ishotfirst | (no subject)

"It's a very nice hat."

Han pats the blaster at his thigh.

"Like this blaster. Matches my ship."

They walk down the corridor to the entrance ramp and he hits the button to lower the gangplank, it does with a hiss whirr thunk before he nods his head and walks down off the ship.

Something rolls up (http://crystaltips.typepad.com/photos/uncategorized/starwarsdroid.jpg) (R4-A22) and emits a series of highpitched whistles and beeps at them.

~~It's not the same, Han~~.

With a mild head-shake, Ben follows.

And promptly stops.

And stares.

Then head-tilts, just a little.

" -- wouldn't happen to know Wally, would you?"

He's talking to the metal ... thing, not Han.

The droid whistles and clicks.

Han has no idea Ben's trying to talk to the droid and not him.

"Wally? Ain't met anyone named Wally."

R4-A22 rolls off in another direction.

Ben head-tilts a little more.

Still staring at the droid, he addresses Han.

"Not you, the — "

And then it rolls away, clearly disinterested in Ben.

"Huh."

A one-shouldered shrug.

"Guess it ain't much for conversation."

"Don't take it personally. Some of 'em are like that."

Han pats Ben on the back of the shoulder as he leads the way towards the back of the bay, and a doorway that'll lead into the center corridor of the hub.

"When they don't wipe 'em clean between owners they can get a bit of a personality."

The corridor is full of...

...people.

"Just about broke my — "

Pause.

Eyeing the unexpected throng, Ben slowly, carefully, removes his hat.

" ... heart."

There are many different races here. Some with pale skin and eyes that are strange colors. Others with fur or horns growing from their bodies. Travelers dressed in robes and more of the droids rolling along behind their 'masters', whistling and beeping excitedly.

A group of...somethings...slither by.

"Grop te ban kale," one of them mutters in a deep voice.

Han narrows his eyes and turns his head to call back at the leader. "Hock ja kin!"

Off Ben's glance, Han shrugs. "I ain't one."

Ben's doing an admirable job of keeping his eyes in their sockets.

" -- how many languages you speak?"

"Four, maybe five."

Han shrugs. He's never really kept count.

"I can swear in close to twenty, though. And get outta trouble in 'bout the same. When you're runnin' spice you gotta be able to deal with all sorts...I'm better at some than others."

Wryly, "I'd offer my lot, but I got a feelin' Spanish won't do much good here."

"Might catch you a woman," he offers, with a smug little grin on his face.

"That would be a story. Talk 'bout exotic ... "

He eyes the crowd a little more closely.

Walking through the spaceport is simple enough and Han doesn't have to swear at anyone else. Thankfully.

Once they're out on the streets, however...Ben might have more to stare at. More 'humans', definitely.

He doesn't stare.

He just ... glances. Appreciatively.

Especially at that 'human' as they pass her.

Han chuckles under his breath and then leads them into a bar.

More different sorts of folk, but still plenty to appreciate.

"You'd be surprised what some of them can do with a tail."

" -- tail?"

A chortle and a slight shake of his head.

"Tell you what, we gotta get you to Mexico sometime. No tails, but plenty enough talent to appreciate."

"Deal."

He ducks into a booth and it's not long before a female with green skin and a few extra fingers on each hand brings a bottle of Whyren's over and two good sized glasses.

She's not bad looking either.

"Where's Mexico?"

Ben's eyes are still on her retreating (hour-glass) figure.

"Just south of the — "

He pauses and pulls his glass toward him.

"You seen a map of Earth before?"

"...like on paper or somethin'?"

"Or somethin'."

Ben pulls a small sketchbook and pencil from his back pocket and quickly outlines a rough approximation of North America.

"That," he says, pointing to the Mexico-shaped part, "is Mexico. Just south of the United States, got plenty of sun, tequila and women."

A grin.

"And I ain't wanted there."

Han peers at the map and then nods.

"Ain't bein' wanted...no better feeling than that."

He hasn't had it for awhile, though.

Ben's lips twitch as he puts down the sketchbook and reaches for his Whyren's.

"Somethin' to be said for outsmartin' the law, though."

"More fun when you're running."

Han leans back a little.

"So what do you do to get wanted, Wade?"

Lightly, "Not too much."

His smile widens into a grin.

"Few robberies here and there."

A one-shouldered shrug.

"Blew up a train or three."

"Cargo or transport?"

By 'transport' he means 'live cargo' which means 'passengers'.

Not slaves.

Han Solo does not do slavery.