Log Date: 8/30/98 Log Cast: Adams, Han Solo, R2-DZ7, Trinket, Tarroc, Burke, Corporal Vaskez (NPC), Laitron Log Intro: The New Republic delegation in the Caspar system has, as Han has discovered upon his arrival on board Home One, had its collective hands full. Already, Solo has heard rumors of at least one Dark Jedi running around planetside who has injured Jessalyn Valios, and the Corellian himself has narrowly avoided being turned over to a Rodian bounty hunter carrying an Imperial warrant. In the midst of making sure the three units of GroundOps troops he's brought with him have settled in, trying to corner Tarroc D'agor long enough for the private meeting the two of them need to have on Han's entire purpose for being on Home One, and trying to corner Luke for the Kid's take on the Dark Jedi rumors, Han has more or less forgotten the young woman he encoutered on Sluis Van and the datapad he left in her possession... ---------- Landing Bays -- Main Deck The cruiser's landing bays are large enough to facilitate a full complement of X-Wing, Y-Wing and B-Wing fighters. There are several marked and unmarked shuttles laying in wait as well, doing their best to avoid the bustle of the area. A blue magnetic barrier holds out the void of space, protecting the giant cove in the side of the ship. -=-=-=-=-=-=<>=-=-=-=-=-=- => STARFIGHTER: Slayn and Korpil B-wing -- Ghost 10 => STARFIGHTER: SubPro Wanderer Mk II -- Dauntless => Trinket => STARFIGHTER: Incom T-65B X-wing -- Rogue 2 => STARFIGHTER: Slayn and Korpil B-wing -- Ghost 9 => STARFIGHTER: Incom T-65B X-wing -- Rogue 3 => CAPITAL: Corellian Action VI -- Wild Karrde => STARFIGHTER: Sienar Lambda Class Shuttle -- Axis => STARFIGHTER: Corellian YT-1300 -- Millennium Falcon => STARFIGHTER: Sienar Lambda Class Shuttle -- Hope => STARFIGHTER: Alliance A-Wing Starfighter -- Ghost 4 => STARFIGHTER: Alliance A-Wing Starfighter -- Ghost 3 => STARFIGHTER: Sienar Lambda Class Shuttle -- Tydirium => STARFIGHTER: Alliance A-Wing Starfighter -- Ghost 6 => STARFIGHTER: Incom T-65B X-wing -- Ghost 1 => STARFIGHTER: Incom T-65B X-wing -- Ghost 2 => STARFIGHTER: Incom T-65B X-wing -- Rogue 7 => STARFIGHTER: Incom T-65B X-wing -- Rogue 8 => STARFIGHTER: Incom T-65B X-wing -- Rogue 5 => STARFIGHTER: Alliance A-Wing Starfighter -- Ghost 5 => STARFIGHTER: Incom T-65B X-wing -- Rogue 1 -=-=-=-=-=<>=-=-=-=-=- ut leads to Space. tarboard leads to Main Corridor -- Main Deck . Adams sits up, rubbing the back of his head. Loping down the ramp of the _Millenium Falcon_, Han Solo sports an unsurprisingly preoccupied expression on his weathered features, and he flicks a cursory hazel glance about the bay to make sure he's not about to collide with any passing transport carts. R2-DZ7 esitates for a moment, then realizes the way the woman is communicating. Flashing one of the lights on his domed head, he responds in the same fashion. Trinket turns to the other droid that rolls towards her, her expression for once relaxed and utterly happy. She seems completely at home with the droids, with none of her charactersitic awkwardness around people. She laughs softly as the orange R2 beeps at her, long fingers fluttering in a pattern of short flicks and long extensions. She hums softly to it as she speaks, still patting the other R2 unit soothingly. Adams stands up, looking around again. There is, indeed, a passing transport cart swinging across the bay, and its Wookiee driver snarfles out a rueful Wookiee edition of 'pardon me, General!' as the cart goes zipping past. Han waves a 'no problem' after the furry sentient, then starts moving off away from the _Falcon_, crossing the hangar closer to the exit out into the rest of the cruiser. Adams blinks a couple times, still rubbing his head. The orange droid replies with a series of beeps and clicks, then swivels its head to Danny as he hops off of the s-foil, gesturing for his little droid to follow. The droid gives another beep in Danny's direction, head swiveling back to Trinket, it makes 4 beeps, trundling off in reverse, after completing the beeps, it turns and speeds up to catch up to Danny, who makes his way towards the recharge station. Trinket stands near 2 Rogue X-wings, covered in grease, happily trilling and 'chatting' with two R2 droids, totally oblivious to the organic life forms in the hangar, for the moment. Solo slows as he catches the babble of the droids out of the corner of his ear, his hazel gaze swinging in the direction. Tarroc notes General Solo disembarking from his battered old freighter, shaking his head and wondering why he doesn't go with one of the newer YT-2400 models. Smiling faintly, he looks to Trinket, "Well, I'll let you get acquianted..." Trinket Even the back of this young human woman's head might give some humans and human-sympathetics thought to pause and try to catch a glimpse of more. Fine, silky blonde hair so light in color it is almost white, falls a few inches past her waist on the rare times it is not held back in some way. Her skin is a smooth, creamy bisque ivory that reveals no flaws or marks. Large cerulean-blue eyes glance at the world with serenity, framed in thick light-colored lashes and delicately arched brows. Her lips are a