Chapter Text
Welp, this was certainly a strange predicament you found yourself in. Presently, you stared at the tall chrome stormtrooper captain as she lifted up a spork and looked to you with a tense posture.
“Is this a weapon?”
“No, that’s a spork.”
“Oh.”
This has been going on for three days. Three. Days. You had found the shiny warrior in an alley not too far from the cinema. She was lost, really angry, and nearly punched you in the face. You were just happy her blaster had no ammunition. You had only just seen the newest Star Wars movie, and you had immediately latched on to the lady memorized all who were under her command, was badass as all hell, and made your wee little heart beat for her. Of course this was before she materialized into real life. She kept asking if certain things were weapons, or could be used as one. It was kind of funny, but also not. Right now, she stood menacingly over a lamp. She kept prodding the lampshade.
It kind of reminded you of something, but you weren’t quite sure what.
“Is this a weapon?” Phasma held up a set of keys, your keys, and turned to you questioningly.
You wanted to say that, yes, those can be used as a weapon, but decided against it. It was hard enough to get her to toss her blaster, and you didn’t want to think of what else she would’ve warmed herself with. At one point, if you remember correctly, she had asked what a boxfan was, and if it was some sort of defense shield. You could only roll your eyes and begin the long and tedious path to ‘that’s not a weapon, stop asking, what are you a five-year-old, put down my cat, stop holding her like a gun, she’s only meowing because she doesn’t like you’.
“….No.”
“You hesitated,” she stated, setting the keys down with a jingle before turning to face you. She strolled leisurely on over, and stood at least a foot over you. You swallowed.
“Hesitation is no good thing in a soldier, especially one that’s just a beginner. Especially if you’re trying to lie.”
Your shoulders slouched as you let loose a long, deep sigh. You weren’t good at babysitting. You weren’t especially good at babysitting tall, demanding and kind of scary stormtrooper captains who were super bossy, either. You were stuck in a rut.
Turning away, you dragged your hands down your face as you made way to your kitchen. “Why couldn’t I have been stuck with the clones? At least they would listen.” You merely mumbled this. If your new captain had heard you, she had chosen to remain silent.
You heard the loud clank-clank-clank of Phasma’s armoured bootsteps as she followed you. She was like a really big, lost, angry puppy that didn’t know what anything was. You plopped yourself down at your small kitchen table, and rested your head in your hands. You could feel a headache coming on.
“What’s this? Is it a—“
“No, it is not a weapon, for the LAST time! Stop asking! I’m just trying to figure out how to send you back to your place, and—are you holding a butter knife no put that back that’s a weapon that IS a weapon PHASMA DO NOT—“
There goes that ugly candleholder with a baby Jesus on it. Apparently Phasma excelled in throwing knives, too. God, that visual dictionary was not kidding about her.
But that was the least of your worries right now. You had a tall lady clad in big armour trumping around your house, and now there was glass all over your countertop. Your cat was probably hiding under your bed at this point. You swore you heard her muffled hissing.
Standing up, you briskly stormed into the kitchen, with just enough ferocity to make Phasma step out of the way. From what you could guess, she took your expression of exasperation and anger as a warning. You were thankful. Yay facial expressions.
Silence followed suit as you cleaned up her mess. You then put a babylock on the silverware drawer. You also put one on every other cabinet and drawer in the whole place. She wouldn’t know how that worked, and the only reason you had any at all was because most of your friends and family had children of their own and would visit every so often, leaving you only so much time to babyproof the everything.
After sweeping the bits of broken glass baby Jesus into a trashbag, you heaved a deep sigh and began to reevaluate yourself. Why the big, angry and shiny trashcan of the First Order? Why not Rey? Or Poe? They would’ve been easier to explain to your family. “Oh, yeah, I met this dashing lady/gentleman on a dating website! No, no, they aren’t a tall, menacing dumpster that could crush you with their pinkie finger!”
You heard a shift of armour behind you, and looked over your shoulder at your unexpected houseguest.
“What is it?” You asked, shooting her a suspicious glare, to which she turned her gaze downward some.
“Apologies for, uh… Destroying your glass ornament. With the disturbing infant on it. If I had the credits, I’ll buy you a new one?”
You sighed again, before cracking a small smile. It’ll take some time, but you’ll get her at least somewhat adjusted to her new surroundings.
And it’s gonna have to start with that armour. It’s scuffing up your tile floor.