld crime lords. The embarrassment suffered by their family at the alliance dinner was the breaking point in a long line of insults. If his uncle was pleased with his performance in this task then Molodoy was certain of a promotion. Once the territory was settled of course, “Uncle Guran wants Fett to hear her scream.”
As the speeders rounded into the canyon the young hound licked his jowls, forgetting the warning of his elder. Why should he be afraid of such a small human female? Turning to his driver the he smirked, “Though he didn't say we couldn't have a taste first now did he?”
Checking the flickering lights on the map, your hackles raised at a fast approaching object. One of the remote sentry alarms began to screech, showing five heavily armored speeders. “Vol, we have company.”
Striding across the grand suite from the balcony you paused to look at the bed. Perhaps it was the memory of those few blissful hours that steadied your nerves, moments of peace motivating you beyond what anger ever could. No, this day would not be your last, you had far too much to live for.
Descending the stairs two at a time your voice steadied, “Everyone get in position!”
Boba seethed beneath his plating at the mention of you. Fennec was silently urging restraint with a sharp look before he did something rash. Boba's voice rumbled, venom in every syllable as he took two steps forward. If his rage could manifest it would have melted the sand he trod to incinerate Bane where he stood. “You will deal with me.”
No, this ended here and now, Bane would not harm his woman.
“He wants to draw you out. Don't allow emotion to cloud your judgement now.” Fennec had to practically body block the man.
Boba's eyes narrowed, “I can take him”
“We need to adjust,” Fennec countered with an air of authority. Seeing as her words sank in she tried to offer incentive, “Don't worry, you'll have your moment.”
He wanted nothing more than to charge out onto the street and obliterate Bane, to wipe him from the face of the Galaxy. Boba knew that Fennec was right though, this was not the time. So he replaced his hand atop his weapon, glaring back at the red of his enemy's eyes. “Tell your client that negotiations are terminated.”
The Klantooinians and their Pike escort pulled up to the Mesra Palace, taking in the disarray before them. It looked abandoned, the bay doors cracked open. Tracks leading towards the North Dune Sea furthered that belief along with the lone droid sentry quaking at the apron. Molodoy was no fool, turning to the Pike enforcers he grunted. “Why would they leave their stronghold? Go check it out.”
Positioned in the murder hole, your eyes were keen upon the enemy. “Come on in, little closer. After all we're supposed to be friends, aren't we.”
The first four fins took point. It was quiet, they could hear the gravel beneath their boots crunch. Wind passing through the canyon walls whispered like banshees, their portent begging the intruders take heed. The Astromech at the door buzzed and practically growled as the Pike came closer, sparking its weld arm in their direction. The pointman of the group shot at the droid, causing it to hastily retreat into the bay. He chuckled under the filtrate mask, “It's all clea-.”
His words cut off as the clinking of small baubbles preempted their arrival. Catching the light before raining down from the overhead vents, the Pyke tilted his head.
“GET OUT OF THERE!” Molodoy roared but it was far too late. The beads bursting into flame on and around the thugs, unyielding once their work was begun. The four men cried out as the flames consumed them, futile movements slowing until there was nothing but char. Cursing a storm the Klantooinian began to bark, “Blast the door, you lot go around the back perimeter!”
The floor shook as you made it to the far end of the hangar. Waiting in the long hall you activated a series of charges behind. The old trainer was shooting from the middle balcony, you could hear the returning fire well enough to guess an even split in the enemy forces. Waiting for your opponents to follow, you tried to take deep steadying breaths. “Vol, how are you doing?”
“Fine,” he growled as a shot landed near his head, “Bastards are good I'll give them that.”
Scraping metal from the disabled hangar door was all the motivation you needed to move to the next position, “Here they come.”
“I couldn't get through to Shand.” Vol called down as he continued shooting.
“Kark!” Your gut dropped. Either the others couldn't answer or were under attack like yourselves. Or worse. No, you refused to believe that. Boba and Fennec were far too good and you'd ensured that the kids knew how to defend themselves long ago. It helped no one to panic so instead you focused on the task before you. “We'll be alright, just keep firing.”
Vol gave a chuff, “Like I have a choice.”
The silence between Fennec and Boba was broken by a crackle on the com.
“Come in boss, come in...”
The communicator at Fennec's hip was fuzzy with static, but not enough to cover the fear and tension in Drash's voice. Boba and Din drew closer, Fennec's eyes narrowed as she spoke, “Report.”
