One of the many little things that's been dancing around inside my head. With the help of a little hyper conversation with my sister, it took a shape. Without further ado, I present-

The Vermillion Gambit

The Super-class Star Destroyer the Executor drifted in the darkness of empty space. Eight kilometers in length, it held two full wings of TIE fighters, twice as much as a smaller Imperial-class carried. It was cover nose to stern in turbolasers, ion cannons and sheathed in heavy armor plating. Two giant bubble deflector shield generators rested on the T shape at the end of the massive ship. It carried a large array of probes, droids, drop ships, repair barges, field artillery weapons, walkers of all kinds, and ground assault vehicles, not to mention thousands of loyal stormtroopers. Next to the Death Star it was the most formidable and largest ship in the galaxy.

And all with good reason; not only was it entrusted to Admiral Piett, successor of Admiral Ozzel, but it was Lord Vader's personal flagship.

The Dark Lord of the Sith was currently on board, standing on the main bridge, back turned to the empty void the stretched out behind him. The officer's boots clicked sharply on the metal floor as they paced nervously, feeling their Lord's anger. The pilots of the Executor tried vainly to shrink into their seats to escape the radiating anger of the Dark Lord, as if in his anger he would strike out at them, something that was not unknown for him to do.

Vader surveyed the creatures the stood arrayed before him. Some stood cockily, either they were very confident or very stupid, other stood casually, afraid but trying not act like it, and even a few openly coward, something Vader was used to. They were the scum of the galaxy, bristling with weaponry that was either for show or actually useful, no one could really tell. But Darth Vader's eyes swept over them, counting them, naming who they were, and the anger in the room intensified. There was one missing, one that was never late, one that never, ever failed to show up on.

"Admiral Piett," growled Vader. The Admiral stepped forward, tugging unconsciously at his collar as if it was already too tight.

"Yes my Lord?"

The Dark Lord turned swiftly, his large dark cape billowing and the fury in the room crackled like energy. The hairs on all of the officer's necks rose in anticipation.

"Fett is late."

"Ahhhhh..." Boba Fett sighed for the umpteenth time. He had been holding up on Tipoca City to relax a bit before his next assignment. And relax he did. Fett let himself sink a little farter in, the bubbles in his bath rising halfway up his visor. They were tined red and overflowed onto the floor in a spill of vermillion sauce. The bathtub was smooth white, flawless inside and out, with a silver facet arching up like the graceful neck of a swan from which hot water droplets dripped into the bath at rare intervals. He propped his booted feet up on the porcelain rim and let one armored arm flop towards the ground, twirling his fingers idly in the mountains of spilled bubbles. Yes, he was fully armored and relaxing in a bubble. It seemed the practical thing to do. Does anyone have a problem with that?

Having to take off all his armor was such a hassle. Besides, if someone were to 'accidentally' intrude, see the pile of mandalorian armor and the man in the bathtub, then put two and two together, Fett would have to kill them. Not only that, but naked was a very vulnerable time; Fett himself had caught many bounties in the bathroom. Why wanted people insisted on going to the bathroom with no guards where they would expose parts or all of there flesh and were usually weaponless was totally beyond him. They were quite stupid actually, Fett mused. It was much better to be armed in the bathroom, so one would not have to defend oneself in the nude, a tricky thing. What's more, it cleaned his armor and his body efficiently, though every now and then he did take actual showers to get the grime off after an especially dirty hunt. And of course he would clean every piece of his armor, usually while in hyperspace. But baths were relaxing.

It gave him time to muse over the on coming bounty. He had never worked for the Empire before this; they thought that bounty hunters were the scum of the galaxy, and rightly so, for many of them. Hunters like Bossk give the rest of us a bad name, decided Boba. For a bounty hunter, he had surprisingly high morals, in comparison to a majority of the galaxy. Heck, at least he was honest...well, most of the time. Usually he simply skipped around or stretched the truth. But lying blatantly? His father had taught him better than that. And kill just for the sheer joy of killing? Boba let the bloodthirsty hunters do that. The only reason why people feared him was because he was the device that took them to the ones who would hurt them. The ones without a death sentence, that is.

Speaking of next bounty.... Snapping a quick word into his helmet, Fett check the time he had left until he needed to depart for the Executor.

-2 Standard Galactic Hours flashed across the inside of his helmet.

"Shit!" he swore and leapt from the tub. Anyone worth their beans knows that a wet porcelain bathtub full of soapy water is slippery, but Fett was no fan of beans, so, to a tidal wave of red bubbles and water, he felt with a huge clash of metal and weapons. Without pausing, Fett jumped back to his feet and tried to speed from the room. All the bubbles on the floor made that a little slippery, even with his gripping boots. Staggering slightly, he finally reached the doorway, and then hurriedly wiped his feet free of suds on the carpet. Sprinting out the door, he called ahead to his ship for it to prepare for launch. He heard a faint 'Oh!' as he brushed past a willowy Kaminoean. Glancing back over his shoulder he saw Tuan We on the ground, a confused look in her galaxy eyes. Normally he would not even think of apologizing to anyone, but this was not anyone, this was Tuan We.

