#˒・*。◞ 001 : ( verse ) sᴛᴀʀ ᴡᴀʀs. *･ﾟ✧ ⎸ ɢᴏ ᴀʜᴇᴀᴅ‚ ᴜɴᴅᴇʀᴇsᴛɪᴍᴀᴛᴇ ᴍᴇ.

[stillsolo]

@vicioushope 𝚊𝚜𝚔𝚎𝚍 :: " i assume that the rumors surrounding you are all false and unrelated to why you're bleeding out on my sofa? "

               𝚂𝙿𝚁𝙰𝚆𝙻𝙴𝙳 𝙾𝙽 𝙹𝚈𝙽’𝚂 𝙲𝙾𝚄𝙲𝙷 𝙰𝙽𝙳 𝙱𝙻𝙴𝙴𝙳𝙸𝙽𝙶 𝙿𝚁𝙾𝙵𝚄𝚂𝙴𝙻𝚈 ,  han solo turned away to scowl up at the ceiling.

❝just thought your sofa might need some redecorating, so here i am.❞  solo waved his good arm, the action halting and cut short with a hiss.  shavit—was he still bleeding?  jaw set taut, he rolled his shoulders, finally working off the soaked fabric that seemed adhered to his skin, sliding it down his biceps until it gathered at his elbows.  ❝y’know i like to accessorize with red.  adds contrast—and character.❞

jokes aside, he’d made it out alive, hadn’t he?  han flexed his fingers and winced at the discomfort lancing up his side.  injuries had long ago become the norm for him, and he was no stranger to pain, but… come to think of it, han couldn’t recall the last time he came across a sleemo whose skill with a blaster perhaps rivaled his own.  the slimy bastard had intercepted him while crossing the docks, emerging from between a stack of crates before demonstrating one hell of a quick draw.  it would’ve fetched him a genuine compliment if he didn’t immediately level the blaster at han’s center mass, like this was a stickup and han wasn’t the type of man who’d shoot first and ask questions later.

❝so, rumors, huh?  dunno ’bout that, but y’know how it is.  people love to talk; they make me sound more exciting than i actually am.❞  with his head still spinning and his shoulder burning something fierce, han slanted a sideways grin at a face he hadn’t seen in over a year.  ❝you keepin’ tabs on me?❞

he should’ve taken the guy more seriously though, especially after his furious spluttering about a botched job and lost credits, that it was han’s fault his sweetheart had left him high and dry.  it all painted a picture han was pretty sure he had nothing to do with.  regardless, it’d been mistake to try reasoning with a nova-happy kreetle clearly off his repulsors.  as for his final mistake?  well, in hindsight, han reckoned that telling the guy to go frink himself was probably not the best way to deescalate the situation, but how could he have known the bastard had brought muscle with him?  like a mynock out of hell, the gran dropped in fast, closing the distance between them and nailing han square in the face, leaving him stunned and disoriented.

    memory blurred beyond that point.    han only vaguely recalled spotting a prybar and the stark flash of a vibroblade powering on in the dark; his own startled shouts of pain amid the thunderous drumming of his heart, and an additional mix of voices, lost somewhere in the commotion…  han shut his eyes and shook his head, letting a breath go slowly before he tugged at the rest of his dirtied clothes with sudden haste.

 they could chat about what happened later, preferably after he plugged what bloody holes now littered his body.

[stillsolo]

@sithsjedi 𝚊𝚜𝚔𝚎𝚍 :: “ Ah, yes — the smuggler you are. ” The elderly Jedi Master peers up at Han, curiosity sparkling in his hazel hues. “ Much trouble you have caused, Han Solo, but so very highly of you my student has spoken! ” — An unprompted ask from Yoda to Han simply because I think them meeting would be HILARIOUS.

               ❝𝙻𝚄𝙺𝙴'𝚂 𝚃𝙰𝙻𝙺𝙴𝙳 𝙰𝙱𝙾𝚄𝚃 𝙼𝙴?❞  han solo blinked as a faint start of surprise lifted his brows within twitching distance of his hairline. he didn't know what to think, except that maybe he should back it up a couple of steps. luke's master was a lot smaller and older and stranger than what he'd initially imagined, but gut instincts warned against looming over the little guy.

