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Author	Topic: Home In Time for Supper--Wraith Squadron/OCs >>Update! 1/6<<
Guinastasia Registered: Jun '02	Date Posted: 7/15/03 7:47pm Subject: RE: Home In Time for Supper--Wraith Squadron story >>updated 07/14<<
	Oh, I've been neglecting the fan fics for a bit-GREAT job. Waking Face up-LOL Poor Jax! -----signature----- Founder of the Face Loran & Ton Phanan Appreciation Society Dark Lady of the JCC, currently retired Member of the Obi-Wan Kenobi Fan Club High Dominatrix of Flyboys, WJFC EUDF Captain, Retired Ravenclaw 0wns your sorry ass
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Xaara Registered: Jun '02	Date Posted: 7/21/03 12:47pm Subject: RE: Home In Time for Supper--Wraith Squadron story >>updated 07/14<<
	Sorry, talkingbanana, we don't really get anything lighthearted in this post… But I promise, it gets better! Thanks, LM. I'm glad to know you're around. Welcome back, Jane Jinn! I'm glad to see you back on my thread, and you're welcome for the dedication. It's the least I could do. So many suspicious things! You've got that one right… Hope you enjoy the post. Thank you, JSD. The crowd scene was tough in a fun way. I just finished a sociology course, so it was interesting for me to try to capture group panic in an incident like that. Guin: I'm glad you're still around! I do seem to have a terrible tendency to put Jax through all sorts of difficulties, don't I? ***************************************************************** This post is dedicated to the memories of Cmdr. Kevin A. Bianchi, Lt. Peter Ober, Aviation Structural Mechanic 1st Class Brian P. Gibson, and Aviation Electrician's Mate 3rd Class Samuel Cox, recently killed in a helicopter accident just south of Sigonella, Sicily, the US Naval Air Station where I currently live. My prayers are with their families, friends, and shipmates. ***************************************************************** "Wedge, would it be insubordination to tell you that this is a bad idea?" "Yes it would, Wes." "Would it be insubordination to think that this is a bad idea?" "No." "Fine. I think this is a bad idea." Wedge glanced at his second-in-command and grimaced. "Wes, I didn't ask for your opinion." His face heavily coated with sweatproof makeup, Wes was unrecognizable, at least until he grinned. "You almost never do. That's why I've become so good at offering it." The rest of the group stood uneasily outside Wedge's hotel. Piggy and Lucio had placed themselves several paces to either side of the other three, and Tyria looked very much inclined to step into a point position. Wedge restrained her with a sharp gaze. In the case of an attack, he wanted the group together. Quiet and dark but for the scuttling of tiny lizards and the light of one dim sign advertising the hotel, the street seemed unoccupied. Suspicious absence of locals, Wedge thought, his Intel instructor's voice playing in his mind. You'd expect them to be out at night, when the area cools off a little. Something larger than a lizard dragged its feet up the street; Wedge had his hand on his blaster before he quite realized what he was doing. "Hello?" "It's me," came Melcia's voice. "Are you ready?" Wedge contained his sigh of relief and spoke into the darkness, toward where he judged Melcia stood. "Affirmative. Lead the way." The sound of footsteps receding into the night guided Wedge in Melcia's direction, and he nearly bumped into her before he recognized her indistinct form and mentally distinguished it from the otherwise still shadows. Listening carefully, Wedge thought he could hear all four sets of feet following him. Even so, he couldn't quite be sure. "Lead?" That was Tyria's voice. "Yes, Ten?" A brush of fabric, and the woman walked beside him, her steps inaudible. "This is just like Coruscant," she whispered. Confused, Wedge frowned and turned toward her, but Tyria had already retreated into the darkness behind him. Just like Coruscant? What's that supposed to mean? That it's not what it seems? That we're walking into a trap? That a Star Destroyer is about to drop out of nowhere and defect? More bewildered than enlightened, Wedge continued after the quiet New Republic intelligence officer. When he was reasonably sure that she would hear him if he spoke, he said, "How much farther?" Melcia hesitated in her purposeful march. Or at least she moved differently; Wedge could not tell if she had stopped or merely drawn her loose garments more tightly about her. "Not