A Time for Everything

[James Prent]

"Oh," I said, "Well, its sorta ..." I took a deep breath. "Complicated?"

I patted my left knee, "I needed medical help, and my friends took me there. I think. I was a little out of it."

[Barton Henning]

“Complicated,” Barton repeated, and he found himself laughing a little, though he wasn't quite sure why. Everyone who got caught up in the Rebellion seemed to have a complicated story to tell. He ran a hand over his close-cropped hair, sighing in thought.

“They're good people. This whole situation is just... incredibly messed up, and it doesn't really get more messed up than Cloud City. No one faction is really in charge, so there's a constant air of competition. I know I'm not really... selling the place to you, but it's probably best that you find out now before you run into some of the, uh, wrong crowd.”

[James Prent]

"Well, I'm no friend of the Empire, I'll tell ya that," I stated emphatically. "I just don't picture myself as a radical, y'know? I jus' wanna live my life somewhere in th' middle.

"And," I added, "I'm used t' tough places. This place can't be worse than the Smuggler's Moon. Talk about factions! But, not really political ones, I guess."

I sipped the caf, and the timer on the oven went off. I wriggled my eyebrows, "Dinner?"

[Barton Henning]

Barton thought about Nar Shaddaa and what kind of life James might have lead there, but his thoughts were quietened by the sharp ding! of the oven. Bowls and cutlery assembled, he dished out to healthy servings of stew with a side plate of thick-cut spice loaf. He looked at the two plates and wondered if he hadn't made too much. On the way back to the couch, he almost tripped but managed to save himself just in time, muttering a tame curse at the shoe that was to blame.

“I got the recipe for this from a girl named Molly Black. She works at one of the local bars, Cloud 9. I'm not sure whether they're hiring at the moment, but if they are I'll be sure to put in a good word for you, if you want to apply.”

[James Prent]

"Hey, that would be great," I said, then nearly burnt my mouth on the stew as I shoveled it in rather unceremoniously. Working hard not to spit it out, I cracked my mouth open and tried to blow the heat off the food already inside. "Aahhh!" I said, and took a big bite of the room temperature spice loaf to take the edge off of the stew.

Swallowing, I shrugged my shoulders apologetically. "The stew is great." To prove it, I spooned up another helping, but carefully blew on it before eating it.