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Yavin IV, 3 AM
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"Han?"
Leia called out to the shadowy figure sleepily as she padded closer, her bare feet making hardly a sound on the cool hangar floor.
Solo looked up and froze, his hazel eyes widening at the sight of her puzzled face. He paled visibly, and his head jerked momentarily, as if hit with an electroprod. Releasing a quick breath, he recovered, and hastily turned away. He redoubled his efforts, grabbing credit boxes and strewing them roughly onto the gravsled.
Blinking back the shock, her blood rose. Keeping her voice down so as not to wake the pilots quartered nearby, she hissed at Han, "What exactly do you think you're doing?" Even in her sleep-deprived state, her mind jumped to the natural conclusion. "Cutting and running now?"
Without even a glance her way, he continued stacking. "Sorry sweetheart, got no time for explanations," came his prickly reply.
She looked closer at the credit tins. They were emblazoned with a small motif on each side. The mark of the crown. Donated to the Alliance by the teenage king of Gala, these were sent as his last decree, right before he was slaughtered by Empire-backed insurgents.
He disappeared around the corner into the normally-locked storage room. Reappearing moments later, he strode out with the last of the boxes stacked in his arms, and a tarp and some flexi-rope balanced precariously on top.
Stirred both by his silence and his lack of explanations, her temper blazed, forcing the volume of her voice higher. "I don't believe you've received your fee for your last shipment, but I can guarantee you aren't owed that much."
Han snorted softly, the corner of his mouth twitching as he held back a retort. He moved quickly about the gravsled, his unkempt hair bobbing with the rough jerks that strapped the tarp down over the crates. Leia caught sight of the scar on his strong jaw as he moved into the dimmed light from the nearby hallway. Her nostrils flared. I don't know what hurt you, but I'll cut you deeper.
Narrowing her gaze, she fully awoke, straightened, and assumed her stiff senatorial pose. She let her voice practically drip with all the venom she was feeling from the impending abandonment. "Stealing from a murdered child? That's low, even for you. I should have known. Dodonna was right. You're just another third-rate pirate, with only a Wookiee for a conscience."
Leia could see she'd finally stuck a nerve, and the mention of Dodonna had rewarded her with a slam of a fist into the control panel of the gravsled. She could see the metal had dented, and felt a small thrill at the pain conveyed by Han's slight wince and nose twitch. "Third-rate pirate?" His face contorted, and his mouth fell open as he bared his teeth with a feral grin. He bitterly slapped the gravsled's activator, and spat back at the regal statue before him. "Smuggler, and a damned good one!"
"I'll bet your parents are so proud!" she shouted, no longer caring who she awoke, just wanting to barb and maim the man rapidly disappearing towards the Falcon, and from there, no doubt, to a casino fifteen star systems away.
"Lucky I don't have any, then!" the impossible man screeched back, giving her pause for a moment. Still simmering, knowing he could no longer hear her over the whine of sublight engines, but flooded with adrenaline, she stomped her way towards the mess hall, hoping to grab an early breakfast before locking herself away with only her datapad to spar with. She threw one final glance towards the dish-shaped ship retreating out of the hangar and into the humidity of the Yavin IV jungle, and grumbled to herself.
"That's right, Solo. Get out of here. You even think of coming back, and I'll have the Rogues shoot you down on sight."
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