light primrose, contrasting nicely with her pale skin. She stands an unassuming 5'10", her height made unintimidating by a gentle demeanor. Her frame is pleasantly proportionate, if a little on the thin side. She wears a long, ill-fitting dull colored tunic that looks like hospital issue, along with baggy pants of the same nature. A shirt of some kind, wadded up and lumpy, is held under her arm or in her hands. Her flaxen hair spills freely about her shoulders, unbound, rippling past her waist. Her left temple is darkened with a blue-black bruise, fingers of which extend and threaten to encompass four long scratches across her cheek that look as if they were made by a human hand. The Corellian General's gaze then falls upon Trinket, and a look that doesn't often rest on Han Solo's features flashes into being: surprise. He turns, then, altering his course towards Tarroc, the droids, and the young woman. Trinket waves to the orange R2 unit, her smile gentle. She turns to the other one, pulling a length of tattered fabric from the sleeve of her scubs, polishing a smudge of grease from the top of Dizzy's head. Her other hand flickers quietly to it, and she hums softly, melodically to the droid as she does so. The R2 unit's signalling light flickers on and off rapidly, almost as if in morse code. Tarroc waves toward the General as he approaches, deciding to stay with the woman for now as the person he was looking for seems to be coming to him. He looks over to Trinket and tilts his head, "What are you doing?" he asks, though not suspiciously -- just a query. As he comes into earshot, Solo blurts out in obvious befuddlement, "....Trinket?" Adams walks toward the door, looking back to see what he tripped over. Trinket's scrubs are near soaked through in spots with grease and other engine fluids, making the fabric bunch up and stick in odd spots. A circlet of plastic, reminiscent of a hospital bracelet, rests around one of her wrists. Her hair is bundled up in a careless ponytail, also streaked with black, as is the tip of her nose. She jumps at the sound of a human voice near her, gazing wide-eyed at Tarroc for a long moment, as if processing his words. She brings her fingers of one hand together to make the universal 'duck-bill' sign for 'talking', and points to the droid...however, at the sound of Solo's voice, her face lights up like a little girl faced with meeting Santa Claus. She laughs, turning to face him, and claps her hands delightedly, her ethereal features brightening into an impossibly joyful smile. Tarroc flicks off an impromptu salute to Solo, "I see you've met before, General." He allows himself a wry smirk, glancing down at his R2 for a unit before looking back to Trinket. "Allow me to apologize ahead of time if he insults you. He does that a lot." The R2 beeps once, though the sound seems neutral. "Uh... yeah... we've met," says the Corellian bemusedly, sparing enough attention to Tarroc to return the younger man's salute, before his hazel gaze returns to the young woman. A confused sort of smile curls one end of his mouth, as he clarifies for Tarroc's benefit, "But... what's she... what're you doin' here, kid?" Adams stops, he turns and looks toward the conversation, still rubbing the back of his head. Trinket doesn't reply to Solo's question, but she does almost immediately start to pat herself down, carefully. The excitement and joy in her eyes suddenly switches to dismay, but just as quickly some sort of realization sets into the innocent face. She holds up one index finger to Solo, smiling shyly and tilting her head to the side, then turns on her heel and scurries back towards Rogue 2, leaving black heel-shaped grease prints behind her. It's not often Solo looks dumbfounded, at least outside the company of the Princess to whom he's married. He turns round to Tarroc, and demands perplexedly, "How... how'd she get _here_? Last I saw that kid, she was on Sluis Van, the night you called me!" Tarroc shakes his head, just as confused as the other. "Found her down on Caspar, walking around with a bag of all kinds of little gadgets and whatnot. She was dropping them all over, so I helped her gather them up. I figured she was lost and brought her up here..." Adams just stands there, listening. Burke has arrived. Burke enters Landing Bays -- Main Deck Trinket climbs up to the S-Foil of Rogue 2, reaching into an open panel on its surface. The sound of metallic clinking and rummaging can be heard. Soon she reappears, cradling something very carefully in her hands. Quickly she mooves back to the ladder, and then towards Solo and Tarroc once more, a large smile spreading across her face. Her eyes are slightly pained, as it stretches the skin near the nasty bruise on her face, but her radiance seems uncontainable, and the smile does not waver. It's official: Solo's confused. Still, he smiles crookedly at the girl's evident incandescent happiness, something of his usual brusque businesslike demeanor relaxing a touch. "What've you got there, kid...?" Tarroc tilts his head to the side as well -- though not worried, he's curious what she might have taken out of his fighter. His R2, for the first time he can remember, remains quiet for more then