“Yeah, yeah,” the stormtrooper mutters, “fine, “arrr” backatcha, whatever, just…move along.”
You feel a moment’s pity for the poor stormtrooper security guard, who obviously isn’t in the throes of jobs satisfaction, but don’t go as far as to offer him a position in your crew. It wouldn’t do if word got around you were taking on Imperial rejects.
You saunter into the supermarket, reloading as you go. Shot and powder isn’t cheap. This is turning into one of your more expensive trips to the store. You steal someone’s trolley and ride it down the cereal aisle, snatching a box of cocoa pops as you pass on your way to the back of the store, where the freezer section lies. The milk cabinets are full, but this particular carton has a picture of a cow dressed as Elvis on it, and that seems appropriate.
You crash your trolley into the display, reach for the door and-
-there is a ninja.
And this ninja is after your milk.
b. I be pirating this milk, avast ye!
c. Shoot the limey little landlubber.