Log Date: 8/16/98 Log Cast: Assorted NPCs, Shenneret Veery, Nelun Good Log Intro: Shenner has once more encountered the strange, frequently disoriented vagabond Nelun -- but this time, it's with several of the Coral City law enforcement about to take the man into custody for petty thief and resisting arrest. Deeply worried about what this might do to Nelun's apparently unbalanced mental state, not to mention how the civil authorities might react to the oddities she'd previously discovered about Nelun's person, Shen has wangled her way into the cops' skiff by claiming that Nelun is her cousin, "Nelun Vaarsen", and that she's been looking for him for weeks. But the skiff on which they travel to take Nelun in runs into unexpected serious trouble, winding up crashing -- and winding up causing Shenner to be injured by a flying shard of shrapnel. A frantic Nelun glues himself to the girl's side as medics arrive on the scene, but all Shen really registers as the shock of her wounded back sets in is that under no circumstances must Paul be told of this. Oblivious to Nelun's babbled questions as to who 'Paul' is, and to the medical personnel whisking her into surgery to close the hole in her flesh, the young musician quickly loses consciousness.... ---------- "Hey..." "She's coming to." "Can I talk to--" "In a moment." "How many webs can you count?" A medium, hospital uniformed Mon Calimarian asks, bringing about a suctioned, open hand. _Webs?_ wonders Shenner, as the voices around her are her first signs of returning consciousness. As her heavy eyelids lift and the Mon Cal's visage comes into focus, she mumbles a number without thinking, the proper number of digits and webbings between them for that sentient's species. Nictating briefly at Shenner and then glancing offwards provides a view of Nelun, who is dressed in a dark gray vest, under a beige sleeved shirt. None of his clothing is tattered, torn, or for that matter, pungent. The man is perfectly appropriate, and almost irrecognizable in his shorter beard. "Shen?" Nelun_Good This is a relatively built, yet stocky Human male with considerably craggy hide. A close 5'7" and 150 pounds, he appears toughened, yet nimble. He is mopped in neck-length auburn brown hair which parts messily over his head. Two clear dark brown eyes jut out from under thinned brows, while a thick, tangled, mussy beard covers much of his face. Dressed in a dark gray vest, royal blue leggings, and beige sleeved shirt. Aside from being slightly wrinkled, the clothes are adequate, and nondescript. They bear no particular design scheme or patterned fabric.. "Who're you..." is Shenner's immediate befuddled response. She peers blearily up at the clean, groomed figure who's come into her field of vision, not recognizing him. The man's sudden glance to the Calamarian prompts the orderly to doublecheck the scanners. Turning back to him is the only proof that the man, hands grasping each other tentatively, needs. "Shen, it's me...Nelun." Shenner gives a long, slow, puzzled blink, before her gaze better focuses on the man at her... bedside? Realizing she doesn't know where she is, she casts a glassy look around herself before her attention drifts back to her visitor. One corner of her mouth curls drowsily upward. "You cleaned up," she observes, sounding strangely charmed. "They...made me." He says, looking about the room furtively for a moment. The astonishing accomdations (or relatively astonishing, compared to the streets), seems more alien to Nelun than the Calamarian in front of him. "You're all clear." The orderly says to Shenner. He glances to Nelun, and then to the girl, "I'm Garkpole. If you need anything... hit the red button." He says, gesturing to the arm console to her left. "Okay," Shenner murmurs in acknowledgement, though it's easy enough to grasp she still hasn't managed to fully wake up yet. As the orderly withdraws, the girl returns her attention to Nelun, still absorbing the impact of his altered appearance. "You clean up good," she approves, then her brow crinkles. "Where'm I at...?" "You're in intensive care, dear. Be glad I let yer friend in." The Calamarian states. He moves over to the room's exit, across from Nelun and leaves shortly after continuing, "I'll be back in an hour with breakfast. Just, sleep." Intensive care. Hospital... hospital. _I'm in a hospital..._ Something about this tugs unnervingly at the very back of Shenner's memory, and her dark red brows knit down over her half-focused