The attack had been unexpected by Hades and his wingmates; it was fast and sudden, with the potential to decimate the Vast Empire forces.. But somehow, they'd been ready. They'd not only survived, and lived on to fight another day - they'd won! Granted, they had the Atrus, but it was not the be-all and end-all of space combat.. Although it was damned close. Hades still couldn't get over the fact they'd won. He'd done his part, earing more than half a dozen acknowledged kills.. He was sure there'd be greater numbers out there, but he was happy with his level of achievement. Hell; he was happy in the fact his Squadron had survived. He wouldn't be surprised if the entire squadron received a unit citation..

It had been the climax that a few weeks of boring solitude, endless drills and maintenance had led up to... But now it was over, and Hades - yet to be debriefed - was severely bored. It was always hard adjusting from the constant adrenaline rushes, the close calls and the wonderful feeling you got from flying a successful mission back to the boring day-to-day life of a pilot... Yes, it was hard. Hades spent most of his time doing up his personal Interceptor with all variations of upgrades, from performance to visual. He'd even embraced the style of the former Imperial Royal Guards, with an red stripe running down the side. Of course, he wasn't allowed to fly it in his squadron - he had a Vast Empire fighter for that - but he was allowed to use it for personal use. With his added hyperdrive, upgraded engines, beefed up shields and over-powered weapons systems (not to mention the kick-ass sound system), a lot of extra power was required.

He had contacted a tech-friend of his, who had told him that he had to make his power source bigger. Well, of course he would. That was obvious - the engines on his Interceptor were meant for a TIE Defender and his weapons were a far cry from the standard Interceptor armament, to say the least.. So, he did what his tech-friend suggested - added a bigger power source, which covered all of his upgrades. The downside, however, is that the engines now protruded somewhat from the rear of his fighter. He had either had to take a hit to his personal space inside, or make it somewhat more vulnerable on the outside despite his improved shields. The choice had been obvious, and besides, it made the fighter look more.. unique. Coupled with the almost garish red blood stripe, it was unmistakeable.

His Vast Empire fighter was somewhat more.. 'austere', as some would put it. But Hades loved it all the same. The standard grey of the Imperial Navy, it was adorned only with a small Tuk'ata decal, its teeth bared viciously at some unknown foe, and over a dozen symbols. Notably, there were around half a dozen New Republic symbols with slashes through them, and a few more Imperial Dominion symbols with the same slashes through them. He was marking his kills, not only as a trophy, but as a reminder that he had taken men's lives. Whether or not it was necessary and whether or not one did not blanch in the face of killling, one should always remember he had taken lives and for what purpose. Them or me.. Hades thought absentmindedly as he stared at the only recently-applied ID symbols. It was true, it was life or death in those situations. An explosion played out in his memory, voices in his ear squawking with comm. interference, while the familiar whine of his engines penetrated the cockpit, his fighter heating up from a narrow miss.. The fighter pilot was snapped back into the present by a friendly punch.

He looked around, seeing Ryn smiling at him. He smiled back, clutching his arm in mock pain. She wasn't only playful, though, he noted as she watched him. She had been observing him, seeing how her friend had been affected by the battle. "You're replaying the battle in your head, aren't you?" She ventured cautiously. He nodded slightly, no words apt to describe it. "Did you think we would make it out alive? In all honesty?"

"In all honesty.. I knew we would. I just had the feeling.. I don't know what to call it, a hunch perhaps that the galaxy couldn't live without your terrible flying." What had started somberly had turned into a poke at Ryn's flying - which was impeccable, and they both knew it. He could look into her eyes and see the battle there, too. She had been nearly killed, but then again near-death experiences were only part of the job description for them. Well, when it came to battles like that anyway, "Or mine, for that matter."

"You got it." He punched him again playfully, rewarding his horrible humour with a grin. "You know you're the next Squadron Executive Officer?"

"No." Hades stated firmly. The question caught him off guard, and it was obviously on her mind. But to him, it seemed more of a plea - she didn't want it. In truth, he did, but he knew she was a better candidate than he was. He reiterated his answer, "No. It will be you." She grimaced. She could feel it coming, too, but she was trying to deny it for as long as possible. Hades smiled - she would make a good XO. Of course, nothing was certain yet, but he'd heard whispers.

Little whispers from secretive birdies that spoke quietly without actually saying anything. He was basing his guess on pure assumption and a faint hunch. She grumbled at this assumption, taking a playful swing at him verbally. "Yeah, I figured your vanity would look bad on your resume. They need someone like you, only better." Hades grinned. He didn't care if she was going to be SXO, SCO, or damned commander of the entire SC! She was still his friend and they would still share a friendship forged first by the academy and then by the mission aboard Trick's Surprise.. They were close, and Hades considered her his only friend. He trusted most of his other wingmates, but he didn't know them nor was he friends with them. He wasn't exactly hard to be friends with, but he didn't generally go out of his way to make them. He smiled again. Yes, Ryn was a good friend to have.

"When's the debriefing?" He said, changing the uncomfortable subject. Neither of them wanted to talk about responsibilities of new positions that either of them may or may not have..

"Soon. Ensign DeepSix has sent out the memo. I think in an hour, actually," She was thinking aloud, but Hades didn't mind. He wanted to get his mind off the battle - or rather, the fact that it was over and that he would indubitably be relegated to boring patrol duty or simple drills.

"Want to grab a drink before hand?" He ventured hopefully. He was not in the mood for officious chatter and supercilious squares. Squares was actually a term he had learned from DeepSix. How ironic..

"Do you really think that the official introduction to our new commander would be best done with alcohol on our breath?" She asked him disapprovingly.

"Do you really think that the official introduction to our new commander would be best done with me in your presence?" He shot back.

"Point. With manners like that, you'll be booted back down to Senior Crewman." She poked him in the ribs - hard.

"Ow!" He exclaimed,  but could not help his grin as he muttered on, "Vol forbid.."

"Vol?" She was confused. "Who in the Correllian hells is 'Vol'?"

"Oh, just a god of a demon-like race in some far off system. I learnt about them from some spacers - dangerous folk. Tall, strong and vicious. They call them Stenax." He explained, but quickly changed the topic. "Anyway, we were talking about getting a drink."

"Ladies first," she gestured to the hangar's blast door. He eyed her warily, inching towards the door, before looking back.

"Dogs follow!" He jibed before dashing off in the direction of the bar. She rolled her eyes, but followed him all the same, shouting something obscene.

Yes, it was good to be a lowly pilot sometimes.

OOC:

Wordcount: 1,400

AAR: Hades ponders the battle past, the future promotions in store for him and his friend, and some aesthetic upgrades to his fighter. Ryn finds him staring absently at his fighter and they have a good, fun argument about the next SXO, before dashing off to the nearest bar while they wait for the debriefing to come around.

Also <_<
>_>
First.

It was now several hours after the awards ceremony. Formal ceremonies had always bored Eli to death. They also had the inexplicable attribute of making him tired, almost to the point of completely dozing off. The "I'm very honored to present this award to you" routine got old real quick. All Eli heard was "I present you with this blahblahblah something about honored and some more blahs and you've done well". Woop-dee-friggin-do. It was some days after the Battle of Abrae, Eli's first combat experience. It had been like nothing he could have ever expected. The constant adrenaline was the only thing that had kept him going in the grueling time in the cockpit. In the days up till this one, Eli had spent his time in three main places; sleeping on his bunk, hovering over several shots of Correlian ale in the cantina, and in the gym. Since the awards ceremony that morning, Eli had taken to winding up in the gym, sparing with his droid. 

Sweating, Eli held up his electrostaff with both hands to deflect an incoming force pike. The other he batted away with a twirl of his staff. Then he went on the offensive, smashing back at his sparing droid's defenses. The droid took three rapid steps back and sank into a crouch, telling Eli that he'd better end the fight quickly. He drew the electrostaff back, letting his hands slide down to just short of the left sparking electrical outlet. Then he swung with all his might, sending one of the droid's force pike skittering over the mat, and the other limp in the droid's dislocated hand. The droid stumbled back two short steps and Eli quickly advanced upon him. The Falleen stabbed the right spike through the droid's centerpiece, yanked it out, twirled around, and speared the left electrical spike into the based of the droid's neck. The Elite Duelist Combat Training droid toppled to the mat. Eli turned and walked out of the ring, breathing heavily. 

"Knock-out," he muttered under his breath. Suddenly, his comm beeped, displaying a digital message:

Done with upgrades. Needed to work on another job. Will be back to see if you are satisfied later.

Eli continued his trip out of the gym, to the nearest turbolift. He'd be back to return for his droid and weapons. But first, he needed to check on his personal TIE fighters. If someone stole the now broken droid, Eli would just buy another. He'd left another engineer to do the last upgrades on his TIE craft, and Eli wanted to see them right when the Twi'lek was done. Right outside of the gym sat Eli's satchel. Pulling out a datapad, Eli linked it with the computer in his inherited estate. Dreeziel, Eli's father, was an engineer hired by the Tenloss Syndicate. When he passed, Eli inherited a property on the lower levels of Nar Shadda that he had never known about. It also gave Eli an adventure with the Tenloss which included him being detained. Once his father Dreeziel's, Eli had installed a scanning system in the estate's hangar that could take technical readouts from all ships within the hangar. Eli had sold many of his father's Tenloss Syndicate related possessions, gathering a small fortune.

He owned a TIE Interceptor, a TIE Oppressor, and a TIE Avenger, all fairly new. And all very updated. Eli carefully examined each starfighter on his datapad. The Interceptor had a slightly larger missile magazine, more powerful engines and hyperdrive of the standard Avenger. The Oppressor's bomb bays were extended to hold three concussion missile launchers, each with a magazine of eight missiles. The engines were that of a Defender, giving the craft the speed of a standard VE TIE Interceptor. The TIE Avenger was Eli's pride and joy. It had the engines and maneuvering jets of a Defender. Eli had done much of the private engineering work himself, though he still could not touch his VE TIE Interceptor's hardware till he was VE certified.

Deciding that he had nothing else to do at the moment, Eli went back to the gym to retrieve his droid. As he suspected, no one bothered trying to steal the broken sparing droid. Then, with nothing else to do, Eli trudged back to his quarters. They were relatively small, with only the bunk and everything else removed. However, hidden in the bulkhead was a stash of booze. Eli took out a half empty bottle of whiskey and plopped down on his bunk.

