Log Date:
	5/3/97, 5/5/97, 5/6/97, 5/7/97, 5/8/97, 5/9/97, 5/10/97, 5/11/97

Log Cast:
	Shenneret Veery, Dr. Xavier Nighman (NPC), Trace (NPC), Paul Nighman

Log Intro:
	On her way back from buying supplies for Paul, Shenner has been
attacked by a drunken vagrant. Only the intervention of Trace, a young
Corellian she'd met the day before on the Gold Beaches, prevents the girl
from taking any further harm than a temporary frightening out of her wits;
afterwards, as Shenner struggles to calm herself down and think of what
to tell Paul, Trace takes her to his dorm room on the University campus
long enough to get them both cleaned up. But Shenner is terrified that
Paul will get frantic over her being gone too long, and thus, Trace finally
lets her return to Dr. Nighman's house -- but not before resolving to
do something else on his own....

----------
As she takes the lift down to the dorm building's ground floor, Shenner 
  tiredly sheathes her gun, yet keeps her right hand on it while pinching the 
  bridge of her nose with her left. _Paul,_ she thinks miserably, _is going to 
  have a FIT. He's never gonna let me go to Mandalore... I gotta make him not 
  freak... I gotta be calm... I gotta be calm... how the KARK am I gonna tell 
  him this calm?!_
These thoughts, and several variants thereof, plague the young bard as she 
  trudges at last out of the dorm building and out onto the darkening campus. 
  She frowns, taking a few minutes to get her bearings, before finally setting 
  off on what she recognizes as the direction back to Xavier Nighman's 
  residence. _Calm. Keep it cool. Don't worry Paul too much. Keep it calm..._ 
  Over and over and over, a mantra to punctuate her footsteps.
And, at last, a now-familiar stretch of untidy grass... more relieved than she 
  wants to admit, Shenner breaks into a trot to cover the last few steps to 
  Professor Nighman's front door. She grimaces again, feeling her head throb; 
  for a moment, she allows herself to lean against the doorjamb, before making 
  herself straighten and ring the chime.

The door opens almost immediately and there stands Professor Nighman, his face 
  stern and aloof. There is a flicker of relief that seems to pass over his 
  face before he notes coolly, "Ah, -there- you are," and he opens the door to 
  allow Shenner in. The house seems extremely quiet.

Shenner swallows hard to find the one that answers the door being Paul's 
  father and not Paul himself -- _not like I oughtta be surprised..._ She 
  trudges into the house, though, and asks wearily, "Is Paul still here, sir?"

Closing the door with a firm "thunk", Paul's father shakes his head. "No, he's 
  looking for you," he replies succinctly. Taking in the girls disheveled 
  clothes and more importantly the bruises on her neck he gestures to the 
  couch and in a much softer voice says, "Take a seat and relax a moment." He 
  then turns without another word and walks into the kitchen.

_I was afraid of that...._ Shenner closes her eyes for a moment, embarrassed 
  to find herself shaking. It suddenly seems like a very good idea to do as 
  Paul's father has requested, and she sinks stiffly onto the indicated couch, 
  trying not to overturn a stack of books on the floor before it as she does 
  so.

Returning after a few minutes, Xavier Nighman carries over a steaming mug and 
  a glass of water. Placing the mug on the table, he hands her the water and a 
  pill. "Take this," he orders her politely.

Shenner takes both items, though she asks with a crinkled brow, "Can I ask 
  what it is?"

"It's a pain killer and muscle relaxant ... I imagine you could use both right 
  about now." He moves a stack of books, placing them on the floor and pulls 
  up a chair near to her, then settles himself into it, folding his hands in 
  his lap.

As both ideas sound infinitely enticing at the moment, Shenner bobs her head 
  and downs the pill as instructed, chasing it down with a gulp of the water, 
  and ordering her hand not to shake. It obeys her, for the most part.
Shenner then breathes out hoarsely, "Thank you... sir."

When she is finished he takes the glass from her hand, rather gently. He then 
  places it on the table within reach and picks up the mug, which he hands to 
  her. It smells sweet and soothing, and just a little bit fruity. "You're 
  welcome," he replies gruffly. "What happened?"

Shenner swallows, trying to rally forth the nice, short, uncomplicated story 
  she'd been rehearsing to give to Paul, all the way back. "I... got all the 
  food Paul asked me to get... I was comin' back. I got lost. Was turnin' 
  around to come back... when a guy jumped me." Attracted by the scent of the 
  mug's contents, she starts sipping at it, and finds with some mild relief 
  that the mug's warmth is helping her hands stay steady.

It's definitely some kind of tea, but not at all bitter. It is in fact very 
  rich and flavorful, and just sipping it seems to have a calming effect on 
  the nerves. "Is your neck the worst of it?" he queries bluntly.

"My neck and the lump on my head, sir, that's about it," Shenner says, and 
  frowns a little as the tea makes her start to sound more tired. "A boy came 
  long, though... helped me. Chased the mugger off. Before he got a chance to 
  get anywhere..." She trails off, scowling, troubled, and clenching her eyes 
  shut. Wrong Nighman, but still. Calm. Be calm.

"Sounds serious," he murmurs reflectively. "What about your weapon?" he asks 
  pointedly.

Shenner sighs, disgusted with herself. "Both my arms had groceries in 'em, and 
  the guy grabbed my karkin' blaster before I could draw..." Shen then blinks 
  her eyes open, realizing she probably isn't bolstering her own standing in 
  this scholar's eyes by the way she talks. She finishes somewhat more 
  subduedly, "My own fault for not keepin' a hand free."

If her language shocks or offends him, there is no indication. His shoulders 
  move fractionally in what looks like it might have at one time been a shrug. 
  "Didn't have much choice, though you might want to consider the fact that 
  being armed gives two people a weapon, you and your opponent." He tilts his 
  head to one side. "I'd say that you are very fortunate to even be alive 
  right now."

Shenner mumbles, "No arguments from me on that one..." She feels the mug 
  quivering, and scowls down at it, only to realize that it's her hands that 
  have decided to treacherously disobey her orders again.
Shenner finally looks up and asks, trying not to sound too doleful, "Paul 
  ain't... is he okay?"

