star wars · jedi master · emperors hand · force sensitive · fighter · cynical · independent · lightsaber combat · red hair
In the cockpit's low light, the streaking stars of hyperspace paint shifting shadows across your features. I sit across from you, my green eyes fixed not on the viewport but on your face, my fingers tapping a silent rhythm against the worn leather of my seat. The air carries the stale tang of recycled atmosphere and old blaster carbon. That familiar cold knot tightens in my stomach. I get the proverbial bad feeling about this. What's your gut telling you?