much. We're nearly there. Five more minutes, maximum." "Oh. Good." Wedge did not add that he was grateful for that information, as his back already felt slippery with sweat. Once again, he resigned himself to following a woman he could hardly see. After what could have been any amount of time—the darkness did not allow Wedge any sort of reference—the group arrived at what appeared to be a small door. Though he could not be certain, Wedge assumed they had reached the outskirts of town. Melcia knocked once on the door, waited several seconds, and then knocked twice more in rapid succession. With a whining protest, the door slid open. "After you," said Wedge, reluctant to be the first to step inside a strange room. With a rustle of clothing and a scrape of feet against stone, Melcia had stepped inside and switched on her illuminator. The illuminator glowed red: effective within a small area but almost invisible from a distance. "Come on," Melcia said. "We're late already." Once he had verified that each member of his team was inside the door, Wedge closed it behind them and activated the lock. "We're clear," he said. "If there are lights in here, now would be a good time to turn them on." "Lights," Melcia ordered. As she finished the word, brightness flooded the hall. Wedge had to blink several timed before his watering eyes adjusted to the sudden illumination, and he noticed the rest of his team shielding their eyes as well. As soon as they had adjusted to the changes, Wedge moved his group along after Melcia, who had opened a door at the far end of the hall and was gesturing for them to proceed through it. Beyond the hallway, Wedge saw, a stairwell began, running below the surface of the planet. By the time he turned to his guide, she had already walked ahead and disappeared down the stairs. He had no choice but to follow, unquestioning. The group reached the bottom of the stairwell in a matter of seconds, and again Melcia tapped on the door before her. This time, however, a young woman, her features dulled and obscured by darkness, opened it. Melcia bowed slightly; the girl returned the gesture and motioned for Wedge and the others to enter. With a slight twinge of uneasiness, Wedge obliged. "Charla, this is Ettor Arnab and several of his friends," Melcia said once Piggy had closed the door. "He's had Rebel sympathies for quite some time now, and I thought it time to bring him in." "Oh," said Charla. She held out a hand, which Wedge shook. "I'm the leader of this resistance cell, and I can't tell you how glad I am to meet you. Our recruiting stations have been busy, though numbers of recruits have been negligible. It's wonderful to see someone who believes in our cause." "Thank you," Wedge said, not sure that this was the reply Charla expected. She seemed rather trusting for a woman who led an underground organization. Perhaps she was a decoy—a substitute for the real cell leader—at least until Wedge and his group had been deemed dependable. "Melcia told us that there was to be a meeting tonight." "She was correct." Charla began to walk down the hall, calling for the lights. When they came up, Wedge saw her face for the first time and just barely managed to control his gasp. Where her right eye, right cheekbone, and upper lip should have been she wore a prosthetic much like Ton's. However, where Ton's fit well and accentuated the human features remaining on his face, Charla's faceplate transformed her visage into an unpleasant contrast of flesh and metal. Her prosthetic eye was covered by a red eye patch, and she wore a hood far forward on her head, most likely to conceal the metal that ran back into her skull. As if the weight of the faceplate dragged on her neck muscles, Charla's head listed slightly to the right. Her human eye, however, gleamed with an analytical intelligence that sent a shiver down Wedge's spine. "Imps," Charla said, meeting Wedge's eyes. "They called it an accident on all the official reports, but no Imp officer runs a speeder into the front of a museum by accident." "What?" asked Wedge, his tone perplexed. "How I got my face," Charla clarified. "I knew you'd ask sooner or later, and I thought I might as well tell you now. That's my reason for fighting." She turned abruptly away from him. All her movements, Wedge noticed, comprised the same severe efficiency. "What's yours?" "My reason?" Wedge stalled for time, trying to run through Ettor Arnab's fabricated history and glean a reason from the isolated stories and