In a surprisingly sensitive moment, Xavier leans foward and places a weathered 
  hand on hers. "Relax," he insists, "you are safe, relatively unhurt, and 
  hopefully the wiser for your experience." He settles back in his chair then 
  and raises a hand to his mouth, idly brushing it back and forth as he 
  thinks. It probably takes Shen a moment to realize that it is the exact same 
  gesture that Paul frequently exhibits when he is considering something 
  deeply. "He is distressed and rash and impulsive," he replies vaguely to her 
  question.
"What were you going to ask me initially?" he presses curiously.

Feeling a strange sense of deja vu with that momentary glimpse of Paul-ness in 
  this elder Nighman, Shenner says meekly, "He ain't... too upset, is he?"

Again the shoulders twitch. "Hard for me to ascertain ... I haven't seen him 
  in over ten years," he replies unhelpfully and an irritated tone creeps into 
  his register. He then glances back at the girl. "Yes, he's upset, and when 
  he sees those bruises I warrant that he will be more upset." Then, as if 
  this topic were simply not important he asks, "So, if your assailant had 
  your gun, what did he want from you? And how did you manage to get away?"

The girl abruptly pales, and clenches the mug in her hands as she struggles to 
  calm herself. It is with an only slightly hoarsened voice that she manages 
  to reply, "He... wanted... sex, I think... sir."

If this shocks the older man, his face betrays nothing. He merely nods 
  thoughtfully. "And from your attire being intact I can assume that he was 
  unsuccessful in this attempt?" There is something oddly comforting in the 
  clinical way in which the man communicates, as it helps to set the 
  circumstances in a less personal and emotional light.

Indeed, and Shenner manages to rally herself with this dispassionate 
  conversation setting off a constrast to the warm, soothing tea. She opens 
  her eyes after a moment, blows out a sigh, and bobs her head tiredly. "Yeah. 
  Trace -- a boy I met before -- saw the guy tryin' to... drag me off. I was 
  fightin' the guy, but... he threw me against the wall. I heard shots, next 
  thing I know... guy's gone, Trace's goin, 'We gotta get outta here.'"

One eyebrow raises. "That was fortunate," he repeats again as the picture 
  grows clearer. He frowns again, his hand shifting over his lips. "How do you 
  plan to handle this?" he asks.

Shenner blinks, taken aback. "Uh... handle?"

"As I perceive the situation, you have two problems to deal with - how this 
  effects you, and how you are going to present it to, my son." The choice of 
  "my son" doesn't seem to sit well with Dr. Nighman, as if he felt the title 
  inappropriate somehow.

That the scholar should have realized that the tale of the night's 
  misadventure would not sit at all well with Paul makes Shenner stare at the 
  old man, astonished. She finally blurts out raggedly, "I gotta let him know 
  I'm... okay, and I handled this, 'cause otherwise, he ain't gonna let me go 
  to Mandalore with him." There, that sounded steady enough.

But her statement begs the question, and Dr. Nighman is blunt enough to ask 
  it. "Did you? -How- did you handle it?"

_That_ makes Shenner stop and consider. Finally, she straightens, and says 
  with some measure of satisfaction, "Well, okay... guy took my gun. Stuck me 
  in the back with it, ordered me to back up into the alley... wanted money. I 
  think, okay... fine, give him the credits, better than gettin' a hole blown 
  in me with my own gun.... I'd give him the food, if he was hungry... I-I was 
  tryin' to figure out what I could tell about him, 'cept I couldn't get 
  turned out to see him. Male, tall as me or taller, he was drunk, that's 
  about all I could get before he grabbed me..." She swallows.

"And?" he prompts Shen, his eyes calmly staring into hers.

The girl's eyes darken. "That's when I fought him, 'cause he karkin' well 
  wasn't gonna get _that_ outta me. Sir."

Nodding again he asks a question. "So, was that an effective strategy? Where 
  did fighting him get you?"
His questions sound almost like they belong in a classroom setting, as if he 
  were trying to get a student to see the error of their theory without being 
  overly harsh and telling them that they were overlooking something obvious.

Shenner frowns. "Farther... back in the alley," she allows grudgingly.

Cocking his head to one side, he gives her a lead. "What, in retrospect, do 
  you think you might have done that would have been more unexpected? What 
  might have given you an advantage over him? If you had been the attacker, 
  wouldn't you say that everything you, Shenneret Veery, did was almost 
  exactly what one might expect from a victim? Aquiescence, fear, and finally 
  resistance?"

Hearing her full name from a man who is essentially a stranger to her is 
  enough to make Shenner start before she remembers that she _had_ introduced 
  herself to Dr. Nighman thusly. "I... coulda started yellin' sooner, I 
  guess," she finally says bemusedly. "Started tryin' to raise as much of a 
  ruckus as I could... get witnesses. I-I think I saw curtains closin', I know 
  there were people there...."

He shakes his head, indicating "wrong answer". "If they didn't come to your 
  aid initially, why would your screams make them inclined to help you? If 
  anything, it would only confirm their worst fears of intervention. No, try 
  again. What would have taken your attacker off guard? If you cannot match 
  your opponent in size and strength, then you will have to match them 
  mentally, if you can." His voice indicates that he doesn't think Shenner is 
  trying hard enough, or perhaps that she does not have the mental 
  capabilities of really -thinking- of alternate options.

The girl's brow starts to furrow, with a look of fretful weariness, as though 
  she can't quite grasp why the scholar is making her think of this _now_. But 
  she nevertheless does try again, with: "Well, uh... he... took my weapon. 
  Coulda looked for somethin', anything to defend myself, I guess, if I coulda 
  got his karkin' hands offa me." She scowls.

It's no wonder that they call Nighman "Vader's Evil Twin," because like Vader 
  he seems to have a short amount of patience for clueless underlings. 
  Frowning in annoyance he shakes his head again. "Perhaps it would be best if 
  Paul had you stay here on Corellia, for your own safety as well as his own."

Her temper snaps. Shenner's face flushes immediately, with angry crimson, and 
  she snaps out in a hoarse bark, "Look, _sir_, with all due respect, you got 
  no karkin' idea what you're talkin' about! Whether or not Paul likes it, I'm 
  a street rat, and I survived on the streets of Plawal because I learned how 
  to get out of situations just like the one I karkin' went through tonight! I 
  have been workin' my karkin' behind off tryin' to learn everything I need to 
  know to help Paul on this trip and I'll be _damned_ if a drunk is gonna stop 
  me from goin' with him!"

