Nothing Is Sound, [Attn: Conner]

[Paol Ciat]

Paol Ciat wasn’t one to dwell on his own misfortunes very often. They were big and often enough that he could have driven himself into being a very sad fellow indeed if he did. He was very good at packing up and moving on when his life took strange turns, letting things phase him as little as he could while still being considered quite human about it. He’d never really shed any tears over any of it, not even the destruction of Edge Squadron. But that didn’t mean he didn’t feel...

Today was just one of those days where it was catching up to him. Part of it was the stress. The newest Renegades were interesting, but three of them at once had his nonsocial nerves on edge. Living with them was proving... interesting. Especially Dune. He liked the girl genuinely, but she was very good at being loud and crass and it was too easy to hear her through thin walls.

He really, really missed his old private apartment on days like these. That was the one perk he really, truly missed with everything he had. He liked his privacy, and frankly, in the Renegade barracks, he just didn’t have it, especially not over the last few days.

And he was in a mood beyond the stress. He wasn’t sure what had sparked it--maybe it had been talking to and explaining it to Dune, who had been the first to ask for detail--but he was actually dwelling on Praesitlyn.

Not even Constance had asked to talk about it with him. She’d wired the transfer to him to join the Renegades, and he’d accepted, so he knew she understood the place he’d been at, but... there had been no discussion, no venting. Lightfight hadn’t sought anyone out to do so, as he didn’t really have any ultimate desire to express himself. That didn’t change the fact that he probably should, however.

So he’d escaped from the all-too-crowded barracks, heading for the one sanctuary he was certain was open to him: Constance’s apartment. She had gym equipment he’d indulged in there before when he’d needed to get away, and her couch was always free if just had to hide, and that alone was enough to draw him there today.

But upon getting there, he’d found the apartment empty. He’d debated leaving at that point, but he needed this too badly, so he’d let himself in, as he had permission to do. Instead of his normal course that would have taken him straight back to a thorough workout, he had made his way to the couch settled in the spartan front room.

Constance, for all the character she possessed, had amazingly impersonal living quarters. No decoration to speak of beyond the liquor cabinet off to one side and the framed datapad that Paol had never noticed before today. He’d taken advantage of both, an Alderaanian Brandy in one hand--his personal favorite for when he actually bothered to indulge, thanks to Alderaan-born Det, and something Constance had been considerate enough to start keeping in stock when he’d joined the Renegades--and the datapad curiously in the other.

He was distinctly surprised by the contents of that datapad. He’d heard in brief about the ‘Good General’s’ forced apology--from both sides, actually--but he’d never seem the datapad in question. It was actually sort of... priceless. It did something odd in lifting his spirits, just a bit. What an ass, he thought concerning Villa, and odd fondness painting the words. He was most certainly on Constance’s side of that story, but he’d learned long ago to appreciate Zero for what he was. Yeah, he was a bit of a monster, but learn to use him the right way, he’d save your life again and again.

Indulging in reading the (obviously forced) reply again, he settled back into the couch, remembering the long lost days of the “Firing Squad” in preference to remembering the more recently lost Edge.

[Constance Bravil]

Stars above, it had been a long day. Also an unproductive one; most of it had been spent in dull presentations, security briefings about stuff she already knew, and meet-and-greet sessions. Afterwards, Commander Bravil had suffered through a stiff and uncomfortable excuse for a 'reception'. Due to the not-so-subtle hint that attendance was mandatory given by her Group Captain, there'd been no choice but to stick around and make nicey-nice. She'd spent the last two hours listening to her superiors make lame jokes and pretending to find them amusing.

Every time a new flag officer came on base, they always had this urge to prove their weight was sufficient to throw around. This might've been a good thing if they didn't always waste the opportunity on making everyone stop what they were doing and pay attention to them. Sort of the adult version of a kid's temper tantrum in the middle of a restaurant. Except there's no parents around to shut them the frack up.

The timing couldn't have been more inconvenient either. She'd just picked up three new pilots for the squadron, all shiny and green and raring to go. Conner would much rather have spent today helping Algy train the fresh meat than anything else. Whipping the FNGs into shape would've been a lot more rewarding than playing Confederate recruitment holo material. Not to mention more fun; watching Dune and Doc go at it amused her to no end. She hadn't decided yet whether the two of them truly despised one another, or if there was something else going on in the background.

Oh well, there's always tomorrow to play with the kids. Constance had noticed her internal peanut gallery leaning towards the optimistic more often than usual lately. Or at least less cynical. Given the timing of her inner voice's change in attitude, there was only one possible cause for it. Why breaking down and sobbing like a baby once would have such long lasting effects Conner didn't know, but that's why she wasn't a professional headshrinker.

Truth be told, her recent... settled state of mind probably had far more to do with the person whose shoulder she'd cried on than the actual crying itself. Knowing Lysander was out there, feeling as he did about her, made it difficult to always expect the worst from the universe. Angler bet she'd be annoyed at him about this if thinking of him didn't always give her mood a lift. Among other reactions when she was in private...

Conner stifled a yawn as she keyed in the code to unlock her front door. Amazing how worn out you could get sitting and listening to people pontificate. Her mind remained wide awake however, which meant sleep and her wouldn't be getting acquainted any time soon. A few stiff drinks were in order to help her unwind. If it weren't so late in the evening she'd call up one of the vets or Maris to see if they wanted to chat.

Upon stepping into her apartment, the Corellian realized someone else was inside. Not that she could see anything from the foyer, but sometimes she had a... sense when another was near. Resisting the paranoid impulse to palm the grip of her sidearm, Conner stepped lightly around the corner and took a quick scan of the living room, ready for anything.

What she found there had her relaxing immediately. "Paol! What a lovely surprise." While it wasn't unusual for one of the Renegades to drop in unexpectedly on their CO, it was relatively rare that Lightfight took her up on the standing invitation. Her old Academy friend wasn't much one for socializing, even with people he knew well. "Stars know I could use some intelligent conversation after how I spent today," she quipped, a warm smile brightening her pale features.

Lifting the peaked cap off her head, she tossed it into the lap of her favorite armchair. A glance towards the datapad in the Dolomarian's hands drew a chuckle to Conner's lips. "I see you've discovered my latest light reading material." Out of consideration for Paol's friendship with the exalted High General, she'd been careful not to snark about Villa much around him. Not that he'd blame her for disliking 'Zero' based on her personal experiences, but it was the considerate thing to do. Lightfight was a good guy, his loyalty to the Confederate cause aside.

