With cool demeanor, Bazil steps in from the south, his civilian garb blending in with most of the population. In his left hand is the typical, a datapad, carrying on it some sort of information or another. The hand is held up so he can read it while maintaining some sort of successful movement through the other people in the area. His other hand is tucked neatly into his pants pocket, rested on his carbine. Altair sits upon the base of one of the many statues in the square, her back leaning against it. Occasionally, a Coruscantian pigeon, one of the few forms of native wildlife left upon the industrialized planet, flits about beside her, which she gently nudges away. "Shoo," she coos to them, until one perches directly above her. This makes her rather uncomfortable. "Shoo!" she says a bit louder. "Don't sit up there!" Altair appears to be in her early twenties. Her hair hangs at that annoying length between too long and too short, right around the shoulders. It is currently pulled back into a ponytail with only a hint of a wave. Her eyes are as dark blue as the sky at midnight. She has a sprinking of light freckles across her slightly upturned nose. The slim woman, who couldn't weight more than 115 lbs, is dressed in her military uniform. As a member of the Ghost Squadron she wears a dark grey flight suit and some light armor. It has a patch designating her as a member of the squadron on her shoulder. The patch itself is a blue-grey circle containing 13 white stars, circumscribing a gold Republic insignia and a white brooding wraith. Underneath, you can discern the words "Ghost Squadron," along with a motto of some sort on a smaller, rectangular patch sewn under the round one. On it is written 4 simple, yet strangely powerful words: "To the very end."Her name tag identifies her as Altair Quila, XO: Ghost Squadron. -=-=-=-=-=-=<>=-=-=-=-=-=- => Light Armor => DY-255 Heavy Blaster Pistol => Lottery Ticket 3-25-78 A smile forms over Bazil's face as a rather familiar voice echos through the area. His eyes darting up from the datapad wedged into his palm, he glances about the area for the source. Finally, he slips the datapad into one of his many pockets, and heads off towards the statue. After a few moments of dodging his way through the light traffic, a couple meters from the statue, he utters, "Need some help, Ghost Leader?" He stands there with a smug look on his face. Altair looks away from the pigeon for a moment to find the source of the voice. A grin spreads across her face as she finds Bazil standing nearby. "Well, if it isn't the pilot gone diplomat! Come ahve a seat," she says, scooting over. Conveniently leaving plenty of room for Bazil under the pigeon. Perhaps she was less than happy about his career change. Or perhaps she was just glad to get out from under the bird. Bazil, in a single smooth move, squats down, pulling up a small pebble, and saunters over to the statue further, lobbing the tiny stone up towards the bird, a small clink heard as it strikes next to the animal. In a flurry of feathers, it lurches off the statue, and flitters off elsewhere. Bazil turns, and pulls himself down near the pilot, "Ex diplomat. I had myself transferred this morning. It just wasn't my thing." He smiles, looking her over a small bit, "So... how is Ghost treating you? New trainees giving you any trouble?" Altair watches the pigeon flit away before letting the news sink in. When it does, she blinks. "YOu left diplo?" she chirps. "Ghost is ok. Busy busy." A smug smirk crosses her face briefly. "You missed all of us, didn't you?" she teases lightly. "Can't wait to come back and abuse a few recruits. I'll bet Poguala and those stuffy diplomats wouldn't let you put mustard in any of the new people's hair." A small frown buries itself in Bazil's face, "You've got no idea." He grins softly, and in a softer tone, offers, "The whole lot of them are all too uptight, for my tastes. Nothing like Star Ops, of course. Pity, however, that they managed to plant their preformed personality into me." A small smirk is offered forth. A smirk quirks at the corner of Altair's mouth. "I suppose you're going to be correcting everyone's grammer if I let you back into the squadron. 'That's whom, nto who'", the pilot mimics in her best uppity voice. "Seriously though, are yout hinking about coming back to Ghost?" she asks, an expectant eyebrow popping up. Bazil grins, "It's no accident I found you here, to be honest. I managed to persuade a few comm techs into telling me where you were. I was quite hoping you'd have a position open." Smiling, he shrugs, "Do you?" Altair heaves a light sigh. "Honestly," she says, "Ever since I became CO, the XO spot has been rather conspicuously empty. I have been looking for someone to fill it but most of the pilots I have are rather new.." She pauses for a moment while she considers the decision. "Would you be interested?" "Profoundly," Bazil starts, "If you wouldn't mind me coming right into such a high position." He ponders for a moment, before adding in, "Speaking of... has there been any word about Andael? I have been out of the S.O. loop for quite some time." Altair's mouth twitches to one side. "Not a word," she says, her voice losing it's playful edge. "I began to give up hope when they bumped me up into her spot. I had been leaving the XO spot open in case she came back, but after my time on Gastus, I realized that if something happened to me, Ghost would need a leader. So I've been keeping my eyes open. If you're really coming back, you're the best candidate I have so far." She shrugs slightly. "So if you want it, it's yours." He nods, "I accept, then." With a small sigh, Bazil offers, "It's great to be back. It has been quite a while." Altair smiles. "Good then!" she says, settling into a more comfortable position against the statue. "I'm glad that's settled. You realize that the pilots in the muster room will probably give you a hard tiem for a while. Especially if you're gonna dress like that." She smirks, a hint of playfulness reentering her voice. Bazil(#9199POUACF) A mat of brown frazzled hair lies atop this man's head. His face, worn softly, is still young, the lines still soft, but some amount of scarring showing over a small amount of it. A black vest rests around his upper body, enwrapping a plain white shirt; each being a little worn, threads coming loose from the edges, and some small burns at other locations. Sleeves, also black, lie along his arms from the vest, very loosely hung... perfect for hiding something. A simple silver chain rests loosely around his neck, which leads down into the shirt, a small bump created a few inches down from some unseen item. His pants consist of a pair of loose black slacks, void of anything interesting, but upon which rests a thick belt of some unknown material. The clasp at the centre of it is simple, only a rounded rectangle, a bit of decoration around the edges of it. At the man's right side is a large, thick, black canvas holster, in which is seated a blaster carbine, the black metal gleaming softly under any light. At the base of his legs, his feet lie in black leather, almost militaristic boots. The flat black material gives off no shine, and reach nearly a foot up his leg. His overall appearance notes nothing of interest, and an almost scoundral-like demeanor. -=-=-=-=-=-=<>=-=-=-=-=-=- => 4896 Galactic Standard Credits => NR ID Card => Galactic Bank Card => SS-V Blaster Carbine => C411 Hold-Out Blaster => Light Armor >> Bazil looks at you. Bazil grins, looking his own clothing over, "Yeah. I'll pull my old uniform out of mothballs. Don't worry, though. They may have molded me into a diplomat, but they didn't get rid of my spunk." A soft smirk forms over his face, as he leans back, looking about the area for a moment, before finally resting again on the other pilot. "So. What rustbucket you gonna stick me in?" he inquires, a playful smile lapping at his lips.