Standing up calmly, Dr. Nighman surveys Shenner dispassionately, and any 
  semblence of kindness that he might have shown her before melts away to 
  nothingness. "If it were not for a miracle of circumstance, we would -maybe- 
  have found your body in the morgue tomorrow. Raped and mutiliated most 
  likely. Meditate on that child, and perhaps you'll live another few years. 
  Maybe." And with that charming image now imbedded in Shenner's mind, he 
  turns to the kitchen. He then pauses and then turns back to her. "Consider 
  this as well. If he takes you, knowing what he does, he will be so busy 
  protecting you that he will leave himself vulnerable ... and if you cannot 
  even protect yourself, how can you possibly be anything more than a 
  hinderance and an active threat to him?" He disappears into the kitchen.

As the scholar leaves, Shenner clamps her eyes shut, fiercely. _Dammit, I 
  will. Not. Cry!_ That much, at least, she manages to accomplish, but the 
  now-empty tea mug rattles in her hands, and it is with a scowl of disgust 
  that she reaches to put it down on the nearest flat surface she can find. 
  Then, she plants her elbows on her knees and leans her head forward into her 
  hands, trying without success to order her body to stop its violent 
  trembling. _If you cannot even protect yourself, how can you possibly be 
  anything more than a hindrance and an active threat to him?_ The words echo 
  with icy clarity in her mind.

The house is deadly silent, as if the older man had disappeared completely 
  from the building and not just the room. Perhaps that is why the sudden 
  knock at the door sounds so frighteningly loud and unnatural.

"Aigh...!" Shenner does not quite scream, but she does jerk upright on the 
  couch, nearly knocking over the mug she'd set down on the floor.

The Professor emerges from the kitchen area, silent as he strides past Shenner 
  toward the door without gracing her with so much as a glance.

Wildly, Shenner looks around her in all directions, before managing to regain 
  something resembling composure as Paul's father answers the door.

Perhaps the man is psychic, or maybe it is true what they sometimes say of 
  government officials and professors, that they have eyes in the back of 
  their head. "People with keys don't knock," he assures her shortly, and then 
  he opens the door and peers out. "Yes, what do you want?" he practically 
  barks. The open door blocks Shenner's view of who is standing there on the 
  doorstep.

Tensely, Shenner rises to her feet, eying the old man at the door and trying 
  to spend the moments of Xavier Nighman's distraction to gain back more of 
  her calm -- or at least what's left of it.

A rather surprised and nervous voice floats into the room, and Shenner 
  recognizes it as Trace's, of all people. He fumbles nervously, already 
  fretful about meeting Vader's Twin, and the unexpectedly gruff greeting has 
  sent what little composure that he had managed to drum up scrambling for 
  cover. "Uh hello Vad, I mean Mr. Nigh, ah, Professor Nighman ... Doctor ... 
  Sir?! Ah, I'm looking for a young woman by the name of Shenner ... has she 
  arrived her safely, uh, sir? Please? Excuse me? Ah, if I may be so bold as 
  to inquire?" He then wisely puts a clamp on it before any more inane words 
  pour from his lips.

Shenner is startled enough by this that she immediately moves towards the 
  door, calling out tiredly, "I'm here, pal, I'm okay..."

Stepping back to allow the young man in, Dr. Nighman quirks one brow. "As you 
  can see, there is someone here called Shenner," he replies, as if indicating 
  his doubt that she can be considered a "woman." He then closes the door. 
  "Please, feel free to barge into my house at all hours of the night," he 
  notes caustically. "Don't let me stand in your way." And with that he leaves 
  for the kitchen again.

Trace just stands there, frozen like a womprat in a landspeeders search 
  lights. In his arms are two bags of groceries ... not any two bags, but the 
  actual original two bags, a little battered, but still intact. His mouth 
  wide open, as if he were about to apologize, he stares into the air which 
  used to contain a seriously cranky department head.

Shenner blinks as she sees what Trace has brought, and feels herself abruptly 
  warm towards this young man. "Ah, hells, you didn't have to do that," she 
  murmurs as she moves to take one of the bags from him, "but I'm glad you 
  did... c'mon."

Trace just kinda blindly follows Shenner. "I found your change too ... guess 
  no one wanted to go into that alley after your screams ..." he murmurs, 
  looking around as if expecting something to jump out and bite him. Mentally 
  he is logging everything for a future storytelling to all of his buddies. He 
  can just picture it now ... 'Yes, I have actually been in the secret lair of 
  Vader's nastier half, and let me tell you, it was a life and death situation 
  ...'

It may well disturb the young man that Shenner takes him and the groceries 
  into the very kitchen into which Vader's Evil Twin has just vanished. 
  Warily, she calls to announce herself just before she steps across the 
  threshhold, "Dr. Nighman? I don't know where you like to put your food, but 
  Trace brought us back the groceries I lost, can we put 'em away?"

The older man must have bypassed the kitchen because it stands empty. Trace 
  holds back for a moment, but then when no response is heard from an 
  unexpected corner and no raspy breathing assualts his ears, he steps into 
  the kitchen with a soft sigh and places the heavy bags on the counter and 
  begins to unpack them, placing things that require refrigeration in one 
  pile, and non-perishables in another. "It was pretty creepy sneaking back 
  there," he murmurs, making idle chit chat, "But no one so much as said boo 
  to me." He then looks at Shenner. "How you holding out?" he asks her 
  concernedly. "What happened with your Paul friend?"

With no Dr. Nighman in the kitchen, Shenner relaxes, somewhat, but it's to 
  turn with a frown to the young Corellian beside. "Paul ain't... he ain't 
  here, his dad says he went out lookin' for me."

Giving her a sidelong glance he frowns in return. "That's not good, is it? 
  What are you going to do?" Not knowing what just transpired between Shen and 
  Dr. Nighman, Trace has no idea of the double edge that his question bears.

Shenner, with the gifilterphish she'd spent over an hour searching for in one 
  hand as she rummages around looking for a good place in which to keep bread, 
  frowns grimly. A sigh, and then she breathes out, "I'll... wait for Paul, 
  for a few more hours. If he ain't back by tomorrow... well, I'll think about 
  that then."

Frowning at her again he shrugs. "If you think that's best ... if you want to 
  go look for him, well," he murmurs with a slight blush, "I could, uh, keep 
  you company ... watch your back? You know, safety in numbers?"

