"Maybe You'd Like It Better Back in Your Cell...?"

Log Date:
	9/27/97

Log Cast:
	Christopher Morgan, Rellawy Woodlake, Thomas Drake

Log Intro:
	For the first time in a very long time, Rell felt safe. It was an	
intoxicating feeling, this certainty that she need not always be looking
over her shoulder... that no one lurked in shadow waiting to carry her
off to a dark cell... that no Hutt would chain her to a wall and force
her to use her talents for his amusement. Just as intoxicating was the
feeling of openness and freedom of the Rebel cruiser to which she'd
been brought; oh, aye, the air here was recycled, but it was clean and
pure, a far cry from the atmosphere of the Smuggler's Moon. There
was space aplenty, and all she had to do to indulge in it was step off
the ship that had brought her to this unexpected refuge.
 	And yet, Rellawy Woodlake remained ill at ease.
	Oh, she was safe, all right... but what about Lerren? What
about H'rruuk and H'rraal? Would the minions of Kelga the Hutt seek
to harm the ones who had cared for her on Nar Shaddaa, because of
her escape? Were Lerren and the others worried about her?
	And what place did she have on board _Home One_, for
that matter? _Everybody seems to think I should be signing on with
their cause,_ she mused uneasily as she wandered the quiet corridors
of the _Rampart_, reflecting upon the entirely unexpected rescue that
had delivered her from Kelga's stronghold. Thus far, the only person
who seemed at all within her ken was Major Morgan, and even he
frequently startled her for all that she instinctively felt she could
understand him.
	Far more intimidating was the Lady, the Senator Mon
Mothma. Rell had never before seen a woman of her like, and for the
first time -- indeed, it seemed to be a time of firsts for her -- she felt as
if she'd learned what a ruler was like.
	But even so, Mon Mothma was not half so daunting as
the Jedi, Thomas Drake....

----------
You walk down the ramp of the Rampart.
Hangar Bay
        The primary hangar bay for the Alliance Flagship, this facility is
    large beyond words. Deck upon deck of hangars, catapults, landing
    pads and launch strips open into the main bay and beyond the
    force-shield into space. Turbolifts move between decks and control
    rooms dot the platforms; security details spaced at regular intervals
    about the hangar. While this hangar is home to a number of the ships
    aboard the Home One, there are other fighter hangars elsewhere in the
    cruiser's body.
        By way of turbolifts, one can reach any of the landing decks; the
    main access to the body of the cruiser being a large bulkhead off the
    main platform.
 
Contents:
Artoo                    Fortune's Fool <9103>    Morgan                   
Rampart <9107>           Red One <9402>           Red Seven <9407>         
Rogue Five <9410>        Rogue Four <9409>        Rogue Leader <9403>      
Rogue Six <9412>         Rogue Two <9411>         Rogue_3 <9408>           
Obvious exits:
Central Corridor  

Morgan lounges in his deck chair, beside the Fool. Cleaner and less pungent he 
  may be, he doesn't appear to be in the corresponding mood.

Rellawy Woodlake, looking rather as if she suspects something large and rabid 
  is about to leap onto her back if she shows her face in the hangar, comes 
  quietly down out of the _Rampart_. Probable sleep and the application of a 
  comb to her hair have combined to restore something like normality to her 
  appearance, though there's still tension in her expression.

Morgan says "Finished the interrogation, did they? They get better't hidin' 
  the scars every time."

Rellawy turns round, this time without the startled jump. "I've talked to no 
  one, save the lady who was here before," she replies.

Morgan says "What 'bout? You ain't tell her what I look like naked, did you?"

"Of that, I'd not be knowin'," says Rell, reddening and looking away, though 
  not before noticeable embarrassment can be seen flashing across her face. 
  "She spoke to me of where I am, and who is here, and what it means that I am 
  here, mostly."

Morgan says "Gonna stay, then?"

Rell's posture stiffens, as though the question troubles her. A few seconds 
  elapse before she allows, "I havenae decided."

Morgan smirks. "Run! Run while you still can!"

Rellawy, too, smirks, turning partly back round, glancing at her questioner. 
  "It's not far I'd be gettin', without a ship of my own, or anywhere to which 
  I could be flyin' it."

Morgan shrugs. "Technicality. S'what escape pods are for."

The girl snorts, studying the deck, her eyes dark. "Aye. Though not much good 
  a pod would do me, either, when I've no idea where in space I am, and what 
  few coins and clothes I own are parted from me. The Hutt didnae exactly let 
  me pack a bag when his hirelings took me."

