Srin didn't know what time it was. Hell, most organics on Coruscant probably didn't either. The former pilot found herself a few a drinks deep in some shitty spacer bar near a major port. Her head was swimming with the stinging scent of Corellian Ale. [i]Strange...[/i] she thought to herself, [i]I'm not usually a drinker.[/i] Ah, but that was before the crash. She found herself thinking of her Squadron often. Well, ex-Squadron now. But still, they were her brothers and sisters. What would they think if they saw the once unshakable and eager Lt. Odessa, sitting like a drowned womp rat in a spacer bar. Her flight suit was dirty and the top half was around her waist like one of those kamas the hotshot Stormtroopers would wear. Her undershirt was soaked in sweat and grime from working on some ancient freighter all day, and this dingy bar's malfunctioning cooling system certainly was not helping. Or was that just her? 

Srin's arm clicked a few times. The door opened. She managed to open one eye and peer towards the door. Stormtroopers. It had to be. No one else walked lockstep like that, even on leave. A group of three of them, probably on Coruscant for this big meeting of the minds for all those ambitious Imperial Officer types. Even in the docks word had got around, some of the other mechanics had been refitting a bunch of Imperial Shuttles that had all touched down within the same cycle. Not your average ground-pounder shuttles either, really fancy diplomatic types with all the 'luxuries of office'. A few pilots in her squadron had been picked to fly a few of the brass from their fleet around in 'em. They all said they handled like crap but were pretty forgiving. Srin picked her head up off the bar counter long enough to sip her drink and spy on the group of bucket-heads ordering some drinks. Their off-duty uniforms were spotless, like most everything about them, down to the haircuts. They were always respectful, if a bit curt when Srin had to deal with them. She just hoped they wouldn't notice her imperial-issue boots. 

Through her haze of alcohol she caught a few glimpses of their conversation. "..Corellia.." Why was everything reminding her of that Force-forsaken place? "The Imperial Council..." Damn them! She wanted to get away from that venting starship, not get hourly updates! Srin forced her head up and downed the last dregs of her drink and slid her credit chit over the holo-slate that indicated her tab.[i]At least it's cheap here, [/i] the pilot thought to herself as she stuffed the chit back into her pocket and stumbled out into the brisk Coruscanti air. 

"Hey!" [i]Oh god, is that directed at me?[/i]

Srin half-pirouttes, half trips over her own feet. 

"You a pilot?" the voice calls out.

Her arm clicks. She can make out a shape, no... a person! A stormtrooper, in his crisp black uniform. 

"I-I was a pilot." Srin manages after a few moments.

"A pilot saved my life, and you don't look so good. Need a cab? It's the least I can do." 

Srin Odessa stares blankly and then nods, slightly swaying.

The man comes over and steadies her with a firm hand on her shoulder as he waves down an airspeeder.

"So why did you get out?" He asks after helping her into the back seat and then following suit. [i]Why so many questions?[/i]

"I er, crashed." She blurts out after a few moments, startled at her own voice. "The docs said I wasn't fit to fly anymore." She kind of half grins and points to her arm. The trooper nods, seemingly buying her half-true story. Srin taps her apartment's address into the navcomputer and lets the automatic cab do the rest of the work as she nurses her swimming head. 

Finally, after a seemingly endless journey the humming airspeeder comes to a gentle stop and the door slides open. The trooper gently drags her out of seat and on to her feet. The ex-pilot drunkenly thanks her guide and gives him a half salute as she makes the long journey up the many floors of the hab-block. No one else is around at this time of day/night. Or most times, actually. The truth is that there just isn't much to do in a grey, stresscrete wasteland, especially when there is a strip of bars and nightclubs a few minutes' journey down the block. After much hiking up stairs and riding the lifts up the vast superstructure, the drunk and tired Srin made it to her apartment door. Carelessly swiping her palm over the scanner, she groaned when it beeped in denial. She swiped again, this time with her organic palm. [i]Easy mistake,[/i] she tells herself. Yeah except she's had this arm for years now. That Corellian stuff is strong. 

The apartment is dark. Her datapad the only source of light. The room is messy, well, as messy as a room with three or so objects in it can get. Srin lives out of a duffel bag. The desk and bed came with the place, both as spartan as spartan can be. Compared to Imperial standards? It was downright cozy. Srin Odessa kicks off her boots and slithers into bed. Sleep comes like a planetary surface to a doomed starfighter...