❝trouble, huh? well, can't deny that. i've been known to cause a bit of a ruckus here 'n there.❞ not so much anymore, but that was more or less the whole issue lately, wasn't it?

with vader gone and sidious dead, there was too little to focus on.  life had become nothing but a monotonous sequence of events, broken up only by mundane routines and predictable proceedings, like a pendulum that swung from one side to the other.  these days, han passed the hours bored out of his skraggin’ mind, sitting around waiting to land his next job from the new republic, which inadvertently stymied him from personal projects in the intervening periods.

life as an alliance general had become a thorn in his ass, and now, with the unexpected arrival of luke’s mystical mentor, han had to wonder if luke’s earlier visit held deeper significance, whether the kid was privy to more than he let on.  maybe luke knew han well enough to glean he’d been thinking about leaving again.   maybe.   it wasn’t out of the question, seeing as it took a single holocomm transmission for chewie to start doling out advice, urging him to slow down and allow this respectable way of living to grow on him.  that had been months ago, yet the restlessness persisted.

of course, han knew better than to make promises he couldn’t keep.  there was little else he loathed more than the shackling, claustrophobic nature of a future laid out in flimsy words and empty promises.  the kid didn’t need that, and neither did the princess.

❝but if luke thinks highly of me, i must be doing something right.  so—uh.❞  one corner of the corellian’s mouth curled up, humorless, and a bit strained at the edges.  ❝i’m hopin’ this ain’t some kinda … jedi intervention.❞

[stillsolo]

@jundlcndwastes 𝚊𝚜𝚔𝚎𝚍 :: “ everyone else might be buying it, but i don’t. what’s wrong? ” ( august wolfhart, fellow smuggler *salutes* )

          𝚆𝙾𝙻𝙵𝙷𝙰𝚁𝚃 𝚆𝙰𝚂𝙽’𝚃 𝚈𝙾𝚄𝚁 𝚃𝚈𝙿𝙸𝙲𝙰𝙻 𝙲𝙾𝚁𝙴𝙻𝙻𝙸𝙰𝙽 𝙲𝙻𝙰𝙽 𝙽𝙰𝙼𝙴. if solo didn’t know better, it hinted at something more.  maybe a moniker picked up during his travels, or he’d taken the last name of an ecsherulo—an outsider.  han couldn’t say he knew any sensible corellian who would willingly sever their bloodroots, not unless they were part of corsec’s special ops—those elusive bastards who vanished into the shadows and, for whatever reason, called themselves eksters upon rare reappearances.      wolfhart, however, didn’t fit that mold.

❝haven’t figured it out?❞ han cracked a lazy, lopsided grin at the spacer seated beside him at the bar.  ❝dunno if you’ve paid attention to these past few months, but there’s usually a massive wookiee at my elbow.  ’picture looks all wrong without him.❞

the guy probably had his reasons, no matter how strange they seemed to han.  guess that only exposed his biases, the inherent affinity han had for those who hailed from his homeworld.        but that didn’t mean he trusted wolfhart.

after all, wolfhart worked the same trade; he knew talking only invited trouble for every party involved, and han had already run into more than a few complications since he dropped off chewie on kashyyyk to sort matters out with malla.  without the furry bastard, han had no partner, no one he could place his trust in, and no one to watch his six.  worst of all, what he needed most now was information.  and that was a dangerous game to play alone.

privately, the brunet considered his limited options even as the man’s heavy gaze and arched eyebrow imparted he wasn’t about to let han loose until he spilled his guts all over the skraggin’ bar top.     awh, blast it.      godsbedamned corellian pack mentality.

