"Rallying Against Rell"

Log Date:
	8/19/97

Log Cast:
	Thomas Drake, Lerren (NPC), Rellawy Woodlake, H'rruuk (NPC)

Log Intro:
	They'd been worried, of course, when Rell hadn't returned to the
bar on time. The moment she'd entered the Burning Deck, H'rraal had wrapped
his enormous arms about her, whuffling out his worry; H'rruuk had been
only a beat behind in ascertaining that she was whole, and Lerren had
shouldered his way past both of the K'shannaars, a not unimpressive feat
when the two big ursoids were well over twice his mass, and put into Basic
the frantic questions that had been plaguing them all.
	"Rellawy Woodlake, where the nine hells have you been?!"
	That Lerren used her longer name was a clear sign of his anxiety,
and it didn't ease the Corellian's mind any as Rell plaintively explained,
in the shortest terms she could manage, what had happened.
	How the spacer Thomas Drake, who had met her in the Deck, had urged
her to accompany him off Nar Shaddaa, and how she'd gone to his ship,
the _Rampart_, to talk with him in private as to why.
	How she'd told Drake that she couldn't go with him.
	How Galdric and the Gamorrean Tabak had waylain her on Level 601
in the Pot on her way back from the Rampart... and how Thomas Drake had
arrived on the scene, unlooked for, to thwart their attack.
	And how she'd awakened again on the Rampart, to be urged once more
by her captain, to leave the Smuggler's Moon. How she'd had to tell him
no yet again.
	Rell _couldn't_ tell Lerren and H'rruuk and H'rraal, however,
that Thomas Drake had known what she was -- and that even if he hadn't,
he'd gotten firsthand proof of it, for he'd taken a blaster shot in her
defense.
	And Rell had had to heal him.
	For all that Lerren was her father's friend, and H'rruuk and
H'rraal treated her like their own den-sister, she couldn't let herself tell
them _that_.
	But neither could she stop them from taking matters into their
own hands... or stop Captain Drake from failing to accept her refusal...

----------
Drake comes through the double swinging doors and enters the bar from the 
  floor outside.
Drake has arrived.
Drake saunters in, ostensibly here for sustenence--uh-huh. He takes a seat at 
  the bar, looking only at the bartender and no-where else. "An ale," he says 
  gruffly.

The tender, Lerren, is on duty again, and he nods back equally gruffly to the 
  new customer. The ale is poured into a chipped but serviceable mug. "Here 
  yah go, pal," the big Corellian rumbles back.

Off in one corner, at one of the more out of the way tables, a honey-gold head 
  shoots up, and startled blue-green eyes flash a gaze towards the bar. The 
  big bearlike being seated across from the girl utters something at her that 
  comes out in a voice like a rolling boulder, and it is with an absentminded 
  air that Rell mutters something back in reply.

Drake doesn't look, taking a swift drink from his mug and dragging a hand 
  through his hair with a weariness he doesn't really feel. "I don't suppose," 
  he says affably to Lerren, "You have any pretzels."

The bartender's gaze flicks across the room to the girl, and it's easy for 
  their eyes to meet -- at this hour, the bar is reasonably quiet. "You want 
  salted or not?" the man replies, a trifle less gruffly, as something subtly 
  shifts in his demeanor; he might almost be said to look amused, though 
  there's still a watchful and almost paternal look to his regard now.

Off at that other table, the ursoid thrusts out a big paw, keeping the girl 
  where she sits, and gets to its own feet. Lumbering back towards the bar's 
  tiny excuse for a kitchen, the creature disappears a moment, then re-emerges 
  carrying a large bowl full of the requested item.

"Salted," Drake's decision is delivered in a low tone; Salted Pretzels. The 
  Food of the Jedi.

The ursoid reaches the bar and thrusts the bowl at the fair-haired man seated 
  there, while leaning forward to squint small round eyes at him, the purpose 
  apparent: to check him out. Behind the bar, the tender snickers. "You gotta 
  work on your table waitin' manners, H'rruuk."