"It's ok Ender," Eli called out softly. "It's just me." Eli's pillow began to shift, and a small scurrier crawled out from under it. Scurriers were skittish, rodent-like creatures, considered by most as vermin. Ender was a premature birth, born from a sickly mother. While most scurriers were around 1.2 meters tall, Ender was a mere four inches, small enough to fit in a pocket of Eli's engineer's vest. 

Eli had found Ender near dead at his father's estate. While he was there, Eli nursed Ender back to life, and now took him nearly everywhere. Ender was Eli's only reminder of the estate where Eli's varactyl, dactillion, and gundark resided. The little scurrier could live for weeks by himself, eating the hundreds of packets of Bachelors Chow under Eli's bunk.

Now, as Ender layer down to sleep, Ender curled up beside him. And once again, Eli was reminded of why he was here; to honor his father by serving the Empire so he could return home again.

OOC:

Word count: 908

Beginning reveals Eli's true feeling about the awards ceremony. He spars with his droid, wins, then checks on his TIE craft. Approving of them, he retrieves his droid and heads for his quarters. There, he dumps the droid, reveals his hidden stash of booze, and his pet scurrier. Finishes with Eli falling asleep. 

Lame, I know. If anyone wants to use Eli feel free. Just keep in mind, most of his remarks are going to be sarcastic.

Second one in what? Less than five minutes!? Javelin's commander stopped and turned to watch a Human female SCPO as the latter went about her business, blissfully ignorant of the attention she was receiving. "Sir, please don't take this the wrong way but... you should stop doing that", Elix Squadron's SCO muttered in a low voice, trying not to be heard by any of the random passerby.

"Relax Kolt, we're not running that late. Besides, it's not like anyone's actually looking forward to these blasted ceremonies anyway. Just a bunch of stuck up squares giving never ending speeches about duty, honor and the might of the Vast Empire..." Seth stopped mid sentence as if suddenly realizing something "Think I should've prepared a speech?"

"Sir, I was actually talking abo... Well, maybe a short speech - commemorating the occasion and strengthening your new position of authority", Kolt finally replied. The man had wanted to warn Qorbin that it was inappropriate to stare at female crewmen in that manner, especially given the Onderonian's new rank... but decided it was safer to instead stay silent on the matter. After all he knew that it was unlikely for the blond Human to suddenly change who he was, not to mention it would be a lot easier to simply have the fellow's back the way he always had - in silence for the most part.

"See, that right there is what I like about you Kolt - I never know for sure when you're joking and when you're serious. The thought that you could be serious is also what scares me about you. You sort of remind me of Aria in that regard. Except she's usually joking and you're usually serious. And in some ways she scares me a lot more than you ever could. A whole lot more..." Seth could feel a cold shiver running down his spine as he pictured his XO's smiling face giving some extreme order or another.

