Log Date: 11/20, 11/27/98 Log Cast: Morrison, Shenner, Ariani (NPC), Emma (NPC), Stelita, Rekkie's band (NPCs), assorted patrons of the Sandbar (NPCs), Divk, Trace (NPC), Webb Log Intro: Life has continued to be fairly quiet and steady on Caspar for Shen Veery for the time being... but it seems that Shen can't go for long without something coming along to disturb her peace of mind, and in this case, it's the Corellian Trace Dimitrik, the young man she'd met on Corellia when she'd been there with Paul before. The same Trace who had saved her life on Corellia... and who had later helped her through her emotional strain on Calamari, and encouraged her studies with his tutoring. Trace's departure from Calamari had stung Shen more than she'd been willing to admit to herself... and now, the young researcher has shown up on Caspar, attending an academic conference. Shen's half-convinced herself subconsciously that friends of hers have a habit of disappearing... and thus, seeing Trace again has been something of a shock. But even more dismaying to the young musician has been the embers of attraction she's found herself experiencing towards this big-brotherly friend of hers, and she hasn't gotten him out of her mind since his arrival.... ---------- You enter the Sandbar. The Sandbar A large circular room creates the main part of Caspar's infamous SandBar. Dark wood paneled walls adorned with all sorts of paraphanalia set the relaxed athmosphere of the bar. Photographs and holovids are pinned randomly around, seemingly with no order at all. Posters from years past hang proudly, displaying obscure bits of Plaxton's recent history. Several windows made from a deep blue glass allow light in from outside, while still keeping the appearance of the bar rather dark. Along one curved wall a marble bar stands proudly, where Ariani busies herself making drinks and cleaning occational spots of the bar. There is an abundant amount of seating in here. You notice quite a few booths and tables, as well as a loft which protrudes out over the bar. A popular local band plays smooth jazz in the background. ----For help with tables, type "PLACE HELP" ----For help with drinks, type "BAR HELP" -=-=-=-=-=-=<>=-=-=-=-=-=- => Morrison => Ariani => Emma -=-=-=-=-=<>=-=-=-=-=- leads to Fountain Square - Plaxton City. The Sandbar's patronage is unusually sparse for this time of night. Small knots of people move on the dance floor to a mellow groove and the lights are low everywhere except the bar. Morrison sits alone at the bar, blue cigarette smoke swirling around him. Morrison looks at you for a moment. For once, it isn't raining; thus, as Shenner makes her way into the bar, her slender frame and the carrysack slung off her shoulder are undampened by raindrops. Still, once she's in, her first act is to glance at the stage to take note of the mood and atmosphere Rekkie Sheldon and the rest of the band are putting out tonight. Her second is to wave down Ariani, as she leans against one end of the bar. Morrison is reading a ragged book. It is quite old and it's yellowed cover is flaking from age. He looks up from his book and sees you at the end of the bar with Ariani. He looks back to his book, but his thoughts seem to waver for a momment before flipping through the pages once more. "Another late night, Shen?" Ariani murmurs as soon as she's within range, looking over the younger woman with a sisterly eye. "Hey, I got exams to pass, you know how it goes," is Shenner's protesting reply. "Gimme a shakla, will ya? I gotta warm up my insides before I go warm up to join in on the second set tonight." Morrison looks down at the two women and then looks to Emma who is standing close by. "Could you get me whatever she's having?" He says and then returns to his book. It is, indeed, a slow night -- slow enough that Emma's been able to sneak peeks at the latest popular flimsyzine she's picked up, casting dewy-eyed glances at the holoshots of galactic celebrities depicted within. But she snaps to attention at Morrison's voice nearby her, and blinks curiously in the direction he indicates. "Oh, hi Shen!" she calls over. "What're you having, anyway?" Shenner turns on her stool and flicks a crooked grin at the other girl, as Ariani briskly starts assembling the drink the musician's requested, pouring hot milk into a mug, and adding to it two sticks of bitter chocolate before following that up with a dollop of Corellian brandy. Ariani suppresses a smile at her little sister's ebullience, and calmly reaches for a second mug. "Shakla," she points out to Emma as well as the gentleman sitting within hearing range. "Hot chocolate with brandy." Morrison looks down the bar and smiles his gaze lingers on Shenner for a momment and then he remembers, the Jedi fight near the fountain she was there...He meets your eyes and smiles slightly, noding slightly in a polite greeting. Emma prepares the concoction and slides it in front of him. She smiles warmly at Morrison and then goes back to reading her zine. He sips the drink slowly getting some of the chocolate drink on his mustache. Stelita has arrived. Shenner lifts her eyebrows, meeting Morrison's gaze readily enough, and casually inclines her head to the man before taking up her own mug and thanking the woman behind the bar. She turns on the stool, then, her attention on the band; it's a slow night for the musicians, too, and Rekkie and the rest seem to be making music as much for their own enjoyment as that of the patrons, taking time enough to build complicated and intricate melody in the background of what conversation is going on in the place. Stelita looks at you for a moment. Stelita wanders through the door, stopping just inside to gaze quickly around the room. Brushing a stray lock of hair back over her shoulder, she sighs and heads towards the bar. Morrison wipes his mustache again and then flips to a chapter in his book. Those skilled in Old basic would be able to read the cover of Morrison's old book. 'Heart's confessions by B'shal Torana (a renouned Old Republic poet.) The Sandbar's patronage is light tonight -- with mostly just the diehard regulars, here to listen to the band, and most of them are at the tables around the little stage, with one or two up and dancing slowly to the mellow musics being produced. A pair of young women are unabashedly ogling the dark-haired, blue-eyed Corellian drummer, a Twi'lek male might be spotted ogling the Twi'lek female at the keyboards, and at the bar -- though she doesn't appear to be ogling anyone -- Shenner is watching the band as well as she sips at the brandied cocoa in her mug. The bartender, Ariani, turns to Stelita and pleasantly inquires, "What'll it be?" Off at one end of the bar, her little sister Emma is still eagerly devouring that flimsyzine; it'd seem, at least from a glance to the brightly hued cover bearing captions in several languages, that within its pages are the results of reader votes on the allegedly sexiest sentients in the galaxy. Morrison turns another page and sips the chocolate drink. He licks his lips slowly and nods, He looks at Emma and says, "Not bad...not bad at all." He looks back to his book. Soon he closes the book and shoves it into his jacket pocket. He adjusts himself on his seat and then turns, leaning against the bar. He watches the dance floor curiously. Stelita smiles tiredly at Ariani. "Um...just some juice." She speaks absently, still looking around the room as if searching for someone. "What ever you have would be fine, thanks." Emma glances up and giggles -- Emma, being young and perky, seems to giggle easily. "Thank my sister," she advises, gesturing at the bartender. "You want anything else, mister?" And Ariani, in the meantime, says kindly to Stelita, "We've got all kinds of things to drink here; we _are_ a bar. Got a flavor preference for juices?" Shenner musingly taps her fingertips along her mug in time with the band's instrumentals, green eyes going a bit absent with her concentration as she follows the son. Morrison turns around in his seat at the sound of Emma's voice, "I would like a shot of Kallan Whiskey if you have it." He finishes the dark chocolate drink off and then takes out a cheap pack of cigarettes. He lights one up and tosses the burnt match into an ash tray. Stelita turns, smiling more warmly at Ariani. "Sorry, I'm kinda distracted. Um...well...actually no." She sighs, taking a seat, and leaning against the bar-top. "Do you have anything you'd recommend?" Emma bobs her head sagely, putting down her 'zine on a safely unoccupied corner of the bar, leaving it open to