“Something's strange, somethings wrong, over!”
“Have the Pykes arrived?” Boba stared at the small device, wishing he could see what was happening. Drash was cut off mid reply, the signal going static.
“Drasha, Look out!”
Turbo spun, pulling her behind the stacked cargo bins. The Aqualish began opening up on them, the shattered adobe overhead raining down with every blast. Crouching lower Skad tried to get a look at how many there were. Marcus attempted to fire at the one with the cannon, hit twice in the chest for his trouble. Drash seethed in anger as she pulled him behind the bins. Freyn and Beau began to return shot for shot in short succession. Skad found a safe vantage point, aiming at the further targets.
Drash made a grab for where the communicator had fallen in the dirt, praying the Daimyo would answer. “THE LOCALS ARE ATTACKING!”
Fennec paled as the screaming on the coms grew louder, the unmistakable echo of recoiless fire ringing in the background noise. “Can you evade them?”
“I thought we had a treaty?” Din looked at Fett, the older hunter was fuming under his armor.
Boba rumbled, “So did I.”
“THEY'VE LAID A TRAP,” The girl was screaming over the noise behind her, “WE NEED HELP!”
Boba's mind jumped to the other venerable members of his tribe as Fennec tried to calm the girl and think of a solution. Krrsantan was in the middle of the town and the next closest to the kids. “Santo, Santo can you hear me?”
Krrsantan raised the communicator to reply, pausing as people began scattering. Screaming rent the air as the Trandosian butchers drew their knives. He wasn't surprised or even disappointed, it came as a relief. At last the scalebacks were showing their true colors. Well if the bastards wanted his pelt, then they'd have to pay dearly. Giving a great roar the old gladiator blasted the first three to charge him.
He hadn't seen the fourth one sneak behind him. Pain from the wound as the blades sliced through his fur and skin causing him to thrash wildly sending the hatchling into the wall closest. No, he would not fall to these bastards. If it was the last thing the Wookie did he would send the Trandosians straight to hell!
Boba's visor darted to Djarin who had been trying to raise the Gamorians. As the younger hunter met his gaze shaking, a burning rage settled in. He'd been a fool to fight fair.
Ro and Weem had watched train after train come and go, shuttling cargo. It was sweltering under the suns and their armor. As the last train pulled away a pack of Klantooinians, weapons drawn, began crossing the tracks towards them. Weem began squealing into the communicator as the first blows came, but there was no response.
With nowhere to run the pack circled the two guards quickly, pushing them to the cliff's ledge. No help was coming for them, even if the others had heard they were much too far. Ro was the first to fall, catching sight of his friend being pushed over to join him. Weem had been right, they should have left Tattoine when they had the chance.
“It's a coordinated attack,” Boba roared, “we need to gather our people.”
“There are far too many for a direct assault,” Fennec swung her riffle around, “We need to take out command and control.”
Boba turned to the the former Major Domo, “Do the Pyke still operate out of Mos Eisley?
“Its difficult to say say for certain,” Petain sputtered in panic, as the Master Assassin racked her riffle threateningly. Swallowing hard he finally gave up his last bargaining chip, “Yes, now that I think of it indeed they do. More specifically the lower levels of the dessert survey office on...”
“Shut up!” Turning to his second, Boba's words were a command. “Can you get there in time?”
“Worth a shot,” She nodded, revving the speeder before taking off.
Truth was this was their only shot.
Molodoy stormed into the Palace hangar. The overhead lights were disabled, only a few narrow shafts from the sun illuminated the space. He saw two more of his men laying dead on the floor closest to the grand hall, the scent of blood fueling his irritation further. Growling furiously he saw a shadow dancing through the servants hall. Their pack carefully approached, pausing to listen as something crashed to the floor as their prey fled in haste.
He could smell fear, “Come out, come out where ever you are little bird...”
“We need to reinforce the cover on these windows,” Din was already busy moving what debris could be salvaged to make a barricade near the entrance. Fett joined him long enough to finish the job, though his mind was far afield. Din understood what it was to worry, to not know, and yet to still do what must be done. Din's visor met the hollow reflection in Fett's. “She's tougher than she looks, the Palace is the safest place to be.”
Boba nodded but did not comment, he didn't dare. The Fates hated him as it was.
