A/N: My first Star Wars fic! Coolies! This resulted from a challenge to write a 305-word fic about an icon I have of Han that is subtitled, "Who's scruffy-looking?" I extended it just for this site. I hope you all like it!
P.S. Thank you to reviewer BreathingFlames, who pointed out that I'd forgotten about "stuck-up"! How embarrassing :s
"Why you stuck-up... half-witted... scruffy-looking... nerf-herder!"
Sure.
Stuck-up? That was understandable. He preferred to think of himself as confident, but 'stuck-up' was certainly in range. Ever since he had won his first swoop race as a teenager, Han liked to think of himself as a good pilot. That thought expanded as he aged, and by the time he had come to own The Millenium Falcon, he had worked up himself to be the greatest in the galaxy in his mind. Being a good pilot meant you had to have some cockiness about you. If you weren't confident, you were dead.
So 'stuck-up' was a compliment to Han.
He could understand where she got "half-witted". It wasn't as if he was the most brilliant man in the universe. He was a man who acted before he thought. He had gambled all of his life savings in an attempt to win a ship from Lando, had turned his back on all of his dreams when he saw how oppressed the Wookies were, and had turned around at the last moment to help Luke blow up the Death Star.
He considered each to be an excellent decision on his part.
Therefore he didn't particularly mind that insult.
"Nerf-herder", however... that was downright unoriginal. That was a standard insult throughout the universe, and he expected the Princess to come up with something better than that. She was a well-educated Royal, and had the material to come up with something infinitely more heart-wretching.
Han was particularly disappointed with Her Highnessness.
But "scruffy-looking"? That was preposterous.
Han took great care in his appearance. Well, at least when he knew he would be seeing Her Holiness. And since he could not mask her from the one thing he wished he could at times– the words he spoke before he thought– he decided to perfect the one thing he could control... which was certainly not his mouth.
He took great pride in his hair. Each morning, he washed it meticulously and combed it to perfection. His hair was effing marvelous, thank you.
It wasn't as though he were Chewie, walking around looking like something a Redbyalan Lion had coughed up. And if Chewie was bad, Luke was in a whole other world. What was up with that haircut anyway?
No. Han Solo's hair was glorious. The gods themselves would be envious.
He wouldn't take that from anyone. Not even her.
"Who's scruffy-looking?"