Private The Holly and the Ivy | Closed

[Reima Vitalis]

South Suffolk - Aegis
The Renascent Republic
2 Days Until Life Day​

The sleepy little train station bore a bottle-green sign with serifed gold letters identifying it proudly as South Suffolk Station. The station shared its name with the small village that stretched out from it, the terminus of the magtrain line that connected the continent, with all roads -- and magtrain rails -- leading to New Sterandel, the capital city of the Republic, and the hub of all commerce, culture, and political power on Aegis. South Suffolk was at the opposite end of the continent from New Sterandel, likely by design. A trivial journey by magtrain, though Reima Vitalis was still slightly irked as she emerged from the first class coach that an exception could not be made to allow them to land at the private spaceport near Suffolk House. The palace-cum-fortress was ostensibly the seat of her stepfather's duchy, though it functioned as the place where the royal family gathered for holidays (when they were on speaking terms).

Winter had settled lightly over South Suffolk. The town was coastal, so snow was reasonably rare but not uncommon. The stone buildings of the town were attractively frosted, and the weak afternoon sun filtering through the marine layer was doing little to address it. It reminded Reima of Life Day in Herevan, when the family bundled up and went to church at the Temple of the Balance in the village and that, she assumed, was rather the point.

Reima half-turned to look for Wedge. The couple had been the sole occupants of the first class carriage; the rest of the train had been sparsely populated enough that by the time the magtrain had eased to a stop at South Suffolk Station there were only four other people getting off where Reima could see what she thought was a young family -- mother, father, two children of indeterminant gender thanks to the fact that they were bundled from eyes to toes in enough winterwear that they looked like little pigs-in-blankets -- emerging from a train car which in the old days would have been called second class but these days was called the main cabin. "Did you lose something?" she asked him, leaning her perfectly-coiffed head into the cabin, a playful note in her voice. A felt fedora, the same hunter green as her exquisitely-tailored coat, sat at a jaunty little angle atop her hair, pinned in place against the cold breeze. Already the chill in the winter afternoon had given her cheeks an attractive rosy glimmer, her nose nearly shining.

Already she could see the porters unloading the luggage. Reima had overpacked, she feared, with two large trunks and some cases for accessories and hats, but it was better to have it and not need it than vice versa. Reima wondered idly whether Wedge found her entirely ridiculous; she couldn't blame him if he did. Something about her mother set Reima on edge, her natural neuroses taking a lethal edge where Her Majesty was concerned. She was only a little anxious about Wedge; the truth was she thought he was precisely the type of man her mother would admire. He reminded Reima of her 'uncle' Pierce -- really, her mother's first cousin -- who had been a fixture in her life from her birth until his death during the Ssi-Ruuvi siege of Bakura. Pierce was an aristocrat, but never as grand as his cousin, never as proper, and much more of an enjoyer of joie de vivre, with a certain libertine bent.

But most of all, and most relevant to his comparison with Wedge, one hell of a pilot.

And the reason she felt he would be fine was that it was Wedge. He was always fine. He had already taken a rhetorical hatchet to the Galactic Alliance Federal Assembly, of which her mother was a member. His sun did not rise and set on whether some privileged aristocrat approved of him. It was one of the things Reima most admired about him, and the one she wished the most she could adapt.

Reima pulled her leather gloves out of her pocket and worked her hands into first one, then the other. When Wedge emerged from the coach, her hand would slide into his effortlessly, as if it had been made to fit. Her other hand slipped into her handbag to find a few bills to tip the porters. She looked up at Wedge, eyes narrowing a little as she studied his face. "Are you warm enough? I don't know if winter on Anaxes would prepare someone for winter here. It's almost mild compared to Herevan." Natasi had been kind enough to send cars to collect them: a chauffeured sedan for the pair and a sort of van for the luggage. They arrived just as the porters had finished loading up their luggage. Reima pressed some folded bills into the head porter's hand with her thanks and then climbed into the back of the sedan.

"It's probably too late to turn around now," Reima murmured to Wedge. She leaned over to kiss his cheek fondly. "Probably."

Wedge Draav | Natasi Fortan | George Vitalis​

 

[Wedge Draav]

Quiet, contemplative, and- perfect.
​

Life Day.

For Wedge's large family, a blue-collar family at that, it was a tumultuous event, wrought with headaches of planning, seating arrangements, food, and of course, travel plans once the children got older. For Wedge, however, he hadn't been home in quite some time. The Alliance kept him away, and the frequent wars and battles meant that even if he was able to come home-

Well, sometimes he didn't feel like facing his family after fighting a war for three months. They understood, or sometimes, they didn't bother to question him on the lie. Wedge was more focused on the magtrain than Reima's worrying or posturing- though he stopped to smile at the love of his life. She was wind-kissed and rosy cheeked. She was beautiful in every which way, inside and out. He stopped looking at her for a moment, enjoying the magtrain. And more importantly, First Class.

Wedge Draav, even with all his Alliance Officer money, had never been in First Class, for anything. Ever. Not on his own, at least. Not privately. Sure, the Alliance Officer accommodations were sometimes, if ever, nice. But he'd never been in a fancy ride like this, decadent and classy. Reima grew up with it, so Wedge wasn't even comprehending the family until Reima said something.

Two kids? He looked over at Reima, flicking his eyes up and down at her. Two kids was a pipe dream. He was going to- he raised his eyebrows at her, then the kids. A subtle undertone, a smirk. A playful look. He said a lot to her without saying anything. Like how he wanted to make a few kids with her before having them.

Plus, Reima would make a great mom, despite her reservations. The train stopped, and a flurry of movement that Wedge wasn't used to happened. Anaxes was by no means cold in the winter. The winter wasn't so much a winter- the planet was mostly plains, and only at the poles was there any serious snow- besides, the shipyards in space, Wedge didn't spend a terribly large amount of time planet-side as a child until he was older, and even then, he was near a spaceport- and rather in the middle of the planet.

With all that being said, Wedge was pressed up against the glass. He had only known mildly cold winds during a planet's "winter". He had never seen snow on Life Day, much less frost on the window. He turned to Reima, his mind finally processing what she said.

"Found it, actually."

He said happily, turning back to the window as the Magtrain came to a stop. And then the hustle and bustle- but not much by him. Used to luggage being in a bag or plasteel box, the idea of someone else handling his luggage. It was foreign, alien even. Perhaps that's why they looked at him oddly, watching the Porters. Perhaps there was some part of him that wanted to pull away from Reima, and help load his luggage- modest compared to his lady's. But he stood, watching as another facet of Reima's family came into view:

They didn't pick them up from the station, but they sent someone to. It felt cold to Wedge. Lacking the embrace of home. He looked around the Sedan, the doubt, reserves and quiet contemplation melting away when she kissed him. He smiled when she did, turning to face her.

"Can't be that bad." His eyes went from Reima to the window. Wedge seemed out of place, uncomfortable. If Reima wasn't there he'd be bouncing his leg, a nervous tick of his. He rubbed his chin, watching the outside world before turning back to Reima.

