Chapter Text
As soon as Hera set eyes on that red and black horned face that was threatening her crew, it was like she could hear a million voices in her head, all screaming punch him in the dick!
So she did.
At least, she tried to. Instead of soft yielding sensitive flesh, her fist impacted on hard metal.
In the time it took for her to withdraw her numbed hand, she had analyzed the situation. Armour – no, not armour, cybernetics that went higher than just his legs. Crotch not a viable target. Torso uncertain, covered by clothing. Face: unprotected, smug.
She swung for his face with her uninjured hand.
Damn that was satisfying!
He stumbled back with blood pouring from his nose. She surged forward to press her advantage.
Flying was her great passion in life. It was when she felt the most free, the most at peace, the most herself. The Rebellion was important, but one day the Empire would be gone and the skies would still be there, and she would fly without worries. It was always her favourite activity.
She was prepared to admit “beating this particular sleemo into unconsciousness” as her second-favourite activity.
Once she was satisfied he wasn’t going to get back up, she stepped back to survey her work. Her hands were bruised and bloody, but his face was worse. It looked like something that belonged in the trash. Which was, after all, entirely accurate.
“Sabine, Zeb, Chopper,” she said into her comm. “A cockroach somehow made its way onto the ship. Help me throw it out the airlock.”