"Come one, we should keep moving though..."

~~~~~~~~~~

"Did you recognize them?" Seth asked his companion, referring to a small group of Imperial pilots rushing to enter the briefing room found at the end of a narrow corridor. "Not really, no. Given their speedy response I'd say they however recognized you sir."

"Strange, my magnetic personality usually draws others to me... not sends them running away", Seth smiled as he kept walking, entering the same briefing room a mere handful of seconds later. The room in question was fairly large, brightly lit and... and that was pretty much it. There was a long table at the front with a holoprojector on top of it and a bunch of smaller desks and chairs scattered throughout the rest of the room.

When the briefing room was used by single squadrons, the members would all seat at the long table, analyzing and memorizing the mission plan displayed by the high tech holoprojector, When the room was normally used by the entire wing, the regular members would all be seated at the smaller desks, whilst the squadron commanders would all face them from the other side of the long table, one or more of the latter presenting the attack plan.

That's how Javelin's WC found everyone this time around too. Upon entering the room everyone else got up, saluted and maintained that pose till he reached his own seat. There DeepSix returned the salute and casually greeted everyone "Please take your seats".

Although the meeting was supposed to have started almost ten minutes prior, there were still a few empty chairs in the large room. Each squadron was supposed to occupy an entire row, with one empty chair closest to the side where the entrance was located, followed by the members holding the A-2, A-3, A-4, B-1, B-2 and so on flight designations. The first column, the one with the empty chairs, was reserved for those very rare occasions when squadron commanders would sit besides their fellow pilots, whilst some third party or a really high ranking individual would come to deliver a special briefing instead.

Because of this seating plan, it was quite easy for Seth to figure out exactly who was missing - like Razor's B1, which he knew exactly where she was, Bha'lir C3, which Qorbin recalled was a massive Twi'lek male, as well as Blackguard A4 and C2, both of which were recently transferred to the bomber squadron - assuming the Onderonian's memory wasn't playing tricks on him. There were a couple more empty seats, but since Seth wasn't planning on doing anything to the absentees he didn't bother noting down their squadrons and flight positions.

"I'd like to start off this meeting by first congratulating everyone that was awarded promotions and/or medals earlier today. I'd like to also congratulate those of you who've recently been granted transfers into the various squadrons of this wing - it is no simple feat and you should as such take pride in this. Lastly I would like to hold a moment of silence for those who are no longer with us - may their spirits forever fly amongst the stars..."

The whispering in the room suddenly stopped, the smiling faces just as suddenly turning serious. A heavy silence followed - for some of the pilots that short period of time feeling like an eternity, an eternity in which their dreams and aspirations clashed with the all too real possibility of sharing an untimely end like so many before them...

OOC:

WC: 913
AAR: Internet was glitchy the other night so I never got to posting this. Rather than make a single large post, I decided to go for two smaller ones, thus also allowing other members the chance to infiltrate themselves in this chapter of the story. Next post will be up in a few days time anyway, and will contain some proper introductions as well as position changes, important announcements as well as possibly a pseudo-briefing in regards to one of your next missions. Following that, the real fun can start

Maroy laid back on her bunk, alone in the dim light of the empty squadron barracks. Her lekku draped limply across her shoulders, occasionally twitching in the cool air. The rest of Tuk'ata had wandered off to get a bit of rest and recreation before the official briefing began, giving her a few minutes to herself and her thoughts. She mulled over both the bloody battle and the events that followed. Scral saved me, rallied the squadron, and managed to get almost everyone back to the Atrus safely at the cost of his own fighter. He shouldn't be stuck in the brig. He deserves better than that.

The squadron's former Executive Officer had died by friendly fire, and a few Navy officers had pulled together enough evidence to threaten Scral with a court-martial for treason. They probably didn't have enough to permanently ground him, but his mental conditions certainly complicated things. He was supposedly cleared to attend the briefing, but it wouldn't take much to convince his supervisors to keep him locked up. I'll check in on him after the meeting. I owe him that much, at least.

She pulled herself up and swung her legs over the side of the bed. She started straightening out her uniform, grabbing her datapad with her other hand. She still had to use a map to get anywhere, a fact that constantly frustrated her. You'd think by now I'd have a good grasp of where everything is, even on a ship this big. As she got prepared to leave for the briefing, she checked her messages out of habit. Amid a cluster of boring paperwork receipts, one message caught her eye. Its arrival time put it at the height of the battle, and its header marked it as official Bimmiel correspondence. She pulled it up and skimmed through the first few lines before the meaning of the words caught up with her.

Quote:Master Chief Petty Officer Maroy,
Commander Cayden Tavers is dead.

She dropped back onto the bed, suddenly collapsing under her own weight. It felt like a black hole had formed in the space where her heart had been, and was crushing her life in its grip. Her lekku shivered from the ice that had formed in her stomach. She read the rest of the message, hoping desperately that there was a misunderstanding, that her fiance wasn't really dead.

Quote:His personal ship was preparing to hyperjump to Abrae when it ran into some kind of gravitational anomaly. We discovered its remains approximately two hours ago, and have confirmed his death as of the sending of this message.

So that's it, then... he's gone... It was impossible to believe she would never see his face, never listen to him talk about their future , never fly a mission with him ever again. He died... on his way to see me... I killed him...

Quote:We haven't found any organic tissue yet, but with his ship literally in a million pieces there's very little chance he survived. From the way the ship ripped apart it doesn't appear to have been caused by conventional weapons, but murder by exotic armament is entirely possible. If he was murdered, they might have recovered his body themselves.

She allowed herself to believe he had escaped somehow, like he always did. She had almost convinced herself he was alive when reality slammed back into her with the force of a wall of ferrocrete. I should have known... I should have been there with him. I left him to return to the Navy, and he died... it's all my fault... I killed him...

Quote:I understand you had a close relationship with the Commander, so it's possible he left a personal message for you in his files. If we find anything, we'll contact you again.

My condolences,
Colonel Wilk Tyla
Bimmiel Military Forces

She threw the datapad at the wall and screamed, an inhuman howl filled with the full expression of her pain and anger. Footsteps shuffled in the corridor outside and the door slid open, but she barely noticed. She erupted into sobs, curled up on her bunk like a newborn and crying almost as much.

-----

When she regained control of herself, she choked out her last few sobs and wiped the remaining tears from her face with her lekku. She was already late for the briefing, and she hardly looked presentable. Not that it mattered. She had no reason to care. With Cayden gone, nothing else mattered. She made her way quietly to the briefing room, ignoring the stares and muttered comments. She slipped into the room alongside another late arrival and fell into her seat, completely ignorant of everything happening around her.

OOC:

WC:787
AAR: Maroy worries about Scral, who is being detained pending an investigation into the XO's death. She also learns that Amacuse, who she was engaged to, is dead. She'll be in emotional shock for the rest of the story.

Ryn remained in her uncomfortable chair with her eyes fixed forward as the rest of the pilots in the room slowly mingled and high-fived each other. Her blue eyes gazed at the podium where Deepsix had just been speaking hoping to reform the words and erase her name from the announcements. The battle they all had survived had disintegrated into pure chaos before her eyes. Nobody emerged as a leader that day, as far as she was concerned. The pilots became people just trying to escape the avalanche crumbling all around them.

Sayree cut through the isle in front of Ryn on her way to the Porthole. Her long fingers appeared in the pilots face and snapped to bring her back to reality.

Ryn glanced up, slightly startled, just in time to catch Sayree winking at her as she turned back to her new SCO muttered some obscenities and rolled her eyes leaving the poor sap stunned in her wake.

“This doesn't mean I have to salute you now does it?” Hades whispered as he sat down next to the new executive officer with a smirk.

Ryn thought of several retorts to the comment but each of them appeared in her brain like a wave and receded just as fast leaving her near tears. The rest of Tuk'ata was sitting or standing uncomfortably behind her friend. Her blue eyes slowly moved from person to person.

“Officer Kerdi, may I have a moment?”

Ryn turned quickly to meet the eyes of her new commanding officer, Wager. The rest of the squadron got silent and looked expectantly at their new CO.

“Yes sir.” Kathryn got up quickly and followed the man several isles up out of ear shot of the rest of Tuk'ata.

“May I call you Kathryn?”

“Ryn is fine, only my mother calls me 'Kathryn', sir.”

Wager laughed but quickly sobered when his gaze found the speculative glances of the rest of the squadron at their new command staff.

“Well Ryn, you came highly recommended to me. I looked over your service record, you seem about average on flimsy.” He took a deep breath and looked back at the squadron. “I also read through Tuk'ata's service history. Seems to me the one thing that's been missing is loyalty. And that is the one area you appear to excel at Chief.”

Ryn's eyes never left the older man's face as he spoke. When it became obvious that his expectant gaze meant it was her turn to respond she shifted her face and glanced back towards the podium. “If you've read my service record, you know where I've been for the past two weeks.”

“Yes, I do.”

“And, you still want me as your second in command?”

Wager smirked. “Those pilots have had three CO's that didn't last longer than one engagement. That kind of abandonment leaves a mark. They assume I'm temporary going in, so they take my orders as suggestions that if they don't like they can wait out until I just leave like the rest of them. You on the other hand, I think they will listen to. And given your decisions under Officer Kazhos I know you will be loyal to me.”

Ryn's eyes narrowed. Her mind was beaming with pride for herself yet conflicted with self-doubt and a firm disagreement with her qualifications for the job she was being given. She decided arguing the point wasn't going to get her anywhere and changed the subject instead. “The docs said I have to pass a combat simulator test that you need to supervise, before I can return to active duty.”

Wager relaxed his pose and shrugged. “Aye, we can do that. But not now, now I need to get to know your  fellow pilots.”

The new executive officer nodded and started to make her way back to where the pilots of Tuk'ata were meandering uncomfortably, when she felt a hand on her shoulder.

“Quick question Officer. We need a flight leader, I would prefer to...”

“Hades.” Ryn quickly cut him off.

Wager blinked and raised an eyebrow.

“Check his record if it helps you sleep tonight, Chief Petty Officer Aita has been here as long as I have and isn't one step away from a straight jacket, like I am. I don't know much about you sir but I'd like to have at least one member of our command that I'm certain isn't insane.” Her voice was dry and devoid of humor as she spoke yet a small chuckle escaped Wager's lips.

“Fair enough.”

Wager handed Ryn a datapad with pilot reports and status updates. She gazed over the boring materials as the new commander addressed the squadron. She could hear whispers among the pilots and felt the skeptical gazes radiating from each of them. Psych reports had been done on every pilot, and she noted that Scral was still in the brig and would probably be assigned to wash out the freshers on the Atrus for the rest of his active duty. She hoped the others understood that regardless of how they felt about Scral as a person, a pilot during an engagement needed to follow the orders that were given or they would face the repercussions.

The mutterings had gotten louder but Wager was no where near the end of his inspirational speech.

“Unless you all want to be assigned to be Deepsix's person hair groomers, I suggest you shut the frack up right now.”

Wager raised an eyebrow at his XO and motioned for her to continue.

With a sigh she looked at the notes he had for the rest of his speech and threw the datapad towards the stage after only a few lines. “Look, he's a good guy.” She motioned towards Wager's chest. “And we've worked for worse and still enjoy the fresh recycled air of the Atrus. We have one more night here, and we ship out to the Halycon tomorrow. So enough of this bull shit. Hades is Beta flight leader. You have until 0800 to be packed an on the transport, your TIE will be transported so don't harass the hanger crew. Now lets go to the Porthole and Gods willing I won't remember any of this crap in the morning.”

