"Drake's Departure"

Log Date:
	8/21/97

Log Cast:
	Drake, Lerren (NPC), Rellawy Woodlake, Han Solo

Log Intro:
	The argument hadn't been particularly spectacular; no punches had been 
thrown, no crockery sent flying. And as far as Rell was concerned, there'd been 
an annoying lack of curses on Lerren's part. She supposed it was his age 
advantage, not to mention his typically phlegmatic temperament. No, all the 
shouting had been hers and hers alone, hurled out in Basic and Khilanni, and 
Corellian too, for good measure. Enough shouting that she'd raised more than a 
few eyebrows (or done the equivalent, for many of the non-human sentients in 
the bar) as she'd hollered out her annoyance at her employer, at H'rruuk and 
H'rraal, and at all men in general, especially those who insisted that she had 
to be 'taken care of.' She'd even gotten applauded by some amused beings as 
she'd stormed off into the back room of the dingy building, but even her exit 
stung her pride - because for all that it shamed, humbled, and irritated her, 
Rell knew Lerren and the others were right. She had absolutely no business 
being on Nar Shaddaa, and even less trying to traverse its levels by herself.
	Especially not with Galdric and Tabak waiting to pounce her the moment 
she lowered her guard.
	Distraught and disheartened, the young woman sealed herself up in 
Lerren's tiny crack-in-the-wall of an office, on the pretense of going over 
his accounting for him, though she had yet to punch in the sequence that would 
decrypt the information on the datapad for her and give her access to the 
figures on the Burning Deck's profits. Slumped into the ancient chair by 
Lerren's equally ancient desk, Rell lost herself to the repeating loop of her 
thoughts.
	She couldn't stay on Nar Shaddaa. She didn't have what it took to 
survive here...
	Galdric and his Gamorrean partner were out there, waiting - she could 
feel them - waiting to catch her alone without either of the K'shannaars 
guarding her... waiting, she was sure, to see if they could succeed in a third 
attempt at capturing her, when the first two had gone awry.
	Galdric, thwarted the first time by the Corellian, Captain Solo...
	Thwarted the second by the other spacer, Thomas Drake.
	Thomas Drake, who'd known what Rellawy was, and who practically begged 
her to leave the Smuggler's Moon with him, pledging her safe passage to 
wherever she wished to go... who'd saved her life, and who'd taken a blaster 
shot in her defense.
	Drake, who she'd healed. And who she could feel in her mind now, too, 
even more vividly than the two thugs who sought her to make their fortune. 
Drake, whose offer - made, she knew now that she'd brushed his mind, in good 
faith - to get her off this benighted moon was an opportunity she was mad to 
deny. But she'd sensed, too, that he considered her vital for something, some 
cause of his own, and her mind shrank back from yet another sentient seeking 
to make use of her gifts.
	But she couldn't leave Nar Shaddaa. Not yet...

----------
Drake comes through the double swinging doors and enters the bar from the 
  floor outside.
Drake has arrived.
Drake arrives, quickly, with a sense of Purpose and Direction, heading right 
  for the bar. "Hey!" He calls attention to himself, and waits to be noticed.
Drake does indeed get noticed, and returns no less than three annoyed glares 
  before glancing back to the bar.

Lerren, on duty as per usual, turns his gaze around to the newcomer. The 
  usually gruff Corellian cracks a slight grin, the best sign of amiability he 
  usually produces, and ambles over. "What'll it be?"

"Anything you can make in under a minute," Drake replies blandly, "I'm 
  shipping out. Tonight."

The bartender's eyebrows go up, and by the door, the big ursoid -- H'rruuk? -- 
  on duty there shifts slightly, turning a round befurred ear in that 
  direction while keeping squinted beady eyes on the sentients in his 
  immediate vicinity. Lerren pours out an ale and slides it over, frowning in 
  ever so slight bemusement, studying the fair-haired man now. "Here yah go, 
  pal."

Drake plants himself on a barstool, taking a quick drink of the glass; he 
  seems hurried, that's for sure. His blaster is noticeably missing from its 
  usual place of residence, but beyond that he looks -- if not 'good,' then 
  'normal,' should suffice. "Put it on Mr. Solo's tab," he says offhandedly, 
  as a second thought.

