The sliding hatch opening was the only sound one would hear when Cleo Ortega stepped into the main bay. He had his armor on, though not for any real suspicion of combat or even coincidence. He felt more comfortable with it on ever since the war and his escape from Iridonia. He only really took it off for special occasions or when he met old friends. Because of his attire, his face was unreadable behind his helm, but it was clear he wasn't amused. 

After a tense moment of silence, with even R5 completely void of sound, Cleo drew his DL-44 heavy blaster pistol out with surprising speed. He wasn't a born quick draw like some smugglers boasted, but he was fast enough to manage. "What the hell are you doing on my ship?" he asked. The woman pointed one of her pistols at him, looking between him and the droid. Cleo chuckled darkly. "My armor can take a few shots. How many can your flak jacket hold?" 

The silence was heavy, so he broke it. "Drop 'em. I need to pilot the ship in, and if you take too much time as we enter the atmosphere, I'll shoot you so I can get back to piloting." He warned her with a pragmatism. Iridonians were known for their ardent tempers and passion driven lives, and Cleo had his moments, but time in the field gave him a cool outlook on dangerous situations. He wasn't about to take a chance. 

"Now drop your blasters." 

R5 gave off a series of agitated beeps, and Cleo glanced his way. "Stand down R5. Go navigate. I'll be there in a moment while I deal with our...friend here." The droid whined a whistle, then closed itself up, the myriad of shock sticks and small blaster points disappearing in its unassuming conical bulk, and he whirred away without another sound. Cleo's attention was fully on the "Now kick them to me. You'll get the blasters back when we land, as long as you haven't stolen anything."

When the conflict was over, he holstered his heavy blaster. "Now answer me. What's a Pantoran doing on my ship?" he asked, his voice as hard as starship steel. "Speak quickly."
[@Penny]