Armand Temi
Orphan
Ever since the intriguing night of the Galactic Alliance Ball on Sullust, where Sylvia glimpsed her fellow Rogue pilots carousing, drinking, laughing and socializing, she felt distinctly like she was lacking in an extremely important skill.
Dancing.
Or to put it more succinctly, dancing well. Her current dance moves resembled a frightened nuna with its legs tied together.
But the other female pilots – and yes, some of the men – they danced as though their lives depended upon it. Slow motion, quick steps, sultry and smooth, Sylvia gazed upon the strobe-lit dance floor that night with a mixture of awe and envy. Some of the Rogues were seriously holomodel beautiful, and it appeared they knew it too, showing off their tanned, toned bodies at any chance they got. The flirting had been aggressive to say the least.
You have no room to talk, Devil, Sylva thought. You jumped right into bed with Marcus easily that night on Sorceras, and here you are judging the other ladies for just having fun. But no more Funky Nuna moves, Sylvia. Today that all changes.
She entered the Heartbeat House dance studio, an inconvenient location for the Alliance pilot, but she’d heard the instructors who taught the sultry dance from Tatooine, called Shaabi, were the best in the galaxy. Gazing at a holodisplay of the exotic dance being performed, she smiled.
If I could dance like that at the end of all of this, I’d be the happiest Rogue in the world. Of course she was taking the beginner’s class. The redhead pilot, call sign Red Devil, knew that she had a long, road ahead of her which meant flexing some muscles that she’d probably never used before. Literally.
Maybe ones in her belly if the holodisplay held any indication what the actual dance was like.
[member="Joza Perl"]
Dancing.
Or to put it more succinctly, dancing well. Her current dance moves resembled a frightened nuna with its legs tied together.
But the other female pilots – and yes, some of the men – they danced as though their lives depended upon it. Slow motion, quick steps, sultry and smooth, Sylvia gazed upon the strobe-lit dance floor that night with a mixture of awe and envy. Some of the Rogues were seriously holomodel beautiful, and it appeared they knew it too, showing off their tanned, toned bodies at any chance they got. The flirting had been aggressive to say the least.
You have no room to talk, Devil, Sylva thought. You jumped right into bed with Marcus easily that night on Sorceras, and here you are judging the other ladies for just having fun. But no more Funky Nuna moves, Sylvia. Today that all changes.
She entered the Heartbeat House dance studio, an inconvenient location for the Alliance pilot, but she’d heard the instructors who taught the sultry dance from Tatooine, called Shaabi, were the best in the galaxy. Gazing at a holodisplay of the exotic dance being performed, she smiled.
If I could dance like that at the end of all of this, I’d be the happiest Rogue in the world. Of course she was taking the beginner’s class. The redhead pilot, call sign Red Devil, knew that she had a long, road ahead of her which meant flexing some muscles that she’d probably never used before. Literally.
Maybe ones in her belly if the holodisplay held any indication what the actual dance was like.
[member="Joza Perl"]