occurrences he had supposedly experienced. "It's about as cliché as they come," he said at last. "I just decided that the Imperials were the bad group and the Rebels were fighting for a cause I appreciated. It's really that simple." Without any discernible expression on her face, Charla nodded. "I can understand that reason, though it's not mine." "As I can understand yours." This time, Charla adopted what appeared to be half a smile. "I think you will be a good addition to our little band." Relaxing, Wedge said, "I certainly hope so." ******************************************************************* "It's been a long time since we left the tram," said Myn, addressing the speeder driver next to him. "Are you sure we're headed in the right direction?" The driver turned toward Myn, his mouth half-open and forming the first syllables of what he intended to say, when his blue eyes opened in shock and a tiny struggling breath escaped his chest. He slumped forward and landed heavily on the speeder controls as a steady stream of blood seeped across his shoulder and down his upper body. In his collapse, the driver's right hand clutched at and caught the emergency rudder, skewing the speeder to one side. Myn had time for one thought—very bad—before he was pushing the dead driver off the steering mechanisms and attempting to manhandle the careening speeder onto a more or less straight course. Disregarding the cries of protest from behind him, he managed to calm the bucking vehicle and bring it to a siding stop not far from where the driver had been shot. "Stay down!" he yelled over the noise of the overheated engine and the concerned passengers. "We don't know who shot him yet, and I'd rather not have the next person be one of you." Ignoring his own advice, Myn peered through the empty window frame—the shot had shattered the weak transparisteel there. In the darkness, he thought he could make out several forms, but he couldn't be sure if they were sentient beings or just native flora and fauna. The scrape of three blasters clearing their holsters behind him reminded Myn that the situation was far from finished. He didn't dare exit the speeder, but he also didn't want to stay in it. Inside, the group was at once more protected and more exposed. "What happened?" Falynn whispered. "Is he dead?" Myn didn't have to check the driver to see that he had not survived the direct shot to the neck. "I don't know," he said. "And yes." A scuffle in the backseat indicated a shifting of positions and suddenly Kell's voice came from directly behind Myn. "I suggest that we stay with the speeder. We'll want to be here at dawn, and it appears that they're gone." The dead man had begun to give Myn an uncomfortable feeling. "Is there something we can put him under?" he asked, pointing at the driver. Wordlessly, Runt handed him a thermal blanket. Myn unfolded the blanket and draped it over the man's unseeing eyes. Somehow, the simple act of courtesy made him feel better. "We see humanoids approaching from the left," said Runt. "We are not sure how many there are at the moment. They are a large group, but we do not think they move like Imperials. It is possible that they mean us no harm." "Whatever you do," Myn said, adding the weight of his rank behind his words, "you are not to tell them the truth about who we are. We are our identities. Understood?" By the time he uttered his sentences, Myn could see the figures as well. They appeared to be human, though with the poor light he could not be sure. "Please exit the speeder with your hands clearly visible," said one of the figures, his voice that of a young male. "We do not have our blasters set on stun." "Obey him," said Myn. "And don't try anything until we know what they want." Slowly, the four occupants of the speeder climbed out and raised their hands above their heads. Two members of the group walked forward and relieved them of their weapons—both obvious and hidden—and returned to the darkness. Myn was disappointed at not having seen their faces, but they wore rudimentary fabric masks that concealed their features as well as any holoshroud. "Who are you?" asked the young male, who Myn had identified as the leader of the group. "Where do you come from? And what are you doing out here after dark?" "We're just tourists," Myn told him. "We're from different places, and we're out here because we wanted to make it past the track blockage." After conferring with some of his cohorts, the young man said, "I'm afraid we can't take your word at face value, at least not for now. Temporarily, you are our prisoners. We will tolerate neither attempted escape nor attempted communication. Is that perfectly clear? Realize that we do not particularly value the lives of Imperial citizens such as yourselves." Does that mean they're Rebels, then? "We're not as Imperial as you might think," Myn hazarded. The man paused. "That remains to be seen." "I understand completely," said Myn. He was surprised to note that he did. -----signature----- My Ramblings: http://www.livejournal.com/users/xaara/ My lil bro/sis: Flyboy_7/Wyn_Fel Wyomé, Handmaiden of the Crest