Morgan says "Looks like you're stuck. Tommy'll be happy."
Morgan winks.

The wink is not returned; if anything, Rell's dark look deepens. "I know he's 
  relieved that I am... safe," she allows grudgingly, her voice small and soft.

Morgan chuckles to himself.
Morgan says "I've never gone for blondes, myself."

Rellawy's dark look transforms into a scowl, and she looks away again, saying 
  stiffly, "He doesnae want me for _that_. This, too, I know."

Morgan cants his head at Rellawy. "He's gay?"

She does not look back around. "He could prefer desperate Jawas, for all I 
  know. It isnae what he wants _me_ for."

Morgan says "What /does/ he want you for, then? He doesn't strike me as the 
  type who mounts a raid on a Hutt's estate in the center of criminal activity 
  in the galaxy just to ask the rescuee out for tea n' biscuits."

"He didnae tell you?" the girl asks, without looking over her shoulder.

Morgan says "All I'm supposedly good for is breaking people and fixing 
  machines."

Rell is silent for a longer span this time. Then she makes a small noise that 
  might almost be a laugh, save for its lack of mirth; when she speaks again, 
  her voice is taut, strained. "Fitting. All >I< am supposedly good for is the 
  fixing o' people who are broken."

Morgan says "So you heal. So do half the droids I know."

Rell makes that almost-laugh noise again, startled enough, it would seem, to 
  look back around at the Major. But her gaze flits down to her hand, as she 
  lifts it, watching her fingers curl and uncurl. "Aye," she says roughly. "I 
  guess it's a flesh and blood medidroid I am, and that's why the Hutt took 
  me."

Morgan grunts noncommitally, too unsure of a proper response to make a 
  coherent one.

"Drake knew," Rell finishes lowly. "And wanted me off Nar Shaddaa."

Morgan says "Would y'have gone, if you were a waitress and not a prisoner?"

Drake has arrived.
Drake disembarks from the Rampart.

There's a small sigh from the girl, as she looks down, then closes her eyes. 
  "He asked me to go, but I had to find the Hutt, and I told him nay... 'twas 
  stupid he called me, for stayin'."

Morgan looks up to Drake, chews on his lower lip. "You. Senator wants you in 
  her office yesterday, pal. I took some guff for you I shouldna'."

Rellawy whirls, gaze lifting again.

Drake appears from inside the Rampart, his shoulder wrapped in a bandage. 
  "Does she," he mutters acidly, dragging a hand through his hair. "I guess 
  I'd better see her soon, then."

Morgan says "N'my fault. You ain't tell me you were supposed to be in your 
  cell ... er ... room."

Rellawy, silent now, her brow crinkled, looks pensively up at the _Rampart_'s 
  captain.

Drake shrugs. "I told her I was leaving. They weren't /doing/ anything with me 
  -- just making me sit there. Besides," he gestures towards Rellawy, "We had 
  things to do."

Morgan smirks. "Way you put that makes it sound dirty."

Drake says "I'm sure the Senator agrees with you. She has a remarkable 
  capacity to think the worst of me."

Morgan says "She don't think much better o' me."

Drake gives Morgan a look, and just shakes his head, turning back to and 
  approaching Rellawy. "I guess you're feeling better," he points out astutely.

"The sleep helped," the girl replies. She still looks thin and worn, but no 
  longer wears that shattered expression she'd had while chained to the Hutt's 
  wall, or when she'd just awakened from the stupor in which she'd been 
  dragged free of Kelga's stronghold.

Drake inclines his head. "You have any other place to go? Relatives or friends 
  on Corellia or one of the Core worlds? Or if you like it here," he smiles 
  ruefully, "I can probably get them to give you some nice quarters and make 
  you stay there; they're good at that."

Morgan says "What? Think I'm a liar now, d'you? Ask her, she was there. Icy 
  ol' lady came at me like a starved mynock!"
Morgan makes 'pointy teeth and claws' motions with his fingers in exaggeration.
Morgan squints and Rellawy and Drake, smirks. "I've got a duty roster to 
  compile. If somebody's pregnant when I get back ..." He makes a pistol shape 
  with his right hand. "Zzzap!" Laughing to himself, he heads out.

Rellawy's face flares up scarlet, and she whirls around to holler something, 
  but the Major is already gone before she can recover breath enough for words.

