Don’t Finish Your Sentences if You’re Paranoid

Author's Note: W00, belated update! If anyone still cares, I sat down and wrote me 'nother chapter!

DON'T FINISH YOUR SENTENCES IF YOU'RE PARANOID

In which the wacky Republic soldiers' misfortune continues, and much hilarity ensues.

A continuation of adventures begun in Just Another Crazy Beginning, Don't Worry, Everyone Crashes on Taris Their First Time!, and The Importance of Wearing Helmets.

TARIS: UPPER CITY SOUTH: 0800 (Day 4)

Warm. Soft. Musky. A bristle surface tickles the tip of my nose.

I just had the most horrible dream last night. I crash-landed on Nowheresville Taris, which just hasn't been the same since the Sith took over, and then I had to live with the most square-bound binary pilot I've ever met. He was possessed by an inexplicable resistance against shaving. And then we went to a bar, and he told me his whole damn life story, including all these gooey mushy bits about his necrophilia for his dead wife, Madonna-Morty-Mordor-tanna-something-or-the-other, this really hot red-headed babe came up and started hitting on me until this really ugly man with only two fingers started hitting on her, and then I slugged him really hard and this fat fairy Hutt with the opalescent wings flew in on rainbows and said I'd have to fight him, so I did, and then people started cheering and there was some more fighting, and I went back to her place with a couple of her guy friends and then...

The bristles shift beside me and murmur in a reedy alto that is altogether uncomfortably familiar.

Click. Oh. My. Fracking. Crack.

I snap upright. It wasn't a dream!

Okay. I'm awake. And I next to me and under the covers is something that is warm and musky and... oh, no. No, no, no, no--EWW! I squint and lift up my side of the cover. Nish. I'm in the stark, raving naked bollocks, and there's a sentient who doesn't sound so much like any of the sweet Siths last night sleeping next to me, and there is only one question that can still raise its head at a point like this: Do I even want to know?

I decide not. Licking dehydrated lips, I start inching my way towards the edge of the bed hoping that what I ended up with last night will not be waking up. I'm halfway across the slow and discreet-like crawl to check for money on the dresser when suddenly it whispers, 'Don't go, beautiful,' from underneath the sheets.

I bolt, because there is no way in Dagobah now that I am sticking around for any of that sort of sentimental name-calling. First sobriquets, and next thing you know, vows and a commitment. Damned if I'm a-gonna be one of those idiots!

My legs, however, have other plans. In my panic I somehow wind them too many times around the covers and the tangled material halts my legs, so while my face is traveling in one direction, my body is going in the polar opposite, and I get a flash of vibrant orange stripes along a gray jumpsuit before I end up making double-time kissing the floor and--SMACK! supernovas are all I see.

'MMMWAAAARRGH!' Once again the jaw is out and my shoulders are screaming in pain, but even so I don't think I'm the one who called out ...

'DON'T MOVE!' The voice in my ear rises and drags my shoulder's along with it. Ow, ow, ow, the frackin' nubjob has my frackin' arms pinned behind my back!

I start working it as soon as my face is off the ground. 'Get the Hoth offa me you schutta jerkoff! I ain't got no weapons, a'right, alright?!' There is a moment of consideration while my arms continue on steady burn.

'Raven?' The pressure lifts. I collapse on to the floor, and clench the sheets, too spent to even glare.

'Yeah?'

'What are you doing naked in my bed?'

'Did we get involved in some kind of roast last night?'

'Nothing happened!'

'You know, if I had a credit for every time I've heard or said that myself--'

'You were very drunk and coming very hard off of something!'

'Coming hard off something? You must mean your freakin' life story, right, loser? You get me rattled, razzle a good time, and next thing I know, you're the one filing molestation charges, Dagobah.'

'WHAT? All I remember is you asking me to wrap you in a few more thermal blankets! Said you were cold... or uh... something...'

'Like I'm gonna believe that line again! 'Cuz I'm the villain here, is that it? Typical. Blame the victim, why dontcha?'

'I should be the one feeling violated!'

'I was the one ripped to the tits!'

'WHAT?'

'Roaring drunk! Completely Jumad! You rogered my entire navy while I was smashin' rubbered!'

'Huh?'

'You heard me!'

Hard brown eyes dig into mine for a minute before a look of disgust completely wipes the expression from his eyes. Unkemptoid rises without a word, pacing the room nervously a few times while rubbing his palms up and down across his chest, as if trying to wipe away something dirty, or unclean.

