Braze didn't say anything at first.
He just stood there, the loose grip on the convenience store bags, the hum of the ship filling the silence.
"Y'know," he drawled eventually,
"I usually save these for friends. But hey..."
He let the words trail lazily.
"Even a stubborn brat's gotta eat sometime, right? Not much company besides a mouthy little droid. Thought you might be getting bored... Conversation goes a lot better with a full stomach."
Braze shifted his weight, the crinkle of a snack bag accompanying the slow, deliberate tap of his boot against the floor.
With a soft
pshht, he cracked open a can of something fizzy.
He placed a straw in the drink and took a careful sip , mechanical but practiced. and then set the open drink down gently just inside the cell bars.
Without fanfare, he tossed the rest of the convenient store bag full of snacks through the bars onto the bench.
Then he moved away, dragging over a battered rolling chair and a small table, setting up just a few feet from the cell. Casual as could be, Braze settled cross-legged into the chair.
He set out a datapad on the table... tapping a few keys on a datapad reading something over before turning it off.
"They already know what they need."
He flicked his gaze up, looking to meet Xoff's.
"But hey," he continued,
"maybe you want to correct a few mistakes before someone else does."
He let the suggestion hang.
"I already know every name... every credit pocketed... and every lie spun," Braze said quietly.
"You can keep playing silent and let the real law enforcement pick your bones clean for free... Was that really a weird ex of yours or just another lie to squeak out of some other form of trouble? Is taht why you came along so willingly after that?"
His words implied that Braze actually... had no real jurisdiction to arrest Xoff in truth. He was after all... not law enforcement. But he certainly seemed to be having fun playing at it.
Without another word, Braze began stripping away the remnants of his outer coverings, and the heavier gear layered on top.
Piece by piece, until it was just him, seated there in a sleeveless compression shirt and his pants and boots, the exposed skin a brutal landscape of scars and burns.
His arms, his throat, even what was left of the fine lines of his face, all marked by deep sun burnt damage.
Sunblistered skin that had burned and cracked and healed poorly during months of imprisonment.
The once-pristine porcelain complexion was gone, replaced by something hardened, and marred.
Next Braze simply opened the messenger bag he'd brought along, pulling out a neatly folded olive-green flight suit , one that was thick and durable on the outside, lined with softer material within , along with fresh socks and undergarments, tags still attached.
He slid the clothes through the bars without a word, setting them neatly across the bench inside the cell.
Braze dropped back into the battered rolling chair, seating himself in an odd, sideways position — angled toward the door leading into the security room rather than directly facing Xoff. An open posture seemingly unbothered, as if Xoff wasn't a threat worth watching.
Casually, he brought up the Zinder app on the datapad, thumbing through it with slow, deliberate movements until Xoff's profile filled the screen.
Braze made a low noise , something between a hum and a chuckle, deep in his throat.
"I wonder if your husband knows about this..." he mused aloud, tone light, almost conversational.
He flicked through a few more pictures with the pad of his thumb, slow and deliberate.
"You have cute pictures..."
Braze tilted his head faintly, eyes glinting under the brig lights.
"If I were your husband..." he continued, voice a little softer, almost teasing,
"I might be more than a little jealous if I came across this."
He shifted in the chair then still not looking directly at Xoff.
Braze shifted again in the chair, tapping a few idle commands into the datapad before speaking aloud, still not really looking at Xoff.
"Gidgit," he said casually.
The security feed crackled a little as the little droid's chipper voice answered immediately:
Yes, Captain Braze! Should I start taking notes?
Braze gave a rough exhale and leaned back lazily, balancing the datapad against his knee.
"Bring up that advanced ethics and philosophy lesson I need to grade," he said, voice smooth, almost bored.
"And replay the last class recording while you're at it. Might as well get some work done while we wait."
On it, boss! Uploading now!
You really are a multitasker. You should put that on your resume.
The datapad blinked as a new window opened, lecture notes, grading templates, a holovid of Braze's recorded class came in to view from Gidgit's projector as the small droid settle don the table, complete with a scrolling roster of sleepy-eyed Padawans. And one
Xoff Chantin
might know
very well.
A familiar recorded version of Braze's voice echoed lightly through the brig:
Braze paused in front of the young Huttling. Without a word at first, he extended an open hand and slowly knelt, balancing his voice through the vocoder with as much clarity as he could manage.
"You can have mine," he said simply, offering her another box... one still intact.
He gave her a moment, then added,
"This time… try to go slow. Think first. Work gently."
There was no scolding , just a quiet nudge toward self-control.
"These boxes are sturdier than they look. Well made. But even strong things can be broken when handled without care."
He waited, watching to see if she'd take the second chance, not just at the box, but at the lesson beneath it.
still listening, posture loose, gaze distant. As if grading homework mattered more than the man trapped behind the bars.
DEVILMAN
, not today.
Valery Noble
soon enough.
