"This vacation... I will send postcards to my socks."
-The OCCS Cookie File
"Out of my way, Moore, I'm going to deconstruct this 'droid once and for all!"
"Smug statement: Even if you tried, meatbag, you would be entirely unsuccessful in your attempts."
"Will you two shut up already?"
The hold of the Ebon Hawk was a scene of barely controlled chaos. Most of the crew, by this time, had made it to the scene, and they were watching intently as Arden stood between Mandalore and HK-47, hands resting on her lightsaber and looking at both of them with a glare that could burn through the hull of a starfighter.
HK-47's photoreceptors glowed red. "Protest: The meatbag intends to destroy me. Me! The best assassin 'droid in the galaxy, if my humble opinion may be put forward. Determined statement: If he so much as looks at me like he's going to shoot me, I will be forced to take drastic measures!"
Mandalore was inscrutable as ever beneath his helmet, but his voice left no mistake as to his intentions. "That rusting hunk of metal insulted my honour. The audacity-"
"Your honour?" Arden gaped. "Is that what this is all about?"
"Honour is everything to a Mandalorian!" He drew himself to his full height, towering above her. "If you knew half the things I've been through…"
"Excuse me for not being impressed, but I fought on the other side- not to mention the winning side- of the same war as you," she snorted derisively. "So unless you've some great tale about your defeat of the three-legged banana sniffers on Hoppon I or some other such tripe, I think I have a pretty good idea of what you've been through."
"If it were anyone else…" his voice stayed dangerously low. "I want a duel with this heap of scrap, to settle this once and for all!"
HK-47 let out an electronic sigh. "Reluctant statement: Very well, I shall have to make use of my assassination protocols…"
"No, you won't." Arden reached over and snagged the blaster rifle from his hands. "I'm not having my crew members shooting each other. Verbally abuse each other as you please, but there will be no killing of the crew on my watch!"
"I dunno," Atton leaned against the doorway. "It wouldn't break my heart to see that bloodthirsty junkpile disintegrated."
"Threatening statement: You'll be the next to go, meatbag."
Arden whirled around and looked at Atton in annoyance. "I don't think you're allowed to make any commentary on the 'droids. Not after what you did to T3."
Atton shrugged innocently. "Did what? All I did was install a screen so that we could actually tell what he's saying. I thought it was a good modification."
"A good modification, if you hadn't managed to screw up his patterns of speech. You do realize that Bao-dur and I can understand him just fine without the screen, right?"
"Patterns of speech? What, do 'droids have a specific grammar system?"
"No, but since you 'fixed' him, he's only been speaking in iambic pentameter!"
T3 tweedled sadly, and text scrolled across the screen Atton had haphazardly attached to his body: It's true I only talk like this these days…
Atton put his hands in his pockets and cocked his head to the side. "Sounds normal to me."
"Yeah, until he pulls out some completely random phrase."
My maker told me 'never trust an elf.' The characters continued to scroll ponderously across the screen. I don't know what it means, but that's okay.
"An elf? Curious." Mical seemed to ponder this. "I've not heard of them in many quarters, to hear a T3 unit speak of them is most unusual."
"Everything about this scene is unusual," Mira snorted. "In case you hadn't noticed, our resident Mandalorian is challenging a robot to an honour duel."
"Injured protest: I am no mere robot!"
Leiraya, who had remained silent up to that point, let out a most uncharacteristic giggle. This caused everyone in the room to turn to stare at her. Silence hung in the air for a few moments, until she realized that she was suddenly the focus of everyone's attention.
"Were you… giggling?" Mical said cautiously.
"Hey, leave her alone." Mira crossed her arms and looked at him frostily. "I may not be the master of domestic knowledge, but I'm smart enough to know not to mess with someone who's a little over six months pregnant."
"I was not harassing her," he shot back defensively. "I was just… asking."
"Right. Just like you asked if I'd like dinner the other night?"
Mical gaped at her. "What did you think- I mean, of course was just asking you if you wanted dinner!"
"Uh huh." She nodded, completely unimpressed. "And we all knows what dinner ends up entailing."
Mical's face turned the approximate shade of red as the napkins sitting on the table. "I would never presume…"
"Well, that's a good thing. Word of advice? Don't even try." She smirked and patted her blaster pistol. "I'd end up killing you."
"Smooth one, Disciple," Atton chuckled none too kindly.
"Can I say something?" Leiraya raised her hand slightly, a somewhat goofy grin still on her face.
Arden pointed at the offending crew members in turn. "Atton, shut up. Mical, think before you talk, why don't you? Mira… they've all got the manners of trained banthas. Without the training. We don't need to bring it up constantly."
