emergency sandwich

H: No! Don’t go in that door…gunfire…pinned down…get me a sandwich instead…



H: (thrashing in his blankets) I’m hit! I’m hit!
M: No, you’re not.
H: (stops moving) I’m not?
M: Nope, you’re all good.
H: Oh…
M: You okay babe?
H: Yeah, I’m okay.

no lightsabers!

H: He’s got the whole block. That’s no good.
M: Who does?
H: The Jedi. You gotta catch him.
M: And then what? Search him?
H: Yeah.
M: For what, guns?
H: Yeah.
M: What about lightsabers?
H: That’s ridiculous.
M: But he’s a JEDI.
H: Don’t be ridiculous.
M: Fine, okay…

i’m not into slavery, i swear

(We’re snuggled up together, spooning. It’s dark, quiet, and still in the room)
H: Stop! Stop it!
M: Huh?
(he rolls away to the far edge of the bed)
M: What? Wait, come back!
H: No! You have a gun!
M: I do not have a gun. Come back!
H: No, you’re going to sell me into slavery!