[Boba's in his room. There are drawers left open, clothes strewn all over the bed, and a backpack beginning to be filled with necessities. It's clear that at some point he was thinking about leaving. The closet is dark, but the door is open enough to see a curled up shape in the corner.
Boba's on the ground, sitting with his knees up and holding a cheap plastic helmet to his chest. It rustles loudly in warning whenever he begins tighten his grip. It's a poor imitation for the real thing, but it's all he has.
no subject
Boba's on the ground, sitting with his knees up and holding a cheap plastic helmet to his chest. It rustles loudly in warning whenever he begins tighten his grip. It's a poor imitation for the real thing, but it's all he has.
He doesn't see Branch come in.]