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01 November 2009 @ 01:40 am
Because Jack's impatient lol  
I can't seem to get off the ground just yet for Nano, but Jack would like to see what I've gotten so far. Here it is in all it's raw glory.


Decorated in the unmistakeably bright orange of the X-wing pilot's jumpsuit, Wedge Antilles shifted his vigilant stance. In the hangar bay which berthed Rogue Squadron's array of X-Wing fighters stood along the far wall a line of holostatues. Guardians, ever watchful, of the pilots who prepped themselves down below on the hangar's floor below. Captain Antilles made it a habit, or more like a ritual if his wing-men were asked to describe it, of standing in front of each of their transparent faces to look them in the eyes giving them his silent promise that he would not join their ranks until he'd seen the last of their sacrifices fulfilled.

It would be easy for a man to get swallowed up in the responsibility and weight of being a survivor; too easy to regret living in the face of those who had paid a heavy price. Shifting along to the next in line the stalwart leader held back a flinch. Biggs. The one face he was reluctant to revisit on these occasions. It was Biggs, ironically, who reminded him that for every time he returned from a close fought skirmish he kept his cockpit free of another soul who would be sent to stand in the line of fire. Each time the Rogues were successful lives were spared; even when lives were spent in the process.

Reflections were better suited for another time when he could have the luxury of indulging in senseless guilt. While his eyes scanned over familiar faces his resolve forged itself into steel upon sight of the news ones added to the list. Luke talked about anger as if it was a force capable of being controlled, Wedge was beginning to doubt that the Jedi fully knew what he was talking about. Maybe for a Jedi that level of control was possible, but for the average man it seemed like a task that was growing more impossible by the day.

There was an unmistakable sound of boots clicking along the catwalk to his right, but they carried a distinct stately air rather than the rugged shuffle of flight boots. It was pure instinct, rather than a predisposition to the Force, that had Wedge wheeling around with one hand easily gliding to his hip where the comforting weight of a blaster sat off to one side.
 
 
 
Jacksee_jack_write on November 1st, 2009 07:01 am (UTC)
RIP Biggs.

I think I've told you this, and probably many times, but I really like how you write Wedge. He's very human.

THAT IS NOT RACIST
SOME OF MY BEST FRIENDS ARE WOOKIEES

you know what I mean, though. <3