For the Last Time...

[Juwiela Melec]

Once again Juwiela was repairing her ship, this one relatively minor compared to those she had orchestrated in the past. There was no engine damage, no issues with the weaponry, and no shorted circuits. It was the computer system within the fighter itself that had malfunctioned, more specifically that which allowed her to perceive just what was wrong with the vessel in the first place. Ironically enough it was that one function that had been damaged, and with the amount of time it had taken to set up in the first place it was no surprise that the repairs took a few hours. Not that she had a better way to spend her time. There were no sims to run, no new pilots to brief. This was some kind of RnR.

A sigh hissed from between her teeth as she rolled out from beneath the ship, lowering it from where it had been suspended, the landing gear impacting with the hangar floor with a metallic clang. This was a routine she had completed countless times before, and each movement was well-practiced. With the help of a few of the ground crew she pushed the ladder that allowed her to climb up into the cockpit across the hangar, not bothering with anything as formal as a flightsuit. Instead she made a final check of the ship itself before ascending the ladder, signalling for it to be moved away. This was no true combat scenario, and so no real regards to rank or formality was truly necessary.

The top of the cockpit slid down, sealing in the oxygen with a quiet hiss. The sound was ignored, her concern instead on the pre-flight checks and what beeps and chirps of affirmation should have and did accompany them. That was one sign that she had done something right, at least. Flicking a switch she opened a line on the comms that would connect with those in charge of the fleet. "This is Rogue Leader, taking out the Blind Gambit for a test flight. Nothing to be concerned with. Over and out." That was one probable accident avoided, and with that same thumbs up to the ground crew as always she was cleared for takeoff. Time to figure this thing out.

After a few maneuvers it became apparent that something still wasn't quite right. Either that, or she had accidentally tinkered with something a touch more important in those two hours spent fixing everything up. It wouldn't be the first time, nor would it be the last, she supposed. There was no use in staying up in the air any longer than necessary, and so begrudgingly she brought the fighter in for a landing right where it had previously set, foregoing the ladder and jumping down out of the cockpit, flipping once in the air to do nothing more than show off, landing lightly on her feet. "Still got work to do. Won't be leaving for awhile." She spoke to herself just as much as the others about, once more reaching for her tools, signalling for the ship to be raised up once more.

[member="Corvetta Salvo"]

 

[Corvetta Salvo]

Drinking was always a habit of Corvetta's even when she was having a fine time of things. Alcohol was her sustenance. So it should have been no surprise when a spunky pilot in clothes that might possibly have been too dirty for even the most ragged of the ragtag Rebels came walking in with a flask of Mantellian brandy in hand. Except most of the Rebels were probably not familiar with the First Benefactor's awkward cousin, so they actually were a little surprised to see this chick swaggering in with her alcoholic beverage.

Corvetta's lucky cargo pants flopped across the hangar floor and dragged behind her heels in all their smudged and stained glory, ankle cuffs shredded from years of wear. The grease smears on her white shirt made her look all the more uncivilized. And who was to say she was civilized? This flygirl had been sailing the stars since the day she was born--with no exaggeration. She was awkward in many ways, but her personality might be considered one of the brightest in the crowd, even if she was far from the brightest in mentality. A lifetime of cultural isolation made her both embracing and somewhat apprehensive of every culture she encountered. She would not trade her freighter life for anything. Though some would recommend she did, all the same.

Her ship, a Corellian YT-2400 lovingly--and perhaps unfortunately quite appropriately--named Lost Cause, sat atop its landing gear in a corner of the Praesitlyn hangar like the sleek and scuffed-up cargo vessel it was. It took a lot more space than the typical starfighter found in this massive hall of ships. It felt like it was taunting the rest of the spacecraft in there. "My hull is bigger than yours." And that was Corvetta's ship.

Still, it was a long promenade down the rows of parked fighter squadrons, and the smuggler had to occasionally alter her course to avoid running into mechanic crews. A fancy sort of fighter had just landed not a couple pads down from the Lost Cause and the grimy pilot made sure to keep out of its zone. She turned her eye for only a few seconds to gaze at the majestic blue skies of this isolated world, its plains stretching for kilometers until meeting forest beyond the horizon. The Alliance had helped turn Praesitlyn's capital into something more than just a modernized village, but beyond Krasni Gorod was little more than wilderness. It made for great views, but Corvetta liked to be around more people.

Out of the corner of her eye, the sporty flygirl caught a glimpse of a figure launching from the recently-landed craft's cockpit and smacking their feet against the floor. That was a hotshot thing to do, so it was hardly unusual--except that the person who had just done that was wearing a blindfold. "Holy frak!" Corvetta gasped, gait increasing as she veered back towards the returned flyer. "Were you just in that coop?" The heck.

[member="Juwiela Melec"]

 

[Juwiela Melec]

For someone who didn't have eyes in the first place, Juwiela was certainly capable of giving quizzical looks when the situation arose. It was such an aforementioned look that [member="Corvetta Salvo"] received at the question she posed. The slang wasn't what puzzled her, as she had heard far more obscure language used and comprehended it just as easily. It was the need for such an inquiry that brought on her confusion. After all, most everyone in or affiliated with the Alliance knew her as Rogue Leader, so her being in the cockpit shouldn't have been a surprise to anyone, really. This was either a greenhorn, or someone that didn't quite understand her method of sight in the first place.

"Uh, yeah, I was." A slight smile turned up the corners of her mouth. "I'm Commander of the Starfighter Corps. It's in the job description." Her tone was conversational, the use of her formal title meant to dissuade any confusion that may have come up had the other woman not been familiar with how the hierarchy within the Alliance functioned. Deciding a proper introduction was in order she offered her hand to shake. "Name's Juwiela Melec. I'm a bit of an old face around here. Who might you be?" Her first guess would have been an allied pilot of some sort, due to nothing more than how she carried herself and the way she spoke. Pilots knew other pilots on sight, most times, and this was no exception.

As she spoke she continued to work, rummaging through the small tool box she had amassed for use in the hangar, otherwise carrying a far more portable set with her on the go. "I can still see, if that's what you're worried about. Just not how most people do." Having picked out what tools were necessary she set them to the side. "Instead of having physical eyes I see through the Force. Means I can't pick out colors, holograms and things like that, but up in the air that doesn't matter. What does is how well you can fly, and that's what us Rogues are here for." They were one of the best squadrons in the galaxy, in her mind, having undertaken some of the most dangerous missions in the name of freedom.

Taking her time she once more returned to her position on her back beneath her fighter, continuing on the repairs. For a time she was silent, intent only on fixing her ship. But the quiet didn't last forever, as she wasn't one to make others stand around awkwardly while she worked. "So, are you a pilot too? Guess the only reason I'm asking is because most people don't hang around here just because they can. Even I'm out of the hangar when I'm not on duty." She pushed out from under the starfighter, standing and wiping the grease from her hands off on the mechanic's trousers she wore. "And, well, you talk and walk like one of us as well. Figured I'd ask."