Without another word Ryn stomped off towards the bar, her mind running through the list of drinks she planned on spending every last credit chip she had on.

OOC:

WC=1069

AAR= Just sorta wrapping up the briefing, Hades is officially Beta Flight leader and Ryn is sick and tired of pomp and circumstance after what she's been through. By 0800 we should be on our way to the Halycon Warrior.

"...Hello?"

Maroy blinked a few times. Where am I? Oh, right... the little promotion ceremony thing.

She felt someone shake her left shoulder slightly. "You okay?"

"I'll be fine, Thanks. Just a bit distracted."

She looked over at the woman standing beside her. She seemed to be very young, although in reality Maroy probably wasn't that much older. According to her rank patches she was only a Leading Crewman. If it wasn't for the shoulder patch designating her as a pilot in Blackguard squadron, the Twi'lek would have assumed she was still an Academy student.

"Thought I'd come over and see what's up. Not sure if you noticed, but the meeting's over. Most of the wing went down to the Porthole already." Talking bluntly with a senior officer... I think I like this kid already.

Maroy stood up and glanced around. Sure enough, the only other people in the room were a pair of officers conversing in the corner. "Did I miss anything important?"

The human's gaze darted to the alien's squadron patch briefly. "Your former SC got transferred to the Razors, so you've got a new guy by the name of Hedge. Kerdi's your XO. A few minor promotions in the other squadrons. Blackguard's replacement pilots are still pending for transfer. Other than that, not much."

"Thanks. I guess I should be heading over, then." She started to walk away, but after reviewing the prospect of spending the rest of the day alone she turned around. "Shouldn't you be down there with your squadron, too?"

"Me?" She laughed. "Until our replacement pilots show up, I'm still Blackguard's greenest pilot. I have cleanup duty." She motioned to the row of chairs that her squadron had vacated. A few pieces of trash and cheap personal items, datapads and such, were scattered around them. "It's no big deal. It gives the older guys something to laugh about, and gives me time to think about more important things."

"Like what?"

The girl grinned. "Tactics, of course. When everything else can fly circles around you, you need to get creative sometimes." She scooped up the pile of datapads on the seat next to her. "If you give me a minute to finish up, we can head down to the 'hole together."

Maroy couldn't help smiling. The girl's attitude was infectious.  "That would be great. I'd love to hear some of your ideas." And besides, I could use some company today.

"Most of them are pretty crazy, but I still think they could work. The name's Lunei, by the way. Lunei Taneg. Callsign Fae. Tuk'ata covered our backsides out there, so if there's anything I can do for you..."

"I'm Maroy. A drink and a few hours of company and I think I can call it even."

"Works for me."

-----

"...Of course, since the asteroid's tunnels were so dark, the enemy fighters had their scanners keyed to infrared light signatures. So, as soon as they found me..." The human smiled.

Maroy grinned back. "You dropped your torps?"

"They literally never knew what hit 'em." She laughed.

Maroy laughed along with her. "That's brilliant." She took another long sip of her Blue Stuff. "We did something similar once back in Regents, but of course it's much more effective in a Bomber. Because with a larger payload the blast-"

"-is a lot more blinding!" The girl's head bobbed enthusiastically. "Exactly! Especially if bombs are involved instead of just torps." She took of sip of her own glass. "I also had an idea for using hyperspace microjumps to make bombing runs more effective. If we had hyperdrive-equipped bombers, we could jump in past the fighter screen, fire our salvos, invert, and jump out. The calculations are a bit tricky without an astromech, but..." Her voice faded as she realized Maroy was tearing up. "Painful memory?"

The Twi'lek sighed and wiped her eyes dry. "I guess you could say that... it was a while ago, on the mission to capture the Belgaroth shipyards. We were flying stolen X-Wings. Mine was heavily damaged, so I set it to ram at lightspeed and then ejected. One of my squadron mates, Cayden, he went EV to get me in the middle of the battle. Since then, we've been pretty close."

Lunei allowed the relative silence to continue for a few seconds before asking the obvious. "What happened to him?"

Maroy drank the last few swigs of her Blue Stuff, but was unsuccessful in keeping her composure. "I got a message today... he's... he's dead."

The human drew back hesitantly. "I'm sorry... I didn't mean to remind you."

Maroy took a few seconds to calm down, breathing in and out slowly. "It's fine... I'm sorry I spaced out on you." She sat up straight and smiled slightly. "So I guess we're even." She picked up their empty glasses. "This round's on me."

As she returned from the bar, a large man in a Blackguard uniform intercepted her. By the way Lunei shrank back, she figured the man was one of the older Blackguards. "Hey, braintails. Stay away from Loony."

From the way he propped himself up, she figured he was a lot more drunk than she was. She could handle herself. "Why? She can't be too crazy. She survived the battle, didn't she? Same can't be said for most of your vets."

"Shut up, wormhead. Maybe if she'd just flown the way she was trained to, we wouldn't have so many dead."

"Or maybe you'd just have one more KIA. She could be vaped and still have more brains than you."

The girl tugged on her sleeve. "Maroy, you're drunk. Sit down." Am I drunk? I feel fine. Great, even. Better than this guy.

"Leave me alone. I can handle this jerk."

OOC:

WC:956. Still not completely happy with it, but I didn't want to delay it too much.
AAR: Maroy meets one of Javelin's bomber pilots and they chat about unorthodox battle tactics over a few rounds of Blue Stuff. She then gets the brilliant idea of insulting her new friend's CO.

"I was just starting getting used to it too", a voice could be heard as soon as the bar doors slid open, allowing a few more individuals to step inside. The black flight uniforms immediately revealed the new arrivals were in fact pilots. The simple razor patches that the men and women sported on their shoulders also readily identified them as members of the same named squadron, the 412th Razor. To the majority of the crew aboard the Atrus this meant absolutely nothing at all. To all the other pilots as well as some technicians, comm operators and even a couple of bridge officers this meant that they were amongst the best there were, pilots so good that they were allowed to fly the deadly TIE Defenders.

"Look on the bright side - we'll have the Warrior all to ourselves. Pretty sure Steelwing here would like that too", another fellow mentioned in the same merry tone as the previous one, the pilots ignoring anyone and everything as they made their way to an empty table. "No clue what you're talking about", a third man casually replied but the second individual gently elbowed the former in the ribs "Talking about a certain comm officer that was seen leaving your quarters on a couple of separate occasions. She looked rather flushed so I assume she had some very high priority messages she absolutely needed to deliver, eh?"

"Careful, Spyke..." the third individual warned in a much more serious tone of voice as he pushed the other away. "Alright, alright, take it easy big guy. Not like you're the only one that has someone waiting there. We all know about Crispy's nurse... oh and who was it that Wrecker had a major crush on anyway?"

"You guys are such pigs", a female WO2 rolled her eyes as she spoke. There was a brief moment of silence during which all the male members stared at her, then at each other before the one known as Spyke moved next to another MCPO male and turned the latter around so as to face him "I hope they taught you CPR in Flight School", Spyke started in a harsher, raspy voice "because you pretty thing just took my breath away."

"Did I now?" the other man replied in a fake sounding feminine voice, "then let me see if I can get it back for you..." The other members of the squadron had already started snickering by this point. Well, all except for the WO2 female earlier mentioned. The other man placed his hand on Spyke's chest and slowly moved it downward, making sure to slowly turn the latter around a bit so that the audience could only see them from the side. "Found it..." the man spoke in the same fake voice as before. As if on cue Spyke turned to face the other members of his squadron and produced a long, high pitched "Ohhhhhh aaaaaaaaaaaahhhhhhhh" sound.

Whistles, bouts of applause and lots and lots of laughter followed as the two men again turned towards their audience and each took a bow. The WO2 Human female shook her head as she tried forgetting not just the initial incident that triggered this latest reenaction but all those previous times the other members of the squadron decided to poke fun at her.

"Not gonna' tell you again wormhead!", another voice boomed from across the room and the Razors grew more silent as they turned to face the direction from which the commotion was coming from. "Is that Dog over there? Is he picking another fight?" one of the members asked. "Gotta' hand it to the man - he's nothing if not relentless", replied another. "Who are the chicks with him though?" yet another inquired as he leaned forward on the table, trying to get a better look. "The Twi'lek's from Tuk'ata, Mary or something. The Human though... think I've seen her around too but not really sure which squadron she's part of."

"This might be fun too", Spyke happily murmured as he made his way to the bar. "A round of Red Stuff for me and the guys!" The man then turned towards the bomber squadron's CO and casually patted the man on the back "Hey there buddy, how's it hanging?" Dog just gave the Razor a side glance before bluntly replying "I'm busy. Trying to teach twin tails here some manners."

"Then you won't take long, huh?" Spyke joked as he next turned to look at the two females. He lightly shook his head as he faced them, hoping that would be a subtle enough hint for them to stop entertaining the other fellow and just move away. Even two against one, Spyke very much doubted the women stood any chance of dealing with an obviously inebriated Dog.

"I'm telling you it'll be fun", a somewhat familiar voice could next be heard as the bar's doors slid open once more, this time revealing three individuals. One Human male, one Human female and one Zygerrian female too. All eyes turned to face the new arrivals, almost everyone recognizing the new voice. "Huh?" the same voice uttered next as the blond male stopped to look around. "Am I interrupting something?" Seth Qorbin, Javelin's Wing Commander inquired as he glanced around the room trying to get a feel for the situation.

There were some crewmen seated at a table, some members from Tuk'ata at another, almost all the Razors at yet another one and a few more individuals, many of them members of other squadrons such as Blackguard and Varactyl, seated or standing near the counter. The two Tuk'ata pilots at the bar looked rather serious, the female Leading Crewman that stood next to a green skinned Twi'lek looked more scared than anything, Dog looked pissed like usual, Spyke smiled like a joker - same he always did and Maroy... well Seth wasn't really sure exactly what vibes he was picking off her.

The first to break the silence was Spyke though "Eltee! Come, have a drink with us. Barkeep, three more shots of Red Stuff!"

OOC:

WC: 1015
AAR: Introducing some Razors to the mix - they're cocky and arrogant and not afraid to show it. They've also known each other for a while and work well together. Having the squadron's joker, callsign Spyke, trying to defuse the Maroy-Dog situation but before he can succeed... or fail... in comes the WC, his XO and the rumored Zygerrian.

I thought about starting the fight in this post but then I decided to instead simply add more complexity to the situation. The fight can now start because CSS hate the SFC, because Hades's NPC picks a fight with the Zygerrian, because Maroy refuses to back down, because either Hades or Ryn decide to take a stance and protect their member, or because someone else will decide to add even further intrigue into the mix

If you're interested in the WC's reaction or the general reaction of the Razors regarding possible scenarios, just ask me on IRC or drop me a PM.

Hades frowned. This was not good. Well, that really did depend on how you looked at it. Some people enjoyed bar fights. It was evident that Eli, for one, did. Hades would have to keep an eye on him. While aggression was common, it was not necessarily the best trait to have in a dogfight. The best offense was sometimes a good defense.. and vice versa. But Hades was thinking along different lines than the crewman, and he stepped forward, between the two opposing side and all eyes turned on him. He got within arm's reach of the dog and paused. His green eyes surveyed all sides of the conflict readily, but calmly, and he spoke as such. His drink was still in his hand as he did. "Now, we can all settle this like civilised people. Here, hold this." He extended his drink hand to the Blackguard CO. Dog, not the fastest of people, took it and looked down into it. Hades used that hesitation and slammed an uppercut into his chin, hearing a sickening crack.. He stumbled back, and the glass Hades had handed him began to fall- until Hades caught and, in a graceful spin, slammed it over the tall Blackguard XO's head, sending him reeling. "Have at them!" He roared, and everything began to go south. Well, they were in space, so you would call it downwards. Everything went downwards.

