Log Date: 1/10/98, 1/14/98 Log Cast: Christopher Morgan, Thomas Drake, Rellawy Woodlake, Kyttra Payne Log Intro: ---------- You move aftwards, through the maze of corridors, towards the observation deck. Home One: Observation Deck This is the observation deck of the Mon Calamari cruiser, Home One, that serves as the Rebel Alliance's capital flagship. The observation deck, at the stern of the ship, is afforded a spectacular view of the ship's hull and beyond, as it curves gracefully away into the star-speckled blackness of space. The lighting is dim, but not uncomfortably so, the area decorated as a lounge of modest size, with comfortable seats and low tables. The panoramic viewport is guarded by a decorative railing, as well as a large red button that can be pushed to slide blast shielding in front of it, an uncomfortable reminder of a war that seems at odds with this peaceful luxury-liner lounge. A small bank of computer terminals occupy the forward wall, by the arched portal that leads out to one of the ship's main corridors. Contents: Drake Morgan Obvious exits: Arched Portal Morgan makes a quiet comment to Drake, his tone bordering on insidious. "I'm preparing myself for that," Drake answers sharply, "I -don't- have time to be a living breathing boy, and I haven't got the opportunity for what you're suggesting either. Besides--something I learned years ago, from General Kenobi. Jedi have to be really careful about that kind of thing, because the Dark side sees it as a weakness, something to exploit to get us to capitulate." A Rellawy Woodlake dull-eyed with fatigue, but for once not hauling along the medical texts and holodiscs that appear to have become a standard part of her personal equipment for the past several weeks, comes stumbling into the lounge. The young lieutenant has a mug of something steaming in one hand, and she heads for one of the viewports, standing there to press her forehead against the glass. Morgan squints, long and hard. "You truly are a wooden boy, Pinnochio. Since when can you not have emotions? Believe me, the repression of desire led me to far more evil than the satisfaction of the same." "It's not so much desire," Drake shakes his head. "Imagine yourself out there with that big gun of yours, and then some Stormtroopers have your fiancee. If you do your job right, she gets killed because of you. If you don't, you may get her back but you've failed at your job. Something most people don't ever run into, but it's the Dark Side's biggest weapon against us--the exploitation of emotions they can't possibly feel." Morgan says "So you've elected to abstain from feeling so as to be pure when the time comes? Could be fifty years from now, and you're just gonna /wait?/" Drake spares just the slightest glance towards Rellawy when she enters, but is quickly distracted by Morgan; or maybe he wants to be. "I have no choice. There are so few Jedi left that, if I am destroyed because of such a petty thing, I will have failed not only myself but the entire Order." Both of them. Morgan's eyes widen, then. "Why come here? You'd love nothing more than to slug me and the chapped skin you've got by now must be irritating /and/ frustrating. Sensitive area to begin with, that. This is just a bucket of negative karma, for you. You're grabbing your ankles for the Dark Side on / purpose?/" Evidently, the girl hasn't noticed the other occupants of the lounge yet. Rell runs a hand through her short cap of already disheveled blonde curls, drinks down a long swallow of whatever is in her mug, and stands there at the viewport, gazing out into the stars. She's got a liquid, distant look to her eye, and her jumpsuit, like her close-cropped hair, is rumpled. Drake repeats the only thing he knows: "I have to. The old I die so others may live story. It's my destiny, it's what I have to do. Of course I feel as others do. I just don't have the luxury of paying attention, and we're taught how not to pay attention to that kind of thing." Morgan says "The Jedi had children, stupid." "There were enough of them and not enough bad guys to make it a threat," Drake counters, "I'm not saying we're forbidden it. I'm just saying that it's a risk, and now is not the right time for me to develop some kind of attachment." Morgan unseats himself, steps a good four feet from Drake. He gestures sweepingly, with an arm. "Ladies and gentlemen," he booms, "Our pillar of the community. Our sentinel