"I apologize," he called awkwardly over his shoulder, not being used to apologizing.

Slave I was waiting a foot above the ground, hovering in the darkness. It was actually day, but the sky only threatened rain, a threat it was sure to carry out. The clouds were heavy and black, hanging low in the sky with deep bellies. Leaping on the ramp, fighting off the heat from the jet, Fett ordered his ship out to the atmosphere. It rocketed into the sky as Fett strode up the entrance towards the waiting cockpit.

So he was going to be late, who cared? Boba Fett cared. It was a mar, a deep, trench-like scar on his record. No matter how many times he botched capturing Han Solo, he always showed up on time, right on the dime, the very second the second hand ticked. And now, he was going to be late. And not just late, late to an appointment of Vader, Dark Lord of the Sith. From all he heard, Vader was not the man/machine/second-hand-man-to-the-emperor to displease; if you wanted to displease someone, Bossk was always a good target because where Vader could kill you, Bossk could simply try and fail to kill you...numerous times.

Meanwhile, on the Executor

'I can't believe he's late," whispered Zuckuss. He and the other bounty hunters were standing in a loose clump on one end of the room, while Vader fumed and the Imperials cowered on the other.

"Maybe he's dead," shrugged Dengar in an offhand way. He didn't really believe his own words.

Bossk snorted. "The only being to kill Fett will be me," he growled, pure hatred in his voice.

"Comparing his success to yours," rasped IG-88 in a very robotic voice (well, he is a robot...) "it is more likely he will kill you in a struggle. Either that or manipulate you to his own plans." Dengar snickered.

"Shut up, towel head," snarled Bossk, reaching a clawed three-fingered hand towards the wrap on Dengar's head.

"Hey, its brain surgery dumb-nut." Dengar knocked Bossk's hand away while reaching for his blaster.

"Who you calling dumb-nut, scavenger?" Bossk also reached for his blaster.

"Stop," said IG-88, stepping between them. "You can shoot each other later, but Lord Vader still needs to talk to us. Besides, it goes against your guild code." He looked specifically at Bossk.

"Guild code," snorted Dengar, but he put away his blaster. "It's a stupid idea to start a bounty hunters guild. Bounty hunter work alone."

"But the great Dengar isn't so great a bounty hunter to not stoop so low to team up a few times," the two bickering hunter's voices were beginning to rise."

"At least I don't hide behind my father's riches."

"I don't rely on my father. He's a bumbling fool."

"But you don't shy away from him giving you a few thousand credits to buy a coupla new toys that you don't have the brain capacity to operate!"

"Why you..." Bossk began approaching Dengar, claws snapping eagerly against each other as he reached out as if to strangle Dengar, or, more accurately, rip his throat out.

"What's going on here," snapped a brisk voice. They all turned to look at Admiral Piett, brown eyes fiercely glaring at them. "They'll be none of this fighting aboard my ship. When you listen to the Lord Vader's wishes and leave, you can continue your petty argument, but until then you will cease.

"Yes Admiral," monotoned IG-88. Bossk sneered and Dengar nodded. The rest of the bounty hunters outside the little group ignored them. The admiral turned sharply on his heel and walked away and the bounty hunter returned to a circle, Dengar and Bossk ignoring each other.

"Actually," said Bossk, leaning back a little and taking on the tone of voice connected with bragging, "I know why Fett is late."

"Please enlighten us to the mysteries of his mind."

"He's at a bit of a loss on how to fix a problem that, if, no when he looses, will cost his quiet the sum of money."

"And I suppose," said Zuckuss hinting sarcasm, "that this problem was invented by you?"

"Yes." What could be called a smile on a trandoshan face seemed a little smug. "We made a bet that I can't loose."

"Fett has never been known to bet," intoned IG-88.

"Uh-oh, Bossk," said Zuckuss. "Looks like you'll be getting another loan from your father."

Bossk snarled and it looked as though Admiral Piett's warning was to go unheeded when a radar officer called out from where he sat that a ship was coming in. All the bounty hunters turn to look at the view port and the officer was surrounded by Vader and the Admiral.

"Is it Fett?" snarled Vader.

"It is Slave I sir. But he's still in hyperspace."

"Still in-" Admiral Piett looked furious. "Is he crazy?"

"Maybe he's gone kamikaze," muttered Zuckuss.

"My bet must have drove him off the deep end," growled Bossk, proudly.

IG-88 shook his head. "Unlikely. You are all underestimating Fett."