several glossy 2-d holos of human and humanoid faces, all male, all quite attractive by humanoid standards. "We sure do, I'll get it!" And she scampers off. Ariani glances sidelong at her bouncy younger sibling, then grins a bit and advises Stelita, "I make a mean fruit smoothie. We've got just about all fruits native to Caspar in our kitchens, and a few we have to import." Stelita smiles at Ariani. "Sounds good to me. One fruit smoothie, with whatever you happen to throw into it." She chuckles, glancing down the bar at where Emma had been. "My sister," drawls Ariani blandly, "is a loyal subscriber to both the flimsy edition and the HoloNet edition of _Sentients_. Excuse me a moment, I'll be right back. Shen, watch the bar for me, would you?" Shenner blinks, straightening up on the stool, and nods her acknowledgement as Ariani steps off into the kitchen for a moment, to get the ingredients she wants. Shen's gaze sweeps up and down the bar, and the redhead then tosses a casual "Evenin'" towards the customer. Stelita smiles, turning her attention towards the greeting. "Hi." She quickly looks the woman over, her eyes not showing any hint of what she's thinking. With a soft sigh, she mutters softly, almost to herself. "Go figure...he won't show." Stelita Standing nearly 5'4" tall, this woman's height is certainly not what makes her stand out. Sparkling emerald green eyes gaze unsettlingly at you from under a thick curtain of black lashes. Her full red lips curve easily and often into a smile. Her hair is a deep, rich rusty-brown colour, shining a coppery-bronze when light reflects at the right angle. She leaves it to cascade down to her lower back. A loose white shirt covers the upper portion of her body, it's neckline modestly placed and it's sleeves full and gathered at the wrist. Over this she wears a black vest, undone and loose. She wears a pair of fitted black pants, tucked into knee-high black boots with a low heel. A simple gold chain, very delicate in it's construction, hangs around her neck, half hidden beneith her clothing. A locket hangs at the base of the chain, a simple-oval shape, but intricately carved with a design even more delicate than the chain. The locket is closed, though upon closer examination, it's possible to see that it may be opened. -=-=-=-=-=-=<>=-=-=-=-=-=- => locket "Men never show up when you want 'em," observes Shenner gruffly, casting a green glance towards Ariani as the bartender emerges from the kitchen with a small bowl full of several colorful fruits, freshly washed. Ariani draws near in time to catch Shenner's remark, and she replies easily, "You're lookin' for the wrong men, kiddo." As Shen turns indignant of eye, the bartender winks at her. Emma, having delivered the whiskey down to the man deeply involved in his book, scoops up her flimsyzine again and bounces over to claim a stool by Shenner, after flashing a cordial smile at Stelita. "You tell 'er, 'Ani," she pipes up, getting herself another indignant snort from the redhead with the mug. Stelita laughs. "At least this one's only my brother, and I can always beat him, right?" SHe smiles at each of the three women gathered in the general area of the bar. "Oh, well, _brothers_ are a different story," says Emma cheerily, apparently quite happy to engage the customer in conversation as long as nobody seems to need her to fetch anything. "Anybody who's related to you doesn't quite count as _men_!" Behind the bar, Ariani deftly chops up the fruits into smaller pieces, and drops each brightly hued chunk into a blender, while putting in dryly, "One girl's brother is another girl's boyfriend, Em." "Do we _have_ to discuss boyfriends and brothers?" Shenner puts in, sounding decidedly cranky about the topic. Stelita smiles. "Bah, men are all a waste of time...I"m sure we can find -something- more interesting to talk about." Emma can be heard to give a little girlish sort of 'hmph!' "You sound like _Shen_," the young waitress complains, though not unkindly. She flicks open her 'zine again, and pronounces over a holo of a tousle-haired Corellian actor, "I wouldn't find HIM a waste of time!" Shenner rolls her eyes, but the glance she flicks over to Stelita has turned a trifle sympathetic. Ariani, in the meantime, fires up the blender, adding its soft noise to the undercurrent of sounds filling the bar, and says conversationally to Stelita, "We're always open for fresh conversation around here, hon. Things have quieted down as of late, but that's just this city, and it's an awful big galaxy." Stelita nods. "Very true...well. Huh..." She begins to chew on her lip gently. "Actually...I don't know what else to talk about." SHe frowns, drumming her fingers on the bar. Ariani chuckles softly. Once the blender shuts off, she adds in some sparkling crushed ice and a dollop of something in the orange juice family. 15 more seconds with the blender, and then the result is poured into a tall, frosted glass and presented to the young woman. "Here you go, then. But don't get Emma started, or she'll yak your ear off." Stelita chuckles, nodding her thanks to Ariani. Taking a quick sip from the glass, her eyes widen. "Wow...that's really good. How much do I owe you for it?" She smiles, reaching one hand into her pocket. "I do NOT!" protests the waitress, hotly. "Just because I don't have any trouble with conversation or gossip or being friendly to people doesn't mean I talk too much!" Without stopping for breath, she asks Stelita eagerly, "Did you hear they're gonna make a holovid of the first Thane Grayson novel? It's going to be riff, and I can't _wait_...!" "Em, let the woman breathe, will ya?" drawls her sister. Shenner, in the meantime, starts at something in the midst of Emma's chatter, and peers over at her. "What was that?" "2.5 credits," Ariani adds sagely to Stelita. "Pay now, or set up a tab for the evening if you wish." Stelita chuckles, looking back in Emma's direction. "No, I hadn't heard that. Thane Grayson, huh?" She shoots a smile towards Ariani, pulling 3 credits out of her pocket, which she promptly hands to her. "Nah, might as well pay now." "Yeah, it says so right here!" chirps the waitress, holding up the 'zine, open to the holo of the Corellian actor. He's a handsome one, all right, with rugged features and unkempt blondish-brown hair, and it would seem that Emma's about to swoon over the fellow any second now. "I just LOVE all those books, and they've cast the part and they're looking for an actress to play the lead and they'll be travelling all over the Rim for planets to shoot on and I just can't--" "Lemme see that," says Shenner abruptly, her voice turning a bit rough, as she reaches over and plucks the 'zine out of Emma's startled fingers. Stelita smiles at Ariani "And keep the extra half-credit...consider it, payment for the conversation." SHe smiles, craning her neck to look over Shenner's shoulder. Ariani inclines her head politely in thanks as she's paid, and stifles an amused grin at the two younger women who also work in the establishment as she tallies the sale into the register computer. Shenner, in the meantime, shoots a surprisingly intense stare at the holo of the actor, before she thrusts the 'zine back at Emma with the terse declaration of "His eyes are the wrong color." "What do you _mean_, his eyes are the wrong color?!" wails Emma. "Did you ever see such a gorgeous shade of blue in your life?" Stelita rolls her eyes at Shenner's comment, and chuckles. "Don't worry...I think she likes him, but doesn't want you to know you have competition." She takes another sip from her smoothie, and grins at Ariani. Shenner waves Ariani over and hands the mug to her, grumbling, "Gimme another shakla, will ya?" And to Emma, she barks, "They're supposed to be hazel." "Hmph," says Emma pertly. To Stelita, she confides, "Shenner has _all nine_ of the novel discs. She even found a couple of them in BOOKS!" Stelita makes the appropriately impressed face for Emma. "I never got to read much as a kid, and now I really don't have time, unless it is involved in work." She sighs. Ariani, keeping a very carefully straight face through all of this, obligingly pours Shenner up another of the brandied cocoas, while her little sister babbles happily to her listener, "Oh, well, you ought to read the Grayson series, they're _awfully_ fun, and they'll be _really_ fun movies 'cause adventure and stuff _always_ makes a good holo, ya know? And..." She heaves an enormous dreamy sigh at the holo on the page before her now that the 'zine is back in her possession. Then she giggles and concludes, "Then again, maybe you should skip the book and go straight to the holovid!" Shenner's expression grows steadily grumpier, and as she's presented her second shakla, she mutters sheepishly, "I like to read, what's the big deal anyway..." Stelita chuckles. "If I have time off work, I might just." She shakes her head, taking another sip from her glass. Turning to Shenner, she smiles. "Absolutely nothing...I wish I had more time to read." "Shenner just won't admit it 'cause she claims she doesn't like Corellians," observes Emma archly, with another giggle and a wink-wink-nudge-nudge sort of expression, though she doesn't actually nudge anyone. Shen, then, seizes on Stelita's proffered opportunity to change the subject. "Yeah, well, work'll do that, what do you do?" Stelita chuckles. 