"Oh," murmurs Jacen Solo as he steps through the door. "Milliways, isn't it ( Read more... )

Tycho blinks as he steps into the bar, but only for a moment. He smiles, then, faintly, and makes his way through the bar, and himself comfortable on the couch. He tips his head back, datapad resting on his knee, and he closes his eyes.

Not sleeping. Resting his eyes.

Really.

[OOM: On Coruscant, Wedge decides that there is safety in numbers when he has a certain question to ask of Iella.]

It's early afternoon ( Read more... )

There were several things Winter D'altaire hated about politics. A) politicians. B) politicians and C) Borsk Fey'lya ( Read more... )

There is a very nice, final feeling to handing in your retirement papers. A nice, final feeling to clearing out your office. Locking the door and crying against it because this has been your life since the Rebellion began and now you're leaving it. For what ( Read more... )

The door opens and in steps Winter D'altaire...for once, not accompanied by the explosions of grenades or the smell of things burning. War smells ( Read more... )

Iella has a central table, a datapad, and four neat piles of datacards ready to go into a reader. Or, well, she had four neat piles, anyway; someone accidentally hipchecked her table earlier and sent the 'cards flying. She picked them all up off the floor but she doesn't immediately try to re-sort them into their proper stacks and orders; that ( Read more... )

{ Conversations with Dead People: Winter gets a visit from her adoptive father. And all is well.}

[OOM: After this, Winter goes back to room 181.]