Heading over towards her well-stocked liquor cabinet, Constance mused over the available selections before pouring herself a glass of Corellian whiskey. Algernon had left the bottle for her after her last birthday, declaring that since it was a gift she had no excuse to get out of drinking it. She recognized yet another way for Trigger to subtly point out the truth he'd discovered about her, but Conner wasn't inclined to argue with him over it anymore. Another part of her which had changed.

Turning back to her friend, the Wing Commander examined Paol's body language for a few seconds. As a rule, he didn't give off many 'tells' as to his feelings; her friend was a very self-contained individual. However, she knew him well enough to pick up the few hints that snuck by his defenses. In her expert opinion, the guy looked a little... preoccupied. "Something on your mind, Lightfight?"

[Paol Ciat]

"Paol! What a lovely surprise."

Lightfight was only a third of the way through his second reading when he’d heard the door open in the foyer. Blue-grey eyes had lifted immediately to the entrance as Constance came through into the sitting room. She brightened upon seeing him, a reaction he didn’t get from many people. “Sorry to drop in while you were gone,” he told her, barely even thinking about the response. It was an expected ‘social’ response and thusly more of a natural reaction for him than any actual concern that she would be upset with him over his intrusion into her personal space.

"Stars know I could use some intelligent conversation after how I spent today."

That’s when he remembered where she’d been. He frowned slightly as he grimaced inside. Presentations and receptions of useless nature were definitely one thing he did not miss having to attend. Yes, demotion had its advantages as well as its distinct disadvantages. “I don’t envy you,” he informed her truthfully. “Though I could stand for some decent conversation myself. Or at least someone less prone to... yelling.” Ah, Dune, how we love you.

"I see you've discovered my latest light reading material."

He sighed in a way that could have been taken as a laugh, shaking his head as he thumbed the item off and set it aside. She moved towards the liquor cabinet herself and his gaze followed her. “If it meant anything, I’d give you permission to throw him to the mat next time you saw him. Sadly, he outranks everyone I know.” Truly, someone needed to regularly teach that man a lesson in humility. Constance would do a good job of it if it weren’t for rank, Lightfight was sure.

Det was the only person who seemed to dare to cross the High General in any real way. Ruus Liev was a special sort--still only a Colonel in the army but also the only person in the galaxy that Paol was sure could control Zero under any circumstance. He wasn’t sure what Det had done years back to gain that from Lelouch, but it made an obvious change in the usually impossible blonde man, a clear alteration in his behaviour any time Det was around. Personal loyalty, perhaps. something Villa lacked in most if not all other cases.

"Something on your mind, Lightfight?"

Count on Constance to catch his mood despite all his well charged shields. He had sort of counted on it. He both did and did not want to talk about what was on his mind, and he knew himself well enough to know that he wasn’t just about to offer his feelings up on a silver platter.

“Mm, just Praesitlyn,” he stated, sounding for all intents and purposes as if that meant nothing at all. There was definitely something there, though, and Constance would certainly catch his discomfited state.

[Constance Bravil]

“Sorry to drop in while you were gone.”

Conner blew out a dismissive breath between her lips and swatted the idea Paol might be inconveniencing her away like an annoying insect. Really, that sort of talk was a whole lot of nonsense. If she hadn't wanted her friend to drop in on her unexpectedly, she wouldn't have given him the door code. While she was a private woman at heart, Constance hid nothing more than necessary from her fellow Renegate vets.

“I don’t envy you. Though I could stand for some decent conversation myself. Or at least someone less prone to... yelling.”

No need to clarify who Lightfight meant by his statement. Only one member of the current squadron lineup was particularly prone to bouts of shouting. "Have you tried asking the kid to tone it down? She's got a serious case of hero worship for you, after all. I'm sure she'd remember to use her inside voice for... oh, maybe a couple hours if you reminded her. Or at least until the next time she and Vice got into another spat."

Were Constance not so stubborn a woman, by now she would've reconsidered rearranging Two Flight's designations. To preserve her eardrums if nothing else. Unfortunately for the two junior pilots, their CO had no intention of allowing their personal problems to influence her command decisions. Doing so would teach the FNGs the wrong lessons about life. Reality never shifts to accommodate their whims, so neither would Commander Bravil. Their flying styles worked well together, so they'd just have to suck it up and deal with watching eachother's six.

“If it meant anything, I’d give you permission to throw him to the mat next time you saw him. Sadly, he outranks everyone I know.”

"Yeah, pity that." Scum did always rise to the top of the pond. No better explanation existed for why Villa went on climbing up the rank ladder while a much better man kept getting kicked down the rungs by fate. Paol didn't deserve all the setbacks he'd faced in his military career, one of the (many) reasons Conner had wanted him to join up with the Renegades. She didn't want him thinking he didn't have a place anymore. "But it's the thought that counts."

“Mm, just Praesitlyn,”

Paol's unconcerned tone of voice didn't fool Constance. She knew what it was like to fight with your ghosts at night. If the memories of Praestlyn hadn't been bothering him, he never would've brought up the battle in the first place. The man didn't waste breath talking about subjects of no importance, one of the things she appreciated most about him.

"About time," Conner commented in a cryptic fashion. Replacing the stopper on the decanter of whiskey, she maneuvered her way around the sparse furniture in the room towards her favorite armchair. Her peaked cap was rescued from a crushing fate before Constance dropping down into the welcoming nerfhide seat. "I wondered when you'd be ready to talk," she clarified, gray eyes concerned but without pity as they rested on her friend. "Didn't want to push, so I didn't ask before."

Commander Bravil gave her headgear an idle twirl on her index finger, then set it off to the side. "I know the official story, of course." The quiet snort that escaped her was blatant in its scorn. "Not that I bought it. I understand how politics work, and about how dung always rolls downhill. More importantly, I understand you and how you fly." Conner gave Lightfight a significant look over the rim of her glass. "You couldn't've made the call that got Stone killed. Reckless behavior's not your style."

[Paol Ciat]

"Have you tried asking the kid to tone it down? She's got a serious case of hero worship for you, after all...”

Paol was quick to shake his head in the negative. The thought honestly hadn’t crossed his mind, and for good reason. It just wasn’t his way to fix the things that didn’t really matter. He rolled with the punches, but he didn’t often fight back. Bringing up the fact that Dune was too loud to her face wasn’t something that he had thought of. In fact, now that it was offered up there by someone else...

