milliways_bar | (no subject)

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Whump!

"...Ow."

A confused pilot looks back up at the hole in the ceiling he just fell through. "Okay, I know this place can make a door anywhere, anytime, but... why in my X-Wing before a mission?" Kell stands up, dusts himself off, and waks over to the bar. "Eh, vape it. Lomin-ale, please?" A green bottle materializes, and Kell takes a seat and kicks back, looking for anyone he might know--or someone he doesn't who looks interesting.

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Of course, Kell's not the only Wraith in the Bar. Ton's sitting over in a far corner, laughing whie watching something on his datapad.

It looks suspiciously like an old holodrama starring his former wingmate.

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And because the mun must be ultimately predictable, there's a Rogue Jedi Hero Thing sitting in a booth.

Or maybe he's lying down.

Okay, so he's napping.

Jedi get tired, too... although the empty plate of what appears to have been some random bird Bar gave him when he asked for food might have something to do with it. It seems Corran is learning the effects of tryptophan. Anyone care to see if it's had any other effects on him?

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And there's a Rogue Colonel Alderaanian Thing pausing in passing. "You know," he says contemplatively, "maybe that's not the wisest thing to do here."

One eye opens. "Long as you're not Wes, Hobbie, or Loran, I'll take my chances." He shuts it again.

A loooooong moment later, he sits up. "But on the off chance they do come by, you're probably right." He rubs one eye and yawns. "How's life, Tych?"

"I was considering the enemies here more than Face Loran or any of your squadmates," he says, and as rebukes go, it's a mild one; he takes the seat across from Corran, dressed in the typical subdued black flightsuit with a glass of water in hand. "Busy. You?"

"Oh, them. Honestly, I just kind of thought if I didn't poke them, they'd have no reason to poke back." He shrugs.

"And Tycho, I'm bored, to be honest. There's only so much time one can spend rerunning Jedi training exercises or flying sims. I've gotta get out of here." He sighs, and his shoulders slump slightly. "Sithspit, it's been almost two months. I may even begin doing the paperwork that's in my room if the door doesn't come back soon."

"Oh no," Tycho says dryly. "Not that." But still, he's not without sympathy; he nods once, then he rises. "One minute." He heads to the bar.

He nods, and watches Tycho walk over to the bar. "No problem." He shakes his head and stops a waitrat, which returns shortly before Tycho does--the waitrat carrying a lomin-ale and an Alderaanian one.

When he returns, it's with a small stack of datacards, which he wordlessly sets on the table in front of the captain. If Corran flips through them, he'll see a few good strategy and tactical sims and one decent flight sim, all meant for a datapad. More sims, but they're different ones, at least, and the tactical ones ought to keep someone busy a while.

Tycho shakes his head at the ale. "Can't, as much as I appreciate the thought; I'm on duty."

Corran looks up, mild surprise evident on his face. "Thanks, Cap. This how you got through being Bound?"

Blink. "You're in a tapcaf. This is an appropriate time to--oh, forget it. More for me!" He toasts Tycho with the ale, then takes a sip--and grimaces. "Sithspit, is that what they drank on Alderaan? No wonder you're all so dignified--I wouldn't want to drink much of that stuff either."

"If you don't like that, your taste is suspect," he says mildly. "And yeah, Bar provided those when I asked for something to do; gave me something to pass the time until Winter showed up." A faint smile. "Though I wouldn't object if you decided to fill out that datawork."

"I'm Corellian--everything about me is suspect." He shakes his head. "And filling out the datawork...I couldn't do such a thing. If I did, Wes would win for doing the least work in the squadron, and we can't have that." He nods sagely, as if this is some great universal constant where Wes winning=Doom.

Wait. Isn't it?

He snorts. "And what a travesty that would be."

Corran nods emphatically. "Of course. Remember how cocky Wes gets when he wins at sabacc? Imagine if he won this one. The only people I'm less happy about getting their way are Isard and Thyne."

"You've actually seen him win at sabacc?"

"Yeah, he wiped out a couple of mechanics during that 'not-us' mutiny that Wedge instituted on Mon Remonda back during the Zsinj campaign." He shrugs. "He bragged about it to Wedge and Han. I think he might have had enough money left to get a drink when they were through."

He smirks before adding, "For those 20 minutes, though, Wes reached new levels of obnoxious never before seen. Even on Corellia."

"As much faith as I have in the major's ability to be obnoxious, I doubt it," he says dryly. "And here I thought he had better self-preservation instincts than to play sabacc against a Solo. We all learned that lesson on Hoth."

"Anything from alcohol to the ego boost of having just won could explain it. Or he could have just thought that he'd improved over all those years." He sips at the Alderaanian ale again. "You know, once you get this tuff past your taste buds, it's not all that bad."

He runs a hand through his hair and takes a deep breath. It's gotta be said sometime... "By the way... I, uh... I'm sorry. Disobeying orders and all."

He's the recipient of a sharp look. "Which orders?"

Corran takes a deep breath. Sithspit, he hasn't heard either? This isn't going to go well. "In my defense, I did follow your orders, if you go by the letter of them. I didn't find myself in the cells at any time, nor did I go looking for trouble." He looks away and scratches nervously at his ear. "But, ah... I'm guessing no one passed your orders on to Zekka Thyne. He.. he found me."

"And?"

"There might have been a fight."

Pause.

"Maybe."

" 'Might have been'?"

"Well, it'd depend on your definition of fight, wouldn't it? I mean, if you mean something where both combatants came away bruised and bloody, that's not quite the end result. If Security has to get involved, then this doesn't count either." A shrug.

"Then, please." He sits baack in his seat and calmly spreads his hands. "Enlighten me as to what exactly took palce."

Corran shrugs somewhat uneasily. "Well, he came up from behind me, exchanged a number of snide remarks regarding my squadmates with me, and a couple punches and kicks were thrown. Iella walked in, aimed a blaster at him and hauled me off him." HE shrugs again. "'S about the long and the short of it, Cap."

"Colonel," he reminds mildly, but the fact that it was said at all is a rebuke. "I'm disappointed to hear that." Blue eyes are serious, trained on his pilot -- his friend. "I would have expected better than that from you."

He exhales sharply, then meets Tycho's gaze squarely with one of his own. "I know. I let you, Wedge, Iella, and the rest of the squad down. But I can guarantee that it won't happen again. I was... I'd still been harboring shock and anger from her sudden appearance. And Thyne... well, he made things less smooth yet."

Hal's words from that night six weeks ago echo through Corran's mind. 'You let it get personal. It was no longer professional with you. You can not let it get personal.'

After a moment, he nods slowly. "But I've got it back under control now. Honestly, Tych."

Tycho holds his gaze a moment longer, mouth tight, then nods. "Alright." And it isn't, he's not condoning what was done and to say that he isn't happy about it would be the understatement of the age, but there's nothing to be gained by disciplining Corran now. Especially since it's stanging hard to say what kind of jurisdiction Tycho has at Milliways.

When Tycho says 'alright,' he means he believes him.

He nods again. "Thanks, Colonel."

A slow grin sneaks across his face. "On another note... that 'squadron business' you were working on. D'you figure out who had the records?"

Tycho shakes his head. "No. I thought it was Wes or Hobbie, but apparently not." He sits forward again, and Tycho still isn't exactly overjoyed with Corran, but the two pilots do what pilots do best: talk the night away.

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