❝jado kesyk,❞ han muttered without preamble, his voice pitched low, inconspicuous, amidst the din of clinking glasses and alien chatter.  he shuffled closer.  ❝the mid-rim star-hopper with the black hair 'n dark eyes.  you know ’em?❞

[stillsolo]

@red-flight 𝚊𝚜𝚔𝚎𝚍 :: “ you keep acting like you’re looking for an excuse to leave. ” ~ Wes

              ❝𝙰𝚆𝙷—𝙷𝙴𝙻𝙻’𝚂 𝚃𝙴𝙴𝚃𝙷, 𝙹𝙰𝙽𝚂𝙾𝙽.   that’s what this is about?❞  throwing down his napkin with a scowl, solo pushed away from the table and the half-eaten plate of chyntuck that had nothing on malla’s recipe but deserved a place in his conservator all the same.  it’d be a shame to let it go to waste.  ❝so this is how you treat your buddies: wine ’n dine ’em, then start interrogating them?  or maybe i’m just special.❞   and who the hell said he needed an excuse to leave, anyway?  han could leave anytime, at any point!   ❝don’t tell me you’re doin’ this for the princess.❞

[stillsolo]

             𝙸𝚃 𝙲𝙰𝙼𝙴 𝙰𝚂 𝙽𝙾 𝚂𝚄𝚁𝙿𝚁𝙸𝚂𝙴 𝚃𝙷𝙰𝚃 𝚃𝚄𝚁𝙽𝙴𝚁 𝙲𝙾𝚄𝙻𝙳 𝙶𝙰𝚄𝙶𝙴 𝚃𝙷𝙴 𝙵𝙰𝙻𝙲𝙾𝙽’𝚂 𝙳𝚁𝙸𝚅𝙴 𝚂𝙿𝙴𝙴𝙳 𝚆𝙸𝚃𝙷 𝚂𝚄𝙲𝙷 𝚄𝙽𝙲𝙰𝙽𝙽𝚈 𝙿𝚁𝙴𝙲𝙸𝚂𝙸𝙾𝙽 , even nailing the hyperdrive class on the nose. the man’s ability to talk shop at the bar had been notable, but witnessing his mechanical aptitude in real-time was on another level altogether. turner clearly knew his craft. if han wasn’t already somewhat acquainted with the scavenger mechanic, he might’ve reached for his blaster upon hearing such a seemingly guileless question.

               ❝sure is.❞ han, still leaning against the threshold of the main hold, offered nothing more. instead, he turned on his heel and walked off, fully expecting bootsteps close behind. if turner wanted to talk shop, that was fine, but they would do it face-to-face. han needed to see the man’s expressions, read his mannerisms up close, and judge for himself whether he was in for some trouble.

after all, if turner could pinpoint the falcon’s hyperdrive as a class 0.5, then he certainly figured out the falcon’s start-up sequence had clocked in at under three minutes—a full seven minutes shy of the standard ten-minute sequence, and flagrantly illegal given the empire’s strict regulations over most starship modifications and equipment. . . . \\ @forcenexus

no ordinary, law-abiding professional knew ships quite so intimately, not unless they had a reason—typically involving work under government authorities.

             well, turner still had time to prove any suspicions wrong.

❝there’s the ’fresher, sonic’s next to it, an’ if ya want a real treat, we got a water shower. jus’ don’t get greedy; water’s rationed,❞ han warned with a grin as they entered the makeshift galley that doubled as crew quarters, then pointed to the two empty bunks across the room. ❝take your pick. ’place’s all yours.❞

 Skywalker settled into the seat next to him and put the bag down with a clunk. Anakin didn't bother strapping himself in. He had been through this a thousand times over. "It that a Class 0.5 hyperdrive?" He could tell by the sounds alone. Watching him as he started up the ship, he saw them leave the spaceport and zoom over to the sky. Beyond the atmosphere, the stars came into view. A familiar sight when he was a Jedi and a warrior.

Leaning into the seat as he hit the hyperspace drive button and pulled the lever back, the hyperspace trails greeted them. The silence unnerved him to an extent. He supposed he was used to it. Being alone on the desert planet, he had semi-lost it a few times. Talking to himself became normal.