“Eh, I couldn’t do that. She’s not as bad as she could be, and I’d hate to feel like i was manipulating her behaviour just so I could have some quiet in the afternoon.” And morning. And evening. And sometimes even the middle of the night... Yeah, okay, maybe he’d stand to gain a lot from asking Dune nicely to tone it down, but he really didn’t want to have to resort to that. He shrugged. “I’ll live, really, so long as your door remains open.” An occasional respite. That’s all he asked.

“That, and as you say, it’d probably only last a handful of hours, don’t really see it being worth the effort.”

"About time.”

That cryptic statement as the woman came over to take her seat meant a lot to the former commando. He wasn’t the biggest expert on reading other people, but he understood words well enough. She’d been waiting for this, knowing it would have to come to it at some point. And she probably had wished he’d come to her sooner. He supposed he should have, to be honest. He’d been sitting on this issue for a while now, and it wasn’t going anywhere.

"I wondered when you'd be ready to talk. Didn't want to push, so I didn't ask before."

“Yeah...” he acknowledged without giving much else up. He was glad she hadn’t pushed for it, but he was equally glad that she had always been there and willing. While it probably would have been healthy to talk sooner, he did things at a different pace than most people, and waiting had suited him. It was officially getting to him to the point where he was feeling uncomfortable in his own head at night, so maybe a little sharing would clear up some space again.

It wasn’t his nature to complain any more than it was his nature to be openly amused. Everything was taken in stride, be it good or bad. It wasn’t so much a matter of suppression as it was a matter of just being more comfortable this way. He didn’t ever want to be an open book,and through the years that had just become his habit. And hey, if it wasn’t broken, why fix it?

”More importantly, I understand you and how you fly. You couldn't've made the call that got Stone killed. Reckless behavior's not your style."

No, it wasn’t his style. In fact... “No, I definitely didn’t. I felt bad about the entire mission down to ground. In fact, I informed the Brass of as much.” He shrugged. “Not that they are prone to listen when they ‘know’ they’re right.” He allowed himself a sniff of disgust at that folly. Taking a sip of his brandy, he closed his eyes for a second before continuing.

“Sometimes... I think she got what was coming to her. I’m just... upset that she took four of my own with her in death.” He was saying things he knew he shouldn’t have admitted aloud, but he was deeply bothered and if anyone would hear him out without ratting him out, it’d be Constance.

“I guess, it’s not really about the calls Command made, though. I... worry, sometimes, that I made some bad calls while trying to protect that doomed transport.” He was trying, bless him, but saying what he needed to say was a little harder than he had even anticipated. He felt like he should explain himself a little more, but he ended up stuck for words and made a muted ‘augh’ noise under his breath, and promptly downed what was left in his glass.

[Constance Bravil]

“Eh, I couldn’t do that. She’s not as bad as she could be, and I’d hate to feel like i was manipulating her behaviour just so I could have some quiet in the afternoon.”

Conner's amused expression softened and grew fond. One of Paol's most signature traits had to be his inherent reluctance to protest any kind of ill treatment. Given the choice, he always elected to suffer in silence. She'd never decided whether she considered this a true character flaw or not. Sure, it meant she could count on Lightfight to never whine, but sometimes she wished the guy would speak up for himself more often. He deserved better than what he got.

“I’ll live, really, so long as your door remains open.”

"To you, always." Least she could do for the man, really. She held no illusions about how potentially tenuous her own position and rank were. Constance could share in his fate--or worse--following a single mission that went south. It may not be right or fair, but it was true. The Alliance may call Confederates fish, but a lot of sharks swam in their school.

“That, and as you say, it’d probably only last a handful of hours, don’t really see it being worth the effort.”

The Wing Commander gave a subtle shake of her head. Figures he'd say something like that. "A few hours of shuteye is better than none at all," Conner pointed out with all due reason. Not that she expected he'd change his patterns of behavior at this late a date, of course. Things never came so simple, in either of their lives. Didn't stop her from trying, though.

“No, I definitely didn’t. I felt bad about the entire mission down to ground. In fact, I informed the Brass of as much.”

Conner nodded, Paol's words fitting much in line with what she'd expected. His personal style of operations tended towards the cautious--no doubt a reaction to all the bad luck which had fallen on his head over the years. It wasn't that the former commando was unwilling to take risks so much as he'd prefer not to if there were another, better option. In addition, Lightfight took his responsibilities as a commanding officer very much to heart. He wouldn't endanger the lives of his subordinates without strong reasoning behind the decision.

“Not that they are prone to listen when they ‘know’ they’re right.”

Gray eyes rolled in open contempt at the reference to High Command's selective deafness. "We're transmitting on the exact same frequency there, Paol." Constance had lost count of the number of decisions made by her ultimate superiors over the years she'd found significant fault with. The problem wasn't a lack of intelligence or tactical know-how on the part of the brass so much as their arrogance. They assumed too much and questioned too little.

“Sometimes... I think she got what was coming to her. I’m just... upset that she took four of my own with her in death.”

All traces of levity fled the Corellian at this turn in the conversation. For Lightfight to express such a sentiment, die-hard patriot he'd always been, gave Angler cause for both celebration and worry. While it made her glad at heart to watch her old friend begin to see the rot lurking beneath the surface of the Confederation, losing one's faith in a cause tended to be a painful process, to say the least. In life, the truth hurt more often than not.

First things first; make sure Paol knows I'm not about to tattle on him for his discontent. "Xira Stone was a real piece of work," Conner declared, followed by a healthy slug of whiskey to remove the bad taste that name left in her mouth. "And I don't mean in the complimentary sense. I, for one, don't miss her. And I think you have perfect right to be pissed at her for getting the members of your squadron killed for nothing." A blunt way to put it, sure, but Lightfight hadn't ever asked her for sugarcoating.

“I guess, it’s not really about the calls Command made, though. I... worry, sometimes, that I made some bad calls while trying to protect that doomed transport.”

Expressing his feelings wasn't anything approaching Paol's strong suit. Even without her keen awareness of body language, Constance would have no problem picking up her fellow pilot's frustration with his lack of eloquence. His need to purge the poison of self-doubt built up in his system struggled with the ingrained reserve of his nature. She understood how her old Academy buddy felt all too well. Survivor's guilt was a schutta and a half.

