Wedge is, actually, a very happy Corellian.

He has quite a few reasons to be a very happy Corellian - he's spent the last week in the cockpit of his beloved X-wing actually flying, rather than just using the poor girl as a transport between capital ships. Emtrey is on the fritz, meaning they're having to 'make do' with a alternate, and much saner ( Read more... )

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

The problem with living in the Firehouse is that you don't live alone. Normally, this isn't a problem. Four guys of different clothing sizes and proclivities (and, if we are being honest, questionable taste) aren't going to cause each other too much trouble on laundry day, for the most part. The problems arise from other things- pranks, for example ( Read more... )

Sometimes, the time pockets upstairs can be interesting. Iella, for instance, thinks it's been a few days since the last time she was in the bar proper for any extended length of time, rather than the week plus that has actually passed ( Read more... )

[OOM: Upstairs, millitimed to the 14th, Iella fills Wedge in. Zekka Thyne had better have one hell of a hiding place.]

Iella doesn't quite storm through the door from the lake and to the Bar. She has better control of herself than that -- though it's a near thing. Her back and shoulders are covered in snow, her scarf and hat askew. One side of her face sports an angry, bright red mark, and the other is already beginning to bruise, dark and ugly ( Read more... )

It's cold outside, but Iella thinks that's fine. Living on Coruscant, the city planet, it's nice to see trees glistening with icicles, to walk in the hush. Wrapped up (stylishly) in a warm, long red coat, matching hat, boots, and a white scarf down by the lake, she smiles to see the ice shining here and there on the water, the snow in the rigging ( Read more... )

Occasionally there are downsides to commanding one of the most feared and revered fighter squadrons in the fleet ( Read more... )

Iella enters the bar humming quietly to herself (a lively Corellian reel, if one is being specific), with her nose buried in a datapad. Her footsteps and the tune gradually slow, then stop. The datapad lowers. Her eyes flick up ( 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... )