Lieutenant Commander Bette Davis pushed up her cap, settling it at a non-regulation angle as she and the rest of Shadow Squadron exited the airlock into Jovan Station. The smell hit her first: a warm bodied, fur covered odor that wasn't unpleasant per se, but certainly a change from the crisp recycled air of an Imperial Star Destroyer.The definition of swagger, in my opinion, is you have to have that arrogance, that confidence that you are the best out there at all times.
They were the only squadron on board due for shore leave, and regulations wouldn't allow their captain to delay it any longer. "Try not to cause an interstellar incident," he'd sighed as he pressed his thumb onto the datapad to sign off on it. Their ship was escorting a dignitary of some kind to the Imperial Embassy, or perhaps it was for trade negotiations...? Bette hadn't paid attention. She flew where she was told and to be truthful, life was getting more and more boring the longer the cold war dragged on between the Empire and the Alliance. The condition of being on Jovan was that they remain in uniform at all time with specially issued passes in plain view, which didn't exactly promise a lot of fun on the station.
"I'm getting a drink," she announced to no one in particular, surprising no one at all.
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