When her smile reappeared then, it was born of sympathy rather than sardonic humor. "Lightfight, listen. I'm not going to patronize you here and tell you it's impossible that you might've made a mistake at Praesitlyn. We're human, we're not perfect. What I will tell you is that I'm sure you did everything you could--for your people and for the Grand Admiral both. I've never seen you give the job less than your best effort, under any circumstances. What more could anyone ask of you? Including yourself."

Taking another savoring sip from her glass, Conner set the beverage aside on her endtable. Her uniform cap found its way there next. "Want another drink? I've still got plenty of your favorite brandy in stock."

[Paol Ciat]

"Xira Stone was a real piece of work. [...] And I think you have perfect right to be pissed at her for getting the members of your squadron killed for nothing."

If he was bothered by her bluntness, he didn’t show it. If anything, Lightfight was relieved to hear those words from his new CO. Though he had known she wouldn’t tell on him and get him in front of a firing squad for such treasonous sentiments, it was nice to have verbal confirmation. The fact that they could reinforce one another’s point of view only helped further justify how he felt.

Of course, this didn’t change the fact that he was bothered by how he felt. He was never one to deny feeling emotion, but the fact that he felt genuine anger towards Brass and the military he’d served so dutifully for so long actually unnerved him. even as it felt right, it felt wrong. It was a shaking of his very core self, and trying to just play it off as anything but what it was was not doing the feeling justice.

He had accepted that he felt this way, but now he didn’t know what the frack to do about it.

Even with Stone dead, nothing was really going to change around here, was it? Leaders in the Confederation didn’t get that way by having radical ideal or by changing things up. There was a tradition in Dolomar’s military leaders, and that was that they be as brutal as they had to be to keep the galaxy in order.

“I just don’t feel like I should be so angry about it. I mean... I should be. Am, even. But at the same time... I shouldn’t.” Nice an eloquent, that’s our Paol. He shrugged helplessly at his long time friend.

"Lightfight, listen. I'm not going to patronize you here and tell you it's impossible that you might've made a mistake at Praesitlyn. [...] What more could anyone ask of you? Including yourself."

“True,” he conceded, though his tone was cast in darkness. He just wished his mistakes didn’t cost others so much. Damn that survivors guilt, for sure. His gaze was fixed solidly on a nondescript point on her coffee table. Able fingers played idly over the empty glass in his hand.

He wished for better. Or would, if he’d thought it would do him any good. He wasn’t a man of much aspiration, really. He didn’t dream big, only worked for what was currently within reach. He’d never chosen any of the paths he’d taken consciously. Even his ultimate military involvement had been something of a fluke, a chance, a path that had presented itself and seemed right. As a boy, he’d never even known what he wanted to be when he ‘grew up.’ He certainly wouldn’t have guessed he’d be here.

Not that he regretted any of it, but... still. Maybe it was the lack of grand motivation that had set him up to be set back so many times.

"Want another drink? I've still got plenty of your favorite brandy in stock."

“Please,” he responded simply. The fact that he was indulging this way was rather telling. One was usually more than enough in his methods.

Settling back, trying to make himself comfortable despite how distinctly out of his element he was feeling, his eyes found their way back to Conner. “Whatever I did or did not do wrong, Edge didn’t deserve what it got. You think?” Clearly he thought so, but he respected her opinion and wanted her honest observation. He’d never questioned Brass’ discipline techniques in the past, assuming people got what was coming to them.

Maybe it was just too personal. Maybe he wasn’t viewing this the right way, from the inside.

[Constance Bravil]

“I just don’t feel like I should be so angry about it. I mean... I should be. Am, even. But at the same time... I shouldn’t.”

"Shouldn't you then?" Constance challenged, leaning forward in unconscious emphasis. While she had to tread carefully across this particular conversational mindfield so as to not give her own disloyalty away, she wasn't about to stand by and let her friend suffer so for his conscience. "Seems to me like you'd be a bad CO if you weren't upset by the loss of pilots under your command. The fact their deaths could've been avoided had the brass listened to you makes your anger all the more understandable."

Elbows came to rest on the Wing Commander's knees as she finished her maneuver, keeping her steady gray regard fixed on Paol. "Like I said, sentient beings aren't perfect. This goes for those sitting pretty on top of the chain of command as much as it does for the green Flight Cadets clinging to the bottom. They can make mistakes too." She continued to pick her words with care, making her point by framing it as a reasonable conclusion of simple logic rather than an outright criticism of the despotism of High Command. "They're also just as susceptible to arrogance, overweening pride, and buying into their own propaganda."

“True.”

Lightfight's obvious discontent had the right corner of Conner's mouth quirking upwards in a lopsided smile. "Not as though I expect my answer's good enough to quiet the little doubting voice in your head. You've got too much personal integrity to avoid second-guessing yourself." A trait missing from the mental makeup of most Confederation officers. The 'benefits' of believing the lies told by a morally corrupt institution included never having to ask yourself the hard questions. What an easy life that must be for the bastards.

The brunette's expression grew solemn again at the bleak turn of her thoughts. "Look... I've been where you are now, Paol," she admitted in a subdued tone. Discussing such private matters were far from the norm for Commander Bravil, but Lightfight had earned a certain amount of candor from the Corellian. "And, given how casualties are an inevitable part of war, I'll probably be there again at some point." Out of the whole lineup of Renegade Squadron when she'd first joined it eleven years ago, only Conner and Trigger remained among the living. Being elite pilots didn't make you immortal. There existed good reason why naval wits sometimes referred to members of the Corps as 'laser-fodder'.

"Last time I started to blame myself for still being alive when so many others have been vaped, Algy set me straight. So let me pass along some of the advice he gave me." Constance passed her half-full tumbler of whiskey from hand to hand in an idle gesture as she thought back to the night in question. "Yeah, people you've were responsible for have died, but you have to remember every one of them chose to be in the Corps. Only way to prevent that would be to keep them out of the cockpit... and how would that be fair? Denying a pilot their right to fly just so you could keep your conscience clear? That'd be no way to treat your comrades."

“Please,”

With a nod, Conner levered her slender frame out of the armchair and made her way around the low table in the intervening space between them. A gentle tug relieved Lightfight of his empty glass. A quick, reassuring smile crossed her lips before she stepped away from the seated man. "Be right back," she tossed over her shoulder as she made her way towards her liquor cabinet again.