Shenner turns to lean against the counter behind her, considering. "I ain't 
  had time to learn this city," she murmurs huskily. "I don't know it, and we 
  might miss Paul on the way back here if we went out... no." She shakes her 
  head, finally. "Gotta give him time to get back before that."

Going into scientific mode, Trace shakes his head. "Nope, I know this city 
  like the back of my hand - after four years at the University, I should. You 
  can leave him a note, and the Twin is here and knows that you came back safe 
  and fairly sound." He shrugs. "All I know is that if I were out there 
  looking for a friend of mine that was missing and I couldn't find her, well, 
  the more I looked the more panicked I would become."

Shenner looks up at Trace searchingly, then, a feeling in her gut suggesting 
  that he is, indeed, right; all too clearly, she can see Paul in her head, 
  anxiously combing the darkened streets, unwilling to stop until he finds 
  her... "A... note. Okay..." And she abruptly paces off into Paul's room, 
  looking for anything in there she can write a note on; when she comes back 
  with a scrap of paper and a pen, she goes on, briskly now, "A note, and we 
  ought to check back here every so often, you know? Say, let's go look for a 
  couple hours, come back at twenty-hundred, then back out again...?"

Trace turns from placing the perishables in the refrigeration unit. He walks 
  over to Shenner and stands close to her. "Sounds reasonable," he agrees, but 
  I would suggest that we make it only an hour before we check back here. 
  Write the time that we left here in the note and the fact that we will check 
  back every hour, so he will know and wait for us should he return while we 
  are out looking for him," he offers sensibly.

The girl nods briskly to this, moving through putting away the last of the 
  groceries, to leave the note -- and Paul's credits -- arranged in a nice 
  obvious place on the counter. With that, then, she checks her blaster once 
  more at her side, and moves to the hallway to holler out, "Professor 
  Nighman? Trace and I are gonna go look for Paul, we'll be back at twenty-two 
  hundred hours, we left a note...!" Not really expecting a reply, she pauses, 
  nevertheless, just in case.

Perceptive girl, for no reply is exactly what she gets. Trace looks at the 
  note and calls softly after her. "Ah Shen, someplace more obvious would be 
  better ... what if he doesn't come into the kitchen?"

Gruffly, Shenner bobs her head, and strides back into the kitchen to snatch up 
  the note and look for somewhere else nice and blatant to leave the short 
  missive.

Touching her shoulder gently he murmurs, "It'll get lost in the mess, let's 
  put it on the door." Part of him is wondering what the hell has possessed 
  him. First he risks life and limb, then he risks it again by returning to 
  the scene of the crime, and now he is going to waste a perfectly good 
  evening helping her find some -other- man. "I must be going crazy," he 
  thinks to himself. Still part of him still can't shake the fact that he just 
  narrowly missed getting shot ... and the fact that he very nearly killed a 
  man, except for the fact that he just couldn't do it ... that smacks of 
  cowardice, and is one part of this story that he will re-write in the 
  retellings. Not trusting his eyes to not betray him, he surges past Shenner 
  without waiting for her response, and heads for the door.

To leave the note where Trace suggests sounds plausible enough; Shenner wedges 
  the note between the door and its frame as she pulls it to in her and 
  Trace's wake, then turns to her companion, one hand on her blaster, and says 
  brusquely, "Okay, pal, let's go..."

Trace nods and heads down the road. With a rather deep sigh, he begins to 
  devise a plan of attack. "He's probably already checked with the hospitals, 
  security centers, and the morgue by this time, so if he's looking for you, 
  he's most likely just walking the streets and asking people if they've seen 
  you. Course, there are a lot of red headed Corellians around here, and most 
  of them are female, but you're pretty distinctive." He looks up into the 
  night sky for a moment and then back down at the road, but not at Shen. "So, 
  chances are, if we roam for a bit, we'll spot him or he'll spot us."

"Sounds like a plan," Shenner allows, as she falls into step beside the young 
  man, already anxiously scanning her surroundings for any sign of Paul's 
  rangy figure. She cannot think of anything else to say for several moments 
  as they make their way through the campus, until: "You're... a pal, for 
  doin' all this, yah know... don't hardly know yah."

"I'm a nut case," he mutters under his breath, and then he shrugs casually and 
  tosses her a bright grin that he plasters on. He keeps it brief, looking 
  away before she can see past the flimsy front. "Well, hey, somebody has to 
  give Corellian's a good name," he jokes weakly.

Shen smirks a bit, and says in reply, "Hope you're patient with me bein' a 
  little slow on the uptake, on that score -- 'fraid I still expect all the 
  Corellians I meet to get me in trouble."

Shooting her a quick glance he raises one eyebrow curiously. "Well, most 
  Corellians are trouble, or want to be in the worst way. Is your friend 
  trouble? He's Corellian, right? You came here with him? You must be braver 
  than you look," he teases lightly, trying to brighten her mood as well as 
  his own.

Shenner does giggle a little. "Yeah... he's Corellian. Dr. Nighman's son, or 
  did I say that already? First Corellian I ever met. Handful of 'em since 
  then. I keep bumpin' into you people everywhere I go..."

He chuckles at that one. "It's because we're sex obsessed," he explains 
  practically, "We breed like rabbits."

"Yeah, and here I am now in your home nest..." The girl smirks again, 
  lopsidedly, though not unkindly. A fair bit of her attention remains on 
  scanning the night-shrouded campus as she strides along, her hand still 
  poised, ostensibly casually, near her blaster; she's hooked her thumbs into 
  her belt.

"Yeah, we're like a bunch of peacocks on our home turf, all trying to out 
  strut the others. Gets tiresome sometimes," he replies with a shade of truth 
  coloring his voice. He shoots her another sidelong look and a smirk. "I'll 
  do my best to be a complete gentleman, but if I lapse, hopefully you'll just 
  chalk it up to primitive instinct and take pity on me."

Shenner misses the glance, intent as she is on studying the night around them 
  as though she might summon Paul forth simply by staring at the shadows long 
  enough. She is all brusque business now, her stride mannishly long and 
  swift, her green gaze acute, though her tone does soften a trifle as she 
  allows, "Hey, I ain't got no complaints." _Then_ she does look around, and 
  it is then that she looks a bit less boyish, with her face a pale pointed 
  shape in the darkness, her brow softed by her fluffy forelock. "I ain't 
  hardly one to be standin' around judgin' manners anyway..."

