Private The Holly and the Ivy | Closed

[George Vitalis]

George couldn't quite conceive of his little sister being just folks -- even when she was trying to limit visibility of her connection with her mother. In George's experience, Reima had always been an entitled, toffee-nosed snob. Then again, he had been gone. It was perhaps unfair to judge the fully adult woman by the way he remembered her: sixteen and trying to get into trouble with his best mate who had come to pick him up for the ride back to school.

His eyes squeezed shut a moment and something preternatural gripped him in a chill that had nothing to do with the winter weather. In the blink of an eye he had been somewhere else, but he never stopped imagining Reima as the spoilt, entitled, bratty teen. Perhaps even now he did, though she had no doubt more real-life experience than George himself did.

He opened his eyes, half-expecting to find himself in the nether again, but no -- there was Wedge, all charm and cigar smoke, with words of marriage on his lips. George found that his broad grin was entirely genuine. He had liked Wedge instantly -- not that it was any of his business who Reima chose as a mate, but he had been relieved to find the man agreeable and charming and fundamentally decent -- but the more they spoke the more George felt that the pair could very well be chums.

"Wonderful," he told Wedge, leaning over to clap his shoulder warmly with his free hand. "Truly, couldn't be more pleased. Can't imagine her as a janitor, if I'm honest. All those bulky jumpsuits. She was always so relentlessly well-dressed, you know?" Another puff of smoke. "After dinner we can pull out the maps and see where we can make you an Earl of. That mother will insist on, I'm afraid."

George settled against the railing and waved his cigar hand. "We don't do a lot of dueling here, though it's not uncommon among my people. But I don't think you've much to worry about. Your reputation precedes you; no one is going to confuse you with a fortune-hunter." He plunked the cigar between his lips, look a big drag, exhaled heavily.

"I think you're onto something, Wedge," A sigh. "I think I ain't found her." He sounded quite ridiculous using the colloquialism, but he smiled faintly to himself. "And though it is somewhat fun to have a girl with which to spend a pleasant afternoon in a hotel, it would be much nicer to have something real. Maybe it's time to start getting serious about that." Another puff of smoke, a light rumbling cough. He glanced at Wedge again, enjoying the ever-so-slight buzz of the namana-infused t'bacc. "This is so much nicer than the usual -- what are your intentions with my sister -- I really don't see what all the fuss is about."

He followed Wedge's gaze back toward the room, toward Reima, who was approaching the door. She opened it, poked her head out, immediately recoiling from the chill. "They're rung the dressing gong," she informed the two men. "So if you want to freshen up before dinner, now's the time."

George glanced at his pocketwatch and raised his eyebrows. "Seven already. Hell. Time does fly when you're having fun. We ought to go in." He put the cigar out and wrapped it back in its packaging before he gestured Wedge toward the door. "Another one of our archaic traditions. The gong at the base of the stairs goes an hour before dinner so everyone has time to dress. Not such a concern tonight, obviously." George held the door open for Wedge, earning a look of sharp reproach from his chilly sister standing just inside the door, and followed him in to shut the door. "I'll go and, er, wash up. See you in the drawing room before dinner."

Reima watched her brother let himself, bowing the door shut behind him.

"Alone at last," she murmured airily, wrapping her arms around her midsection to rub away the vestiges of the cold that George had let in. "Did you want to change out of your traveling clothes for dinner?" Reima sat down on the settee and worked one foot into a heeled shoe, looking up at Wedge curiously. "George didn't -- embarrass himself -- I hope."

Wedge Draav​

 

[Wedge Draav]

​

"My mom would just yell really loudly 'till we all came to the table." He said, laughing after George somewhat successfully copied his speech pattern. Wedge leaned on the railing, stopping George just before he left. He did so by lightly holding onto his arm. He let the air hold there for a moment, and he took a deep breath. His eyes held a gravity to his forthcoming words, something that he needed to say, but wasn't able to without some pause.

"She looks really good in a jumpsuit."

He said, breaking into a rather loud cackle, hoping George shared his eclectic, odd sense of humor. Most of what Wedge did humor-wise was to amuse himself, then everyone else. He waved George off, rather enjoying his company. The guy had a hard run at it- the Netherworld, his family, all that. And yet, he remained not a huge dick in a big castle.