Looking about to make sure she had the floor, Leiraya cleared her throat. "So, as we've all gathered, being cooped up on this ship is resulting in some general ridiculousness and grating of nerves, right?"
T3 whistled mournfully, and his screen read, I definitely see you have a point.
Leiraya nodded and pointed down at the little 'droid. "See, when even the astromech unit notices, you know you're in trouble."
Arden seemed to consider this. "Well, what do you propose, then?"
"A vacation. Stop somewhere. Anywhere, really. We need a break, and we need to get off this ship. We've been on here for what, five months?"
"Yeah, but we haven't stayed on the ship the entire time."
"Right. We've been tearing our hair out searching for those charming Jedi Masters. I almost forgot how much fun that was." She crossed her arms over her chest. "I'm serious. When you have the leader of the Mandalorian clans challenging an assassin 'droid, albeit a very capable, talented assassin 'droid, to an honour duel, not to mention this ridiculousness with T3 speaking in iambic pentameter, it's definitely time for a vacation."
T3 blatted rudely. It's not my fault I talk the way I do.
HK-47 looked over at Arden. "Commentary: I believe certain meatbags should never be allowed near machinery."
Arden sighed. "Bao-dur, can you fix him?"
The Iridonian grinned wryly. "I think I can be of some help on that count."
"Great." Arden stretched and shook her head. "You all can fight it out over where we stop- no guns," she looked pointedly at HK-47.
"Injured statement: I am hurt, Master, that you would assume I would interpret your instructions in such a manner… no matter how much my protocols may yearn for it."
"Right. I'm going to go take a nap." She turned and walked towards her bunk, wondering for perhaps the millionth time what she had gotten herself into, venturing back into Republic space. Leiraya was right in one respect- the Hawk was too small to contain the cast of characters it had accrued over the last few months. Reaching the bed, she didn't even bother to take off her boots before plopping down on the somewhat lumpy surface. Relaxing, she mentally joined with the flow of thoughts on the ship. She'd done it several times since the trip's beginning, and it didn't change much. But the voices usually created a gentle murmur that was quite effective in putting her to sleep.
There are, of course exceptions.
Atton's mind was usually stranger than everyone else's. He'd sit there playing mental pazaak, list off hyperspace routes, or some other such thing. She'd rather gotten used to it. Today, however, she'd caught something different. Eyes snapping open, she rolled out of her bunk and walked quickly to the cockpit.
The sound of her boots on the metal floor let Atton know she was coming, and he turned around with a rakish grin. "Hey, what's up?"
"Atton Rand, why in the name of the Force are you singing Corellian operettas in your head?"
"Did I hear something about Corellian operettas?" Leiraya's voice came from the main hold, and she appeared in the cockpit moments later. "Which one?"
"Does it matter?" Atton turned back around and fiddled intently with the controls. "They're all the same anyway, aren't they?"
"That's so completely not true." Leiraya crossed her arms. "Well, it's mostly not true."
"Why don't you go finish off the fruit we picked up in Iziz?" Atton sneered.
"Not a chance, bucko. It's not certified organic, is it?"
"I don't know! You think I check these sorts of things?"
"Someone around here ought to. The stuff sentient lifeforms ingest these days…"
Arden sighed in exasperation. "You still haven't explained the Corellian operettas."
"Maybe I like operettas." He shrugged. "Is it a crime to be singing operettas in my head?"
"Well, no… but you're usually so… so… mathematical?"
"Yeah, see, if they figure you out, then you're finished. That's where the operettas come in. People trying to walk into your mind will be so shocked, they won't think to push any further."
"I'd kinda want to know if there were any more in there," Leiraya offered.
"I wasn't asking you," he growled. "Can't you go like, draft a plan for galactic peace or something?"
"Already did."
"All right you two, break it up." Arden rested her forehead in the palm of her hand. "You're off the hook for now, Rand… but I promise you I'm going to find out what's with the operettas."
Atton rolled his eyes. "Sweetheart, what's the big deal?"
"Atton, you're the most uncultured person I know. Don't try to pretend you're some sort of suave music aficionado. There's a story, and I'm going to find it, one way or another. But not until after I take a nap." Turning on one heel, she quickly walked out of the cockpit.
Silence hung in the air for a few moments before Leiraya nodded and said, "Yeah, we definitely need a vacation." With that, she followed suit and left the cockpit.
Atton sighed and looked back at the controls. "Women. Pregnant women, and Jedi. Why did I agree to stick around again?"