This had been a rare find. During all of his wheeling and dealing while on shore leave, he never expected to come across a box of Monte Crisco cigars. Cuban Monte Crisco premium cigars. Even back on his earth, those were difficult to get a hold of, though far from impossible for a man of his resources.

He decided that he would enjoy it in the crew lounge. Partially because the one bottle of brandy that he knew would go best with it was there, and partly because a cigar like this should be enjoyed in good company. Unfortunately, at this hour, the lounge was mostly empty, most of the crew busy licking their wounds from the recent fight.

Still, he knew eventually, someone would show.

In the meantime, he took a seat near one of the windows. The light from the Bleed filtered in, giving him a red tint. He asked Stacy to play some jazz for him, and lit his cigar. He took the first deep drag and held it in, taking a moment to truly taste all of the flavors, then exhaled.

Truly excellent work. He was going to savor this.

There was probably one thing Superman enjoyed and that was returning home every once and awhile. The simple life in Smallville was a great thing to cherish and returning to the Kent farm was something to look forward to.

Even if getting there was as simple as flying in the blink of an eye.

Today was different. This time, getting there was as simple as walking into the Sensoriums. He still couldn't find the farm in the City, but he hoped that it was still there in some capacity. For the moment, though, he opted for the Sensoriums, able to enjoy what he could while he recovered from his injuries he sustained from the Ohm attack.

However, if one were to come in and see him in there, they wouldn't find a man in red and blue, yet a simple, somewhat normal man wearing glasses and regular clothing over his plant suit.

It had been ages since he had just been Clark Kent. It was time to be that way again, even if it didn't matter.

Any other day, maybe, the Doctor might be wandering the ship, looking for something interesting to pull apart or poke his nose into. He still hasn't had a chance to inspect the brain of the ship, after all, and there's that great big city he'd like to explore as well...

But right now, he'd rather not. He's tired and annoyed, and any place he could wander, it wouldn't be far enough. So instead, the Doctor has sprawled on his back, halfway upside down, on one of the couches on the Obs Deck. It seemed as good a place as any to sit still for a while - maybe not the place to go if he wanted to be alone, but he'll take company over quiet just now.

He doesn't actually seem to be paying attention to anyone who might be in the room, though. Instead, he's playing with an unidentifiable bit of patched-together technology - it's got buttons and flashy lights and a little dish and there is absolutely no outward indication of what it actually does. It's... entirely possible it's not meant to do anything, at least at the moment; he just wanted something to do with his hands, though someone to talk to (or talk at) would undoubtedly be a better distraction.

Wedge was tired. He hadn't slept much since they'd gotten back to the ship. He'd been busy going over recordings, sensor-readings and other data from their fight with the Ohm. And in between that he'd been checking up on Shinn in the med bay and moving furniture and other things into the headquarters. But this was important. Discussing what had happened, getting impressions from his people and speaking to them about it would be important. So he waited, leaning against the wall in the briefing room, which had been refurnished, along with the other rooms of the headquarters. At least no one was dead, right?

After talking to Ben, Luke had decided to go to the Jedi Temple and practice some of his lightsaber forms, working off some of the energy that had built up with a full night of sleep and a healing trance besides.  As well as to calm his mind, keep it focused; he had the sense that they were standing on the brink, watching the storm come swiftly in, and knew that he and the other Jedi would need to get together and work things out, checking in with all of them.

Focus.  Feel the Force, let it flow through you.

His green blade sliced through the air, leaving glowing trails behind, concentrating on those first teachings Obi-Wan had given to him on the Falcon, many years ago.  And gradually, Luke slipped into a sort of trance, the Force wrapping around him and supporting every simulated parry, every practiced strike.

Title: No Pyrrhic Mark
Location: Stacy: The City





The building loomed before him like the sanctuary he'd imagined it to be.

He'd been in here once before, moving as if afraid to defile an unseen sanctity. This place had sung a song not meant for but a few ears; this place was a haven for one on this massive ship and Renne wouldn't treat it in any other way than that.

Renne examined his left arm and the tattoo there for the first time in years.

It was made for a dead man.

Renne stood up then, without questioning. He simply did what his instincts told him to do.
He walked.
The steps were slow, still somewhat unsteady and his legs still ached but he made it a full lap around this building of scroll and stone. He didn't enter the place, didn't breach the sanctity he knew, believed with all his being was there.

When Renne slowly dropped to his knees upon completion of walking a lap, his fingers trailed along the unmarked section of his right forearm.

This tattoo, whatever it was to be, was for the living. It was for the one that had become salvation.