Disclaimer: I don't own Star Wars or any of the characters appearing in this fiction. Well, maybe I do, but I don't want credit for them. O.o
Author's Note: I would like to thank everyone who reviewed the previous installment of this fiction. That and motivation from my supportive girlfriend have given me the drive to keep writing. I hope this chapter is more enjoyable than the first. Happy reading.
X—x—X
Hutts, HK-47 assessed, are slimy slug like creatures adept at business and the art of swindling. However, lack of mannerism made one query as to why the race existed. The smell is offensive to my receptors as well and I am overjoyed my functionality allows me to shut them down.
Of course, not everyone in the small, yet lavishly decorated chambers Motta the Hutt shared HK-47's calm and sensible views.
"You sack of Wookiee dung, give me my cut!" Revan yelled, attempting to coerce the credits from the stingy Hutt.
Entertained Reaction: Master can not turn off his scent receptors obviously. Oh, the poor meatbag.
"I mean it!" Revan yelled, a swift back hand driving into the Hutt's bloated face.
Master has been under a great deal of stress. Discovering he was once the Dark Lord of the Sith took it's toll on him. He had such potential. Master should simply fry the meatbag slug and claim right to his fortune and assets. It's a shame really.
Motta spat out Huttese at Revan, the language broken and trembling with fear. This made translation a fraction more difficult for HK, however, he was HK-47 after all and the translation was completed in a cycle if his circuits.
"Translation: Master, the Hutt wishes— "
Revan had somehow managed to find enough leverage to stand on the Hutt's bloated form, but quickly whirled around upon hearing the droid speak.
"I know what he said! Shut it and let me negotiate!" the human yelled in frenzied anger.
The negotiations lasted another good half an hour until Revan finally received proper payment. Both HK and Revan took their leave of the Tatooine swoop bike racetrack, credits in hand. HK-47 was about to commend Revan for his actions, he was of course proud of his master. However, a small human girl approached Revan, a look of sadness on her face.
"Sir," she fearfully asked, "my mother has been taken by slavers and we need money to free her! Can you spare a few credits?"
Revan cheerfully smiled and held the credits he had forced from Motta the Hutt to the girl, "Go ahead, take them all. You must get off this planet, it is hazardous."
The girl smiled and gladly took the credits and after saying her thanks, ran off to wherever she had come from.
"Irritated deceleration: Master! Giving those credits away was a waste of money! The girl should simply have killed the traders and freed her meatbag parental. Disappointed confession: I had so much hope in your renewed anger, Master. You meatbags make my CPU ache with confusion."
End.