"All this- this. Is a lot for me to understand, wrap my head around. Not that it's bad, or you're bad for growin' up like it. Can't help it, I know, but-"
He felt comfortable telling her how he felt. A rarity among pilots, and more importantly, among Wedge.

"Pretty lady, this is a whole lot of shit for me to get used to."

Reima Vitalis

​

 

[Reima Vitalis]

Reima rolled her neck a little, her soft chestnut waves brushing over her shoulder, working out some of the tension in her neck and shoulder. She reached over instinctively, her gloved hand on his leg just above his knee. "It is a lot," she concurred with him. She wanted to tell him that it was a lot for her, too, but she felt it was important that he have some sort of anchoring point for this visit -- a place to look if he was ever uncertain or feeling overwhelmed by it all. She could do that for him. It was the least she could do.

It had been different when she was growing up. She was a toddler when her mother died over Dosuun; she didn't remember any of the Life Days that had come before that, nor the few that came after before she was sent away to school. By then it was too dangerous for her to be on Galidraan, with the resistance scapegoating her parents' families for their role in negotiating Galidraan's position in the Sith Empire. Mostly alone at a cold boarding school hadn't been quite as glamorous as all this.

"She means well," Reima murmured to Wedge, squeezing his leg. "The train -- the car -- it's not to intimidate us. This is really her trying to make us comfortable. I suspect if she'd had her way, we would have landed at the house instead of all this rigamarole, but there are some things about which even a Supreme Leader must compromise." She sighed and nestled into him, shifting her hand to draw his arm over her shoulder, wrapping him around her trim frame like a glorious mink. Her head settled in the crook of his shoulder. Almost like they were on the couch in his flat or hers.

What a lovely thought that was, however fleeting. Wedge Draav, some Atrisian takeaway, a bottle of plum wine, some holo, and --

Outside the windows, the little town's buildings had gone from from tightly clustered, to spaced out, to sparse, and then they were gone. And before too long, ahead of them in the distance the many chimneys and spires of Suffolk House appeared over treetops. The speeder crossed through a wooded area and onto the coastal moors, where the house itself came into view. It looked old, but of course nothing on Aegis was that old. The building had been designed by Natasi and her now-husband, the Duke of Suffolk, the latter's influence ensuring that the place was a nigh-impenetrable fortress, though it was to anyone looking merely a comfortable if slightly sprawling country pile.

The speeder slowed as it crossed the rolling bridge and maneuvered through the gate into the circular drive, taking a wide swing so that it stopped parallel to the great stone porch, where two slender brunettes were emerging into the cool afternoon sun; Natasi wore a dark burgundy coat and George in tweeds. "Oh -- George was able to make it after all," Reima said pleasantly. "Well -- it will be nice for you not to be outnumbered. You'll like him." She straightened as the chauffer opened the door and scooted out, waiting for Wedge to join her before crunching across the gravel drive. They'd barely left the car and already there were footmen unloading the luggage, everything running like a well-oiled machine. Reima had barely had a moment to bob a shallow curtsy to her mother before Natasi's arms were around her; the open display of affection was something of a surprise. The two women exchanged kisses on either cheek before Reima introduced Wedge.

"Mother, George -- may I present Captain Wedge Draav of Revenant Squadron?" Reima gestured to her companion. The my romantic companion part went unspoken to spare Reima and Wedge their blushes.

Natasi released Reima's arm and extended a slender hand to the Captain. "Captain. How do you do? We haven't formally met, but I was present for your testimony to the Senate after Coruscant. I was very impressed," the Supreme Leader said, clasping his hand with both of hers in yet another gesture that some would consider uncharacteristically warm. The smile on her lips reached her dark eyes, twinkling as if to indicate that the two shared some secret connection from that session -- probably Natasi's not-particularly-veiled distaste for the jumped up general who had also been present. "George, say hello to Captain Draav."

"Hello, Captain Draav," said George genially, who, while waiting his turn to offer the pilot a handshake in greeting, had exchanged kisses with his sister and a brief embrace. "Not letting this one get you into trouble, I hope." He jutted his chin towards his sister.

"We ought to get you out of the cold," Natasi said solicitously, gesturing broadly towards the broad double front door to the manor. "There's hot tea and brandy in the drawing room. George, darling, take Captain Draav through." The two women brought up the rear, while George Vitalis guided Wedge in. A swarm of footmen, led by the butler, came to take coats and hats and gloves now that they were inside.

"I'll give you and Reima a proper tour later," said George. "I keep forgetting she's never been here either." He shook his head as if to clear it as he led the way into the large drawing room, which was ringed on three sides by what appeared to be a balcony overlooking it. On the fourth side, floor-to-ceiling windows overlooked the gardens. "Good journey, Captain? Something to drink?"

Reima, who had been confirming the room assignments with her mother in the doorway, caught Wedge's eye and gave him what she hoped was a reassuring smile as she crossed the room to take his hand before settling into a comfortable brown leather sofa, shifting to make space for him to sit if he wanted.

Wedge Draav | Natasi Fortan | George Vitalis​

 

[Wedge Draav]

Reima Vitalis


He felt warm, welcomed. But he didn't belong here. Did he? He belonged with her, that was for sure. The rest of it..?​

"I woulda thought that the word Supreme Leader could you know- pull some Supreme Leader strings."

He grinned a bit at his own joke, before he looked over Reima. This was possibly their last moment together, quietly. He squeezed her leg, savoring the isolation they had, limited as it was. He had a habit- closing his eyes for a moment after taking in a moment. Like his eyes were a camera, and closing the shutter to leave the imprint on his mind. He forced himself to remember every single detail about the moment, about where his hand was, how she smelled, how her clothes wrinkled, the weight of her hands on him. The softness of her features, the flare of her makeup, the pristine skin she had. He opened his eyes.

He had a new happy place every time he was with her, alone. He would go to it, in the dire moments. Finding serenity in the chaos of a dogfight, or the reason to tough it out and push himself when the time came to it. He'd done it before, other places, other times in his life. Quiet, serene moments. But now he had someone to go back to, not just himself or a happy memory. He had a memory to go back to.

Wedge couldn't help himself, leaning over to Reima. He made a rather.... crude and unbecoming remark of what he might have allegedly done to the Supreme Leader's daughter, and that despite the fancy house and cars, she was-

He grinned, stepping away from Reima's ear, looking up at the imposing manor as it drew nearer. His eyes were immediately darting to and fro as they stopped, and even more so when they exited the vehicle onto the gravel. Helpers, tweed, the grounds, the building- he couldn't help but stare. He stood still, basking in it all. An incomprehensible level of wealth entered his mind, power beyond his comprehension for a moment. Reima of course, had never lied to him about where she came from or what she grew up with. It was never a secret, never a lie. It was just that Wedge understood, but did not comprehend the scope of what she was talking about.

