And Now For Something Completely Random!
AKA
SW Kick for No Apparent Reason!
But this being me, it is no ordinary SW kick, so if you are expecting to find ranting/raving about any of the recent movies or books- you're looking in the wrong place. I'm a classic Rogue Squadron nerd and fairly proud of it. For whatever reason my muses have suddenly decided to drag me forcefully into finishing one adventure of my favourite four (Wedge, Tycho, Wes and Hobbie), and starting another...>groans<. Hence the following. I re-read this http://www.wam.umd.edu/~dilli/writings/orac.html
I took the "Which New Republic pilot do you belong with" quiz on Quizilla and a few other quizzes too, but unfortunately lost the results. Darn. Socks.
And I looked over this again.
Five Pilots and A Baby
Pilots are always in demand, in almost any military, it seemed, and the Alliance was no exception, thus, the events that occurred were singular and the odds of them happening were a million to one. So of course, they happened.
Wedge was hovering in that odd, even dreaded, state between wakefulness and sleep, where some things were exceptionally clear, and others foggy and dreamlike. An example he would have offered, had he been awake enough to care, was that his eyes were firmly shut and he wished for them to remain so. It was a small way in which sleep had a hold on him. His hearing, however, was, fortunately or not, exceptionally sharp. He heard his wingman snoring the sleep of those lucky few who had been injured and given painkillers with a sedative - before the order came down from High Command that only basic treatment was to be given to prevent impairment. He sighed and tried to adjust himself in his uncomfortable bunk. Then he heard it. It was a thin, reedy cry, high pitched and erratic.
A baby? Wedge groaned. He and the other members of his squadron were stuck in off-base housing, which meant such things as loud music and, yes, squalling babies, were not unusual. Wedge pulled his pillow out from under his head and stuck it over his head, attempting to muffle the noise. The attempt failed. After twenty minutes of sporadic howling, Wedge decided he would get no more sleep that night and that he might as well take in the sunrise- so what if it was two hours away? There was a balcony at the end of the hall, there might be a view, even in a city… Stopping only to belt on his blaster, the pyjama-clad squadron leader opened the door- and nearly tripped over the baby.
"What the-?!"
It was a baby, no mistaking it, a human baby, a small, pink thing wrapped in a green woollen jersey that stopped in mid-howl to stare at him. Well, the floor was no place for anyone to leave a baby, Wedge thought, dazed. He picked it up carefully. It gave an experimental howl that trailed off sloppily. Holding the baby as best he guessed was correctly, Wedge tried hard to think, not the easiest thing to do at three in the morning with a small child with a prodigious lung-capacity. Maybe the baby had been left outside the wrong doorstep- that had to be it! There were four apartments on the floor his squadron occupied, Tycho and he shared one, Hobbie and Wes had another, Plourr had the third, and the fourth…was unoccupied, he remembered belatedly as he walked over to it and stopped in front of the door with the ‘do not enter’ tape liberally plastered across it. The baby, which had been silent for a little while, started to howl again as he stood there. Wedge sighed and walked over to the balcony. The baby stopped. Slowly, Wedge added two and two and made four. The baby did not howl as he walked. It made strange noises and it seemed to dribble a lot, but it did not howl… Thus it was that Wes, the only early riser of the lot, found him pacing the hall.
"Wedge are you- what is that?" he gaped.
"It’s a baby, Wes, shut your mouth, your jaw is dragging on the floor," Wedge said with a yawn. The baby gave a single, drawn out howl. Wedge looked haggard. "It was asleep too, for maybe twenty minutes until you spoke up." Wes continued to gape as Wedge explained, over the howling, the events that had led to his pacing the corridor. "-and as soon as it’s a reasonable hour, someone has to take it to Social Services."
Wes had a strange smile on his face as he delivered the deathblow to that idea. "Wedge, this world’s in such turmoil, they’re not even sure who’s in charge. Social Services hasn’t been working for a few years here."
"But…"
"Besides, on this world it’s hardly necessary, people look out for their families. No one would just leave their child on a stranger’s door…"
"Except someone did," Wedge said.
Wes sighed. "It’s too early…"
"’Morning, sir," Plourr Illo said, closing her apartment door behind her. "’Morning, Wes. Sir, is that yours?" she asked with a grin.
Wedge had a bad feeling that the day was not going to go well at all.
When everyone was awake and mostly coherent, with the possible exception of Tycho, a decision was in the process of being made. Wedge was all in favour of taking the child to the nearest planetary authorities, but Wes reminded him and everyone that such authorities had not been in operation for a while. Plourr had no objection to the baby staying on, but she insisted that if it did, everyone would have to help raise it. Hobbie predicted disasters as usual and Tycho fell asleep halfway through the discussion.
Finally, Wedge surrendered to the inevitable. "All right, we’ll keep the baby," he said, "but only until the Alliance can place it, the Force alone knows how they will."
"Um…" Plourr, who had been holding the baby, now held it at arm’s length. "I think it needs to be changed."
"Wes, go buy things for it," Wedge said. "Plourr when he gets back, catch up with us at the base. Tycho, you and Wes are babysitting."
"Uh? Sure," Tycho said and went back to sleeping.
"Why does he have to stay?" Hobbie asked. "Why can’t Plourr stay?"
"What, just because I’m a woman?"
"No, because you’re not as crazy as he is, and I want an apartment to come back to," Hobbie said.
"Nevermind, we might have fun," Wes said, taking the baby from Plourr. "Yes," he announced to it. "You’re gonna have lots of fun with Uncle Wes, aren’t you?"
