Downtime in the Echo Bar...

It wasn't often the Echo Bar was busy. People passed through briefly, never staying long before they were called away on a mission of some kind – but tonight it felt like everyone had been given the evening off for good behavior. That in mind, they were of course going to use the time to be as bad as they could. Around one table, a group of pilots gathered, watching with silent grins as one of the new recruits tried to down a yard of Corellian ale.

“Come on, Flipper.. you can do it!” someone called out, though seconds later Flippers throat closed up and what was left of the yard came sluicing out over him. Coughing and spluttering, he wiped the back of his hand across his mouth as a near-unanimous 'boooooo' of disapproval went through the ranks. Slapping Flipper on the back – triggering another coughing fit – Jamo looked to the others with a grin.

“Better luck next time, Flipper... now, who's next?”

He didn't drink as much as he used to... that was rather apparent in the fact that he was practically married to his work these days. Tiring of the same old mission bread topped with hangover mystery meat and busted TIE fighter mustard made him opt for a change of pace to sober up and take his job seriously. It was those things that got him the job outside of his skill, which made him untouchable, a man that shouldn't exist. However, those that knew him well enough were in the know that Kelly Perris was far from untouched within. But tonight wasn't about that, not if Joker had anything to do with it. And knowing Jamo Jakatta, he usually did.

"I'll take you up on that." A voice sounded from the door to Echo Bar, garnering the attentions of the tight-knit group of pilots, causing a a few smiles, some grins, others with mostly wary looks at his presence. He smiled at the commotion around one of the newest acquisitions of the Starfighter Corps and remembered his days when he was the fresh meat. Fond memories of initiations. Hazing, indeed. Commander - ahem, check your rank at the door, we're all equals here on the battlefield of livers, sir - Perris let slip a deep laugh and clapped the newbie on the back as he moseyed over to Jamo to look his squadron mate square in the eye and voiced a few simple and to-the-point words:

"You. Me. Now." And then he grinned, slapping the other man hard on the shoulder. "We're long overdue, and you know it."

Any squad Aros was in, he was quiet. He didn't talk. He observed. That was always his role, it was how he liked it. Plus, he looked weird, who'd want to talk to someone they thought was a girl? Well, a few did - but he paid them no mind. After a few good rights, people tended to stray away.

There was only so many "sweet cakes" he could take before he let his deep voice scare them off. It was funny to him. A joke of sorts, but it was an inside-joke he couldn't share with many others.

Well, except that Corellian ale he often drank. It was another day at the Echo Bar, and Aros was often here if he wasn't up in the heavens, on his own planets or blasting a TIE to oblivion.

Another gulp, and he called for another. His people had a high tolerance for alcohol, but it didn't mean Aros didn't like it. Corellian's had a fine taste, especially to his foreign taste buds.

One eyebrow curling upwards, Jamo gave a roguish smile. “Baby, I didn't know you still cared.”

Turning back to the rest of the table for a moment, Jakatta appraised the gathering of nuggets and gave a nod, as if to say that they had his approval - for now. Then, throwing one arm around the Commander's shoulder, he steered the pair of them off towards the bar.

“Perris, where have you been all my life?”

"Busy." That was the truth, it was a sort of lie of omission as well. Ever since his little chat with Leela Vorega, things had been... well, it was hard to put a finger on, but it reminded him of the irrational guilt he felt, even now, over six years since the cause of it. And then Leela had been promoted, removed from the cockpit, unable to avoid it. They were after him, too, as they always seemed to be. It made him wonder if one day he too would be unable to turn down a promotion that would effectively remove him from being active in the cockpit of an X-wing. The thought unsettled him. This was his life.

"Hm. Yeah, just busy..." Then he grinned, patting Jamo on the back. Change of course. "...pining after you, sweetcakes. Command's been making those offers harder to refuse and I don't know what I'd do if I couldn't see your shining face on a daily basis."

“You're getting too big for your boots, Perris. Careful or you'll end up chained to a desk.”

As they stepped up to the bar, Jamo leaned one hip against the counter. The bartender didn't even ask what they wanted, just started pouring two mugs of Corellian ale. It was the only beer on tap and even those pilot's who had started out hating it had developed a taste for it, upon realising it was the only thing the bar could stock on a regular basis.

“Then again, if you were calling the shots, I might get more than a blue milk run escort now and then.”

He grinned, taking a lean against the counter himself. The years just passed so quickly. It had been what? Six since the squadron reformed? Joker and himself were the longest surviving members of the original reformed roster. Not too long after that, Donut had come. In the past year, they had acquired Monkey. It brought him to wonder less savoury things, which made him happy that there was a pint ready by the time those thoughts got to the gate.

"And what? Leave one of you nerfherders in charge? I'll take my chances and stick with the squadron, Jamo." Kelly curled a hand around the pint and brought it to his mouth, taking a hearty gulp. "But you're right. The brass doesn't know just how much we're capable of. A valuable resource, collecting dust, most of the time."