Chapter Twenty – The Lounge
Bror Afyon blinked at his wife, more than a little bit surprised at how she was acting. Nicola and Adra were both standing in front of him, side by side, and they had on identical glares. Next to him, and facing the same treatment, was Face. During the dogfight itself, everyone on the New Republic's open frequency had 'listened' as Jaina all but literally ripped Jag's head off. Even those who had had no prior knowledge to Jaina, Adra or Nicola's pregnancies definitely did now. It might just be a little hard to pretend they didn't. However, the unfortunate thing for him was that he had to deal with a wife who was trained- and rather well, at that- in hand-to-hand fighting techniques that really hurt.
Next to him, he saw Face shaking his head slightly. In an almost surreal sense, Bror listened as Adra and Nicola both began yelling at them, aware that more than one set of eyes were fixed on their faces. Specifically, the Tainers, Cloud Ritril, Tyria Tainer, Asyr and Gaeriel. Somehow, he got the feeling this was going to be a very long night.
"Why, Bror, why?!" Nicola finally exclaimed at him, unable to come up with something she felt would better get her point across.
Closing his eyes, the Alderaanian quietly let out a breath. He would willingly lose this argument, so long as it meant she'd actually stay on the ground come another week and a half. A hand grabbed the front of his shirt, jolting his eyes open as he looked down. Nicola's silver eyes were boring into his, a firm resolve behind them. Cautiously, Bror offered her a smile... one that was not returned.
Nicola merely kept her eyes on his for a few minutes, her hard glare seeming to be searching out something. Then she abruptly released him, only to jab her index finger into his chest.
"You get the lounge," she stated forcefully. The finger that had been jabbing him was recalled with the hand it was associated with, this time going to rest in an angry fist on her hip. Nicola's other hand lay on the slightly more that 'discrete' bulge of her abdomen and the unborn twins.
In truth, Bror knew better than to retaliate, even though he was inwardly cringing at the prospect. With a quietly peaceful expression firmly in place, he watched as Nicola and Adra left together, their moods swinging to a much friendlier setting the moment they were talking to each other. Arm in arm, the two pregnant Wraiths exited the lounge, going to sith knows where.
Beside him, Face was rubbing his hand over his forehead, seeming to be trying to kneed out what was probably a headache with his knuckles. Bror looked around, suddenly even more aware of the gazes of the other occupants of the room. Asyr and Gaeriel had exited with Adra and Nicola, the latter probably ready to put on her political arguments about how they shouldn't have protested what was a 'thought towards their welfare'. But in some ways, Nicola and Adra had it right. Perhaps they were being overprotective... But what else did you expect of them, after all?
With a sigh, Bror turned on his heel and walked towards the exit, though turning a different way down the hall than the women had. He could sense Face moving after him, his mood muddled with trying to understand where his efforts to do something right had gone wrong. Of course, the other pilot knew his 'error' just as well as Bror did, but that didn't stop him from understanding.
"So," Bror finally spoke, "What was your punishment?"
Face looked up from the floor, seeming to realize for the first real time he was walking behind Bror. The pilot shrugged, then rolled the kinks out of his neck, there from craning his neck to see the floor for the past five minutes.
"A new one, actually," Face replied, his normally good-natured joking still having an underlying key role. Bror raised an eyebrow, inviting the other to continue as they walked towards their respective rooms. "I get the lounge."
With a slightly smile, Bror nodded in a bit of understanding. "Oh good, at least I won't be alone," was all he said. Aware that Face had glanced over at him, he kept walking, his mind throwing random questions out. Finally, he asked one. "You know, wouldn't you figure they'd be happy for a chance not to have to go into a dogfight?"
With an agreeing nod, Face chuckled slightly. "Unfortunately, we both know our wives well enough to understand they can't stand be grounded over something they see as trivial, i.e. pregnancy. They both have that little quirk that tells them they can't let other people go out and fight in something they could be too."
They stopped for a moment as Face punched in the access code to his and Adra's quarters. The other then turned to look at him, a grin on his face once more. "I'm sure that between the two of us we'll be able to think up suitable revenge." And with a smirk, Face went inside, obviously to poke around through his clothes to figure out which he'd need for the next day, seeing as neither of their wives would give in.
Bror smirked and shook his head at the pilot's words, agreeing with them in his mind. Well, they surely would be able to get those two back. The only other question was did they actually want to?
* * * * *
The politician looked over Adra's shoulder, almost ready to cluck her tongue in disapproval. However, she didn't. If she did, it would give away half her cards in the sabacc game. And that right there was something every politician frowned upon. So instead, Gaeriel just stood shaking her head in her mind, her face outwardly blank. Nicola and Adra, both perched on the ladders attached to their crafts, were discussing something with avid enthusiasm. Deciding to listen, Gaeriel sent a glance to Asyr, privately wondering if she'd have enough good sense for the day to not say anything. However, she needn't have worried. Asyr jumped up from her ladder rung quite suddenly, her eyes on her wristchrono. Both Adra and Nicola stopped their talking to see what she had to say.
"Kriff," was all that was offered for a moment. The three of them exchanged glances of confusion. Then Asyr elaborated, whether for her benefit or theirs Gaeriel didn't know. "I've gotta meet Gavin in a few." She looked up at Nicola and Adra. "Can you guys please just work out your problems on your own for once?"
Neither of the two other pilots appeared to have heard the question. They seemed to be stuck on the part about meeting Gavin in a few. Gaeriel saw Nicola send a glance at Adra, the smirks they were both obviously trying to hide shining through.
"So Asyr," Nicola said, her voice inviting and open. "When did you two become an item then? And why weren't Adra and I informed?"
Asyr sent both women a withering look when Adra nodded in agreement. Yes anyone could see that neither would relent the interrogation nor let her leave until she gave satisfactory answers. So she did what anyone with half a brain would do and answered, albeit with a sigh.
"We're not an item, Nicola," she said. Nicola rewarded Asyr with a withering glare of her own- much more effective than Asyr's was at any rate- and she raised an eyebrow. From Gaeriel's angle, she could make out Adra's grin becoming something that could be deemed a close cousin of a wicked smirk. "We're not, honestly!" Asyr exclaimed. "He invited me over to Rogue for drinks and everything, jeese'm! It's not like it's a huge deal; Wes and Hobbie and everyone else will be there anyway. You guys always seem to blow things way out of proportion without thinking about it."
Before either Adra or Nicola could reply, Asyr was walking out of the hanger and into the building. Gaeriel watched as the two women exchanged what had publicly been renamed 'The Look' along with knowing smiles. In her mind, she privately agreed with them. This certainly wasn't the first time Asyr had just upped and disappeared to Rogue Squadron headquarters for a time with the pilots over there.
However, the moment Nicola and Adra glanced her way again, she felt her glee on Asyr's behalf floating away, like turbolaser fire in slow motion towards its target. It would figure, wouldn't it, that Asyr would leave her to try and get the two most stubborn women she'd ever met to relent and admit their husbands hadn't been entirely in the wrong on this argument.