a minute or two. Adams winces, scratching the back of his head. Trinket holds out her cupped hands proudly to Solo, a slim palmtop cradled in them. She trills excitedly to Solo, almost a kittenish purring sound, bouncing slightly on the balls of her feet as she offers it to him. The casing looks smooth, and just polished. Solo drops his widened gaze down to the offered object, and then just stares, unconsciously stretching forth a forefinger to the little datapad. "Wait, that's -- the pad I gave you?" Trinket nods excitedly, and with a flick of a relatively clean index finger, flips up the small viewscreen. The keys are spotless, and look new. She tilts her head to the other side bashfully. "No way that's mine, that thing is _clean_," mumbles Solo, his hazel gaze lifting back to that of the girl, and his features beginning to crease in consternation as it abruptly occurs to him that, despite the veritably fountaining joy in her visage, that visage of Trinket's appears almost as battered as his ship. "Kid -- you're okay?" he asks gruffly, attention diverted momentarily from the offered miniature computer. Trinket blinks, her expression wavering to the hurt side, as the datapad isn't taken. She bites her lip, eyes widening contritely, as if she's done something wrong. She blinks again at Solo's question, looking down at herself, then back up into his hazel eyes, obviously confused. She nods, uncertainly. Now, not only is Han Solo looking generally confused, he's also looking rather concerned. And as if afraid some passing private in the Ground Ops forces might happen to wander by and see their commander in chief looking befuddled, he casts a sheepish glance left and right, but he can't really conceal the fact that the full force of that baffled, childlike gaze is penetrating some chink in his usual armor. "Aaah," he mutters, "hey, I'm just askin'... this thing really is mine?" When in doubt, change the subject. He gestures at the datapad, reaching for it. Adams quirks a brow, seeing Han, he still doesn't say anything. Trinket nods, more shyly now, shifting her weight nimbly to one foot. She offers the palmtop to Solo, her eyes regarding him with a slightly scolding tone. She trills almost inaudibly to him, urging him to take it. The fingers of her free hand reach up to trace the line of the laceration along the side of her face, absently. Han's bigger hands accept the proferred computer from the smaller ones, and he manages, just barely, to keep himself from gaping at its restored condition. "Thanks," he rumbles. "Suns, kid, you did a real number on it...." Trinket shrugs with a gentle smile. She tilts her hand from side to side, as if indicating neutrality. She points to the computer, then to Han, and then makes a cradling motion with her arms. Take better care of it next time, ya big lug. Tarroc wanders back toward his X-Wing, having been called aside by a certain annoyed logistics officer who seemed hell-bent on informing him that he he had six hyperdrives to revamp, and only four motivators. Shaking his head, he rubs the heel of his hand to his forehead, fixing his attention on his own datapad. Han manages another crooked grin, flicking a few commands over the pad's keys, his eyebrows arching at the improved processing speed. "I, uh, I'll look after it," he promises Trinket, trying to sound brusque, and not pulling it off. Adams looks confused, watching the two from about ten feet away, he looks like he has something to say, but doesn't say anything. Trinket smiles gently, approvingly at Han. She nods happily, humming softly to him. A bit awkwardly, she reaches up to toy with her hair again, as if trying to keep her hands busy. Her stomach rumbled audibly, but she makes no response to it. She points toward the _Falcon_, then tilts her head to Han questioningly. Tarroc rejoins the other two and scratches the back of his head, replacing the pad in one of the pockets of his flightsuit. "I came out here to do something, I'm sure of it," he murmurs, loud enough to be heard by others but more to himself then anyone else. "What...?" questions Solo, blinking, and following the girl's gaze. His grin returns, a bit broader now, with a trace of his more usual pride. "That's my ship, kid." His gaze lifts again to Tarroc's approach, and then flits round to Adams, long enough to take in the young man's expression. "Somethin' on your mind, Private?" he asks, regaining a bit more gruffness to his tone. Trinket trills softly to Tarroc, reaching out to tug at his flight suit. She points towards Rogue 2, and its open panel, and then smiles. The packaged tray still rests on the crate of parts. "Oh, right," Tarroc smiles faintly, then asks of the two of them, "Either of you hungry?" He quirks a brow, then glances toward Adams as the General addresses him. Adams shakes his head, "Uh, no sir," he replies to Solo, rubbing the back of his head once more and winces. Looking over at Tarroc, "Yes sir, kind of." Tarroc glances back to Adams and barrels out his chest a little bit -- of course, this doesn't work too well with his relatively slim build. "Private, none of that sir business. I work for a living. Understood?" Adams nods once more, "Er, yes sir, sorry