Application for Boba Fett, Star Wars
He had just dropped off his latest cargo. Good pay. Whatever they did with the young man he had handed over to them was not his concern. He'd had it coming. Indiscreet. Stupid mistakes. A liar. A cheat. Fett felt no remorse in his actions.
He is walking back onboard his ship, the Slave I, when everything gets hazy. He seals his helmet to control the environment, to be certain no one has booby-trapped the ship, though that's impossible. And when he comes out on the other side...
Mickey coughs theatrically. "'What is your name?'"
He knows this is an animated character, one that he's never seen before, not on the holovid networks. He hasn't been slipped anything, he would have known. How is this possible? "Boba Fett," he answers in a cold, monotonous voice.
"What is your quest?" asks the Cat. It's perched, suddenly, on the roof of one of the gate-stiles.
"What are you and where am I?" Fett asks, the short clipped sounds letting on that he won't be happy if he doesn't get an answer fast. He's seen talking things that resemble this creature, but it's still not sitting right. He's never seen the species before. And he's studied a lot of species in his time.
"'What is the average w..?'" Mickey frowns down at the notebook. "You know, I don't really see why that's important." He flips a page. "'If you could be granted three wishes, what would they be?'"
Fett sneers. "Wishes are for fools. Fortune is granted only to the resourceful and the intelligent. Or the stupidly lucky." Like Solo...
"Or," the Cat says, examining its tail with interest, "if you were a genie and someone you were trying to give three wishes to was trying to trick you into giving him more, what would you say?"
Fett has no idea what a genie is, but that question is equally as idiotic as the previous one. He stares, his dark visor doing the work of a glare for him.
Mickey looks rather nonplused at the next, but reads, "'When the revolution comes, what skills will you be able to barter for food?'"
This has already been bordering on ridiculous, but now Fett is positive that someone somewhere has lost their mind quite spectaculary. And it's not him. Whatever this unnamed party is attempting, it won't work. "I'm a bounty hunter. What skills would you require after a revolution?" His trade has given him experience in areas unimaginable. But he wouldn't be divulging that information anytime soon.
The Cat rolls its eyes in a friendly (and rather disconcertingly out-of-sync) way, and asks, "Milk, dark, or white chocolate?"
"I don't eat it," he says cooly. Chocolate was a sweet for children, something to keep them hyped up and impossible to handle. Fett didn't hold with petty indulgences like that.
"'Choose the two coolest: robots, pirates, fairies, bears, ninjas, monkeys, vampires, or humans,'" says Mickey, giggling a bit as he goes through the list. "'Explain.'"
The helmet tilts down slightly. "Is this a joke?" The atmosphere is reading normal according to the monitor at the edge of his viewplate. He flips the tiny switch near his neck to unseal his helmet from his armor and breathe the air. It smells aggravatingly sweet.
"Great!" Mickey flips through the blank pages of the notebook at top, cartoon-y speed. "Well, I think that's just about it! Oh, and I'm supposed to ask, 'for your safety: are you carrying anything sharp?'"
For his safety? He is carrying enough firepower for a one-man army, and they were asking about pointed objects? It's funny enough for him to give a take, staring down the front of himself at the various lethal weaponry, and look up to answer. "I have a knife."
((Boba Fett from the Star Wars Trilogy. As if you didn't already know that. ;) Taken several years after the Original Trilogy.))
He is walking back onboard his ship, the Slave I, when everything gets hazy. He seals his helmet to control the environment, to be certain no one has booby-trapped the ship, though that's impossible. And when he comes out on the other side...
Mickey coughs theatrically. "'What is your name?'"
He knows this is an animated character, one that he's never seen before, not on the holovid networks. He hasn't been slipped anything, he would have known. How is this possible? "Boba Fett," he answers in a cold, monotonous voice.
"What is your quest?" asks the Cat. It's perched, suddenly, on the roof of one of the gate-stiles.
"What are you and where am I?" Fett asks, the short clipped sounds letting on that he won't be happy if he doesn't get an answer fast. He's seen talking things that resemble this creature, but it's still not sitting right. He's never seen the species before. And he's studied a lot of species in his time.
"'What is the average w..?'" Mickey frowns down at the notebook. "You know, I don't really see why that's important." He flips a page. "'If you could be granted three wishes, what would they be?'"
Fett sneers. "Wishes are for fools. Fortune is granted only to the resourceful and the intelligent. Or the stupidly lucky." Like Solo...
"Or," the Cat says, examining its tail with interest, "if you were a genie and someone you were trying to give three wishes to was trying to trick you into giving him more, what would you say?"
Fett has no idea what a genie is, but that question is equally as idiotic as the previous one. He stares, his dark visor doing the work of a glare for him.
Mickey looks rather nonplused at the next, but reads, "'When the revolution comes, what skills will you be able to barter for food?'"
This has already been bordering on ridiculous, but now Fett is positive that someone somewhere has lost their mind quite spectaculary. And it's not him. Whatever this unnamed party is attempting, it won't work. "I'm a bounty hunter. What skills would you require after a revolution?" His trade has given him experience in areas unimaginable. But he wouldn't be divulging that information anytime soon.
The Cat rolls its eyes in a friendly (and rather disconcertingly out-of-sync) way, and asks, "Milk, dark, or white chocolate?"
"I don't eat it," he says cooly. Chocolate was a sweet for children, something to keep them hyped up and impossible to handle. Fett didn't hold with petty indulgences like that.
"'Choose the two coolest: robots, pirates, fairies, bears, ninjas, monkeys, vampires, or humans,'" says Mickey, giggling a bit as he goes through the list. "'Explain.'"
The helmet tilts down slightly. "Is this a joke?" The atmosphere is reading normal according to the monitor at the edge of his viewplate. He flips the tiny switch near his neck to unseal his helmet from his armor and breathe the air. It smells aggravatingly sweet.
"Great!" Mickey flips through the blank pages of the notebook at top, cartoon-y speed. "Well, I think that's just about it! Oh, and I'm supposed to ask, 'for your safety: are you carrying anything sharp?'"
For his safety? He is carrying enough firepower for a one-man army, and they were asking about pointed objects? It's funny enough for him to give a take, staring down the front of himself at the various lethal weaponry, and look up to answer. "I have a knife."
((Boba Fett from the Star Wars Trilogy. As if you didn't already know that. ;) Taken several years after the Original Trilogy.))