An enraged friend of Dog's charged him, throwing a wild yet forceful punch. Hades ducked under the punch and delivered a solid thump to the man's soft gut. Not all pilots were as fit as Hades, nor as strong. Nor as handsome, come to think of it. He saw the big Falleen - Eli - smack a poor crewman over the head and saw Green head tails flashing somewhere in the mess. Ryn had disappeared - it was better she was not in the fight. After all, she had a broken arm. Or something. A Crewman charged at him much the same way that the second Blackguard had, but this guy was more, well.. more like a fighter instead of a crazed ewok. He delivered a glancing blow, meant for Hades' head but a last second dodge meant that it hit his shoulder. Nothing was misplaced, though, as Hades came back up with a left-right combo. The man managed to protect himself from the first blow, but his right fist impacted on the man's cheek bone with considerable force. Teeth flew and the man collapsed. Funny, Hades thought, he looked tougher than that. A leading crewman, a bit older than Hades himself had retreated from the fray after hurling his drink into it. That made Hades mad, so he disentangled himself from the main group and made his way inexorably toward the fearful crewman.

"You know what we do to cowards back on Nar Shaddaa?" He seethed at the man as he came closer. The man shuddered and shook his head. Hades was distracted by a female's cry of 'Hades, get down!' Being in combat drilled commands into you, and Hades ducked immediately. Not a second too soon or too late - just on time - as a glass sailed through the place his head had just been. Nice throw the Chief Petty Officer thought, bemused. He looked around and saw Ryn pointing at one of the Leading Crewman's compatriots. He hadn't taken too kindly to the blow Hades had delivered to his cheekbone, and was now up once again. "Oh come on!" He growled, more to himself than anyone.  The reemergence of this tough-looking crewman seemed to give the fearful leading crewman a spark of bravery. Hades rolled his eyes as both of them circled him, evidently experienced at working together in bar fights like this, especially against a single opponent. Hades growled at them. If it was meant to deter them, it didn't.


------------------------------------------------------------------------

Ryikk shuddered inwardly. To tell the truth, the starfighter pilot scared the crap out of him, and the growl he'd just uttered had not improved that. He looked at Lars, on the other side of the pilot. The pilot, marked down as a Chief Petty Officer was more than capable. He saw him down Lars with a single duck and right hook, and the man hadn't hesitated to start the fight.. He was glad Lars was back up, though. The two of them made a good team in most instances. But who would strike first? The pilot was somehow keeping them both in his sight, while slowly drawing them toward the table. How the.. Ryikk's silent question was cut off as Hades snatched up another glass from the table and hurled the contents in Lars' face. Ryikk made his move, only to be knocked on his behind by the empty cup that flew back his way, Damn, this fighter jockey knows how to improvise! Ryikk thought in a daze as he went down, seeing stars - and they weren't the ones out the cabin window.

When he finally had his wits about him enough to look up, Lars was locked in a desperate fight with Hades. Lars struck left, Hades caught his wrist and moved - fast. A crack echoed between them and Lars cried out, bringing another hand around to try and cuff Hades none-too-affectionately upside the head. He was like a wraith, though. One second he was there, the next second he was somewhere else. Ryikk could have sworn he was unnaturally fast. He didn't know where Hades had come from, though.. Speed was a necessity. Something Lars lacked, it seemed. Hades was easily dancing away from his brutish blows, until a final blow smacked into Lars' stomach as Hades ducked. I'm dreaming, he thought lazily, nobody moves that fast.. Although pilots required razor-sharp reflexes, he doubted that they were that fast. Lars had doubled over, breathless. Wrong move, Lars, Ryikk thought desperately, straighten up you big oaf! But it was too late. Hades moved in with a bone-shattering uppercut to the face, and Lars was thrown onto his rear. Ryikk managed to gain his footing and stumbled away from the lightning-fast pilot.

He only got as far as within a foot of the table until he found a hand on the back of his uniform, pulling him backwards with force. "Where you going, Crewman?" He hissed as he threw him forward with all his strength. Ryikk slid across the table, into a wall on the otherside, then down to the floor. He groaned as he tried to move. His body hurt. If someone had asked him what part hurt, he would have responded 'every part'. The pilot gave him one last look before pouring a drink over his head. He spluttered and coughed as the liquid got into his eyes and nose, nearly retching on it.

------------------------------------------------------------------------

Hades smiled and dusted his hands off as the crewman spluttered. Like the fight for the black hole several months earlier, he began making his way through the fray toward the bar. With such a loud commotion going on, it was likely that the barkeep had fled or, better still, joined the fighting. Hades vaulted the bar and ducked as a cup smashed on the wall behind him, sending liquid everywhere. He growled loudly, "Ey! Watch the bar you ponderous banthas!" Hades directed the shout at the thrower, who was a man from blackguard. He always called them banthas - the bombers were slow and ponderous, and he would kill before he was assigned to a bomber squadron. He wouldn't sit around and get fat while Interceptors did the work, no sir he would not. 'Hades, you're assigned to Blackguard Squadron' he could just imagine the monotonous voice of DeepSix saying those words. 'No sir, thank ye sir, frak you very much sir' he could just imagine himself replying.

Hades poured himself a glass of the green stuff liberally,  checking the bottle to see if his reflection was unkempt at all. Nope, he decided, suitably satisfied. His green eyes almost matched the colour of the drink as his gaze roamed the fray, bottle in one hand and glass in the other. He saw Maroy and her head-tails go down, and saw the Falleen still in the middle of it all. The Blackguard CO was stumbling around with blood on his face, he noted with a satisfied grunt. I should probably give them a hand, The Chief Petty Officer thought with a sigh. After all, they needed some leadership and it seemed Wager had been knocked out by a stray hit. Hades frowned, wondering what the damage was. He leant on the bar and caught a glimpse of Ryn through the crowd. Is she okay? He thought with a concerned gaze, she's injured, not up to scratch. Mind you, that's a hell of a lot better than most of this rabble anyway. He shrugged lightly. It was quite often that he conversed with himself, and this situation made no difference.

Blackguard were getting their asses handed to them, and the crewmen of the Atrus seemed to be cowed by Hades taking out their two leaders. I wonder how long it will take people to realise that Blackguard and Tuk'ata should be fighting against the crewmen, not each other. Nobody who flew anything really liked the crewmen of the Atrus, especially not in a barfight.

Another shrug, what do I care? He thought almost bitterly. I probably beat a man half to death, and we'll all have scrapes bruises and broken bones tomorrow, along with reprimands.

OOC:

Word Count: 1,594

AAR: Hades, under the pretense of diplomacy, threw the first punch and pretty much took out Blackguard's CO. He smashes a few heads together and takes out the ringleaders of the Atrus' men, before retreating behind the bar for a drink and a deep thinking session. Was he blood-drunk, taking leave of his senses for mindless violence?

Wager entered the bar a quite a few minutes late, having taken some time to make notes on his observations of the various members of his new squadron. He’d also officially logged Hades’s appointment as Flight Leader for second flight. Now he was ready to join his pilots and begin getting to know them. With any luck, they’d get to know him too and would build some trust in him. From several of the looks he’d received, there didn’t seem much room for opinions of him to get lower in the squadron, so the odds were good of things looking up as they got comfortable with him.
 
The scene that greeted him when the hatch slid open was not the slightly-crazed, rowdy scene he’d expected. Well, it was both crazed and rowdy, but the craziness was not slight and the rowdiness was the most sedate activity going on. Simply put, his pilots and those of several other squadrons were in an all-out brawl.
 
He looked for the people he knew as members of his unit first, and determined that they weren’t too badly off. He’d had complaints in his earlier commands that he was too by-the-book, but he did practice loyalty to his unit before filling his official duties. Since his people didn’t appear to be in immediate danger of too-serious injury, he moved straight into duty, which in this case meant breaking up the fight. Yelling in his best command voice, he walked further into the room, “Attention! Stop this and come to attention immediately!” He dragged a couple of pilots apart, spinning one drunken flier out the still-open hatch and pushing the other to the side to stop abruptly against the bar. All the while, he continued to try and get the others’ attention.
 
But it was to no avail, and after a punch rocked his jaw to the side Wager found himself facing off against a brown-skinned  Iridonian pilot. When he turned the alien growled a curse and snapped out a hard left jab that opened a small cut under the human’s right eye. He managed to block the follow-up, though, and Tuk’ata’s new squadron commander stepped in close to slam two hard jabs into his opponent’s ribs. Air whuffed out of the man and he stumbled back where Wager caught him with an upper-cut as he began to double over. The Zabrak fell senseless to the floor as Wager headed off toward a couple of human pilots who looked to be ganging up on Ryn. He’d been in bar fights before- hell, as a teenager he’d worked as a bouncer. If he couldn’t get this craziness stopped, he could at least hold his own.
 
He had fought too well, though.  The Zabrak’s wingman had noticed his partner’s thorough defeat and, enraged, started after the blonde human.  As he got close, stepping between two pairs of combatants, he leaned over and grabbed up a durasteel-framed chair that had been knocked over in the fighting. He hefted it up by the legs, and swung hard for the pilot’s back.
 
Wager heard someone yell closet to him and noticed another pilot ducking away from something directly behind him, just in time to duck himself and take the blow across his back rather than on the back of his head. Still, lines of fiery agony traced themselves across his back and he crumpled to the floor. He heard renewed shouts, and hoped someone was jumping on his ambusher. That person would be receiving a hell of a punishment…at least, they would once the agony abated enough for Wager to move.
 
But if that was the case, his rescuers weren’t getting there fast enough. The metal bars of the chair’s back slammed down on him again, and the curved top rail cracked him on the head. Blood began to trickle down from a cut in his hair somewhere above and behind his left ear and his scream of pain was lost in the confusion. Dots swam before the injured man’s eyes and his shocked brain couldn’t induce any organized movement. All he could really sense was the nauseating pain of a head injury.
 
The chair slammed down a third and final time, just as his assailant was dragged to the ground by several outraged pilots. But they were too late: it crashed home again, smashing into Wager’s head, and all went black.
 
===
 
In the aftermath of the fight, the man who’d assaulted Tuk’ata’s new Squadron Commander was tried by a military court and sentenced to ten years in prison for attempted murder. That was little comfort to Wager, though. The squadron he’d commanded for so brief a time went on, continuing their service to the Vast Empire, as he lay in the Abrae Naval Hospital in a coma. His skull broken in two places, he had barely survived at all. Even if he awoke, it would take considerable rehab before he’d ever fly again. He’d never even flown as a Tuk’ata.
 

OOC:

Words: 831
 
I’m afraid thing haven’t worked out for me to continue being SCO of Tuk’ata- not that I’ve been a good one so far. I'm sorry about that. However, I believe you guys are in good hands. You should find out who’s taking over the squadron pretty soon. Good luck, guys.

Today was going to hell. A bar fight? Really? Petty Officer 2nd Class Darian Rogue sighed as he joined the fray, thinking back on the events leading up to this moment.

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Some Time Earlier
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A briefing is coming. But until then, I have some stuff to do. It was true, but he also had a lot to think about as well. The Battle of Abrae was… interesting. Darian had been suspicious that something was going on, prior to the battle beginning. Everyone just seemed to be on edge, and the whole fleet was moving out. It was only a little later that Darian realized his suspicion was not baseless. We managed to win that battle because we were completely prepared without most of us realizing it until the last minute. Probably all for the better though. Anything to prevent leaks of information. Ironic that espionage is how we knew about this attack. I mean, that’s the only way we could have known, right?