of liberty. He slices, he dices, he humiliates from parsecs away." Pause. "Please do not taunt the Jedi. Or incite him to emotion. Or proposition him. Or speak to him about anything other than His Mission To Save The Galaxy. Tasteless displays of flesh in front of the Jedi are frowned upon. No food, drink, or radios. Pregnant women, stay at least two meters back. Children, the Jedi is to be admired from afar. Please don't put your sticky hands all over him." Morgan says "Shall I continue? You can't expect to watch over a community and not be a part of it." _That_ can't help but make the girl by the viewport start, her entire slim form stiffening. Rell's blue-green gaze flashes towards the Major and the Jedi freighter captain, and all that stops her from spitting out a mouthful of hot shakla -- or at any rate, the closest she could get on the cruiser -- is that she hadn't actually had any in her mouth. Rellawy pales, and starts eying the exit. Maybe she can sneak out unobserved. "Alright then, genius," Drake stands, scowling at the other man, "What do you suggest I do, smarty pants?" Morgan says "I'm no model citizen. I don't suggest patterning yourself after me. People have, and they end up with six fingers or less. All I'm saying is ... I don't know what I'm saying. Be people. Mingle, bitch, screw, sneer, smile, jump, snore. Stop thinking about the universe. Let your biggest decision in a single day be whether to get the Shepherd's Pie or the Chipped Beef on Toast." Clutching her mug in both hands now, the starred expanse out the viewport forgotten, Rell stands there torn between creeping out the exit and simply staring over at the two men... or, perhaps, Thomas Drake. Her expression shifts, away from exhausted and more towards plaintive, though her features are still drawn and tired. Morgan says "Either way, that lightsaber will come in handy. The knives in the mess couldn't cut through fog." "I don't know if I can do that," Drake says after considering Morgan's words for a long moment. "I'm a wrong-righter. I have to have something to fix in front of me. When there isn't one I make one. I always have." Morgan still hasn't noticed Rellawy. "You want wrong? A thoroughly wonderful young woman and runner-up for the position of Esteemed Wifeness doesn't know whether to kiss you or curse you! Fix it!" Drake just blinks at Morgan dumbly. "Maybe that isn't broke!" he barks back. "Maybe it's supposed to be that way. She gets her job done and I get mine done. She doesn't seem to have any pressing need to be 'involved' like you say and I've no desire to make still more of a fool of myself trying to give her one." Morgan says "That's another one I forgot. Make a fool of yourself. Admit it. Revel in it. We all screw up. I've been shot down and shot at more times than Rogue Squadron combined. I still found a marriageable girl!" Rellawy blanches, then pinkens, and decides now may well be a time to Get the Hell Out. She whirls on her booted feet, manages to avoid spilling her drink by virtue of the mug being half-empty, and slips out as unobtrusively as she can manage. [Rell fleeds to the Mess Hall, ignoring curious looks from other personnel she passes. Only when she has regained her composure does she risk venturing back out into the corridor, certain that either Morgan, Drake, or both will catch up with her if she doesn't retreat to the safety of her quarters...] 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. Obvious exits: Corridors Conference Room Hangar Bay Briefing Room Ship's Infirmary Training Room Mess Hall Living Quarters Bridge Observation Deck Morgan enters, from the general direction of the observation deck. Morgan has arrived. Rellawy comes peeking out of the mess hall, glancing warily to the left and the right, before she emerges into the corridor. Morgan says "I didn't horn in on your racket, did I? I just thought he needed some self-indulgence." Rell comes to a skidding halt, or would have, if she'd gotten up any speed yet. She swallows, then manages gruffly, "I... dinnae think your conversation was much of m'business...." Morgan says "Liar. It was all about you." Morgan says "If someone so much as mentions your name, you're obligated to butt in and defend your pride." Rellawy's already pink, which clashes with the scattering of golden-brown freckles across her nose; at that, however, she starts approaching red. "I dinnae think Captain Drake," she answers, glancing