AUTHOR'S NOTE: I don't own Farscape. Or Star Wars. Obviously. This is pure crack. Apologies in advance...
She pounded the empty glass back down on the bar, the foul raz'lak burning her throat. It tasted like dren. But at least it was strong.
Aeryn wasn't sure what she was doing in this place. A disgusting bar on an even more disgusting commerce planet. Dingy, dark and crawling with the sort of low-lifes she'd sooner shoot than speak to. But here she was.Might as well have another frelling drink. She nodded to the bartender for a refill.
"Careful," a voice said from further on down the bar. "Keep it up and somebody's gonna have to peel you off the floor later." She could practically hear the smirk. "Can I volunteer?"
Aeryn's expression hardened. She shot a glare in the direction of the man's voice. And sure enough, there he sat. It was all she could do not to roll her eyes. She'd seen his type before. Cocky, smug, and far too sure of himself with women. Her fingers itched to reach for her pulse pistol. But instead she simply raised one eyebrow in cool disinterest.
"Does that line usually work?" She had been tempted to simply ignore him. It was certainly easier than shooting him. But maybe it was the raz'lak that had changed her mind.
The man seemed to take her words as encouragement, leaning forward and putting his elbows up on the bar. The smug grin was still firmly in place. With an infuriating shrug he replied, "Sometimes. You never know. No harm in tryin'!"
"Only if you value your limbs," she responded dryly. Aeryn took another sip, looking ahead of her instead of at the stranger. She had wanted a drink in peace. Now she was regretting it. If she'd wanted ramblings, she could've gone to Crichton…
But he still wasn't put off. He slid into the seat next to her and stuck out a hand. "Han Solo," he said. "Can I buy you a drink? Or's that a shooting offense too?"
"It's about to be."
"C'mon! I'm a nice guy! You're not gonna at least give me your name?"
Aeryn looked back at him. "No."
Solo frowned. Clearly, he wasn't a man used to being rejected by women. But he wasn't ready to give up. "If you do, I'll take ya for a ride. Got one helluva ship out there. The Millennium Falcon. You've probably heard of her… Made the Kessel Run in less than twelve parsecs?" He sat back, looking more than a little pleased with himself.
And that's what did it. Aeryn smirked. She could have laughed, but it wasn't worth the effort. She stood up. As she put money down on the bar, she said, "If you think twelve parsecs is impressive, I pity you." Any Prowler pilot would be insulted by that boast. Even the slowest could've bested that after half a cycle of training.
Aeryn glanced up at him again. "I've done it in seven."
And with that, she was gone, leaving the smuggler gaping in her wake.