He wandered back to the Tuk’ata quarters, where his T3 replica was waiting. Damn that droid. I owe it my life, and hiding it here isn’t so hard, but I had a hell of a getting it here. I don’t know what I’ll do if the wing is transferred to another ship. He was originally resentful of the droid, mainly because of the situation surrounding his receipt of it: It was his inheritance from his aunt, received during a will-reading just as disappointing as that of his uncle not too long before, where he received nothing but a wish for success in his career. Can I use a wish? Can I eat a wish? Can I spend a wish? Can I build with a wish? CAN A WISH ACTUALLY BRING ME SUCCESS?! Nevertheless, Darian was grateful to have been there, mainly for the taking place prior to that. My dear uncle’s will, hidden by a series of endless puzzles. So many things happened during that adventure. I was forced to kill those I had thought my friends. Currently he was writing his experiences on his datapad, in a hopes to someday compile and serialize them. Perhaps by fictionalizing those events, I can quell any rumors of what might have happened between the Rogue family and the Mantisa family. “Two great friends brutally turned against each other,” he said quietly to himself. “Two families that would have once fought side by side, whose members would die for those of the other, made to kill each other.”

But more time to dwell on that later. The Battle for Abrae debriefing was starting soon. Darian turned back to the T3 droid. “You,” he pointed. “Stay hidden. If you’re spotted, make yourself look like a ship droid. Pretend you’re doing something useful.” Darian was glad he left his protocol droid back on Bakura; it would be distinctly harder for that droid to pretend such a thing.

----------------------------------------------

Darian made his way to the briefing room, and when entering, realized there were still some empty seats, including in his squadron. He took his place, and waited. Eventually, when everyone was seated, the Wing Commander started to speak.
“I'd like to start off this meeting by first congratulating everyone that was awarded promotions and/or medals earlier today.” From here, Darian drifted into his own thought, which would last well into the coming moment of silence that he would only be vaguely aware of.

Ah, yes, that’s right. I now get to make my trek through the Petty Officer track. Petty officer indeed. Petty Officer 2nd Class, to be quite precise. A petty rank bestowed for petty reasons. It’s not like what I did really helped in the Battle. Some might call that self-deprecation, but it’s the truth. All I did was take out a few fighters and bombers, not make the astounding feats of bravery or … destructiveness like the rest of my squadron. Though I suppose I should stop thinking like that. Again he thought back to the events on Bakura. Small actions can have large consequences. Had one of those bombers not been taken out, it could have fired the one extra bomb needed to cripple one our ships. Had one of those fighters not been taken out, it could have taken another two of ours out before it was downed. On second thought, I’ll take pride as so many others do. I’m a Petty Officer 2nd Class and I’m damn well proud of it.

He returned to listening to DeepSix, but only a few things caught his attention, such as things about Tuk’ata and “Javelin Wing will be transferred aboard the Halcyon Warrior, under the command of Captain Dracule Mihawk.” …FRAK! He just had to go and curse himself earlier when he thought about smuggling the T3 unit between ships.

At the end of the debriefing, he followed with his squadron to the bar, and, after a little bit of chatter with his fellow Tuks, that’s where all hell broke loose.

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Now
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I have something against hurting fellow pilots, even those of another squadron. So, I’m just going to do my best to stay here near the crewmen. He in fact had something against the whole concept of internal fighting. If you’re weak on the inside, you’re weak. Yes, it was an absolutely-worded statement, which he was normally also against, but it was appropriate here. Plus it wasn’t the first exception he was making for one of his personal rules of living. Must have been that glass of Purple Stuff making me less reasonable. Plus the fact that I should defend myself and my Squadron. That too.

He watched as a crewman came towards him, readying a punch. Darian tensed his muscles. Something I learned the hard way with my brother. This’ll hurt both of us… but him more than me. And if I know my physics, the pressure will be greater on his fist then on my chest. Force over area, or something like that. The fist flew towards him, and at the last moment, Darian thought, Ah, what the hell? and proceeded to grab the wrist of the arm flying towards him and punch the crewman twice in the stomach, concluding with a knee to the same place. That was where the fun began.

OOC:

WC: 1,041. Sorry this took so long, but I had to eat dinner and then I had to go to this stupid talent show thing. And by talent show, I mean “talent” show. Yeah. Not much talent was to be had.

AAR: Some reminiscing of Bakura, then the reaction to various parts of the debriefing, then entering the bar fight. Oh, and I go against mainstream culture and drink Purple Stuff instead of all those other silly drinks of yours.
And I know I keep using words when I talk about the events on Bakura like… well… “those events on Bakura” “what happened on Bakura” “the crap that went down between those two families on Bakura” and I assure you that that has nothing at all to do with the fact that I don’t really have any of the events mapped out in my head and is just because I’m too lazy to assign the incident a formal title.
Just kidding I have no effing clue what happened there yet.

OOC:

This is a bit jumbled up so far as adapting to everyone's post as I went. If there's a problem, let me know.

Five Standard Hours Ago

And here he was. The shuttle seat beneath him felt more comfortable than anything he had sat on since he left, well, since he was taken from the Vast Empire. He remembered hating the shuttle seats when he left the Academy, citing them as uncomfortable and putting pressure on all the wrong spaces. Now, however, he could have sat on a bed of vibroblades and still be happy. After all, he was back. Granted he was now an escaped fugitive in the eyes of the New Republic, who he didn't care much for anyway, but being downed or otherwise captured by their forces spelled his death. After all, they'd charged him with enough crimes to justify consecutive life sentences.

The Zabrak glanced around at the other personnel and could easily distinguish what they did. A bridge officer here, a gaggle of starfighter pilots there, yet they all had something in common. They all were staring at him. Well, they weren't staring so much as not looking. Out of the corner of his eyes, he could see their distrust and outright tenacity towards him. He was used to it, however. There were few Zabraks in the Vast Empire, and they were few and far between in terms of location. He'd been discriminated against before, particularly in the Academy. He'd had to prove himself time and time again, and now was no different.

"So...where you from, boy," drawled a human whose uniform indicated that he was a senior crewman. His mouth formed a smile, though Fyston could almost see the sneer beneath it. The human's eyes radiated hatred and the other pilots were actively looking between the two. The human seemed to think that he was making the Zabrak uncomfortable as he took a seat, though Fyston couldn't care less. It wasn't that much different from prison, in fact. You stood up to bullies and made your mark, ensuring that you wouldn't be bothered again. Fyston had done it before, when first joining the Vast Empire, and he didn't mind doing it again.

"Hello? I'm talking to you," said the human, the smile leaving his face completely. "I know," replied the Zabrak with a slight smile touching the ends of his mouth. "I just don't care." The human's eyes went wide in shock and his jaw dropped. That made Fyston smile all the wider, which in turn caused the human to turn red with fury.

"Do you know who I am?!" By this point, the human had puffed out his chest and stood again, setting his feet. "An imbecile," chided the Zabrak calmly, enjoying the human's reactions. "NO! I'm Senior Crewman Drew Fenrith," exclaimed the Senior Crewman, obviously proud of himself. Of course, Fyston still outranked him, even with being demoted for his AWOL status. He also hadn't found his old rank patch, meaning his sleeves were bare. A simple look at his ID, which was in the bag under his chair, would show his rank, though Fyston wasn't done.

"Do I look like I give a bantha's backside who you are? If you have a problem with me, tell me."

"I've got a hell of a problem with you, ya bonehead," shouted Fenrith, cursing under his breath before continuing. "Your kind, some Zabbies in the New Republic killed mah parents when I was but a lad. I daresay you're just like them." "If by 'just like them,' you mean I have horns growing out of my head and grew up on Iridonia, then sure."

This response certainly flustered the already fuming man, who was obviously underestimating his senior. Fyston had no wish to fight, though he certainly didn't mind knocking the human down a peg or two if he tried to fight him.

Rather than listen to the next rambling response of the man, however, Fyston simply stood. Without moving his bag, he began the walk down the walkway toward the refreshers. 'Accidentally,' however, the Zabrak kicked the human's bag, toppling it and spewing the various contents onto the floor. He looked back at the human, who was staring at Fyston in shock, and smiled. "Why you no good sleemo," exclaimed the man as he charged Fyston, right fist cocked back and left hand open, obviously trying to grab Fyston by the collar. He got close enough to Fyston and swung, his muscles releasing all of their built up tension toward the bony head of his foe.

A foe who wasn't there. Even in the narrow walkway, Fyston had moved out of the way, sidestepping past his opponent's punch and closing the distance. Before Fenrith knew what was happening, Fyston had grabbed his right arm and pulled it behind his back before pulling it upwards, threatening to rip it out of socket. Even though he was still, technically, fine, pain shot through the human with the force of a hurricane, causing him to scream. "Now I thought we could all be friends here. Do you know how well you fly when you have nerve damage," Fyston questioned before using his thumb to manipulate Fenrith's wrist, pressing down on the nerve. His move caused him to flash back to prison and he could almost see the guards slamming others, as well as himself, against a wall at the slightest trouble. It felt good to be able to torment the Senior Crewman the way he had been tormented.

Using his free hand, Fyston brought it up to the Senior Crewman's neck, applying pressure to his jugular artery. With the sudden lack of blood flow, the human would go down in a matter of seconds. Meanwhile, he kicked violently, causing Fyston to jerk upwards on his arm.

And then, not even five seconds later, the crewman became limp. Fyston caught the man and gently walked him over to his seat. Almost at once, a younger looking bridge officer decided to finally do something and stood, looking down at his chest to ensure that his ID was still attached. That, combined with the man's posture and stance, proved to the Zabrak that the man was fresh out of the Academy, or at least with little experience.

"I'm Petty Officer 2nd class and I order you to stand down and submit to custody, crewman," said the bridge officer, though it was closer to a whisper. Fyston merely walked over to his bag, unzipping the top of it and withdrawing his own ID. "I'm Petty Officer 1st class," said the Zabrak. "And I apologize for his actions. A truthful report will note that he, indeed, swung first. I'm a combat veteran from before the Belegroth fight, and it was shortly afterwards that I was captured by the New Republic. I'm back now. You can either wonder how that happened, or accept the fact that I'm here and save yourself the worry. I appreciate your cooperation. Also, two of you will die before your fourth mission."

A wry smile on his face, the Zabrak sat back in his seat and began looking out the viewport, watching the Hyperspace lines that separated them from the rest of the galaxy.

45 minutes ago

His boots clanking on the metallic floorboards, Fyston proudly walked down the ramp, stride long but measured and shoulders straight. At the moment, his mere walk screamed command, and he couldn't be happier. After all, he was back. He still couldn't get over the fact that he was, indeed, back. It seemed as if it were a dream and that he would awake back in his cell in Greylands prison. His bag in his left hand, the Zabrak set it down in order to pull out his datapad, bringing up the message he had gotten shortly before landing.

Oh, fierfek, Fyston thought, just now learning that he was late for the squadron briefing. He cursed to himself before pulling up the map, analyzing it quickly to garner his destination and the quickest route, and slinging his bag over his shoulder and taking off at a run.

30 minutes ago to now

After wrong turns, misleading crew members, and a few backtracks, Fyston stopped in front of the door, composing himself. He stepped forward, causing the door to slide open, revealing an empty room. The chairs were stacked neatly and the floor was spotless, though there was nobody in the room. He sighed, the sound echoing slightly through the empty room.

Readjusting his bag on his shoulder, the Zabrak thought back to his assignment. He knew he was in Tuk'ata squadron, a squadron he had only heard of before. He also knew that Seth Qorbin, generally known by his callsign, Deepsix, was his Wing Commander. Where would Deep reside if he's not at a briefing, thought Fyston. There used to be a Nightshrike joke regarding their commander's drinking habits.