"Morgan's always like that," Drake grins wryly at the Major's departure. "--To 
  everyone. But he's worth his weight when it comes down to ... well, you were 
  there. Without Morgan," Drake affects a nonchalant sort of shrug, "I 
  might've had a hard time the other night."

The girl turns back, looking at Drake, her eyes still unsure, her gaze 
  speaking of trying to absorb... everything. "He told me he breaks people, 
  and fixes machines."

Drake nods. "He's a commando. It's his job. It's war out here; they need 
  people like that."

Rellawy blows out a breath, eying the deck now rather than the fair-haired man 
  before her. "Aye. That doesnae surprise me." She frowns. "There was a woman 
  -- she spoke as though she leads, here. She asked why I am here, and whether 
  I would stay."

"Senator Mon Mothma," Drake folds his arms across his chest. "She means 
  well--she's very clever. Used to be part of the Imperial Senate. This'd be a 
  good place for you, Rell. You can do what you're good at because they need 
  it, not because you need to scrape up the credits."

Rell is silent again, her expression very dark, gaze full of a tangle of 
  emotions, and the thoughts driven by and driving them. But what she says is, 
  simply, "Do ye know what happened to Captain Solo?"

"Yeah," Drake glances over his shoulder at the Rampart and then back, "He's 
  investigating the man I was telling you about a while ago -- Kal'Jorad. 
  Solo's better suited to it than I am."

The lass pulls in a breath, looking relieved, perhaps, though this does 
  nothing to ease the tension in her face and frame. But if she's relieved 
  that the Corellian is alright, she doesn't say so; what she does say is, "He 
  gave me a box, a pretty bauble, to bribe the Hutt with." There's a strong 
  sense of defeat in her tone, an underthread of 'For all the good it did 
  me...' "Before I... knew the Hutt already sought me." And she silences 
  herself, looking troubled, before she abruptly adds, "Do Lerren and H'rruuk 
  and H'rraal know where I am?"

"Not precisely," Drake answers evasively, "They knew to whom I'd take you, but 
  naturally they don't know where 'here' is -- and neither do I, beyond whose 
  ships these are."

"Are they alright?"

Drake rolls his eyes. "They're /fine/. They know how to get around and live 
  where they do. Stop worrying! That's what got you in to this mess."

Rellawy's face tightens, and she does look up, then. "They are my _family_," 
  she retorts, her voice growing sharp. "And knowing how to live and hide on 
  the Moon didnae keep them safe, when the Hutt sent in his raid and they 
  _hurt_ H'rraal, to get _me_! What's to keep the Hutt from... from--" She 
  cuts off, even as she starts to pace, looking for words and gesturing in 
  frustration with her slender hands. "From doing something to punish them, 
  for me getting away, hey? Or am I a stupid girl to be worrying for that, 
  too?"

"What do you want me to do?" Drake demands, looking a little defensive. "Put 
  you back? Bring them here? Stars, Rell--look at yourself. They're in danger 
  because you can't control whatever it is you do, the same reason that you're 
  in danger. They run a business. They're used to dealing with thugs--they're 
  /not/ used to escort service. If they want to leave, I'll be happy to bring 
  them here as well. Your family is armed, and is capable of protecting itself 
  more than most on that moon. Besides," he shrugs, "The hutt's dead. Most of 
  his thugs are dead. I don't think you're going to attract too much attention 
  from anyone else -- they can't find you here, and so long as you keep your 
  hands to yourself in public, you should be fine."

Rellawy bursts out, her eyes turning hot and liquid, "Damn ye, it's because I 
  couldnae keep my hands to myself that that slimy dank little weasel Galdric 
  knew of me, and it's because of _him_ that Kelga knew! If I _could_ turn it 
  off, I _would_!" She thrusts a hand around the hangar bay, gesturing to 
  encompass the entire vessel and its populace, though she has nothing 
  resembling a working idea of either, yet. "I can still _feel_ Galdric's 
  black little soul inside my head! He made me _sick_ and I could _not_ keep 
  myself from healin' him! And now, and now you bring me to a ship of war, 
  where people will be hurt, and dyin', and ye tell me I'll be _fine_?!"

"Yes." Drake replies, deadly quietly, "Where do you want to go, Rell? 
  Somewhere where people don't get hurt and don't die? Good luck. You can't 
  escape it. You can control it. If you don't--if you keep going as you have 
  been--then Galdric won't be the last. You tell /me/ what you want!"