Anakin after the lights had gone off, stood up and took his bag with him to head in the back. He was just happy to be off Coruscant safely. He saw no need to hover over Han while he went through what he figured were personal messages. Sitting in the lounge he sighed heavily. There was no way he could return to the capital planet anytime soon without suspicions of the Emperor. He could bid farewell to it for now.

He dug into the bag and brought the part out he needed. Checking it over a few times before he heard Han come inside, he glanced up. "No. I was looking it over." Putting it back, he nodded. "Food sounds good about now."

[stillsolo]

@ofcloudcities | [ x ]

❛ oh, now you don’t want me to strip? ❜ lando’s already out of his shirt, has his trousers all the way unbuttoned, and this plan is working perfectly, alright? lando’s body can only be described as perfect, and it’s a winning distraction.  the music is loud and unconfined, and lando moves with the beat of it, lips just a little bit parted, blood just a little bit intoxicated, and don’t they need this to get them out of here? because the last time lando checked, han didn’t have a better plan.

so lando drops his trousers and raises his eyebrows, takes a step towards han, leaves the trousers behind.  ❛ any suggestions are greatly appreciated.  it’s cold in here, baby. ❜ // @stillsolo

❝y’know, missionary sounds pretty good,❞  han says, and if the casual tone he goes for sounds strained, well.  he figures he can blame it on the fact they’re far from alone at the moment.  ❝‘keep you warm, too.❞   he slants a crooked grin while he’s at it, like warmth matters at all if they’re both dead.  over lando’s shoulder, han catches the faintest glint in the shadows and doesn’t doubt it’s the muzzle of a blaster as he reaches for the man, riding on the sudden urgency they’ve disguised as mere lust.  the reality tastes like bile in han’s mouth, worse so as he leans up and kisses away whatever questions lando may have without thought of what may come next.  

han doesn’t care.  he should feel terrified, really, nervous, at least, dropped into a situation where he doesn’t know his left from his right and the pressure is right up against his heels, like there’s a ticking bomb set just for him, seconds away from going off—and yet, there’s truly no place else he’d rather be.  one curious hand slides down to the small of lando’s back, where his muscles are taut and strong between sweat and musk and        mmn.  heh, nice.  he wraps his other arm around lando’s shoulders and turns slightly, tense and waiting as they kiss.  if someone emerges from the shadows, if anything does—even a red bolt of super-heated plasma—it would hit him first, and not lando.  and that—well.  that will just have to do.

[stillsolo]

             𝚂𝙾𝙻𝙾 𝚁𝙴𝙲𝙾𝙶𝙽𝙸𝚉𝙴𝙳 𝙰 𝙻𝙾𝙰𝙳𝙴𝙳 𝚂𝚃𝙰𝚃𝙴𝙼𝙴𝙽𝚃 𝚆𝙷𝙴𝙽 𝙷𝙴 𝙷𝙴𝙰𝚁𝙳 𝙾𝙽𝙴.  he’d traversed the galaxy, seen enough planets and met enough people to understand that societies beyond the system he called home were immensely diverse.  and highly corrupt.  twi’leks with pretty faces and charming smiles sold for a handful of credits just about anywhere in the outer rim.  double, if they had mastered a skill.  triple, if they had more than one mastered skill and spoke fluent basic.  prices only skyrocketed from there.

❝not where i’m from.❞  his tone had changed again, steeled to careful sobriety as they ducked into a narrow passage between two buildings, a shortcut he hoped led to the right place. ❝where i’m from, you’d hear it even if you didn’t have lekku.❞             you'd hear it because it's true.

corellians were a loud and proud people, renowned for their boisterous nature, open-mindedness, and willingness to break every bone in their bodies just to prove a point.  while some might not consider corellia as the most progressive society out there, as even the most old-fashioned of traditions persisted into new generations without fail, one practice his people had long ago outlawed was slavery.  sclavec was archaic, abhorrent—an unjustifiable exploitation that could instantly stir vitriolic contempt amongst his people, and han was no different.

