|Happens to the Best of Us
Author: Sherlock PM
Even Wedge Antilles is late for work :0Rated: Fiction K - English - Sci-Fi/Humor - Wedge A. & W. Janson - Words: 706 - Reviews: 7 - Favs: 6 - Published: 06-21-03 - id: 1393220
|A+ A- Full 3/4 1/2 Expand Tighten|
Wedge rolled lazily onto his side, his face smooshed happily into his pillow. She was long gone, having gotten up, showered, and headed out to work early. He was left to snooze, a luxury he didn't often enjoy because of his status as a general in the New Republic military. For some reason, admiral's and other generals liked to have briefings, meetings, and other gatherings, around the same time as the sun was rising over their portion of Coruscant. But today... Today Wedge had a flight that was on his schedule, and he had even been smart enough to have the briefing the evening before. So now he didn't have to get up until...
He opened one eye, glancing at his chrono. That eye, as well as the other one, snapped open as he sat bolt upright. "0930?!! Sith!!"
Wedge threw back his covers, scrambling out of his bed and over to his 'fresher. He yanked off his shorts, turned on the shower and jumped in... and then jumped right back out again. "Yeow!!"
Grumbling and growling to himself, Wedge carefully reached in to turn on the warm water to go along with the cold. "Stupid... dimwitted... At least it wasn't the other way round..."
After quickly lathering his hair and himself into a soapy fizz, he rinsed, hopped out, and dried off. Leaving his towel in a heap, he slicked back his hair, not bothering to dry or style it, since it was going to be shortly shoved under a helmet anyway. It struck him as odd that he would shower so he could sit in his cockpit for hours and sweat, and then have to shower again. But, ritual was ritual...
And late is late!
Wedge rushed back into his room, pulling his uniform and a flightsuit out of his closet. He started to pull up his pants, and then just as quickly pulled them off. Shorts...shorts... He rifled through a drawer, pulled out a pair of shorts, and dragged them on. His uniform swiftly followed, along with socks. To save time, he decided to jump into his flightsuit while he was at it. He pulled one leg over a foot, then started on the other . Don't forget your wrist chrono and datapad!
Wedge took one step toward where he had left his datapad, his flightsuit still halfway up the second leg. He started to stumble, losing his balance. With flailing arms, he staggered across the room, his flightsuit around his ankles, and collided with his dresser. It rocked slightly, knocking over one of her bottles of perfume, one drawer popping open a bit. Shows that you're never late, he thought with a sigh, pulling at his flightsuit again. Bet Wes has this down to a science by now... He'll never let me live it down if I'm last there.
After finally getting his flightsuit on, shoving his datapad into a pocket, and wrapping his chrono around his wrist, Wedge headed for the door. He jogged down several hallways, then stabbed impatiently at the turbolift call button. He made the mistake of looking at the time. Aw, forget it. Turning to his left, he burst through the stairwell door, and took the stairs two at a time on his way up eleven floors, arriving a bit out of breath on the hangar level. He wasn't even in his cockpit and he was starting to sweat already.
Wedge stopped outside of the main hangar entrance to run a hand back through his now disheveled hair. He took a deep breath, then approached the doors, which opened to admit him. Just beyond the entrance stood eleven Rogues, all with their hands on their hips.
"Glad you could join us, General," they said in chorus, throwing back at him the expression he always used on them when they were late.
"Stow it," he replied as he walked towards them, but he couldn't help the lopsided grin that spread onto his face. "Get into your ships, and let's get flying."
Yup... never let me forget it. Ah well, happens to the best of us.