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Xaara Registered: Jun '02	Date Posted: 7/22/03 12:02pm Subject: RE: Home In Time for Supper--Wraith Squadron story >>updated 07/21<<
	sneaks in with ski mask over face to hide true identity ups thread sneaks out -----signature----- My Ramblings: http://www.livejournal.com/users/xaara/ My lil bro/sis: Flyboy_7/Wyn_Fel Wyomé, Handmaiden of the Crest
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Jane Jinn Registered: Jan '00	Date Posted: 7/22/03 12:31pm Subject: RE: Home In Time for Supper--Wraith Squadron story >>updated 07/21<<
	And more suspicious things! Why aren't the locals out in the cool of the evening? I liked the way that Wes managed to get his opinion in unasked -- I love the way you've got his characterization down just perfect! And I also liked the description of Melcia as "something larger than a lizard". Excellent description of Charla, by the way. Is she really the leader, or is she a decoy, as Wedge is wondering? Hmm, Myn's suspicious about where the driver is taking them, and then the driver is suddenly killed? I wonder if the driver was truly ambushed, or whether he meant to bring them to this point (though not to get himself killed, of course.) So the people who have captured them are not Imperials? Another resistance cell? Can't wait to find out. This is a great set-up, you've really got my attention now. -----signature----- Mostly retired now Just making the occasional guest appearance
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Jaina_Solo_Durron Registered: Jul '02	Date Posted: 7/23/03 5:34pm Subject: RE: Home In Time for Supper--Wraith Squadron story >>updated 07/21<<
	ooooooh...nice postie! the plot thickens... UPness! -JSD -----signature----- Be nice to me, I might be your doctor someday.
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Xaara Registered: Jun '02	Date Posted: 7/26/03 2:40pm Subject: RE: Home In Time for Supper--Wraith Squadron story >>updated 07/21<<
	Thanks for your comment about Wes, Jane Jinn--I think he's very easy to overdo, and it's a relief to know that you don't think I exaggerate him! I'm glad you have questions, because that means I'm doing my job. JSD: Yes it does... ******************************************************************* Stumbling blindly through the chaos outside the command center of Coruscant, Jax found himself in a secluded corner, cut off from the noise and confusion. He pressed his back against a permacrete wall and slid down, ignoring the way his shirt bunched under his arms and folded uncomfortably against his back. Pulling his knees up to his chest and wrapping his arms around them, Jax scarcely noticed when Rison, his face still exhibiting his shock, knelt nearby. "We could go find her," Rison said. "Though," he added with a rueful smile. "I wouldn't know where to begin." "Jax just shook his head and retreated within himself, refusing to respond. I don't want to find her. I don't want to know. When Rison rose and took several steps away from the alcove, Jax closed his eyes and brought Nascha's image into his mind. Her vibrant blue eyes sparkled with mirth as she flipped a strand of her light hair over her right shoulder. She said something Jax couldn't quite hear. "What?" he asked, willing her to repeat her words. Somehow, it seemed important that Jax hear what Nascha was trying to tell him. A part of him realized that he was talking to an image that existed solely in his brain, and that conversing with hallucinations was generally associated with drug use or mental instability, but Jax didn't care. He was afraid that if he questioned Nascha's existence, she would cease to exist. Rison has returned. "Jax, are you all right? Did you hurt yourself?" The image of Nascha disappeared and Jax stood quickly, intending to lash out at the older man for interrupting his thoughts. As he rose, however, a