The Actress's Lines

By: Alderaani Writer's Guild

Disclaimer: Hey! News flash here: We're STILL not Stackpole and Lucas and
we STILL dont claim to be. We're STILL not getting paid so don't make us
bite you!
::CHOMP::

******Chapter 2******

Soontir looked up from his marinated nerfsteak. "So, Wynssa, what did you
think of the 181st?"
Wynssa briefly debated her response. To show her dismay at their
ineptitude could offend him or hint at her background. To say that the men
were skilled would be an outright lie which would also make her seem far more
naieve then she would have him think. She settled on a neutral response.
"They are rather, ah, kind, but as far as skill...I'm sure your
squadron is better."
He smiled. "They are."
Wynssa nibbled delicately at her baked whitefish, absently relieved.
"Did Derricote give you any trouble?" he enquired.
"No, although I could tell he is not always the gentleman that you
are."
"He isn't."
"I presume he is the cause for your warnings?"
"The others wouldn't trouble the love interest of a ranking officer.
They know better."
She smiled at him. He may not have a stellar wing, she thought, but
it's good to be protected. And escorted to the Vaders, and taken to nice
restraunts for dinner, and fawned over, and complimented for her beauty. . .
This was why she had left her home. She needed, even craved, attention and
she would get it. All the galaxy took notice of Wynssa Starflare but an
average working girl at a fuel station was so often ignored.
"The 181st is downsizing from a wing to a group and will be made an
elite unit. And they're moving us here to Imperial Center for the refit,"
Soontir informed her.
"You'll be stationed here?" She questioned excitedly, daring to hope
such fortunate lightning could strike twice in one day
"That's a good thing, right?" he teased.
"Very good. The Emperor's wisdom is clearly limitless." Wynssa
beamed greatfully.
"Some of the new pilots have already taken their places in the
181st."
"Who?" It was a rare thing for shy Soontir to begin a conversation
and Wynssa had no intention of styming his unusual loquacity.
"Oh, Captin Phennir, a few lieutenants. It was difficult weeding out
the sons of senators and elitists."
"Shouldn't elitists be in an elite unit?" Wynssa questioned, absently
confused.
Soontir smiled. "No. Actually, they're rather useless in a fight."
"I can imagine." Wynssa stifled a giggle. "You should see some of my
co-stars. 'This bottled water is the wrong brand. Fix it!' 'Oh, Maker, I'm
not touching all that fake blood!' 'Director, I simply can't work in this
abominable heat!'" Wynssa mimicked the voices of the other actresses
flawlessly.
"That bad?"
"Incredible, isn't it?"
"And I may presume you're not the same?"
"Oh, no, of course not. I even do my own stunts," she replied with a
teasing smile. Wynssa mentally kicked herself for that last bit. She knew
he'd seen Mission: Firebird, Center of Hope, and Angel's Reward, all
action-adventure type films involving lots of firefights and space combat,
much of which was done by her charachters. First, he'd ask her where she
learned to fly like that; then, he'd ask her where she learned to shoot like
that; finally, he'd ask her about her past which would lead to Wedge.
"Please, Soontir, don't even ask. . ." she thought, afraid of the
ramifications of such a tangent.
"You fly well, then."
"You're better." Far from a lie, she hoped. She could never lie to
Soontir. "Now leave it at that," she mentally begged him.
He merely smiled and finished off his dinner.

