"G'morning, Bugbite!" Wes Janson gleefully plopped himself into a seat beside his wingmate. He set his plate down and leaned over to ruffle Hobbie's hair.
"Hey! Cut that out!" Hobbie swiped at Wes's hands. "Bloody wanker-what's your problem?"
"Whoa, somebody's in a bad mood!" Wes grinned, spearing a mini nerf sausage on his fork and shoved it into his mouth.
Hobbie simply used his fork to push his eggs around on his plate. This morning he wasn't hungry.
Wes swallowed and stared at Hobbie. "Seriously, Hobs, what's your deal this morning? You're even crankier than usual." Hobbie wasn't looking at him, and Wes, not being able to stand NOT being the center of attention, followed his friend's gaze.
Over to a certain young lady, sitting alone and nibbling on a piece of toasted flatbread.
"Ah. I get it." Wes gave Hobbie a lascivious smirk. "Trouble with the ladies. I keep telling you, Hobs, you should come to me, because-HEY!"
His words were cut off as a piece of egg bounced off of his cheek. "What the hell was that for?" Wes rubbed the residue off of his skin and glared at his wingmate. Then he reached for the cruet of sweet root syrup in the middle of the table.
"Oh, you're gonna regret that, Klivian!"
Wes jumped, sending the sticky fluid coursing into his own lap. "Son of a Hutt!"
Tycho grinned and set his plate down. "Ooops. Sorry to startle you, Janson."
Hobbie tossed his friend a napkin. "Here-go clean yourself up, you moron." He stood up, leaving his tray behind, and stalked out.
To be Continued...
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