You are HOT

Thrawn had already turned to face his attackers, a bottle of rum he’d snatched from behind the bar in his free hand. But instead of simply throwing it, he spun it around twice in his hand, pointed it at the nearest attacker, and slashed his baton across the bottle’s neck, shattering it. And as the freshly agitated liquid burst from the bottle’s confines Thrawn sprayed the stream across all three of his attackers’ faces. Their charge jerked to a confused halt amid gasps and roars as the alcohol hit unprotected eyes. Thrawn threw the now half-empty bottle toward Vader’s attackers, then waded into the midst of his own group, slamming his baton with expert precision across arms, legs, and ribs, disabling without killing. But Vader’s group had seen Thrawn’s move, and had had time to recover from the surprise attack. As the bottle came toward them the nearest Darshi knocked it away with a flick of his own baton. He turned back toward Vader— Double vision: the Darshi feinting left, then swinging his stick from the right— The attacker staggered back, twisting around from the impact as Vader slapped him hard across the side of his head with his lightsaber hilt. Not the blade. Only the hilt. If Thrawn could take on three opponents with just a stick, so could Vader.

~

Let me be clear.

This post won't try to add any cultural perspective to this extract.

[Not that my captions normally do]

But this will be particularly low.

A little bit because I'm in a 120-minutes line under the sun.

A little bit just because we need it sometimes.

So, you have been warned.

~

There is one thing that we and the dudebros share about our idea of Thrawn.

He is hot.

I mean.

He is fit, lean, elegant hot.

He is educated, polite, calm hot.

He is efficient, calculating, 62 steps ahead of you hot.

But, especially.

He is breaking a bottle with his baton, blinding his adversaries causing *Vader* to be madly envious kind of hot.

This is it.

This is the post.