Yay TFKAK, my only reviewer! Thank you for paying homage to the story. Lol. :D

Anyway, on to the next chapter. I'm not going to do the whole disclaimer thing again, because there's nothing to disclaim that wasn't previously disclaimed. So there. :P

II. Mos Eisley Laundromat

Boba Fett strutted into the Mos Eisley Laundromat. All looked up from their detergent and loads, horrified that this man was still alive. Or maybe it was just the smell. Perhaps it was the uncleanliness of it all. Anyhow, they were all scared.

Boba, happy that he had instilled fear in being once again (one way or another...), went up to the detergent machine to get his little cup of blue soapy stuff. After exchanging a quarter credit piece for the wrong type of detergent (bleach isn't good for green armor!), blasting the machine, and retrieving the right detergent, Fett was ready to do the laundry. Except for one thing.

No way am I getting undressed in front of all these people.

Fett glanced around, noting a bathroom, which he proceeded to "duck into."

Inside the stall he took off his armor, revealing a pair of stunning blue boxers and a white sleeveless shirt. I know. Too much information.

But there was a problem. No one was allowed to see Boba Fett's face. They must die were they to see Boba Fett's face!

What to do, what to do...

It wasn't like there was anything but toilet paper in the stall. And he very well couldn't wrap his head in toilet paper.

Eew...

He looked at the helmet. It was probably the least affected item. He could wash it on the ship once he got off-planet, thought it wouldn't be as good

With a sigh Boba placed the helmet back on his head. Being feared throughout the galaxy was hard work.

Now, while this was going on in the bathroom, the people in the Laundromat had a greater and greater sense of foreboding. Surely Boba Fett was not here merely to wash clothes with the commoners; he must have a secret agenda. Therefore, all were staring as the bathroom door opened

Imagine, if you will, the greatest fear you've ever felt, all because of one human. Imagine seeing a door open to reveal this terrible being. Let's add some smoke for good measure, shall we? You see the figure step forward; your heart is beating hard. The figure emerges from the fog, to reveal a man in boxers and a thin white shirt, wearing a single piece of armor: a helmet, concealing his features. He's carrying a pile of armor and balancing a precariously placed cup of detergent.

Actually, it's pretty funny.

Until the guy who dared to chuckle gets a poison dart in the neck.

Funny how things like that can wreck the mood of a room....