'Don't I know it...." She smiles at Shenner, not forcing any subject on the woman, just making idle chit-chat. Despite her protests to the contrary, Emma seems quite thoroughly prepared to dominate the conversation, as she advises Stelita, "If you DO wanna do the novel discs, you better look for _Thieves of the Sacred Scrolls_ first, 'cause that's the first one in the series, even though it doesn't _happen_ first in the timeline, ya know? But it's really one of the best and it's really got the best heroine, and--" "And table five wants you," puts in Ariani archly to her sister. "Get over there." With a high-pitched squeak, Emma flies up out of her seat and across the room, calling, "I'll be right back!" Shenner can't exactly hide on a stool, though from her posture, she's trying. She slouches down a fraction of a centimeter with each of Emma's breathlessly gushed syllables, and glances after the younger girl in startled relief when she scurries off, as if she can't quite believe she's gotten a reprieve. "Gah," she mutters. Stelita chuckles, looking towards Ariani. 'Looks like you have your hands full there..." She turns, watching the younger girl with her eyes, shaking her head slightly. "Sometimes I wish I still had that kind of enthusiasm." "Emma's usually not quite so bouncy," says Ariani amusedly. "But it's a quiet night, and she usually doesn't have new holos of that gent there to melt over." She inclines her head towards the 'zine. Shenner can be heard to mutter, "She keeps up that bouncing, I ain't gonna be up for the second set tonight at this rate. Aigh." Stelita chuckles. "Still, I can wish." She looks at the 'zine. "And hey, when I was her age, I read them too." Shenner gulps down a mouthful of shakla, and mutters lowly, "His eyes are still the wrong color." Astute observation for someone who's apparently doing a very good job of pointedly avoiding looking at the glossy pages. "They gonna make a holo, they can frekkin' well get his eyes right!" Ariani's eyebrows go up, and she glances playfully at Stelita while observing blandly, "Oh, I dunno, Shen, blue eyes like that, it'd be a crime to change their color." Stelita catches Ariani's look, and nods. 'Kind of a deep blue...you know? The kind you always dream of staring deeply into..." Morrison grinds his cigarette out and turns back around on his seat. He reaches into his jacket pocket and pulls out a brown leather backed notepad. He takes a well used, but cheap looking pen from his upper breast pocket and begins jotting on it. The holographic visage of Jacob Rawn Deegan, in addition to short unkempt sandy hair, five o'clock shadow and a tan that speaks of time under the suns of many, many worlds, does indeed possess eyes of a deep blue vivid hue. Shenner grimaces at both Ariani and Stelita, rising up off the stool to stare with critically narrowed eyes at the actor's picture. Text in Basic and Sarian surrounds it -- this 'zine is the Caspar edition of _Sentients_, after all -- and Shen scans the picture, the text, and the bio sheet on Mr. Deegan, before making a noise of audible derision. Ariani slips a surreptitious wink at Stelita, and goes on in expressively meaningful tones, "Mm-hrmm. Preferably while the fellow in question has his arms around ya and is about to do something delicious." Stelita grins. "Oh...isn't that so true! And the more private the location, the better, right?" Morrison looks up at the women's conversation and grins. He chuckles slightly and continues writing. He again raises his head and looks around, as if trying to find someone. His eyes find Shenner once again and he watches her for a few seconds, then looks back to his pad before he thinks she notices. All this time, the band has kept gamely up with their next number, something of a sprightlier tempo that's coaxed a few more people up out of their seats to dance. Apparently, table five includes someone who's on very good terms with Emma, for with a startled but delighted squeal, the girl is swept off by a young Sarian who's decided to distract her as long as she's obviously on break. Ariani keeps one third of her attention on her sister, one third on the bar at large, and one third on the conversation, as she nods wisely to Stelita. "And the fun thing about them makin' a holo of _Thieves of the Sacred Scrolls_ is," she remarks knowingly, "is that they'll _have_ to shoot the bit where... what's her name... oh yeah, Miriam! When she's tending his poor battered self..." She casts a wry glance down at the 'zine's pages, a glance that speaks volumes of interest in performing some tender loving care upon the person of Mr. Deegan. "Lots more fun to see it acted out than read it, wouldn't you agree?" Shenner, through all of this, most assuredly doesn't notice the scrutiny of the fellow down at the other end of the bar, for Shenner is far too busy blushing furiously at Ariani's teasing. "So he's good-looking," she mutters grumpily. "Big deal. He's Corellian. The whole damned planet's covered with good-lookin' men." Stelita arches her eyebrow. "It'd be much more fun to actually be performing the tender loving care then watching or reading it!" She winks side-long at Ariani. Morrison looks up at the conversation and adds his own commentary, "So a powder puffed movie star is the going idea of manhood around here eh?" He looks at Ariani raising an eyebrow, "You see alot in this place so how would you describe the ideal man?" As Morrison joins in on the conversation, Ariani starts, but only mildly. "You're asking me, friend," she inquires in unruffled tones, "or all of us?" Shenner slouches against the bar, pointedly taking down determined sips of her second shakla. Her expression and stance quite blatantly broadcast that she does NOT want to be participating in the topic at hand. Stelita takes a sip of her smoothie, now quite a bit more liquidy than before, but still quite good. "Nah, they aren't man-hood, just nice to look at. And talk about, and hold..." She winks at Ariani. "Isn't that right, Shen?" She frowns. 'That is what Ariani called you, isn't it?" Morrison looks dead into Ariani's eyes, "I was asking anyone who wanted to answer." He looks at Stelita and then to Ariani, "So, what is a man to you Ariani? A powdered show-boy, like the sort our lady friend overthere seems to prefer? What?" His voice probes, but is soft and warm non the less. He smiles at Ariani and then tips his whiskey up and drains it. Shenner snaps, "I didn't say I preferred him, did I?" She is, however, still violently blushing, a shade of red that stands out vividly with her pale complexion. The bartender leans back against her counter and chuckles. "Well, if you want my two credits, friend, the ideal man doesn't exist. Closest most of us get are the idols in the media." She considers, then laughs huskily, tapping the weathered-looking countenance of Jacob Deegan on the open 'zine's pages. "Though in this fellow's defense, I'll note that if they've cast him for the part of Thane Grayson, that won't exactly be _easy_. Especially if he does any of his own stunts." She winks again to Stelita, as she adds, "I've read some of those books too." Stelita laughs. "I have to agree with you about the ideal man, Ariani." She sighs. "Ok, now you guys have me interested...I want to read the books, but don't have time. Thanks." SHe chuckles, then turns to Morrison. "And I prefer other pilots over the powder-boys, as you call them, thanks." Morrison looks over at Stelita, "I've seen some pretty rough pilots, you might want to reconsider that one...." his comment is more of a jest then anything else said in a jokingly light hearted tone. He looks back to Ariani and says, "He works hard yeah. But there are plenty of men better then him floating around I'm sure. I mean, hell, i wouldn't have any of those holo-babes