There was music and for once it actually sounded like music instead of the dying screech of a hawkbat or an ewok in heat or both combined. Hobbie shuddered. That last one was a terrifying thought. But anyway, music. Not only was there music, there was alcohol. In copious amounts. This was something he approved of as a matter of course. There was also a plethora of the opposite sex, which, as a man and a pilot, he was also inclined to agree with. Especially since, as a "Hero of the New Republic" and with Wedge off the market (thank you, Iella!), his stock had risen among said opposite sex rather considerably.
Of course, it was a good thing he and Wes were such good friends or he might be a little put out by the competition. That and the whole "fighting the good fight" and saving the day and everything recently back on Adumar all tended to put Hobbie in a good mood. Or maybe that was the lomin-ale.
Something was missing, though, and it took Hobbie over half of the party to really put his finger on it. Finally, his eyes lit up and he leaned over to Wes, "great party, but you know, it's really missing something."
Wes frowned and raised his eyebrows at his friend curiously, "what's that?"
Utterly straight-faced, Hobbie responded, "ritual duels to the death wherein the parties involved mock each other endlessly first by drawing stick figures in the air."
A bit taken aback, Wes blinked at Hobbie. Then he grinned. "Where's my blastsword?"