Constance took due note of his unusual willingness to indulge, but didn't find it too worrisome. In her opinion, there was nothing wrong in getting well and duly plastered on occasion. You couldn't live the life of a rocket jockey and survive without finding ways to cope with the stress. Giving into intoxication once in a while served that purpose. So long as you didn't make it a serious habit, it didn't present a problem.

“Whatever I did or did not do wrong, Edge didn’t deserve what it got. You think?”

"No," came the immediate reply, "they didn't. Even if you were to blame for what happened--which you kriffing well weren't!--the only thing the members of Edge Squadron were 'guilty' of was following your orders. Punishing them for doing that spits in the face of the whole concept of the chain of command. Talk about a bad example for our superiors to set!" Conner continued to present her opinion as she measured out another generous dose of brandy for her guest. "Not to mention discharging perfectly good pilots as part of a political coverup job only hurts the Confederation in the end."

[Paol Ciat]

"Shouldn't you then? [...] They're also just as susceptible to arrogance, overweening pride, and buying into their own propaganda."

The former commando mulled over this in silence. The idea that he should be angry at those up the chain of command was very much a foreign one to him. But Constance spoke loudly through logic and he’d always fancied himself realistic in his views. He’d come up the ranks wanting to assume that High Command was right and possessing more foresight than he could have. They were, after all, some of the most powerful people imaginable. But power didn’t necessarily mean one was without fault.

Hard as it was to admit it, even to himself, he had every reason to be angry at High Command. And until they proved themselves better, he was going to keep this transgression in mind. The memory that was Edge demanded at least that much consideration. He just couldn’t brush this off like he did so much else. It wasn’t going to be easy and he wasn’t going to embrace it at every turn blindly, but at least he could be willing not to deny himself reason for that emotion.

"Not as though I expect my answer's good enough to quiet the little doubting voice in your head. You've got too much personal integrity to avoid second-guessing yourself."

He softened just a brief moment to those words. While he didn’t typically think of himself in terms like ‘integrity’ or anything quite so noble, he wouldn’t deny her perspective of him. She didn’t make a point of saying what she didn’t mean, and he was touched by her evaluation of him.

"Look... I've been where you are now, Paol. And, given how casualties are an inevitable part of war, I'll probably be there again at some point."

She’d probably out survive him, given his luck. He honestly couldn’t imagine anything happening to Constance. The only person he could imagine lasting longer than her was Trigger, and that was just a case of sheer stubborn will. Especially now that she was his lifeline, he couldn’t imagine her not being there. She had lost so many good people, good Renegades over the years, he couldn’t help but think his own passing would just be one among many and eventually forgotten. He didn’t begrudge her that, as it was just how things tended to go in a combat driven lifestyle.

"Yeah, people you've were responsible for have died, but you have to remember every one of them chose to be in the Corps. [...] That'd be no way to treat your comrades."

Good advice, and one that obviously came from an understanding forged over decades more than Paol could hope to see. Wise words passed on from Trigger were ones to be kept in mind. Paol figured there was a reason some of Trigger’s past students--Constance and himself included--had turned out to do as well as they had while others had fallen by the wayside.

Edge’s lost members had died doing what they had loved, truly. They had gone down fighting, and while the circumstances could have been better, he couldn’t have truly kept them safe forever. It wasn’t pretty and he didn’t have to be happy they were gone, but he had to move on and make sure, somehow, that it hadn’t all been for naught.

"Be right back."

He pondered to himself over what information he’d already gathered while she was busy collecting more brandy for him. None of it felt particularly more easy, and this definitely wasn’t settled, but he at least felt confident that he wasn’t the only one with this on his mind now. Talking was hard, but made things better. He sort of regretted not doing this sooner, it might have saved him some heartache.

”No, they didn't. Even if you were to blame for what happened--which you kriffing well weren't!--the only thing the members of Edge Squadron were 'guilty' of was following your orders. [...] Not to mention discharging perfectly good pilots as part of a political coverup job only hurts the Confederation in the end."

He sighed, shaking his head slightly to himself, gaze on his currently empty hands as he fiddled idly. He was still feeling more uneasy than he liked. “Sometimes I wonder if we won’t just end up collapsing from the inside with decisions like these. Won’t even put up a fight for the damn rebels if we keep this up.” Yet another reason to start doubting that he was working for the right sort of men. He hated that doubt. He felt stranded in it.

[Constance Bravil]

“Sometimes I wonder if we won’t just end up collapsing from the inside with decisions like these. Won’t even put up a fight for the damn rebels if we keep this up.”

Constance finished pouring out a dose of Paol's favored poison. Job done, she didn't turn back around yet, lingering over replacing the stopper to the synthcrystal decanter. The Alliance should only be so lucky... Words she wanted to say, but couldn't. Years of statements like that, repressed into silence for the good of the cause, for the safety of the mission. Enough constant repression to drive a normal sentient mad. In Conner's case, her sanity merely fractured on occasion, though never enough to get in the way of her work.

"Oh, we'll put up a fight, Paol. Right to the end," she replied at last, swiveling back around to face her old flight academy friend. "So long as there's people like you in the Confederation, it can't all go to pieces." Her words were reassuring, her mouth smiling--but might that be sorrow darkening those gunmetal eyes? Whatever shadow lurked there vanished by the next breath. "But our technical superiors don't always make doing our jobs easy, I'll admit."

She began to head back to Lightfight's spot on the couch, hesitated, turned around again, then grabbed the bottle of Alderaanian brandy before continuing on her way. With one hand she offered Paol the tumbler of green liquid, while the other set the decanter on the low table nearby. "In case you feel like making a night of it," she teased--but only halfway. Honestly, under the circumstances she wouldn't blame her comrade for intoxicating himself to temporary oblivion.

"I'll say this much: one good thing came out of your misfortune." Constance settled back down in the welcoming leather upholstery of her armchair, stretching her legs out before her before continuing. "It gave me a golden opportunity to snap up a galaxy class pilot for my squadron." Her smile reappeared, this time twisted into a rueful arc. A somewhat selfish motivation, if a sincere one. Lightfight excelled as much in the cockpit as he used to do behind a sniper scope in his ground-pounder days. "Much as I hate what the brass did to you, I'm glad for the chance to fly with you again."