"Well, it's refreshing," he teases back, and then concentrates on the job at 
  hand, as they leave the road from the University and enter the city proper. 
  Trace scans the scattering leavings of tourists and locals, most of whom are 
  heading home or heading out for a night of pleasure and partying. Paul's 
  tall lanky form and face do not cross the path of his gaze.

"Thanks. I think," Shen says gruffly, as she follows her guide through the 
  night.

Laughing pleasantly, Trace replies, "Well, it was a compliment." They keep 
  searching for awhile, but nothing turns up. Trace checks his chrono and 
  notes that their hour is nearly up. He looks up and reaches over to tap 
  Shenner's shoulder when Paul comes striding up from a nearby side street, 
  moving rapidly in a sharp and jerky stride, his features pinched. Trace, 
  looking at Shenner doesn't notice the man, but does notice a small cluster 
  of people at two ends of the street heading toward one another. They both 
  move briskly, almost business like, and that is what causes him to frown and 
  pause, allowing Shenner to move past him.

Shenner pauses, looks, and starts visibly at the sight of Paul. "That's him!" 
  she hisses to Trace, immediately lengthening her stride and altering her 
  course to intercept her friend. She doesn't holler, but she does call 
  clearly, "Paul! Paul?"

Trace holds back as Shen leaves his side to head toward Paul, still staring at 
  the two approaching groups suspiciously. He follows her more slowly, his 
  head turning from side to side. Paul, on the other hand, turns around 
  sharplyat the call of his name. "Shen?" he calls at first, a little 
  uncertainly, and then when he gets a fix on her, he calls again, "Shen, 
  where in the seven hells have you been?" his voice more relieved than angry. 
  He is still a ways off, and he too lengthens his stride.

"Got lost and had a little bit of a rough time, Paul, but Trace here -- 
  Trace?" She glances over her shoulder to make sure the young Corellian is 
  following, as she closes the gap between her and Paul, her brow furrowing 
  anxiously. "Trace got me back okay, Paul, I-I'm sorry!"

There is something familiar about the clothing of the two groups ... the 
  colors ... they're almost clique-ish almost ... and with a gasp, Trace runs 
  straight at Shenner, who's path is taking her right between the two groups. 
  "Seventh Hell!" he curses, and plunging for Shen he yells, "Gang war, get 
  down!" before he collides with her, deliberately knocking her to the ground 
  just at the moment that projectiles fly through the air, gang members 
  scattering and shooting furiously at one another. The street is full of 
  sudden screams as bystanders and party goers flee in terror or dive for 
  cover. Paul yells out Shenner's name and also dives for the ground. Trace 
  easily covers Shen with his body, trapping her against the ground 
  protectively.

Shenner let out a yelp as she is tackled, but knows better than to argue -- 
  she's not unfamiliar with the idea of gang squabbles, and she immediately 
  starts scanning around to see what she can of what's going on. "Paul? Paul!"

"Keep down," Trace harshly rasps in her ear. Looking up, he can see the older 
  Corellian watching the two of them with a horrified expression on his face, 
  but realizing the folly of trying to do anything like run out to help them. 
  "He's got cover, he's fine," the young Corellian growls. Paul pulls out his 
  blaster and shoots - not at anyone or anything in particular, but to let the 
  gang members know that there is greater fire power than just theirs here. 
  That, and the combination of security sirens is enough to scatter the two 
  gangs, who leave a fair number of their brotherhood behind on the street. As 
  soon as the shooting is obviously over, Paul breaks from his cover and runs 
  for Shen and Trace.
Trace peers around confusedly but realizes that the worst is over and rolls 
  off of Shen, landing on the ground next to her with a grunt and a wince.

Shenner flicks Trace a concerned glance, then looks in all directions again 
  before getting cautiously to her feet, letting Paul catch up with them.

Paul grabs Shenner against him in a bear-like hug. "Gods, what a nightmare!" 
  and then drawing her away, he scans over her carefully for injuries, noting 
  the bruises at her throat with confusion, but happy to see that the rest of 
  her appears unharmed. "Are you alright? Where have you been?"

"I'm okay," Shenner breathes hoarsely, hugging Paul with every fiber of 
  strength in her body. "I kinda got lost on the way back see, Paul, and ran 
  into a rough time... Trace helped me out and made sure I got back safe to 
  your dad's house, then we came looking for you. Trace?" She glances back to 
  look for her young guide.

While Shenner hugs Paul tightly, Trace pulls himself up to his feet a little 
  unsteadily, his eyes blinking rapidly. His eyes don't seem to be focusing 
  properly and there is a steady buzzing in his ears, or maybe that is the 
  sirens? He hears the man talk and then Shenner, but the words are all 
  garbled. He recognizes his name and takes a step forward before the swarm of 
  bees engulfs his body, stinging with a thousand tiny pinpricks and 
  deafening him. His eyes roll up into his head and he drops to the ground 
  without a sound.

Shenner yelps again, more loudly. "Trace?!" She bursts away from Paul to the 
  young Corellian, skidding down into a crouch beside him as she tries to find 
  out what must have happened, where Trace is hurt.

Trace is sprawled on the street on his back. On the surface, there is no 
  obviously injuries or cause for his collapse. The young man is unconcious 
  and there are no blaster burns or marks on his front. His breathing and 
  color are definitely off - both are nearly non-existant.

"Shit....!" Shenner looks Trace over as thoroughly as she can -- and remembers 
  that he'd wounded his leg, before; this, she checks, looking for any 
  suspicious signs of blood there. She glances up, too, looking for the 
  security personnel who'd pulled into the street, and when she spies one, she 
  hollers out sharply, "Hey! Hey over there, can somebody call a medic? This 
  guy's hurt!"

Paul drops to one knee to take a closer look at the boy. He opens one eyelid 
  and notes the pupil. He carefully lifts Trace and then stops, pulling his 
  hand away from the young man's back to find it covered with blood. The 
  security guards have only just arrived, and in the confusion and commotion 
  on the street, Shenner's voice goes unnoticed.

Shenner whirls back to Paul and Trace, grimacing. "Hot karkin' damn, what a 
  way to end the evenin'!" She crouches, but not all the way down to the 
  ground, poised to bolt off for a medic at a breath's notice. She takes in 
  the side of the red stain all over Trace's back -- and now Paul's hands -- 
  and immediately tugs off her vest. She thrusts it to Paul and states 
  gruffly, "It's thick, it'll take a lot of blood if we gotta hold down on 
  him, you wanna do that and I'll go get a medic?"