So, he checked all the "good enough" boxes for Wedge, and then some. George took his leave, and Reima rejoined him. He broke into that wide grin of his, unable to not smile whenever she re-appeared into his vision. He thought for a moment of telling her the entirety of the conversation, but, for some odd reason, he wanted to keep that between him and George. He trusted him, he liked him, and she did too.

"George is good. Wedge approved class-act. Funny, too."

Wedge looked down at his clothes- never even considering that someone had to change for dinner. "You guys get dressed for dinner often? Never even considered it- though, you know me. Lots of meals in Star Destroyer mess halls." He said, raising both eyebrows. He took a deep breath, knowing that while he didn't have to, it was probably one of those things that he should do. That, and Wedge had an affinity for free Alliance food, and eating with his pilots. While he could wine and dine with Admirals due to his billet and station in the Alliance, as a Commander and not just a Captain- he preferred the greasier, more comfortable food of the lower class. That, and of course, it was free. While now living quite well money-wise, Wedge never really broke the poor man's state of mind, from his choice of clothing purchases to how he viewed wealth.

"What would the Duchess like to see me wear?" He said, a single hand resting on her shoulderblade, smiling as he closed the distance between them. A classy, modest way to publicly touch his lady- being that, well, George was around the corner, and Natasi, who- (Not so) Secretly, Wedge was still nervous around. He also knew to ask Reima about these sorts of things. A nicer shirt, maybe? His uniform? If she was dressing up- he felt the need to as well, in solidarity. Just that he didn't know what to wear to dinner. He never even thought of what to wear to dinner besides a shirt and pants. Shoes optional.

 

[Reima Vitalis]

Reima shrugged in response to his question about dressing for dinner. "I assume so. You will be surprised, I think, to hear that this will be my first time having dinner with my mother as an adult. But I've been to enough house parties in Galidraan to know how it ought to go." She went into the wardrobe area and began peeling through Wedge's things. As she perused, she explained: "When I was a little girl, George and I ate in the nursery with nanny. We were too young to sit at the big table."

The fighter pilot canted her head to one side as she examined a blazer. "I think I can remember that she used to come in to see us before she went down to dinner, but I was just a tiny thing by then." She pulled the blazer and a nice button-up, taking them out into the sitting area where Wedge was waiting. "What do you think?" She held them out, one against the other. "Maybe a sweater instead of the blazer? It can be frightfully drafty, I'm sure."

"As far as the rest of the trip -- I expect we will need to be a little more dressed. For dinner. Think of it as a Starfighter Corps award banquet or ball. You in the dress uniform, me in something floor-length and dripping in jewels," she said, adopting an even posher accent to make it clear she was exaggerating, but only just. "Or we could trade. The rest of the time, you can wear what's comfortable. Within reason, of course; as much as we adore your cheeky little PT short-shorts, that's probably best kept in here. With me," Reima added with a confidential smirk. "At least George will be more uncomfortable than you. Your dress uniform will do nicely, but he'll be in the most ridiculous get-up."

When the evening's clothing had been settled, Reima leaned against the arm of an armchair. "Would you like me to avert my gaze?"

Wedge Draav​

 

[Wedge Draav]

​

Wedge looked up at Reima, his eyes glossing over with mischievous intent, while he panned over to the nice attire she laid out for him. "Blazer will do just fine." He looked over at Reima, processing that this event was big for her, too. He took a deep breath, sitting on the edge of the bed, not quite getting dressed yet, his lands laid flat on the clothes.

"I can't imagine this is... comfortable, for you, baby." He leaned forward, rubbing his hands together. "My family- you know. Didn't disappear. Wasn't so heavy with power, traditions. Grew up with a lot o' love, a lot o' hardship- sure, but." He took a deep breath through his nose. "I love you enough to know that this is bigger than just dinner and time with your momma, pretty lady." He walked over, embrancing Reima while she leaned over, pulling her head into his chest, rubbing her lower neck and her upper back, reassuringly.

"This is a lot for you, I know. And I'm here with you."

He let the silence take hold between them, the comfortable, reassuringly, silence that spoke more than he ever could. She was his rock, the reason to move forward. It wasn't the Alliance, it wasn't his dedication to it. Everything he did, everything he wanted to do- Wedge did it for her, for them from now on. She knew that, he didn't need to say it. And he knew that she'd move heaven and earth for him- again. She already had saved his life, even before she actually did. She saved him from himself. Wedge's eyes flicked to the clock, before he pursed his lips in a bit of a thought.