Rolling your eyes from the kitchen you remained hidden. There was something terrifyingly familiar about this scenario, being hunted in your kitchen again. Kriffing mutts weren't going to get the better of you today though. So you remained silent as the wind waiting for them to come to you.
“Come out here little bitch,” Molodoy rumbled, rounding the corner with his men into the kitchen. Pots had been left to boil, a roast was half cut on the counter. Taking a slice he chuckled, proceeding to the far end of the room to a smaller dinning alcove. He could see wine set out and greedily took a glass, raising it in toast. Perhaps he would get his Uncle to reconsider killing the woman. The door linking the dining room to the kitchen slammed closed cutting him and two others off from the group. Cursing he barked at the one that remained, “Its a trap, get to the control panel.”
Three Klantooinians were in the kitchen, the others in the next room pounded at the door uselessly. Jabba had been smart using blast doors throughout the palace. And now you put that structural ingenuity to good use. Slipping silently from the pantry you raised your fillet knife. Waiting for the cull of the group to lean near the stoves, you covered his gaping maw before slicing his jugular. It was clean and methodic, like breaking down any large piece of meat you reminded yourself to take it one cut at a time. The mutt's dying sounds were muffled by all the banging from the next room, so you let him fall to the grill grate to draw the others attention.
There was a new smell in the kitchen as the two remaining thugs paused their efforts. Sniffing the air they cautiously inched back into the food preparation area, growling in anger as they looked down at the incinerated body of their comrade.
“Hey boys,” you taunted, “Let's play.”
Their attack was angry and uncoordinated, though still stronger than you. You fought them on your own terms, setting loose all the rage that had festered till now. The hate, the sorrow, the righteous fury that had simmered to a boil. You let these two Klantooinians have every bit as you beat them back. Swinging your blade the defense was hacking and uncoordinated. But you knew the Palace, every inch of it now, knowledge that was a strength and advantage of it's own. Grabbing a pot from the stove you doused both in boiling oil, pounding on them with the heavy pot and full weight of your body to back each blow. It was enough to knock one down, allowing you to focus on the other. Throwing the knife you somehow managed to impale it in the mutt's stomach, it only made him angrier.
“Come on you fucking flea bag, show me what you got!” Running as quickly as you could to the back of the kitchen, the brute gave chase. Foaming at the mouth in fury and pain, he wasn't quick enough to react. Jumping into the walk in freezer, your hand caught the shelf rail holding you by the door until the cur followed. He didn't see the layer of ice on the floor plating within the entrance, momentum sending him slipping and falling into the far back. Hopping back out you locked the freezer door and reset the therm for -30 Celsius.
The adrenalin was setting in as hard as your breathing was. Straightening up you knew that this was not the time for a joke, still... “Hope Biscuits likes popsicles.”
Cautiously treading over to the Klantooinian on the floor you confirmed he was dead, skull caved in worse than a fallen soufflé. Vol was still firing from the balcony, taking a few steadying breaths you crept into the hall. Every foot fall feeling far too loud as it echoed in the dark corridor had your already frayed nerves on end. Inching closer to the throne room the rancor could be heard roaring in frustration. As the edge of your boot made contact with the first step your body was suddenly kicked forward.
“Aaaaaahhhhh!!!” You must have hit every step as you rolled down the stairs onto the floor grate. Biscuits began wheefing and gave a worried trill. Poor rancor was worried for you, trying to help by scratching his claws against the metal. Then his growl turned to a protective roar as the Klantoonians laughed down at you.
“What's the matter female...”
You glared up at the two hounds, baring your teeth as much in anger as to stave off the pain.
“...are we no longer welcomed guests?”
Fennec could still hear Drash on the coms. The kids were pinned with no retreat, so that was priority one. Krrsantan and the Gamorreans had never replied. Gunning the speeder she picked at the few Aqualish that lay in her path, raising the Mods, “Back up is on the way, stay down.”
Skad and Drash were too focused on returning fire and treating their wounded to hear more than crackling on the coms. Drash tried to raise the Assassin again, “Say again, repeat last transmittion?”
“Dont move,” Fennec pulled the speeder to a skidding halt in the alley, taking aim at the insectoid threat. “Keep your heads DOWN!”
Drash understood the last of the transmission, looking to Skad and Nitro before pulling the others in to shield them. The blaster fire in their direction came to an abrupt end though did not disappear entirely. The time it took for Shand to kill the Aqualish traitors was probably only a few minutes, but it still had felt like hours.