over a real woman..." He pushes his glass over to Ariani, "Fill that up with Flame-out please." He glances down the bar at Shenner, but doesn't say anything to her. The band plays on in the background, a more upbeat tune. Stelita chuckles. "Bah, they aren't all that bad...and if they are, well, you put 'em in their place." She flexer her arms, and grins before taking another sip from her half-empty glass. Shenner mutters a single short affirmative noise to Stelita as the other young woman asks about her name, her only contribution to the entire discussion at hand. Her mouth has drawn up into a short line, and she's lifted a slim hand unconsciously to the silver-and-brass necklace dangling on its chain around her throat. Ariani nods obligingly, taking up Morrison's glass and moving to mix up the drink he's requested. "But in the absence of the ideal man, if I have a choice in the matter I'll just take a guy who loves me for my mind and my body both. He doesn't have to be drop-dead sexy" -- she grins down at the 'zine, briefly -- "but easy on the eyes helps." Divk enters the Sandbar. Divk has arrived. Divk steps into the cantina and casts a glance around, then strides confidently to the bar. Morrison glances over Ariani and raises an eyebrow, "Finding a man to do that shouldn't be too hard. Looks like you have the body and mind department covered." He looks at Stelita and says, "I'm getting too old to keep young runt fly-boys in-line. Even if I wanted to. So you're a pilot? What sort of ship do you fly?" He takes the flameout from Ariani with a smile and sips it. The band on stage is continuing along with its dance number, and the gathered sentients before them on the little dance floor are getting into the spirit of things. Emma's Sarian friend reluctantly lets her return to work, though, and the girl scampers off to check on some of the tables she's allegedly responsible for. Meanwhile, at the bar, Shenner's tense stance relaxes just a trifle as the conversational topic seems to start to shift. Stelita smiles. "I fly...well, I race swoops, but more often I fly freighters for my brother." Ariani smiles warmly to Morrison, in acknowledgement of the compliment, and says wryly, "I'll keep that in mind." She turns away, though, as a few more customers amble into the place, moving off to attend to them. But as she goes, she casts a glance over the figure of Shenner and reaches over to pat the redheaded musician on the shoulder. Shen starts, then grudgingly half-smiles to the bartender in silent appreciation of the gesture. Morrison sips his drink some more and then looks to Stelita, "Your brother owns freighters? He must be pretty powerful? My name is Morrison Van Sen, what's yours?" he asks extending his hand to the young woman. Divk watches the waitress bring his Corellian Ale and a glass as she figures his vector and intercepts him a the chosen stool. He pulls a wad from a pocket and peels a 20 cred note from under the syntherband around it and hands it to her as he sits, smileling at her. Stelita smiles, extending her hand towards Morrison. "Stelita Grishic. Pleased to meet you." SHe takes another sip from her drink, and nods. "He's not all that powerful, but he's getting there." Stelita finishes her drink, and stands. With a sigh, she smiles at each of her fellow conversationalists. "Thanks for the fun, guys, but I gotta run." She chuckles. 'I have a brother to beat, you know." With a wave, she heads towards the door. Shenner finishes off her shakla, watching Ariani as the bartender neatly attends to the new customers that have come in, and then glances off gravely towards the band, watching them play one of their standard near-to-the-end-of-the-set numbers. She's still got one hand on that little necklace of hers; with the other, she reaches over and hastily closes the open flimsyzine still lying on the bar, hiding the rugged countenance of the actor previously gossiped over from view. She then glances up and manages a slight grin to Stelita. Divk pours his drink and takes a sip. Stelita begins to say something else but pauses and looks at her small jeweled chrono. "Excuse me, It was nice meeting you Morrison, but I have to go." She smiles to the women and returns Shenner's grin as she leaves. Trace has arrived. Trace(#2642DVp) A young Corellian of probably about 25 years of age. His looks however, are boyish in a way, a rather ingenuous quality about his features that is unusual in a Corellian male. Brown hair is cut in a loose style, his clothes casually attractive in cut and fit. Brown eyes observe everything with a mix of interest, curiousity, and a hint of amusement. With a muscular build and a tan that speaks of hard physical labor and a job that keeps him outside on sunnier locations than this planet, he is both easy on the eye and nonthreatening in appearance. Ariani moves back to Shenner, and chuckles softly, scooting the flimsyzine with its brightly hued cover safely out of the way of passing mugs and glasses. "It'll be a fun holo," she tells the young woman cheerily. "Tell ya what, when it comes out, you and me, we'll go. My treat." Shenner mutters, "I still say he ougtta have hazel eyes..." But Ariani's gesture is obviously appreciated; the girl's tense expression eases a bit, and the older woman beams at her. The door obediently parts to allow another patron to enter as two others leave. Not exactly a fair exchange, but such is business. Running a casual hand through his hair, scattering water droplets as he does so, Trace's eyes narrow for a moment, casting about the establishment. He doesn't seem to be looking for anyone in particular ... just looking. Morrison grunts as the woman exits. He turns back to his writing. Picking up his pen he begins to write pausing only to catch a glance of Ariani bent over the bar talking to Shenner. He smiles and pulls out his cigarettes. He lights another one and coughs quietly. Divk listens to the hum of the cantina and looks down the bar at the couple talking, he returns his gaze forward and sits quietly sipping at his drink. "I'll even spring for the snacks," promises Ariani, grinning broadly. The incoming customer catches her ever-alert gaze, and she calls over to Trace in affable greeting, "What'll it be, hmmm?" Ariani Ariani's frame is all lithe muscle and grace. Short, auburn hair frames her face with bouncy curls. Steel-gray eyes keep watch over the patrons, making sure no one drinking has an empty glass. An emerald body suit shows almost everycontour of her muscular body and is only partially covered by a waist-length black bomber jacket and a vicious, gleaming blaster. Warm brown eyes, glinting with good humor, lift to catch Ariani's grey gaze. He shifts his direction, planning originally to have a bite to eat, but the idea of sitting at a table by himself seems not only dull and lonely, but wasteful of space. "That depends," he calls back lightly, noting the redhead sitting at the bar from which Ari calls out to him. "Need a bite to eat ... things ran late during the question and answer session ... do I have to take a table to eat, or will the bar suffice?" Her second shakla gone, Shenner peers for a moment into her mug as if regretting that she's got nothing else in there to polish off. With one hand on the mug and her other still absently fiddling with the pendant, she seems torn... until Trace's voice catches her attention. The redheaded musician starts, her gaze snapping around in the newcomer's direction. "Trace!" Ariani's eyebrows go up as Shen greets the young man, but she's an unflappable lady -- she is, after all, a bartender. "Eat wherever you like, as long as you don't make a mess," she advises kindly. Divk looks briefly at his reflection in the window and enjoys his cool drink. He listens casually to the talk around the bar. Drawing up close, Trace greets Shen with a casual nod and a warm smile. "Heya Shenner." Raising his gaze to Ariani's coyly, he murmurs richly, "What, do I look like I was raised in a barn or something?" But the Corellian takes a gander at the muscles in his forearm, his dark tan, and the casual work clothes adorning his figure. The smile turns into a wry grin as he quickly adds, "Don't answer that." Ariani sweeps her grey gaze up and down Trace's lean frame, and merely asks, "So what can we get you, pal?" She's amused, though, it's obvious enough in her expression and eyes. Shenner, greeted, watches Trace as he and Ariani banter back and forth. The girl's still got her necklace absentmindedly draped through her fingers, though she's set down her mug; the gaze she's turned on