<strong>Maxwell Quinn, Reminiscing on his Bird</strong><br/><br/>Maxwell had turned away to head back to the Blue Ridge for docking no sooner than he'd recovered from the torpedo explosion.  Once back in the hangar, he sat in the cockpit of his Raven for a few moments, carefully running his hands down the instrument panel of his very devastated airplane.  Climbing out, he watched people start to swarm over it, taking it apart piece by piece to start fixing it.  Hopefully.  And hopefully this Miss Lamarr would see that her best shot wasn't much good to her grounded.<br/><br/>He approached the man who looked like he belonged in charge.  "If you're the man in charge, I have a few things to say.  One: I don't expect miracles.  I will be very impressed if you can manage to get her back to factory fresh in less than a few months.  Two: I'm going to need a replacement for the time being.  Perhaps you can speak to the Captain about that for me?  And three:  I don't care what it costs, money is no object.  Save that plane."<br/><br/>Heading out, he went back to where he was bunking, cleaning himself up for the dinner affair ahead.  He knew that he would be the last one due to what happened after the torpedo.  Soon enough, though, he was there, wearing what he had at his best.  "I know I'm tardy, apologies.  I was not...in appropriate condition for this sort of company."