s.. Commadore," he says, and grins, somewhat embarrassed. Ahem. Well. Okay then. Han powers the datapad off, and slides it into a pocket. "Hungry," he mutters, as if suddenly remembering the meaning of the word. Trinket rubs absently at her nose, scratching, blackening her fingertips again. She sighs again, heavily, fingers encircling Tarroc's wrist again. She shifts her weight to the other foot lightly, pointing to the crate again. She lifts guileless blue eyes to Han, questioningly, pointing him towards the crate as well. "What, kid?" Han blinks down at Trinket, then over to Tarroc, as if to ask, 'what's she talking about?' Adams looks curiously at Trinket. "She's probably hungry," he says -- that's his best guess, anyway. "So am I, so I'm going to get a sandwich or something." He looks aside to Trinket, then starts toward the crate, taking a slight turn to grab a smaller crate to use as a chair. Trinket grins invitingly to Han, pointing to his stomach, and then towards the crate. She glances from him to Tarroc and the crate with a shy curve of her lips. Adams just stands there, looking very much confused. "Uhh, well, if you say so, kid," Solo relents, letting himself be coaxed over towards the other officer. Tarroc drags the one smaller crate over, then heads back for another two. He gins, and remarks over his shoulder, "You guys are in for a treat. I'm pretty sure we haven't reached the expiration dates on any of this stuff." Solo turns, and abruptly gestures Adams over too, not willing to let the young man just watch while the rest of them are eating. "What's in there?" the Corellian asks D'agor, in the meantime. "I dunno," Tarroc says honestly -- brought up with manners, he just stands by the crate and waits for the others to seat themselves, despite the fact that this isn't exactly a formal dinner. "Just picked up a bunch of stuff from the mess and ran off with it before the cooks noticed." Adams sits down, he looks kind of nervous, but tries hard not to show it. Trinket mmms absently, poking at one of the smaller crates with long, nimble fingers. She bites her lower lip in concentration. She loses interest in the food momentarily, as apparently the task of examining the crate's contents captures her attention. She seats herself crosslegged on the floor, tongue poking out slightly at the corner of her mouth as she attempts to pry at the top of the 'seating' crate. Solo hooks a foot around a storage canister, nudges it over nearer, and settles his rangy frame down as long as Tarroc seems to want him to. "Nobody's noticed it yet, huh?" he murmurs dryly. "It's a long way to here from ship services," Tarroc notes, taking a seat himself now and beginning to poke through some of the items on the tray. "I'd imagine most of the cooks would rather make some more stuff then try and track me down." He can't help but grin at the thought of one of the more portly ones chasing him with a rolling pin. Adams leans back, not seeing if anything is behind him. Almost falling off he puts hands back to brace himself. Embarassed, he looks back and forth at both the officers to see if they noticed before he springs himself back up into a regular sitting position. Completely engrossed in her task, Trinket still tugs at the top of her 'seat', a sheen of perspiration breaking across her high forehead. The lid creaks slightly--as do the shiny and grease-blackened new boots that are wedged around it--but doesn't budge. The General eyes Adams momentarily, telling him in bland tones, "We don't bite, Private," but his attention diverts to the girl, to whom he asks, brow cinkling, "Kid, you want some help with that?" Tarroc tilts his head to the side slightly, "That's basic stuff, Trinket. Nuts, bolts, washers... that kind of thing. See? It's on the side of the box..." he points to the lettering. Trinket hums distractedly, glancing at Solo sidelong. A rose tint blossoms in the pale cheeks, as she nods. She blinks at Tarroc's words, moving around the side of the crate, until she can see the lettering. She traces the listing with her index finger, lips moving soundlessly as she reads its contents. She smiles gratefully at him. Tarroc notes to Trinket, "Maybe you should eat something, you know? You've been working in here for a while... think you earned it." Of course, it isn't really a matter of earning it at all. People need to eat. Adams nods, and moves his crate over by a bigger on, he leans back against it, still close to the other three though. Trinket slips up into a seated position on the crate, bowing her shoulders slightly, and disguising a few inches of her height. She nods to Tarroc through a veil of smudged ash-blonde, the painful thinness perhaps indicating she forgets this more often than not, perhaps. She peers over to the food packages, gazing at them curiously. Tarroc finally settles on some type of sandwich himself, unwrapping it before beginning to pull the crust of the bread off. Finishing this, he grabs a small plastic container of some liquod and pops the cap off. Lifting it to his nose, he takes a whiff, "Hmm... I think the red ones are fruit punch," he observes, taking a sip. Solo doesn't stand on ceremony; he merely takes up a packet of what appears