*********

Soontir surveyed the 4/181st as they fired low energy volleys from
their blasters at the targets. This clearly explained Wynssa's rather
noncommital responsed regarding the 181st. Unless, of course, some of the
pilots falsely believed that one was not supposed to actually hit the target
but shoot as close as possible to it without striking it. In that case,
however, they were still doing a sad job of it, as one trigger-happy recruit
had just tripped over his own two feet and misfired perfectly perpendicular
to the correct target, nearly taking out another flight officer in the
process. Still, he hoped they believed in not hitting the targets. It
softened the blow.
Captain Phennir attempted to correct Flight Officer Zaerece's grip,
something that seemed futile but was showing small process. Phennir
was clearly a good choice for the new, 'improved' 181st, possibly executive
officer material. He flew well, shot well, and could teach others to do the
same. Those that could be taught that is... Phennir was obviously very well
disciplined, albeit a bit overzealous. The antipathy of Derricote in all
aspects-- clearly, a good thing.
Zaerece also had potential. If he could be convinced that Colonel
Evir Derricote was not the source of all the wisdom in the galaxy he might
become a decent soldier. Might. Then again, the power Derricote held over
him exhibited such poor judgement, Fel couldn't help but shudder.
"Easy," thought Fel, "This is the 181st. Cant expect TOO much.
Have to take these things slow. Slow. Painfully slow..."
While Fel was reviewing the attributes that might just save Zaerece's
career, he began to argue with Phennir. "Well, I was always told to hold a
blaster this way," he steadfastly maintained.
"Well, whoever told you that was an idiot," Phennir stated, the man's
insesantly stubborn ignorance grating his nerves. He hated baby sitting these
men. It was like being in charge of a squadron of children flyboys, except
they couldn't fly, couldn't shoot, couldn't calculate astro-nav and couldn't
tie their own shoes. This was particularly sad since the men wore laceless
boots. "That's probably the worst way to hold a blaster," he further
admonished.
"But Colonel Derricote said. . ."
"He's wrong."
Fel suddenly liked Phennir a great deal more. He was definitly XO
material.
"Hey, since when did you start contradicting your superiors anyways?"
The 4/181st murmered in agreement with Zaerece's argument, peeved at being
corrected by a "rookie".
Soontir decided that things had gone far enough. "Flight Officer
Zaerece, Captain Phennir is correct. Please handle this difficulty."
"But Colonel Derricote said. . ."
"You most likely misunderstood him," Fel said, being generous enough
to not openly flame Derricote.
"Yeah, but. . ."
"That is enough, Flight Officer."
Phennir glowed at his vindication as Zaerece sheepishly corrected his
grip and immediately bulls-eyed the target on his next attempt. Phennir then
began to correct everyone firing's grip with an almost comic air of
self-rightousness.
Soontir watched, amused. He briefly considered having Wynssa show
them a thing or two, but she seemed evasive the previous evening and might
not have been entirely honest either. Fel also didn't want to push
extricating the details of her past, for he too understood what it was to
have a backround that wasn't open for discussion. She did, undeniably, seem
to know at a good bit about sims and shooting, which was good. It was nice to
know that Wynssa Starflare was a bit more than a nice peice of eye candy.

