<span style="color: #FF0080">"Alright, then. Shall we?</span><br/><br/><span style="color: #BF0000">"Why would you want a guy like this to fly you around when you could have someone like me?"</span><br/><br/>Boiling anger surged through Brandon the moment it started. Imagine, the first half decent human interacting, interrupted… By a moron. He turned around, simply watching what he knew would be an embarrassment before it even began. His eyes took in the surroundings in an instant, and within moments his belief was affirmed. Amara had it completely under control… everything was made so much better than he recognized Amara’s ‘assailant’. He simply grinned; it hurt his mouth to make that shape.<br/><br/>The lad’s name blurred together with all in his father’s little coterie, but he was a member of a new 'smuggling group'. It was little more than a collection of bored, rich, Corellian nobles who fancied themselves amazing pilots, but didn’t take kindly to the law. They were annoying, to say the least, and really the only ones’ stupid enough to get on his bad side. This little poodoo was going to get splattered, and it really didn’t look like any of his friends were there to do anything.<br/><br/><span style="color: #FF0080">"Okay..."</span><br/><br/>The man made a move at her, going so far as to grab her… Her veneer visibly froze, and the smiling queen of ice manifested herself.<br/><br/><span style="color: #FF0080">"Sorry, I've already made my decision. If you would kindly remove your hand from my arm..."</span><br/><br/><span style="color: #BF0000">"It was a mistake for a pretty little thing like you to come into a place like this."</span><br/><br/>The situation began escalating and he instinctually took note of the onlookers… Scavangers; karking, Corellian scum, noble or not… They were going to take advantage of this situation one way or another. Slipping a hand into his pocket, Brandon retrieved one of his most useful gadgets; an extendable DP-23 Shotgun, a gift from the commando artillery briga… He falters for a moment, the unengaged weapon nearly slipping from his hand. Another memory, another pang of pain he had desperately hoped to numb… He flicks his wrist and the weapon comes to bear in his right arm before he squeezes the trigger. The sound of weapon-fire fills the cantina, and the powerful commando shotgun easily tears a hole through the wall inches near the head of one of the patrons.<br/><br/><span style="color: #0080FF">“Don’t even karking thi*hic*nk about drawing that pistol, kid…”</span><br/><br/>Before anyone could even comprehend he had a weapon… In that moment, he had taken aim and and obliterated anyone’s illusion that he couldn’t kill them at his any whim.<br/><br/><span style="color: #FF0080">"No. The mistake wasn't mine. The mistake was yours for assuming that a pretty little thing like me can't handle the likes of you."</span><br/><br/>He couldn’t help but be impressed by the simplicity of the exchange. Amara made the oaf appear as though he were swimming through water, and she ended him just as quickly. Brandon walked over, summarily removing anything of value from the braggard, and unsurprisingly found a truly absurd wallet…<br/><br/><span style="color: #0080FF">“My god. ‘Platinum Rated’ too, whatever that means.”</span><br/><br/>He shakes his head, becoming more exasperated with this individual by the minute as he pockets his belongings. Brandon wasn’t above being the one to teach this idiot the lesson he was bound to learn.<br/><br/><span style="color: #FF0080">"Shall we? For real this time.” </span><br/><br/>He holsters his weapon, back into the hidden receiver near his thigh. He walks with her, silent, until they both reach the air outside. It was crisp, temperate… The sun was out and glorious… It karking hurt his karking eyes! An audible ‘thump’ is heard in his haste to shield his gaze at his initial discomfort… He pauses again, at the entrance. Stopping just for a moment and allowing the air to just flow around him, through him. He breathed deeply, letting it fill his lungs before he exhaled satisfyingly. A mildly sheepish grin tugs at the corners of his lips...<span style="font-style: italic">'I totally didn't mean to pull the trigger there!'</span><br/><br/><span style="color: #0080FF">“My mentor was an alcoholic… He told me if you need to think about something, while you’re karking drunk as all hell, then just take a minute.”</span><br/><br/>He sighs for a moment and bites his lip…<br/><br/><span style="color: #0080FF">“My ship is more or less out of food stock; and before we go I need to refill… I also haven’t eaten anything, and I should honestly begin sobering up before I even consider piloting… I respect the chair too much… I could use the company though, if you’d like to come along while I sober up.”</span><br/><br/>He looks at her, a curious expression beneath his eyes. He hadn’t talked that much to someone in a while; hell, he hadn’t spoken more than a sentence a week for longer than he’d care to remember.