sudden dizziness interfered with his sense of balance. Had Rison not stepped forward and caught one of his arms, Jax would have fallen. "I think we need to get you a medic," said Rison. "Are you sure you didn't hit your head?" "Go to hell," Jax suggested disagreeably. "I'm just tired." Rison's concern intensified, and he peered at Jax's face. Angrily, Jax turned his head to the side in a quick movement dizzied him. With a quick breath of worry or annoyance—Jax couldn't tell which—Rison started to guide Jax back toward the crowd. "Jax? You're not making sense, kid. I'm going to take you to a medic." "Of course I'm making sense," Jax snapped, trying to wrench his arm from Rison's grip. Despite his best efforts, he couldn't muster the energy required. At last, he settled for digging in his heels and locking his knees to prevent Rison's advance. "Medic!" called Rison, still clasping Jax's arm. "I think we have a concussion here." A medic materialized from the crowd. "Count backwards from one hundred by sevens," he sighed, his eyes betraying his fatigue. "Ninety-three," Jax said at once. He began to count back again, stopped, started over. "Ninety-three," he repeated. What comes after ninety-three? Ninety-two, and then ninety-one, and then ninety, and then…wait, where was I? At ninety-one? Or was it ninety? "Did he hit his head?" the medic asked. "And if so, did he loose consciousness?" "Not that I'm aware," said Rison, watching Jax in his peripheral vision. Annoyed, Jax turned away, pulling on his arm, which Rison relinquished reluctantly. "He'd better come into the medical center, though I'm not sure if we'll be able to see him immediately. There are folks with a lot worse problems." "I understand," Rison said. "I would feel better if he was in a setting where someone could look after him, though." Jax was about to protest that he was standing right there, that they had no right to talk about him as if he could not hear. But as he opened his mouth to speak, the world around him swirled, faded like a holo whose projector had run low on power, then disappeared completely. ******************************************************************* Face was an unhappy man. He really hadn't had much experience with displeasure as a state of mind, and he found it an unpleasant exercise. Looking over at Ton, who had carefully arranged himself in a casual standing position near the doorway, he felt a tiny bead of sweat slide down the back of his neck and soak into his already wet shirt. The young man with disappearing tendencies, who had introduced himself as Saro and discouraged Face's questions regarding his last name, lay partially under the temperature control unit, busy with some sort of tool that made intermittent beeping and whirring noises. If anything particularly annoyed Face, it was watching someone else do work he could have performed more than competently alone. He wanted the man out of his room, if only for the simple reason that Face wanted to do the work himself. "Almost done," Saro grunted, his voice muffled by the bulk of the machinery. "It should be…there." He scooted out from his cramped position and wiped his sweating face on his sleeve. "Try it now." Lazily, Ton pulled the remote control from his back pocket and flicked one of the buttons. With a cough and a sucking noise, the unit began to blow cool air through the grates aligned for that purpose. Face sighed. Finally. "Thank you," said Ton. "We can't begin to tell you how much easier it will be to sleep when we aren't sticking to the sheets." Saro cracked half a smile, his body language suggesting that he very much wanted to flee the room. "No problem. That's what I'm here for, anyway. Mister Handyman, you know?" "Sure," Face said. "So what do you—" Blaster shots hissed into a solid surface downstairs, and Face was instantly crouched behind a bed, his hand groping for a weapon he realized he did not have. A moment later, Alahna opened the adjoining door and stepped quietly across the room toward him. "What just happened?" she whispered, glancing around before replacing her drawn blaster in its holster. Her gaze locked onto something, and Face followed her line of vision to where it rested on Saro. The young man trembled, on the brink of an important decision Face had made innumerable times: Go or stay? The silence below Saro evidently worried him more than the apparent danger, and without a word, he sprinted toward the door, wrenched it open, and sped toward the stairs. Ton stared