"You know we have a little time..."

​

 

[Reima Vitalis]

"Captain Draav," Reima said, her tone incredulous, even scandalized. "You are incorrigible." But she stood, went to the door, and threw the bolt.

* * * * *​

"We'll be late," Reima called over her shoulder, her voice light with mirth as she ran a brush through her hair, tidying and taming the waves that had become disheveled over the last three quarters' hour. She regarded herself in the mirror briefly, fashioning her hair back into something resembling tidiness, then set about touching up her makeup. Once that was finished, the pilot emerged from the bathroom. "Get your blazer on," she said, mock stern, as she picked up the garment and carried it over to her intended, helping him into the blazer like some caricature of an old-timey housewife.

"You've got some lipstick -- just there," Reima said, gesturing at Wedge's jaw, then produced a kerchief for his use.

When they finally descended the stairs, the enormous grandfather clock in the corner was just winding up to chime the hour. Reima glanced at Wedge with a hidden smirk, her dark eyes soft. She slid her hand into his, laced her fingers between his. From the open doors of the drawing room, a soft and slow melody emanated from within, and when they got to the door they would find George, alone, playing a Life Day tune on the piano, a neat scotch sitting on a coaster on the top.

Reima released Wedge, crossing over to the sideboard to pour them a drink, turning to his side to offer one. "Mother not down yet?" Reima asked George as they came to stand near him. George shook his head wordlessly, bringing the tune to its rousing crescendo which apparently required so much of his attention that he couldn't answer Reima. By the time he finished, though, Natasi entered from the hall and begun fussing at the bar.

"George, can you play A Day to Celebrate?" Natasi asked as she shook a cocktail shaker delicately. "It was your -- "

"My father's favorite," George finished for her. "I think I can just about manage it."

Natasi joined the others at the piano, some kind of amber cocktail in a coup glass in one hand. She and Reima exchanged kisses on each cheek, and Natasi squeezed Wedge's upper arm with her free hand as George plunked away. "I hope you found your rooms comfortable. If you need anything at all, please just say, and if we don't have it the village is just a stone's throw." She smiled broadly and took a sip of her cocktail.

"It's very nice, mother, thank you," said Reima. "This is quite the place. I thought it would be more like Herevan Hold, but -- it's not a repitition so much as a rhyme, if that makes sense."

Natasi's smile seemed to stick for a moment, and Reima wondered if she shouldn't have brought it up. It was a sore spot, to be sure, but they couldn't avoid it forever. But then Natasi cleared her throat and seemed to be a human woman again.

"A rhyme," she said thoughtfully. "Yes, I think I know what you mean. Anyway, Herevan is the past. Dyrn and I decided we wanted something that expressed both of us." Natasi smiled fondly at the memory of her absent husband. "You'd like Dyrn," she told Wedge. "He's quite down to earth, which is something that is -- as you know -- rather in short supply in my family."

George finished the song and stood, shutting the piano keys' cover, and picked up his drink. He greeted his mother and his sister with a kiss on both cheeks, then touched his glass to Wedge's, resulting in a harmonious clink. "Settling in nicely, my friend?"

Wedge Draav​

 

[Wedge Draav]

Happy, happy, happy days.

​

Wedge smiled when she stood up and locked the door. He couldn't stop smiling for the next 45 minutes.

---

He descended the stairs, a big stupid grin on his face. She helped him to dress, helped him.... right himself. Though, she was a bit more disheveled than he was. It wasn't the first time that the pair had snuck in a quick-

He coughed, clearing the thoughts from his mind. Not the time, certainly with

Wedge felt more at ease than he thought he would be. He stopped, hearing George's musical talents. He had no idea that he was talented in that capacity, and the Life Day tune carried throughout the house. He tightened his grip around Reima's interlaced fingers, thoroughly enchanted by the music. He was drawn to stare at George as they entered, basking in the glow that the melody George painted with his music.

His attention, devout and all-encompassing, was broken by Natasi entering. He originally was enthralled by the tune George was playing, but the brief pause to the new tune, and Natasi's arrival, caused him to snap back into focus. Natasi spoke to him, and his brain took a moment to process what she said- and also reminded him to smile and be polite when she gave his arm a squeeze.

So far, it seemed Natasi liked him.