He opened his bag, again pulling out his datapad. He looked for the nearest cantina, which looked to be the Porthole. Setting his datapad back in his bag, he began the journey to the bar, passing various crew members with various patches on their shoulders. He passed engineers, technicians, and even a few starfighter pilots, all coming from the general direction of his destination. It didn't strike him as odd, though he certainly wondered what was going on.

Overall, his journey wasn't long or exciting, quite the opposite. It was a very short trip until he found the traditional indicators of the onboard cantina. He readjusted his bag, ready to finally meet his new squadron, before opening the door.

The sight that greeted him was one of chaos, and the 6'8 Zabrak stood a head above everyone else. The light from the hallway washed into the slightly darker bar, causing Fyston to become but a form standing in the way. Two fights in one day, he thought with annoyance. There were more in prison, but Fyston knew that a barwide brawl made for quite the disciplinary record. He himself was a veteran of many such brawls and his record proved such.

He made his way in, attempting to remain as small of a target as possible until he could survey the situation. This meant finding who was friend, who was foe, and who just wanted to be a problem. He looked around and saw a person or two around and his tall vantage point allowed him to view the crumpled form of a being on the floor. His bag did have medical supplies, as he was still a Vast Imperial naval doctor. Well, not a full MD, but he was certainly on his way. Or he had been, were it not for the New Republic.

"And where do you think you're going," asked a Zygerrian, stepping into his way. "Well, I was going to treat that man," replied Fyston. "Though I suppose you won't allow me to just pass, will you?"

Shaking her head, the Zygerrian stepped into her combat stance. Dropping his bag, the Zabrak dropped into a Serat Kasi stance, lowering his center of gravity. He inclined his head, silently taunting her into doing something she would regret.

And so she came at him, her claws catching he light from a dim overhead light, seeming to flash in the glow. Fyston brought his forearm up, blocking the attack. Before he could react, though, the Zygerrian had used her momentum to kick at his ribs. Her pointed boots slamming into his side at full force. He heard the crack of bone and felt the pain shoot through his right side. He groaned, mentally chiding himself for not being serious. He stepped forward, launching a harsh left hook.

Only to have it caught by the Zygerrian woman. She's fast, Fyston thought. He wasn't about to give up, though. He quickly closed the difference, using his free hand to block a slash at his face. He grabbed her forearm, ensuring that neither could leave without the consent of the other. Rather than attempting to kick or knee, he brought his thick skull down at hers in a vicious headbutt. With a loud *crack*, their skulls collided and Fyston raised back up. His skull was thicker than the average humanoid, and he felt nothing but the collision with her head. She, on the other hand, stumbled backward, holding her clawed hand to her head. She pulled it away and Fyston could tell it was bleeding at least moderately. Before she could come at him again, however, the crowd surged. He only had time to grab his bag before she was lost in the crowd.

It took him a few minutes to find her again, though she had gone on to torment other combatants. He shrugged and resumed his journey to the fallen man. This time, however, there seemed to be a crewman who wasn't there before. Swimming through the crowd as if it were water, Fyston quickly made his way to the group of people.

As he arrived, he saw the patches on their arms and saw that they, too, were Tuk'ata. He thought he had seen the female before, though definitely recognized Hades. They'd fought together at least once.

"Long time no see," said the Zabrak with a smile. "Who the kriff do I salute?" Answering his own question, he saluted them both. After all, time had passed and they would have gained a rank or two regardless. He'd lost one and, as such, they were his superiors. "I'm going to go ahead and treat your friend here," he said. Without waiting for their response, he shuffled past them and knelt down to the man, placing his index and middle fingers on the man's neck. He got a pulse, though it wasn't as strong as Fyston would have liked.

He opened his bag for what seemed like the tenth time, this time scraping through the bag for a cervical collar. Slipping it under his neck, he secured it and withdrew a small penlight. He opened the man's eyelids, flashing the light as he did so. The man's pupils dilated at different rates, indicating head trauma. Fyston, however, wasn't done. The man's breathing rate was certainly lower, and Fyston grabbed a endotracheal tube.

It was a few seconds later that the tube was attached to a small Ambu bag. The Zabrak was applying pressure to the bag at regular intervals, ensuring that the man was breathing. "That's all I'm able to do here. I've got gauze but there's likely intracranial pressure and I'm not a med droid." He needed more than he had at his disposal, and he was certainly no surgeon. Without external help, or at least a backboard, they wouldn't be able to get the man to the medbay.

OOC:

WC - 2467

AAR - Fy gets into a scuffle with a racist newbie, finally gets to the Atrus, misses the briefing, and draws in a short fight with the Zygerrian. He then goes on to meet Ryn and Hades and begin treatment of Wager. Also, I'm trying out a new system of outlining dialogue.

Eli opened his eyes groggily and looked around. Last thing he remembered was a Zygerrian rushing him. Looking around, Eli could see that he hadn't been out long. The Falleen forced himself to his feet and began scanning the fight. Wager was down and a Zabrak was tending him. Also with the Zabrak were Ryn and Hades. Eli began making his way to them when Dog attacked Hades from behind. A burning hatred of that coward- Dog- filled Eli and he engaged Dog. The Human was strong and his jaw was broken. Eli grabbed the man's shoulder and slugged him in the stomach several times. Then he grasped the back of Dog's head, slammed Dog's face into his knee, and let go. In retaliation, Dog smashed the top of his head into Eli's sternum, winding the Falleen. Then Dog sent a haymaker into Eli's temple. 

The Falleen's vision momentarily flared white and Eli dropped like a stone. Through his fuzzy vision, Eli saw Hades attack Dog viciously. Eli forced himself to his feet, stumbling slightly, when he felt a durasteel chair slam down on the back of his head. Eli caught himself on an overturned table. The Falleen whipped around to see a Blackguard pilot with the chair lifted over his head. This time, however, when the pilot brought the chair down Eli caught it by a leg, and wrenched it from his grasp. Then Eli took hold of another leg and slammed the back of the chair into the side of the Blackguard's head. The man fell back against the wall behind him and used it to keep himself up. Eli dropped the chair and waited to see if the pilot would come at him. Indeed, the Blackguard launched himself off the wall and Eli punched the incoming man in the stomach. The man went down but Eli lost his balance, stumbled, and plopped on his rear as well. Both combatants managed to get to their feet and the Blackguard advanced upon Eli again, this time successfully landing a hook onto Eli's cheekbone. The Falleen countered by slamming his fist down onto the pilot's sternum with all the force he had. Dimly, Eli heard something snap. The man collapsed straight down onto the ground and didn't get back up. Eli stumbled away. The back of his head felt like a white hot nail was being plunged into it with his every movement. His tunnel vision blurred in and out and he was sure that he had a concussion where the chair had struck him.

The Falleen half shuffled, half stumbled across the edges of the bar to a cluster of Tuk'atans. Eli constantly kept one hand on the wall to guide and brace himself. Everything seemed like he was in a bubble. His hearing was distant and his sight was blurred and his sense of touch barely registered as a slight tingling. His breathing was heavily labored and broken glass on the floor caused him to slip quite a few times. By the time he was within a few yards of his comrades he was drenched in sweat and his eyes burned from the salty liquid that ran down his face into them. His arms and legs felt like jelly and his knees threatened to buckle at any time. He ventured away from the wall and somehow managed to croak, "Help, please." The Twi'lek- Maroy- rushed over, arms outstretched, ready to receive him. But before she reached him, Eli's knees finally gave away and he tumbled onto a table, breaking the tabletop from its pedestal. The Falleen slid down the slanted tabletop onto the floor. Maroy dove down after him trying- and failing- to break his fall. Eli faintly saw her face over his, her lips moving. However, her voice was so dim that Eli didn't have a chance of deciphering her words, and he was too exhausted and brain-dead to read her lips. He was so tired right now and his eyelids felt heavy like lead. Still, Maroy kept slapping his cheek and keeping him awake. Why couldn't she leave him alone? All he wanted to do was sleep...

When Eli passed out in front of her with an obvious concussion, Maroy became frantic. She grabbed ahold of his shoulders and drug the heavy Falleen across the floor, and over broken glass, towards the Zabrak who was acting as a medic.

OOC:

Word count: 734

AAR: Eli wakes up to the fight still raging. He has a bought with Dog before the Blackguard bests him. Eli then receives a concussion via blow with a chair and proceeds to beat down the Blackguard who delivered it. Then the Falleen struggles to make it back towards his fellow Tuks, before he collapses and passes out. Maroy ends up dragging him to Fyston. In short, Eli is definitely out for the count.

EDIT: From this point on, feel completely free to mention Eli as a fallen Tuk in any of your posts. I've run my course with him for now

Xenon fanatically gathered his things from the hotel room he was staying in. He had gotten a letter explaining his placement into Cresh squadron and a briefing for the squads on the up coming mission.
The letter said that the briefing was going to be a 0600 hours and by the looks of it, Xenon was not going to make it.

“Letter says 0600 hours, brain says wake up when you feel like it.” Cloth flew from the hotel rooms bed to a bag which Xenon then proceeded to zip up and sling over his shoulder. With a quick glance at he clock and seeing the time read 0513 hours only made him grab his coat and raced out of the room even faster.

At the front desk Xenon thank the receptionist and ran through the doors into the city streets. The streets were crowded and navigation was hard but Xenon slowly made his way through the mess and into the Navy's shuttle facility. Pilots and officers continuously entered and exited the building and Xenon wasn't surprised to find the main floor of the facility filled with even more members of the Navy. The line for the Atrus was long and the clock kept ticking. Xenon did the classic act of impatience as he tapped his foot, wishing for the line to move faster.

0534 hours and Xenon finally boarded his shuttle to the Atrus and boy was he happy. There Xenon sat, in the back of the shuttle, surrounded by other pilots and he was smiling. He didn't know why he was smiling but it didn't matter because it didn't last long. Something always goes wrong when things are going your way. 10 minutes into the flight a voice came over the speaker of the shuttle.

“Hello passages, this is your pilot speaking. I am sorry to announce that  an error has been made in the shuttle schedules and we have to go back to the planet and wait for the air to clear.” Xenon's smile turned into a frown as he watched from a window as the shuttle turned from it's current course and descended back to the planet. 

Once Xenon was back on the shuttle to the Atrus he knew that he was going to miss his briefing. The  time on his watch was 0540 hours and even if he got to the ship in the next ten minutes he still wouldn't be able to make the briefing. The Atrus was huge and he had only been on it a hand full of time's. Trying to find his way to the briefing room in ten minutes would be impossible. So Xenon sat back in his seat on the shuttle and waited for it to dock.

“I'll probably be able to ask one of the members of my squad to tell me about the briefing.” Xenon thought to himself. “I just hope I don't get in any sort of trouble for missing it. Damn, why can't I ever wake up on time for thing's.” Xenon slouched in his seat and starred out the window. Outside TIE fighters and shuttles flew past, the planet behind him slowly grew smaller, and the Atrus began to block the stars beyond.

Upon boarding the Atrus, Xenon was meet with a view not found in a large city. The dock in which the shuttle carrying Xenon landed was a mess of fighters and civilian vessels all following tight schedules of carrying info and people to different places. Xenon was hardly able to find the door out because arriving at the same time has Xenon was an entire platoon of stormtroopers who had been moved from the Warrior to the Atrus due to a mission. When Xenon finally made it to the white halls of the Atrus there was only one thing left to do. Find his way to the briefing room.

___________________________________________________________________________________

After twenty minutes of searching and asking for directions, Xenon finally found the briefing room, only to be met by a nearly empty room. Inside stood a single Navel officer collecting a bit of paper from a stack in the middle of a table. Xenon knocked before entering the room and the officer looked up.

“Yes?” The man said.

“Umm, was their a meeting or shall I say, briefing with Cresh squad in here not long ago.” Xenon wished that the man knew the where about of his to be squad.