(Possibly to be continued)
SW Kick for No Apparent Reason!
But this being me, it is no ordinary SW kick, so if you are expecting to find ranting/raving about any of the recent movies or books- you're looking in the wrong place. I'm a classic Rogue Squadron nerd and fairly proud of it. For whatever reason my muses have suddenly decided to drag me forcefully into finishing one adventure of my favourite four (Wedge, Tycho, Wes and Hobbie), and starting another...>groans<. Hence the following. I re-read this http://www.wam.umd.edu/~dilli/writings/orac.html
I took the "Which New Republic pilot do you belong with" quiz on Quizilla and a few other quizzes too, but unfortunately lost the results. Darn. Socks.
And I looked over this again.
Five Pilots and A Baby
Pilots are always in demand, in almost any military, it seemed, and the Alliance was no exception, thus, the events that occurred were singular and the odds of them happening were a million to one. So of course, they happened.
Wedge was hovering in that odd, even dreaded, state between wakefulness and sleep, where some things were exceptionally clear, and others foggy and dreamlike. An example he would have offered, had he been awake enough to care, was that his eyes were firmly shut and he wished for them to remain so. It was a small way in which sleep had a hold on him. His hearing, however, was, fortunately or not, exceptionally sharp. He heard his wingman snoring the sleep of those lucky few who had been injured and given painkillers with a sedative - before the order came down from High Command that only basic treatment was to be given to prevent impairment. He sighed and tried to adjust himself in his uncomfortable bunk. Then he heard it. It was a thin, reedy cry, high pitched and erratic.
A baby? Wedge groaned. He and the other members of his squadron were stuck in off-base housing, which meant such things as loud music and, yes, squalling babies, were not unusual. Wedge pulled his pillow out from under his head and stuck it over his head, attempting to muffle the noise. The attempt failed. After twenty minutes of sporadic howling, Wedge decided he would get no more sleep that night and that he might as well take in the sunrise- so what if it was two hours away? There was a balcony at the end of the hall, there might be a view, even in a city… Stopping only to belt on his blaster, the pyjama-clad squadron leader opened the door- and nearly tripped over the baby.
"What the-?!"
It was a baby, no mistaking it, a human baby, a small, pink thing wrapped in a green woollen jersey that stopped in mid-howl to stare at him. Well, the floor was no place for anyone to leave a baby, Wedge thought, dazed. He picked it up carefully. It gave an experimental howl that trailed off sloppily. Holding the baby as best he guessed was correctly, Wedge tried hard to think, not the easiest thing to do at three in the morning with a small child with a prodigious lung-capacity. Maybe the baby had been left outside the wrong doorstep- that had to be it! There were four apartments on the floor his squadron occupied, Tycho and he shared one, Hobbie and Wes had another, Plourr had the third, and the fourth…was unoccupied, he remembered belatedly as he walked over to it and stopped in front of the door with the ‘do not enter’ tape liberally plastered across it. The baby, which had been silent for a little while, started to howl again as he stood there. Wedge sighed and walked over to the balcony. The baby stopped. Slowly, Wedge added two and two and made four. The baby did not howl as he walked. It made strange noises and it seemed to dribble a lot, but it did not howl… Thus it was that Wes, the only early riser of the lot, found him pacing the hall.
"Wedge are you- what is that?" he gaped.
"It’s a baby, Wes, shut your mouth, your jaw is dragging on the floor," Wedge said with a yawn. The baby gave a single, drawn out howl. Wedge looked haggard. "It was asleep too, for maybe twenty minutes until you spoke up." Wes continued to gape as Wedge explained, over the howling, the events that had led to his pacing the corridor. "-and as soon as it’s a reasonable hour, someone has to take it to Social Services."
Wes had a strange smile on his face as he delivered the deathblow to that idea. "Wedge, this world’s in such turmoil, they’re not even sure who’s in charge. Social Services hasn’t been working for a few years here."
"But…"
"Besides, on this world it’s hardly necessary, people look out for their families. No one would just leave their child on a stranger’s door…"
"Except someone did," Wedge said.
Wes sighed. "It’s too early…"
"’Morning, sir," Plourr Illo said, closing her apartment door behind her. "’Morning, Wes. Sir, is that yours?" she asked with a grin.
Wedge had a bad feeling that the day was not going to go well at all.
When everyone was awake and mostly coherent, with the possible exception of Tycho, a decision was in the process of being made. Wedge was all in favour of taking the child to the nearest planetary authorities, but Wes reminded him and everyone that such authorities had not been in operation for a while. Plourr had no objection to the baby staying on, but she insisted that if it did, everyone would have to help raise it. Hobbie predicted disasters as usual and Tycho fell asleep halfway through the discussion.
Finally, Wedge surrendered to the inevitable. "All right, we’ll keep the baby," he said, "but only until the Alliance can place it, the Force alone knows how they will."
"Um…" Plourr, who had been holding the baby, now held it at arm’s length. "I think it needs to be changed."
"Wes, go buy things for it," Wedge said. "Plourr when he gets back, catch up with us at the base. Tycho, you and Wes are babysitting."
"Uh? Sure," Tycho said and went back to sleeping.
"Why does he have to stay?" Hobbie asked. "Why can’t Plourr stay?"
"What, just because I’m a woman?"
"No, because you’re not as crazy as he is, and I want an apartment to come back to," Hobbie said.
"Nevermind, we might have fun," Wes said, taking the baby from Plourr. "Yes," he announced to it. "You’re gonna have lots of fun with Uncle Wes, aren’t you?"
(Possibly to be continued)
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