"Can't think of a single thing I'm missing here." He said in reply to Natasi, turning his head to Reima when she spoke. He didn't quite catch the exact analogy. Reima had told him about her time before with her mother, but without the rich understanding of her past and perhaps the personal experience- all he could do was support his woman.

"I think you're all more approachable than you think. If he's anything like George, we're already friends." Reima certainly was, at least. Maybe her time away and her experience with the Alliance and outside the Governance was more beneficial than he realized. George seemed alright too. Wedge turned his head towards George, clinking his glass together happily.

He leaned towards George, patting him on the ribs playfully, leaning into to speak in a playful- but oddly true tone.

"My mama said that you gotta come next year to our house."

He turned back to Reima, drinking in his woman visually. His eyes flicked up and down her again- not that he didn't get a good look earlier. He looked back to over to Natasi, one of the most powerful people he'd ever met (politically speaking) standing just feet away. "Well, Natasi. I'm glad you get to see me other than screaming at the entire Galactic Senate, for one. Thanks again for hosting Life Day- especially in all this here... well, marvelous place." Wedge turned, gesturing around the entirety of the house. Throughout the trip so far, Wedge had to be pulled along a few times to stop him from admiring the beauty in the architecture of the house, staring at ornate baseboards, hand-carved furniture. The hand-crafted beauty and design of the home blew him away.

"You know, 'sides it feels good to know that not every politician sucks Plus, it's fun to see where Reima gets her Reima-isms from."

 

[Reima Vitalis]

"Anaxes, right?" George asked Wedge in response to his invitation to the next Life Day. He shot his sister a challenging glance. "See, I do listen. I'm sure we'd be delighted, wouldn't we, mother?"

"It's a date," Natasi agreed at once. "But speaking of politicians -- Raphael Calgar is the Senator there. He is, as they say, one of the good ones in the Senate. He was present with the Chancellor and myself at the Senate when..." She paused, hesitating just a moment. "...when it was destroyed. It was down to his quick thinking that we all survived, somehow. It might be worth looking into a discussion with him if you find things are still as they were when you expressed your concerns at the Senate."

At doing some heavy lifting there, since it could either mean at the location of the Senate or, in the alternative, in the general direction of the Senate. Either would have been appropriate there. "And," Natasi went on, her voice light. "I'm sure he shares my feelings about that General. Something ought to be done about the commission of that sort to officer positions. But -- that's neither here nor there. Of course we'll come if your mother will have us. But I hope it won't be a year before we meet."

"Mother, I haven't even met them yet," Reima said. She glanced over at Wedge. "We'll rectify that sooner rather than later. I can't wait."

"Of course. But you can't blame me for being interested," Natasi said. "When one meets a remarkable person, it is natural for one to be curious about his family and upbringing."

At the mention of 'Reima-isms' the two women exchanged looks, but George erupted with raucous laughter, nearly doubling over. Finally straightening, he clapped Wedge on the shoulder. "Reima-isms! Absolutely classic," George said, lifting his hand to brush a tear from his laughter-crinkled eye. "I thought you'd had those treated, darling," he chided his sister.

Reima gave her brother an acid smile. "Just remember, Georgie, that you'll bring home a partner one day, and turnabout is fair play."

The butler had entered from the hall, catching Natasi's gaze and offering a shallow bow from the neck. "That's dinner, everyone." Natasi put her hand on Wedge's forearm and gestured forward with her other hand, becoming his sherpa. "You must tell us if there's anything in particular you'd like to eat, Wedge. I would like for you to be at home here. And I'll show you and Reima where the kitchens are in case you want a snack at any time." She smiled fondly, pointing out rooms as they passed. "You can look around at your leisure. It isn't a museum." While Natasi was talking to Wedge, if he looked back he would see the Pretty Lady bickering in little whispers with George, who seemed endlessly amused by her waspishness.

The dining room table was large, even with most of the leaves removed, and there were four place settings bunched at one end, presumably meaning to be more intimate, for the family. Natasi took up her position, naturally, at the head of the table, leaving the position at her right for Wedge as the guest of honor and at her left for George. Reima sat next to Wedge, settling delicately and picking up the printed menu.

First up? Cream of mushroom and herb soup.

"My favorite," Reima said with a faint smile. She looked over at Wedge and set the menu down, then took his hand under the table. The butler set about to fill the wine glasses as a trio of footmen served the soup with the precision of a military operation.