'There's a lot more where that came from!' I call after him. rise half-heartedly and let drop the bedsheets, debating whether I'm really angry enough to storm out of the apartment bollocks or no. I don't know why I let the naffing pilot get under my skin anyway. Stupid, upright, bleeding heart idiot Ossus Republic Bread wouldn't even know a good thing if it hit him repeatedly in the head causing subdual damage!

'Do you really realize how serious your accusations are?' His eyes are back on me again, brown and black all around, tired and drained and fierce at the same time. The intensity makes me want to squat under what's available of the blankie over my head.

'IwasjustsayingthatitwasreallysuspiciousyouendedupinmybedthatsallIdintreallythinkyouddoithonestI--'

'You're accusing me of taking advantage of you while you were incapacitated.'

'WellifyoudlistentowhatImsayingIthinkyoullhearthatIwasreallyjustkindakiddingbecause--'

'Do you have any idea how taboo and revolting that really is?' He sighs like I just put the whole weight of Taris on his shoulders, and runs fingers over his face. 'Look, if anything really did happen to you, I promise right now that I will take complete responsibility, alright?'

'Uh...' Sincerity? This isn't exactly what I was expecting. Usually the marks are kinda sputtering and defensive the day after. Not at all honest and reflective and... stuff. I twitch a little uncomfortably. Did I really call Space Case a mark while I was drunk? I pinch my ears, feeling a little embarrassed. 'You're not diseased or anything, are you?' I ask.

The quiet drags on for several minutes during until Scruffy moves on to one of the window chairs and seats himself, stiff as a board, his hands clenched into two white balls as he stares into the spaceport of the building next door. He doesn't really look at me, caught up in some memory, and I think he's even forgotten that I exist.

'So, uh, 'ave you ever heard of the one about the fat Twi'lek?' I venture. Silence. Colder than an Alderaanian's vestal under-aged daughter. 'S'not really a joke, y'see? Well, the joke is that you don't see any fat Twi'leks around for real, right? Uh... like he don't exist, get it? 'Cuz they're always so skinny and, uh... maybe I should go.'

Orange doesn't even bat an eyelash. Faced with Mr. Catatonic, I begin pulling on tunics and trousers, suddenly aware of my own nakedness.

'Aren't you going to give me orders? Tell me to go set up a watch or patrol or something? I mean, you are the commanding officer, right?' It's like pulling teeth. My fingers catch awkwardly in the trouser straps, hands wet with sweat. Damned plasteel-weave fibers! Why Can't I ever get, my, pants, on--There!

Pouty-eyes ain't even batting a lash on his stony face when he finally answers my question, 'Surely we don't need to stand on ceremony? There's no point enforcing a strict hierarchy for two. I need your help finding Bastila and getting off this planet as much as you need me. Besides, what are you going to be able to guard us from? It's the middle of the day. We should probably stay in.'

The words come out like ice, and I can feel the chill of the whiplash. 'Gee, thanks for the vote of confidence.' I grab the stealth generator off the floor and strap it on. 'Going to find something to eat,' I grunt as I walk towards the door.

'Did you hear anything that I just said?'

'Frack you, 'beautiful.' You use that line on all the sentients that come your way?'

From the corner of my eye, I can see as he's rising from the chair.

Words start to form on his lips, but he's already too late.

'That's cool, we don't need to talk!' I yell as I dodge into the hallway, a flick of the wrist activating the stealth shield to hide my getaway.

'Wai--!!' I hear before the doors close on whatever he had built up to say, the swoosh of the air collapsing with a soft finality. Without waiting to see if he was going to throw on his own shirt and trousers, I start running towards the exit as fast as I can without blowing my cover. Fresh, tepid, aromatic smog, I dash into the apartment entryway and turn off the stealth device.

'Mmm. Sweet, delicious pollution.'

'Why hello there, Stranger,' says a duracrete-cased voice beside me, all grit and gravel, but I still don't see a thing. 'Having a good day?'

'I'm not going to like this encounter, am I?' I ask the empty air, trying to find some place to hide with my peripheral vision, but whoever it is has got me pinned against the door. I can still feel their presence even if I can't see them. And that's when I hear it. The sound of the two worst onomonopias in the world colliding together with a violent beam of light.

Snap. Hiss. Damn.

'Let me borrow your Upari crystal for my saber, Revan.'

'No. NO! We are NOT going to try to take over the--'

End.