[ Wedge skipped the identity crisis and jumped straight into duty.
It wasn't a slight against the others. Everyone has different methods to cope. But Wedge's coping mechanisms were always pragmaticβcompartmentalize, go on. It'd been surreal to see himself as hairless as a fresh Imperial recruit, to feel as weak as a newborn baby. So he'd jumped straight into physical therapy to strengthen atrophied limbs, to feel more human and less like a number, expendable. Wedge never liked feeling expendable.
Absentmindedly, he cards his fingers across his scalp, liking the sensation of softness and resistance provided by a head full of hair. It'd been a couple of months since being unplugged. These were small comforts, meaningless in the grand scheme of the rebellion. But they all need their anchors.
Wedge stands on a corner to ignore the dancers. He stands at attention: chin up, chest out, shoulders back, stomach in. He's as still as a statue, but he addresses passersbye with a friendly demeanor. ] Sorry, I'm not a good dancer. [ He'd attended enough 'official parties' in his past life to dislike the artificial formalities of such events. ]
MISSION
[ Wedge takes to the hovercrafts like a fish to water. He's a steady and graceful pilot, guiding the ship through tunnels in maneuvers that can only be learned from experience.
But that damned Sentinel is still gaining on them. No amount of fancy maneuvers will delay the inevitable. ] Alright, everyone, [ Says Wedge calmly, fingers tightening around a lever, force of habit making him reach above his head for another lever that'll activate non-existent s-foils. ] brace yourselves. I'm going to engage that squiddy.
Wedge Antilles β Star Wars (Legends)
It wasn't a slight against the others. Everyone has different methods to cope. But Wedge's coping mechanisms were always pragmaticβcompartmentalize, go on. It'd been surreal to see himself as hairless as a fresh Imperial recruit, to feel as weak as a newborn baby. So he'd jumped straight into physical therapy to strengthen atrophied limbs, to feel more human and less like a number, expendable. Wedge never liked feeling expendable.
Absentmindedly, he cards his fingers across his scalp, liking the sensation of softness and resistance provided by a head full of hair. It'd been a couple of months since being unplugged. These were small comforts, meaningless in the grand scheme of the rebellion. But they all need their anchors.
Wedge stands on a corner to ignore the dancers. He stands at attention: chin up, chest out, shoulders back, stomach in. He's as still as a statue, but he addresses passersbye with a friendly demeanor. ] Sorry, I'm not a good dancer. [ He'd attended enough 'official parties' in his past life to dislike the artificial formalities of such events. ]
But that damned Sentinel is still gaining on them. No amount of fancy maneuvers will delay the inevitable. ] Alright, everyone, [ Says Wedge calmly, fingers tightening around a lever, force of habit making him reach above his head for another lever that'll activate non-existent s-foils. ] brace yourselves. I'm going to engage that squiddy.
And I'm going to win.