the young man is bemused, half distinctly pleased, half nervous. Morrison chuckles at the man's comment. He looks down the bar at the guy with shenner and reaches in his pocket. He pulls out a well worn pocket knife and opens the somewhat stained blade. He leans back and begins scraping some grime from under his finger nails. Pausing in his task he reaches forward and takes a sip of his Flameout. Finishing he folds the knife up and places it back in his pocekt. He glances at Ariani and says, "Better watch those guys in the corner. They may cause problems for your sister." Emma arrives from the bar, red faced and angry. Settling himself into a seat a few down from Shen, as if aware somehow that she might not relish his presence -too- close to her own, Trace winks at the redhead before answering Ari, "Well, a menu would be good to start, but I think it'll need some sort of dipping sauce to make it palatable till the actual food arrives." Trace's gaze is mild and the tease is not expected to be taken, like a fisherman who knows that no matter what the bait, there are just some fish that don't bite. Emma Emma is Ariani's younger sister who has recently relocated to Plaxton City. She beams as she talks to you, and seems to be a neverending fount of energy. The physical simalarities between Emma and her sister are few, except for the same sparkling grey eyes. Emma's long, fine blonde hair is pulled up in a high pony-tail and a smattering of light freckles adorn her nose and cheeks. She wears a light-blue tunic underneath a brown vest, and deep brown leggings. Divk smiles into his glass as it nears his lips. Ariani casts a glance in her sister's direction, and then another off towards the corner, taking stock of the patrons back there. But with a customer right here to deal with, she doesn't yet move over to check on Emma. Her smile is entirely amiable and professional even if her attention is now slightly distracted, as she produces a printed flimsy for Trace's perusal. "We've got pretty much simple fare, but here's what we've got. You just sing out if you see something that looks good." Shenner smiles crookedly to Trace, her attention still on him. "Uh, the traladon sandwiches are pretty good," she offers gruffly. "We got fresh bread made up tonight, too." Glancing up from the bit of flimsy, Trace's eyes flicker over toward Shen before he tells the lady behind the bar, "Shen will order for me then ... the traladon sandwich ... with something on the side?" He gaze remains on Shenner, asking her to fill in the missing side dish. "And a glass of Corellian beer." Shenner blinks. "Oh... uh... howsabout the spiced crisps?" the girl offers, a bit flailingly. Ariani's eyebrows climb a bit higher, but nary a comment does she make as she pours up Trace's beer for him. Once this is done, she adds, "We'll have that food up for you in just a bit." With that, Ariani steps off to flag down her sister -- both for the obvious purpose of getting her to go build the sandwich, and the unobvious purpose of checking on her. Divk pours the remaining drink from the bottle into the glass. Webb enters the Sandbar. Webb has arrived. Emma, off at the end of the bar, can be seen to square her shoulders as she exchanges lowly murmured words with her sister. Ariani casts a significant glance off to that corner with the pair of rowdy spacers, and fingers her blaster a moment before sending the girl off into the kitchen. It doesn't take long before Emma returns with a large sandwich on a platter and a bowl of baked and spiced crisps to go with it. The young waitress summons up a limpid smile for Trace as she presents him his meal. "Here you go," she pipes. A soft gust of wind sweeping through the Sandbar indicates that the doors have opened once again, only to close soon after they have admitted the newcomer. Though it apparently isn't raining outside at the moment, the feeling of the air would indicate to some that another shower, or perhaps even a storm is on the way soon enough. Silently, though with movements that might betray a tiny hint of weariness, Webb picks his way over to one of the empty bar stools. Smiling up at the young woman brightly, her face and name remaining with him from their brief meeting a few nights ago, he replies with genuine enthusiasm, "Thank you Emma ... you look lovely tonight." There is a wink that accompanies the young man's charming smile, and though in a bar such a comment could be taken the wrong way, there is no artifice in either his voice or his features. Flexing one arm, his gaze flickering to where the trouble was noticed, if not outwardly responded to, he murmurs low, "You just let me know if you want me to beat anyone up for you, y'hear? After all, we farm folk don't take kindly to rude spacers annoying nice ladies." And Shen, in a movement unconscious enough to be born of habit, slips her small pendant back down behind her shirt. She's missed the apparent interest of the 'gentlemen' back in the corner for Ariani's perky little sister, but she does catch the slightly askew expression Emma's wearing. And she starts as Trace turns on the charm, peering oddly at the young man, as if she suddenly doesn't recognize him. Emma, however, blushes and giggles, even as she chirps, "I will, I promise!" Divk notices as the tall man leaves only to be replaced by another man, and sips the drink as he watches him approach the bar by looking into the window's reflection. He finishes his drink and sits the empty glass down. He gathers the change and leaves a good tip as he stands to leave. Ariani, in the meantime, espies Webb's entry, and turns to him with an ever so slightly tired smile. "Evenin', Sergeant," she hails him. "Citrus tea for you?" Webb's eyes scan left and right at the other patrons within the establishment (Divk probably yields a fraction of a second more attention than the others in his vicinity for some reason), the grey orbs of his irises visible just over the rims of his sunglasses. He tilts his head slightly to one side as he settles onto the barstool, and answers Ariani in a tone of voice that combines dead-calmness with the distant tone of one on the verge of being lost in thought, "Yeah. Just tea." "You got it," is Ariani's easy reply -- easy now that she's keeping an eye on those two spacers back there. One of them has nudged the other and they've exchanged slightly unsettled expressions, having gotten a good look at the blaster Ariani sports at her side. Maybe, just maybe, they'll behave... perhaps they're not as drunk as they look. Divk looks at the man as she refers to him as 'sergeant' and nods in his direction as he walks confidentaly to the exit. Divk walks out of the Sandbar and the door closes automatically. Divk has left. Another wink is offered as Trace reaches over to brush a hand against Emma's arm in a gesture both casually friendly, and yet also subtly flirtatous. "You do that," he rumbles with a look of approval. "You can call on me," and his eyes lower meaningfully as he teases, "any time of the day or night ..." Emma's earlier annoyance at the spacers positively melts away, her pretty young face lighting up. "For _anything_?" she breathes, in tones that suggests she finds Trace absolutely dreamy. Shenner, watching this, doesn't seem surprised by _Emma's_ behavior -- this is the girl who was swooning over the actor in the flimsyzine an hour ago, after all -- but she _does_ gape at Trace. It takes her a few moments before she clears her throat and glances seemingly randomly around the bar, looking a bit as if she'd just walked in on a couple having sex. Her gaze falls on Webb, and as if grateful for the distraction, she lifts a hand and waves halfheartedly at him. Taking a bite of the sandwich she made for him, Trace's eyes roll in his head, his eyes gleaming with amusement as he raptures, "For a woman who can make a sandwich this good, she can ask me for -anything-." And perhaps for a young girl easily smitten, his words seem too good to be true. For those a bit older, or perhaps just a little more worldly, it is clear that he is merely flirting lightly with her, but not true intention of taking advantage of the girl is anywhere near the Corellian's mind. Which is rather odd, come to think of it, for a Corellian. Webb sits there more or less silently for a few seconds, before finally plucking off the pair of sunglasses and setting them upon the bar in front of him as he waits for his drink. As he watches the skewed reflection of the room in the mirrored lenses, he asks of Ariani, "So how's business going tonight?" before he finally looks