Corvetta Salvo
Always Crankin'
It was not every day she got word from her cousin. In fact, it seemed like she got word every day about her cousin, but almost never anything from the woman herself. Not even a little note. Nothing about the trial even, save from Gen's daughter.
At least her clients were faster at contacting her. Corvetta was not exactly famous, but her rep was pretty well-maintained as a skilled pilot and about as upright of a human being as a smuggler could be. What reputation her assistant for this job had was kind of an unknown. This [member="Alyssa"] chick seemed to have an alright head on her shoulders, judging by their brief conversation over the Holonet. But there were always those people who looked impressive up front and not so much in action.
Docked in Bay D-14 at Silver Station for the layover to Maramere, Corvetta and the lovely YT-2400 vessel would hardly strike anyone as a outstanding combination upon first glance. Just another spacer and a weathered freighter traveling the spacelanes and hauling provisions or knickknacks across the stars to some other world, where the whole thing would rinse and repeat as the ship was unloaded and loaded. It was not an incredibly impressive lifestyle to many, but to Corvetta, it was just life. She had been born in space. She was meant to live in space.
Flask of Mantellian brandy (her absolute favorite) in hand, the youthful flygirl leaned back against the landing gear of her ship, legs crossed at the ankles, and took a generous couple of swigs. Not too much, lest she be tipsy by the time she hit the cockpit. But enough to keep her blood on the move and her inviting smile glued to her face.
At least her clients were faster at contacting her. Corvetta was not exactly famous, but her rep was pretty well-maintained as a skilled pilot and about as upright of a human being as a smuggler could be. What reputation her assistant for this job had was kind of an unknown. This [member="Alyssa"] chick seemed to have an alright head on her shoulders, judging by their brief conversation over the Holonet. But there were always those people who looked impressive up front and not so much in action.
Docked in Bay D-14 at Silver Station for the layover to Maramere, Corvetta and the lovely YT-2400 vessel would hardly strike anyone as a outstanding combination upon first glance. Just another spacer and a weathered freighter traveling the spacelanes and hauling provisions or knickknacks across the stars to some other world, where the whole thing would rinse and repeat as the ship was unloaded and loaded. It was not an incredibly impressive lifestyle to many, but to Corvetta, it was just life. She had been born in space. She was meant to live in space.
Flask of Mantellian brandy (her absolute favorite) in hand, the youthful flygirl leaned back against the landing gear of her ship, legs crossed at the ankles, and took a generous couple of swigs. Not too much, lest she be tipsy by the time she hit the cockpit. But enough to keep her blood on the move and her inviting smile glued to her face.