Swagger

[Bette Davis]

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.

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.

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.

[Zachariah Jak'el]

"Gee-whiz Davis. You can get a drink darn anywhere. This is Jovan Station. Look at all the things there are to see. Look, they even have a Tea House."

The tall, lanky Naboo farm boy was standing in front of one of the directory display screens. Every public sector of the station was broken down on the screen and with a scroll of the ball he was able to see every attraction, restaurant, and shop available. So many things to see, from the commemorative statues in the promenade to the many shops with brands he did not recognize, and Alliance Cuisine otherwise forbidden to them. Noticing his squadron mate had already moved on, Zachariah jogged after her to catch up.

"I've heard that Cizeracks prefer their meals alive, and eat them in a feeding pit. Sounds messy. Neat."

Pausing for a moment he lifted a holocamera add snapped a picture of the promenade opening up in front of them.

[Bette Davis]

"True," she said, only pausing coincidentally while he took a picture, scanning the neon holo-ads for the closest bar or restaurant. "But all of those things 'there are to see' can be enjoyed more with a drink in hand. And you know the bootleg stuff on board tastes like Maniac's dirty socks."

"Didn't stop you from drinking it," grinned Tod Marr as he caught up to them. "There's a place with real blob races, wanna join?"

"Ugh, blobs. No thanks." Bette wrinkled her nose, and looked up at Zach. "Anyway, I don't even like tea."

[Gradoona Pod-Floewander]

"Nineteen."

Gradoona squeeeed in approval as the dealer droid flipped the top card off the Pazaak deck towards her book. It left her sitting pretty, or at least statistically prettier than the book to her right. Currently, her opponent had seventeen. It was possible they could push at even results, or they could get extremely lucky and get a three dealt to them. The money in the pot felt right. Twenty five credits each. She wasn't trying to bust any balls here, this was just a little casual after-work gambling.

"Weeeellll, I'm naat gaanna budge aaff thaat. Thaat penguin takes one moore step, he's aaff the iceberg. I'll stand aan nineteen."

The Herglic waited for her gambling buddy to make a decision, and took the moment as a good one to chug down a third of her pitcher of beer. She was one quaff down when something out of the corner of her eye got her attention. Gradoona promptly cut her drinking short, a whistle zipping from her blowhole as she gave her friend a prod to the shoulder.

"Heeey lookit! We gaat a gaggle of the visiting ball team stretchin' their legs aan home field, eh?"

[Zachariah Jak'el]

"Blob races, eh? Sounds like a den of sin. Gamblin' and carousin'. Shiraya has some strong words about that sort of thing. Corrupts your soul. Eternal damnation. Fire and brimstone."

The consequences of sin were rattled off quickly like rapid fire bullet points. He knew from experience that he had to keep his occasional sermons short or his wingmates would start throwing things at him; or in one instance biting him. The rest of the squadron was a constant barrage of physical and verbal abuse, but he still cared for the eternal souls of his heathen brothers and sisters in arms. He knew that if just a ray of Shiraya silver moonlight could touch their souls it may lead them down the path to salvation.

And that was worth all the trials and tribulations, and all the barbs and spears that they could throw at him.

Zach was hardly focused on his wingmates. His hazel eyes were scanning the space, looking at everything from the architecture to the people moving through it. "You can't swing a dead lothcat in here without hittin' an alien. Look'n them all! That one over there's as big as my cockpit!" His holocamera came back up and snapped a picture of the large, smooth skinned giantess sitting at a table playing Pazaak.

Ugh. More gambling.

[Bette Davis]

Bette looked where Jackal's cam was pointing and her eyebrows rose. "That's a Herglic. Never seen one in deep space before, though. Or, ever, really." Mild curiosity wasn't enough to make her walk any closer, and the pilot turned around in place one more time. "How about there?"

She gestured to a dark looking store front that was more like a black hole surrounded by blinking LEDs. STAR ARCADE!!! the sign proclaimed.

[Zachariah Jak'el]

Letting out a whistle at the sight, he ventured toward the clash of lights and sounds that Bette was pointing to.

"Ain't got nothin' like this back home on Rori."

Cupping his eyes against the darkened glass revealed a disappointing amount of nothing. Just vague shadows and muted lights. Curious to get a better view he moved around to the doorway and poked his head through; into a smokey, dim room full of whirling lights and blingy sounds. The room appeared to be full of standing arcade machines, much like the few they had back in the barracks. These, however, were much more gaudy with their sounds and noises; and somehow that much more appealing.

"Ha! They have starship simulators in the back."

[Tal]

He picked out the infraction immediately. Just another head in the crowd, but this head was wearing the hat of an Imperial pilot. It was a hat that carried with it the glorious history and sacrifices of countless men and women that had worn it before.

Every day, Captain Tal Kellison was assaulted with the lazy soldiers, merchant officers, and diplomats who didn't seem to care how they presented themselves. It was a constant annoyance, like a tiny sliver he couldn't remove. He couldn't exactly browbeat an Alliance naval officer because his nameplate on one side wasn't precisely level with the top row of ribbons on the other or because the occupational badges were slightly different sizes. Protocol forced him to keep his mouth shut, even though he knew he was correct. But this, this he could fix. That knowledge itself was like a soothing balm.

"Pilot! Fix that hat! You embarrass yourself." Kellison's voice cut through the cacophony of the common area. Too late did he noticed the squadron insignia on the pilot's shoulder. His blood pressure began to rise, preemptively.