"ATTENSHUN MI'WAYS BAR!" Wedge calls out in the voice he normally reserves for calling across a busy hanger deck. "TYCHO CELCHU OF TH'ROGUE SQUADRON IS BUTTLESS!"
When trying to win an argument, volume counts for a lot. So sayeth the drunk and those under the age of three.
Iella Wessiri has had quite enough of listening to the muffled drunken voices from out in the hallway, thank you very much. It is entirely unnecessary to be this loud, this early in the morning.
She waited for Wedge, went and looked for him through the bar earlier, and he never came back up to the room. With the people loose in the bar who are loose in the bar, and after her meeting with Zekka Thyne earlier today, she feels entirely justified in her worry.
All of this may help explain why she wrenches open the room door and walks quickly down the hall, wearing a tunic that is clearly not hers and a hastily thrown-on pair of trousers, her hair mussed beyond all possibility of salvation.
But then she hears that last sentence.
Iella turns the corner in the hallway and she just-- stands there.
Iella's expression is possibly growing less black, more put-upon and vaguely amused.
"Hi, Tycho," she says, resigned (and ignoring the fact that he is now sprawled in the middle of the hall and swearing breathlessly about cruelty and already havin' been hitten ... hit ... hitten there earlier), and then there's a flash of a quickly-hidden smile at Wedge's last words. " 'Your' lady, Wedge Antilles?" she asks, eyebrows raised. "I didn't realize I belonged to anyone."
Iella talks over the off-key singing. "Ale or whiskey, you reek," she says frankly, taking a few steps closer to the pair of them. "What were you doing?"
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"Am not," Tycho says, with great dignity.
'Cept, not.
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When trying to win an argument, volume counts for a lot. So sayeth the drunk and those under the age of three.
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She waited for Wedge, went and looked for him through the bar earlier, and he never came back up to the room. With the people loose in the bar who are loose in the bar, and after her meeting with Zekka Thyne earlier today, she feels entirely justified in her worry.
All of this may help explain why she wrenches open the room door and walks quickly down the hall, wearing a tunic that is clearly not hers and a hastily thrown-on pair of trousers, her hair mussed beyond all possibility of salvation.
But then she hears that last sentence.
Iella turns the corner in the hallway and she just-- stands there.
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"AW, VAPE OFF."
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He sees the absolute vision of beauty that is Iella Wessiri.
Yes, he'd even think that if he wasn't drunk out of his everloving mind.
"Iella! Look Tycho, s'Iella!" He beams sappily at her. "You're beautiful"
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She has a hand settled firmly on one hip.
She is also saying nothing.
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Once he does, the laughter starts again.
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Well. He means to. He actually connects more in the mid-abdomen range.
"No laughin', mynock. S'my lady. The mechanic said so."
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"Hi, Tycho," she says, resigned (and ignoring the fact that he is now sprawled in the middle of the hall and swearing breathlessly about cruelty and already havin' been hitten ... hit ... hitten there earlier), and then there's a flash of a quickly-hidden smile at Wedge's last words. " 'Your' lady, Wedge Antilles?" she asks, eyebrows raised. "I didn't realize I belonged to anyone."
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He also may have just compared Iella to a large and somewhat corrupt planet.
It was meant in love, Iella.
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"Okay," she decides. "No more Whyren's for you tonight. I could smell you two from the Outer Rim."
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Pause.
"Skullcrusheeeeeeers, they'll crush your skuuuuuuuull..."
Possibly, he is making this little ditty up on the spot. Possibly.
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