let's see all of it.

...maybe not all of it. it's pretty big.

Yeah. Lots, though.

yeah. as much as we can.

weird that this is how my childhood dreams came true.

She chuckles. Yeah, really.

I almost want to go visit your parents. Show 'em.

can we?

i mean, it might not be a good idea, but fuck would that be satisfying.

The memories of them — cold and disappointed, casually demeaning, not shy about showing him his status as a reject, an accidental byproduct of their attempt to make something that mattered — come easily.

'Course we can. Sith, remember? Who's going to stop us?

i don’t even know how they’d react. maybe they’d decide i was a bad influence on you.

That startles a laugh out of her. You. A bad influence on me. An actual literal Sith. Maybe we should go visit them, knock some sense into them.

by the time we get out there they won’t be able to tell which one came first! they’d default to me! 

Mm. I guess. Still.

we should drop in sometime and then never ever go back.

Sounds like a plan.

Kiss.

...and more blue sushi. If they’ve only got it on this planet he’d better get tired of it now.

It is pretty tasty.

And then - they're not tired, surprisingly enough: want to take a walk or something?

yeah. haven’t used our legs much lately.

He hasn’t for a while, come to think of it. Not a lot of room to move in that cell.

Yeah. Well. It's over now.

They tuck his shirt in her belt - no point in putting it on if they don't need to, but they have no idea how Dorfu feel about nudity - and: "Daisy? We're going for a walk, do you want to come?"

"Yes Ma'am."

"That's not what we asked, Love."

"Oh. I'm sorry. I... don't know?"

we’d probably just be inside, right?

He’s not sure what benefits a walk gives a droid. Maybe if they go outside...

I wasn't planning on going out, but we could.

“...well, you don’t have to come. But if you did I guess you could try to see whether you liked it or not. Then you’d know next time.”

"That's true." It's not very clear whether she understands why it matters, but she seems less uncertain, at least.

"All right." Bring some credits with us, if we're maybe going out, she says, and goes to check the duffel bag for some: most of the space in the bag is taken up by datadisks, both loose and boxed, but there's a bag of credit chips near the top. She looks inside - various denominations, but if the larger ones are as common as they seem, it's more money than he's seen in one place since he was a child, and perhaps ever - hums approvingly, and pockets the bag. "Ready?"