Now that he was here, it was hard to not... be impressed. Be dumbfounded. Wedge turned from his stares to look at Natasi. His eyes went small. She was every bit the... Supreme Leader that Reima said she was, and all the nasty things he read across the net said. He waited patiently, smiling when she referred to him by his full title and rank. Commander, indeed. But here? He just wanted to be Wedge.

"Pleasure to meet you, ma'am. In better circumstances this time, at least." He couldn't help but smile (that damn handsome grin of his) at the remembrance of telling off the entire Senate. Unfortunately, Wedge was right, and the Empire had pushed back the Alliance- though Wedge and most of Revenant wasn't present at Tython. It may have been secretly by design, though Wedge would never admit it out loud to anyone. He would never purposefully assign his squadron elsewhere to avoid a disastrous battle- right? He leaned into Natasi's ear, whispering quietly, his tone playful, jovial, polite. For a man of his 'station' in life, he could rub elbows with the whos-who of the galaxy quite easily. "Promise I won't curse around here."

Wedge turned to George. He wrapped the man's hand in a firm handshake.

"Nice to meet you finally, George. Reima speaks highly of you."

He was lead inside, swarmed by a host of staff once more. He removed his coat upon entering, and one of the footmen seemed surprised, caught off-guard by him doing it himself unaided, as they were accustomed to. He held the folded coat out to them, which was lead away to some unknown chamber, some giant closet, or perhaps fed to the coat monster. He had no real idea. Wedge and company were lead into a drawing room- something that Wedge had only read about being a feature of houses. He stepped in, awestruck by the sheer size and scope of the room. He glanced upwards, looking at all the balconies. He paced around the room for a moment, dumbfounded once more.

George's voice broke the silence. He definitely wanted a drink. Felt appropriate.

"Yeah- yes, please. I'll take a drink. George, lemme tell you- not flying somewhere yourself is always a bit odd. That, and flying comfortably and not stuck in a frigate or cruiser." He lamented, rubbing his chin, done looking around the room after speaking. He took his place next to Reima, and without so much of a thought-

Put his arm on the back of the sofa, and by extension, her.

"Quite a home you have here- sorry for the... stares. Just lovely to look at. Wanna take it all in, while I'm here." He said to Natasi, never feeling the need to apologize for being himself to Reima. But he didn't want to appear too odd to Natasi. No, Wedge Draav did not need Natasi's approval, or George's, or anyone else other than Reima's in the house for sure. But he'd like to have it.

 

[Natasi Fortan]

To say that Natasi recoiled when her daughter's... friend ...leaned in close enough to whisper would have been overstating it a little. And it would have been a bit much for him to take it personally; it was merely Natasi's old Galidraani sensibilities rearing their heads when she went a bit stiff. But she recovered like a natural, smiling tightly at the Captain. "You needn't worry, Captain," said Natasi generously. "This is a house, not a gradeschool. You ca speak freely... to a point."

Natasi followed the group into the room, and as her son set about making drinks for the group, she stood by the fire. Almost as slender as Reima, the Supreme Leader was almost a column as she stood by the broad marble fireplace, holding out her hands to the warmth of the flame as she contemplated the situation. Wedge seemed like a nice man; he was, at the very least, nice to Reima and more importantly good to her.

The Supreme Leader turned as her son approached with her gin and tonic. Natasi murmured her thanks before turning her attention to Wedge. "We weren't sure what you'd enjoy, Captain," she began. "Ordinarily we would do a hunt for the day after Life Day. There's a kind of... pheasant, for lack of a better word, that roosts in the woods." Natasi gestured vaguely toward the broad windows; beyond them, a typical Galidraani garden and a greenhouse, and past them was the forest. "My husband is regrettably away, so we wouldn't have a full party, but you and George might enjoy it."

"Or," she went on after a beat. "Reima thought you both might like to try your hand at the Hesperidean Run? Of course there's nothing to say you couldn't do both. And there's plenty more to do; I hope you won't be bored."

"Can't we join the hunt?" asked Reima. She took Wedge's hand, tugged his arm closer around her shoulder. "It's not the 830s anymore."

Natasi hesitated briefly, sipped her drink. "I suppose. If we don't tell. Shooting birds isn't exactly ladylike. But we could at the very least stand by the gentlemen." She shook her head, smiling enigmatically. "What say you, Captain?"

Wedge Draav | Reima Vitalis | George Vitalis​

 

[Wedge Draav]

Made sense. Being here with her, made sense.
​

Wedge clicked his teeth, looking around the room. He smiled when Natasi replied- he didn't want her thinking him a crude, callous, or a man who cursed entirely too much. Or, worse, impolite. Wedge's eyes looked between Natasi and Reima for a moment, analyzing the two in that amazing way his mind did. Wedge's ability to fly without a droid came from his distinct ability to put everything together quickly, quickly analyze a situation, a set of images. His brain racked between the two, comparing, contrasting. Reima was like her mother, physically, sure. Slender, beautiful, powerful. But not alike in some ways.

Some by choice, some by design, some by her own upbringing. Reima was worried about her mother, he knew that much. Or even, worse, turning into her. She wanted to be her own person. She wanted to be indepedent. It was partly what drove her to the Alliance, what partly drove her to Revenant Squadron, and partly lead her to acting like she did- brave. But what Wedge realized he hadn't told Reima yet-

Is that Reima was her own person. And he loved her more for it. Wedge stood up, setting his drink down to walk over to the window. He took in the visage of the garden, the grounds, the scope of the manor. Everything seemed unfathomably large to him for just a single family to own. It was beyond his understanding, wealth, power.

"I wonder if the birds care who shoots 'em." He said, his eyes looking out to the wondrous landscape, before turning back to Natasi, George, but settling on Reima.

"Wedge, please. Captain Draav is on the paychecks, Wedge cashes 'em." He said, itching his chin, thinking. He thought for a moment, before turning to Reima. He ran a hand over her shoulder as he walked- then looked at her. And blinked. Blinked rapidly, in succession. Morse code.

R-A-C-E Y-A.

Wedge turned back to Natasi, smiling at her after delivering the message to the only other really good pilot on the planet. The idea of strolling through a forest to kill an innocent creature who happened to be nesting somewhere at the wrong time seemed... the furthest thing from what Wedge wanted to do. But maybe some time with George later, wouldn't be bad.

"Let's see how fast she is on her home turf. I've only heard stories. George and I can go for a little murd- stroll in the woods for the pheasants afterwards."

Wedge looked over at Reima, not really knowing how much of her exploits that Natasi was aware of- Reima being partly responsible for the destruction of the Eclipse, and saving his life- and downing several elite Dark Empire pilots to boot. He seemed careful to tread lightly on their customs. Sure, they were important and decent but truthfully, maybe part of the reason that Reima liked Wedge is because that all of his success was founded on his own merit. From his commission, to his command, to his victories. He was hardtack to her crumpet. Wedge grew up in a house with more than six people- the size of the room, roughly, they were in. Maybe a little more, but definitely more heavy on the family dynamic than what Reima had told him. Or at least, a more... loving and caring one. Less focus on being a ruler, a leader. That burden was heavy on a kid. And much less one with a family dynamic as... complicated as hers.