***********

Soontir glanced at the one small mirror in the locker room, checking
to make sure that his uniform was buttoned with his typical military
precision, his name plate polished, his rank bar straight, his shoes neatly
tied and so forth. An hour or so in the weight room was always relaxing, and
today more so because Phennir babysat the incompetents in his stead. For the
first time in weeks, no one overexerted their muscles, used a machine wrong,
or dropped a weight on their own, or someone else's, feet. For the first
time in weeks, his work out had consisted of a self constructed regimine,
rather than spotting some one with the IQ of a Dagobah Yam or carrying a
flight officer to med-bay.
"So I said to her, 'Hey Wynssa, I'm your biggest fan', and she was
like 'oh, that's so nice to hear', and does she have a nice ass or what?"
Zaerece bragged in the background, his stream of thought having the coherence
of his blaster grip.
"Gee, I heard you just made a nice ass of yourself," commented his
friend, Trent Fryske, a lieutenant who had been in his graduating class at
the academy. "What's your name again?" he chided.
Soontir turned around at the mention of Wynssa just in time to see
Zaerece open his locker. It was literally a shrine to Wynssa Starflare. Every
metal surface was coated in taped-up printouts of Starflare. Most were not
lewd, however, he had copies of some promotional advertisements for Raunchy,
including pics from the scenes that earned the film the R rating,
involving her in various states of barely censored undress.
Zaerece noticed his wandering gaze. "Um, Major, sir, did you need to
talk to me about something, sir?" He asked this, edging over in a poor attempt
to hide the locker from his friend, as well as Fel.
"Zaerece," he began, the usual tolerance leaving his voice, "What the
hell did you do to your locker?"
"Just hung up some, um, motivational pictures, sir," he replied,
inching between Soontir and his locker.
"Which would, incidentally, involve the good Major's, how do I put it,
latest flame..." Fryske insinuated.
"Well, that much's not my fault." Zaerece attempted to defend himself.
"I've loved Wynssa ever since I saw her first holodrama, One for the Emperor,
and I've always had Wynssa Starflare holos all over my room and locker and
stuff since well before Major Fel ever stared seeing her and I don't think I
should have to change just because he gets the priviledge of dating her..."
"And all the corollary benefits thereof...," Fryske interrupted,
rather childishly.
"And I don't!" Zaerece finished in a rush.
By this time, Fel was more concered than angry. Clearly, Zaerece's
obsession had already grown to ridiculous proportions- not that Fel could
blame him, personally knowing how wonderful Wynssa was off-screen as well.
Zaerece stood waiting for the angry wrath of Major Soontir Fel to fall upon
him. It was inevitable. His crime was heinous. Even Colonel Derricote would
punish him for his offense. To his surprise, however, Fel stood silent.
"Flight Officer Zaerece," he began calmly, much to everyone's
surprise, including his own, "perhaps you should focus your affections less
upon one woman you will never have and look more to those you will." Fel
curbed the temptation to add, 'Whom you will most likely have to pay.'
"Yes, sir," answered Zaerece, still in shock.
Fel left the locker room, intent upon escaping Zaerece and the
others' presences. He could still hear Fryske and the others laughing as he
strode down the hallway. Hopefully, Zaerece would realized the foolishness of
his obsession. It didn't seem likely.
As Fel sighed, heading down the corridor, he couldn't help but feel a
little bit smug at his good fortune. And Zaerece's envy.

*********

Wynssa ran through the dance routine with her choreographer for the
upteenth time. 'One, TWO, three, FOUR, five, SIX, seven, EIGHT' pounded
through her brain over and over again, along with the corresponding sequence
of movement. Sometimes she wondered why she bothered, but then she thought of
'Tir and everything seemed worthwhile. What had started as a casual
friendship was soon becoming a serious romance.
"Yes, yes!" The choreographer interrupted her thoughts. "Exactly
right! Now one more time, with correct steps and emotion! Emotion, Wynssa,
emotion!"
She sighed and repeated the sequence, this time to his satisfaction.
"Veggies would have loved watching this," she thought. "He always came to my
dance classes to watch. At the end of a song he'd yell 'Yay, Syal!' or
something cute like that. I wonder if he's seen any of my movies?" She almost
hoped he hadn't. All the B-rated flicks with stories so bad a six-year-old
could improve upon them, the ones edging beyond receiving an "R" rating, the
ones she'd tried to get the script altered on but couldn't because she was
just starting out and no one would listen to her... She missed Wedge more
than anyone else. He was so sweet and cute and completely oblivious to all
that was wrong with the galaxy- the only Corellian kindergartener whose two
best friends were a Drall and a girl, C'van and Mirax. She hoped they were
all still friends. She always hated it when her parents demanded she watch
him, yet somehow if he asked to play she never minded. "Maybe it just seems
that way now that I've lost him..."
Syal suddenly stopped, a shap pang of guilt permeating her mind at
memory of the small boy she had abandoned years ago.
"Miss Starflare, I think we're done for the evening. Don't forget
the lyrics to 'Stay With Me Always' and you'll be fine opening night."
"Thanks," she replied, trying not to sound so exhausted.
She picked up her tote and headed for the door, hoping it was all worth it...