up at Shenner and answers her wave with one of his own, keeping the gesture fairly (unnecessarily) subtle. "Mostly quiet," is Ariani's steady reply, "except for the regulars who come in to listen to the band." She inclines her short-curled head off towards the band, who've been persuaded by the audience to extend the set. Loren is currently pounding away on a drum solo, much to the delight of a pair of young Twi'leks who are writhing energetically in the center of an improvised, albeit tiny, circle of dancers. "The rest of us have had time for gossip, and a few other things." She flicks her little sister a wise and knowing glance, and seems unruffled by Trace's attentions to her -- Ariani, apparently, qualifies as both older and worldly. "I'll remember," gushes Emma, her smile going ear to ear now. "I gotta go, though!" This is delivered with obvious regret, as a wave from one of her tables sends her scampering off again, her last word ending in a squeak. Shenner, in the meantime, rasps at Trace, "Better, uh, eat before your sandwich gets cold..." Never mind that the sandwich _came_ cold. It takes Shen a beat or two before she realizes this, and she coughs again, trying to cover the slip. Turning back to Shen after offering Emma a cheery wave, one brow raises up curiously. "Ahhh, thanks for the tip," he replies, Trace's wry smile is evidence that he is fully aware of the fact that his sandwich, indeed, was never even remotely warm. His gaze, however, rests upon Shen in a most penetrating fashion, as if he were to stare at her long enough, she would squirm out of her skin and reveal what was going on behind those emerald green eyes. Trace Dimitrik has been known to outstare ciffcats on occasion, and those brown eyes seem more than content to delve past Shen's crumbling defenses. The musician restlessly shifts position, first sitting bolt upright on her stool and then very carefully and deliberately resuming a slouch against the bar, though it's a attempted look of relaxation that doesn't quite make it into her face. "No problem," she croaks as steadily as she can, her chin lifted up as if to proclaim 'yeah, I meant to say that.' Webb turns his sunglasses slightly so that the mirrored lenses show a slightly less distorted image of Trace and Emma, then casts his glance back to Ariani. A faint smirk crosses his face momentarily, "I see." Apparently the antics of Trace and Emma are not of much interest to Webb beyond that. He takes another quick glance about the bar and says, "Yeah, it doesn't exactly look hectic." Pouring up Webb's favorite tea for him, Ariani chuckles lowly. "Hot topics of the evening have been upcoming holofilms and what is considered to be the ideal man. Aside from Loren up there on the drums, yeah, it's been slow tonight. Can't say that I mind, though." The scents of the tea begin to waft up out of the mug as the woman pours hot water over the mix of spices and other flavorings. His warm brown gaze pinions Shen, unwilling to quite release her yet. He takes another bite of his sandwich, chewing it thoughtfully before offering to the redhead. "You made a good call ... it really is delicious." There is a small pause before he asks curiously, "Wanna bite?" There is the ever so subtle sense of a double entendre there ... or maybe it's just the Corellian in him. Loren's solo ends, and the young Corellian drummer flashes a fierce grin around the stage as appreciative squeals erupt from a pair of youngsters hanging out at one of the stageside tables. Karm and Tethra's horns come in on sharp accents to punctuate the resuming melody line belted out by Aa'leet's keyboards and Rekkie's guitar. And then Rekkie herself comes in on the chorus, growling out her lyrics with vigor. The dancing keeps up, the Twi'leks still holding their own in the middle of the little dance floor. Shenner lifts her gaze up to Trace's own, and her expression's a veiled one. But she abruptly sits up, watching him all the while, before leaning forward to nip a corner off the sandwich in his hand. She leans back as swiftly as she'd darted forward; she chews, she swallows, and then she replies in a single rough syllable, "Thanks." Webb watches the hot water pouring into the mug, his eyes following the cloud of colour that spreads through the water as the tea brews. The faint smirk reappears again as he comments, "The ideal man, eh? Was there a clear winner in the debate?" Hmm. Already Webb has engaged in substantially more 'small talk' than is normal for him when he shows his face in the bar. Normally he's either much more quiet, or much more spirited in his discussions. Ariani gives another husky bit of laughter. The tea poured, she lets it steep, casting another look up and down the length of the bar and starting ever so slightly as she discovers that the tableau of Trace and Emma has been replaced by one of... Trace and Shen. The bartender's eyebrows climb toward her hairline, and only after a beat does she turn back to Webb to observe wryly, "Well, two out of three women consulted claimed there ain't no such animal." "Not much of a bite there Shen," murmurs the Corellian, his eyelids dropping fractionally, a lazy gaze. "Feel free to take a better sample of what I'm offering you ... there's plenty to share." The sandwich is still extended, and Trace reaches blindly for his glass of beer, finding it with surprising accuracy for a man who only has eyes for the woman sitting before him. "The spicy crisps are up for grabs too," he notes. Food always makes for such a handy analogy. "Hmph," is Shenner's gruff response. She sits up again, considering, and then all at once she slides over to claim the empty stool that had been the only thing between her and the Corellian at the bar. Once she sits again, she's got her back to the band, and she's reaching with one hand for the bowl of crisps. "I never turn down free food," she states. Her other hand reaches for a moment towards her throat... perhaps towards the silver chain glinting, half-hidden by her collar. Her fingers flex unconsciously for a moment, and then she abruptly lays that hand down on the bar, fingertips tapping out a silent accompaniment to Loren's beat. Webb follows Ariani's gaze, looking back over his shoulder towards the other section of the bar in question for a split second, before looking back again in something resembling a double-take. Not that he looks shocked in even the remotest sense, but the spectacle was just odd enough in his mind to warrant a second, somewhat more studious look, before he looks back to Ariani and comments, "Quiet, but not normal, I see. So what was the third opinion?" His eyes release hers, shifting to the band for a moment and then back again. Like a thread, the tension and line of teasing has been cut, the Corellian releasing Shen with an easy smile. "Well, seems I'm often in the habit of doling the stuff out." Although he doesn't really mind, Trace cannot help but recall a certain bag of replaced groceries on Corellia ... and many meals supplied while Shen stayed with him on Calamari. She hadn't really liked it much, he mused, after that first night she had insisted on sleeping on the floor ... but she'd taken his food then just as she was taking it now. There is a distinct range of expressions and control over them going on in the bar tonight, that's for sure. On one end is Emma, as easy to read as the day on Caspar is wet; on the other, Webb, his face the very picture of practiced calm. Ariani falls somewhere in the middle, closer to Webb's end of the range than her sister's, but not quite so studiously controlled, for she can't quite hide her blatant astonishment that Shenner has closed the distance between herself and the Corellian customer. The two young people aren't quite in earshot of her at this point, not with Shen's words delivered only loud enough for Trace to hear her. But if Ariani's face is any indication, the bartender's getting mighty curious about this fellow sitting with the Sandbar's youngest musician. To Webb's question, she finally distractedly replies, "Shen didn't give an opinion..." Shenner doesn't quite meet Trace's gaze as her hand alights just over the bowl, taking up one of the morsels within it without bringing it to her mouth. "Yeah," she mutters hoarsely. "I been... I've been... meaning to tell you, pal... thanks. I mean... for everything...." If she was hoping to disarm him, she has taken the right tack. The Corellian flushes at her words, his gaze shifting down before he turns to face the bar taking a long draught from his beer. After all, isn't this the exact thing