Coruscant, Jedi Temple
Something is beeping. Steady and annoyingly and a pillow collides with his face before he can fully wake up to the sound of it.
"Revan, shut that thing off," he hears Kira growl beside him before burrowing herself beneath the pillows and blankets again. He pretends not to hear the part where she grumbles 'see if I let you talk me into this again' - because five months pregnant and she can be a real schutta - before the only sound in the room is the beep of his communicator again.
He's stumbling from the bed before he can get another pillow to the face or worse and grabs the thing from the desk, letting the door whoosh quietly shut behind him as he walks out onto the balcony. The cool of the night hits him like a bucket of water to the face and he thinks, vaguely, as he struggles with the switch of the communicator, the pillow is more preferable.
A moment more of fumbling - it's early and, to be honest, he's gotten lazy - and the device turns on with a ping!. But before he can so much as growl an angry what into it, an automated voice joins the sound of speeders rushing by and the general noise of the city.
"0400.8224.Aby8."
To anyone else the strange combination of numbers and letters would make no sense. To him, it's directions. Directions he's been waiting on since they landed on this planet over seventy-two hours ago.
Now he could finally get this meeting over with.
"Revan, shut that thing off," he hears Kira growl beside him before burrowing herself beneath the pillows and blankets again. He pretends not to hear the part where she grumbles 'see if I let you talk me into this again' - because five months pregnant and she can be a real schutta - before the only sound in the room is the beep of his communicator again.
He's stumbling from the bed before he can get another pillow to the face or worse and grabs the thing from the desk, letting the door whoosh quietly shut behind him as he walks out onto the balcony. The cool of the night hits him like a bucket of water to the face and he thinks, vaguely, as he struggles with the switch of the communicator, the pillow is more preferable.
A moment more of fumbling - it's early and, to be honest, he's gotten lazy - and the device turns on with a ping!. But before he can so much as growl an angry what into it, an automated voice joins the sound of speeders rushing by and the general noise of the city.
"0400.8224.Aby8."
To anyone else the strange combination of numbers and letters would make no sense. To him, it's directions. Directions he's been waiting on since they landed on this planet over seventy-two hours ago.
Now he could finally get this meeting over with.