Wedge shifted his eyes to Reima. They were sad. He realized quickly how she grew up- and the love she didn't get to have, and despite him being poor, hiding things to avoid the repo men with his brothers, going hungry some nights. He never felt out of place, too burdened, too overwhelmed. A mother concerned with the galaxy as much as her daughter. He shook it off and smiled, waiting for that pretty lady to say something great- something along the lines of "Race ya".

George Vitalis l Reima Vitalis l Natasi Fortan

 

[Reima Vitalis]

Reima watched the exchange play out, her dark eyes following the conversation like an interested party at a tennis match. Occasionally, she glanced at her brother and found that he was essentially doing the same. Their eyes met briefly and they shared a confidential smile. Whatever worries she might have had about her mother's approval -- or not -- of Wedge was rapidly evaporating. Her lover clearly did not require Natasi's approval, but as far as Reima could tell he was getting it.

The old Natasi, the Galidraani matriarch whose sun rose and set on the hierarchies imposed by her position, might have been put off by Wedge's challenges. The Natasi in the room with her now, who so closely resembled Reima's mother, seemed to be taking things in stride and not taking things or herself too seriously. She chuckled at Wedge's quip and shook her head ruefully. "You're right, of course," Natasi said after a momentary pause. "What an interesting way of looking at it. And if you'd rather not hunt, of course, there's no law that says it's required. On that subject -- Reima didn't mention whether you had any dietary restrictions or preferences. Is there anything you don't eat?"

Reima observed her mother curiously. Her apparent flexibility was refreshing, but it made Reima wary, too.

Her dark eyes returned to Wedge in time to catch his coded blinks. Her eyebrow arched and she half-smiled in response, then drained her drink. She stood and walked over to Wedge and looped her arm through his. "Because it's the holidays, I'll go easy on you," she told him. "You should know that I've done the Hesperidean Run before -- during the talks for the Republic to join the Alliance. Unfortunately I did it with some damn fool Jedi who ended up bouncing me from the course, so I don't have much experience with it."

Natasi went pale there and she turned, going over to the sideboard that served as a bar to put down her empty glass. "I'll arrange for a pair of Renascent Navy fighters for you," she said to Wedge and Reima. She paused, studying the bottles as if she might pour herself another drink before apparently deciding against it to turn back to them. "I have my boxes to get through before dinner, so I'll... get out of your hair. We left some ornaments off the tree in the hall -- " Natasi gestured vaguely toward the entry hall, where a towering Life Day tree was set up and mostly decorated. " -- in case you wanted to put them up. Is that part of your tradition, Cap -- that is, Wedge?"

With all that settled she went toward the door, beginning to cross the room. "We won't dress for dinner tonight, if it's all the same to you," Natasi told the assembled group. "Wear whatever is comfortable. George can show you to your rooms if you'd like to freshen up."

"Thank you," said Reima. She watched Natasi leave and turned to Wedge, a faint smile on her lips. "We were sitting for a while on the train. I could do to stretch my legs. Join me?" She would be much more comfortable talking where they wouldn't be overheard. When they had gathered their coats and gone out into the garden, Reima took Wedge's hand. "So?" Lifting his hand to press a faint red lip print into the back of it. "You wanna kill some birds, or what?"

Wedge Draav | Natasi Fortan | George Vitalis​

 

[Wedge Draav]

​

Wedge wasn't too sure about flying whatever ship Natasi just spat out. Nothing was as fast as his jet-black X-wing, at least, not at that scale. But then again, Wedge Draav could make a bicycle go fast if he so chose. Wedge couldn't help but chuckle when she bragged- he wasn't going to let her off easy, or even go easy on her. Not a chance in hell that she'd get the best of him flying without earning it.

​

"The Draav family has a lot of traditions. Hangin' ornaments is a new one. Oh, and no. I'll eat anything you all prepare, no qualms or problems here."

That, mainly because it wasn't until Wedge was older that they could afford them. Wedge thought for a moment about it, then watched as Natasi retired, made a comment about dinner- giving Reima a raised brow. Dressing? For dinner? He couldn't imagine it. He did bring his uniform, but that was mainly for.... Well, Reima.

Which, speaking of, promptly escorted him outside, grabbing his coat, and hers. He helped her into hers, and vice versa- the soft touch and careful nature of Reima was hard not to elicit a smile as she led him out into the garden.

"Kill a bird? Not particularly. There is something I could do with a certain bird in the garden to help her really stretch her legs."

He smirked triumphantly, walking hand in hand with Reima for a while. "Never been hunting in my life. Might just go out with George to have him show me the ropes, how to....shoot little birds with a shotgun. Or whatever it is you rich folk do for fun."

He glanced around the garden as they walked, enjoying a blissful, quiet moment with the love of his life. He spoke after a while, the beauty of the garden entrancing him, rendering him uncharacteristically quiet.

"I'd spend all day in this garden if I was a kid. All damn day. You ever do that, in your younger and more vulnerable years? Spend all day on the grounds? I grew up space-side a lot with my dad and the shipyards- this and that, between the house and the shipyards. Always wanted a place like this for our kids and then for-"

He stopped, smirking.

"Thinking a little ahead of myself, aren't I?"

Reima Vitalis

 

[Reima Vitalis]

Reima regarded Wedge with an air of detached amusement. She didn't need to mention that it was approximately twelve degrees below zero centigrade; any such efforts that he suggested would be uncomfortable to say the least and might well result in frostbite. Their breaths hanging in the air, the redness of their noses was testament enough to those facts.

"Neither have I," Reima said. "It wasn't done on Galidraan. The women were allowed to go and stand with the guns sometimes, but me, a young lady, wielding a rifle? Unheard of." She smirked, a little nostalgic. "It could be quaint. I always thought it was ridiculous. My mother was the head of government of what was, at the time, the galaxy's largest superpower, but on Galidraan her rank and station was always tied to her father's and then my father's. I can't tell you how glad I am not to be bound by all those ridiculous hidebound traditions."

She surveyed the gardens; but for the purple-green of the grass, the gardens might have been scooped up from one of Galidraan's great houses and transplanted directly to Aegis. "Often," she answered his question about whether she had ever stayed out in the gardens all day. "My brother was raised mostly on Csilla with his tutor and guardian, but the staff had children. We played outside. My mother's home sat astride a river and in particularly cold winters -- colder than this -- the river froze. We used to sled down it. I think that's where I first came to love speed."

Those had been dark days for Reima, her parents dead, her brother apart. The gardens, the river, the village children -- bright spots in dark days. Wedge Draav, as it turned out, a bright star in the void of dark space.

"Should we talk about that?" Reima asked him cautiously. "As you can probably see by now, it's a little more complicated than deciding whether you want to be with me, or to have children with me. It's them, too." She jerked her head back toward the mansion. "And it's Life Day and Trooping the Colour and royal protocol and hundreds of stupid little rules that my people follow." Reima's dark eyes studied Wedge carefully -- concerned, but not judgmental. It was asking a lot of any person. "It's a life lived at least partially in public, in the public eye and in their scrutiny. For you and for our children. They would have places in the line of succession to this whole operation, in addition to the gardens."