that he's been both priding and chiding himself over? The woman is -dangerous- he muses, eyes sidling over to hers with a bright innocent smile to hide his thoughts. And while he feels chivalrous in some ways, he also can't help but associate himself with the poor schmoo in the holofilms that is the stock character of "the good friend" ... the one that goes through all the hoops, gets the crap beat out of him, and does all the leg work ... but never gets the girl. "Hey," he rasps goodnaturedly, "quit it, you'll make my head swell." That comment of Trace's makes Shenner look up, her gaze lingering unreadably on him and that guileless smile he's proferring her. There's not a trace of guile in her own features, though, as she pauses to look for words. Then, earnestly, she tells him, "No, I mean it... I... was pretty messed up on Calamari and... you were the first one that helped me start gettin' my head back together. I owe ya for that, and hells, for savin' my life before too. So, um, look... you wanna... do that dinner and walk on the beach thing, maybe...? Ain't that what you suggested... back on Corellia...?" Webb nods faintly and reaches across to draw his cup of tea closer, though he seems content to let it steep for a while longer as he looks down into the mug, only to find his reflection gazing back at himself impassively, "Damn. And here I was figuring if you polled three women, at least one of them would have described me to a tee." Webb's smirk reappears, as if to silently tack the word, "NOT!" onto the end of his statement. She's done it. Done the impossible. Shenneret Veery has actually shocked a Corellian. Trace straightens fractionally, his eyes widening and blinking in surprise. "I ... dinner and a walk ... ahhh, sure, sounds like fun. Sounds great ..." He seems almost a touch flustered, because without thinking, sandwich being held right there in his hand he sputters, "Now?" Distracted anew by Webb for all that she keeps casting palpably intrigued glances in the direction of Shenner and that dark-haired young man, Ariani turns back to her other customer with a casual smile. "I'll poll a different set next time," she promises him. Webb takes another casual glance at Trace and Shenner, before he looks back at Ariani and mutters faintly to Ariani, "You look as if you just witnessed a cold snap in the nine planes of hell," as he flicks his hand in a subtle gesture towards the two further down the bar, before he takes his first sip of tea. If Shenner's aware of the significance of this date -- shocked a Corellian?! Quick, mark the calendar! -- she doesn't give any sign of it. Instead, she inhales one of the crisps, and once it's gone, she drops her gaze down to the bartop and rolls her slender shoulders in a shrug. "Whenever's... good, I guess," she mutters. Ariani, eyes still on the redhead and her companion, murmurs back to Webb, "Yeah, well, you tell me, Sergeant, are my eyes deceiving me or is Shen actually _conversing_ with a man?" There is a long quiet moment where Trace simply considers the woman sitting next to him. Her enthusiasm is only a fraction short of someone being offered the choice of death by firing squad or death by lethal injection. Taking another bite of his sandwich, finishing it off, Trace pulls back about him the clothes of a Corellian. Charm and confidence. "Hey, look," he offers her reasonably, "it's not like you owe me anything. Don't put yourself out on my account." The beer is equally quickly finished. No one likes to be offered a date out of obligation. To a Corellian it is close to a mortal sin ... unless the individual in question has been set up and guilted into the offer. Shenner looks up again, giving her companion a steady, wordless stare. There's something edgy in her expression, a palpable restlessness -- but there's also a need lurking somewhere under there, too. "I wanna do it," she says after a long pause, her voice very quiet, utterly earnest, sounding somehow younger. "I... missed ya." Webb half-shrugs one shoulder slightly and arches one eyebrow up a few millimetres as he lowers his cup of tea from his lips. No, he wouldn't think a conversation between Shenner and a member of the male gender to be too unusual. After all, Shenner and Webb have reasonably friendly conversations from time to time. But then, there's conversing (like Shenner talking to Webb) and _conversing_ (like the present discussion between Shenner and Trace). For a moment he remains silent as he weighs the available data, before he finally responds to Ariani's question with a simple nod, "Right on target..." Eyes lift, a little darker and more somber than they were before. He doesn't consider the move at all, his hand drifting down to lightly catch up one of Shen's hands, thumb brushing the back of her knuckles. "You have, huh?" he queries in return, perhaps a little surprised that she would even think of him. There is something in her response that causes Trace's pulse to shift, beat a little faster. He shifts in his seat before squeezing her hand slightly, uncertain if the physical contact is pushing things too far already. "Okay ... when?" Ariani is now coming as close as Ariani ever gets to gaping, grey eyes gone wide as she takes in the sight of Trace reaching for the young musician's hand. This isn't the first time the bartender has witnessed Shen's hand being held, but you couldn't tell that from her expression. "I'll say," she mutters to Webb in amazement. "I'll hafta keep an eye on that one..." And Shenner, unaware that her self-appointed watchdog is now watching her and Trace with all the avidness of a mother keeping tabs on her teenage daughter on her first date, squeezes Trace's hand in reply. Her grip slackens, but she doesn't release his hand, focusing hard on the feel of his palm against hers. "I can take tomorrow night off," she tells him. "Tomorrow night," Trace echoes, a strange little smile coming cross his face - one of a long wait, a difficult investment, finally paying off. "It's a date," he offers as confirmation and congratulation. Cocking his head to one side, he murmurs, "Care to walk me home ... make sure no bad guys try to coldcock me and drag me down some alley?" The teasing is back, but those eyes are still dark and wondering ... and perhaps a little excited to top it off. Shenner's answering smile is equally small, equally strange, especially in conjunction with the dark earnest clarity of her eyes. "Well, if you're gonna be in danger," is her answer, "guess I'm gonna hafta come with ya... practice my first aid or somethin'..." Her smile turns stranger, as she abruptly remembers the teasing Ariani and Stelita had been giving her earlier that evening... but under no circumstances is she telling _Trace_ this. Now, with her grammar deteriorating, making her sound rather like the Shenner Trace first met months and months ago, she adds, "I passed a first aid course, ya know..." Webb regards Ariani's expression with a hint of amusement, before a certain resemblance between the expression of the bartender and memories from his past bring about a certain distant look to Webb. Yes, he can remember a certain other fearsome red-haired woman watching over /him/ and a certain female aquaintance from his past in a similar manner of scrutiny. The only thing he says is a faint, "Hmm..." Slipping off from his seat, her hand a trophy he has no intention of letting go of just yet, Trace murmurs, "You pass with flying colors," the words more a compliment than a acknowledgement of her medical skills. Softly, eyes again dark with a subtle hint of need, Trace murmurs in a low nearly seductive tone, "Then walk with me Shen ... " his hand tugging on hers as he shifts toward the doorway out. Nodding distractedly in acknowledgement to Webb, Ariani can resist the urge no longer. She tries to close the distance between herself and the two young people, only to find Trace and Shen getting up, hand in hand, the Corellian leading the girl to the door. "Wha--" The bartender blinks several times, and then calls out, "Uh, Shen -- second set...?" "Cover for me, 'Ani," calls Shen in reply, her tone low and rough, not turning her head once as Trace escorts her to the door. Ariani, Shenner is sure, must be gaping after her. It doesn't take too much of a stretch of imagination to guess that Emma, the band... and especially Loren... must be thunderstruck as well, or at least that they very well soon will be. But truth be told, Shenner's rather close to gaping herself as she accompanies Trace out of the Sandbar, her hand in his, acutely conscious of the contact of their fingers. _What am I doing?!