few things boiled his blood like those who treated sentient beings as property, exotic commodities assigned arbitrary values, and enforced control through physical violence.  anger made sense, considering shrike had run a tight ship even when han was a child, and starvation was a mercy that stopped only after too many of the other kids had died.

with his back flattened against the wall, han threw up a hand as scanned the crowded streets, noting the abrupt lull in foot traffic.  tholatin’s markets operated on their own rhythm; people shopped until dusk emptied out the streets and the onset of twilight summoned food vendors and pickpockets emboldened by the cover of night.  crime syndicates too, if han recalled correctly, that operated illegal spice markets.  not unusual; exposed spice sitting under direct sunlight was bad handling.  all that, and probably traffickers.  murderers.

han reared his head and squinted at shades of orange and pink beginning to saturate the edges of the horizon.  awh           ❝fierfek,❞ han cursed under his breath, his voice squashed down to a whisper, before shooting his companion an affronted look that wavered between a scowl and a grimace.

            ❝dunno what kind of man you take me for, sister, but i don’t keep company with sleemos who can’t take a hint.❞

She doesn’t know if she can trust the guy, doesn’t even know his name, but he helped her, so she stays until she goes back to the Ghost and Chopper — the only other soul on her ship, if droids even have a soul to speak of. She wants to ask what his line of work is, but stops herself before the words go out. He didn’t ask questions. She won’t ask questions, either. 

❝ Not that many pilots actually do it, though, ❞ Hera says — feeling like she has to explain her statement. ❝ Hence why I ended up getting my own ship. ❞

It’s nice to have company for a while, but his next words make her throat sore with disappointment. Another reason why she got her own ship is because how annoying pilots can be. Hera might be used to beings flirting with her — it happens all the time, and she’s pretty sure it’s only because she’s got lekku and beings think lekku look good. Sadly for him, probably, she’s become quite good at ignoring this, from anyone. Still, Hera has to press her lips and pause a second so that she doesn’t snap right back at him. 

❝ Yeah, so I’ve heard. ❞ She shrugs. The Twi’lek effect works too well on too many beings. ❝ You hear it quite a lot, when you’ve got lekku like me. ❞ 

She wonders, for a time, if her looks are the reason why he helped her, then shakes the thought away. Now is not the time to get carried away on details when they’re being chased around. 

❝ Are these guys friends of yours? Or do we need a shortcut to the shipyard? ❞

Hera asks, part out of curiosity, but also because it’s gonna help her judge whatever is about to happen. Things could turn for the better, or the worse, depending on how good the man got along with them. Instincts told her to hope for the worst — so that she would know how and when to react. 

[stillsolo]

             𝙿𝙸𝙲𝙺𝙸𝙽𝙶 𝙰𝚃 𝙰 𝙵𝙴𝚆 𝚂𝚆𝙸𝚃𝙲𝙷𝙴𝚂 𝙾𝚅𝙴𝚁𝙷𝙴𝙰𝙳 ,  solo peered up from the dashboard, one hand wrapping tightly around the hyperdrive lever as the ’falcon broke coruscant’s atmosphere, seamlessly weaving through tangled webs of repulsorlift traffic encompassing the planet.  hazel eyes glimpsed the onboard systems a final time, and when the passenger safety indication lights flicked on, he pulled the lever.  the jump threw han backward into his seat, the endless black sea beyond the forward viewport pulling and stretching until everything bloomed into stark white streaks of light, the visual echoes of star systems rushing past at an incomprehensible speed.

hells, he’d never get tired of that.

han’s grin held strong for the next few minutes he spent checking flight controls and his onboard communicator.  however, seeing his inbox had no waiting transmissions was… strange, to say the least.  chewbacca normally checked in at least once a standard rotation, sometimes twice in a single rotation if he was desperate for a distraction from malla and the rowdy cubs.  only two rotations ago were five messages waiting in his inbox, though three of the five were holoimages of the baby cubs and a newly seeded garden.

