Sam watched the new girl as she ate. Her table manners, more so than anything else, caught his eye, though he said nothing. Despite everything she'd been through she handled herself at the table not only with the grace one was expected to have in a civilian 'fine dining' setting, but given her recent situation, what she was doing was analogous to the grace under pressure the legendary astronauts of the era of 'tin cans and titanium men' had in spades, the 'right stuff' every spacer since aspired to have.<br/>Such behaviors, he realized, had to have been instilled in early childhood.<br/>He furrowed his brow for a moment as several pieces started falling into place. Her plainclothes, the cold-blooded destruction of an ITC tender, and now this.<br/>Who, exactly, was she?<br/><br/>He shook off the question as she made a joke about the food. He waved a hand dismissively and in his best 'captain's monotone' said, "not yet, Ensign Dunsel is the dessert course, she was too much of a sweetheart," without missing a beat.<br/>Within the next three seconds Hawk needed a new uniform thanks to the former contents of Miranda's wine glass doing their best impression of a reaction control thruster from her lips as she laughed out loud. The rest of the crew chuckled or smiled and then broke out in all out laughter (save for Hawk and his unfortunately stained tunic) at Miranda's action, who blushed beet red with embarrassment.