| Goin' Fishin' |
| Summary: | Taija and Michel talk about Lance, Zorbo and the not so good old days before a training flight. |
| Date: | 28 MAR 11 |
| Related Logs: | Plenty not posted yet. |
| Players: |
  |
| Sceptre Hangar, Dantooine |
From the massive blast doors that lead deeper into the complex the hangar bay is equally as large. Massive bays are setup to house the advanced weapondry of the fighter unit that resides here. It also houses various support craft, though it appears that this hangar could support several more squadrons easily. Cranes and utility gear are connected to the ceilings and walls to move the spacecraft around. Repair stations are available for each variety of craft. Like many other spaceship bays the floor is extremely smooth, yet has a matte black finish. To the far end of the room are the giant blast doors that lead to the tunnel out of the cave and into the world above. A control booth is at the doors inset in the cave wall that has a view up the exit corridor and to the entire bay.
| IC Date |
|---|
"Very well now, let us see what we have here." Michel says to himself as he slips into the cockpit of TIE Defender #4, a manual in one hand, the other lowering himself into the cockpit with surprising ease. The interior of the ship is just big enough to unfold the manual's first series of fold-outs, which he begins to trace with his finger.
There's a knock at the aft entry hatch and Taija appears in her flight suit. She grins up at him. "Gettin' a look at the new toys, eh?" She settles a lean against the entry, clad in her flight suit with her helmet under her arm. "Haven't had a chance to take them out for a spin yet?"
"Ha! I admit, you caught me." Michel replies, turning to fix Taija with a big, completely unashamed grin. "Had just begun setting her up for a little hop." he explains, turning back to refer to the manuals before examining the control yoke. "Bah! They always set this compensator too high." he sighs, dialing the thing down a lot further than any Imperial manual would allow for. "They give us the finest g-suits on the market, but they act as if they do not trust them."
"These things are pretty awesome, Mike. No lie. I took one up middle of last week. Tried some basic fighter maneuvering about 2 million klicks out? Whew!" she hoots with a grin. "Its a total blast. I can't wait to see them in action." She chuckles at the remark about the suits and looks to her helmet. "Damned sight better than those awful things they gave us in the fleet. Full face visibility? Its a dream. Don't get too attached to these Defenders, though. We've got more toys coming in." She waggles her brow.
"Oh? Father Noel is coming again with more gifts for us naughty boys and girls?" Michel asks, turning to peer at Taija with a slightly arched eyebrow. "I am not certain my blood pressure could withstand such a shock as that." he chuckles. "You are correct about the new flight suits. I _hated_ those damned things they made us wear. The imaging tech would be perfect for a Storm trooper, but it was rubbish for a pilot." he grunts disdainfully. "I am glad to see properly again."
"No kiddin'. Bad ass wears. Supposedly these vests will stop quite of a bit of nastiness. I tried stabbing one with a bayonet the other day. Nothin'. Barely tore the fabric. Love it." Taj grins like an idiot. She was probably wearing the damned thing. "But yep. New toys. We've got a benefactor who wants to supply me at no cost. I just had to make a few promises about limitations on use. He's giving us four X-Wings." A beaten pause. "And not just any X-Wings. The upgraded fighter models. The ones designed to defeat this very beauty you are sitting in."
Michel gives a long, sliding whistle. "Very impressive, Colonel, very impressive indeed." he replies, eyes widening to nearly the size of saucers. "Have been in a few scraps with that model before, it would be very nice to be on the _giving_ rather than the _receiving_ end of that kind of thing for a change." he smirks slightly. "The Rebellion did well when they chose their planes." he says thoughtfully. "You wouldn't suppose there is any chance of us acquiring an A-Wing or two, do you?"
"No kiddin, right? We've gotta go pick them up in a few days. The only problem is that we're getting them from a former Sith. Remember I was trying to say something about not all darksiders being as bad as we think? As long as we admit that not all lightsiders are good? That'd be this guy; Former Emperor Maleficus." The last Emperor before the current breakdown. "Told him I was hunting this jerkass named Lance. Told me to take the fighters and knock him down as hard as I could. Nothin about this group was uttered." There's some pride there but a little caution, though she lofts a brow at the next part. "Possssssibly. You'd have to talk to Ian about it since he's the one with the pocketbook for now."
Michel pulls the slightest of faces for a moment at the mention of the former Emperor. "Ah…I see. Well, I suppose people in our unique situation do not have the luxury of always choosing whom it is we must ally with." he admits, nodding slowly. "So, who is this Lance person and why are we to knock him down so hard?" he asks, cocking his head curiously while his placid blue eyes regard his CO innocently.
"Not an alliance," Taj is quick to point out. "He gives us equipment. End of story. If he wants it back, he gets it back. I told him if he tries to saddle us with tasking he can have the fighters back at the first insinuation." The woman looks committed to that. "Lance Corbet. Big jerkwad douchebag. Its not an official mission for this team since its personal for Ian and I but we will take volunteers. We're going after a Hutt first. Corbet kidnapped and brainwashed Ian's wife, Ona Delamont." Republic Fleet Commodore, decorated war hero, wife of a Jedi, and Taj's best friend… before she faked her death with Ian. "We're going to get her back."
"If this Lance…douchebag person is a priority is a priority for you and Ian, it is a priority for me as well." Michel replies firmly. "Consider me as volunteered." he nods politely. "Aahhh, yes, the famous Hutt mission. You mentioned that when we met, or someone has since I came here…you know me." he smirks. "I sidetrack easily when not flying." he winks. "Speaking of which, do you have a bird ready?"
"Outstanding. I'll let Ian know you're in for it. But Zorbo is our priority. As much as I want to go after my friend, I can't have Ian going and giving in to emotion. He goes dark, we're all frakked like a passed out hooker at a frat party." An odd duality for the Colonel who will readily admit to the enjoyment of taking lives. "But yeah, I was about to take up one of the Defenders and run some flight tests. I wanted to test out the gun systems on some asteroids. Got a bag lunch packed for it since I might be back most of the day. You interested?"
"Colonel." Michel replies, tone mildly reproving. "Have you ever known me to _not_ be ready to fly?" he asks with a grin. "There is a thermos bulb full of soup outside of the hatch." he winks. "It's good soup. Your old recipe as best I could remember. Just allow me a few minutes to dial in my settings and get changed and we shall make these beauties show us their best."
"Attaboy, Away." Taj motions at Mike with her helmet. "Oh hey, yeah. Nom. Freaking potato mash soup?" Potato, sour cream, chives, cheese, thickened chicken broth. Oyez. "Man I haven't made that in years. One day I'm gonna go into the galley and cook dinner." And probably fail by trying to cook for five hundred times the number she was ever used to. "Get dialed in. My crew chief is already working my bird. I'm out of here in five mikes. If you don't have settings done by then I'll meet you in mid orbit over the base. No rush." She backs out of the hatch and lifts the helmet to her head, fiddling with the seals. New helmets take some getting used to.
Michel grins and nods. "You're welcome to squeeze half of it out for yourself, if you wish." he offers. "Though, I must apologize, I had to puree the potatoes and double the liquid so it would squeeze through the damned bulb." he chuckles. "Still, it should taste correctly, give or take." he shrugs. "Either way, I shall be ready in no less than five minutes." he says, turning back to his controls and starting to personalize them with the delicate, familiar touch of a lusty husband teasing his wife through her shift. "Gods below! They set _that_ THERE? Idiots! Merciful heavens…." he grumbles as he continues prepping his ship.
Fade…