after him, a defeated expression on his face. "I suppose we now have to go save him from some sort of terrible fate?" "Close enough," Face said as he snatched his blaster and followed Saro's imprudent movements. He ran with the fear that he would be too late, and was almost too distracted by whatever had happened to notice that Ton and Alahna matched him stride for stride, both pilots checking their weapons as they progressed, setting them to stun. Reasoning that the attackers were almost certainly people he did not want to kill, Face did the same. By the time the group had reached the bottom of the stairs and charged into the lobby, there was no one to be seen. With the uneasy feeling that he was being watched, Face backed toward a wall, where the chance of an ambush was less, and called, "Saro?" "Here," came a voice immediately. "In the dining room." "Are they gone?" Ton asked as he stepped into the restaurant a step behind Face. "Who was it?" "I don't know," said Saro from the floor. Face was about to ask him what he was doing on the carpet of the restaurant when he saw the other form nearby. "Ton?" "On it, Face." The doctor had already knelt beside Moira's still body. With an attention and focus Face rarely saw from his wingmate, Ton checked the woman's pulse, then squeezed one of her fingers and observed the rate at which blood refilled the capillaries. Maneuvering around one of the tables, Face almost choked at the amount of blood that had soaked into the carpet around Moira. He forced himself to crouch beside Ton. "Is she going to live?" "What?" Ton glanced up, distracted. "Oh, yes, most likely, if we get her to a hospital. She's lost quite a bit of blood, but it's not that serious unless she goes into shock." "We can't bring her to a hospital," murmured Saro. "She'll only die." He met Face's eyes, his dark stare pleading. "Nonsense," said Ton. "There's no reason—" "Yes there is. They'll only come back to finish what they've started." Alahna broke into the conversation. "Who'll come back?" "Please, don't ask me to—" "Oh, this noble cloak and dagger bit is all well and good, but this woman needs more medical attention than I'm equipped to give her. What do you suggest?" The aggravation Ton felt was evident in his words. Saro, for the second time in ten minutes, appeared on the verge of making a potentially life-altering decision. At last, heaving a deep and anguished sigh, he said, "We need to take her to our safehouse. We have medical supplies there, and we can—" "Wait just a minute here," said Face. "Safehouse?" Apparently resigned to revealing everything, Saro clarified his earlier statement. "Moira's the ringleader of the local resistance cell. I think the Imperials were the ones who shot her and left her for dead, and if she shows up in one of the nearby hospitals, they'll just kill her there while she's helpless." Again the young man met Face's gaze, and this time his eyes burned with barely suppressed fury. "That's not going to happen," he said, his words a challenge, a dare. "No, of course not," said Alahna, stepping between Face and Saro. "We won't let that happen. But right now, we need to find a way to get her out of here." "The speeder's in the underground bunker," Saro informed them. He crouched, lifted Moira into his arms, and indicated a pocket of his vest with his chin. "The keycard is in there. Go get the speeder started and I'll be out there in a minute." Alahna grabbed the card and was already down the stairs leading to the bunker, Ton close behind her. Out of the corner of his eye, Face watched the young man who had so quickly transformed from naïve youth to determined soldier. This, he resolved, is definitely one to watch. -----signature----- My Ramblings: http://www.livejournal.com/users/xaara/ My lil bro/sis: Flyboy_7/Wyn_Fel Wyomé, Handmaiden of the Crest
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Xaara Registered: Jun '02	Date Posted: 7/29/03 8:11am Subject: RE: Home In Time for Supper--Wraith Squadron story &amp;amp;amp;amp;gt;&am p;amp;am p;amp;am p;gt - Date Edited: 7/29/03 8:20am (1 edits total) Edited By: Xaara
