Private Dead Girl Walking

[Reima Vitalis]

BILBRINGI
YARDVIEW ARMS HOTEL
THE CONSTELLATION SUITE
[MOOD]
​

For Reima Vitalis' money, there was no worse way to to start a message with We need to talk. She regretted employing the line against Wedge Draav -- but in her experience, nothing guaranteed a response quite like We need to talk. She had left the details vague -- cowardice on her part, sure in the knowledge that if she had looked into his face on a vidcall she would have backed away from the ledge -- but hoped the enigma and urgency in her voice would prompt him.

Even now, as the agreed-upon hour approached, Reima wasn't sure he'd come. She paced to the window of the large sitting area -- a wall of glass, really, offering panoramic views of the shipyard. Hulls in process were scattered about. Not the must luxurious view, she had to admit, but one knew what one was getting when one came to Bilbringi.

Kezz -- Oliver Keswick to strangers -- was standing near the holovision, a folder of documents in hand, opened but unread. Reima's principal private secretary had no way of knowing what was about to happen. If he had, he might have tipped someone off, someone like Petyr Kenat, He was instead focusing on the true reason for the meeting, the coverage of Reima's visit to the shipyard, looking to cement a supply relationship between Bilbringi and the Tregessary Naval Shipyard. As part of a good will blitz, she had come with a cargo of rare metal alloys from the Heirate for the shipyard, toured it and talked with the workers.

"I had my doubts about the hard-hat," Keswick said, eyes glued to the media screen where Reima, looking tall and slim in a navy skirt suit with an ivory blouse, was looking out from under a hi-viz yellow hardhat during a meet-and-greet with shipyard workers. "But it works for you. The Board really did you a favor."

Reima glanced over to the screen, dark eyes critical. "Should have worn trousers," Reima said. "I look like a dilettante."

Whether Oliver Keswick agreed with her assessment would remain unknown, because there was a chirp at his comlink. He folded the closer shut, pulled it out of his pocket. He held it to his ear. "Keswick. Yes. Yes. Is he? She -- " A pause as he looked at Reima, his eyebrows furrowing with an unspoken question. "I will certainly ask Her Royal Highness if she wishes to see Captain Draav." Reima ignored his incredulous look and simply nodded once. "She would. Now?" Another nod. "Yes, that will suit. Very good." He disconnected the line, looked to his employer. "Your chief detective is incandescent, ma'am. Something tells me this isn't a surprise to you."

Reima looked as if she might respond but demurred, turning back to the window and moving fingers around where her engagement ring once sat. Finally, she said: "You can see Wedge in, then you are excused. I'll call you after and we can review the Bilbringi board's proposals." Keswick nodded officiously and bowed from the neck. She self-consciously smoothed her skirt, tucked her blouse, and switched off the media screen.

If she could manage not to throw up, she might just survive this day.

Wedge Draav​

 

[Wedge Draav]

​

BILBRINGI
YARDVIEW ARMS HOTEL
THE CONSTELLATION SUITE
[TILL YOUR NAMES NEXT TO MINE]

Reima Vitalis​

We need to talk.

That echoed in his mind, more than any thunder or any gunshot or any shot in anger that had ripped through him or at him. It wasn't a pretty thing to think about, four words that ripped into his psyche more than any bad idea he ever had. He'd been a mess lately, sure. But who wouldn't, with what he found out the family was saying about him? Reima herself was his anchor, but lately the storms were pulling the ship out to sea too much.

Keswick was the kind of person he never wanted to be around. Kezz, as some people called him, was corporate, an ass-kisser, and subject to the whims of people he claimed to be lesser than. Oliver let him in, and quickly departed. Wedge didn't say a word to him. He'd already been disarmed at the door, a security detail careful to remove any weapons he had on him. He carried a pistol nowadays, and a backup usually. He was a renegade, doing what he could to undermine whoever wronged him in the galaxy, and whoever wronged the galaxy.

He ran a hand across his face. He knew the symptoms of an execution, a firing squad. He knew what was about to happen, but every part of him wanted to pretend it wasn't going to happen. All it took was a look at her left hand. He walked over to the window, out of arm's reach for her. A respectful distance. Even in their tumultuous time apart, he still knew when to be close and when not to be.

"I grew up watching ships being built. Touring the shipyards. Seeing these great big, great mighty machines bein' built from one side of Anaxes..." He unfurled a finger from his pocket. A burn on his hand, traveling up his arm. Smelled like bacta. It'd heal and wouldn't scar with the miracle of bacta and kolto treatments. But it still hurt. That much was obvious. He gestured his finger at the left- "To the other." He sighed deeply, ocean blue eyes watching the shipyards ahead of him. As if taking himself back to that safety of childhood, before the destruction of his entire life, the uprooting of his family. The death of pretty much everyone he ever knew. All he had left, was Reima. His eyes drifted to the folder, and he didn't need to even think about what was in it.

And he was pushing that away, too.

All that pain he carried in him, he couldn't figure out what to do with. But maybe she figured out what to do with him. He was silent for a while. He wanted to disarm the situation. Make it easier for her to say whatever it was she was about to say. Perhaps it was an act of contrition, a mercy. Or maybe he wanted to not feel like the bad guy.

"You can tell your people to stop callin' me Captain, you know. Rank don't mean too much when the Navy don't exist."