The was a flash of blue and white and Slave I was there, not 100 meters from the view port. And he was still coming. Officers stood up at their stations to join the horrified onlookers as Slave I shot toward them, a green, iron-shaped missile. At the last second, when all the people on board started feeling the heat of the explosion that was to come when Slave I smashed into them and they could almost clearly see the bounty hunter in his ship, the nose of the iron twisted up. They were close enough to see Boba Fett inside, now upside down as the ship silently slid past them, over head. And he was gone, probably heading toward the docking bay. They all let out a breath that they had been holding, trying to do it so no one else saw they were holding their breath. The man at the radar controls fainted.

"A little unorthodox, I must say," breathed the Admiral.

"That man had guts," said Vader, and not in a complimentary way.

"He's insane," muttered Dengar. "I hope I never work with him. Ruthless, cunning, and insane."

IG-88 shook his head. All the organic beings did not understand Fett at all. IG-88 had monitored his behavior as well a one could from a distance and he still did not figure the man out.

"He's angry because he'll be giving me quarter a million credits because he's loosing the bet. Undoubtedly. No question about it."

"You sound like you're reassuring yourself.'

"There's no question!" roared Bossk.

They all waited a few minutes until they heard the clink of stormtrooper boots in the hall. With a hiss, the door opened and Fett strode into the room, calm, ruthless, and without a doubt could work every piece of his equipment.

Admiral Piett sniffed the air, Dengar and Bossk sniffed it too. Vader wheezed in his helmet.

"What did you do Fett? Fight in a field of freaking fragrant flowers?" Vader did not sound amused with Boba Fett's fragrance. Bubble baths will do that to you.

"Fett," snickered Bossk, "you smell like roses."

"Lavender," corrected IG-88. Bossk glared at him.

Fett turned his head slowly to look at the other bounty hunters, as if fixing them with an icy glare, but his helmet was enough to send shivers down some spines. Many of the officers shivered and did not dare to laugh.

He turned back to Vader and nodded his head in respect or affirmation, you couldn't really tell. "I did, Lord Vader." Without a word of explanation, he joined the bounty hunters at the end of their line, a little separated from them, as if separating a god from mere mortals.

"Damn it Fett," roared Vader. Anger crackled around the room like electricity, all the pilots and officers hair stood on end, and Piett slowly backed away. No one had ever seen Vader so angry. "Waltz in here late while almost running into the main bridge why don't you?!" he roared and slammed his fist down on the nearest control board. With a screech of metal, it bent inward and sparks flew. A wisp of smoke curled up from the bent and mangled panel. Everyone watched it rise into the air, a narrow but thick column, and as it neared the ceiling, it touched the tip of a fire sprinkler, like a girl kissing the tip of her lover's nose.

With a click, hiss, then a spraying sound, water came down as the sprinklers were activated. Everyone was drenched, the officers becoming quickly uncomfortable in their cotton uniforms. It dripped through the armor plates of the bounty hunters and the stormtroopers present, leaking its way coldly down their backs, leaving itchy trails of water residue right where they couldn't scratch.

But the eyes were on Fett. Even though he had done little in his time in hyperspace, one of the things he had not done was rinse off, not from a lack of will to do it, but rather a lack of means. As a result, vermillion suds oozed from the cracks of his armor, from his chest plates, his shoulder plates, the armor on his legs, everywhere, even a trickle from his chin. It slid onto the floor, and Boba Fett's body appeared the froth. They all watched him but he watched Lord Vader, apparently ignoring his present state.

"Fett," Vader wheezed, rain water dripping around his helmet and soaking into his cape. He raised a hand, one finger pointed at the lathered bounty hunter, then twirling in its socket as Vader pointed out the whole of him. "You're all...bubbly bubbly."

An hour later, dry and bubbly bubbly free

"I got it on record, if you want to check."

'I don't need you to repeat what he said, Fett. My hearing is just fine."

"Then I don't need to remind you of the amount of credits you owe me, do I, Bossk?"

"You greedy son of a-"

"No need for name calling Bossk. You would hate to arouse my wrath."

"Awwww, did Fetty junior loved Fetty senior?"

"Bossk senior won't love Bossk junior when he hears he welched from a fairly won gambit."

Silence.

"There, your credits to your account."

Silence.

"You know Fett, you may have gotten Lord Vader to say 'bubbly bubbly,' but I bet the same amount that you could never, short of threats or violence, Get Han Solo to stand on his head and sing 'Happy Birthday' on an Imperial ship."

"Done.'

"Wait, I wasn't seri-"

"Connection terminated.:

Credits, thought Boba Fett sadly, where just too easy to come by these days.

Please review! I would like that very much! Authors love reviews and, if I feel motivated enough (hint hint), I just might do a sequel consisting of just how Boba Fett pulls off that next bet.