Allie sat silenty hunched over on the vanity counter-top with her back to the mirror. Too weary to bother moving her head, her eyes darted from Jola, sorting through the small medical supplies Allie had lifted from the shop, to Tack and his clicking gray armor as they spoke.

What have I done? What have I gotten myself into? Allie's whole reason behind leaving home was to avoid the rebellion, to not get involved with the Empire in any way, and to not have to use a blaster or operate a gun turret. But now, the self-proclaimed smuggler- in Imperial armor. The medic- with the Empire after her. A painful awareness of how little she actually knew about the pair was creeping into Allie's mind. And here I am with them, in the middle of a Rebel hide-out. And I've-. Shavvit.

Allie fought down another wave of nausea. She felt dirty, and all she wanted at the moment was: a shower, a couple sleeping pills, a place to crash. Sighing, Allie leaned back against the mirror and closed her eyes. If someone needed her, they'd let her know.

"Yeh," Allie muttered, twisting a corner of her jacket. She looked up, "Yeh, I'm fine."

She glanced at the newcomers and an idea crept into Allie's mind. She wasn't sure if it was a good one or a bad one, so she just went with it. "One sec," she said, and vanished back into the shack. Quickly, she grabbed a few packages of bacta patches and painkillers for what's-her-name's supplies, a handful of candybars, and last, she snatched up the handblaster from behind the counter out of a new found paranoia. Her baggy, multi-pocketed garments looked no different for the new aquisitions. Allie straightened her jacket and walked back out.

The whole process hadn't taken long at all, no longer than... "Had to use the 'fresher," she shrugged.