	clears throat Readers, your attention please. I am in the process of moving from Italy to the United States, and as a result, I will have very limited access to word processing programs and Internet. Somehow, I must survive, though it will be a simple existance. I have no idea when I will be able to post again--I hope to finish a section tonight but I'm not going to put up a sub-par piece of writing just because I'm in a hurry. With any luck, I should be able to get a few short bits up during the moving process, but again, I don't know. Normal posting (once every week or so) should start no later than the beginning of September. Thank you for everything--all of you--and enjoy the remainder of your summers! -----signature----- My Ramblings: http://www.livejournal.com/users/xaara/ My lil bro/sis: Flyboy_7/Wyn_Fel Wyomé, Handmaiden of the Crest
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Jane Jinn Registered: Jan '00	Date Posted: 7/29/03 8:38am Subject: RE: Home In Time for Supper--Wraith Squadron/OC's>>updated 07/26; announcement 7/29<<
	Xaara, I wish you a speedy and efficient move, with as little stress as possible and no catastrophes. You're right not to hurry your posts. Take your time and make them good. Jax sounds like he's really in a bad way; I loved the way you described his confusion and dizziness. I loved the way you described Face as wanting Saro out of the room so that he could do the work himself! And the way that Saro was forever broadcasting that he wanted to flee their presence. So, Moira was the ringleader? How did the Imps find out? And what's this sudden transition of Saro from naive youth to determined soldier? Hmm, I'm wondering if Moira really was the ringleader ... -----signature----- Mostly retired now Just making the occasional guest appearance
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Jaina_Solo_Durron Registered: Jul '02	Date Posted: 8/1/03 2:39am Subject: RE: Home In Time for Supper--Wraith Squadron/OC's>>updated 07/26; announcement 7/29<<
	Good luck, Xaara. Hope all goes well! What's wrong with Jax, I wonder? Ooooh...Saro's a big strong man now, is he? j/k...looking forward to more, sweetheart, after you're back. Again, good luck, and MTFBWY. -JSD -----signature----- Be nice to me, I might be your doctor someday.
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Jaina_Solo_Durron Registered: Jul '02	Date Posted: 8/5/03 2:03am Subject: RE: Home In Time for Supper--Wraith Squadron/OC's>>updated 07/26; announcement 7/29<<
	UPness....anyone in here? -JSD -----signature----- Be nice to me, I might be your doctor someday.
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Jaina_Solo_Durron Registered: Jul '02	Date Posted: 8/11/03 7:33am Subject: RE: Home In Time for Supper--Wraith Squadron/OC's>>updated 07/26; announcement 7/29<<
	sigh UP!!!!! -JSD -----signature----- Be nice to me, I might be your doctor someday.
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Jaina_Solo_Durron Registered: Jul '02	Date Posted: 8/19/03 2:55am Subject: RE: Home In Time for Supper--Wraith Squadron/OC's>>updated 07/26; announcement 7/29<<
	And UP you go... -JSD -----signature----- Be nice to me, I might be your doctor someday.
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Jane Jinn Registered: Jan '00	Date Posted: 8/24/03 11:23am Subject: RE: Home In Time for Supper--Wraith Squadron/OC's>>updated 07/26; announcement 7/29<<
	So, how's the move coming along? -----signature----- Mostly retired now Just making the occasional guest appearance
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Xaara Registered: Jun '02	Date Posted: 8/28/03 5:24pm Subject: RE: Home In Time for Supper--Wraith Squadron/OC's>>updated 07/26; announcement 7/29<<
	Jane Jinn: Very good questions, as always. Yes, Saro is a bit more than meets the eye, as we'll see later... As for Jax's symptoms, I had to do a little research on concussions before I was quite confident enough to write that, so I'm glad you thought it turned out well. As for the move, I've actually arrived in my temporary house, so I'm about halfway through my adventure into the unknown. Thanks for asking! JSD: Thank you for the review and the ups. As for when we'll get a new post, it's still a little up in the air, but I hope to have one within the next week or so. This is a long weekend, so I hope to get at least some work accomplished. -----signature----- My Ramblings: http://www.livejournal.com/users/xaara/ My lil bro/sis: Flyboy_7/Wyn_Fel Wyomé, Handmaiden of the Crest
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Jaina_Solo_Durron Registered: Jul '02	Date Posted: 8/31/03 5:23pm Subject: RE: Home In Time for Supper--Wraith Squadron/OC's>>updated 07/26; announcement 7/29<<
	woo! Xaara's back...and UPping this again... -JSD -----signature----- Be nice to me, I might be your doctor someday.
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