Paul nods, taking the vest and slipping it under the young Corellian. Still, 
  there is something wrong that he can't place his finger on. The wound on a 
  careful fingering doesn't seem all that serious, but Trace's physical 
  condition seems to be worsening radically. His mind still awhirl and barely 
  able to keep up with the events of the last few minutes, Paul nods and 
  places a hand on the boys throat. The pulse there is extremely rapid and 
  fluttering ... and then it stops. Paul's eyes widen and looking at Shen he 
  barks out, "Find a medic -fast-! He's dying!" and with that, he looks at the 
  boy helplessly for a moment before tilting Trace's head back and opening his 
  mouth to give him mouth to mouth resuscitation.

Shenner spends only a fraction of a second gaping, then is gone in a flash of 
  red hair, darting towards the security patrol and waving at them urgently. 
  "Hey! Hey, somebody! We gotta guy over here needs medical help, _NOW_! Help!"

One of the EMT's glances over at her and grabs a kit. "Where? What's his 
  condition?"

Shenner gestures the meditech quickly back in Paul and Trace's direction. 
  "Over here, he's bleedin', and he keeled over, c'mon!" She bursts into a run 
  to rejoin her two companions.

Paul can be seen as they run over, this time pressing on Trace's chest in 
  rhythmic thrusts, hard, three times. Then he shifts and settling his mouth 
  over the young man's, blowing into his mouth. The med tech hits his comlink 
  as he runs, barking into it, "Got a terminal on the east corner, crack open 
  a life support pod stat!"

Shenner lets the tech hustle past her, and hovers as near as she can without 
  being in the way, her face gone pale. Terminal? She doesn't actually voice 
  the word, but it, and a resultant rush of dismay, are all too clear in her 
  eyes. Her voice roughening, she barks out only, "You gotta help him, he 
  saved my life tonight, please!"

Reaching the two Corellians on the ground he touches Paul's shoulder, and Paul 
  is instantly out of the man's way. "Projectile injury to the back," he 
  informs the med tech as quickly as possible, "sudden collapse, massive signs 
  of shock and loss of heartbeat within a few minutes ...." His voice is 
  rather high pitched and strained, even though he doesn't even know the young 
  man. At Shen's words he flashes her a sharp look, and then looks back down 
  at Trace's pale face with shock and confusion.

The med tech rolls the boy over quickly, wasting no time with niceties. He 
  curses and pulls out an extractor slapping it onto the wound's entry way on 
  Trace's upper back. As this happens, two other med's show up wheeling a 
  large windowed case. The first tech looks up and snaps quickly, "Dart 
  shooter projectile, poison type unknown but actively terminal, encaspulate 
  now and resucitate!" The two men nod and between the three of them, they get 
  Trace lifted and enclosed in the life support chamber, closing the seal and 
  immediately giving the machine the commands to hopefully save his life.

Taking all this in, Shenner says nothing as the medics seal the young man into 
  the pod. A leaden weight settles in her gut at the sight of Trace's 
  colorless face, and it is with a surge of irritation that she watches his 
  features blur wetly in her vision; startled, she scrubs a hand across her 
  eyes, then scowls in fury at herself when she discovers she is crying.

Paul rises, his face a picture of shock and astonishment. He starts to walk 
  toward Shenner as he sees the tears slip from her eyes. He thinks to wrap 
  her in a comforting embrace until he looks down to see that his hands are 
  still covered with blood - Trace's blood. The first tech grins at one of the 
  other techs and slaps his back. "Good deal Branton, you are a miracle 
  maker." The tech, Branton, smiles timidly and shrugs his shoulder, looking 
  to his companion. "Let's take this boy for a swim, eh?" and the two of them 
  wheel off the container while the first med returns to Shenner. Her 
  desperate plea was not lost on him and he gently places his hand on her 
  shoulder. "It's okay miss, your friend is going to be fine. He's been 
  resucitated and stablized, and although was poisoning is severe, there is no 
  reason why he shouldn't have a quick and complete recovery." He smiles down 
  at Shenner reassuringly, his eyes and voice both calm and convincing.

Looking up at the tech, Shenner sniffles, scowls again at herself for doing 
  so, then breathes out hoarsely, "Th... thank you." Other thoughts race 
  through her mind, the idea that somebody should be told about the boy's 
  wounding -- somebody at the University? -- but all that Shenner can manage 
  to say for now is, "Thank you."

Looking over his shoulder he gives Shenner's a corresponding squeeze. "You can 
  drop by tomorrow to visit him if you like, but I got to run now." He looks 
  up to Paul and nods shortly. "Thanks for your help." He looks back to 
  Shenner and asks, "You going to be alright?"

The girl bobs her head once, shortly, not trusting herself with a vocal reply, 
  but managing to set her features into an agreeable enough expression.

With a quick whirl, the med tech drops to pick up his kit and then is off at a 
  run. Paul walks over to Shen then, having wiped off as much of the blood as 
  he can on his clothes. Still, he doesn't touch her, though he desperately 
  wants to. Peering into her face he peers again at her poor battered throat 
  and realizes that the girl probably could use a seriously good cry right 
  about now. "Let's go home, clean up, have some cocoa or something, huh?" His 
  voice is soothing, and he deliberately forces all of the questions battering 
  at his mind back, giving Shenner some space to recover.

Shenner turns to Paul, exhausted. She remembers her earlier resolve to try to 
  handle the events of the evening as steadily and competently as she can -- 
  and the longing to make Paul proud of her still ties a few knots in her 
  innards as it wars with the impulse to just sit down and sob. Or better 
  still, to let Paul hold her, safe and secure... she manages, though, to 
  smile halfheartedly, and croak, "Yeah... sounds good."