Again the shadow returned to her gaze, though the rest of her features remained calm. "Losing Merc was rough for the Renegades to endure." And for her, though she didn't intend to bemoan her own heartache while Paol was already enduring so much pain. She'd lost one comrade; he'd lost his whole squadron to death or courts martial. "He'd been with us a long time, made a lot of friends. More than that... in many ways, he'd stood as the archetypical 'nice guy' of the group. You wouldn't think so, but in my experience a team full of mavericks needs some kind of moral center to keep from flying apart."

[Paol Ciat]

"Oh, we'll put up a fight, Paol. Right to the end."

Lightfight nodded to that, knowing how true it would be. Unfortunately, the end would probably be when the Confederation ran through all of its masses of good men and women and had no one left to fight at this rate. The quantity over quality mentality was something that would get them all killed at some point. While numbers and firepower went a long way, they couldn’t necessarily outdo better tactics. And with their secret bases the Rebels had some distinct advantages.

"So long as there's people like you in the Confederation, it can't all go to pieces. But our technical superiors don't always make doing our jobs easy, I'll admit."

That, Paol was less sure of. He didn’t think of himself as anything particularly out of the ordinary. All he was was a veteran with just barely enough luck to keep him alive, even if that luck wouldn’t hold out to keep him in one piece. While he knew he did his job well, there were plenty of others he felt did exactly the same. If there was anyone in this room that the Confederation could use more of, it was Constance herself. But he didn’t say that, knowing it wouldn’t get them anywhere--both were too modest of people to accept their own worth easily. But he did think it, and rather loudly at that.

"In case you feel like making a night of it.”

He accepted the tumbler with more eagerness than he had anticipated. He eyed the rest of it that had been set near him. “Think you can handle me if I do?” Because despite himself he was seriously considering it. Much as talking was helping, there were still barbs deep in his gut that he wanted to be able to forget about, if only temporarily. He had dwelt far too long in this state without doing anything for it.

"Much as I hate what the brass did to you, I'm glad for the chance to fly with you again."

“Good things do come out of the darkest places on occasion,” the ex-commando agreed. Actually, he wasn’t sure what he would do, given the chance to go back and fix what had happened to Edge. While he didn’t think he could stand to watch his Comrades die again, he also knew he was starting to feel very much at home with the Renegades. He felt more comfortable in their ranks than he had at the head of Edge. As good a leader as he was and as much as he had worked to get there, there was something to be said for the deep, almost family ties that ran within Constance’s squadron.

Not that that was a choice he’d ever have to make. He was here and his path had been determined by forces outside of his control, and he was going to make the best of that. The hypotheticals would only add to his stressed state and that was not what he was looking to do to himself.

"Losing Merc was rough for the Renegades to endure. [...] You wouldn't think so, but in my experience a team full of mavericks needs some kind of moral center to keep from flying apart."

Paol hadn’t known Merc in more than absolute passing. He had known the man had been a Renegade, but he’d honestly never associated with him on any real level. The others spoke of him with a fondness that made him regret that the man had died so suddenly. He knew that hurt personally and all too often. “He sounded like a good man,” Paol stated quite honestly. “I can’t say that I was likely to best replacement as moral centers go, though.”

He paused a moment again, having something he wanted to say, but not at all sure how to put it. When the words finally came to him, he spoke with a surety. “When my luck finally runs out and I do meet the man, I will have to thank him for leaving Urbane free. I don’t dare say it to her face, but she’s the best wingmate I think I’ve had to date.”

[Constance Bravil]

“Think you can handle me if I do?”

The solemn way in which Paol asked the question deepened Conner's concern. People had patterns, ways of acting and thinking they didn't divert from save under strong provocation or serious stress. She'd never thought of Paol as a teetotaler, but in her experience the former Army commando had never been for more than social drinking. While she didn't at all mind him choosing to get a buzz on, the fact that he was thinking about it at all reflected the emotional strain he'd been concealing for so long.

"Hey, it wouldn't be the first time a Renegade has crashed on my couch." The smile Constance offered Lightfight reflected amusement, but her steel eyes were understanding. "Besides, I doubt you could ever make as much a fool of yourself while drunk as I've done in the past." Yeah, he didn't seem the type to volunteer for a tattoo while tipsy.

“Good things do come out of the darkest places on occasion.”

Well, wasn't that downright optimistic of Paol? The Wing Commander had marveled on occasion about his ability to always get back up after being knocked down so many times. When a crippling injury had killed off one military career, he'd signed up for another. After he'd been demoted, slandered, and publicly humiliated by the government he'd served so loyally and so long, he'd kept on flying. Such impressive endurance and willpower were rare in sentient life, and served as some of Lightfight's most signature qualities.

Taking hold of her whiskey tumbler, she lifted it in a casual salute. "To absent friends," she said, uttering one of the traditional military toasts for lost comrades. A short sense of deja vu gave her a momentary chill, but she shook it off with a healthy swallow of alcohol. Tonight would turn out differently than the last time she'd spoken that phrase. Tonight would be about drowning his sorrows, not hers.

“He sounded like a good man. I can’t say that I was likely to best replacement as moral centers go, though.”

"Oh hush," Conner chided in gentle tones. Okay, she might be the galactic queen of denigrating herself, but in her mind she deserved it. Paol sure as hell didn't. "You wouldn't be feeling how you are right now if you weren't. For one thing, you have a conscience. Don't know if you've noticed, but that seems something of a rarity these days." And something of a disadvantage, in our line of work. Both of them been ordered to commit acts they disagreed with in the past. Well, she knew she had, and she figured Lightfight would've considering his longer tour of service.

"Number two, you're one of if not the least selfish man I know in the whole kriffing Confederation. I mean, I don't think I've ever seen you do something strictly for yourself." A smirk slashed across her mouth. "Least not without someone like me forcing you to." Constance was openly unrepentant about this fact. She'd be an even lousier friend than she already was to the man if she didn't try to look out for him that way.

"...I don’t dare say it to her face, but she’s the best wingmate I think I’ve had to date.”

This had Conner laughing, the sound clear and merry and without reservation. "Yeah, not a good idea to tell her. Wouldn't want any of the squadron to get too big a head about their piloting skills." Not that Shaine seemed the egotistical sort in that way. Truth be told, Constance had the hardest time connecting with the Kuati out of all the veterans. She knew Urbane had her back in the black and on the ground, and she excelled at her job, but The Wing commander got the sense she wasn't Shaine's favorite person. Good thing I'm not out to win any popularity contests then.