“It's clear,” Fennec called out, reslinging her riffle. Glancing at the group she took stock. The twins were injured but still had fight left in them, same for Skad and Drash. Marcus was alive but in poor shape. Gritting her teeth, the Assassin issued her orders. “Get to the Sanctuary and link up with the Daimyo.”
“Hey,” Drash walked up to Shand, “Thank you.”
Fennec couldn't help the grin that curved her lips. It wasn't often someone thanked her for killing, on the other hand it wasn't often that she was doing it to save someone's skin and not her own. Dropping the speeder into start her tone was amused, “You're welcome.”
“Since when should I welcome a guest who breaks the custom of hospitality?” Easing to your feet while letting your eyes adjust there stood two of the meanest, snot nosed, spoiled little mongrels you'd ever set eyes too. “You know the gods strike people down for less.”
“Isn't it lucky then that I don't believe in your gods.” Molodoy chuckled.
“You're going to die today mutt,” The young Mutt was as big a bastard as his Uncle Guran, you remembered how the welp would strut around town harming civilians for fun. Reaching to the small of your back for your pistol, you drew down on him and his friend. The first volley hit Molodoy's friend, center mass and dead accurate. Unable to move fast enough on your still stiff leg though, you couldn't avoid Molodoy charging you. He landed punch after punch, sending you reeling to the floor. The blaster flew into the void of the room as you'd landed. Still you gave a battle cry, grabbing a vase and bashing it over his head. Not that it did more than anger the brute further.
“Shut up woman!” Molody yanked you by your braid, using it to throw you into the base of the throne. Shaking the broken pottery off he began to kick at you mercilessly. Every thud against your body emphasizing his words, “Weak little human.”
Pain was something you were well acquainted with, the sting didn't phase you anymore. The struggle to draw air however was a different story, fear coursed with every failure to draw breath. Turning away from the blows, you crawled onto the throne itself while Molodoy strutted the room confident in his victory over you. Spitting blood, you refused to yield weaving your next words like a net to catch this rat. “If we're so weak why do you fear us?”
“We do not fear you,” Molodoy spat back, “You are nothing and once we have taken Mos Espa you will remain nothing.”
“We are free men and women.” Taking a pained breath, your eyes rose in defiance. “We are the strength that built this city, the spirit that fills it.”
“Spirits can be broken.” Molodoy smiled cruelly, enjoying the sight of you bleeding, “And I like to break things.”
“You bastards will never control us.” Pushing through the screaming of your body, you sat on the throne like it was your own. Glaring down imperiously, posture ramrod straight your words echoed in the room, “That is why you fear us.”
“WE DO NOT FEAR YOU!” Molodoy lunged, grabbing you by the throat. To hell with his uncle, he would silence your insolent tongue. He laughed as your puny hands clawed his grip and face reddened. Even then you spat blood in his eye. He would delight in crushing the impudent light from your eyes and then he would throw your body where Fett could see it. Sneering, he taunted you. “Is that really the best you can do? Pathetic!”
“No...” You whispered, even as your vision began to spot at the edges. Taking the small knife from your waistband you stabbed it hard between his ribs. As soon as the mutt's hands released your throat you reared back kicking him away. Struggling to cough, your airway opened and you swallowed the air greedily. Lunging to the armrest control, you glared at the dying male as you growled. “This is!”
Molodoy screamed as the floor beneath him gave way and he fell. Down, down until at last he landed painfully on a compact sand floor. “You BITCH!”
Easing your way to the edge you glanced down. The mutt continued to scream, never noticing the real danger behind him in the enclosure. He cursed you, threatened you, told you that Boba was already dead and that you were soon to join him. Looking down at this lowly creature you could almost feel bad for what you were about to do.
Almost
“Biscuits,” You called, voice horse but no less a sweet cooing that you reserved for the creature.
Molodoy paled as warm threads of saliva fell onto his shoulder. Turning his eyes met the shins of the beast then rose till coming eye to eye with the rancor calf. It's own eyes narrowed as it growled menacingly. Plaintively he began to call to the female again. Begging to be let out, that he would convince his uncle to leave them alone. “Whatever you want woman! Please, call it off!”
“Freemen will never bow to the likes of you,” a cruel smirk curled the edges of you mouth, “Free men built this Galaxy and Free men will have their day once more.”
Relaxing against the armrest you crooned at the rancor, “Biscuits... Supper Time.”
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