Oisin Ocasta
Jul 28th, 2017, 11:31:54 AM
Every inch of Oisin Ocasta ached. The Chair was to blame for a lot of it, and long hours for most of the rest. Commander Inirial's covert absense had left him filling a few of the spook's many shoes, and despite the meetings and the reports and the office work, commanding the Destiny on border patrols was by far the worst. It wasn't horrible: Oisin knew and respected the crew, which was thankfully small, and he'd played first officer for Adonis long enough that he understood what was required of him, and the ship. But it was uncomfortable. Oisin was a pilot, nothnothing more. He never strove for authority, or prestige - Force sakes, he'd been a solitary recon pilot before Rogue Squadron had taken him, and he'd been utterly content to be the competent footnote in someone else's war hero legacy. But times changed. The galaxy changed. So here he was, tired and aching, letting his weary legs run on autopilot to take him home.
Home. That notion managed to provoke a faint flicker of a smile, and some associated relief. It wasn't quite accurate: home technically was an uninspiring single officer berth a couple of corridors over, a place to sleep and work but little else. Oisin didn't need more than that; his visits to the Atreides had become pretty much nightly, and normal. A few hours as a climbing frame, alternating evenings juggling the twins and fixing food to give Chrys a much needed break, the occasional - well, a little more frequently than was occasional and appropriate, probably - surprise takeout delivery to make tough days a little less of a strain; and then letting the little ones fall asleep to a holomovie before sneaking off back to his bunk. It was nice. It was weird, too, not the kind of dynamic that was supposed to be normal; but it was nice, it was theirs, and they were happy.
Oisin cracked his back as he entered the final corridor, rolling his shoulders to try and fool his body into feeling functional for a few minutes longer. With a sigh, and bleary blinking eyes, Oisin reached for the door controls. He didn't stand a chance.
From the chamber beyond, two voices cried out in tandem, shouts of get him get him get him! punctuated by flurries of laughter, giggles, and crudely impersonated repulsorlift engines as two streaks of pure hyperactive energy rocketed towards him. "Use your spoons and tow cables!" Brienne ordered, as both limpet children locked themselves forcefully around Oisin's knees. "You'll never catcher the princess!" Emma added, defiantly.
Immediately, Oisin fell into role, wheezing mechanically with each clunking step that hoisted a giggling Atreides from the ground. "Curse you, Rogue Squadron!" Oisin cried, dropping his voice deeper and speaking between exaggerated breaths in his closest approximation of Lord Vader. "The dark side will never be defeated... nooooo!"
With that last cry, Oisin staggered forward, carefully tumbling onto the appartment's toy and clothing strewn sofa. The twins cheered in victory, clambering eagerly with a total lack of care and awareness of what anatomy their bony fists and knees and elbows dug into, more interested in securing the total defeat of their AT-AT foe. Oisin played along, squirming compliantly with their ineffective attempts to tickle him into submission. "No, no!" he cried, calling out through the appartment for mercy. "Save me, Princess! Call off your adorable Snowspeeders!"
Home. That notion managed to provoke a faint flicker of a smile, and some associated relief. It wasn't quite accurate: home technically was an uninspiring single officer berth a couple of corridors over, a place to sleep and work but little else. Oisin didn't need more than that; his visits to the Atreides had become pretty much nightly, and normal. A few hours as a climbing frame, alternating evenings juggling the twins and fixing food to give Chrys a much needed break, the occasional - well, a little more frequently than was occasional and appropriate, probably - surprise takeout delivery to make tough days a little less of a strain; and then letting the little ones fall asleep to a holomovie before sneaking off back to his bunk. It was nice. It was weird, too, not the kind of dynamic that was supposed to be normal; but it was nice, it was theirs, and they were happy.
Oisin cracked his back as he entered the final corridor, rolling his shoulders to try and fool his body into feeling functional for a few minutes longer. With a sigh, and bleary blinking eyes, Oisin reached for the door controls. He didn't stand a chance.
From the chamber beyond, two voices cried out in tandem, shouts of get him get him get him! punctuated by flurries of laughter, giggles, and crudely impersonated repulsorlift engines as two streaks of pure hyperactive energy rocketed towards him. "Use your spoons and tow cables!" Brienne ordered, as both limpet children locked themselves forcefully around Oisin's knees. "You'll never catcher the princess!" Emma added, defiantly.
Immediately, Oisin fell into role, wheezing mechanically with each clunking step that hoisted a giggling Atreides from the ground. "Curse you, Rogue Squadron!" Oisin cried, dropping his voice deeper and speaking between exaggerated breaths in his closest approximation of Lord Vader. "The dark side will never be defeated... nooooo!"
With that last cry, Oisin staggered forward, carefully tumbling onto the appartment's toy and clothing strewn sofa. The twins cheered in victory, clambering eagerly with a total lack of care and awareness of what anatomy their bony fists and knees and elbows dug into, more interested in securing the total defeat of their AT-AT foe. Oisin played along, squirming compliantly with their ineffective attempts to tickle him into submission. "No, no!" he cried, calling out through the appartment for mercy. "Save me, Princess! Call off your adorable Snowspeeders!"