eyes. Gaze still on Nelun, the girl tries to remember _why_ she is in a hospital, and she rasps out, "The... skiff crashed, right...?" Slowly, as if conceding to the girl, the man mutters back, "Yeah...that's why. Right." "You okay?" Shenner asks gruffly. Memory also tells her that the reason they'd been on the skiff in the first place had been, simply put, that Nelun had been arrested -- and worry over that also prompts her to try to get up, to get going, to make sure personally that the situation is under control. The moment she starts to rise, though, her surroundings begin to swirl, and she fumbles over sideways, half-propped up on an elbow, as she tries to support herself. Nelun winces, rushing forwards to help her, "Geez, Shen...even I know notta move when you're in intensive care..." Grabbing a pillow and straightening it up, the man tries to encourage the girl to, as the Calamarian suggested, SLEEP. Something rare and impossible to do when you're running from the law and trying to avoid slipping into a gutter in the night. "Listen, uh, Shen, I have to...tell you something. It's nothing really though, but I couldn't tell them my real name..." Shenner half-expects to encounter grime when touching Nelun, and when her swaying form is steadied by a pair of actually _clean_ hands, she peers at him bemusedly as it better registers that yes, he's actually _washed_. As Nelun talks, though, she peers at him all the more baffledly, suddenly feeling strangely and dizzingly as if someone had decided that the two of them would reverse their habitual roles. "Couldn't tell them... what? What'd you tell 'em?" she hoarsely whispers. Stumbling over words, and flubbing a consonant or two, Nelun seems a bit hesitant to continue. He adjusts Shen's pillow, once more. "Um, I'm told 'em, --because I couldn't think of anything else!--and it were you muttering it all the time...and well, I couldn't, you retract my name, because, that would be...suspicious, right? Um, my name is Paul Veery... I'm your brother..." The girl slumps back against the pillow. Her body, weakened by blood loss and busily working away at restoring itself with all the plasma and nutrients and restoratives that have been pumped into it, is quite bent on lying still being Shenner's agenda for the time being, and thus, she has no choice but to slump back again. But she barely notices it, as she stares at Nelun, eyes slowly widening. "Paul," she repeats, a sense of forboding creeping across her thoughts. And then she blurts, "I... I was... muttering?" Blinking a moment and then nodding once, "Yeah. I hope you're not too angry..." But then, Nelun seems to suddenly become inquisitive. "Who is Paul?" Shenner doesn't answer, not immediately. A stricken kind of expression steals into place on her features, and her eyes turn suspiciously liquid. Perhaps sensing this, she presses them closed, her head turning so that her face is pointed more or less towards the ceiling. Reflexively, she lifts a hand to fumble towards her neck again; her hand finds the blanket draped over her, and the top of the simple shift in which she'd been clad after the gash in her back had been neatly fused whole again, and she'd been put to bed. Her hand doesn't find what it's looking for, though, and the girl's expression becomes decidedly unsettled. "Paul," she repeats, and her voice sounds suspicious, too: even hoarser, rougher, as if a lump's coming up in her throat. "He's a-ancient history. Don't wo... worry about it..." Nelun is visibly disturbed. Sensing he has struck a tangled chord somewhere in his companion, and realizing pursuing it in her condition is possibly the worst he could inflict on her yet, he looks away, glancing, for no reason at a monitor readout. "You know, you look like you're getting better..." "I'll... be okay," Shenner mutters automatically, her eyes still pressed closed, her voice still rough and awkward. Okay. Yes. Of course she'll be okay. Not quite daring to open her eyes, knowing her vision will be watery if she does so, she adds, "They say when... I can leave?" Nelun looks down, putting his hands over his waist. He turns around to Shenner, tongue visibly pushed inside his right cheek. "I dunno. Maybe in a week, I heard someone say..." Moving towards what seem to be metallic blinds running horizontally and pulling down on them, Nelun stares out the window. He blinks, lets go, and then proceeds to look around the frame with an overdetermination of sorts... [To be continued....]