Fortuna is very clever in his speech (or he can be, when he chooses to practice it), and one might even call him graceful on the occasional dance floor. But Hera is right, he is no fighter, which means that his feet go out from under him and he staggers, shrieking in burgeoning panic as he starts to tumble to the floor.

The Gamorrean squeals in return, snorting loudly in his own panic that his employer -- or his employer's representative -- might die on his watch, actually stumbling into Fortuna and getting blood everywhere.

"I think that's our cue," Kanan says, reaching out toward Hera, ready to grab her wrist and tug her out behind him.

You know, if she refuses to go herself. (He's braced for her to whirl on him, too, given that Fortuna was just trying to grab her, but he really doesn't want to use her name just now.)