WARNING: This is a mash-up. It's Star Wars fan-fiction, written in the style of Irvine Welsh's Trainspotting. I absolutely adore both so it comes from a place of genuine love, but be aware that the second of these influences means that the post contains some of the foulest language ever to appear on this blog. If the swearing will be a problem for you, there are lots of far less profane posts right here. For everyone else, strap in...
Photo credit: Lucasfilm archives.
Ah can already tell, it's goin tae be one ay those nights. Ah prefer it busier, but ah can make it work even when the diner's deid like this. Bodano's sittin lookin bored. Dex is in the kitchen, preparin food he hopes will be eaten. Ah'm jist waitin by the bar, tryin ma best tae drag it oot. It's all too easy.
Three guys come in, obviously drunk. Imperials. A Vice Admiral and two Captains. Their uniforms might say officer-class, but the way they're actin suggests the opposite. Ah'm no sure where they've been roond here tae get intae such a state, but we're happy ay the business. Not many places in the toon like their sort, not that anywhere can really '"ban" the Imps and they'd be stupit tae even try. But the grey-suits aren't shy wi showin oaf their hireys. Plus it tends tae keep oot the local trouble, so management's happy.
— Table for three, Alderaan brandy and Andoan wine, none of your piss, sais the tallest one. He's a mean lookin prick and he's a regular in here. The other two aren't quite as cocky. Younger, lower-rankin, although ah'm sure they'd be cunts in thir ain right given the chance. Bodano keeps his face Sabaac-straight and sits them far enough back fir they tae feel like they've go an swanky table, and fir us tae ken they're ootay immediate sight ay other punters walkin in.
Of course it's me that's got'tae deal wi them fae now. Nae bother, that's ma joab. And sure enough, the ranks might range but they're all cut from the same shite-stained cloth. Barkin fir more drinks, orderin things they think are outrageously indulgent even though this is a diner in fuckin Anchorhead.
— What do you call a good looking woman on Tatooine? one ay the Captains sneers.
— A tourist!! the other one chimes, leavin it a beat too late while makin sure he wisnae steppin oan the toes ay the boss man at the table by answerin. The Vice Admiral's not bothered though, he's happy feelin like he's the maist important prick in the sector.
— Oh I don't know though, he comes back at them while he's looking at me, — I wouldn't kick that one out of my quarters... what time are you finishing tonight girlie? he grins. Ah jist smile and mumble somethin aboot workin the overnight shift as there's a big liner due in before sunrise-one, but ah'm fuckin seethin by now. Ah'm keepin ma eye oan this cunt awright.
At one point they're actin like they're aboot tae send their mains back tae the kitchen. Nothin wrang wi them, they're just bein erseholes fir the sake ay it. Ah manage tae smooth things over wi a line aboot 'distinguished guests'. That seems tae work. Guid. Ah've pit too much intae this joab for it tae go wrang this late oan. They're not anglin fir money oaf the bill - that's somethin that the plebs dae - they jist want tae feel superior.
So the tall one goes tae the fresher - he's been a couple ay times actually - and he comes back lookin green as a fuckin Duros. It disnae stop him bein a prize winnin dick, but at least he's not walkin oot. More brandy. Aye, that'll see ye right. By this point his Captains are too pished to see that somethin's not right wi their man.
Then halfway through dessert, the big streak ay pish makes fir the fresher - again - and jist slaps tae the flair. Ah'm worried he's hit his heid oan the way doon but naw, he's groanin and startin tae choke on his thick, swollen tongue. The Captains are awake now. Baith Hoth-white and not knowin whae tae call. One ay them jist fuckin bolts; ah'll bet he's great oan the battlefield. Obviously, as the attentive waitress ah dae what ah can. We've a medkit oot the back, but it looks like it's too late fir that. He's tryin tae breathe through his nose but even that's nae use as his eyes dull over.
The thing is, Vice Admiral Screed - whatever the holonet will say - wisnae poisoned. Sortay. It's jist that the particular Alderaanian brandy he demands develops a reactive sediment if it's not stored correctly. And that particular bottle ah've been usin tae serve the cunt all night certainly wisnae. Ah saw tae that. The sediment's not poisonous, though. But it sure as fuck reacts badly wi Colo Claw Fish and the enzymes in the Meiloorun glaze ah managed tae swap oot at the last minute when Dex wisnae lookin.
Jist bad luck, they'll say. Naebody could ay predicted it. The diner should be fine. Not that ah'll be aroond tae find oot.
It's a bold Hutt who puts a price on an Imperial heid. It's arguably an idiot whae collects it, but a girl's gottae make a livin. Huntin's aboot patience and not all joabs need a trigger. In all the confusion ah wis able tae take a swab as well as proof ay ID, and the proof ay death will be indisputable soon enough. After that ah can collect payment anonymously - minus handlin and cryptography fees - and that should take care ay the setup fir ma next joab. Ah'll need a small crew, but Dengs'll be ma 'in' there.
See, lettin some radge cowboy shite think he's killed ye is easy. Lyin low so that everyone else thinks that is easy an'aw. Humans are everywhere in this galaxy, near-humans jist as much, so blendin in as a normal punter is a piece ay pish. But the temptation tae get back intae the game? That's the killer. And watchin liabilities like Bossk and Fett cleanin up wi all the grace ay a toddler wi a gaffi stick? That's jist fuckin insultin.
Naw, it's time Aurra Sing finally stepped back intae the spotlight.
There's work tae be done.
It's all too easy.
DISCLAIMERS:
• ^^^ That's dry, British humour, and most likely sarcasm or facetiousness.
• Yen's blog contains harsh language and even harsher notions of propriety. Reader discretion is advised.
• This is a personal blog. The views and opinions expressed here represent my own thoughts (at the time of writing) and not those of the people, institutions or organisations that I may or may not be related with unless stated explicitly.
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