𝐌𝐄𝐌𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐎 𝐌𝐎𝐑𝐈

Eleven

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The Mos Eisley Cantina was the best place to look for trouble. Criminals could blend in with regulars and drink amongst the bounty hunters that were searching for them. Blasters and pistols were always kept close by; hidden under tables or beneath one's sleeve. While the drinkers and customers were bad, the bartenders were worse. They secretly knew everything about everyone. Their ears were always open and listening. And if they saw something that didn't look right, they never said anything. Everything about the Mos Eisley was dangerous. If you took one wrong step or took one wrong glance; you might not make it out of there alive. The thought sent shivers spiraling down my backside.

Strolling into the cantina, the burning sun immediately disappeared from my backside. The sweat clinging to my forehead and neck was cooled by the shade. The haze from the desert faded and I could relax my eyes again. Though, leaving behind the sun and it's blinding light, the cantina appeared pitch black. I knew my eyes would adjust soon.

The Cantina was tightly packed today. Creatures I had never seen before were squished around the centered counter, demanding more drinks. The chatter and buzz were thunderous amidst the shell-like bar. The saxophones of the band blared in the background but it didn't stay like that for very long.

The second we entered, everyone's head spun around. The voices hushed instantaneously, as though a blanket had crept over every creature's mouth. A million eyes were pointed in my direction, but they didn't land on me. They were looking at none other than Boba Fett. They studied him closely and intently, as though their life may have depended on it.

Fett strutted through the crowd confidently, almost like he didn't know they were looking at him. Creatures parted for him and easily enough, a path through the bar was made for the bounty hunter. I trailed behind my mentor less assuredly, feeling the burn of judgemental eyes.

Once we were within the crowd, the chatter and the music started again, right then and there, as though nothing had happened in the first place. The music blared and the conversations continued.

I followed Fett like a lost puppy until we reached a table near the back. My heart was racing nervously in my chest- criminals knew we were here, criminals knew Boba Fett was dangerous- would they try and attack us? My palms were covered in sweat even though we were inside, protected from the sun. My fingers naturally crawled down my leg to my holster, only to discover, it was empty.

Before I could make a sound or complain, Fett grabbed my shoulder and pushed me down into a seat. "Stay here," He ordered, peering down at me. His gloved hands were still sturdy around his rifle: prepared.

A frown crinkled across my brows. My stomach erupted into nervous waves, he was leaving me here? Alone? I shook my head in protest, silently begging Fett not to go. When he spun around to leave, I gripped his arm. He stopped in his tracks and looked down at me once again. I muttered, "Please-"

His helmet tilted up, "Pay attention."

With those final words, Fett pulled away from the table, slipping from the hand I had on his armor. He wandered to the center of the bar, confidently and cool. He walked as though he didn't have a care in the world; he took his time with each stride. The bounty hunter disappeared from sight, being blocked by the crowd of creatures.

BOBA FETT'S POV:

I leaned against the centerpiece table. The chatting to my sides quieted down but it was all familiar to me; I have lived through his scenario a hundred times. I could smell their fear sweating from their alien bodies, I could read their movements.