The door to Milliways opens with more force than usual as Shalla
pushes through it violently, not slowing until she's run a few more steps into the bar. She slides a little when she stops, then stands there for a moment, looking around and blinking. She's wearing the uniform of capital ship personnel, a datapad braced in the sling holding one of
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Comments 85
Medusa is a hunter, when all is said and done, and sharp movements are something that her eyes are designed to take notice of. So, the Gorgon (black snakes blending with black braids, one golden wing unfurled as she combs through the feathers), stops and looks at Shalla, sharply.
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Golden wings and snakes are hard to miss. And hard to forget, even in a galaxy with millions of amazing species.
"I know you," Shalla says thoughtfully. "Starts with an M, right?"
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"Shalla. We only met the once."
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Wes never changes much.
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Innocently, she takes a sip of her water.
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It is almost entirely unsurprising that Shalla is at the right distance and angle.
He throws his milkshake-y straw in her direction.
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She glares at it for a moment before shrugging and licking it off.
"'s no way to greet me, Janson."
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But Inyri's busy trying to remember the last thing they said to each other here. Was it angry, was it sad? Were they friends? Was Inyri using her in another ploy against Wes...when had everything smoothed out between them?
It bothers her that she can't remember how they were. And then suddenly, it clicks. When she had been shot, weeks (months) ago in underlevel Coruscant, and they'd spoken at the hospital. So not bad...but not good either.
"Long time no see," She murmurs from behind Shalla, bangs dropping into her eyes and her voice cracking slightly.
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Four years on her end, but time's different on both sides.
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"How's four years sound?"
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Sam remembers her, even if he hasn't seen her in a while.
"Hey, Shalla, where've you been?" He's holding an ice cream again. It's pink and white. "And what happened to your arm?"
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"Home," she tells him. "And I broke it. Some mission or another."
She smiles at him.
"How're you?"
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"I don't approve," he informs her solemnly. "Of the arm, I mean. You'll get dented. Hasn't put a dent in your prettiness, though."
A short pause whilst he negotiates a particularly tricky bit of melting ice cream.
"I'm all right. Still Bound. And bored. You?"
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She grins, tossing a salute with her other arm.
"I'll try to be more careful in the future," she assures him. "But I'm okay. Been a busy four years and all, but still alive."
Which is a plus.
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