“Parker,” Hardison hesitated, than continued. “Parker, I thought we agreed that we couldn’t both be Han Solo.”
Parker paused in the act of making sure her prop gun was tucked securely in it’s holster. “Yes?” She was wearing her ‘and why are you wasting my time with this?’ face and Hardison took a deep, steadying breath.
“Then why are we both dressed as Han Solo?”
Parker shook her hair out of her face. “We agreed. I thought you meant that you wouldn’t go as Han Solo.”
“No, Parker, I.” Hardison took another breath. “I meant that I would go as Han Solo.”
“Oh,” Parker thought that over. “You weren’t very clear.”
“Woman,” Hardison started, than stopped. “You know what, I don’t care. You look good, damn good.”
“Yeah?” Parker tossed her hair dramatically and pulled out her prop gun “Don’t ever tell me the odds.”
“No, it’s never tell, you know what, never mind. You look great.”
Parker jerked her head past him, already done listening. “Isn’t that that guy you like?”
Hardison follows her gaze to an almost perfect Boba Fett costume, armour scratched in the right places, beautifully detailed gun cocked at the ready. “Damn.” Hardison says, following the man with his eyes. He has the walk down, the ‘don’t mess with me or else’ walk.
“Let’s go say hi!” Parker says, and is already bounding off before Hardison can stop her. Rolling his eyes, Hardison follows, hoping that this won’t end like the New York Comic-con debacle of 2014.
To his relief, Parker has already struck up a seemingly normal conversation with Boba Fett, his voice coming out muffled through the helmet.
“Yeah, I’m here with my Hardison,” Parker is saying. “I thought about going as Darth Vadar, with the,” she makes sounds imitating Darth Vadar’s mask “but it’s so hot.”
“Your Hardison, huh?” Boba Fett asks, and even through the mask, Hardison gets the feeling the guy is giving her a once over.
“That would be me,” Hardison reaches out his hand, calm and cool. Parker can flirt, or be flirted with, as much as she wants. SHe’s not his property. (He thinks, sometimes, that he just might be hers, owned and claimed.)
“Two Han Solos?” The guy’s tone is arch, amused. Hardison just raises an eyebrow in reply.
“He didn’t want to be slave Leia,” Parker says, mock pouting. The guys laugh is low and rough, and it makes Hardison’s fingers tingle.
Both of Hardison’s eyebrows shoot up in surprise, but Parker just laughs.
“Do we get to see your face, mysetrious bounty hunter?”
He doesn’t miss the way the guy goes tense at that, visible even through the armor, but he gets momentarily distracted by the way Parker’s fingers are inching towards the guys knife. Not part of the standard costume, but painted enough to match. God, it’s JUST like NYCC, and there is no way to nudge her without calling more attention to it.
Then Boba Fett’s arm shoots out, catching Parker’s wrist as smooth as breathing.
“You’re a thief,” he says. A statement of fact, not an accusation.
Parker only laughs.
“What makes you say that?” Hardison asks, trying to play it cool. He has a jerry-rigged lazer in his own gun, but it won’t do more than blind this guy if it comes to a fight.
Boba Fett holds up Parker’s hand, as though Hardison doesn’t know it as well as his own by now. “Her calluses.”
“Her calluses?” Hardison’s voice is skeptical, neither confirming or denying.
Boba Fett let’s her go and takes off his helmet and damn. Damn.
“They’re very distinctive calluses.” His voice is just as deep and gravelly outside of the helmet, and yeah, it is really working for Hardison. Damn.
“You’re a bounty hunter,” Parker replies, and her tone is light, playful.
Boba Fett’s eyes dart over to her. “Yeah.”
“No, I mean, you’re a bounty hunter.” She holds up a, something, Hardison can’t make it out, just out of reach of Boba Fett. Sometimes Parker really is too good, Hardison hadn’t even seen her take that one.
“Give that back,” Boba Fett says, and his voice is so cold it gives Hardison chills.
Parker shrugs and tosses it back, nonchalant.
“Oh hell no,” Hardison snaps, putting the pieces together. Parker and Boba Fett both turn to look at him. “You aren’t even a Star Wars fan are you? You’re just being cute.”
Boba Fett grins, sharp and dangerous. “Buy me a drink,” he says “and find out.”