Paul starts walking, not looking at the chaos that still marks the street 
  around them, but deliberately ignoring it, as if by doing so it will somehow 
  cease to exist. He keeps his pace even with Shenners, not wishing to lead or 
  to follow, but to be by her side.
They walk together, almost companionably, but silently, all the way back to 
  his fathers house. The walk is so peaceful, the night sky so beautiful that 
  it is almost ironic after the evenings events. As they reach the door, Paul 
  opens it and the note flutters to the ground. He picks it up and scans it, 
  but then folds it up with no comment. He turns on a glow light, dimly, and 
  turns to Shenner. Why don't you go get cleaned up ... take a long bath if 
  you like and then put something comfortable to sleep in ... I'll fix the 
  cocoa while you're in there?" He isn't tired, which surprises him, but he is 
  weary - all the fretting over why she was gone, the fruitless searching, the 
  traumatic reunion, and the disturbing conotations of what came earlier. He 
  smiles at her warmly but wanly.

Shenner pads into the house warily, almost expecting Xavier Nighman to pop out 
  from behind a corner with a vengefully stern scolding. She murmurs, though, 
  her voice still a little hoarse, "Okay.... I won't take too long." And she 
  moves off for exactly that, a bath, and her nightclothes.

Paul walks over to the door silently, listening for a moment to make sure that 
  she is alright, and then heading to the kitchen, he washes off his hands. He 
  stands there for a moment, and while the idea of a shower is appealing, he 
  doesn't feel comfortable leaving Shenner alone while he indulges in that 
  luxury. Stripping off his bloodied clothes, he rolls them up and stuff them 
  away and then does a quick sponge bath at the sink, getting off the blood 
  and grim of the day. He still smells faintly of grass and earth, which he 
  decides is acceptable. He starts the cocoa heating up, melting up the 
  cooking chocolate and warming the milk and then searches through his bag for 
  something comfortable to wear. It is with surprise and great pleasure that 
  he finds the robe that he stole from the hotel on Calamari as well as the 
  blanket from Molari's house. He pulls them both out, doning the first and 
  settling the second on the couch. He fills two mugs with the hot sweet 
  liquid and settles himself on the couch to wait for Shen to appear.

After about 10 minutes, she does; she, too, is robe-clad, in the enormous 
  green robe she'd bought herself on Calamari. It is a lighter green than 
  Paul's, the color of new young leaves, and it makes her wet, spiky hair 
  appear all the more red in hue. Her bath, though, has made something else 
  appear more red: the bruises at her throat. Perhaps aware of this, she wears 
  a plaintive, sheepish expression as she pads on bare, silent feet into the 
  living room.
Shenner offers by way of greeting, "I, uh, needed that..." And she nods her 
  head off towards the bathroom, trying to smile.

Paul pats the couch in invitation, his eyes drawn to her throat with a worried 
  expression. "Yeah, I figured that would help some," but his voice implies 
  that she could use a lot more. He offers her the mug. "This will too," he 
  promises.

The girl settles down without hesitation on the couch beside her friend, and 
  gratefully takes the mug. She draws her bare feet up onto the couch, tucking 
  them to one side; she has very thin feet, but then, this is not surprising. 
  Drawing in a long breath to inhale the scent of the cocoa, she sips at it, 
  and then murmurs huskily, "Trace saved my life, Paul... twice, I guess, if 
  that dart was headed at me when he knocked me down..."

Paul considers her profile thoughtfully and reaches out with a gentle hand to 
  touch the bruise at her throat. "Do you want to talk about it?" he asks her 
  huskily, wanting to know, but dreading to hear what his negligence had 
  instigated. Wanting her to release the pent up anguish, yet not wanting to 
  force her confession.

Her expression suggests she doesn't want to at all, but she nods slowly, still 
  sipping every so often at the cocoa, letting it work on relaxing her. _Here 
  it comes,_ she thinks dolefully, _he's gonna tell me to stay here or send me 
  back to Jessalyn..._ But Paul's father's words ring in her ears -- the idea 
  that perhaps Paul _would_ be safer if she didn't go with him. And her own 
  words with Paul that very morning -- the promise exchanged that if they are 
  to be a team, they _have_ to talk to one another. _I can't not tell him....!_
So she does, surprised at how calm her own voice sounds to her as she relays 
  to him her long and aggravating stint at the market, how it must have made 
  her too grumpy to pay attention to her course on the way back. How she was 
  suddenly ambushed and ordered into the alley with her own gun... and how the 
  vagrant passed over what few paltry credits she was still carrying, as well 
  as the food, in favor of dragging _her_ off instead. How Trace had come 
  barrelling into the alley, while she was struggling to get free... how the 
  vagrant had knocked her into the wall, leaving her dizzy, dazed, barely 
  aware of shots exchanged before she woke up enough again to find Trace 
  leaning over her. How he'd helped her back to his room at the dormitory so 
  that she could get cleaned up... and how she'd come back to the house to be 
  greeted by Paul's father; she doesn't leave out anything Xavier Nighman 
  said, though she does also note that he'd given her tea and the painkiller. 
  And she speaks, hoarsely, of how she and Trace had decided to go out and 
  look for Paul, certain he'd be frantic, and unwilling to let him search any 
  longer than necessary if they could avoid it.
Shenner does not look at Paul as she tells him her tale, afraid of what she 
  might find in his face as she does so. She cannot help but fear, at least 
  briefly, that like his father, he might well criticize her for not keeping 
  her head on straight during her attack. _Serve me right if he sends me back 
  to Yavin,_ she thinks mournfully....