Reima looked up at him, her eyelashes fluttering a little in the cold. "Or should we pretend that's not there and simply enjoy our holiday as best we can in this very strange place?" They had reached a frozen pool toward the rear of the garden, lily pads perfectly encased in crystal clear ice. Peculiar, Reima thought. "I'd kill for a cigarette," she confessed.

Wedge Draav​

 

[Wedge Draav]

​

Wedge smiled, digging into his jacket, producing a single, solitary cigarette for his great love, and a small electric lighter. Wedge leaned on a railing, after handing her the killer of lungs. He wasn't one to talk- she never brought up his love of hallucinogenics to unwind, his love of party drugs. That, and she had done them with him a few times. Nothing insane, but enough to... take the edge off. That, and it kept the demons at bay.

"From not being allowed to hunt with the boys, to taking down a Sith Super Carrier." He looked over at her, cocking his head. "I know I wrote you up for that award and the Senate gave it to you- but. If it wasn't for you, what you did, and your piloting and bravado and just, sheer fearlessness..." He looked up, his eyes welling up with emotion.

"I dunno what would've happened to a lot of people. You did a hell of a thing for a lot of people." Wedge said, looking out. "I don't care much for all this... pomp and circumstance, dog and pony. But I know it's important to you. So I'll make it important to me. The tutors, the mansions, the grounds, the ceremonies, the tradition- my family, and me, can't comprehend it. But I know who you are."

He looked at her, square in those beautiful eyes of hers. "And I know what you mean to me. If I have to have my royal picture taken to be with you, our kids, whatever- so be it. You mean more to me than any of this." He lit her cigarette for her, cupping her face. He took a drag first, putting it back between her teeth. He blew it out of his nose, as to not foul his breath- and to avoid the ire of her mother and brother.

"My parents just want a big family dinner with you, you know. My dad really wants to meet you. My little sisters want to meet The Princess.." He grinned, nudging Reima.

"But I do want that with you. The life. Even if I must take this garden with it. Your mom, the hunts, the ceremony, the traditions. You'll make it all worth it." He said both to her, and occasionally a glance out to the garden that they were both looking at.

"But if you smoke after I put a baby in you- either tonight or the next few nights... We gotta stay with my parents for the honeymoon." He said with a grin, pushing his tongue against his teeth to prevent too much of an audible giggle. He felt strangely guilty being too loud here. The whole house felt like a fuckin' library, not a home.

​

 

[Reima Vitalis]

As usual, Reima was discomfited by talk about Coruscant. What some considered to be heroic valor Reima could only remember through a veil of haze. She didn't remember being brave or even being clever. All she could remember was barreling through the pain of fractured bones and the unsettling, uncanny sensation of being concussed, and the entire selfish drive of retrieving Wedge Draav from the wreckage of his X-Wing. It didn't read as valor to Reima Vitalis; she had simply been doing her job.

The conversation turned and she took a drag from the cigarette, then exhaled the silvery tendrils through her nostrils away from her lover's face. She leaned against the railing next to him, then turned, bracing herself up on her elbows against the stonework, dark eyes fixed on the mansion they had just come from.

"I hope you know by now, it's not about -- that. For me." Reima jerked her chin toward the house. "Palaces and titles and privileges. They're nice, don't get me wrong, but it's not something I ever coveted. As far as I was concerned, all this was something between my mother and my brother. The protocol and the pomp is tiresome." Another drag from the cigarette, another slow exhalation as she offered the cigarette back to Wedge. She remained in silence for a few moments, her eyes studying the house. "I mean, the money is nice, it's true. It gives one freedom and options, and it's mine -- ours -- without strings, without obligations. They can't take it away from us." Reima frowned thoughtfully, her delicate features almost making it a pout.

"It's about them," she said after a few moments of thoughtful silence. A sniffle that might have been related to the cold, or not. "They were both gone for so long. My brother disappeared just before my sixteenth birthday and it was just this year that he came back. I've been on speaking terms with Her Imperiousness for even less time. I'm not ready to give them up. Palace or no palace." Reima finally turned to Wedge, rested her cheek against his shoulder.

"Am I being very ridiculous?" she asked him, accepting the cigarette back to take another drag. "Be careful with this," she told him as she handed it back. "Don't want you getting my lipstick on your teeth. My mother would be scandalized." Reima blushed even darker at his declaration and elbowed him softly. "Honestly, Wedge, the things you say. There is a sequence to these things, you know." She left it at that; Reima Vitalis was not the type to prompt a man for a proposal.

"I am eager to meet your parents, your siblings. The whole thing. I was nervous before, but I'm not anymore." A brief smile and she brushed a hair, disturbed by a sudden chill breeze, back behind her ear. "Soon, I hope. Balance willing I can handle meeting them as well as you've handled meeting this lot." She hooked a gloved thumb back toward the mansion. "Should we go back? I can't feel my feet."

Wedge Draav​

 

[Wedge Draav]

​

"Us. Us. Us, us, us, us." He said with a grin, his features breaking into a deeper smile with each iteration of the word, the repetition bringing forth a happier joy from him, a greater joy than even the fastest speed in the galaxy could muster. He didn't say much for a moment, thinking somberly how to reply, how to comfort Reima. A hand found it's way to her back, strong hands across her delicate, refined features.

"Palace or no palace. They're your family. And soon to be mine. So- if they're there for you, they're there with us, for us. And I know you may not like it all, all the... hoobla. The prancing, the dog and pony show. But-"

He took her hand, taking the cigarette away from her. He crumbled it between his fingers, letting the ashen end fall to the ground. He crushed it beneath his shoe, and let the loose tobacco and other fillings fall away. His hand found its place at a rather discreet squeeze of one of his other favorite features of Reima, grinning before he turned and held her hand back to the house.

"But if you love your family, I'll love them too. You deserve a lot of love, not just from me, our future kids, my family, me- you want it, I can tell. And I'll do everything I can to make sure that you feel loved just as much here as anywhere else with me, or anyone else."

He ran a hand along her back again, turning sweet and soft, somber almost. He knew when to be flirty, he knew when to be crass, he knew when to be funny- and most importantly with Reima, he knew when to be sweet.

"I love you, Reima. And if loving you means anything to me, I'll go wherever you want to go. And I'll spend my days with the Imperiousness and the Lordships and the who's-who of this place if it means making you happy." He said, pausing in the doorframe before they entered the house to speak to her. He kissed her, a reassuring, passionate affair.

And then, he opened the door, letting her inside, the warmth of the house enveloping them both. Even with the heat, Wedge couldn't shake the coldness from the house. Perhaps it was simply the size of the house- but he felt the coldness. He couldn't imagine growing up here, never quite feeling warm, never quite feeling totally loved, or at least, loved in the way that he was used to. He made a quiet pledge to himself that his children- his and Reima's, that is, wouldn't know what being unloved or uncared for felt like. A foreign concept, was all that it would be.