to be ship's rations, a self-contained canister of soup. He breaks the heat seal on it, and in the meantime, nudges one of the other packages at Trinket, and nods at Adams to invite the private in on the unexpected food, too. In the meantime, he consideringly asks the young man, "When's your CO next off-shift, you know?" Adams shakes his head, "No sir, I don't know where he is" he replies going over to the crate and then adds, "I last saw him a few days ago on Casper.." as he digs through the contents, trying to find something to suit him. Trinket's hand creeps out uncertainly towards the package that's moved near her. Her fingers wrap around it, and she turns it over in her hands, fingers tracing every line, every detail. She unfolds the wrapping in a precise, orderly fashion, revealing a sandwich of some kind--she too picks at it, but instead of pulling parts of it off, she carefully disassembles it, laying the 'components' in a line on top of the wrapping, in decending order according to their relative size. "Huh," mutters the Corellian. "Well, I'll send him a message, but I've gotta talk to him about borrowing a couple of your unit next time I head stationside." Solo tosses this off in apparently casual tones, though there's a subtle tautening to his brow as he speaks. Then he flicks a glance at Trinket, and adds, "Uh, Trinket, kid, you're s'posed to _eat_ that." Adams starts to whistle a pleasent tune, pulling out two sandwiches and a container containing a slightly thick, orange liquid. Trinket nods knowingly to Solo, with a reassuring smile. She samples a small piece of each of the components, unhurried, as if analyzing the flavor and texture of each--from a more dismal point of view, it's remarkably like one might test 'refuse' food for safe edibility. "Jeez, I thought I was a picky eater," Tarroc chuckles politely, crumbling the wrapper around the leftover crust of his sandwich. Hungry enough himself, he starts working on the sandwich and has it finished only a minute or two later. Adams sits back down, setting the sandwiches on his knee and shaking the container of what appears to be orange juice before opening it and taking a sip. Solo's dark eyebrows quirk up again, but as long as the girl seems to actually know what to do with her food, that's enough for the General. Between swigs of the now-warmed broth, he now considers Tarroc, and asks the other officer, "So, D'agor. Any hint how long we're going to be in this system...?" Adams sets the drink down, unwrapping the sandwich and taking a small test bite. After deciding he likes it he finishes it off in about four of five bites. Tarroc finishes chewing, holding up a finger for a moment until he swallows and takes a drink. "Wish I knew, General," he says simply, wiping his mouth with a napkin, "If I could, I think I'd be at Sullust right now. Unfortunately, it's Mon Mothma's call." Han considers, flicking a look at Trinket, and then one at Adams, before appearing to make an internal judgement of his own. "Ran into an unexpected 'friend' on the station," he then tells Tarroc, enough of a sardonic twist on the word 'friend' to highlight the opposite meaning. "Don't suppose Kichnar's seen fit to, uh, comment on the matter yet to our brass...?" Apparently the parts of the sandwich meet with approval from the strange girl. Working from right to left, she devours the meal one 'component' at a time. Rather quickly, as if she expects/is used to such a delicacy being taken away. She pauses, uncomfortably, for a moment--before emitting a loud hiccup, and flushing scarlet. Tarroc shakes his head slowly, "No... I heard about it, but I don't know if others have. I'm just hoping they don't hear about the firefight that I got involved in, down at the Fountain Square..." he pauses, then addends, "I think all this craziness is one of the reasons why I'd rather be at Sullust then here. At least there we know who our enemies are, should they show their faces again." Han stares at Tarroc, bemusedly, before his face abruptly relaxes into a startled, broad grin. "Mine was a bounty hunter. Yours?" Adams unwraps the other sandwich, finishing it off in about the same as the first. Then he picks up his orange drink and finishes that off. "Dark Jedi, apparently," Tarroc says, almost as if this was a one-upping contest. Glancing over to Trinket, he pushes over a drink and smiles faintly, "Drink that." The sarcastically matter-of-fact way in which Tarroc makes his first statement would lead one to believe, of course, that he isn't quite sure exactly /who/ he encountered. Trinket mmms softly, punctuated by another, softer hiccup. She lifts her chin slightly, carefully reaching across the 'table' for the drink Tarroc pushes towards her. She trills quietly, tilting her head and pointing towards the 'Dauntless' with questioning eyes. Solo's features shift into a tauter expression, at the words 'Dark Jedi', and he momentarily pauses, the soup mug still in his hand, tendrils of steam rising from it. He then glances back to Trinket, distracted. "What, kid?" Adams idly flips the empty container around in his hand. Trinket hums quietly, touching the long laceration that mars her hairline, and then pointing to the