Lerren's brows go slightly up, and he smirks slightly, making a mental 
  calculation to himself before dryly asking, "He said you could, right?" From 
  his tone, he clearly doesn't believe it.

"Of course he said I could," Drake feigns an offended look that his tone 
  betrays. "I'm no less honest than he."

His face studiously neutral as he considers writing off the cost of a single 
  ale, Lerren says blandly, "Whatever you say, pal. So. Shippin' out tonight, 
  you said?"

"Yeah," Drake drains the glass and clears his throat. "Finally set to go. Just 
  clearing up a few loose ends."

The bartender turns for a minute or two to flick off something about the color 
  of a sunset down to a scruffy-looking being three seats down the bar, before 
  turning back to the fair-haired customer. His grizzled brows furrow over his 
  lined, dark eyes for a moment, before he says lowly, "One loose end I could 
  name pitched a mighty fit."

"Why," Drake smiles wryly, "Am I not surprised. I don't think that girl 
  pitches any small fits. I /am/ surprised she left the bar in one piece, 
  though."

Solo comes through the double swinging doors and enters the bar from the floor 
  outside.
Solo has arrived.
Solo swaggers in, trailing foul mood and faint electrical fire smoke.

Drake is seated at the bar, striking up a conversation with Lerren--the 
  bartender.

Stifling a snicker, Lerren murmurs to Drake, "She's all bark, that lass." His 
  expression sobers a bit, as he adds, "I did talk to her."

"Oh?" Drake says 'oh' with all the enthusiasm he might have as if he'd said 
  'Kidney surgery?' "And...?"

Solo makes out a voice in the dimness, one he recognizes, and a humorless 
  smirk afixes to his face as he makes his way over, small Jawalike beings 
  scampering drunkenly out of the Corellian's way. "Ale, straight," he orders, 
  right into the middle of the conversation like a battered freighter between 
  a pair of dull astroids. And about as pretty.

The bartender snorts, turning to pour out something of the whiskey family into 
  a tankard when the reptiloid at the far end of the bar waves commandingly at 
  him. Back to Drake, he adds, "She's still sayin' no, I'm afraid." As Solo 
  arrives on the scene, the man looks up, doesn't bat an eyelash, and turns to 
  produce the requested drink.

Drake makes a rude face. "I don't have time to bicker with her," he half-nods 
  at Solo and promptly ignores him, "Let me have a word with her?"
Solo gives the tender a friendlier nod than the smirk he gives Drake, and 
  leans against the bar, waiting for his ale.

Lerren passes the ale to the younger Corellian, then rolls his blocky 
  shoulders in a shrug at Drake. Turning to slap on a small comlink unit, he 
  gruffs into it, "Rell. Get out here."

"What're you grinning at?" Drake eyes Solo loftily. "I met the pilot I suppose 
  you sent, or--called, or whatever. The fellow would be walking around Nar 
  Shaddaa in safety orange and a flight helmet if I hadn't of stopped him."
Drake adds, "Though he does have nice sunglasses."

It takes a couple of minutes before Rell's brogue rolls forth from the back of 
  the bar, causing a wave of snickers as the young woman stalks into view 
  through the door to the back of the building. Ignoring the amused glances 
  her incensed expression gets her, she hollers, "Gods damn it, Lerren, do ye 
  want the numbers done or don't ye? What is it n--" Coming up close to the 
  bar and seeing who's seated there, she cuts off cold.

Solo takes his drink and retorts, "I didn't send nobody." With that, he downs 
  a gulp. This prerequisate taken care of, he squints at Drake.

"Well." Drake looks less than impressed. "He's here." He glances up at 
  Rellawy, and then over at Solo, and stands himself; "Just a sec," he asides 
  to the Corellians before traipsing over towards the Girl. "You have a 
  minute?" Or a sec. Whichever.

Solo nods at Drake's aside, and nurses his ale with a little heavyhanded 
  mothering, and gives Rellawy an odd look, before settling there to watch.

"Customer put in an order for yah," Lerren says to Rell, his homely face the 
  very soul of innocence.

The girl slides a scathing glare at her employer, then lifts a tense regard to 
  Drake as he steps to her. "Aye," she says, her tone short. Perhaps nervous, 
  too.

