Bast slowly lifted herself up on her elbows. It was still the dead of night. A hazy, orange light slipped into her room through the cracks in her blinds, casting moving shadows as the train approached, then grew distant. She had become accustomed to its high pitched whine every twenty minutes between the hours of midnight and six. Night workers from the industrial complex had to get home, after all. She shifted, kicking off a layer of sheets. Corellia was hot as always, especially near the power plants. The apartment had been cheap. Normally, Sector Ranger Command would provide complimentary housing with the job, but as a Lieutenant, she was moving around too much and any stay longer than two weeks was rare. Besides, ship parking was scarce in the dorm complexes. And another reason…
Something launched itself onto her bed, making the springs squeak. At least she hoped it was springs, another rat infestation would be a headache. He really wasn’t supposed to share a bed with her, as he well knew. Scowling, the woman rolled onto her back and sat up. A wet, sticky tongue licked her cheek ferociously. Gross. A paw in the abdomen elicited a wheeze and a strong scolding. “Blue, you get down, now. Down.”
The Corellian hound tilted his head, drool dripping from his mouth. After a bit more urging, he reluctantly hopped back onto the floor, then slid into a lying position. Bast smiled despite herself. Somehow, he had known, heard her wake. It had been another dream. Not the nightmares that so often used to plague her, but an unnerving dream nonetheless—
— She had been unable to get into Headquarters because everyone was convinced she was an imposter. Bast had died three years earlier, they had explained, in a speeder accident. She frantically tried to convince the clerk that she was Lt. Emblai, but officers had been called in and put her in cuffs to take her away. When the native corellian awoke, confusion and fear still plagued her thoughts. It was just a dream. Still,the humid room and old bed had felt no less real than the dream until the reality of dog spittle brought her back.
It was only their first night together. At first, she bristled at the mess. The thing was simply producing too much drool to be considered natural. It had immediately rifled through the trash and picked out a broken toy Bantha from Silvi’s visits, a used box of instant noodles, and a rotten vegetable. It was too affectionate, always budding up against her legs and throwing her off balance. It smelled so much the odor could probably be detected from the outer rim. So, she had bathed Blue, stuck an appropriately colored collar on him, and began teaching the rules of the house. No going on the bed, no jumping up onto the counters, no barking at the door, and absolutely no peeing inside. Surprisingly, the hound was picking it up remarkably quickly.
Leaning down, the woman patted the soft, velvet head. “I didn’t mean it. You’re a good boy, you know.” Somehow, she fell asleep more easily that night.
Something launched itself onto her bed, making the springs squeak. At least she hoped it was springs, another rat infestation would be a headache. He really wasn’t supposed to share a bed with her, as he well knew. Scowling, the woman rolled onto her back and sat up. A wet, sticky tongue licked her cheek ferociously. Gross. A paw in the abdomen elicited a wheeze and a strong scolding. “Blue, you get down, now. Down.”
The Corellian hound tilted his head, drool dripping from his mouth. After a bit more urging, he reluctantly hopped back onto the floor, then slid into a lying position. Bast smiled despite herself. Somehow, he had known, heard her wake. It had been another dream. Not the nightmares that so often used to plague her, but an unnerving dream nonetheless—
— She had been unable to get into Headquarters because everyone was convinced she was an imposter. Bast had died three years earlier, they had explained, in a speeder accident. She frantically tried to convince the clerk that she was Lt. Emblai, but officers had been called in and put her in cuffs to take her away. When the native corellian awoke, confusion and fear still plagued her thoughts. It was just a dream. Still,the humid room and old bed had felt no less real than the dream until the reality of dog spittle brought her back.
It was only their first night together. At first, she bristled at the mess. The thing was simply producing too much drool to be considered natural. It had immediately rifled through the trash and picked out a broken toy Bantha from Silvi’s visits, a used box of instant noodles, and a rotten vegetable. It was too affectionate, always budding up against her legs and throwing her off balance. It smelled so much the odor could probably be detected from the outer rim. So, she had bathed Blue, stuck an appropriately colored collar on him, and began teaching the rules of the house. No going on the bed, no jumping up onto the counters, no barking at the door, and absolutely no peeing inside. Surprisingly, the hound was picking it up remarkably quickly.
Leaning down, the woman patted the soft, velvet head. “I didn’t mean it. You’re a good boy, you know.” Somehow, she fell asleep more easily that night.
Last edited: