Rah Rah Rah

[Sarge Potteiger]

WHOA WHOA WHOA.

NOT FAIR, MAN.

 

[Cira]

 

[Sarge Potteiger]

NOW DO THE HARLEM SHAKE.

 

[Cira]

No.

 

[Sarge Potteiger]

Oh cmon, man.

 

[Cira]

Nope.

 

[Sarge Potteiger]

Fine. Just drink some of this whiskey and shut up.

 

[Cira]

-lofts a brow-

 

[Sarge Potteiger]

What?

 

[Cira]

Oh... nothing.

 

[Sarge Potteiger]

Don't like whiskey?

What about Space Tequila?

 

[Cira]

Depends on what sort of whiskey.

 

[Sarge Potteiger]

The good kind.

The kind you drink.

 

[Cira]

Not all whiskeys are made the same.

 

[Sarge Potteiger]

And not all whiskey is taken from the boss, who loves his Corellian Whiskey.

You gonna drink it before he gets pissed or what?

 

[Cira]

Oh in that case.

-takes said drink-

 

[Sarge Potteiger]

That's the spirit.

*kicks his feet up on the table, whistling nonchalantly*

 

[Ayden Cater]

You karkin' Hutt-humping Void-lover. So help me, I will send you to the Nine Hells with a nice pretty bow on your head if you get into my stash again.

 

[Sarge Potteiger]

Hey, hey! I ain't the one keepin' me on ice when I'm not needed. I gotta relax when I get the chance!

 

[Ayden Cater]

And taking things from my stash is your idea of relaxing?

No wonder you lost bits in the deep freeze.