"No.  You go ahead, I'll get mine later."  Katta Succor waved a squadmate away.  They had been out from Endor for eight hours, and he had been mostly asleep during that time, only now making his way from his simple quarters to the makeshift cantina.<br/><br/>His sky blue skin clashed a bit painfully with his orange jumpsuit and not-quite-glowing red eyes.  He glanced around, saw friends, rivals, strangers.  Rebels for the most part, with a few independent contractors... mercenaries.  A few he knew waved or nodded to him, a few he knew ignored him.  Oh well.<br/><br/>He let himself fall into the marching cadence of a traditional Huttese song, and made his way to the bar.  Since he just woke up, he'd normally say it was too early, but there wasn't much else to do but socialize, not his forte, or fly in the sims, and they were all booked up by analysts going over the many kinds of input for the Battle of Endor.  His normal pasttime was rendered unavailable, and his X-Wing hadn't taken any damage in the combat, so he had more or less nothing to do.<br/><br/>Stepping to the bar, beside a small cluster of people, he nodded to Zeta, a fellow snubfighter pilot and therefore automatically worthy of acknowledgment, and waited for the bartender to acknowledge him.  When his turn came, he muttered "Whyren's Reserve" and waited.