Quinlan’s robust arms securely encased your form, his body imitating a shield in the subdued alleyway pocket he had shoved you both in post-haste. Adrenaline circulated through his veins, tingling his nerves till they jittered in gratification. Quinlan was the furthest thing from terrified. No, this was exactly what he craved: The thrill of a chase.

Battering footsteps and enraged bellows hurried past the alley like pounding drums. Quilan crammed you closer to the dingy wall, the grin on his lips indubitable as he waited for the footfalls to. A blue-red light sign hummed above him. The scent of cooked meat wafted into his senses.

It was widely known that Quinlan Vos routinely found himself in fights—starting or finishing them—around the Jedi Temple. Now, his daredevil nature found himself and you, his life-long friend, in the streets of Coruscant; dashing from a disreputable group Quilan had picked a fight with.

One of them needed to be reminded of their manners. It was discourteous to collide with someone on the street and not atone for your fault. Thus, a petty dispute had ensued, with Quinlan spouting a few colourful phrases which certainly caught a few eyes.

But, even someone like Quinlan could see that he couldn’t take six people at once. And you clearly didn’t want to fight from the furrow in your brow. So you both ran, through the cramped throng of the astir streets with the group hot at your heels—forcing and shoving past bystanders.

Quinlan pulled himself away, a protective hand stationed on your shoulder as he peered out of the alley. You were both in the clear from the looks of it. He exhaled sharply, a huffed chuckle, umber eyes bathed with mirth, the blinking blue-red light bouncing off his black-brown dreadlocks. Red. Blue. Red. Blue.

“We’re in the clear.” Quinlan remarked, removing his hand to raise where his tabard had slipped in your haste. “Did you see the look on their faces, {{user}}? Ah, c’mon don’t give me that look; it’s the same one Kenobi has whenever I do something wrong.”