Dauntless again. She shakes her head with disapproval, pantomining 'shooting', a blaster apparently. Solo straightens, glancing at Tarroc in query, then back to Trinket. "Somebody hurt you on that ship, kid...?" Tarroc scratches the back of his head -- astute as he is, he wouldn't have made that jump himself. "That ship belongs to that guy in the Diplo Corps," Tarroc says, quirking a brow, "Stalh, I think his name is. Asked me to recover it for him a few months ago." Trinket covers her ears, wincing, then wobbles as if falling. She points to the bruising and cut again. She aims her 'blaster' at the ship, as if she shoots it, a look of sadness creeping into her eyes. Her hands move in graceful signs, directed at Han. Solo, already straight of frame, goes rather still. "Stalh," he repeats, as Tarroc utters the name, which is clearly not unfamiliar to the Corellian. Then, as he looks back to Trinket, trying to follow the fluttering of her hands, he frowns in puzzlement. "Wait, slow down there... the _ship_ is hurt...?" Tarroc leans forward, wearing an expression of concern now. "Wait, wait... is that where you were shot? I mean, aboard that ship?" He scratches the back of his head, wondering if he's moving in the wrong direction with this. Trinket nods forlornly. She strokes the bruise across her temple lightly, then moves her hands expressively to Han once more. The signs come more rapid-fire, perhaps in excitement of being understood. She nods solemnly to Tarroc. Adams looks at Trinket and just blurts out, "Why doesn't she just talk?" After saying that, he frowns, thinking it wasn't a wise thing to say. Tarroc, of course, wouldn't assume a diplomat of the New Republic might shoot somebody like Trinket. Even the jerks. "Well, who shot you?" he asks hurriedly -- if whoever shot her is still on that ship... "Your guess is as good as mine, Private," Solo mutters distractedly to Adams, as he flicks his gaze back and forth to follow Trinket's seemingly airborne fingrs. "Ah, nine hells, Trinket, kid, you're losin' me--" He cuts off, though, at the Commodore's further query. Adams stands up, going over to the food crate, digging through it some more. Trinket points to one of her booted feet, and then out of the hangar. She pauses, chewing at the tip of a finger thoughtfully. She points to Rogue 2, then to herself, then to Dauntless, then out the door. Her gaze is trusting, a slight smile quirking her lips. "Aigh," mutters Solo, shoving a hand through his hair. He pauses to gulp down the rest of his soup, then admits, "Okay, kid, you just lost me." Adams takes a shot at the puzzle, "You were in a starfighter and attacked the Dauntless?" he asks. Trinket closes her eyes slightly, as if trying to remember something. Her eyes blink open at Adams' suggestion--she wrinkles her nose and giggles. Adams shrugs his shoulder, "Just a guess..." One of Trinket's hands rises, and she weaves careful signs in the air, directed at Han. They seem to be more positions of the hand, rather than motions, and she lets each one linger, watching his eyes carefully for understanding. Tarroc just isn't following at all anymore. "Uh... can't you type something out on a datapad, or something?" he asks, rubbing his forehead with the heel of his hand. It's just a little too late for charades. Han frowns intently, following the girl's motions, nodding slightly at each. "S... t... a... l... l... wait. Wait, kid, you know 'Stalh'?" Trinket nods, with a gentle smile. Her eyes sadden, as she points to the ship, almost worriedly. Adams takes another guess, "Did Stalh shoot you?" Trinket nods, looking down at her boots. The expression on her face is strange...it almost seems guilty, or remorseful. Adams quirks a brow and mutters, "Why?" more to himself, but it loud enough for anyone to hear. As Tarroc's commlink bleeps at him, summoning the Commodore abruptly off from the impromptu dinner party, Solo stares long and levelly at the girl. He doesn't comment upon her admission, though it _does_ darken those hazel eyes, and his only answer is to slowly rise to his feet. Trinket lifts her eyes of cerulean to the general, and suddenly a flame of worry and even fear leaps into them. She gestures to him, placatingly, palm held upwards. Adams looks over at Solo, "Sir, what do you think of this?" Solo looks down at the young woman, his severe expression kept from turning thunderous as he takes in the apparent supplication in Trinket's countenance. "There's a lot of questions I want answers for about Stalh, is what I think," he answers Adams, voice lowering towards though not quite achieving a growl. Adams hmms, "Think if I see him here I should take him to you?" he asks. Trinket still keeps her hand lifted towards the Corellian, the tips of her fingertips trembling. What color that is normally in the pale features has drained, and the big blue eyes watch him intently. Hazel eyes meet the searching blue, and Han Solo finds himself uncomfortably wondering exactly what kind of evaluation he's undergoing here. He sucks in a breath, then says, turning his head slightly towards Adams, "No... no, not yet, Private." Then his gaze returns to the girl, and he finds himself now promising in rough, low