"I think you've had a positive effect on her, being her friend and watching her six. Keeps her spirits up and all. Between you flying with her and Frag quitting the squadron, she's downright upbeat these days." As time went on, mentioning Hadrian became easier, less likely to make Conner wince internally. She still regretted that though--both the temptations she'd entertained about him as well as losing him as a pilot under her command. She couldn't help feeling a bit betrayed by his sudden resignation, especially when it came without any explanation. "They were about as bad as Doc and Dune back in the day."

[Paol Ciat]

"Hey, it wouldn't be the first time a Renegade has crashed on my couch. Besides, I doubt you could ever make as much a fool of yourself while drunk as I've done in the past."

Maybe not, he thought, but that didn’t change the fact that it wasn’t something he did for a reason. He did like having his wits completely about him. But it was like she said, this was a sanctuary and for once he was feeling like going against his common sense. His only answer to her reassurance was another swallow of the brandy. He felt like he was abusing the stuff, taking its usual savor for granted right now, but he couldn’t find it in himself to care.

“To absent friends.”

Flicking his own glass up in a return of her toast. “To absent friends,” he agreed. He’d lost many in his time. He didn’t really make a point of counting them. Their lives stacked against his, seemed to put him at odds with his own fate. It didn’t do well to keep tally marks, not when in a career as deadly as his. Living this long was just a fluke, and he knew it.

"Oh hush. You wouldn't be feeling how you are right now if you weren't. [...] that seems something of a rarity these days."

In all the time he had known her, he could always count on Constance to tell him when he was wrong about himself. Still, she tended to have a lot more faith than he did. He supposed she was right, though. Consciences were sadly lacking. In Brass as well as the lower ranks. The former bothered him a lot more than the latter. He could deal with the immoral sorts when they weren’t the ones calling the shots a lot better than he could when the immoral were sitting back comfortably and sending others out to die for them. Or even just laying the blame elsewhere. He didn’t like those who wouldn’t live up to their mistakes much. Tolerate, yes, but not like.

"Number two, you're one of if not the least selfish man I know, [...] Least not without someone like me forcing you to."

And that brought back more memories. Oh, how many times had she insisted that he do things that he was otherwise reluctant to do. He didn’t do things for himself, and he knew that, but he wasn’t so sure that was as good as she currently made it out to be. Clearly she thought taking something for himself would have been good on at least an occasion or two. “Can always count on you,” he commented, meaning it. Even ten years ago, she’d kept good tabs on him. Without her influence in his life like it had been back then he’d fallen back into old habits of self denial, but she was working at him again. He was not blind to that.

"Yeah, not a good idea to tell her. Wouldn't want any of the squadron to get too big a head about their piloting skills."

That got a rare and soft chuckle out of the man, talking about his wingmate always putting him into an easier mood. No, they didn’t need anyone, least of all his wingmate, going and getting cocky. He knew from being Wing Commander himself that while praise was good, it was best in moderation. Renegade egos were strong enough to be effective without his going and stroking them and render them troublesome.

"I think you've had a positive effect on her, being her friend and watching her six. [...] They were about as bad as Doc and Dune back in the day."

“Hmmm, for the best, then. I can only handle one Doc and Dune pair at a time, I’m afraid.” If that. But he was glad that he was doing his wingmate some good. He didn’t know what Shaine had been like before, but he certainly liked her now, and he wouldn’t have changed that. He didn’t say much of that, though, carefully gauging himself concerning the subject, already knowing that his censorship was slightly compromised given the light buzz he’d already acquired. He knew his limits, and he knew he was working his way quickly past them unlike his usual habits. Already the second glass was edging towards empty.

“Not that I really mind them, honestly. Just... they’re better apart than together when it comes to peace in the barracks.” He actually rather liked Dune, found her amusing and endearing in her own way. Vice was more difficult to see as a friend on the surface, but he and the man got along in their mutual tendency to hang towards the back of the social scene. They didn’t aggravate each other, and when you shared sleeping space, that was more than good enough.

“...Have I said thanks? For what you’ve done for me? You didn’t have to.” Constance didn’t deserve the potential ding on her reputation that pulling him into her Squadron might have done. Whether her decision would go downhill remained to be seen, but it mostly seemed to be going under the sensors so far.

[Constance Bravil]

“Can always count on you,”

Shoulder lifted and head tilted to the right in a sidewise shrug, matching the lopsided smile on her mouth. "At the risk of sounding trite... what are friends for?" After tossing back another dose of alcohol, Conner set her whiskey aside. Her hands moved next to the task of unbuttoning her jacket. She'd never cared for wearing her service dress uniform a minute longer than necessary. Her distaste for the tailored dark outfit extended to the rest of her wardrobe; very few articles of clothing in her closet were black.

"Besides, you'd be downright boring to have around if I let you go on acting stoic and retiring all the time," Constance quipped, her tone a gentle tease. Not that she really felt anything of the sort, but pulling a smile out of the military veteran proved its own reward. "Far as I see it, I'm doing the galaxy a public service."

“Hmmm, for the best, then. I can only handle one Doc and Dune pair at a time, I’m afraid.”

"Here here," she commented as an aside, while working her arms out of her uniform jacket sleeves. Stars, but did getting out of that single garment make her feel worlds better. Sometimes it felt more restrictive to her spirit than a straightjacket. "I'm fond of them both, really I am, but I had no idea when I assigned them as wingmates that they'd end up taking more potshots at each other than at the rebels." To be fair, Conner hadn't known about their (apparently rather negative) previous encounter prior to their Renegade recruitment. Still need to get the details of what went down on Drongar someday.

“Not that I really mind them, honestly. Just... they’re better apart than together when it comes to peace in the barracks.”

After draping the black jacket over the back of her armchair, Commander Bravil turned back to Paol with a smirk. "I can imagine. Again, if they get too bad, tell them to pipe it down. Say it's an order from me. Hell, if you don't want to get involved, I'll tell them myself. Arguing's fine, but keeping your squadronmates from getting their ration of beauty sleep isn't." Constance didn't require her people to be the bestest of friends, but she did expect some amount of emotional restraint from them.