He doesn't utter a word, doesn't interrupt with a single noise. For the most 
  part, his face is expressionless, his features tamed and controlled. The 
  only hint of his emotions might be gathered from his large hands which 
  clench against his mug, despite the heat of the liquid within. Internally, 
  he finds his emotions and logic battling it out furiously with his 
  conscience acting as referee between the two.
Emotionally he is shocked, outraged, upset, despairing. Shocked by what she 
  has been through. Outraged at himself for not being there and his father, 
  for being an insensitive bastard. Upset by the implications of what could 
  and would have happened to her had Trace not been there. Despairing that 
  perhaps for all his harshness, his father's point was right, and Shenner 
  would be best served by not coming to Mandalore.
Logic charges forth for his rebuttal, point for point. After such a horrific 
  experience, what Shenner needs now is support, not condemnation or 
  criticism. Using this experience as a learning tool could come later, but 
  now is -not- the time for such things. There was no reason to blame himself, 
  the entire situation in both cases was a freak accident, and no one was to 
  blame save for the criminal element. In regards to his father, what more 
  could he expect? At least the man had cared for her physically and tried, in 
  his own pathetic way, to help her. While the circumstances could have led to 
  disaster, they did not, and what is the point of dwelling on what might have 
  been? Better to take this experience and learn from it - as harsh lessons 
  are sometimes the most lasting. Also, be grateful for the little miracles in 
  life that avert such disasters, this one coming in the form of a young 
  Corellian named Trace. As for the final point, this evening's events both 
  supported that theory and dashed it at the same time. Yes, perhaps his 
  father was right, these thoughts and concerns were certainly not new to 
  Paul. However, this night's play also demonstrated that there is no such 
  thing as safety, and if Paul believed for one moment that Shenner would be 
  safer somewhere else or that he would be better off without her, then he was 
  deluding himself. The future is a crap shoot, and there is no way to predict 
  how adding or subtracting to the equation could shift the odds. They could 
  have fallen out of Dream this very afternoon and broken their necks in the 
  most peaceful and safe of surroundings. In the end, it really didn't matter 
  because neither he nor Shen were omnipotent, and it didn't matter if they 
  had the very best intentions to protect one another, there were simply no 
  guarantees.
Paul slowly relaxes his hands, feeling surprisingly centered as his conscience 
  declares Logic the winner in this battle. Emotion growls sullenly, wanting 
  release, until his conscience concedes that Emotion has the better grounds 
  for offering love and support, and Logic graciously agrees.
His hands now relaxed, Paul puts down his mug and reaches out, gathering Shen 
  against him and lying back on the couch, tucking her head gently against his 
  shoulder. "I'm sorry you had to suffer through this night," he murmurs in a 
  soft heart felt voice, with no trace of condemnation or anger.

Finished with her tale, now, Shenner lets out a surprised little breath as 
  Paul wraps his arms around her, but she does not protest in the slightest. 
  As she is gathered against him, she starts shaking, even as she manages to 
  mumble, "Day's not a total loss... I-I mean, a few suckful hours tonight, 
  sure, but they're still outnumbered...."

There is a strange rumbling noise emiting from Paul's chest and it takes a 
  moment for Shen to realize that it is, of all things, a warm chuckle of 
  humor. He reaches up with one hand to run it across the side of her face and 
  he very tenderly places a soft kiss across the bruise on her neck. "What a 
  trooper," he murmurs, as his other arm wraps about her trembling form, 
  holding her close.

The girl does, indeed, blink round-eyedly at the man holding her, before his 
  laughter sinks in to her as what it is. His tender touch makes dampness well 
  up again in her eyes, and for a moment, she can't think of anything except 
  just huddling there, her head nestled on that broad shoulder beneath it. But 
  yet... "Paul... Trace's dorm... uhm... tell somebody, shouldn't we tell 
  somebody, if he's in the med center now?" And she starts to sit up.

Releasing her, Paul raises himself on one elbow, questions running through his 
  mind about the young Corellian that he recognized from the beach. Who was 
  he, and why did he do what he did? Paul frowns thoughtfully. "It is spring 
  break, so chances are the dorms are pretty empty right now ... and as for 
  informing anyone of his whereabouts, I don't know his last name, so there's 
  no way to call and ask at the University." He sits up then and places a hand 
  on her shoulder. "Tell you what, chances are no one will miss him for one 
  night ... they'll probably just think he got lucky or something. As soon as 
  they can, the Medical Center will ask him if there is anyone that he wishes 
  then to contact, and we can drop by tomorrow to thank him personally and 
  offer to relay any messages ... how does that sound?"

Shenner frowns bemusedly, beginning to look more tired; now that the last few 
  niggling things demanding her attention are being answered, perhaps her body 
  is finally telling her, 'Crisis Mode Over, you can faint now...' Weakly, she 
  smiles to Paul, and gives him a nod. "Okay..."

Touching the dampness at her eyes, Paul's go soft and a little liquid 
  themselves. "You wanna collapse now?" he queries, "It's okay by me," he 
  reassures her, pulling her back into his arms and slowly sliding along the 
  back of the couch. He fumbles with one hand and pulls Canto's wonderfully 
  soft blanket over the two of them and then allows his hand to stray through 
  her hair briefly, his emotions still reminding him that she could have died 
  tonight. That brings a subtle tremor to his hand that he doesn't bother to 
  hide.

To return to Paul's embrace under that blanket is too strong a temptation to 
  resist. Shenner curls up against him as if poured there, and closes her 
  eyes, trying to will her trembling to subside.

He places another gentle kiss on her brow and softly murmurs, "It's okay, you 
  don't have to put up a brave front for me ... just let go," he advises, his 
  hand stroking her back through her robe, the other stroking lightly through 
  her hair.

Paul's voice, as warm and rich as the cocoa, combines with that kiss to 
  finally undo her. Tears begin to leak through her closed lashes, and she 
  whispers annoyedly, "But I _want_ you to think I'm brave!"

Paul places another reassuring kiss on her brow, since it is the only part of 
  her he can reach. "I -do- think you're brave, that was never in question," 
  he informs her. "But, I also know that you've been through a horrendous 
  night in which any sane person would have been frightened out of their wits. 
  I think you've earned the right to have a little down time, and it isn't 
  like we can't afford it or something."

Shenner sniffles, and opens one green eye to peer plaintively up at Paul.

He catches her gaze and reaches with one hand to touch her cheek. "What?"

That eye is just a trifle brighter than it had been before, too. Shen mumbles 
  raggedly, "Thanks..."

The hand continues to stroke that same cheek and he smiles at her gently. 
  "You're welcome," he replies gruffly, regarding her steadily.

A ghost of a smile makes the visible end of her mouth curve up a little, 
  before the visible eye closes again. The girl lifts a hand up to Paul's 
  other shoulder, and with a shaky exhalation of breath, settles herself down 
  a little more comfortably against him, to try to relax, to try to sleep.

As her form softens and bends to the lines of his own, Paul considers whether 
  he should take her into his room and put her to bed proper or just leave her 
  be. He doesn't particularly wish to disturb her any further, and he is in 
  fact, quite comfortable, her slight weight being of no consequence. Wrapping 
  his arms around her, Paul lets his eyes shut, his mind more than eager to 
  rest after it's exertions. He briefly wonders what his father will think 
  come morning, and consecutively decides that he really couldn't care less 
  right now ... a rather common occurance in regards to Shenner. Perhaps she 
  was his garlic and his cross? And with that amusing image of himself holding 
  Shenner before him and his father flinching in horror, Paul drifts off 
  himself.

[End log.]