“Yes, I do. They said that they where heading to a transport to the Warrior in one of the loading docks. Eight I think it was.”

Xenon thanked the man and following signs on the wall, made it to loading dock eight and was glad to see a military transport waiting. Xenon assumed that this was the transport he was going to be taking but just to be sure he asked the pilot. It was good to hear that it was so Xenon settled in and waited for others to arrive.

OOC:

Word: 840

AAR: Xenon wakes up late, things go wrong on his shuttle and he misses the meeting. After getting his squad to be where about's, he travels to the transport and waits.

Sorry if my post is short, choppy, and maybe full of errors. I just wanted to get my character in to the story some how.

Hades sighed. The Atrus was as close as it got to home for Tuk'ata squadron; they had been stationed on that ship since they'd been brought back from the grave, so-to-speak. Bar fights, simulators and combat -- all just a part of the experiences they had shared with the Atrus and her crew. Hades was sure at least some of the crew would be sad to see Javelin wing go -- even if he'd put two of them in the infirmary not more than a few hours beforehand. The Warrant Officer mechanic he'd met, for instance. That man could have almost been a part of the SFC himself, given his friendliness toward them. The others, however.. none of them particularly liked any Starfighter pilots, and Hades knew why. He was one of the reasons and he did not care -- fighter jocks, as they were called, always walked around arrogantly and were undeniably cocky. With good reason, though. They were the tip of the spear, just as Javelin's motto said. They flew out ahead of the cruisers, destroyers, ships and their big guns, to engage the other enemy's spearhead.

A bit  like jousting, then, pummeling each other until one or t'other fell off his horse. Hades sighed again as he packed his dead blaster pistol into his belt, a standard issue piece. They were allowed to carry blasters, but they were not meant to have charged power packs when they were on the ship. Hades charged his the day before an engagement. He had numerous other weapons, but his superiors in VENI had allowed him a small space in the Tower to store his more.. 'illegal' weapons. That is to say, things like disruptors and shatter guns, or poison-edged blades. Technically they were only supposed to carry combat knives in their survival kit, but Hades wasn't exactly what you'd call a typical pilot. He was better trained than many on his squadron, not necessarily in fighter tactics but in combat, hand to hand and small arms. He could probably qualify as a marine, if he tried. But none of that was a topic he could discuss or relate to his wingmates about. He was the only one who was not solely a fighter pilot in the Vast Empire. He packed his flight suits -- the original and spare -- into his luggage, along with his helmet.  They would go in the cargo hold; precious little would come with him onto the transport.

He pulled a bottle of booze from beneath the bed and packed it, too. He had no idea when he would be able to access a PX as extensive as the one on the Atrus again, so he didn't want to be without alcohol. With that in mind, he pulled a second and a third out and placed them both with the first. His head was beginning to pound -- and not from the alcohol. He could feel his injuries now, but he'd get to rest on the transport (what a short flight it might be) and probably on the Warrior after that. With a frown he packed the rest of his clothing and various apparel into his luggage, taking only his blaster in its holster (with an empty powerpack) and datapad in the leather compartment on his belt. He needed naught else, he knew, as he stood up and hefted the none-too-heavy bag as he exited the barracks, regardless of the state of readiness the other pilots were in. He saw Maroy cradling a datapad with a sad look in her eye and Ryn staring at something in her bag with a blank gaze, but he did not stop for either as he made his way out of the small barracks. Wager's compartment still stood empty, an eerie reminder that their commander had never truly been brought into the squadron. No doubt his stuff was still in transit somewhere.

Hades shook the thought from his mind as his green eyes surveyed the shining corridor ahead of him. The hangar was about ten minutes away and, checking the time, he saw he had the better part of half an hour left. He paused midstride, seeing his own reflection. He was a mess, blood still on his face and hair everywhere. He looked like he'd been in the wars. If not the wars, it was close enough, he thought bitterly to himself. He found the closes refresher and, not lacking for time, placed his stuff down in it while he washed his face and generally freshened up. His green eyes had always stood out. Whether his skin was black with dirt -- as it had been at times, back on Nar Shadda -- or as clean as he could be, his piercing green eyes would always be.. well, piercing. He could see that in the mirror, too, their colour brighter than a green you might find on Felucia, greener still than the healthiest plants in Emperor Palpatine's once-great Skyhook.  He washed the blood off his face and turned away from the mirror.

Picking up his bags, he walked down the corridor again and stopped at a turbolift. It dinged gently when it opened, and Hades stepped inside, keying the right floor. Gentle music began to hum, and he frowned. He did hate turbolift music. He could feel his stomach shift slightly as the speedy capsule shot towards its destination. Another ding signified he was at his chosen floor, and he stepped out. A glance left told him he was in the right place, and he could hear the gentle buzz that only a hangar could provide. Walking towards it, the Chief Petty Officer let out another sigh and frowned at what he saw. There were already people aboard the transport. One he recognised. The others he did not. That was not a good sign. Like he'd made clear so many times before, he liked to know who he was flying with. Then again.. some of these might be in his squadron. He gave his luggage to the droid on hand, which said nothing, only responded with a beep and dutifully wheeled away to place the bag in the cargo hold.

He brought himself up the ramp and met eyes with Eli, who seemed to be petting a small creature, before turning his eyes to the rest. New men for Tuk'ata, he identified without asking them. He took a seat next to one of the new men, and fixed him with his deep green gaze. Seeing the Chief Petty Officer's insignia on his uniform, the man threw a salute. As Hades had made clear to Eli, he was enlisted -- NCO, admittedly, but enlisted nonetheless. He waved the salute away, with a salute of his own. "Don't salute, I'm not an officer" Hades said with a frown. He took discipline very seriously, but he didn't need unctuous people around him. "Hades. Chief Petty Officer, Leader of Besh Flight, Tuk'ata Squadron." And VENI agent he introduced himself, keeping the last part to himself.

"Crewman - Leading Crewman Lepturia. Callsign X10, Cresh Flight, Tuk'ata Squadron" The man responded hesitantly. I was right, he thought, new blood for Tuk'ata.

"Well, don't do anything smart and you'll fit in just fine." He japed openly. He left the Leading Crewman confused at the statement, and turned his gaze to Eli. He could still see the pet; Eli knew he wouldn't bring him up on something so trivial, but the bulge on his hip suggested a weapon he was not permitted to carry. Hades shot him a warning gaze, and the Falleen shifted so as to subtly cover the hidden weapon.

He could hear boots clanking against the ramp, and turned his gaze that way.

OOC:

Wordcount: 1,289

AAR: A boring post, really. Hades gathers his things and ponders a few matters before entering the transport and giving X10 some very wise advice.

The  Halcyon Warrior held a complement of eight Lambda Class shuttles, Ryn glared at the shitty one they sent for Tuk'ata and Blackguard squadrons. The trip would have only been a ten minute ride mostly consisting of departure and landing procedures, if they could get the piece of junk off the hanger floor in the first place.

“Seriously, you're telling me it made it here then the engine fell out?”

The female engineer shot her head up out of the open engine panel she had been tinkering in with a screwdriver. The woman looked to be Ryn's age but her eyes told a different story. The engineering crew of the Atrus and possible all the crews across the fleet had been working overtime to get the capital ships back in pristine order. That meant the small shuttles and fighters got the most overworked and youngest crewmen in the place on their work roster.

“Chief, we had the other Lambda's committed to a combo of transporting crew and salvage. Hell Ma'am all of our Lambda's are out for the same reasons or I would just move both squadrons, its not like you're going to Tatooine, you'll be there before a rancor could sneeze.”

Ryn raised an eyebrow at the comments and glanced at the boarding ramp currently filled with a rowdy flight of Blackguard pilots. Just the night before they had all been involved in a less than pleasant bar fight, one that resulted in Ryn being now in temporary command of the squadron where she wasn't even the highest ranking pilot. Now she had to keep the peace while the pilots were caged together on a transport, for a rapidly growing number of minutes.

“Crewman, we are supposed to be landing gear up in five minutes by my chrono. I have a squadron of pilots that just lost their third SCO in a row and probably haven't slept locked up in a cabin with the guys they hate enough to suffer Deepsix's wrath for just a few cheap shots at a bar. If you want a ship left at all when we are done, you will need to hurry the frack up.”

The engineer rolled her eyes and quickly got back to work on the shuttle.

“Chief Kerdi?”

An impossibly tall man approached her, his hand touched the underside of the starboard wing as he walked. His eyes shined with confidence and he quickly looked over the temporary SC to size up his equal.

“Aye.”

“I'm Master Chief Essy. I'm in command of the Blackguards now. I just wanted to tell you that I talked to the boys, told them to not kick you Tuk's when you were down.” The man smiled down at her with a grin that she just wanted to slap right off his face.

Ryn nodded thoughtfully. “Right, well I guess that was difficult for you since we cause so many of their ears to bleed last night.”

“You'll want to watch that attitude Kerdi, from the looks of things this could be a long flight and the Warrior is a much smaller ship.” Essy had to lean over to glare into her blue eyes in a vein attempt to drive in his point.

Ryn wasn't suicidal by any means. She was just tired of games, being shot at and other peoples crap. Essy was just another example of a brash pilot that used their big mouths to compensate for their terrible skills in the cockpit.

She stepped closer, until the stench of yesterday's alcohol hit her nose with every breath. “Listen, Master Chief. I haven't slept, I just received more paperwork than should be legal, and twenty-four hours ago I was still a patient in the mental ward. So I suggest you watch your attitude, sir.”

Ryn brushed past the Blackguard SC and was about to stomp up the boarding ramp when she ran face first into Hades.

“Whoa there, you know you aren't late right?” Hades glanced past Ryn and got a glare from Essy and saw a hydrospanner fly across the hanger floor accompanied by a frustrated growl from the mechanic. “You really do leave an impression with people.”

She stepped back and smirked at the comment. “What's the sitch?”

“Well boss, the cargo is all ready and our TIE's have already been parked in their new home. Most of the squadron is here...”

“Most?” Ryn raised her eyebrows and grabbed the datapad out of her friends hands.

“Yes, well now you can see for yourself that umm yea right there. Oh and your new wingman is here, Mon Cal so no more sushi for us I guess.”

Ryn blinked and looked confused for a moment. “I've never had sushi...we certainly have not had sushi together. I drink Hades, I don't drink that much.”

“Have I mentioned how glad I am that the crazy bitch shot you out of the way before you got turned into atoms?” Hades smiled and glanced over as Dawn ran full tilt past them tripping and falling just past the two pilots. The crewman quickly scrambled to collect his carry-on bag and offered a pathetic salute before scurrying onto the transport.

A very tall zabrak appeared at the entry hatch. “Umm Ryn, we may have a situation.”

“Oh hell, what now?”

Fyston raised a thumb and gestured towards the crew area. “It would appear that the Blackguard boys locked up a couple of our guys a while ago. Looks like Maroy and DR...I think that's the names...well they are locked in a cargo hold.”

“So that's what the banging was.” The mechanic breezed in behind Ryn. She looked tired but far more relaxed than when Ryn had been speaking to her just a few minutes before. “I just thought the fumes were getting to me from the engine.” She shrugged. “It's fixed, you can take off whenever, I'm getting a drink.” The woman turned and apathetically waved as she made her way out of the hanger.

“Okay...someone find our pilot, whoever that is should have the codes to open the cargo holds. Hades take those two off the missing list and lets get out of here.”

Hades didn't move. “Aren't we going to let them out, before we lift off?”

Ryn didn't stop and had to duck to get past Fyston. “Before...after, doesn't matter to me, as long as they get there.”

OOC:

wc = 1070

We are on our way to the Halcyon Warrior. Fyston and I discussed a possible exchange on the transport so if Fyston would like to still post that I would consider it towards his official post count or whatever-and-such. Fy if you would rather wait and have that as part of the next squadron story (which will be out very soon) we can do that too.

Congrats to you all on a very impressive story