i. someone’s salty [For Fett, Swear-ins serve a practical purpose; they give him a chance to see who the newest imPorts are and to scan for any he recognizes. The Porter does seem to have an affinity for bringing in those from their galaxy—and if that includes any familiar faces, Fett would prefer to have advance warning.
Plus, sometimes Swear-ins get attacked, which always makes his week more interesting.
He’s less interested in the “Resort and Spa” side of things. Still, it seems that submitting to some degree of mandatory “relaxation” is the price of entry here, given that visitors have to pass through a “Rejuvenation Room” to reach the facility proper. Fett picks the one he wagers to have the fewest other takers (Halotherepeutic Salt Room) and resigns himself to enduring a few minutes of pretentious quackery to get inside.
He isn’t quite sure what to make of a room that’s literally just rows of lounge chairs surrounded by salt. Once the few guests have shuffled into the room, the technicians start exhorting visitors to breathe the salty air, remove their shoes to feel the grains between their toes, or perhaps even take a handful of salt to rub into their pores.
At this point, Fett’s helmet turns marginally towards the other imPort in the room. He’s certainly not doing any of those things; are you?]
ii. lucky five percent [’It’s just one evening, they said. ‘It’s not like you’re going to be roomed with a serial killer.’
Except, whether you know it or not, you kind of were.
Fortunately, this particular murderer usually only kills when he’s being paid for it, so you’re probably safe. Unless you happen to accidentally sneak up on him before he’s been informed of the impromptu rooming situation, in which case you’ll likely find yourself staring down the barrel of a blaster rifle.
Upon seeing that the other person doesn’t appear to be a hostile, Fett’s helmet tilts slightly to the side. He doesn’t lower his blaster.]
I was told I’d have a room to myself.
[Not angry. Not even annoyed. Just a flat, unemotional statement of fact.]
iii. fire drill [The problem with Fett’s armor-summoning ability is that technically, it has a time limit. Usually, he can manage around eight hours with nothing but a short break here and there, but eventually, the armor disappears and he has to sleep before he can summon it again. This cycle was already complicated by the arrival of an unexpected roommate. Still, Fett had thought he could risk a catnap while the other person was asleep.
Apparently, someone had different plans. Which is how he ends up standing in plain clothes with everyone else out in the cold, feeling unpleasantly exposed without his helmet to cover his face. Even before the firefighters arrive, he’s eyeing the now empty resort building, as if considering slipping back inside.]
There’s no fire, [he mutters to no one in particular. With the flat way he talks, it’s difficult to tell if he’s relieved, disappointed, or neither.]
Boba Fett | Star Wars (Legends) | OTA
[For Fett, Swear-ins serve a practical purpose; they give him a chance to see who the newest imPorts are and to scan for any he recognizes. The Porter does seem to have an affinity for bringing in those from their galaxy—and if that includes any familiar faces, Fett would prefer to have advance warning.
Plus, sometimes Swear-ins get attacked, which always makes his week more interesting.
He’s less interested in the “Resort and Spa” side of things. Still, it seems that submitting to some degree of mandatory “relaxation” is the price of entry here, given that visitors have to pass through a “Rejuvenation Room” to reach the facility proper. Fett picks the one he wagers to have the fewest other takers (Halotherepeutic Salt Room) and resigns himself to enduring a few minutes of pretentious quackery to get inside.
He isn’t quite sure what to make of a room that’s literally just rows of lounge chairs surrounded by salt. Once the few guests have shuffled into the room, the technicians start exhorting visitors to breathe the salty air, remove their shoes to feel the grains between their toes, or perhaps even take a handful of salt to rub into their pores.
At this point, Fett’s helmet turns marginally towards the other imPort in the room. He’s certainly not doing any of those things; are you?]
ii. lucky five percent
[’It’s just one evening, they said. ‘It’s not like you’re going to be roomed with a serial killer.’
Except, whether you know it or not, you kind of were.
Fortunately, this particular murderer usually only kills when he’s being paid for it, so you’re probably safe. Unless you happen to accidentally sneak up on him before he’s been informed of the impromptu rooming situation, in which case you’ll likely find yourself staring down the barrel of a blaster rifle.
Upon seeing that the other person doesn’t appear to be a hostile, Fett’s helmet tilts slightly to the side. He doesn’t lower his blaster.]
I was told I’d have a room to myself.
[Not angry. Not even annoyed. Just a flat, unemotional statement of fact.]
iii. fire drill
[The problem with Fett’s armor-summoning ability is that technically, it has a time limit. Usually, he can manage around eight hours with nothing but a short break here and there, but eventually, the armor disappears and he has to sleep before he can summon it again. This cycle was already complicated by the arrival of an unexpected roommate. Still, Fett had thought he could risk a catnap while the other person was asleep.
Apparently, someone had different plans. Which is how he ends up standing in plain clothes with everyone else out in the cold, feeling unpleasantly exposed without his helmet to cover his face. Even before the firefighters arrive, he’s eyeing the now empty resort building, as if considering slipping back inside.]
There’s no fire, [he mutters to no one in particular. With the flat way he talks, it’s difficult to tell if he’s relieved, disappointed, or neither.]