(Untitled)

[iceheart_isard]

[OOM: Iceheart keeps herself busy.]The woman who steps through the door tonight is tall, dressed in a crisp red uniform with simple rank insignia on the left shoulder. She is middle-aged, and maybe she would be beautiful if it weren't for the sharp cast to her features, framed by a thick lock of white hair on either side of her face, and if it

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[corsec_jedi]

And there is a table of Rogues that just happened to notice.

He felt her come in rather than see it happen. At times, he was sorry to be a Jedi.

Corran's jaw is set like steel, and he puts one hand on Hobbie's shoulder and whispers, "Put it away. Let her make the first move."

[alderaani_intel]

Winter's hand curls around Tycho's tighter, her face set with anger, any smile that had previously been there, wiped away.

She's become as cold as her name suggests.

Her other hand is curled around the blaster at her hip.

[i_love_kettch]

Oh, this is a happy development. Another psycho, another--

Wes has his blaster, this time, and he has a hand on it as Corran speaks; he doesn't draw it, not yet, but he doesn't take his hand away either.

He swears under his breath and glances at the others.

[iceheart_isard]

Isard is no Jedi. Still, it's difficult to miss it when that much hostility is being directed at her. It is unlikely to pass unnoticed when there are this many sets of eyes trained on her. And absolutely impossible when you've had the intelligence training that Ysanne Isard has had.

She turns, and for the barest of seconds, there is a flash of black fury across her face.

Then it's gone, and she settles one hand on her hip and she smiles at the group. Her other arm dangles, seemingly casual; the hold-out blaster is there, under her sleeve, ready to be flicked into her hand at the slightest provocation.

She takes them in at a sharp glance; she's tucking faces away, matching names with files.

"Mr. Horn," she says, with that same too-sharp smile. Her eyes move from person to person as she speaks. "Captain Celchu." Her gaze rests a moment on the woman, and on the other two men, but she doesn't (recognize) speak to them.

[corsec_jedi]

"Ms. Isard." Smiling grimly, Corran bows sarcastically. "Last we heard, you weren't much of a threat anymore."

She's entirely too calm... possibly armed? His hand instinctively slides to his 'saber, brushing his robe aside casually to ease access. Wouldn't put it past her...

[hellobugbite]

And just like that, Hobbie's blaster is in his hands and trained on Isard.

(I understand, sir, I'll try to do better)

"One step," he says, his voice almost pleasant. "One step closer, and you get to enjoy a wonderful, relaxing bacta bath. Or die. Won't that be nice?"

[twostandingby]

Tycho's sitting up, shoulders impossibly straight. And it's inane, but to hear that voice say 'Captain Celchu' again--

"Actually, it's colonel." His expression is flat, calm, but there is taut anger simmering under his words. A sharp glance from side to side, at his pilots. "Four," he says warningly, voice low, but his hand is on his own blaster in its holster, under the table.

[iceheart_isard]

She very nearly drops the hold-out into her hand, but she waits. Surprise will be key, key, and it's too obvious to draw it now. Too easy to predict.

"Your friends are charming, gentlemen," she says with that same chilling, sardonic smile. "Really."

Her head snaps to 'Four.' "I would not recommend doing that."

[corsec_jedi]

It's kinda eerie how much Corran's smirk looks like her smile. That calculating CorSec agent in him is out--and mad.

"You know, this'd be the only time I think I'll ever agree with you, Isard. All the same, I don't recommend testing him. Or any of the others, for that matter."

His drops his lightsaber into his hand. "But even more strongly, I recommend that hold-out pistol you've been pondering over since you spotted us hits the floor. Right now."

[iceheart_isard]

Isard watches Horn take hold of the cylinder. A moment of surprise flashes as she recognizes it for what it is, and then her eyes flick back up. "You are not in a place to tell me what to do, Horn."

A flick of the wrist and the hold-out blaster drops smoothly into her hand.

[alderaani_intel]

Winter finally moves and pulls her blaster off her hip, and lets go of Tycho's hand. "You are hardly in a place to tell any of us what to do, Isard. I suggest you put the blaster away, nice and neat."

[twostandingby]

Tycho is trying to be logical, trying to be the voice of reason, but the second that hold-out comes into view, there are at least four weapons drawn by those at the table, and one of the blasters belongs to him.

"Don't shoot," he says, voice low enough that it ought to escape her ears, "unless she does first."

[i_love_kettch]

It's very hard to keep his finger off the trigger, very hard, but he'll shoot if he doesn't, he'll shoot and then they'll throw him in the brig and then Thyne'll get Inyri and he can't let that happen.

So he does, but he watches Isard, and the blaster in her hand.

"You came through the wrong door," he tells her. "I suggest you go back out of it."

[rogue_wraith]

This would not be an opportune time for a sleepy-eyed commanding officer to come wandering in from the Allegiance's main starfighter bay insearch of some caf, now would it? Unarmed, in a basic black jumpsuit, he had gotten up early to check the repairs done to the four Red Flight X-wings, making sure they were back in good condition. They were, of course, but mechanics notice when the pilots take the time to check.

In fact, he only barely recognizes (but definitely appreciates) that this is not the hallway to the mess hall, and is instead somwhere he can get some real caf.

And some real trouble, evidently.

[iceheart_isard]

The sudden movement startles Isard.

The weapon that had til now been pointed at the floor rises in one impossibly fast, smooth movement, and there is suddenly a blaster aimed squarely between Wedge Antilles' eyes.

[rogue_wraith]

There are some instincts life in the military drums into your skull in short order.

One of those is 'Don't walk into the business end of a blaster'. Pretty elemental, really.

So Wedge stops cold almost before he realizes what he's stopping for. Then his eyes take in the black muzzle of the holdout blaster, and the hand beyond it, connected to what appears to be a womanly arm, connected to...

"Hello, Madame Director." He sounds calm. He sounds as if he has engine coolant running through his veins.

If his heart would stop jackhammering in his chest, that would be fantastic.