"Maybe I ought to find ways to channel those tendencies in a constructive fashion. Like having them spar more often, or assigning them some one-on-one sessions in the simulator against eachother." Another shrug, followed by the Corellian unbuttoning her cuffs and starting to roll her shirt sleeves up her arms. "I'll talk to Algy about it, see what he thinks. He's got more experience beating the green out of pilots than anyone else in the Corps, after all."

“...Have I said thanks? For what you’ve done for me? You didn’t have to.”

Stormy eyes contemplated the older man for a few moments in silence. Then a sigh escaped the Wing Commander's lips. Hearing Paol express his appreciation made her feel... not quite guilty, not quite sad, but there were tinges of both within the complex roil of emotion in her gut. Still not speaking, Constance reached over and retrieved her drink. Several more seconds passed by as she contemplated the amber depths of the remaining liquid in the glass.

"Yes I did," she said at last. "Because they did you wrong, Paol. You've given them everything, and they chose to kick you when you were down just to make themselves look better." Conner paused her little speech in order to swallow down the rest of her whiskey. "I already knew the brass were bastards, so it didn't surprise me, but it did make me kinda sick inside to see it." The Alliance agent verged on crossing a major line in expressing her discontent, but she didn't try to backtrack. Maybe she couldn't give Lightfight the whole truth, but she could give him this.

"I've cut out a lot of pieces of myself over the years, but not my conscience. No way could I stand by and let them ruin you. To you, the military isn't just a job; it's your life. Back then, I thought maybe I should take advantage of the opportunity and try to get you out of the Corps instead, build yourself another life somewhere you won't keep getting shot at... but I doubted you'd listen."

A rueful smile pulled at her mouth, but for once no good humor shone in her eyes. "We're both built that way, bound and determined to keep doing our duty no matter how miserable it might make us. We don't have anywhere else to go, anyways. I couldn't change what happened to you, but I could give you a new home, give you something close to family so you wouldn't be alone."

[Paol Ciat]

"At the risk of sounding trite... what are friends for?"

He didn’t think it sounded trite at all, in that it was very true. No point in calling someone a friend if you couldn’t rely on them, right? Paol supposed that was why he didn’t have many friends. Not that he disliked people to any real extent, but keeping them close was hard and wanting to keep them close was harder. The level of trust required to look to someone else for assistance was not one he mustered easily.

"Besides, you'd be downright boring to have around if I let you go on acting stoic and retiring all the time. Far as I see it, I'm doing the galaxy a public service."

That struck the man as particularly amusing as well as oddly touching, and that faintest of smiles showed up in response. Oh, he knew he wasn’t exciting. Much as she was joking, it hit enough on the truth to not seem absurd. He was alright with being the background sort, the type who went unnoticed. The fact that Conner insisted he be something different every now and again was a good thing, though, even if he resisted. Much as no one liked to step outside their comfort zone, there could be no growth without it.

“We’ll see if the galaxy agrees with you,” he quipped quietly back.

"I can imagine. [...] Arguing's fine, but keeping your squadronmates from getting their ration of beauty sleep isn't."

As reluctant as he was to get involved--to the point of not wanting to have to ask the woman to step in for him--he knew she was right. He wasn’t the only one suffering for it. Sure, he probably appreciated quiet more than most, but no one liked being woken by a squeal of outrage by Dune in the middle of the night.

"Maybe I ought to find ways to channel those tendencies in a constructive fashion. [...] He's got more experience beating the green out of pilots than anyone else in the Corps, after all."

If anyone could put them in line, it would be Algernon. Not only did he have more experience with green recruits, he also lived with them. He’d be in more of a position to take direct action against them on a more regular basis. And the idea of Vice and Dune spar was a good one, too. It could be like a sport, betting on who would win... Paol’s thoughts edged towards amused as he figured he’d have to put his credits on Dune. The doctor was no brawler, probably never would be...

"Yes I did. [...] I already knew the brass were bastards, so it didn't surprise me, but it did make me kinda sick inside to see it."

She had finished off what she’d put in her glass and he did the same, despite there being quite a bit in that swallow. The burn took the edge off of the emotional response that had lodged in his throat. He was continually touched by the way his commander behaved in these sorts of situations. He wondered how he had ever survived without her straightforward brand of compassion to look to.

He could have tried to counter her point about having to do what she’d done for him, but it wasn’t an argument worth having. He chose instead to take it to heart and just acknowledge that she’d done what she felt she’d had to. It was interesting to hear her voice her opinions like this, too. She was such a carefully kept woman, the scorn she was showing for Brass now not something he normally was witness to. As a Renegade--mavericks by nature--he had known she wasn’t a conventional loyalist, but there was a hint of bite here now that Paol could not place the exact source of.

Maybe she was just as tired as he was of watching good people die and Brass not even blinking.

"I've cut out a lot of pieces of myself over the years, but not my conscience. [...] but I doubted you'd listen."

No, he couldn’t leave the military. He’d never even considered it before, and he wasn’t going to start now. He could have been living in relative comfort these days, could have taken a medical discharge over a decade ago. But that wasn’t who he was, wasn’t ever going to be. He fully intended to die doing what he’d signed up to do for his homeworld. Nothing would change that, not even the most recent events.

And no, he wouldn’t have listened if Constance had told him to pack his things and leave. For all her good intentions, that was one piece of advice he would take from no one. As sane as he was, there were some logics he chose to ignore. Calling it quits might have been a smart move, really, as he clearly wasn’t going to be gaining anything anytime soon, but he figured he was allowed this one show of sheer insanity. Nothing was going to get better, but he’d keep at it anyways. It would destroy him, and he’d deal with that then. Not a moment sooner.

"We're both built that way, bound and determined to keep doing our duty no matter how miserable it might make us. [...] give you something close to family so you wouldn't be alone."

He paused for a long time after that, considering all that she’d said. She had given him something to call family, that was for certain. He still hadn’t been able to place what exactly made the Renegades what they were, but they worked, even when it seemed to defy some logic. He’d come to enjoy them all in such a short time...

“Thank you, Constance,” he said finally, making his appreciation official. Another pause and then he was shifting, leaning forward in order to take the brandy from its resting place and pour himself yet another glass. Why the hell not, he’d decided. Just as long as he didn’t overdo it and regret it completely and utterly in the morning.

“And thank you also for listening to a worn out man gripe. I know you probably have enough on your plate without listening to me.” He settled back into his seat with another draw at the liquid in his glass. “I know what it’s like to be in your position of responsibility. I hate to take your downtime away from you.”