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“Let’s just say they might recognize my face,” Boba replied when he became the focus of everyone’s attention. You could clearly hear the amused smirk in his tone.
You couldn’t help it, you snorted. Well he’s not wrong. “Oh, come on,” you teased, smile firmly on his face. “You can slap on a mustache or something. No one will recognize you.”
He shook his head fondly. “I’m pretty sure every possible variation on my face would be recognized, cyar’ika.”
Cara raised an eyebrow. “Why do I feel like I’m missing something?”
“You’re not the only one,” Mayfeld muttered.
Dramatically, you moved to sling your arms around your lover’s shoulders. “Well, Boba’s old man may or may not have been the template for the clones back in the Clone Wars.”
Everyone looked appropriately surprised by that, none of them having been old enough/having met a clone before after all.
Din was the one that spoke up, “Why would their information still be one file?”
“Why wouldn’t it?” Boba countered. “They’re running off old Empire data, so not only would they likely have my face on file, but the clones made up the first round of Imperial troopers. I sincerely doubt they would have bothered to take them out of the system.”
“Alright, so Boba’s out. Who’s left?” Mayfeld prompted.
While they sussed it out amongst themselves, you turned to look at Boba. “It would be kinda funny to see their reaction, though.”
“I’m not itching to end up in a derelict Imperial prison, cyar’ika. I’ll pass on that one.”
“Spoil sport.”
“Hey, I don’t see you volunteering either.”
“Fair enough.”