"What?" Krennic said, more irritated now than ever, especially since this man was clearly making fun of him. And stars, those grease, and the smell. It offended his Imperial sensibilities so much, and Krennic moved away again, putting more distance between them, scowling at Kraglin. "Don't come any closer again," he growled, an obvious warning. "And I've never heard of any of that. I am an officer of the Galactic Empire, the only Empire, under the leadership of the great Emperor Palpatine." he lifted his chin while he said that, looking at Kraglin imperiously and smugly, obviously proud of what he is and of his part in the Imperial cog machine. "You do look like a smuggler from the shadier parts of the Outer Rim to me," he said, giving the other man another condescending look. "Probably after taking a dip in the Sarlacc pit because you smelled like Bantha poo. But if you're not a smuggler," Krennic looked him up and down, "then what are you?"
He dumped all his sweets on the nearest table, snagging only a chocolate bar and an interesting looking candy for himself, hoping Kraglin won't notice. Then he glared at him again, at the jab on the colour of his uniform. "I'm Imperial Intelligence," he said, stiffly. "Tarkin Initiative. Weapons Research. Director of it, to be exact. So you see why I wear what you call 'awful silly for a uniform'," he said. "Technically, it's all classified, but since we're here in this stars abandoned place, I don't think it matters."
Krennic was obviously proud of his uniform too, because being in the Division--leading it--is one of his most proudest achievements, although clearly not as much as building a mobile battle station the size of a small moon capable of destroying cities and planets with a single button, so insulting it is a very bad idea. He's already planning to ditch this smelly, offensive man, and find someone else to talk to, someone who won't give him tons of sweets or thinks his uniform is a costume or, well, a smelly, offensive smuggler.
"I don't know," he shrugs. "I read the pamphlets and they call it the Nexus. That was before they gave me the sweets. I'd just arrived, too."
no subject
He dumped all his sweets on the nearest table, snagging only a chocolate bar and an interesting looking candy for himself, hoping Kraglin won't notice. Then he glared at him again, at the jab on the colour of his uniform. "I'm Imperial Intelligence," he said, stiffly. "Tarkin Initiative. Weapons Research. Director of it, to be exact. So you see why I wear what you call 'awful silly for a uniform'," he said. "Technically, it's all classified, but since we're here in this stars abandoned place, I don't think it matters."
Krennic was obviously proud of his uniform too, because being in the Division--leading it--is one of his most proudest achievements, although clearly not as much as building a mobile battle station the size of a small moon capable of destroying cities and planets with a single button, so insulting it is a very bad idea. He's already planning to ditch this smelly, offensive man, and find someone else to talk to, someone who won't give him tons of sweets or thinks his uniform is a costume or, well, a smelly, offensive smuggler.
"I don't know," he shrugs. "I read the pamphlets and they call it the Nexus. That was before they gave me the sweets. I'd just arrived, too."