That night, in the desert of Tatooine, Deathstroke and the others gathered around a fire for a barbecue not far from Aphra's little freighter.
A plump, tender Nuna Bird had been skewered on a golden fork and was turning slowly over the flames.
Its skin had roasted to a golden brown, glistening with oil from every angle. The rich smell of meat filled the air.
Deathstroke tested how well it had cooked with a finger, then deftly sprinkled salt over it from his elbow.
"Done. Zero Three, carve the roast chicken. I arranged to meet Anakin here, but it looks like he's running late."
"Oh, it would be my honor." The protocol droid trudged over the uneven desert ground, flipped open a finger to reveal a laser carving knife, and began slicing the bird onto plates. "Though I can't eat human food, its color and juices alone tell me this is a first-rate delicacy."
That was blatant flattery. How could meat roasted outdoors with nothing but a sprinkle of "elbow salt" count as fine dining?
But Su Ming had no reason to correct him, did he?
Nuna Birds looked like large owls, but cooked, they tasted like chicken. Remove the head and they were ready to eat. One bird could feed a family of four, so with five people here, two birds were more than enough.
"It really does taste like chicken. Turkey, maybe. But when it was alive, it looked more like Owlman." Harley took a bite of the leg she'd been given, tilted her head, and savored it, her cheeks puffing out. "Eating the Court of Owls' mascot is nice, but I still think Colonel Sanders's fried chicken tastes better. Honey, can I make a call?"
"Of course. I'll have the Adjutant give the Colonel access through the