the memory twisted down the corners of han’s mouth, just as the safety indication lights flickered off in his periphery.  although troubled by the unforeseen predicament, han unbuckled himself and stalked out of the cockpit in search of turner.  with the ’falcon hurtling through subspace, there was no way in hell han could broadcast a message without it warping into an incomprehensible mess of static, let alone attempt to get a hold of chewbacca in real time… carding a hand through messy brown locks, the corellian curbed the abrupt rise of panic from below his collar bones.

             fat chance the empire broke through the rebel starship brigade encircling kashyyyk.  chewbacca was just… busy.   yeah, busy. ❝need a hand with that?❞ han offered, hip cocked and arms folded over his chest as he leaned up against the threshold of the main hold.  ❝if not, let’s grab a bite.  i’m starved.❞

His errands consisted of getting spare parts for his cameras and robots he needed to repair. Along with finding out information about the Emperor and his servant Vader. The man who had his face. Having used the Force to disgust himself while he was out on Coruscant, he also used the gift that Jinn taught him. To mask his Force signature. If he didn't, he would have been found out as soon as he landed here.

Carrying the bag of parts was not nearly as hard for him. He kept his strength up while on the desert planet. His routines consisted of his Jedi training exercises. Something he couldn't give up. While he was there on the Outer Rim, he taught the younglings in his care how to survive in this world. How not to be caught by the Empire and taught them how to control their Force powers so they could live a semi-normal life.

One of his stops had him near Padme's old apartment. He found it abandoned. Anakin was able to get inside easily. Controlling the cameras with the use of the Force, he was able to make it so he was never there. Skywalker broke in and found himself wandering until he found his old workbench. There he had left his wedding ring behind. A gift from his former wife before Order 66 occurred and before Vader took her life. He held on to it for a few moments before shoving it in his pocket and taking a few of the bots he needed for his homestead. It had been years since he stepped foot there.

Leaving the apartment and the ghost of his old life, he went to meet the man who would bring him safe passage. Rounding the corner, he emerged and saw Solo standing there wiping his hands off.

"I didn't plan too. Errands kept me longer than I thought. I'm ready when you are."

[stillsolo]

              𝙸𝚃 𝙳𝙸𝙳𝙽’𝚃 𝙷𝚄𝚁𝚃.    despite the tracks of fresh blood smeared at the corners of his mouth and cheek, the ache in his bones and leg—the one with the prybar must’ve had a thing for knees—the sharp pain lancing up his sides, it didn’t hurt.  none of it.     it doesn’t hurt.  doesn’t hurt.  doesn’t.  hurt.     it was a mantra he’d heard time and again, muttered under the breath with bloodstained lips, for han solo was no stranger to pain.  from blackened eyes to broken bones, nursing injuries had long ago become the norm for him, and this ordeal was nothing compared to what he had experienced trapped under shrike’s imperious thumb, back when life was nothing more than an unending nightmare comprised of grim quotas and relentless beatings.

❝’can do more than that,❞ solo forced through gritted teeth, his voice flattening to a strained, wheezing rasp as he deftly sliced through the seam of his trousers with an old-fashioned scalpel, at last revealing a brutal wash of dark blue and purple smears.  ❝how ’bout dinner ’n drinks on me?❞  he flashed her a dashing smile that lingered a touch too long to come off as reassuring, but he hoped it would divert her attention from the sorry state of both himself and the couch.  han didn’t need to stand to know that the cushions, hidden beneath his bloodstained shirt pooled around his waist, were likely soaked through.  the whole thing would have to go.  it wouldn’t do either of them any good if the landlord started asking jyn questions that had no good answers.

