The local time (Eastern US) is: Tue Feb  3 17:40:12 1998

Home One: Central Corridor

    The headquarters frigate of the Rebel Alliance, the Mon Calamari
    cruiser Home One, exemplifies Mon Cal esthetics. Surfaces are smooth
    and curved, dimensions fascinatingly irregular. Form and function
    blend into a harmonious whole, instrumentation and data readouts
    seemingly appearing from nowhere, tucked away in natural-seeming
    nooks.

    A maze of corridors winds through the ship's multiple decks. Quarters
    and operational facilities for thousands of beings are layered
    within, and the passageways are busy at all times of day and night.
 
Contents:
Dent                     Mithril                  Thorne                   

Obvious exits:
Corridors  Conference Room  Hangar Bay  Briefing Room  Ship's Infirmary  
  Training Room  Mess Hall  Living Quarters  Bridge  Observation Deck  

Dent grins and nods. "Ok." He mulls over where to go next. "Ah, I know," he 
  says to himself. He looks at the Lt. Col. "If you'll excuse us, sir."
The technician looks over his shoulder. "This way, Mithril. Only one more room 
  left."

Thorne says "Of course. Good meeting you Mithril."

Her steps quiet, her air abstracted, Lieutenant Rellawy Woodlake comes making 
  her way through the central corridor, blue-green eyes distant as she heads 
  for the observation deck.

Mithril is about to follow Dent when he hears someone else come in behind him. 
  He glances back, checking his back almost by instinct. And stops, blinking.

Thorne looks at you for a moment.

Dent is just about to enter when he realizes there's no one following him. "Hey." He goes back to the smuggler. "There's still another room to go."

Mithril points at Rellawy. "Who's she?"

The young woman with the short cap of honey-colored curls doesn't appear to notice, yet, that she's under scrutiny. She dodges a pair of pilots who're coming out of the mess hall and striding off for the Hangar, and comes into better view.

Dent says "2nd Lt. rell Woodlake. She's a medic."
Dent grins. "And there's something about her that is strange....I don't know, though..."

Thorne turns to see where Mithril is looking. "Hello again."

Mithril shakes his head. "I could of sworn I'd met her before, but I guess not."

Dent shrugs. "You mighta. She's a new officer here. Well, considerably new."

Rellawy pauses, then, as she comes within earshot. Thorne's greeting is what first makes her look up, and she looks just a trifle nervous as she salutes the man, gravely. "Colonel," is her low reply.

Mithril shakes his head. "I thought I'd met her on Nar Shaddaa. But that's not likely."

Dent hmms and shrugs again. "Ya never know." He is about to suggest to go on, but decides to say instead. "Want to meet her?"

Mithril nods slowly. "I suppose... Can't hurt." His left hand is twitching again.

Thorne returns Rellawy's salute with a faint smile. "Pleasure to see you again." He murmurs something to her and nods at Mithril.

Mithril nods absently to Thorne, then returns his gaze to Rell.

Thorne
He is slightly above average height, and has a build that is muscular without being bulky. Pale-blue eyes glitter with intelligence in a classicly handsome face. A face that is masked in a state of perpetual calm. It betrays little, if any emotion, except for the occasional charming smile. His charcoal black hair is kept short is a caesar-like cut, and his strong jaw-line is freshly shaven. He is dressed in a nicely decorated uniform adorned with a rebel insignia on each shoulder, and the rank of Lt. Colonel. He also carries a standard-issue blaster pistol in a holdster that is straped to his right thigh.

Thorne pages: He says "Looks like you have an admirer."

Dent nods and walks up to Rell, smiling and saluting Thorne as he comes up. "Rell?"

Rellawy blinks, then, and turns in the direction of Dent and the man he appears to be guiding. "Aye?" 
A beat, and then, there's a slight odd catch to the young woman's expression, at the sight of the other man.

Mithril
Mithril is shorter than average, coming in at about five foot six or so. However, he makes up for it with speed. Fast reflexes is what he has. But judging from the number of scars on his arms and hands, he took a while to get them. His shock of dark brown hair is cropped short, apparently without the use of a mirror, and his face is always just a touch wary.

Thorne returns the salute. "I should be on my way." He grins and continues down the hall.
Thorne has left.

Dent's eyes furrow slightly, trying to put 1 and 1 together.

Mithril follows Dent over, looking puzzled about something. (That would be 2, Dent... ;)

"Rell? I'd like you to meet Mithril." The technician says, letting Mithril stand up front.

"A... good day to ye," is the young woman's reply, in her rolling accent. Her features regain their composure as she speaks.

Mithril nods. "Thanks... I'm Mithril, of the ship Silver Fire." His eyes still have a curious light in them.

Dent stands quietly for a moment, before saying, "So...Mithril, there's only one more room left on your tour."

The medic inclines her curl-capped head solemnly. "Rellawy Woodlake," she murmurs, and that's all she says. Then she takes a step aside, and adds, "Dinnae let me be keepin' ye."

Mithril nods at Dent. "All right..." He nods to Rell, after giving her another curious glance, and starts to follow.

Dent pauses in mid-stride and looks back. "You're welcome to come along, Rell."

Mithril is halfway to the room Dent is leading him too when he stops, and mutters "Dinnae let me be keepin' ye..." He turns around, eyes alight. "Excuse me, but were you ever on the Smuggler's Moon?"

Blue-green eyes blink, twice, and something in Rellawy Woodlake's stance appears to stiffen. After a moment, she replies, "Aye." Her expression has turned utterly unreadable.

