Myn Donos, 13 years old and in military academy on Corellia, was desperately in love with Jartine Selb-Fanic. She had the curliest red hair, the cutest freckles, and was very outgoing. Just a year ahead of him, she exuded confidence and love of life, two things he'd always had great difficulty achieving. So it was no surprise that when he tried to ask her out, she didn't even notice he was in the room.
"Would you like to accompany me to the formal ball at midwinter," he asked. They were alone in the pilot training ready room, and she was attempting to read up on her pre-flight checklist on her datapad before they went into the sims. She continued reading for a few seconds, looked around for the source of a half-remembered voice, and looked back down.
The reason she didn't notice, of course, was that young Myn had dived in panic behind a bench, thumping rather noisily. Not noisily enough to draw more attention from Jartine, however, as she was again lost in the world of green and amber flight board lights.
She made no pretense at being fully human. Flight Officer Diwan Slayd was not a morning person. Her bobbed golden hair a riot of tangles and knots, she was a red-eyed monster making a beeline to the caf maker in the morning. "Morning, Talon Twelve," her commander, a dark-haired, round-faced blur just to the side of the heavenly producer of industrial-strength stimulus. She grunted, as she vigorously stabbed the button on the machine, quickly moving her standard New Republic issued tumbler under the spigot as the steaming liquid began to drip. Once it was full, she stabbed the button again and drained her cup dry - her mouth long used to this abuse by near-boiling beverage by this point in her life. The words to her side from her commander had continued throughout the process, but as the drink kicked in, she began to actually comprehend them: "...and so I was thinking, would you want to?"
"No, sorry," she mumbled, hitting the button again. She wondered why the round face looked so crestfallen, but as the smell of her second cup hit her nose, she brushed away the thought.
Mornings were not a good time to talk to anyone, anyway.
"You scared me to death. Falling and not moving. I was getting a retrieval team in position when you reached me via comlink," Myn said to a bruised Falynn on Storinal.
"I'm sorry," she said, stroking his chin, reminding him that he needed to shave again, and wincing at the memory that he'd have to unglue and then reglue his false mustache to do so. Falynn laughed, and he asked, "What's funny?"
"That mustache. You look like a complete idiot."
"Oyah." Remembering how funny it was when Face did it, he bobbed his head in the goofy farmer-from-Agamar way, and was fairly proud of himself when he managed to kiss her on the third bob without mashing her teeth or kissing her nose or something disastrous like that. Rising from beside her chair, he said, "Like they said, sleep. We've got more planned tonight."
"Someone else gets to climb," she responded, and he was again lost in a moment of panic, seeing her form, tiny and black, falling from the roof. The moment passed, but a bit too late, as she mumbled, "G'night" and fell almost instantly asleep from the painkillers and injuries.
"Hope we can do that again sometime," he said quietly to her slumbering form.