nervously towards the floor, "would ha' much wanted me buttin' in." Kyttra has arrived. Kyttra is on her way to the mess hall. She or the ever-growing thing in her stomach is begging for an after-dinner snack. Morgan notes Kyttra, looking over Rellawy's shoulder. "Coffee will make you nervous and the baby short and nervous." Near the mess hall's entrance, Second Lieutenant Rellawy Woodlake does a fairly good job of not managing to meet the gaze of Major Morgan, who has apparently bumped into her. Rellawy glances up and around, and murmurs huskily, "G'devenin', Captain Payne." Kyttra waves. "Hi. Don't let him pester you too much, Rell. If he misbehaves, bap him on the nose once." Morgan says "All I've done is given you both a kick in the head. Thanks to my belligerence, maybe Tommy will treat us mere mortals a little more carefully. You especially. This is an opportunity to tell him /exactly/ how you feel, as best you can. Don't screw it up." Morgan says "I did, and look what happened to me." Rellawy blinks up at Morgan, asking, aghast, "Wh....what?" Morgan gestures to Kyttra with a fond, fond smile. Kyttra studies Morgan with a hand on her hip. Warningly. Rellawy glances between Kyttra and Morgan, her expression more than a little bemused, and she murmurs, "Perhaps I should be gettin' back to m'studies..." Morgan gives Rellawy a straight-on look. His eyes, briefly say, 'Sweet merciful crap, not this again.' But as quickly it's gone. "You give him some time to think about the conversation we just had. Maybe he'll approach you. If he doesn't, bang on his door and demand to be let in. Tell him you're naked and freezing. Talk with each other. /Talk,/ not ... not ... well." Morgan says "Not how you usually talk. I've seen how you get when I go on about the other." Rellawy frowns up at the Major, glancing away uneasily again, and mutters gruffly, "I cannae promise ye aught. But I _am_ tired, and I want m'bunk. Please excuse me... and g'devenin' again, Captain Payne." Her features warring between distinct uneasiness and annoyance, the young Lieutenant slips off. [And into the refuge of her quarters. Except that that refuge has been breeched...] Rellawy Woodlake's Quarters(#2070RFJ) The quarters rated for a second lieutenant are neither large nor impressive; in fact, this single room could be uncharitably described as only slightly more spacious than the average closet. There's just enough space for a small bunk, desk, and chair, and recessed into the walls on either side of the bunk are a miniscule actual closet and the door to an equally microscopic refresher. Everything is crafted in austerely military hues and lines, with no sign yet of any personal effects to add color and life to the room. Contents: Drake Obvious exits: Out Drake is seated in the chair, tossing a small, oddly glowing bauble from one hand to the other. The door whishes open, admitting Rellawy's brogue into the room a split second before Rell herself. "--but why does he haftae be... ah, earth, sea, and--" She cuts off as she realizes that her miniscule room is not unoccupied, which was the way she'd left it. As the door closes behind her, she stands there for a moment, stunned, tense, exhausted. Finally she manages, "C... captain Drake." "Rellawy," Drake lapses into the familiar, "You seem surprised to see me." Rell swallows, then lifts a hand, shoving it through her hair, what must be a reflexive gesture she's developed; it succeeds in rearranging her rumpled curls, but little more than that. Her gaze doesn't move off the man in her chair, as she says hoarsely, "Aye... I am." "Surprised and yet not quite so surprised," Drake observes, "If Morgan's got to you. Here," he tosses the bauble towards you lightly, "Take it." She blinks, and although her reflexes are a trifle dulled by fatigue, she catches the thing without dropping it. And she gazes bemusedly down at it, before looking up at her unexpected visitor, once more. "What is this...?" "It's a bauble," Drake explains the obvious, "The Force is called that because it is a Life Force, an energy, given off by all living things. It can be manipulated, moved, and contained. Some of it's in there, and I got it to glow kinda weird like that." Rell lifts up the little globe, cradling it in her palm, and she offers its giver a small crooked smile. "It is lovely," she observes. "Thank you," Drake replies quietly. "Morgan told me I needed to get out more. I guess