>>6134692>>6134718Ha. Company. You've been going out of your way for the last two years to avoid human contact. And you've done pretty bang up job of it so far. That said, pissing off a high-ranking Imperial officer would probably get you shipped off to a work camp somewhere in the Rim. Hard labor you don't mind, but doing it sober is another story.
You yank out one of the cans and toss it to him. He catches it in one hand, cool as a Hoth breeze. "Why not?" you say, "Misery loves company." You punch in your pass code on the control panel and the door to your apartment slides open. You open your hand toward the entrance. "After you."
He walks in ahead of you, squinting in the dim light, stepping carefully over the crushed brew cans on the floor. Tux, your cat, is just where you left him this morning, sitting on the windowsill above your unmade alcove bed. He turns disinterestedly toward the new visitor, his green eyes glowing brightly in the darkness, then back towards the racing city lights beyond the window.
"How the other half lives," the officer mutters.
Two years ago you might have taken umbrage at that. Sweated for a week hatching an elaborate plan to get even. Now, you couldn't care less. You amble over to a small pedestal table cluttered with old takeout containers and noisily clear it with a sweep of your hand. Then you dump the cans of spicebrew on it, and invite the officer to sit down on one of the two stools set beside it.
"I'll stand, thank you," he says.
You shrug and take a seat. You tug free another can, snap it open, and down about three-quarters in one go. A familiar sensation washes over your body, not exactly pleasant, but numb. You let out a soft, satisfied burp. The officer, holding the still unopened can, regards with you thinly veiled disgust. You don't care. He's probably only here to recruit another snitch for the Empire.
>"If you're looking a rat, you've got the wrong guy.">"You wanted to talk. Talk.">"Sorry about the mess. I don't get many visitors.">Write-in 