He knew Reima felt the same way. But he looked around the house, the room they had entered back into, cold still on their jackets and on their bodies. But he smiled again, a slow, realizing smile. He hoped she knew where his mind was slightly at- or at least, a look gave her somewhat of an idea of at least where his mind was.

"Hey pretty lady."

 

[Reima Vitalis]

Reima's gaze softened in a way that it didn't often do. So much of the relationship between the two hotshot aces was bravado and flirtation and playfulness. It was usually sweet but it wasn't always vulnerable. "I'm sure I don't deserve you, Captain Draav," said the pilot as they wandered back toward the palatial house.

That tenderness ended when they entered the drawing room again; she knew that look. "Don't you dare," she said curtly, half-turning to slink out of her jacket. "If you lay a finger on me I shall bludgeon you with a fireplace poker, Captain. Let's find my brother and have him show us to our room. I'd like to get changed into something more comfortable and I'm sure you would, too."

"I'm right here," George drawled, lifting a hand -- still clutching a tumbler of amber liquid -- above the back of the Chesterfield on which he lounged. Reima gave Wedge an arched eyebrow -- almost an 'I told you!'' -- and took his coat, carrying them both into the hall as George set his book aside and stood up. "I can show you. By the way, Wedge -- can I call you Wedge? -- there's a library across the way. Billiard room, if you play, but there's cards and whatnot. We can get properly soused and take turns taking money off each other like gentlemen. And I can tell you about what your Pretty Lady was like when she was just a brat."

Reima hung Wedge's coat in the butler's closet in the hall before a footman saw what she was doing and all-but wrenched her own out of her hands with a strained Your Highness, you must allow me. Reima relented with a deferential bow of her head that only mortified the footman more.

"Do stop bullying the staff," George said as he entered from the drawing room with Wedge. He turned toward his would-be brother-in-law and said, "Brat is as brat does... you must keep an eye on her, you know. This way. Not to worry, it's not a bit like Herevan up here. No bachelor's corridor, for instance." A soft shoulder-check against Wedge and he launched onto the stairs, taking them two at a time.

Reima took Wedge's hand and led him up the stairs after her brother, who seemed terribly pleased to finally have a man his age in the house.

Wedge Draav​

 

[Wedge Draav]

Guess that makes we.
​

Wedge couldn't help but smile. If she only knew- if she only could fathom. "No. I'm sure you deserve better." He said, unable to even vocalize what the woman did for him, how she made him feel. He smiled ear to ear, responding to her comment about touching by just raising both of his eyebrows. Him seeing George at the top of the stairs didn't even cause a blush, a stir. He simply smirked at Reima, mouthing something along the lines of 'jealous eyes'.

George's words were articulate, well-spoken, and entirely foreign. A grimace, just a slight one when he referred to Reima as "the brat". However, he did chuckle a little when Reima's insistent on something as simple as hanging up her own coat caused a stir amongst the staff. For a moment, he wondered if it was habit, brainwashing, or force that kept the staff in line. Or maybe a genuine pride in serving their governance. Hard to tell for Wedge. Maybe he'd bribe or corner one later. Just cause he was curious.

The shoulder check didn't bother him either, he smirked infact. He was starting to like George.

Wedge ascended the stairs, going much slower than the two, admiring the handiwork and detail in every aspect of the house. He almost missed George's words, admiring the banister and framings on the wall, the artwork-

And then had no idea what he was talking about. So he did what all smart people did when they didn't understand something and wanted to keep the conversation moving.

"Huh." A slight pause, digesting the information, or pretending to, then a rapid subject change. "I imagine she was just as lovely as she is now as she was then." Wedge hadn't really the faintest idea of what her childhood was truly like- only in what she told him. But it was hard for him to grasp, to understand and comprehend.

Wedge had no idea what Hereaven, Bachelor's Corridor, or any of that meant. But he did know the word soused. He did however, also, believe that he could properly out-drink George. He looked over at Reima, asking for both permission, approval, and perhaps some measure of participation. Reima and Wedge had some wild nights together, but he hadn't had a wild night in a while. That, and the last time they went drinking she drove so-

Maybe it was time to really cut loose.

"If you can keep up, George, I'm in."

Reima Vitalis​

 

[Reima Vitalis]

The rooms allocated to the two pilots turned out to be a suite featuring a sitting area, flanked by two bedrooms -- one with the little decorative confections that suggested it was for a woman, the other with the sort of no-nonsense straightforwardness that suggested it was for a man. The latter could have been a military officer's room. The quality of the furnishings spoke volumes as to luxury and quality, even if it was not overly decorative. The other room was slightly more baroque, with the occasional delicate filigree in the rosewood canopy bed, which was echoed in the ivory bedspread. Each of the bedrooms had a walk-through closet leading to an identically outfitted bathroom.

"I was monstrous, actually," Reima informed Wedge, her voice matter-of-fact as she followed her brother into the suite. She released Wedge's arm, wandered to one bedroom and then the other, peering through the broad double-doorway. When she turned back to the men, her eyebrows were lifted. "Awfully decent of mummy, all things considered. Which one shall we sleep in?"

George helpfully pointed out that his room was on the opposite side of the gallery that overlooked the entry, so if they needed anything in the night they knew where to go. Natasi, on the other hand, was tucked away on the next floor up. "It's a sturdy building. She hears nothing," George said with a confidential elbow-nudge to Wedge.

"Or she hears everything and is just too polite -- or too mortified -- to say anything." Reima set about dragging Wedge's case across to the bedroom they had settled on and began to unpack his things into the wardrobe and walk-through closet. When George pointed out that the staff would be along to do all that, she gave him a withering look. "We don't need staff, George."

"Ah... remembered how to run your own bath, have you?"

"It's ridiculous," said Reima as she ran her hand down the length of Wedge's dress uniform trousers, brushing out a non-existent wrinkle, as fussy as any middle-class housewife. "I'm -- well, I'm an adult. I can hang up my own clothes."

"It's a job for them," George said. "It's -- dignified, if you let it be." He gave Wedge a long-suffering look and mouthed brat, then his face brightened considerably as he gestured to the sideboard. "Drink? There's the usual here -- brandy, whisky, some namana liqueur -- but obviously whatever it is you like to drink we can get."

Reima maintained an aloof distance, glowering slightly at her brother, as she finished with Wedge's suitcase and turned to her own mountain of luggage. A ladies maid didn't sound quite so antiquated now. With a sigh she set to work while George began to quiz Wedge on his combat experience, resembling very much the little boy that Reima remembered him as.

Wedge Draav​

 

[Wedge Draav]

Home is where the haunt was, apparently.
​

The two rooms, divided as they were, cast a small sliver of sadness across Wedge's face. His home, his childhood home- even his quarters currently, were lined with decorations, awards, pictures. Pictures and pictures. Clippings of Reima, pictures of them together, embarrassing photos of his pilots and himself. This place however, was militaristic, lacking a rustic charm. It felt cold and mechanical almost. Not so much as a home as a place where people lived.