Drake squints beady eyes right back at the ursoid. "Hi, sexy," he winks, and 
  gnaws on a pretzel.

Reverberating forth a basso reply, the creature sniffsniffs down at the man. 
  It then straightens up again and says something else to the Corellian behind 
  the bar, who quirks a grizzled eyebrow; the ursoid crosses its huge arms and 
  stays right where it is.

"H'rruuk," says the bartender dryly, "has decided you smell alright."

"That," replies Drake wistfully, "Is because I haven't had enough to drink 
  yet." He lowers his voice a little, asiding to the bartender: "He supposed 
  to get a tip for that?"

Lerren, taking up a mostly clean rag and wiping the bar's surface, smirks 
  mildly. "He's off-duty right now, actually."

"He's serving me," Drake tilts his head at the bartender. "I get special 
  treatment, or do you just get very few spacers in here that smell alright?"

The bartender and the bear-creature exchange glances, then, the man says 
  laconically, "H'rruuk's also curious." Swipe, goes his rag. From his 
  posture, it would seem that the man is merely relaying information, though 
  he hasn't quite hidden the curious glint in his own eyes, either.

"Oh?" Drake pauses to take another swig from his ale, and returns to gnawing 
  on his pretzel. His salted pretzel. "Curious about what?"

H'rruuk's muzzle curls as he lets out a short and pointed grflegrowl of an 
  answer; the creature's round little eyes are still squinting at Drake.

"He wants to know," says the bartender, "what your interest is in Rell."

"If I tell you the truth," Drake's reply is cryptic, but it's hard to take him 
  seriously with a pretzel sticking out of his maw, "You won't believe me; if 
  I tell you anything else, he'll probably beat my head in. You could say that 
  I have a vested interest in her well-being."

Over at her side table, the girl in question goes very still. Then, urges from 
  ursoid paws or now, she rises to her feet, silently.

Keeping his casual stance as he cleans off the bartop that is his little 
  domain, a stance that is at odds with his gaze, Lerren says, "So does 
  H'rruuk." And for that matter, speaks that gaze of his without his actually 
  vocalizing it, so do I.

"She could do a lot worse," Drake chews pretzel. Swallows. "I actually just 
  came for a drink," he admits, "I've no mind to up and take her."

Both bartender and ursoid consider this admission, as well as its admitter; 
  finally, H'rruuk issues a single 'Hmrmf'. Lerren eyes him, then tells his 
  customer straightforwardly, "Good." This seems to set well with the man, for 
  he adds, leaning forward slightly across the bartop, "But if you still have 
  a mind to get her off Nar Shaddaa--"

"Lerren, we've been over this." Rell's brogue announces her presence in 
  earshot, her tone weary, and wary as well.

"It isn't my mind that's getting her off or keeping her here," Drake points 
  out with a wry grin, "As you can tell."

H'rruuk rumbles something to the girl, who frowns and opens her mouth to say 
  something in reply; Lerren, however, beats her to it, looking at the blond 
  man and demanding bluntly, "But it could be your ship that gets her off. How 
  much will you charge to get her to a safe starport?"

"Lerren!" barks out Rell, aggravated.

"You need off Nar Shaddaa, kid. H'rruuk knows it" -- the ursoid snfffss out his 
  agreement -- "I know it, and you know it," the bartender shoots back at her. 
  "You know damn well your father wouldn't have wanted you left here." As 
  Rell's frame tautens at that, her face crinkling slightly into a scowl, the 
  Corellian promptly turns back to Drake and continues, "Well?"

Drake eyes the bartender critically, looking thoughtful. "I don't know what 
  your idea of 'safe' is, but I can get her to a better place than this for 
  the price of this ale the pretzels."

"Damn ye, Lerren, 'tis not yer decision to make!" Rell complains immediately.

Without missing a beat, Lerren plants his substantial hands before him, 
  steadying himself on the bar, and fixes a steady gaze on the girl. "It _was_ 
  Jord's, though. You gonna tell me I can't carry out what I know damn well 
  were your father's last wishes?"