The 2nd lietenant looks at Rell, then at Mithril, then back again. .o(What in hell is going on here?)o.

Mithril shakes his head, still not believeing it. "You've never worked as a..waitress have you?" His left hand is rubbing against the side of his coveralls.

There's another, softer "Aye" from Rellawy Woodlake. From the way she's standing there now in the corridor, you'd almost think that someone had just pointed a blaster at her head, though her expression remains inscrutable.

Dent gets confused easy, and from the look on his face, he is confused. "Ok. I'm missing something here, aren't I?"

Mithril shakes his head. "It can't be..." then he contradicts himself. "It can't be anything else." A deep breath. "Did you ever...help a man with a badly burned hand?"

The local time (Eastern US) is: Tue Feb  3 18:11:03 1998

A horrid sound comes from the hangar bay. "Uh-oh." Dent says, looking in that direction. "That sounded like one of the engines fell. I gotta go check it out."

Rellawy might be seen to jerk, slightly, but she flicks her gaze to Dent and gives him a hasty nod.

Mithril winces. "Hope it wasn't mine..." he mutters.

Dent pauses, looking at the two, but then focuses on Mithril. "You gonna be good without me?"

Mithril nods at Dent. "I'll be fine."

Dent gives the thumbs up as he runs down the hall. "Later, you two!" He yells, dodging slow moving folk.
Dent has left.

The girl who remains there in the corridor closes her eyes, slowly, and then reopens them. Without looking at the Corellian smuggler, she murmurs a third time, "Aye."

>Mithril looks down at his left hand, then back up. "It is you then." He looks her up and down. "But I never would of expected to meet you again..."

The local time (Eastern US) is: Wed Feb  4 12:50:12 1998

The girl has, clearly, changed. Her hair has been cut; rather than a tousled mop, she now sports a cap of short, loose curls, brushed back from her face. She's carrying herself differently, taller, quieter. And perhaps most obviously, she is wearing the uniform of a medical officer of the Rebel Alliance. Her blue-green gaze returns to the Corellian, and she says gravely, "That would be makin' two of us, then."

Mithril shakes his head. "You have changed... It's the accent that got me, I think. But I'm glad to see you here. Smuggler's Moon is no place for a person who can do..whatever it was you did."

Her mouth quirks up, briefly, on one side. "So I've been told," she replies.

Mithril looks at his hand again. "I'm still grateful you know... It would of scarred."

Rellawy Woodlake still stands there cautiously, her expression reserved... and her gaze flicks off, perhaps a sign that mentioning... well, whatever it was she -did-... embarrasses her. And she murmurs, "You're welcome."

Mithril stops, not sure what to say. Finally, his stomach decides for him, rumbling hungrily. "Um... I need to eat. Travling with an extra person taxed my supplies."

The girl... the lieutenant... nods soberly. "Please, dinnae let me be keepin' ye from your nourishment."

Mithril nods, and glances around, noting the way to the mess hall. "Aye. And remember, my offer of help if you need it still stands."

She smiles, fleetingly, and murmurs, "Thank you."

Mithril starts for the mess hall then glances back. "I'll be seeing you around, hopefully not as a patient." He cracks a grin.

That coaxes another slight smile from Rellawy, who observes, "I'm not... yet... a true medic. Major Matthias is seein' to my trainin', and I'm mostly learnin', still."

Mithril nods, and glances towards the dining hall again. "I need to eat. You can come along if you'd like to talk. I wouldn't mind."

She considers this, pulling in a quiet sigh, then releasing it. Although Rell doesn't quite smile, there's an almost... wry look that flickers across her features for a moment, and at last, she inclines her head. "For a bit. I've studyin' I must be gettin' back to after that, though."

Mithril nods, and heads for the food, his stomach grumbling again. "Quiet you," he mutters at it. "Food's comin'."
Mithril has left.

Home One: Mess Hall

        The 'mess hall' is a colloquial term for the purpose this spacious
    room, and many others like it, serve on the Mon Cal cruisers of the
    fleet. Rows upon rows of tables, benches, tray ports, and recycling
    systems are spaced about the room; many blending into the walls,
    floor and even ceiling of the ship in the organic manner that Mon Cal
    design lends itself to. One large port on the far wall looks out into
    the star-filled expanse beyond.

        The large blast door on the wall opposite the port leads back to the
    central nexus of the main corridor.
 
Contents:
Mithril                                           

Obvious exits:
Central Corridor  

Mithril heads for the food, quickly collecting a trayful, and then heading for the nearest empty spot. He sits down, and starts eating, quieting his stomach before he slows down.

As Rell heads through the mess hall at the Corellian's side, she might be seen to move as if simultaneously part of and removed from the place. She smiles faintly at passersby who seem to recognize her, although she does not speak very much, and more often than not she is the subject of odd glances, murmured comments just out of earshot. She doesn't go for any food herself, although she does pour herself up something hot to drink, and she settles silently into a chair across the table from the smuggler.

Mithril looks up. "So why'd you leave Smuggler's, if you don't mind me asking?"

Without batting an eyelash, Rell replies solemnly, "My life was in peril... I was rescued, by two who deemed it best to bring me here."

Mithril ohs. "That's good, I guess."

Another faint smile from the young woman. "Aye. 'Tis far better for me to be here, than where I was, when I was brought off that moon." Her voice drops for a moment; what might be a shadow momentarily darkens her eyes. But it passes quickly, and she straightens up slightly, considering the smuggler. "Please, tell me... have ye... been to the Burnin' Deck... lately? Did ye... know Lerren?"