"Your sons almost caused a riot in the mess, and you've been here only a day and a half," General Organa dropped into the chair across from Boba Fett, "What was wrong with the soup?"
"They're use to my cooking, and they expect fish soup to have fish in it. Not cold water with vegetables and perhaps a fish scale run through the water," Boba shrugged, carefully moving a very small piece of circuitry, "and that Naboo chef idiot insinuating that they were uncultured dolts as well as not being real people because they're clones probably didn't help."
Leia winced; usually Resistance members kept their private prejudices private, but the Fetts were loud in a peculiarly quiet way.
"That is not the general belief of the Resistance; I'll have a word with him."
"You do that," Boba closed the box he had been fussing with, and looked up at her.
Leia associated many things with Boba Fett but worried tired father was not one of them, and his current expression reminded her of Bail Organa the last time she ever saw her father.
He stood up and stretched, joints creaking and popping, then he handed her a list.
"What's this?"
"A list of ingredients. I didn't realize when we came here I was going to have to teach your people to how to cook."
It was probably a good thing that even at his age Fett was fast on his feet.
