Scene I: Mos Eisley Cantina
"I'm from Cambridge, you know…" drawled Han Solo to the attractive Hutt bartender, Zola. Zola squirmed with pleasure as she poured the vivacious smuggler another shot of Ogden's Ol' Firewhiskey. Han grinned pleasureful and lanced himself back into his chair, revelling in his recent victory. Han was like a cool chat cat on New Year's Eve: never too wrong, never too right. Just in the middle.
As for that victory of Mr Solo, no one could really speak of this unless they wanted death. But since Han was in a such good mood, he decided to recount it with rhymes.
"I come from Corellia," Han recounted to the Hutt, "Not many people know that, but you know what?
"What's that dear Hanny?" Zola wiggled in her seat. Hutt's could never be this trusted, not even to eat.
"Well, a little bit ago, I was away with the crew, when I thought of something that I really shouldn't do…"
Zola moaned with anticipation, sensuality and lust. Her Hutrection was to the point of breaking...or bust.
"We flew to the moon, to all sorts of odd places, but the best thing I've ever done was killing off the races!"
"What's that got to do with this victory of yours?" Zola was so invested, listening wasn't even a chore.
"These five tribe groups from all around the world, conspired to fight or flight against one group called the Curled."
Zola jumped up and down, splattering guests with gooey slime. "Hurry up, dear Hanny, or I'm going to break your spine!"
Han let out a laugh, grateful for the joke. To continue his story, Han lit up a toke.
"The Curled fought for days but with not much success. The way we got involved was by beating the best! We came in with our ships, guns spattering the land, and with the Curled leader himself, we fought him hand to hand!"
Han finished his story with a shit eating grin. "I guess that's how I've come home to take the win! But now that I'm done, I suppose that it's time, for me to stop making these godawful rhymes!"
Zola clapped and clapped for her newfound hero. Han really was something to be cherished. For the past twelve days Han would come in at 6 pm sharp, looking dapper in his Corellian flight suit, always dropping by some sort of flower concoction for Zola. Zola swooned endlessly. Now, on the thirteenth day, Han was here once again, calm and collected.
"Zola, I've been meaning to ask you…" Han began with a devilish twinkle in his eye.
"Yes, Han?" Zola replied breathlessly in beating her droopy eyelids.
Han opened his mouth as if to speak but stopped in a frozen gesture. His eyes crawled away from his skull, leaving nothing but a shining, disgusting light emulating from within. Not much else was there, but some bandanas of pink ribbon scroll frothed.