One of my many PWPs featuring our favorite pilots. This is actually kind of an Easter-fic, but I wanted to post it now, else I'll forget.
As always, R&R please. :p
Disclaimer: I would like to disclaim that I own nadda. :p Except my 11" vinyl Wedge Antilles figure with moveable arm and helmet, done in 1997 by Applause. He ist my muse. All 11" of vinyl-ish glory. tremble
Aww... beans.
Wes raced down the corridor, tearing past crewers and squadron mates alike in his sheer desperation. Following hard on his heels, though not quite as recklessly, was Hobbie, an evil grin on his face.
Reaching the corridor where Rogue Squadron's quarters were, he began beating on the doors. "Wedge! Let me in! Please!" his voice was desperate.
Wedge smiled behind his door, feeling a bit vengeful himself. "I'm busy!" he called sweetly, trying to hold back his laughter. With Wes and his practical jokes, it was usually Wedge beating on the door in desperation.
Wes didn't wait, and went to the next door. "Myn? Emperor's black bones, let me in!"
"I'm sleeping."
"Corran!"
A piece of flimsiplast slid out from beneath the third door. 'Do Not Disturb' it said.
So it went, Wes battering every door, and a smirking Hobbie leaned against the wall, laughing as he watched.
Wes danced in agitation before Hobbie, desperation clear on his face. "Hobbs, c'mon man. Help me out here! Gimme the door's passcode, please?" A tear of agony formed in the corner of his eye.
"What's in it for me?" Hobbie folded his arms uncharacteristically across his chest. Just the tone of his voice was un-Hobbie-like, it was as if he had been reading from the Wes Janson Book of All.
"Anything, I swear it! I'll be your slave, I'll wax your back, anything!"
Hobbie smiled sweetly. "Anything?"
"I swear it, please!"
From a pocket, Hobbie pulled out a small remote and the door to their room slid open. Wes shot off like a blaster bolt, and a door slammed.
Wedge came carefully into the hallway, still wary of a crazed Wes. "All right, we did what you wanted. Now what was that all about?"
Hobbie's smirk grew, and he looked downright evil. Normally, the smirk was Wes's expression of choice. "Revenge. I slipped ExLax into his breakfast."
Wedge began to crack up and he wrapped his arms around his midsection. "That's priceless. But why revenge now? This is Wes, he's tortured us for years."
"Have you been down to the hangar today?"
A sinking feeling settled into the Corellian's stomach. "Why?" he drew the word out.
"Wes painted all our fighters. Pastel. All of them, save the view port, in honor of an old Tanaabian custom called "Easter" or something like it. Our ships look like jellybeans. Yours, by the way, is fluorescent pink."
Color drained from Wedge's face. "You should have let him suffer."