Her mouth slams shut, and she stands there, her eyes brimming over with 
  threatening tears. But Rell's face remains stonily, furiously set, and she 
  snaps out, "I want to be treated like a person -- not like a med droid with 
  nothin' in her brain but a program -- and _not_ like a child who doesnae 
  know how to take care of herself!"

"I have given you everything at every opportunity," Drake scowls in return, 
  "Risked my life, my ship, my crew for your sake. Maybe you didn't ask for 
  it--maybe you don't know what you have or why. If you want me to put you 
  back on Nar Shaddaa with your 'family,' and get the living shit beaten out 
  of you, I'll do that. I figured maybe you'd prefer my idea of treating you 
  like a person to Kelga's."

Her taut expression remains -- until that mocking emphasis on 'family', at 
  which point her face flares up in rage, and Rell shouts, "You're no better 
  than the Hutt! You don't give a fat fardlin' damn about me, except because 
  of what I can _do_! To the nine netherhells with ye, Thomas Drake! I want no 
  part of ye!" And she whirls, the tears beginning in earnest now, as she 
  storms off looking for an escape route. Any escape route. She doesn't care 
  where.

"You don't know what I give a fat fardl--a frig foodli--a ... a damn about!" 
  Drake hollers right back, storming off in roughly the same direction, "You 
  don't know /me/! I couldn't care less about what you do," well maybe--"Can 
  you believe for just one minute that maybe, all this time, the only thing I 
  really wanted to do was prove to myself that I could give a damn about who 
  someone was and not what they did, and that I do?"

Rellawy spins around on her boot heels, her slim hands clenched into fists at 
  both her sides. Her cheeks are soaked now, her eyes overheated, wetly 
  bright. "Then look me in the eye, and tell me ye didnae save me just because 
  of my" -- and she pauses a beat, her fists balling even more tightly, before 
  she bites out the word "powers!"

The words come easily to Drake's thinly set lips, and he delivers them scant 
  inches from Rellawy's face, quietly and soberly: "I didn't save you because 
  of your powers."

Without consciously knowing she does so, Rell fixes her gaze on the face 
  before her, thinking only _I have to know if he's telling me truly_. And 
  before she can stop herself, her _other_ gift reaches out from somewhere 
  behind her eyes, looking for whatever truth it can find behind those gravely 
  presented words.

"I--" Drake awkwardly reaches towards Rellawy's face, but abruptly draws his 
  hand back. "How quick you are to distrust me," he mutters, "Go on--my mind 
  will tell you the same thing I will." He pauses, and then adds: "Perhaps 
  more. But it is the truth."

Rell reels back an inch or so, only just now registering what her own gift is 
  doing. As taken aback by that as by Drake's reaction, she vacillates, 
  clearly torn. But then, she lifts a hand, not quite touching the man; her 
  head cocks slightly to one side, and her eyes turn searching. Frightened, 
  but deeply searching, strangely sharper of gaze. It is, arguably, the first 
  time she has ever let herself deliberately Look at someone...

Perhaps Drake doesn't find her lack of faith so disturbing; maybe he's just 
  quick to forgive. He lets out a long-held breath in a drawn out sigh and 
  swallows. What he does next is founded on what certainly could appear to be 
  questionable motives, but on the same note Drake looks very tired, as if the 
  effort of explaining himself had drained him, but the Jedi more or less 
  Looks at Rellawy--for a moment--and then he kisses her, but it is not gushy 
  or even romantic or any of those things; no, it's quick, it's somewhat dull, 
  and it's on the cold floor of a fighter bay, and Drake is just as soon back 
  where he was standing a moment before -- a more acceptable distance, but 
  perhaps foolishly not out of striking distance.

Quick and dull that kiss might have been, the surge of utter shock that it has 
  in fact happened wipes out the anger and anxiety in Rell's tear-streaked 
  features. As Drake steps back from her, her eyes go round, her cheeks go 
  crimson, and she stumbles backwards a few steps of her own.

"I, ah," Drake stutters in terribly uncharacteristic fashion, "--Have to get 
  ready to see Senator Mon Mothma. See you around." Briskly, he starts off 
  towards the central corridor.

Rellawy's hands fly up to her mouth, and cross there gingerly, as if she can't 
  quite register what was just done there. Her eyes remain huge above her 
  fingers, and as Drake beats his retreat, she does no more than nod mutely and 
  shakily in reply, before she too flees.

Drake has left.

[End log.]