You sense Drake leans against the far end of the bar, regarding Rellawy 
  levelly. "I'll make this quick," he says as gruffly as he can manage, which 
  presently is very gruff at all, "I'm shipping out tonight; I've already told 
  you it's your decision. I don't know whatever Lerren's told you, but--I 
  don't know who you are. Really. Where you came from, where you really ought 
  to be. I've no real reason to care. But it'd make me feel a lot better if 
  you did come with me, even if I let you off on Corellia, or Calamari, or 
  wherever."

Solo tries not to look like he's listening, and exchanges questioning looks 
  with Lerren for a while. They hold an animate conversation in this way, of 
  looks, grunts, rolling of eyes, smirks and a one-sided singular drinking 
  binge.

You sense Drake adds, coughing once for good measure, "That said, I'm leaving 
  tonight."

Rell takes in the fair-haired man's murmured words, as she stands still there 
  before Drake, her face turned in Lerren and Solo's direction; the bartender 
  glances at the girl as her expression seems to close off somehow, then 
  Lerren gives Solo a look that relays simply that yep, he knows what's going 
  on, but he's not interfering. Rell, on the other hand, tells Drake in a low 
  and taut voice, "Thank ye, but no."

You sense Drake's brows knit. "Humor me. Why not?"
Drake whispers "What could possibly be keeping you here, of all places?"

Solo samples his ale a bit more, coming down to first name basis with the 
  drink. He gives Lerren another rolling of his eyes to the spacelanes and 
  keeps quiet.

Her entire posture speaking of wariness and mistrust, her eyes strangely hurt 
  somehow, the girl murmurs back quietly, "My reasons are my own, Thomas 
  Drake. Please. Dinnae press me."

You sense Drake lets out a breath, his stance sagging a little. "If I leave, 
  now, without knowing, it's going to nag me for the next decade. You owe me 
  that much, Rell."

Lerren, stoically neutral -- well, mostly stoically neutral; he shoots Rell a 
  noticeably paternal sort of glance when she's not looking, and frowns to 
  himself as he senses the turn that conversation down there must be taking -- 
  occupies himself with wiping down an empty mug as long as there's a lull in 
  orders directed to him.

The girl under the bartender's observation stares up at Drake as he muttes to 
  her; finally, she lowers her gaze, and whispers something back. "I... am 
  tryin' to find my mother."

You sense Drake gapes dumbly at Rellawy. "On Nar Shaddaa? I hope, for your 
  sake, that your mother isn't that kind of woman."

Rellawy is noticeably silent for several beats, staring hard at the floor, 
  before she finally says huskily, "I dinnae know."

Solo frowns along with the tender at the turn of conversation, and thumps his 
  glass down, murmuring a request for refill as he looks away.

Lerren produces that ale and slides it to Solo, muttering a low, "Dammit," 
  under his breath.

Solo grunts eloquently and accepts the new glass.

You sense Drake, exasperated, drags a hand through his hair. "Do you even know 
  where to start? She could be any--maker! No. Fine. You want to stay here, 
  get yourself killed, you do that. You want to find one woman in a galaxy of 
  five jillion, you do that. With my luck, I'll find her, and she'll refuse to 
  come back here. I'm going. Nice knowing you, kid." His cloak snaps in the 
  breeze behind him and he turns, already prepared with a scowl for Solo.

Solo glances up at the muttered words and gives the blond man a straight look; 
  no smirk, no sarcasm, just a look.

Rellawy offers no argument to the young man as he turns off, but simply 
  continues to stare at the floor, her gaze shadowed. Lerren frowns, but as 
  Drake comes back towards him and Solo, the bartender leans across the bar 
  and says very quietly, "If it means anything to you -- H'rruuk, H'rraal, and 
  me, we're watchin' over her."

"Yeah," Drake rolls his eyes, "So long as she never leaves the bar, she'll be 
  fine. Here's for the drinks," he flips a couple credits across the bar. "See 
  you 'round, Lerren." He heads for the door.

Solo still says nothing, perhaps recognizing that here lies hypocracy 
  landmines, and judiciously takes a drink of his ale.

"Yeah, pal," the tender murmurs back, taking the credits and sliding them into 
  his register as the young man goes.

