Jamison Blake
"Funny"
Denon, that most populace of planets so often forgotten. Coruscant got all the glory, yes, but Denon, now Denon was the place to be! The Galactic eye so often looked away, so its billions of inhabitants could play.
"Ah, now I'm a poet. Who knew!" Jamison said with a laugh to the man sitting before him.
The man, the poor, sorry man, sat in a simple metal chair ropes tightly binding his arms and legs to it. That most primal of emotions, fear, dominating his otherwise unnoteworthy face. Leaning forward Jamison tapped the man twice on the head with the tip of the blaster held in his hand.
"Now now, this is a time to be happy! You should be smiling, turn that frown upside down." he said laughing more. "Surely you know where this joke ends don't you?"
Then Jamison stopped laughing and a new, almost accusatory look formed on his face. "Wait, who is this 'Shirley' and how much does she know? How much did you tell her!?"
He shook the bound man hard by the shoulders until the man cried out, "I don't know! I don't know what you're talking about!"
"Come now, don't play dumb," Jamison replied. However he did stop shaking the man and swiftly a smile returned. "Ah I suppose it doesn't matter, a good joke is funny no matter how many times you tell it. Especially when one has such a captive audience. Isn't that right old buddy?"
"You-you're crazy man," the prisoner replied shakily.
This time Jamison's smile slowly turned as the corners of his mouth drooped into a disappointed frown. "That's what they all say," he said dryly. Then he brought the blaster up and shot the man between the eyes.
"Now that's a punch line!" he yelled cackling madly. It took many minutes for him to calm down and look serious. "Hmm, I really do need to find this Shirley though. Perhaps she'll enjoy the joke more."
Whistling a tune only he knew, Jamison walked out of the abandoned building where the corpse still sat twirling his blaster on his finger. Pedestrians around him moved as far away as they could, unaware that the safety was off.
"Ah, now I'm a poet. Who knew!" Jamison said with a laugh to the man sitting before him.
The man, the poor, sorry man, sat in a simple metal chair ropes tightly binding his arms and legs to it. That most primal of emotions, fear, dominating his otherwise unnoteworthy face. Leaning forward Jamison tapped the man twice on the head with the tip of the blaster held in his hand.
"Now now, this is a time to be happy! You should be smiling, turn that frown upside down." he said laughing more. "Surely you know where this joke ends don't you?"
Then Jamison stopped laughing and a new, almost accusatory look formed on his face. "Wait, who is this 'Shirley' and how much does she know? How much did you tell her!?"
He shook the bound man hard by the shoulders until the man cried out, "I don't know! I don't know what you're talking about!"
"Come now, don't play dumb," Jamison replied. However he did stop shaking the man and swiftly a smile returned. "Ah I suppose it doesn't matter, a good joke is funny no matter how many times you tell it. Especially when one has such a captive audience. Isn't that right old buddy?"
"You-you're crazy man," the prisoner replied shakily.
This time Jamison's smile slowly turned as the corners of his mouth drooped into a disappointed frown. "That's what they all say," he said dryly. Then he brought the blaster up and shot the man between the eyes.
"Now that's a punch line!" he yelled cackling madly. It took many minutes for him to calm down and look serious. "Hmm, I really do need to find this Shirley though. Perhaps she'll enjoy the joke more."
Whistling a tune only he knew, Jamison walked out of the abandoned building where the corpse still sat twirling his blaster on his finger. Pedestrians around him moved as far away as they could, unaware that the safety was off.