Wedge Draav​

 

[Wedge Draav]

What was time, to them?
​

Wedge had several reasons to be in a good mood. He was with his woman, he was with George, and he had made an impression on Natasi that was better than he could have hoped for. He flicked his eyes to Reima next to him, smirking. Reima had at least four reasons to be happ- he coughed, derailing himself from that train of thought. He was still in that passive way, watching George laugh, laughing too. He didn't mean anything harmful by it, no teasing, no malice.

"I love everything about Reima that makes her, Reima." Not a flinch, not a rebuttal, not a retort, not a slight against George. It just was that, a statement of fact. Clear as glass and honest as the ocean breeze. Wedge thought for a moment, thinking how best to answer Natasi, taking in a deep breath. "I think some of us would be sleeping on some couches, if we all piled to Anaxes." He said slyly, making light of his family's status. That, and they didn't exactly live.... like this. Not that Wedge judged them, or minded it, or thought them higher or lesser. Just simply the way it was.

"My family is dying to see me, too. I think-" He let out an exasperated breath, realizing that he hadn't seen his family altogether in quite some time. "Gosh, EVERYONE? All eight of us- well. Shi- Shoot, I think it's been a while. But, they're dying to meet Reima, see me, congrats on my promotion, chastise me about that General business, the whole shabang."

He looked over at Natasi, raising both of his eyebrows. "You poke at Generals I don't like and you're offering me snacks later on? Natasi, you know I'm with Reima, can't be makin' me fall in love with too many people here." He said with a hearty laugh- just in time for soup. Some kinda soup. And a menu? Served? With the lethality of a GADF Marine assault, he might add. Lethal soup-pourers. That's how they'd beat the Sith. Not guns, bullets fired by Marines and Soldiers- he'd train these butlers to be elite-

He shook the daydream away, coming back when Reima took his hand sneakily under the table. He gave it a squeeze, released it- and with a bit of sleight of hand, placed a single black gambling chip worth a whopping five credits- from one of the many casinos on Nar Shaddaa. On the back in plain white marker he wrote "LIFE DAY 900 ABY", along with the pair's initials. He released her hand, letting her fawn over it, as he knew she would.

"I don't like to think of myself as remarkable, by the way, Natasi. Part of being a Commander, and more importantly- of something like Revenant, is that I'm blessed with leading some of the finest pilots and people in the galaxy. I'd say more than half of my success is just the people I've commanded. My parents are the same way, you know. My father helped build some of the biggest shipyards, ships in the Republic, then the Alliance. He always accredited it to the people he was in charge of, not himself. Guess I took that from my dad. But- it's true. Wouldn't be here without them."

He hovered a hand over a spoon, slyly looking over to Reima. A nudge with her hand. He moved over to the other spoon on the table. The correct spoon, by the gentle squeeze of his knee and a pat. He picked it up and was about to go into his soup, but wanted to reiterate something to Natasi, of all people.

"But truly, I wouldn't be here, alive, without Reima. And a whole host of other people wouldn't be, if she hadn't done what she did. Reima after all, was one of the ones that helped bring down the Eclipse, after all."

He looked over at George and Natasi, steering the conversation to a much more real, much more honest topic. Reima may have been reserved about her part, but Wedge wanted Natasi to know that her daughter wasn't what she remembered. He knew that she knew- but. It was different to read a report about it, than to read it from someone who lived through the battle, through that firestorm.

 

[Reima Vitalis]

If Wedge had been looking to catch Natasi Fortan out, he succeeded and in spades. He might even have been able to tell by the fact that her face paradoxically went paler than its usual Galidraani-china white while a rosy patch appeared at each cheekbone. Her jaw dropped minimally as her spoon hovered over her soup. She looked like a deer caught in the headlights. "Oh -- " she finally stammered, forcing a police smile. " -- oh, no. We'd -- we'd arrange for -- accommodations -- of course. Imagine -- the lot of us pushing into a family house -- certainly not."

Reima, who had understood the invitation quite the way Natasi had, also flushed, and though there was a time that part of her would have enjoyed watching Her Majesty squirm, the comfortable détente between mother and daughter had suppressed that bit. She was momentarily distracted by Wedge's hand as it fumbled with hers, and she felt something round and plastic pressed to her palm. She dropped her gaze down to her lap, turned the prize over in her hand to read the inscription.

