twostandingby: (flyboy)
Shove the stick to the left, throwing the X-wing into a sharp roll, and Tycho should feel the pull of the manuever even with the intertial compensator, but there's nothing. The simulators at Milliways are incredibly rudimentary; no simulated motion or even comm chatter. It's not flying. It's playing.

Still, it's as close as it comes to the real thing while Bound, and so Tycho is tucked behind the black curtain of one of the simulators in the recently (poorly) repainted room, determinedly vaping TIE Interceptors.
twostandingby: (upset)
Running breath hitching side stabbing - stabbing red silver-white hair NO--

Tycho's eyes snap open. The room is lit only by the crack of light coming from the hallway and making its way under the door, but when he immediately looks to his side, it's impossible to miss Winter lying with her face turned toward him and eyes closed. She's fine. She's better than fine; she's here. Still, though, his breathing is taking its time returning to normal speed, as are his heartbeats. He sits up slowly, careful not to jostle Winter, and pushes the covers away. He rests on the edge of the bed, bare feet on the floor, his torso bare, and his forearms resting on his knees. Tycho scrubs an unsteady hand over his face and sits quietly in the dark.


twostandingby: (Default)
Tycho Celchu

June 2007

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