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Double OOM (ooh.)
Dec. 1st, 2005 04:03 pm Coruscant. Ten years after the Battle of Malachor V, when Atton Rand is thirty-one.
Atton blinked.
"Urgh," He had had far too much to drink the night before, he thought. He had a vague memory of pazaak, bite marks, getting undressed and a lot of other stuff, which Atton suspected involved small board games from Corellia in some shape or form, but he couldn't be certain. For this reason, he added: "Guh." To his growing and sizeable list of incomprehensible sounds.
Rubbing his eyes and running a hand through his hair, he tugged his clothes on and looked around for Aeryn.
"Huh." He muttered when she was nowhere to be found, heading straight to the cargo bay and towards the closet door that lead back to Milliways, tugging it open and stepping into ... the closet.
Wait, that's not right.
Atton stepped out again, closing the door, opening it again and peering in. Yep, still a closet, which is really the last thing Atton expected to see on the other side of this closet door. He stepped into the closet, closing the door behind it before opening it again and heading out into the cargo bay. Still a cargo bay. Still a closet.
Atton cursed in every single language he knew.
A Republic capitol ship that the mun has currently not decided on a name for. Three years before the Battle of Malachor V, when the human that would later be called Atton Rand, but is currently called Jaq, is eighteen.
Jaq was not entirely sure why he was here, and dressed in his best, and more importantly, itchiest uniform. He figured that somebody was having a funeral, but he couldn't for the life of him figure out who.
As the man doing the ceremony read out the name of somebody who Jaq didn't know, but was pretty certain he should, Jaq did his best to look solemn and grim. The attempt fell flat on it's face, as Jaq instead looked just a bit nonplussed, really.
Jaq didn't - couldn't - focus on the dead person for long, and his attention wandered to just how horribly itchy and how hot the capitol ship was, and how the person next to him had a very nice chronometer that Jaq was not going to steal. He wasn't. Really, he wasn't. He had been being a respectable young man for two years now (well, one and a half) and was absolutely not prone to pickpocketing at all.
But should the chronometer just slip accidentally down Jaq's sleeve after becoming accidentally undone, Jaq could hardly be blamed.
He didn't even know what he was going to use it for. It wasn't as if he didn't have one of his own, and it wasn't as if it wouldn't be noticed that he suddenly had a shiny new one that looked suspiciously like somebody else's that had just gone missing. There was no point in taking it. None at all.
But maybe he could borrow it? No, no, Jaq was not going to take it, he was going to step away from where the man with the shiny thing was standing and to the other end of the funeral.
Except that the service had ended now and people were leaving and Jaq was just standing there, staring at the shiny thing. It wasn't till somebody weeping brushed his shoulder that he realised he was free to go and hurried out, down the corridor at speeds normally reserved for fast ships and tropical predators and to his door, pushing it open.
Atton blinked.
"Urgh," He had had far too much to drink the night before, he thought. He had a vague memory of pazaak, bite marks, getting undressed and a lot of other stuff, which Atton suspected involved small board games from Corellia in some shape or form, but he couldn't be certain. For this reason, he added: "Guh." To his growing and sizeable list of incomprehensible sounds.
Rubbing his eyes and running a hand through his hair, he tugged his clothes on and looked around for Aeryn.
"Huh." He muttered when she was nowhere to be found, heading straight to the cargo bay and towards the closet door that lead back to Milliways, tugging it open and stepping into ... the closet.
Wait, that's not right.
Atton stepped out again, closing the door, opening it again and peering in. Yep, still a closet, which is really the last thing Atton expected to see on the other side of this closet door. He stepped into the closet, closing the door behind it before opening it again and heading out into the cargo bay. Still a cargo bay. Still a closet.
Atton cursed in every single language he knew.
A Republic capitol ship that the mun has currently not decided on a name for. Three years before the Battle of Malachor V, when the human that would later be called Atton Rand, but is currently called Jaq, is eighteen.
Jaq was not entirely sure why he was here, and dressed in his best, and more importantly, itchiest uniform. He figured that somebody was having a funeral, but he couldn't for the life of him figure out who.
As the man doing the ceremony read out the name of somebody who Jaq didn't know, but was pretty certain he should, Jaq did his best to look solemn and grim. The attempt fell flat on it's face, as Jaq instead looked just a bit nonplussed, really.
Jaq didn't - couldn't - focus on the dead person for long, and his attention wandered to just how horribly itchy and how hot the capitol ship was, and how the person next to him had a very nice chronometer that Jaq was not going to steal. He wasn't. Really, he wasn't. He had been being a respectable young man for two years now (well, one and a half) and was absolutely not prone to pickpocketing at all.
But should the chronometer just slip accidentally down Jaq's sleeve after becoming accidentally undone, Jaq could hardly be blamed.
He didn't even know what he was going to use it for. It wasn't as if he didn't have one of his own, and it wasn't as if it wouldn't be noticed that he suddenly had a shiny new one that looked suspiciously like somebody else's that had just gone missing. There was no point in taking it. None at all.
But maybe he could borrow it? No, no, Jaq was not going to take it, he was going to step away from where the man with the shiny thing was standing and to the other end of the funeral.
Except that the service had ended now and people were leaving and Jaq was just standing there, staring at the shiny thing. It wasn't till somebody weeping brushed his shoulder that he realised he was free to go and hurried out, down the corridor at speeds normally reserved for fast ships and tropical predators and to his door, pushing it open.