It was a characteristically heartfelt gift from Wedge, and she ran her thumb across the letters before flashing him a brilliant smile. She carefully tucked it into her pocket and turned her attention back to the conversation, which had come back around to whether Wedge was remarkable or not. She watched with interest, her attention diverting slightly to glance at Wedge's deliberations over the silver. She watched, squeezed his knee when he made the right selection, and then made a subtle signal with her own fingers, pointing at the outermost cutlery, then doing a sort of inward-push. Then her dark eyes flicked down the menu.

Would the shorthand translate to non-pilot jargon? It was anyone's guess.

Meanwhile, Natasi -- whose coloring had almost returned to normal -- was saying: "I daresay you'll find that I am more sympathetic to that point of view than most others in my position (with the notable exception of Chancellor Organa)." The Supreme Leader paused to sip her wine, carefully chosen by the butler to complement the soup course. "But two things can be true at once. Your team can be excellent and I'm sure it is, having read the after-action reports, but that doesn't take away from your own abilities. I would say it rather enhances them."

Reima's turn to flush when Wedge detailed her role in the battle at Coruscant. She hardly remembered it, hopped up on painkillers, adrenaline, and terror as she had been.

George piped up there: "She doesn't like to boast, our Reima, so we still don't know much about what happened with her at Coruscant, other than your remarks at the ceremony. Well, I don't, but this one was there," he indicated Reima with a nod, then another for Natasi, "and this one is on the Defense Committee, so it's just me in ignorance, I suppose. Tell me, Wedge, did they ever get to the bottom of there being a goddamn -- "

"George," Natasi admonished. "Really, your sister will need her smelling salts in a minute."

George didn't seem phased by this; he had heard Reima say much worse. "Capital ship, under the Senate? If it were me, heads would roll. How did nobody know?"

Wedge Draav​

 

[Wedge Draav]

Reima Vitalis
​

"Ah, just joshin' you. There's a barn."

A half-joke. Wedge had turned the barn on one of his first leave periods into a liveable space, at least above it. Heated, cooled... nice bed. Fireplace. Shower, too. Took him a while and quite a bit of help from his siblings. But he essentially turned it into a "guest house". His family had done a great many number of additions to it, and improvements.

He loved that barn. Reima would too.

Wedge tried to suppress his laughter, pushing his tongue against his cheek, smiling before he broke out into laughter after looking over at George. He couldn't help himself- bearing and seriousness wasn't his forte. Especially when he genuinely found something funny. It was just hard for him not to laugh, not to live in the moment. Wedge lived life at hundreds of miles an hour, he rarely didn't say what was on his mind, or what he was feeling.

Wedge looked with confusion at... a menu. A menu, for dinner? The concept was foreign, alien, unknown to him. He studied it for a while, raising an eyebrow before looking over at Reima for help, while taking a few careful sips from his soup. Really- really good soup. He thought for a while how to respond, his eyes not looking at anyone or anything, but seemingly lost in thought.

"I am pretty good, you know. I think I have to be, really. The wars forced me to."

He looked between George and Natasi, his knee bouncing. A nervous habit, brought about by the unmistakable horrors and damage he inflicted. Wedge had only discussed briefly with Reima the guilt he felt- after Tython, Coruscant, the murder he had wrought on other people. Sure, he was good. He had more confirmed air-to-air kills in Alliance history. He was proud of that. But part of him wondered if everyone he killed was a bad person, deserved to die. He collected himself, finally looking between George and Natasi.

"The Empire pulled a fast one on us. I'm not sure how they hid it for so long, but they placed it there a long time ago- anticipating this kind of maneuver. But I know that they did- and we almost lost because of it- but. A lot of people made a lot of sacrifices." He reached out for Reima's hand under the table- fingers stumbling, shaking almost. But when he found hers- the shaking stopped. He looked over at Natasi. He shrugged. The hotshot pilot didn't give a flying fuck. He looked over at Natasi, then George, then Natasi, raising both of his eyebrows after making a selection on the menu.

"As for the Senate, I don't think they're gonna let me in the building anymore. Well, the new building. So I don't really care what they have to say beyond if they're trying to start a new war."

What Wedge wanted to say to George, he didn't. He didn't want George to suffer like Reima and him had. No, he wanted George to remain ignorant, perhaps even boyishly charmed by war, death, fighting, being a pilot. Wedge liked flying and being a pilot but the reality was that every time he stepped into the cockpit he was aware of the fact he may never leave it. Even in training flights, just the simple act of being above the ground was dangerous enough. He liked George, he never wanted him to know the terror of someone trying to kill you, shooting at you, or killing an untold amount of people. On Tython, Wedge had shot down more enemy aircraft than he could count. And on the ground, he had killed more than he could possibly count with those gunship runs.

