Banter.

I am an amateur author of false name,

I borrow worlds of another's fame.

I stake no claim on recognised locations,

Neither do I own canon situations.

I merely come here to spend a while,

Reading other's work; writing my own style.

I earn no money, no wage, no dosh.

I gain no finance, no revenue, no cash.

I do not mean to step on legal toes,

I mean no infringement, I'm friend not foe.

So please, do come in, relax, unwind.

I hope in my work, enjoyment you will find.

Author's note - While watching ROTS, I found myself giggling away at the banter right at the beginning when Anakin and Obi-Wan are rescuing the Chancellor. It inspired this little snippet of a fic. Plus its also a lovely day over here in Blighty (for a change), so all the more reason for a little fliclet. Please enjoy.

"Master, I have a bad feeling about this." Came a smooth voice over the com link.

"I've had a bad feeling about this since before we began the take off sequence, Anakin!" was the snippy reply.

"You always get like that before we fly, Master."

"One of the pair of us has to have some sort of survival instinct! I'm almost certain that you sold your sense of Self-Preservation for a pittance of credits on the black market, my former Padawan!"

"Are you suggesting that I couldn't sell my sense of self-preservation legitimately, Obi-Wan? And are

you also insinuating that I couldn't even make a decent bit of profit on it?" Even with the silliness of the conversation, his voice was obviously deadly serious.

"Anakin, let's just forget this rather odd conversation - focus on the Force, what do you feel? What is the Force telling you about this situation?"

"Its not good, Master."

"It's a battle, Anakin, that tends to be the general state of affairs. Use the Force, listen to its guidance."

There was a moment's pause as the pack of fighters spun and dived, avoiding missiles.

"Its really not good."

"Well, I'm so glad that you could give us such an improved description, Anakin! INCOMING MISSILES! WATCH OUT!"

Time appeared to both slow exponentially, as well as simultaneously racing, as the Republic and Separatist forces engaged. Both sides with the fundamental aim of 'kill them, before they kill me.'

"You know, I had a bad feeling before we took off too, Sirs…" chipped in another voice, a voice that sounded exactly the same as hundreds-of-thousands of others.

"Cody? Are you alright? What's wrong?" Obi-Wan cried, able to recognise each clone from of all his copies; a few mumbled, mild expletives barely carried into the speakers as blaster bolts barely missed the Jedi Master's ship.

"Oh, its alright, General Kenobi, its nothing serious… Rex had some stuff to get rid of the heartburn. I'm not eating that flavour of ration bar unless there's absolutely nothing else left… and I'd give you five credits for your self-preservation, Master Skywalker."

There was sniggering over every comm as the clones and Jedi clung onto the scrap of amusement for dear life.

"Any advance on five credits?" Anakin chuckled.

"Five credits and a ration bar, sir!" chipped in another clone.

"Five credits, a ration bar and three antacid tablets, sir!" called another.

"I seriously think you would be better off on the black market, Anakin. And you probably wouldn't be challenged on a gastric level." Obi-Wan said, suddenly cursing (rather politely) as he was once again shot at by the droid enemy.