Drake does not open the doors on his way out. The doors open for him. Noisily. 
  And they shut, too, and swish for a while.
Drake pushes open the swinging double doors and exits.
Drake has left.

Rell remains where she stands, eyes clamped tightly shut for a moment. Then, 
  once Drake is out the door, she stalks towards Lerren and grits out, 
  "Somethin' stiff. I dinnae care what. Please."

"You two ain't...close, are you?" Han asks low, nearly into his drink. casual, 
  sure, and impartial is he, but he utterly fails to make the question 
  nonchalant as he casts a look at the young woman.

"Sure thing, kid," Lerren murmurs, turning to grab a bottle of brandy which by 
  its label is probably older than the girl; he pours out a measure of its 
  contents into a small mug, and passes it to her.

Rell takes up the mug in question, then lifts troubled blue-green eyes to the 
  deliverer of that question. She starts to look annoyed, but then visibly 
  changes her mind, gulping down a long swallow of her drink before lowering 
  the mug once more and considering Solo warily. "Why?" The question holds no 
  suspicion, but is voiced bluntly, straightforward.

Solo shrugs, quickly saying, still low, "Hey, I'm not trying to nose my way 
  in, kid. Just wondering. People seemed to look hurt and all." He gives the 
  mug a significant glance, and his own drink a significant sip.

The girl's shoulders sag a little, and with a small frown tugging at the 
  corners of her mouth, she braces up both mouth and shoulders with another 
  long sip at her mug. "'Twas an argument, and it will pass," she says at last 
  when she lifts up her head again, not looking at either the Corellian 
  sitting at the bar or the Corellian behind it. "To answer yer question: no. 
  We are nae close."

Solo nods at the answer, and mutters, "Alright..." with a distinctly 
  dissatisfied air. He pulls at his ale for a bit, gaining, one would assume, 
  brains or insight from the drink, before asking, "Do you -like- it here?"

"Rell," begins the bartender, awkwardly.

The girl looks up, and says, her tone weary, "Dinnae start again wi' me, 
  Lerren. Please."

Lifting his big brawny hands in a defensive gesture, the bartender backs off, 
  taking refuge in the shout of another desired whiskey from the reptiloid at 
  the opposite end of the bar.

Not watching Lerren go, staring into the depths of her mug, the young woman 
  murmurs, "No. I do not."

Solo gives Lerren's back a frown, and nods. "I don't blame you. You stick out 
  like a Quarren at an Imperial officer's banquet." He leans, his voice 
  somewhat rumbly, "Look, Drake's a good kid, and I won't ask what's goin' on 
  there, because it's none of my business, but you, you don't need to stick 
  around here. It's not your ground."

Rell lifts her blue-green gaze to the face of the Corellian beside her, and 
  frowns at him, but something in his expression must apparently assure her of 
  his intent, for she merely states her reply rather than snapping it. "It's 
  not a matter I'll be havin' any choice in, Captain Solo."

Solo's brows knit. "Sure it is. What kinda talk is that?" The woman's 
  statement seems to indirectly irritate him, but he keeps the irritation 
  directed away.

Considering evidence at hand -- that Lerren vouches for this dark-haired 
  pilot, that Solo in turn appears to know Thomas Drake, and that, well, she 
  has her own ways of vouching for Drake -- Rell closes her eyes, blows out a 
  sigh through her small freckled nose, then murmurs as she returns her 
  attention to what's left of her brandy, "I have things to be doin' on Nar 
  Shaddaa and I'll not be leavin' till they've been done."

Solo murmurs with a more understanding nod than he's been doing up til now, "I 
  can understand that. You taking it on yourself, or do you have some help?"

The girl is silent for a moment, perhaps musing on how much of an answer she 
  wishes to give. What she finally offers, between brandy sips is, "What help 
  they can provide, Lerren and H'rruuk and H'rraal ha' given."

Working, as he has, on the Fringe, Solo knows lines. Even more, in this case, 
  he observes and respects them. "Good, glad to hear that. Getting close then? 
  Things looking good for the quest?" He seems genuinely interested, though 
  gives the impression he's trying to keep his manner to conversational 
  chatter, despite the subject.

Rell's mouth curls up on one end, but it is a wan attempt of a smile at best. 
  "There are obstacles I must be gettin' past."