He didn't like that fact about himself anymore. It used to make him proud. Now, partially, it made him sick and wracked with guilt. Luckily, he wasn't alone anymore. And-

He never would be anymore.

​

 

[Reima Vitalis]

Like clockwork, the footmen came and removed the soup bowls, effortlessly swapping in the fish course, which if they consulted the menu they would see was billed as New Sterandel sole, accompanied by lemon beurre blanc, with haricot verts and fondant potatoes. Reima selected her fish fork and knife, the next layer in toward the center.

"Nonsense," Natasi responded to Wedge's commentary about the Senate. "If you have concerns that you feel should be raised to the Senate you're welcome to attend as my guest. And I'm sure Senator Calgar would say the same. You are one of his constituents, after all. Or perhaps you'll be one of mine, if my daughter plays her cards right."

Reima's head snapped back as if she had been struck. "Mother," she said, nearly choking on the flaky piece of New Sterandel sole she had been eating. She set her cutlery down and lifted her napkin to her mouth.

Natasi shared a confidential smile with Wedge, then took a bite of her fish.

Meanwhile, George had thoughts about the Sith plot. "I gather Alliance Intelligence has been going through rather a lot of turnover, but you'd think someone -- if not intelligence then Senate security or even a bloody janitor -- " A quick, sheepish glance at Natasi. " -- yes, sorry mother -- someone would notice."

Wedge Draav​

 

[Wedge Draav]

Reima Vitalis
​

"Well I'd hate to take up the entire second floor for ourselves, but if I muuuuust..." He said with a grin, looking over at Natasi then over to Reima. He flicked his eyebrows upwards towards Reima, then looked back over to Natasi, thinking carefully of what to say next. But he just leaned over, said something quietly that he didn't say to anyone else before.

"I wanna marry that woman right there. My life started a long time ago, but it didn't begin until I met her."

He leaned away from Natasi, turning to face George. He noticed the glance, and frankly, he didn't blame her. The Ice Queen at the end of the table could be scary, but, not unreasonably so. Reima really hammed up the scare factor- though he could see why she was more uneasy around her mother. It was less fear, and to Wedge, more fear of what she would have to say eventually.

"Hard to say who failed at that. Sith are crafty sons of bi- Sith are capable, cunning and took over the galaxy, or most of it, 'cause of it. Can't say they're stupid, for sure. Plus, that thing was miles deep under it all. They were smart, putting it there. Can't say I seen a more impressive tactical move."

His eyes flicked to Reima.

"Though can't say it paid out well for 'em."

Wedge had no idea what all the big words with all the vowels meant, but he did know that it was pretty good when he ate it. He made note of by damn near moaning into his food, just audible enough. His steady diet of not eating, followed by ship food, followed by fancy food, followed by alcohol, followed by not eating again, meant that he never really got a good meal often.

And right now, in the company AND in the good food... he was having a good time. Quite a tasty time, too.

 

[Reima Vitalis]

Reima had her own thoughts around the ship that had been parked under the Senate building.

It was not an affront, necessarily. After all, the Galactic Alliance was not a natural home to her. She was loyal to it as the most effective bulwark for capital-D Democracy and the concept of personal freedom, but she was also a toffee-nosed snob, a certified blue-blood -- a Princess, in fact, of a fallen Imperial faction -- and so it wasn't quite the middle finger to her that it was to the people of Coruscant.

And the taking off of the ship hadn't been the end of their problems, either. The destruction wrought by the crashing ship weighed heavily on the pilot. She wouldn't change her actions; it had been the right thing to do, even with the cost in life. Allowing it to escape would have been unthinkable.

Reima tried to follow the conversation, but much as she adored her brother, she found his enthusiasm for current affairs exhausting at the dinner table. So as one course replaced the next, followed by the next, she allowed George and Natasi to represent the family in discussion with Wedge. Balance knew he heard enough from her as it was.

As dessert was served -- sticky toffee pudding with namana liqueur caramel, a recipe created by Reima's own namesake, her grandmother -- Reima leaned against the rigid back of the chair. "I can't remember the last time I had such a good meal," Reima confessed. "They certainly don't serve sticky toffee pudding in the mess."