"My _father_ blew up with his ship!" Rell shouts in reply, but sounding oddly 
  desperate, as though perhaps she's flailing for an excuse. Lerren doesn't so 
  much as flinch, though his dark eyes do soften, a trifle.

"Hey, er," Drake clears his throat, as if reminding the two of them that 
  he--in addition to the rest of the bar's patrons--are still here. "Listen; I 
  won't take anybody where they don't want to go." He lies. He'd take anybody 
  where they don't want to go if it suited him, probably. "She wants to stay 
  here, she stays here. Anybody'd be stupid to stay here, but some people have 
  to learn the hard way."

Lerren keeps a steady eye on Rell, and it's Rell who looks away first, her 
  expression a torn one. "It isnae a matter of stupidity," she growls out, 
  whirling, and stalking away for the table she'd abandoned.

Drake just looks at Rellawy mournfully, shaking his head. "Sorry," he mutters. 
  But it is not the sound of his voice that is audible, so much as it is the 
  /feeling/--sorry, sorry to have shown up here, to have dragged her into 
  everything.

Rell pauses a moment, her head turning back slightly towards Drake, her 
  expression bemused. H'rruuk blows out a snort and lumbers after the young 
  woman, clearly concerned, while the bartender watches them both go. At last 
  Lerren turns back to the other man, presenting him with another ale. "Here. 
  On the house."

"No," Drake smiles politely, "Thank you; I have trouble after one, need to 
  keep a clear head these days." His rather grumpy look tells a different 
  story: /Women/. Can't live with them, and yet ... they're everywhere.

"The first'll be on the house, then," Lerren replies indifferently, sliding 
  the ale down the bar to a slightly unsteady-looking rodent-like critter when 
  it waves a paw for the drink, as long as the human isn't going to consume 
  it. Turning back, he adds, "You caught Rell at a bad time."

"I don't think there is any 'good time' to catch her," Drake shrugs 
  nonchalantly. "She's got her own problems. She doesn't need mine on top of 
  them." That didn't come out exactly how Drake intended.

The older man, in the way of all good bartenders, wears a steadily neutral 
  'yep, I've heard it all before, but no problem if I hear it again' look, 
  returning to absently wiping down the bartop as he remarks, "She'd have 
  fewer problems if she wasn't here."

Drake, in the way of all of Drake's kind, wears a steadily neutral 'Believe 
  me: You have no idea' look. "So would most everyone," he replies, finishing 
  his pretzel. "I offered. She said no. Maybe it's just me."

Rell and H'rruuk have vanished off into the kitchen, by now; perhaps taking 
  this as a signal to speak freely, Lerren murmurs, "No. I think the kid's 
  just not used to opportunity fallin' into her lap."

"What am I supposed to do?" Drake arches a brow. "Kidnap her?"

"You wouldn't," the man replies, cracking a grin.

"With her temper?" Drake looks at the bartender increduously. "I'd like to 
  live to see where I'm going, thank you."

Lerren chuckles, very softly. "That's reason number one. Reason number two..." 
  His voice drops down in volume a bit, for Drake's ears alone. "A guy doesn't 
  save a girl he's intending to kidnap."

"Sure he does," Drake guffaws, "I can't kidnap her if someone else already 
  has. Laws of physics, you know. Even so--I hardly know the girl. Not my 
  place to decide where she's to go and where she isn't."

"True," replies the Corellian, wiping out the inside of a mug, "but you've got 
  it on your mind. So do I." The man's homely face cracks another small grin. 
  "I ain't finished arguing with her yet."

"You may want to find another ship," Drake says, after a moment's thought. 
  "Where we're going isn't really the safest place for someone like her."

The bartender murmurs, "Not too many pilots on this moon I trust with the 
  task, pal. But from what Rell said -- at least after we dragged it outta her 
  -- you qualify."

"It's a mistake you can only make once," Drake replies simply. "If she's there 
  when we go, I'll take her with us. If not ... I'll be back, eventually."

The bartender gives a short gruff laugh. "You leave getting her there to me 
  and H'rruuk."

[End log.]