(no subject)
[ OOM: it's not a war yet, but it's getting there.]
Syal Antilles walks through the door in a rumpled grey flightsuit, hair a sweaty mess and a blanket around her shoulders; she's still a little cold from exposure to vacuum, but she's in one piece after the battle, and that's a very good thing.
She stops and stares for a moment, then mumbles a curse (she's not dressed for a tapcaf) and hurries to Bar for a room key and a change of clothes before heading upstairs.
Half an hour later, she returns, much cheerier looking, freshly-showered and in civilian clothes.
She sits at Bar and orders a nice (un)healthy Corellian lunch, and some Whyren's Reserve.
She's earned it.
Syal Antilles walks through the door in a rumpled grey flightsuit, hair a sweaty mess and a blanket around her shoulders; she's still a little cold from exposure to vacuum, but she's in one piece after the battle, and that's a very good thing.
She stops and stares for a moment, then mumbles a curse (she's not dressed for a tapcaf) and hurries to Bar for a room key and a change of clothes before heading upstairs.
Half an hour later, she returns, much cheerier looking, freshly-showered and in civilian clothes.
She sits at Bar and orders a nice (un)healthy Corellian lunch, and some Whyren's Reserve.
She's earned it.