Sticky Fingers (One-Shot)
In which Hondo Ohnaka (accidentally) saves the galaxy far, far away.
Word count: 8,223
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Hondo is not, in all technicality, invited to this event.
Hondo is also, in all technicality, not turned away at the door.
That’s the sort of thing that happens when you come in on the arm of a very rich and very powerful executive. Hondo won’t claim to know what it is that she does—that’s how a man loses fingers—but she’d thought it quite the grand joke to bring famed and endlessly charming Hondo Ohnaka to a political mixer! He does belong, he assures everyone. He knows plenty of wealthy politicians, including on the other side of the war. Why, he’s captured Dooku himself, before!
He’s fairly certain the clones are giving him dirty looks from behind their helmets. Alas, he cannot see them. He recalls they are handsome fellows, and takes a chance to flirt with one.
The trooper directs him to the buffet.
A pity.
Hondo entertains himself, nonetheless. He speaks with everyone! He dances! None are safe from his endless wit and seductive gyrations. He speaks with diplomats! He speaks with senators! He speaks with capitalists, and their fake-smiled wives!
He also steals from them.
It is, of course, not the great Hondo’s fault. He is simply, ehhhh… sticky-fingered! A lifetime of habit, to be sure. His dear mother did teach him so very well.
Hondo fills his pockets. There are rings slipped from fingers and credits galore. Some of the politicians are even carrying datasticks, as though planning to exchange information at this wondrous event! How absolutely naughty. Even Hondo is ashamed for them. Perhaps he ought to call their parents.
After a certain point, Hondo isn’t even paying attention to what he’s taking anymore. He is very quick about it, and almost anything he can slip from these people is either very expensive, or very incriminating, or very tasty. He has admittedly grabbed their plates as often as their wallets, when distracted.
He is, after all, but a humble pirate! His stomach, it hungers.
Hondo continues the night that way, and he may take advantage to slip little things into drinks. What can he say? He likes an easy mark. If they hadn’t wanted him stealing everything but the clothes on their backs (and even some of those), they wouldn’t have let him in the door. He even gets the Chancellor!
Hondo knows that he is good at what he does, but this place should really have better security for the head of state. He’ll let Kenobi know. He owes it to his friend to let him know about the gaping opportunities.
He slips past the Chancellor, gripping him by the forearms as he tells a wild story that is only somewhat untrue, and comes away with something that feels hard and complicated and expensive. He slips whatever it is in his coat and moves on to his next target. The Chancellor doesn’t even notice! Perhaps he is, after all, going as senile as the papers say. Hondo decides he doesn’t believe that, because he likes the fact that he got one over the man, and that’s more impressive if the Chancellor is mentally capable (except for the drugs Hondo put in his drink).
Hondo slips into the bathroom—legally, no cameras!—and looks upon his many findings. There are credits! There are jewels! There are incriminating things!
There is a lightsaber.
Hondo looks at it.
Hondo holds it, and passes his mind over the past several hours, and thinks that only one of his lifts had quite this feeling.
Perhaps this is better handled by someone who is not Hondo.
He is far too pretty to die by the Chancellor’s hands, yes?
