Toledo Lounge

[coolandcoo]

Sitting now alone in the spacious lounge, Ishmael considered the last few hours. He remembered that not even a mere minute ago, the rowdy cries of celebration ringed throughout this very room, issued from his fellow pilots reveling in the defeat of their enemies. He remembered, only a short hour before this, the blaze of countless laser fire, the crushing of broken hulls, and the booming shockwave of collapsing battleships that had engulfed him in the previous battle. He found himself, strapped back into his fighter as it tore across the black abyss of space, technicolor beams of light flinging themselves this way and that. With that frightening image flowing through his mind, he snapped back to reality with his eyes leveled down at his two hands wound tightly around a mug, shaking, and creating ripples through its clear, watery contents. With a meager grunt of mental pain, he focused on his hands, finally willing his quaking hands to a small tremble.

With a sigh, he looked over his shoulder, only to gaze about in a empty room, a tad dirtied, but quiet, peaceful. Content with the situation at hand, he returned his attention back to his drink, only to notice all this time, he had not taken a single sip.