The Runaways

Problems with Polka-Dots

21 BBY, Ryloth

Nobesh continued to pester Spitfire, who grew increasingly angry. Why can't he just leave? He was an old childhood friend of mine. He just makes me uncomfortable now. I haven't seen him since I was 6 years old!

"Oh! So your hair is long because it's a way to make you 'different' than the rest of the clones? I see. You clones are pathetic. Pawns of the Republic." He turned to me, and began speaking in Twi'leki. "You seriously like these guys? They're disgusting."

"We are not disgusting." Spitfire snapped back at Nobesh in Twi'leki. The shock on his face was comical. Spitfire stood only a few inches taller than Nobesh, but in my book, he towered over my childhood friend. "You, Polka-dots, need to back off. You're pissing me off." Spitfire seethed. Nobesh rolled his shoulders back and turned toward me.

"So, honey, how long are you on our beautiful Ryloth?" Spitfire was rigid beside me, clearly angry. But he knew I could take care of things on my own.

"I'm leaving ASAP."

'Why?" Nobesh leaned onto the back of the counter. "Don't you want to stay with me?" I was disgusted.

"Yeah, when there are three Sith." I scoffed. Always two. No less, no more.

"Huh?"

"She means never. Never ever." Spitfire dumbed it down.

"And whyever not?" Nobesh lowered his voice. He again picked up the end of my lek. "Oh come on...you remember how much fun we had together?" I waited until his wrist was in the optimal position for me to grab. Then, I made my move.