Two days following this thread...




The few days without Captain s'Ilancy had been spent in routine, but it was a pre-planned routine. It was how things usually went when she was called away for short periods of time, ensconced in whatever meetings she was required to attend on whatever planet was deemed the place to be for the day. It was during those times that Samus Dage more or less allowed the ship to operate on autopilot. Oh, he directed things, but there was not much to direct when it came to simple stopovers. They would mostly return to the line once the captain returned. Trips to Jovan, sojourns to the border worlds to assuage any fears, resupply, deliver sundries. It was mostly a level set of duties and tasks, and it provided a bit of strange peace. Far removed from the old days, Samus was beginning to rather enjoy himself in these newer times.

They had picked up the captain and the Jedi, Zem Vymes, from Carshoulis a few hours previous, lingering in the Cluster only long enough to send grateful comms and a few official words with the Pride galleon Kaurra'Iro'Iro that had escorted them in, then out once more. It had been a relatively easy encounter, though fraught with thin-lipped smiles in the way that Dage had come to know quite well during his time with T'yeellaa. He'd become adept enough at reading the ear cues no matter the subtlety, and while some he could suss out in timely enough fashion, there were certainly still particular ticks that he'd yet to translate and memorize.

But, everything had been smooth enough, and two hours into hyperspace found Samus happily back in his normal role. Let the Captain have that seat on her precious bridge.

What he wasn't happy with, however, was the sight of a steaming, shriveled pile of overheated rations that a serving droid had brusquely dropped on his tray. The thin black plastic of the 'plate', formed into one main entree area and two smaller side-dish sections held food that he wasn't exactly sure was edible. Today's meal? Nuna A La Emperor with Rodian tuber fries (limp and moist with steam), and some mixed vegetable slurry. He wished he was back at the Diktat's Roost in that moment, distracted only by the droid asking if he wanted a drink.

A nod, and a liquid-filled pouch was set on his tray with as much grace as his food had been. He sighed, shoulders slumping, and turned from the ordering area to begin the search for a table.

This time of the afternoon it was largely empty, save for a few of the squadron pilots tucked into a corner table.

And, surprisingly, one other person.

Samus let his tray smack down on the table inhabited by the lone occupant, swiftly following suit and flopping his lanky frame into a chair.

"The trick is to imagine it's your favorite food. Don't think about what it really is, cause that'll only guarantee you end up starving to death."