Sable's Experiences

[Toaster]

November 21, 827 A.S.

She turned to fully face the man, recognition dawning on her as she looked him over.

"Commander Sharpe," she remembered, returning the pilot's smile. "It really has been." Olivia nodded at the man's flightsuit. "New uniform?"

Sharpe looked down at himself, laughing a deep laugh.

"Aye, I'm flying for the Guild these days." He looked over at the Sutinga, the last flames being extinguished by splashes of water and foam. "I thought I recognized that ship when I saw it zoom past me in Forty-Four." His eyes traveled back to meet Olivia's. "I never thought I'd see you out here again."

Olivia nodded thoughtfully.

"If it weren't for the sniffers overreaching, I wouldn't have come."

"So it's not just business," Sharpe replied, stating more than asking. For a moment, there was silence between the two as they held each other's gaze. Then Sharpe's lips broke into a smile again and he nodded his head vaguely towards the deeper decks of the station. "I've got some paperwork to take care of." His eyes briefly shot over to the empty landing pad at the far end of the bay. "If you're not too exhausted, we could grab a drink at the bar. To catch up."

Olivia thought the proposal over. She was dead tired. Her body was bruised from being thrown around the cockpit in high-g maneuvers and her mind was begging her to let it rest. But she was curious about the Bretonian ex-officer, wanted to know what he had been up to since they had parted ways. And spending a few hours over drinks with a friendly face seemed like a more than pleasant contrast to the insanity of fleet combat she had just barely escaped.

"Sure," she replied simply.

"Great!" Sharpe stepped closer and gently patted her shoulder. "I'll see you at the bar in a little bit." Then he walked past her to where his two remaining wingmen were waiting. Olivia looked after him until the three pilots disappeared through a door down a hallway leading out of the hangar. She sighed.

Commander Benjamin Sharpe, Bretonian Armed Forces. She had been assigned to his squadron throughout her employment in Bretonia during the Gallic War. For four years, she had flown under his command, alongside his men and women. The Bretonians had not been averse to hiring mercenaries and freelancers to bolster their ranks against the seemingly unstoppable Gallic juggernaut and Olivia had quickly found herself well-acquainted and well-liked among the pilots of the 227th squadron. Of course, by the time she left the front to pursue her fortunes elsewhere in Sirius, the majority of faces within the group had changed. Only Sharpe remained as a steadfast anchor until the end. They had grown close, even against Olivia's better judgment.

But five years had passed since then. When Olivia ended her contract with the armed forces in 822 A.S., there had been no hard feelings between herself and the commander. They even promised to keep in touch, but both failed to keep their end of the deal. She never blamed him, of course. He was fighting a war of survival for his house. And she soon got caught up in a mess of her own in the Omegas. And so they had never spoken since parting ways. Until now.



A faint smile on her face, Olivia headed deeper into the station, following signs and arrows towards the civilian decks where she could find the outpost's bar.

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Olivia Sable