He let Reima take his suitcase, knowing full well she was better suited for organization than he was. Her idea of clean and neat was far different than his- the only exception to Wedge's rule was his impeccable dress uniforms. He brought them along just in case- Reima didn't even have to insist. If he was going to represent the Alliance at any event, he'd do it in style.

When George and Reima had their exchange, Wedge was careful not to take sides. Both were right, but only one slept next to him and let him-


Let him have fun around town, surely.

Wedge picked up a bottle- the whole bottle, after making his way to the sideboard. Something expensive, not his, and... well, not being paid for was about the best requirement for Wedge. Wedge didn't say anything for a moment when George began quizzing him. For a brief moment, there was a tension in his face, bitter reminders. Razor-thin brushes with death, narrow escapes. He turned his head, finding his eyes searching for comfort, for stability. For peace.

And he stared at her for a second. And it washed away. Everything. Everything bad, it all seemed okay when he just looked at her, folding her clothes, packing them away. A peace he'd never known or never have equal to came to him. He breathed again, wondering if Reima caught the moment. He answered George, leaving out details that made Wedge's actions seem less bombastic and reckless than they were. He also made it a point that he was part of a team and part of a great tradition of excellent pilots, and most of his victories and successes were dependent upon not just him, but the skills and bravado of his team.

Of course, this was a half-truth. Wedge was not just a pilot. Wedge was the pilot. There was little action that he had been in that he hadn't been a major factor in its success. From Coruscant to the Outer Rim to Tython, Wedge had burned more enemy pilots and killed more combatants than any other Alliance pilot in its history. This fact hung over him, a sort of shame and embarrassment and inability to take credit for it.

Wedge elected to tell George, in detail, of how he nearly single-handedly defeated the Crimson Liners, the Empire's Elite pilots. How over the Jedi temple on Coruscant, and through the skylines. He told him of the daring maneuver he had pulled off mid-flight, cutting power to one edge to rapidly turn his X-wing in-atmosphere sharply, allowing him to get behind the TIE fighter in the midst of a hurricane the Sith had conjured. Then how he had been targeted by every anti-air battery the Empire had practically, and was shot down, and Reima's heroic rescue of him. There was also a quiet moment, a whisper that he told George something he didn't often tell people out-loud-

That was when he knew that he was truly in love with Reima.

He looked over at Reima once and a while while he spoke, taking long sips from the bottle- and then, of course, naturally, bullying George into taking a few swigs.

 

[Reima Vitalis]

Reima noticed.

Her gaze caught his like a well-worn glove caught a ball. The pitches were never fastballs from Wedge, even in the tumultuous times.

She was smoothing the creases out of the crimson dress she had planned to wear to dinner, but she paused and gave him a half-smile. There was much and more she wanted to tell him in that moment, much that she wanted to warn him about. Natasi had been the dragon to warn him about, the one who breathed fire and consumed worlds, the one who broke governments and men. The one who, in the deepest darkest recesses of Reima's soul she could admit -- only to herself -- frightened her.

Less and less, the more time she spent with Wedge. She didn't need Natasi Fortan's approval anymore. Not when she had found the man who completed her matched set.

But as much as she had remembered George as normal, she had to remind herself that normality was by degrees. Natasi Fortan had built a galactic superpower before any of them had been born, had carved society and capital-S Society out of the untamed edge of the galaxy, had turned the backwater of Dosuun into a capital whose power had overtaken Coruscant's and whose cultural significance had very nearly matched it. George Vitalis was, at his heart, a goofy private schoolboy. Crown Prince though he may be (to a much diminished monarchy than the First Order at its prime), he was still almost as she remembered him. But Wedge, who had never met George and had no reason to know him, seemed to be taking things in stride.

She tried not to dwell on how difficult it must haven been for him.

George, for his part, was suitably impressed by Wedge's stories, and his eyebrows shot up at his mention of Reima's alleged heroics. Reima had never told them about Coruscant, had never shared the details of her commendation. It was the first her brother was hearing of it. He made a low whistle and glanced at Reima, but the wide and solemn darnkess of her eyes suggested it wasn't the time to crack wise or even pry. Their eyes met a moment and then both turned away uncomfortably, Reima pretending to arrange the closet, George digging into his breast pocket.

"How d'you like cigars, Wedge? I pulled these for us -- good vintage, actually, namana-leaf, gives one the most delightful buzz. Not hard stuff, mind, but -- still. Let's go out on the balcony a moment. We -- ah -- don't smoke inside." He avoided Wedge's gaze as he stood, though this did little to hide the fact that when he said 'we don't smoke inside' he really meant that the lady of the house didn't allow it. A pair of glass-paneled doors led out onto a balcony overlooking, in the far distance, the village with its charming smoking chimneys.

George opened the little paper envelope containing the cigars and leaned in to smell them, then offered the same opportunity to Wedge.

"I hate to tell a man his business," George began slowly, glancing over at Wedge. He shook the cigars out into his hand, offered one to the pilot, took the other. He offered to light Wedge's first. "But the way you talk about my sister -- the way she talks about you, the way you look at one another... look, if its your intention to... make things official, as it were, with Reima -- couldn't be happier for you both, by the way, obviously." A pause to take a draw, puffing exaggeratively on the cigar until he could blow a smoke ring. "If it is -- I want you to know that whatever Reima says, you require no permission from anyone -- not me, not mother. There is rather too much faff and protocol to be getting on with, if you ask me."

A derisive snort and he leaned against the cold stone railing. "Mother might appreciate a tip-off, but I think even she would admit that traditions can rather get in the way of things. Did you know she had to propose to my stepfather? Because she's the Sovereign, it wouldn't be the done thing for him to ask her. It's idiotic, really, but the point is -- oh sithspit. I hope I haven't put my foot in it." George bit his thumbnail anxiously. He hooked his head toward the house, vaguely indicating Reima. "She worries. About expectations. About worrying about expectations. This -- whatever you two have -- doesn't need to be burdened by the rest of this circus. Even if she worries that it does. Do you understand, Wedge? God, I hope someone does. I'm not sure I do anymore."

Meanwhile, inside, Reima had finished packing and changed out of her traveling clothes, donning the simple, dark-red dress she had been fiddling with earlier. As she touched up her makeup she tried not to worry about whether her brother was embarrassing her out on the balcony -- or worse, embarrassing Wedge.

Wedge Draav​

 

[Wedge Draav]

​

Wedge took the cigar, with little protest. While he doubted George was cool enough Wedge's other drug of choice, he didn't turn down the invitation for a nice, expensive cigar for free. He listened intently- Wedge was good about that. It made him a good Officer as much as it did a listener, to intently listen to those that spoke to him.

"You know, George. You're absolutely right." He said, taking the time to take a long toke on the cigar, standing tall in the cold air.