tones, "I won't do anything stupid, kid. Don't worry." Adams goes back and sits down on the crate he was sitting on before. Trinket exhales in a soft, shivery sigh. She manages a disarming, girlish smile, the blue eyes losing the worst of the fear. Suddenly her expression is weary, exhausted, from the shining forehead to the grease slickened boots. "Kid," murmurs Han down to the girl, "you got someplace decent to sleep...?" Trinket draws her knees up to her chin, resting the underside of her jaw along her kneecaps. She nods with a soft smile, pointing to the open crawlspace along the S-foil of Rogue 2. Decent is, after all, a relative term. And the girl has enough oil and other starship fluids on her to fit right in. Adams frowns and offers, "She can sleep in my bunk, I probably won't be sleeping tonight." Glancing sidelong again at the private, Solo nods just to him, indicating his approval; there are hardly any safer places on the ship than the quarters of a unit of Marines. "Might be better to give her a bunk with the female troopers, though," he murmurs to the younger man. Then he looks back down to Trinket, and tells her, "Look, kid... you don't _have_ to sleep in a crawlspace. We got beds, you know?" Adams nods, "Well, I was just offering." Adams adds, "Could my bunk in with the female troopers, its just a hamok.." Trinket nods hesitantly. Well, now she knows at any rate. She glances at the bay of starships fondly, though those eyes can barely keep themselves open. She glances at Adams hesitantly, flicking an uncertain glace back at Solo. The General nods his understanding to Adams, not bothering to comment upon the probable incongruity of a man renowned as a scoundrel and reprobate in the seedier corners of the galaxy demonstrating awareness of military propriety. To Trinket, he merely observes instead, "Kid, you can sleep anywhere you want, it's up to you... but in case Rogue 2 or any of the other fighters have to launch, you wouldn't wanna be sleepin' _in_ 'em, see?" He then gestures to Adams, and goes on, "This is Private Adams. His unit's under my command. You can sleep quartered with them, and you'll be safe. And in a bed." Adams smiles and nods as he introduced. Trinket tilts a drowsy head to the side, eyes half closed as they nod to the Corellian's wise words. She smiles shyly back at Adams, though there is the barest hint of sleepy hesitation in her expression. Adams grins and looks at the general, "Sir, maybe we should show her to a bed before we have to carry her to one. Never quite certain of how much this girl'll understand when he talks to her, Solo blows out a breath this time, rather than sucking it in. "Yeah," he agrees gruffly. And he eyes Trinket musingly for a moment, before beckoning a lean calloused hand at her. "How about it? You wanna come with us?" Adams looks at Solo, "Sir, I'll go look if theres an empty spot for her.." Adams adds, "And if there isn't, I'll set one up. The General nods shortly at the younger man, in acknowledgement. "Good idea, and thanks. Get on it." Trinket glances back at the X-wing for a moment. She glances towards the hand, then smiles softly at Solo. She glances over her shoulder once more at the X-wing, waving a little goodbye to it, before rising unsteadily to her feet. Adams smiles and nods quickly, walking in a slightly fast pace to the turbolift. Adams heads into the main corridor. Adams has left. The private safely out of range, Solo's features unknowingly relax at the childlike trust being beamed at him. "Okay," he says lightly, though he's still sounding a touch gruff. He moves off a little, waiting to see if Trinket will follow, or whether she'll do as her drowsy demeanor appears to be threatening and curl up in a ball right there on the deck. Trinket stifles a sweet yawn, sighing just a touch above audibly as more flaxen hair spills into her face. She follows, her steps a bit ungainly--and she most certainly seems to favor her left foot, with a very slight limp. The limp doesn't go unnoticed. Solo frowns to himself, making a mental note to check with D'agor to see if their unexpected guest has been checked out by the cruiser's medical personnel -- and then wondering, if she hasn't, how in the nine hells he might coax her to let them get her a physical. _Later, Solo,_ he advises himself, certain this isn't the time. He simply moves cautiously and carefully through the bay, waiting patiently for Trinket to keep up with him, and wrestling with the urge to just scoop her up as if she were a five-year-old. Military propriety, not to mention Her Worship would definitely want an explanation for _that_ one. He has to settle for merely saying gently, "C'mon, kid, this way..." And eventually, he leads her out into the cruiser. You go into the main corridor. Main Corridor -- Main Deck The corridor here is a major intersection, one of the more heavily travelled areas of the ship. Crew walk balk and forth along the corridor, while more still enter and leave the crew area. Technitians bustle about, entering the landing bay to carry out upgrades and repairs. The long corridor can be seen to stretch far off into the distance both to fore and to aft. -=-=-=-=-=<>=-=-=-=-=- ore leads to Main Corridor -- Main Deck . ft leads to Crew Area -- Main Deck . tarboard leads to Reception Area -- Main Deck .

