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Jul. 31st, 2008 08:32 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
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sotto_voice, 'cause I got here an hour early.
"Mirtelxa."
"... Did you get a concussion on your last tour?" She answers, actually pausing from her work to look at her husband as he sprawls lazily on the bed, pouring over a datapad.
"It's a good, solid Corellian name." He gives her his best sad-eyed look, but gives it up when she fails to cave to his obvious charms.
"It sounds like an epileptic disease." Her typing resumes, dismissing the name entirely and leaving him to continue his search.
"Trizyl?" He has to move fast to duck the incoming paper weight.
"You are now banned from naming our son." He grins, that soppy, indecently proud, stupidly gleeful grin he's been displaying ever since they got the news.
"Daughter."
"Son. And our son is hungry. There's an iced nerf cream shop two levels down. Get the triple chocolate spicestar supreme. Oh! And some chella fruit to go in it." He knows better than to argue, or to point out that chella fruit is quite possibly one of the most disgusting things in the universe. Leaving the datapad behind on the bed, he scoops up his belt and pads out before she can think of something else to add to the list.
Iella watches him go, then leans back in her chair. Wedge might be a brilliant pilot and master tactician, but she suspects that whatever part of the brain is responsible for naming things (and babies) was irreparably damaged somewhere along the line. Just as well she has final say, here.
sotto_voice, 'cause I got here an hour early."Mirtelxa."
"... Did you get a concussion on your last tour?" She answers, actually pausing from her work to look at her husband as he sprawls lazily on the bed, pouring over a datapad.
"It's a good, solid Corellian name." He gives her his best sad-eyed look, but gives it up when she fails to cave to his obvious charms.
"It sounds like an epileptic disease." Her typing resumes, dismissing the name entirely and leaving him to continue his search.
"Trizyl?" He has to move fast to duck the incoming paper weight.
"You are now banned from naming our son." He grins, that soppy, indecently proud, stupidly gleeful grin he's been displaying ever since they got the news.
"Daughter."
"Son. And our son is hungry. There's an iced nerf cream shop two levels down. Get the triple chocolate spicestar supreme. Oh! And some chella fruit to go in it." He knows better than to argue, or to point out that chella fruit is quite possibly one of the most disgusting things in the universe. Leaving the datapad behind on the bed, he scoops up his belt and pads out before she can think of something else to add to the list.
Iella watches him go, then leans back in her chair. Wedge might be a brilliant pilot and master tactician, but she suspects that whatever part of the brain is responsible for naming things (and babies) was irreparably damaged somewhere along the line. Just as well she has final say, here.