"There will be leftover," Natasi said, before glancing at Wedge with a confidential smile. "I don't condone eating dessert for breakfast, but at the holidays one can make an exception, hm? Remind me to point the way to the kitchens before we go up." She self-consciously adjusted an earring before raising her voice slightly, taking the rest of the family back into the conversation. "So -- tomorrow evening is the Life Day Eve service at the temple in the village. I don't know if that's something you both would be interested in attending, but of course I'd love it if you did." Dark eyes settling on Reima for a moment; always a fine balance between wanting her daughter to feel included but wanting her also to feel like she had the freedom to choose her own path. "We'll do a short walkabout after -- nothing too serious. And then we'll be doing gifts for the servants when we get home. They'll have Life Day off, of course."

"No servants for an entire day?" Reima asked. "How will you cope?"

Natasi favored her daughter with an exaggerated squint, a faint chuckle. "I'll still have Banks, of course, but she's -- well, you know. Pas devant."

Reima glanced at Wedge, gave a subtle but amused shake of her head. Her eyes said I'll explain later. "We'll discuss it and let you know about the temple," Reima declared.

"I wish you'd come," George said, ostensibly to them both, but he was clearly addressing Wedge. "It might be less emasculating to have another man carrying posies when Her Majesty's hands get full."

Natasi finished a bite of the pudding and set her fork down. "Did you decide what you'll be doing tomorrow, Wedge? If you'll be doing the Hesperidean Run? I'll call to have two fighters delivered first thing."

Wedge Draav​

 

[Wedge Draav]

Reima Vitalis


​

"Grew up on soup and sandwiches. Lots of kids meant lots of mouths. Hard to cook for a buncha people quick, every night." He studied the food on his plate, staring at it. Contemplating the farm-to-table route it must've had. The many hands that it took just to feed him, the rest of the table. And the price-

What he ate growing up, it was either grown, hand-made, or came pre-packaged when his father took them to the shipyards. The quality of the food was beyond him. And the quality of life, too. He could get used to this- but part of him wondered if it was too much for him. And maybe, too much for Reima.

"An evening together? I did bring my dress uniform, so." He looked over at Reima. It was a smirk, a smile, a raised eyebrow. Just a few seconds, but it said a lot- summarized as "why not?". "Temple sounds fine to me." He said with a grin, his eyes not leaving Reima. Then, Natasi said something interesting- Very interesting. She proposed an idea to let Wedge cut loose. But Wedge grinned, evilly, right at Reima. An idea crept into his mind, a plan.

"You know, Reima, I don't fly with a droid... so I think I'll need a copilot for this." He leaned forward, looking directly at Reima again. Wedge had an uncanny ability- his stare, his attention was so fixated, so focused that when he looked and spoke at you that it was almost as if you were the only person in the room. But, to Reima- he spoke as if she was the only person in the galaxy worthy of his attention.

Across the stars, across the planets and across the vastness of space- there was only one person that he wanted, only one thing he wanted. It wasn't to go fast, to be the best Commander. No, it was for her to look at him like she did every so often. But in this instance, it was mischievous, it was playful, it was happy. He let his words hang in the air, letting Reima piece together. She was smart- perhaps smarter, classier, more knowledgeable than him, too. More educated.

And so she could probably guess what he was going to say before he said it.

"And I think it's only fair that you get one too. If they're game, that is."

His fork went into his food, picking off a piece. Letting the words hang playfully in the air, the sarcastic tension rising as his blue eyes shimmered with self-amusement. "Coin flip or dealer's choice?" He looked over at Natasi and George, grinning. There it was- Wedge could put on a good act for a while, but the daredevil, the speedfreak, the adrenaline junkie, it always came out. "That is, of course, if you both are willing to put it on the line too."

Wedge wasn't sure who would win in this instance. Sure, he might've had the more impressive record, but not the home field advantage, and much less the knowledge of the race he'd be going into. She had an edge there. What were the stakes? Bragging rights- Oh. He could do that if she won. But if he won... well. He'd figure out something. Or he could.... do that. Or that. He smirked again, looking over at Natasi and George, wiggling his eyebrows. Perhaps Wedge wanted to include the two in their game. Perhaps he wanted to spend some more time with them. Or perhaps it was also to have Reima spend some more time with one of them-

Or maybe he even had more machinations.