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It's Friday night. You've got two ice-cold six-packs of spicebrew perspiring on the left side of your shirt. This weekend will be the same as every other weekend. Getting blackout drunk. Alone. In a one-room apartment in the shadiest corner of Coruscant. This is your life. It's just what you deserve.
"If you're having a party, I could come back later." A man emerges from the shadows of the disorientingly long hallway. He has on plain clothes but the rank badge below his left shoulder marks him as an Imperial officer. For a moment you think you're in trouble, but there's far too many rank tiles to bother with a lowly bureaucrat like yourself.
"What do you want?" you ask.
"To talk. In private. If you're expecting company..." He nods pointedly to the cans of spicebrew.
>"Piss off."
>"Why not? Misery loves company."
>"If this is about the Lera incident, I had nothing do with that."
>Write-in