❝as for what happened?  it’s simple: got jumped by a buncha kreetles.  didn’t recognize ’em, but they sure knew me.❞             in truth, it made little sense: the absurd sob story about lost credits and a broken heart, the man’s insistence that he was to blame…  strangest of all, for all that he cursed solo’s name for what had happened, when it came time to exact the revenge he so coveted, he had done little more than stand and watch from a distance, letting his lackeys do all of the dirty work.

applying pressure to the gash running down his pectoral with a clean cloth, han finally dragged himself towards the obvious conclusion.  ❝’m guessing this’s their way of telling me to keep my distance.❞  worst of all, it looked as though his investigation, which until now had been mostly harmless networking, intel gathering, and rubbing elbows with people whose connections traced back to a crowd he once thought imaginary, was over.

with a resigned sigh, han reached once more for the medkit and rummaged through its contents almost casually, apparently still averse to acknowledging the extent of his injuries.  he knew he should’ve paid more attention, should’ve done more than check his six and cover what tracks he might’ve left behind, but he’d sooner space himself than come to regret any of his prior decisions leading up to this point.  after all, much as han hated enduring yet another bout of physical torture at the hands of his captors, this wasn’t all for nothing.  some good came out of this too.  too bad it came at the expense of his bodily health.

❝’been doing recon out in the colonies,❞ he added, almost as an afterthought, banishing the weight of the silence that lingered uncomfortably between them.  there was no point in hiding it now.  whether jyn liked it or not, he’d already implicated her by showing up.            ❝ever hear of the iriso neg gilto?  they’re sclavoj — corellian slavers.❞  han’s voice took on an acerbic, bitter edge, harsh with more than just anger as he struggled to unravel a roll of gauze with one arm.  ❝grew up hearing tales about ’em.  figured they were just that—tales to scare the kids at night.  then the princess tells me they’re real, and cozying up to the empire nowadays.❞

it's been over a year since jyn has last seen han face-to-face. though they've sporadically kept in touch through brief comms letting the other know they're alive, the rebellion has pulled them to opposite ends of the galaxy. despite that, it's been relatively easy to keep tabs on him ; the millennium falcon isn't the most subtle ship in the galaxy and han, like her, tends to get into trouble where ever he goes. when she'd been out collecting intel earlier that night, she'd heard whispers of a fight near the docks that left one wounded and one dead –– and she'd just had a feeling he'd been involved.

and now here he is, weeks later, bleeding from a wound on his chest and making a mess out of her ( well –– the previous tenant's ) couch.

" i happened to like my sofa without your redecorating, " she replies tartly, brow raising. truthfully, she could care less about the state of her living room, considering she's not going to be here for much longer ; rather, it's an encouraging sign that he's making jokes, considering the size and severity wound in his chest. though she hasn't gotten a good look at the extent of his injuries just yet, considering the state of him when he'd knocked on her door, it's slightly surprising that he's doing as well as he is right now ( but leave it to han to beat the odds ). " if i get charged for it, " or if nari rallik does, " i'll be sending you the invoice. "

she clicks her tongue, shaking her head. " you're not exactly subtle, solo. " a careful way to avoid answering his question –– of course she keeps tabs on him. part of her job is gathering intel, anyway, and so what if she makes a point to ensure the people she cares about she's worked with before remain alive ? saying that out loud feels like admitting something she'd rather not, however, so she keeps silent, dancing around the subject like it's a minefield. she crosses her arms over her chest, looking down at him where he sits. " everywhere you go, people talk. "

that being said, she hadn't expected him to show up at her doorstep, let alone looking as bruised and battered as he currently does. even though he's talking and lucid now doesn't mean he will be in a few minutes. striding to the other side of the small room, she pulls out her medkit from the cabinets ; she pops the tab and examines the contents briefly, relieved to see that, while it's been used, it has the necessary basics –– bacta, gauze, a hypospray. it should be enough for tonight, even if she needs to run out later to restock.

she returns to him with the medkit in hand, offering it to him. " i'm not in the mood to play nursemaid, " she informs him dryly, but they both know she'll help him out, if necessary ( she's already let him in her flat, she's not just going to let die ). and though she doubts he'd be careless enough to let someone track him to her apartment, she still needs to know the extent of the situation, if it's something she should be concerned with and should make proper preparations. she's burned aliases for worse. " and while you patch yourself up, you can tell me what happened. "