It’s been a long time coming,
As you shed a lonesome tear.
And now you’re in a wonderama,
I wonder what you’re doin’ here.

The flame no longer flickers,
You’re feeling just like a fool.
You keep starin’ into your liquor,
Wonderin’ what to do.

I don’t hardly know you,
But I’d be willin’ to show you,
A way to make you smile!
Let me touch you for awhile.

Cylver is owned by the lovely Scribs, not me. I just worked the screenshot a little through photoshop.

Making New Friends

“Y'know, this’s all really just a massive misunderstandin’." 

"As if I believe you, criminal scum.”

“Occifer Sergeant Ma'am, if I didn’t know better I’d say you didn’t like me.”

Quick as a snake, the very angry Pub soldier pulled out a blaster and jammed it under Cylver’s throat hard enough to bruise. 

“Because I don’t. Now, you are going to answer my questions. All of them,” she snarled. Her eyes glinted dangerously in the gloom of the holding cell. How she’d known who Cylver was and where she would be, and that she somehow ‘acquired’ a crate of stolen implants, remained unknown. But her and her team had busted down the door and arrested her and Toren nearly before they knew what hit them. 

Before, of course, the angry lady HAD hit them both, hard, with the butt of her blaster pistol. 

Hence this lovely conversation, Cylver’s throbbing headache, Toren’s spreading green bruise, and the shockcuffs on both of them in the darkness of the cell. 

“Well when you put it so nicely…” she drawled, business end of the blaster tickling her throat.

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