Solo mimics the smile, probably unintentionally. "Ain't there always." A jaded 
  statement, surely, but one said with a hint of reckless all-or-nothing to it.

Carefully downing the rest of her brandy, Rell sits there a moment, breathing 
  in once, then out once, as the stuff hits her system. "Aye," she says after 
  a moment, a fraction less tension in her brogue, a fraction more 
  resignation, "there are."

Solo chuckles, swirling the drink in his glass. "Just promise me one thing, 
  kid. When you get done with your quest, find something to do with yourself. 
  This dive only looks good now because compared with the rest of the moon, 
  it's platinum. Ok?"

Rell looks up again, perhaps responding to the chuckle, or perhaps the words; 
  she puts forth another faint smile, and says tiredly, "Ye'll not be needin' 
  to tell me of the foulness of Nar Shaddaa, but I thank you for the thought."

Solo grins, replying, "Hey, least I can do. I guess." He pauses at that, then 
  finishes off his ale, adding, "I'll be here a while. If you need any help, 
  my ship's the Falcon, a YT freighter. The techs in the area know the one."

That makes her blink. Rell quirks her honey-gold head for a moment, flicking a 
  look down to Lerren -- who is doing a very good fatherly impersonation of 
  Giving A Daughter Her Space -- then back at the Corellian. "Lerren spoke of 
  it. I cannae think of any help you could be givin' me, but again, thank you."

Solo nods, casually, and sets the glass down, giving a nod to Lerren before 
  murmuring, "Sure." He turns to walk away.

Rell hadn't said anything to halt Drake in his flight; nor does she say 
  anything to stay Solo. At least not for a moment. Then she turns on her 
  stool, brow crinkled a little, and she calls, "Solo..."

Solo pauses, letting a wrinkled Duros move past him. "Yeah?"

Rell considers, then rises from her stool, closing the small distance between 
  herself and the tall Corellian, though she stops once she is back within 
  safe murmuring distance. She looks up at him searchingly for a moment, then 
  says lowly, "Do ye know aught of a Hutt called Kelga?"

Solo frowns faintly, and shakes his head. "No, why?"

"First stop on the quest," the girl answers, lowly, without elaboration, 
  though her expression reflects a measure of debate about that lack.

Solo, being on the short side of observant about these sorts of things, asks, 
  "What for?"

Still pitching her voice to carry no further than the Corellian, Rell says 
  quietly, "My Da worked for him. He has what's left of my Da's ship, and 
  there's somethin' upon it I'm needin'."

Solo frowns again, lightly, and also lowers his voice. "Your father worked for 
  a Hutt?"

"Aye," murmurs Rell back, soberly.

Solo mmms; obviously he has close and personal sympathies with Rell's male 
  parent. "Huh. I hope your help is pretty able, Rellawy. The ship could be 
  anywhere, used by anyone for -anything- by now."

If the girl is surprised that Solo knows the longer form of her name, she 
  shows no more startlement than _he_ had at her calling him 'Captain Solo.' 
  She glances away for a moment, though, then simply nods, heavily. "If it 
  hasnae been broken down for scrap; there wasnae much left of it when the 
  engine blew."

Solo nods in agreement, "Something like that. Just something to keep in mind, 
  if you're expecting to find it intact."

"It's not the ship I'll be needin'," Rell murmurs, but absently, clearly half 
  to herself. Then she shakes her head a little, perhaps reregistering that 
  she'd halted Solo on his way out. "I'm sorry. I willnae keep ye from your 
  business."

Solo mutters, "Sure, no problem. Good luck, and the offer's still good, for as 
  long as I'm here."

"Thank ye," the young woman murmurs, inclining her head once and turning away, 
  wariness and distance stealing back across her features as she redirects her 
  attention to Lerren. "Ler! I'm goin' back to the books!" As her employer 
  nods at her, Rell turns, aiming towards the door at the back of the bar, 
  absently smacking a groping hand from a filthy spacer out of her way, and 
  finally vanishes through that dingy entryway.

Solo watches her go, a cocked half-smile on his face that doesn't quite match 
  the look in his brown eyes, before he turns and continues out.
Solo pushes open the swinging double doors and exits.
Solo has left.

[End log.]