Heartfire
Though there was some security, it was hardly enough to do much more than blink as the heavily modified CNV-22 blitzed through the air, burning hot and knifing like a madman drove her yoke. Or, madwoman in this case. A whoop shot out of the young Sedaire as she expertly danced silver-circuit laced hands over controls and the fighter responded as if silk drifting on air over water. Almost as if suddenly the plug was pulled she dove ninety degrees, corkscrewed, and landed on a pad with hardly a lurch. Steam hissed from strained engines and landing gear, but the red-head was smiling from ear to ear.
She had lifted the fighter by legal salvage over a battlefield, and had added her own touches and modifications to it, and loved the thing. The CIS would probably eventually get wind and come after a lifted and restored superiority fighter. But for now she was out of hulks and tramps and behind the stick of something truly capable of her wildest dreams. Wiping grease from her freckles, the pilot swept hair from her eyes and grabbed the photo of her dad and the other man she had came to find. A datapad went into a holster at her thigh where most might carry a gun, and she slung a backpack haphazardly over one shoulder as she disembarked.
The ocean world sung salt and water in her lungs and soul and she breathed deep, taking in a measure of peace before a functionary and his droid came up to her caterwauling about her approach. A wave of her hand and the droid's lights dimed and it went offline. Her eyes narrowed with a fire
Coren Starchaser
would well remember if and when they met, and she held the photo of the two much younger Jedi up to the dock authority type, and pointed to Coren.
"Either take me to see him or that droid's control arm will replace yours, if you catch my drift...I broke no sector laws. I just used my craft to it's best abilities."
Sparks danced from her fingertips, but the authority did well to mostly conceal his terror.
"Right this way..."
Following the figure, she adjusted her leather flight jacket with the Green Devil of Corellia emblazoned on the back, a size or two too large for her, but one of the few things of her fathers he had left with her mother. Now she was here, trying to find the man they said was as close to her father as a brother. Some geezer named Coren.
She had lifted the fighter by legal salvage over a battlefield, and had added her own touches and modifications to it, and loved the thing. The CIS would probably eventually get wind and come after a lifted and restored superiority fighter. But for now she was out of hulks and tramps and behind the stick of something truly capable of her wildest dreams. Wiping grease from her freckles, the pilot swept hair from her eyes and grabbed the photo of her dad and the other man she had came to find. A datapad went into a holster at her thigh where most might carry a gun, and she slung a backpack haphazardly over one shoulder as she disembarked.
The ocean world sung salt and water in her lungs and soul and she breathed deep, taking in a measure of peace before a functionary and his droid came up to her caterwauling about her approach. A wave of her hand and the droid's lights dimed and it went offline. Her eyes narrowed with a fire

"Either take me to see him or that droid's control arm will replace yours, if you catch my drift...I broke no sector laws. I just used my craft to it's best abilities."
Sparks danced from her fingertips, but the authority did well to mostly conceal his terror.
"Right this way..."
Following the figure, she adjusted her leather flight jacket with the Green Devil of Corellia emblazoned on the back, a size or two too large for her, but one of the few things of her fathers he had left with her mother. Now she was here, trying to find the man they said was as close to her father as a brother. Some geezer named Coren.