Disclaimer: Don't own 'em, never did. I just make more sound decisions than profic authors.
If These Characters Could Speak II
Han found himself in a strange room; he had completely lost his bearings. One moment, he was at Luke's wedding as the best man, and the next he was in this room, with a man he'd never seen before. But he did recognize the contraption on the man's desk and knew what was going on.
"Ah, so you're the one who's going to try and capture my character today, I see," Han said to the man, even though he knew the author couldn't hear him. "Let's see what you've got so far"
Han started to read what was on the screen, but had to look up when he heard the familiar guttural tones of his friend, Chewbacca. His Wookie friend gave him a hug, then pointed at the screen and roared angrily.
Han squinted at the words, trying to read them before they moved up the page and off screen.
"WHAT???"
Han turned to stare at his companion. "He killed you? Is he allowed to do that? Does George know about this?"
Chewie shrugged and his growl came out almost as a purr. Han stormed off into a portal of imagination, going off to yell at his creator.
The room was dark. But not dark enough as far as Han was concerned. His eyes were bloodshot and he had not slept in what felt like years. He looked at the author he was now dealing with and sighed.
"I don't drink. Much. When did I turn into an alcoholic?" he asked, probably more politely than he had intended. Of course, Mike didn't answer him, and Han really hadn't expected one, although it certainly would have been nice.
Han peered at the screen, amazed at what he had turned into. He hated his son, was snippy with his wife and friends, and didn't appear to be bathing anymore. What the hell was that all about?
"I'm a smuggler, a nerf herder; I don't drink myself into a hole because some moon killed my best friend. I don't take it out on my son. I get angry and blow up every shred of those people I can, to revenge Chewbacca."
Mike kept on typing.
Han frowned. "I'm not a drunk."