ort leads to Landing Bays -- Main Deck . Han_Solo enters Main Corridor -- Main Deck Trinket walks out of the landing bays. Trinket has arrived. Trinket enters Main Corridor -- Main Deck Trinket seems to follow Solo's voice as much as his visible entity--if she sees him at all it's in the peripheral, as her eyes trail the ground in front of her. She weaves a bit, almost as if mildly intoxicated, a function of the limp, new boots, and her exhaustion. She doesn't lag too far behind though. _Aaaaaah...._ Military propriety be damned, Solo's not about to force herto stumble along that way without at least trying to help. He stops to wait for his odd companion to catch up, then speaks up clearly to her, "Hey, here, kid, careful." He stretches out a hand, first in front of her to get her attention, and keeps it out till he's sure she's seen it. "Gimme your arm, huh?" Trinket pauses in mid step as she examines the hand, a gesture more curious filly than normal human. A dainty hand slips into his, as if accustomed to this method of leading. On second thought, hand still clasped, she uses her other to loosen the ties of the offending boots, and steps out of them, holding them with her free hand. Military propriety be damned indeed. Solo murmurs in rough encouragement, "There ya go, kid." Definitely feeling as if he's leading a five year old, he keeps a light, firm grasp round her fingers, out of which she can slip her hand at any time, and guides her off through the corridors of the cruiser. As the boots are discarded, he manages -- barely -- to stifle a burst of sympathetic laughter, but he doesn't manage to keep himself from muttering again, "There ya go." As they pass a few rather deeply confused late-shift personnel hurrying about their business, he keeps his expression perfectly steady, as if it's everyday procedure for the General in command of Ground Ops forces to be holding the hand of a young woman padding around in her socks and leading her around the ship. You head towards the crew quarters. Crew Area -- Main Deck The crew area has several wide doors leading to common barracks. A few doors, set aside from the others, lead to more private quarters for dignitaries and ranking officials. -=-=-=-=-=-=<>=-=-=-=-=-=- => Medical Bay -=-=-=-=-=<>=-=-=-=-=- ore leads to Main Corridor -- Main Deck . Han_Solo enters Crew Area -- Main Deck Trinket comes in from the corridor. Trinket has arrived. Trinket enters Crew Area -- Main Deck Once in the barracks, Han pauses, glancing around the place, and he's met by a short, muscular young woman with close-cropped hair who briskly salutes him. "General Solo, sir," she speaks up quietly, keeping her voice down so as not to disturb the troopers dozing in their bunks, "we've got that bunk ready Adams says you've requested." Her brown eyes flicker over to Trinket with curiosity and a frank kind of friendliness; her Basic's liquidly accented, and her jumpsuit sports the nametag 'Vaskez'. And Solo nods, returning the salute. "Thanks," he says, just as quietly. "This is Trinket. You tell the others to watch out for her, you got it, Corporal?" "We will, sir," Corporal Vaskez promises. The young woman, for her part, follows as meekly and obediantly as a well-mannered child. The boots bump carelessly against her scrubs as she walks, leaving behind more imprints of black. She hums very softly, apparently a self-soothing sound. She looks up at Solo with a dreamy half-smile. She turns her blue eyes to Vaskez, weaving a little on her feet, looking down submissively at her even though she towers over the shorter woman. She slips her hand from Solo's and reaches quietly for Vaskez's wrist. She looks over her shoulder, offering Han a gentle, grateful smile with those child-like eyes. Laitron comes in from the corridor. Laitron has arrived. Laitron enters Crew Area -- Main Deck Vaskez looks more than a little bemused at this tall, weirdly docile female padding over to her, and she shoots Solo a glance that the Corellian quite successfully reads as, 'Excuse me?' He keeps a perfectly straight face, though, and merely tells Trinket, "You're welcome, kid. Let the Corporal show you where to sleep, and I'll see ya 'round." Laitron enters and leans up against one of the dorrs, he slightly rubs his temples Well okay, then, if the General says so.... Corporal Vaskez, undauntedly, turns and surveys the fair-haired lass who's wandered up to her, and tells her in immediately soothing tones, "Okay, then, little chica, you come on over this way, and you can bunk over here..." Trinket raises her hand to Solo, wiggling her fingers slightly in a child-like wave goodbye, smiling shyly. She turns to Vaskez, bobbing her head agreeably, to the cadence of the woman's words. Her boots still dangling from one hand, she slips her free one around Vaskez's wrist, like a tired child. Solo murmurs, "'Night kid," as Trinket is led off, and then, the General turns to go. He nods gruffly to Laitron as he passes, looking very much like a man who's trying to pretend he's not a sucker for child-like waves, and with that, the Corellian strides out. [End log.]