"So," said Jyn once they were inside. "Do you have any family?"
"No." said Cassian. "Either they're still alive or they died during the Clone Wars. I don't remember now."
"Well, if you don't have a family..." Jyn grinned immensely. "Do you...have feelings for anyone?"
"I don't talk about feelings." Cassian dismissed her.
The radish's thoughts were interrupted by Jyn. He took in her lovely face and short prawns, not to mention those lovely eyes. Her little freckles on the side of her face were quite adorable, and there was so many of them they were like skin stars.
"Unless..." Cassian sighed. "Unless I met the right woman...and she was lookin' at me, vice-versa, and she--she smiles and asks if I want to be with her forever.."
"Ooh!" K smirked. "Cassian and Jyn, together forever--" K made his robotic fingers into a heart shape, then pushed the two together. "REOWREOW! The Galaxy's hottest power couple!"
"Shut up, K." Said Cassian. "Why don't you go...er...keep watch or something."
"Yes, "Sahib"." Said K mockingly. "Why is it that us robots are sent to do a man's job?"
K walked over to a control panel as Cassian walked in. Jyn pulled a gun
out of her utility belt and handed it
to K.
"Here, K." She said. "You said you wanted one."
The droid reached out and took the gun from Jyn. He appeared to be smiling.
"Thank you, Jyn Erso." Said K.
Jyn looked at him, longingly, he looked at her. Slowly, K and Jyn reached out their non-existent hands, until they touched.
"Be good." Said K.
Jyn smiled, and started to tear up a little. She went with Cassian into the door, K closed it behind them. For a moment, it was silent, until the two could hear a muffled, familiar voice yell out;
"The love boat's about to set sail!!"
——————
Clementine Tart-kin walked out of the men's bathroom stall. He turned on the sink, and began to lather his (would be) hands. He ran wetted, non-existent fingers through his silvery hair and began to comb while humming a tune.
"...da da da,
Da-da-da-da-da-
da,
Da-da-da-da-da-
d--"
Tart-kin paused his humming. His eyes widened then went back to normal as he saw Orson Krennic in the mirror. The orange turned as Orson looked at him, somewhat enraged.
"I hear you told Verdura." Said Orson.
"Why yes..." said Tart-Kin. He placed his comb down. "Yes I did, chubby."
"CHUBBY?!!" Exclaimed Orson. "Look at me, man--I am about as slender as a racehorse!"
"I'd say about as 'slender'," Tart-kin paused, "...as an overly fattened-up holiday goose."
"I am not fat, mind you..." Orson glared at Tart-kin. "Just big-boned."
"...big-boned, eh? Then what, pray tell," Tart-kin quickly pulled off his corset and shirt, groping Orson's blubber. "Is THIS?!!?"
"Um..." Red blossomed all throughout Orson's face. "...winter weight?"
Tart-kin laughed until he couldn't breathe, then got back up. He slowly rubbed circles in Orson's stomach with non-existent hands.
"Someday I swear, me bucko..." said Tart-kin. "I am going to rip that
girdle off your body in public and show the entire army what an obese, slovenly, pregnant Hutt of a man you've become." He circled Krennic, chuckling.
"And when they see you, they'll think, "Since WHEN did he let himself go that much?", "He used to be so intimidating, now he's just plump and soft..." They'll enforce Lord Verdura who--yes I did tell him--will strip you of your rank for disobeying section code 666--exceeding the Officer weight limit, and I'll be Verdura's right-hand man instead of you." Tart-kin ruffled Orson's hair.
"You wouldn't dare, Clementine!" Orson growled and pushed him away.
"I do believe I would. And to think, this was all because you couldn't contain yourself when it came to
alcoholism..."
Orson held his stomach, all covered in dark stretch marks, soft and semi-malleable. To his sides, he now had medium-ish love handles.
He felt like he was going to cry a little.
Fate was indeed a cruel mistress, for Tart-kin was correct: if Orson
were to continue hitting the Bottle--every sorrow-drowning session, drinking game, or just-because--the very thing that bought him joy
would bring him crashing down.
"...The people want a warlord, Krennic." Tart-kin said as he walked away. "Not someone who can't see his own toes."
Tart-kin walked away, leaving Orson red-faced and humiliated.
Orson sighed, and started to re-attach his corset. It took a while, for he really had to suck it in to the point where he could feel his ribs, but he finally managed to stuff his chunk back in. Already as he hopped back, he could feel the corset digging into his sides, his paunch dying to pop out.
"I should have gotten a larger size..."
Orson cursed the day he gained sixty pounds to his formerly slender
frame of 188. But this was clearly no time to bemoan his begrudgingly
believable BMI--
...he had Rebels to kill.
