(no subject)
The door has caught Syal after another patrol of Corellian space; a short one this time, so she's not too tired or rumpled.
She still doesn't want to sit around the bar in her flightsuit and with her helmet (there's always the potential to lose it). So she approaches Bar, asks for "casual clothes, Corellian style? And a room key, I guess, but just for a few hours," and heads upstairs to shower and change.
When she returns, her hair's damp and combed neatly out of her face, and she settles in at Bar for lunch (a fresh salad -- you don't get that on a spaceship surviving on Alliance rations) and "a drink I've not had -- not too alcoholic, just something that tastes good."
(It's a banana daiquiri.)
(She's not sure what she thinks of it, yet.)
She still doesn't want to sit around the bar in her flightsuit and with her helmet (there's always the potential to lose it). So she approaches Bar, asks for "casual clothes, Corellian style? And a room key, I guess, but just for a few hours," and heads upstairs to shower and change.
When she returns, her hair's damp and combed neatly out of her face, and she settles in at Bar for lunch (a fresh salad -- you don't get that on a spaceship surviving on Alliance rations) and "a drink I've not had -- not too alcoholic, just something that tastes good."
(It's a banana daiquiri.)
(She's not sure what she thinks of it, yet.)