@sildae prompted: fake married or fake enemies | Jangme
“...This new bill would slash the defense appropriation set-asides for private security contracts, effectively crippling bounty hunters’ ability to cash in on political targets.”
Padmé’s impassioned speech replayed on the HoloNet hours after she’d recited it in the Senate Rotunda to scarce, sympathetic applause. Months since a bounty hunter’s attempted assassination on her life, Padmé rallied tirelessly for restrictions on bounty hunting, equal to the energy she threw into fighting the Republic’s army creation bill.
In her Coruscant apartments, Padmé watched the replay with the same amount of secondhand embarrassment as she always shouldered when in the presence of critics.
Stretched out on the couch next to her, Jango said, “Nice delivery. I feel… what's the word? Slandered? Dragged?”
“I have to take a tough stance on this issue; it's expected,” Padmé said, looking down her nose at the man in his armor. Strangely enough, his reaction was civil in comparison to some of her fellow senators’ who had cornered her in the Senate hallways following her speech.
“And you did. I’ve got potential clients in the underbelly already shaking—and it’s not even been approved yet.”
“I don't expect the bill to go through. Too many senators—too many of the people they represent—deal in the bounty hunting business.”
Jango rolled his head along the couch to look at her. “You're saying all that effort was mainly for show?”
Padmé sighed. After such a long day of intellectually sparring with senators who thought themselves her peers, breaking her job down into general vocabulary was like stipping gears in her brain.
“Politics is a waste,” Jango decided abruptly. “You’re always welcome to travel with Boba and me instead. He likes you.”
The smallest smile broke out on Padmé’s face for the first time that day. She looked the bounty hunter up and down who’d become all too familiar with her all too quickly. “And what about you?”
“I don't like you. Not when you're trying to ruin my job.”
“You’re not exactly hurting for money,” she pointed out. “You know, if you took even ten percent of what the Kaminoans paid you and donated it to charity—”
“That's my cue to leave, Senator,” Jango said, standing and swiping his helmet from the cushion next to him. He executed some sort of lazy salute before exiting the same way he’d arrived—the balcony.
Dormé swept into the room at the sound of a jetpack echoing against the clari-crystalline windows, just checking. As she always did since Jango’s visits became more frequent than once. To be fair, it was an odd friendship formed from Padmé needing an inside peek into the bounty hunting world, and Dormé had every reason to be worried.
“Not dead,” Padmé reassured her, waving her hands in fake triumph.
Dormé took Jango’s seat on the couch, not even forcing a smile. “How long until he’s gone for good, m’lady?”
“I don’t know. We may just go vacationing together after this!” Padmé deadpanned.
Dormé looked ready to slap her mistress.