you heard his display on the observation deck." Rellawy drops her sea-colored gaze to the bauble, letting it stay there glimmering in her hand. "Some of it," she murmurs lowly. "You think he's full of it?" Drake stands, clasps his hands behind his back. "'You can't watch over a community you don't take part in.'" She doesn't move from where she stands, if nothing else because there aren't too many places _to_ move. But Rell watches Drake as he rises, and she blows out a soft, tired breath in reply. Her gaze drops to the floor, and she says at last, "I... dinnae know if I'm at all a good one to be sayin'... I've barely begun to learn what a community _is_. It... seems right to me, nevertheless, that I should be strivin' to know those that I'm to be healin'..." Her gaze lifts again, the bauble casting a few glimmers of light across her features. "Perhaps it would be the same, for you." "It scares me, though," Drake shakes his head, "The thought of being tied here, of having roots. It can be used against me, but I wonder if that's really the reason. I was so sure there was something different about you when I first saw you, that you must've been some sort of Jedi. I dragged you here because I thought that." Thomas Drake, admitting fear to her? Rell blinks, trying to fathom this, and her eyes turn bemused. "Thomas," she begins, and catches herself; then, she proceeds on. _Well, he called me Rellawy, 'tis fair, aye?_ "I _am_ different... that I am not Jedi... well, I cannae blame ye for that, and I don't...!" "That's not it, though, it's much more selfish," Drake laughs curtly. "I wanted you to come with me because I thought you'd be better off here, and because I thought you could help, and I was right on both counts, but I was -justified- because I thought you were Jedi. That gives you a duty, a destiny, that you can't avoid. But you aren't Jedi. I had no right to do that. And ... even though I know you aren't, I want you here anyway. And not because you can plug up a blaster hole." "I _am_ here," Rell points out, "and I've pledged to stay. To help as I can, and they went and were givin' me lieutenant's bars, for the pledge I've made." She smiles a little. "And... even if all ye wanted was to make sure I'm... safe, Thomas, that means much." "Yeah. I guess--I suppose." Drake fidgets. "I'll always want to make sure you are. Probably whether you like it or not." The girl's eyes soften in her tired features. "Then I'll be thankin' ye for it, now. I've got few enough people who care for--few enough friends, that... I've no business, turnin' awa' any concern I can get. I forget that sometimes, I'm thinkin'." Drake turns to the door, but stops next to Rellawy. "Yeah, well--When I'm not running around the ship in a shitfit and levitating Morgan, just remember that I, uhm. That is. That I, er, ah." Rellawy, unaccountably, smiles a little, though more in her blue-green eyes than around her mouth. "I'll be keepin' that in mind," she promises, perhaps just a touch wry. Drake frames the side of your face with his hand for just a moment, and smiles in spite of himself. "Yeah," he says, "I suppose so." His arms fall to his sides and he glances to the door. "I also suppose I'd best be leaving," he observes, "Else people will start to wonder." Rellawy glances down to the shimmering globe she's still cradling in her palm, then lifts her gaze again to her visitor. She manages another wisp of a smile, and murmurs in reply, "Aye..." And she starts to point out her still unfinished studying -- to turn her gaze to the texts and holodiscs still resting upon her desc -- but something stops her. Instead, she goes on, "I'm... glad ye came by, Thomas." "You'd say that if I was a three-headed wookiee," Drake replies sardonically. The girl's brows draw together, in a look that might be annoyed if she were less weary... might, or perhaps, might not. "I _say_ it," she answers gruffly, "because y'are... Thomas Drake." Rell lowers her gaze down to the globe then, and adds, "Besides... I dinnae know any three-headed Wookiees. Or any one-headed Wookiees, for that matter." Drake absorbs that, considers that, and finally shrugs. "Okay," he admits, "I believe you. I am going to let you alone, now, though, for once," he winks, kisses Rellawy smartly on the forehead, and turns to go. Rellawy blinks, then murmurs only, "G'night, then..." And lets the young Jedi go, her gaze a bemused one. Drake has left. [End log.]