"Traditions, beliefs, practices. They can be annoying. But they matter to some people, even if they don't to me, you, Reima, or even Natasi. But with her, you, your mama, ain't like my family." He said, taking another toke on the cigar. It gave a natural pause to the conversation, lessening the burden of what they were discussing. "There's not a planet full of people thinking about what me and my family do, much less me. But you, Reima, the rest- tradition is what keeps people feeling good, in some way, I guess. I never like people touching my coat, you know? But if someone believes wholeheartedly that they are meant to do it, that it matters, then-

I guess it does matter. To someone."

He took another drag, looking over at George.

"So it's gotta matter to us, even if it's fake."

He took a long pause after that, letting the two sit in comfortable silence while they enjoyed their cigars. Wedge made a passing comment about it's quality, before speaking again. "Besides, I bet there'll be someone who hears about the Lady Vitalis being handed off to some nerf herder Alliance pilot."
He said with a grin, remarking the history of the First Order on the planet, and in their family. "And if they see that you, Reima, or Natasi feigned tradition at some point, well. Don't imagine that would go over well for the people here."

He looked over the balcony, at the grounds and the landscape beyond, the rolling hills and frost-covered plains. "If they believe in it, then it matters. Trust me, there's quite a few traditions in the Alliance that I could give a shit about. But it matters to someone, so you gotta make it matter."

He caught a glance of Reima, then cracked a grin at George. He cocked his head.

"Well, George. Forgive me for being oh-so-blunt, but you got a lady of your own? Or are you a permanent bachelor?"

 

[George Vitalis]

"That's very big of you," George answered quietly. "To look at things like that. Especially if you're not from inside it."

He paused, scratched his jaw absentmindedly as his cigar smoked ponderously in his other hand.

"Then again, you're right. If they think it's something -- " at the they he jerked his chin toward the village, here representing all of the Renascent Republic " -- it would be wrong, somehow, to tell them it wasn't. Even if it did mean giving it all up." He glanced at Wedge, frowned thoughtfully. The man who played the rogue, the stylishly haphazard ace pilot from working class digs, might have understood all this mess better than any of them. "My mother views service as some sort of repayment for privilege. Noblesse oblige, you know, to use power and wealth for the benefit of others."

He glanced back towards the door. "She sees things a little differently. But then she might." He took another slow pull from the cigarra, the syrupy sweetness of namana fruit whispering in the smoke. "Our mother died because of that attitude -- that sacrifice was demanded because of her privilege. And even if it hadn't, all we ever knew as children was a pretty, distracted lady tearing herself away from one international crisis or war to spend an hour giving one a bath or reading. She was never really there. Reima resented it."

He frowned again and turned his gaze back to Wedge. "Something about the holidays makes one morose," he said apologetically and took another drag. "Anyway you'll be good for her. Can see that already." He turned, leaning against the railing in a way that was not unlike his sister's own catlike grace -- a family resemblance that would have seemed utterly foreign to the only other surviving member of their family. It dawned on George that the mannerisms -- not just the leaning, but the impish smoking -- were quintessentially Pierce. He hadn't thought of the man in ages, a realization that brought a stab of guilt.

"Me? The term is confirmed bachelor, by the way," said George, nudging Wedge with an elbow. "And no, I am not one, in fact. You mustn't believe everything you hear about boys' boarding schools." A humorous wag of his free hand. "There have been some... special girls," he said delicately. "But, as Her Worshipfulness reminds me," he said, casting a glance up at the stone walls of the house again, behind which Natasi Fortan sat reviewing documents diligently provided by the ministries of her government, "my marriage will be a matter of state. I will be Supreme Leader one day, when she dies. If she stays dead. So my wife must be..."

He tapped the cigar against a nearby evergreen planter. "Above reproach. Appropriate. And since I refuse to marry anyone I don't care for simply to satisfy dynastic requirements, I am in no particular hurry." Another slow pull from the cigar. "Could you do it, d'you think? If mummy were to kick the bucket, then me -- without heirs -- the crown would fall rather heavily on the brat. There's power there, even if it's mostly by convention and mostly not wielded. But it would be hers. Some men might struggle with that. My father, rest his soul, found it emasculating. It's not for everyone."

George turned again, looking over at Wedge. Nah. Wedge would be fine.

Wedge Draav​

 

[Wedge Draav]

​

"You're welcome anytime with my family. Six of my siblings still live at home, though." He said with a grin, nudging George as he puffed on his cigar. Wedge looked out to the skyline as he spoke, briefly envisioning the hundreds upon hundreds of people that occupied just the space where he was looking. The weight of responsibility stretched further than that for George and Reima, and at the moment, Natasi. Wedge thought for a while, thinking how best to answer George, but smirked when he brought up the woman.

"I didn't know a damn thing about Reima being fancy-fancy like when we met." He said, looking back over at George, the wind blowing Wedge's normally perfect hair back into place. "She mentioned it, later, you know, when things got more serious- let me know, but. I couldn't understand, and maybe I will never fully." A long drag, another long, solemn look out to the rolling fields and people beyond it.

"I think I'm gonna marry her, George. I think real soon, too. And- to be honest. I'd marry her if she was a janitor." He looked over at George, smiling at the prospect of Reima pushing a cleaning cart and emptying trash cans. And a desk. And Wedge was working late in his... pilot Office. Oh no, miss, the cans are over... He shook his head, the fantasy dissipating (for the moment).

"George, I have been to one side of the galaxy to the next. Been shot down four times, almost died twice, lost half my savings and then doubled it gambling. I have nothing to prove to none of you fancy sons-a-bitches anymore." Wedge said, wrapping up his bravado with a bit of truth, along with the brevity of it. He laughed, taking a final, long toke of his ashed-out cigar. "Besides I'd just beat the shit out of anyone who has anything to say about me. Duels are still a thing in the high-class world, right? Big fisticuffs, fancy fencing maybe?" Wedge playfully took up a shockboxing stance, throwing a few imaginary- but rather quick fake jabs to George's torso and kidney area.

"George, I been 'round fellas long enough to know that there is only one special girl for guys like you and me. So you either ain't found her yet, or you need to call her as soon as humanly possible. Waitings for suckers. Tell 'er she's pretty."

He nudged George again, smirking at him. He rather liked George, thus far. George was good. Reima was good. And despite Reima describing her as the Grim Reaper but Brunette, he didn't mind Natasi. But, he was waiting for the inevitable interrogation by Natasi. Luckily, Wedge had been to SERE selection prior to being selected for Revenant Squadron. He wondered if the torture and Sith force-power resistance training would come in handy. Or maybe, getting talked to by her was somehow going to be worse.

But regardless, it didn't really matter to Wedge what Natasi thought, what George thought- sure, he'd love for them to get along with him. Reima could use a more stable family dynamic, undoubtedly. But there was only one person in that whole damn house that he really needed to win the approval of. He looked back through the glass at her- catching a glimpse of the red dress she was wearing.

He couldn't help but click his tongue, completely forgetting that her brother, George, was right there. Wedge and Reima Jr was sooner, rather than later when she wore that.

​