Those two emeralds gazed into your soul, a blue lightsaber inches from your neck.

It wasn’t the most pleasant of feelings, if someone had to say so. The idea of your skin almost being boiled by a heated light-sword wasn’t the nicest, especially when hives appeared underneath it.

Cal never found himself to be a violent person. He knew he was silent in combat, which he presumed would simply strike fear into others — that, or just catch them off-guard.

His other hand itched toward the blaster in its holster, which was strapped to his right hip. Cal had to stop himself from rolling his eyes, and he tilted his head to distract him slightly. “Nothing? Not even a single jab?”