_ she demands of herself, yet, something drives her to keep at the Corellian's side as they head out into the night. Certain that her voice must sound odd and hoarse to him -- it certainly does to her -- she asks him once they hit the streets, "So... um. Where we goin', pal?" Bobbing his head down the street, Trace murmurs, "I'm staying at the Oceanside Inn," a swank establishment indeed. There is the slightest trace of a blush along the Corellian's features, as if the posh quality of his accomodations were something of an embarrassment to him. "I have a sponsorship and they want me to look good," he mumbles in explanation. His fingers rub gently against Shen's own, his thumb brushing her knuckles in an oddly casual and yet sensual gesture. "And here I thought academic types were concerned about... well, budgets and stuff," protests Shenner, though granted all the academic types she can think of offhand are limited to exactly three: Molari Canto, Marcus Crowley, and Xavier Nighman. The elder Nighman's stern visage flashing across the back of her mind is unavoidably followed by that of Xavier Paul Nighman Junior, and she swallows down a lump in her throat. Her fingers flutters slightly in Trace's grasp, though she doesn't retrieve her hand from him. "Conferences are different," he murmurs in a quiet drawl. "Everyone is out to make a good impression, win some grant money. "Got to show it to get it." Trace shrugs, squeezing Shen's fingers reassuringly as they turn down a side street, the impressive hotel glittering above them a few more clocks away. Shen's seen impressive hotels before -- though, granted, not too often, and the last one she can remember setting foot in was on Palanhi. That, inevitably, brings her another mental flash of Paul, and she has to fight down an urge to stop in nervousness, to turn around, to go back the way she came. _Get a grip, street rat,_ she orders herself, and by way of complying with her own stern inner voice, she firms her hold on Trace's hand. "Must get a great view of the beach from there, huh?" she opines, trying to steady her voice and hide the rasp within it. Swinging their conjoined hands back and forth lazily, Trace considers the idea of a view before chuckling. "No, I have one of the smalletst rooms available and no view to speak of. The need to impress only goes so far as the name of the hotel." His brown gaze shifts town to rest on Shen's averted features. "But the view here isn't worth much in my opinion ... rains too much," complains the Corellian without bitterness. The entrance is now only a block away, and Trace's feet slow down as they draw closer. "It's pretty... wet here, yeah," Shenner agrees. She slows too as her companion does, looking nervously in all directions, too nervous to look more than fleetingly at Trace for all that she now has a solid grip on his hand. "Somethin' of a pain, can't play outside on the beach too much... bad for my instruments." Grinning, Trace chuckles, squeezing Shen's hand reflexively once again. "I bet ... hell on wood." He draws to a stop, several feet away from the main entrance, the shadow of a tree offering the pair a small semblence of privacy. Turning to face Shen, the Corellian gazes down, one hand reaching up to lightly clasp her upper arm, thumb rubbing through the fabric of her clothes. "Thanks fer walkin' me "home" ... keeping me safe on these dangerous streets." His smile is contagious and teasing. Shenner turns to face Trace at last as he stops, feeling another surge of nervousness, yet involuntarily grinning a bit at that smile. "It's been a lot quieter in this town the last few weeks," she confides, "but... you're welcome." Her voice turns soft and rasping again, and she stands there before the young man, gazing up at him in increasing bemusement. A single thought crystallizes in her mind: _He came back..._ Never mind that it's Shenner who changed locations. It occurs to her that she had never expected to see him again, and his presence here and now before her causes a flood of relief and gratitude to abruptly well through her. "You're, uh... welcome," she repeats, in a whisper. Offering her hand and arm a final squeeze, Trace draws back from Shen, offering her a half salute in farewell. "Be seeing ya," he replies. "Don't stay up too late or drink too much," he warns, "and don't forget to keep an eye out for wiley Corellians ... well, all of 'em 'cept me of course," he offers with a cocky grin. Shenner smiles tinily, promising, "I won't... and..." She trails off, then unconsciously steps forward as the young Corellian steps back, blurting, "Trace...?" Holding his stance steady, Trace looks down at Shen's features, eyes open and innocent as he queries, "Yes? That odd, plaintive, vulnerable look is still lingering in the redheaded girl's expression, and before she can fathom her own actions, she closes the gap between herself and Trace, slips her arms around him, and squeezes him fiercely. As if surprised by the sudden gesture, Trace stands stock still for a moment, hands out to the side and forward slightly as Shen wraps her arms about him. Recovering quickly, his arms drop to rest about her in a more gentle embrace, cradling the small of her back and the breadth of her shoulders. His head dips to press against the side of her head, his breath feathering across ear. _I shouldn't say anything,_ Shenner finds herself thinking shakily, somehow convinced that if she speaks a single word, whatever power allowed a repeat encounter with someone she cares about will revoke its generosity. But because Trace is important to her, she also finds herself mumbling, "It's... real good to see you again..." Blinking slowly, the vehemence and frequency with which she has been telling him this sinks into Trace's conciousness slowly. His arms tighten correspondingly, his mouth brushing against her jaw as he slowly pulls back a little. "Thanks," he mumurs, his face still close to her own, "I think that's the nicest thing anyone has said to me in quite some time." Held so close against a young male form, Shenner senses her pulse speeding up, her throat going ever so slightly dry. It's been nearly a year since she was last held this way -- and not at all long enough to forget what it's like. Nor is it at all long enough for her not to feel a pang of dismay, a pang of shame, at her awareness that the one she _really_ wants holding her is not liable to ever do it again. And yet, here is Trace, young and handsome and attentive, and Shenner's dismay increases as she finds herself unsure what bothers her more: his proximity, or her desire for it. Entirely unaware of the confused and lonely look in her eyes, she lifts her face up to his and tries to smile. "It... goes along with the walk," she murmurs. Raising one hand to trace a finger along her cheek, Trace alleviates the tension he creates by offering Shen a carefree smile. "Ahh, so you say this to all the guys you escort huh? Okay, that puts me in my place." A wink tells the girl that he doesn't take the hit seriously. Her eyes need a friend, something simple and uncomplicated, and that is exactly what Trace offers in return, a small pang of concern flickering through his mind at the apparent distress in her emerald irises. "All one of 'em," Shenner mumbles, her grin skewed, strained, but at least present. Torn between a rising urge to flee and an equally noticeable urge to draw the moment out for as long as she possibly can, she goes on huskily, "I'm... glad you came to listen to us tonight. I-I don't think I'da gotten this far without your help..." _Yeah,_ the back of her mind chimes in, _you'd still be on Calamari crazy from nightmares..._ "And I, I'm just, well, glad..." As she speaks, Shenner becomes acutely aware that she's babbling, and she starts to blush. Her rise in color, the random flow of words - neither of these escape Trace's notice. In his arms she is suddenly shy and vulnerable ... and wanting? The finger against her face draws a strand of hair back before he lays his palm against her cheek, drawing it back into her hair. Eyes focused on her, shifting from her gaze to her lips and back again, Trace ever so slowly leans forward, his mouth already close. Eyes watch hers, waiting for reaction - acceptance, panic, or resistance. And as the draw closer his eyes seem to lose a little focus, perhaps in anticipation ... The redheaded musician stops breathing entirely, and as the Corellian scrutinizes her features, he can find panic there -- but also need. Her eyes clamp shut; her slender frame quivers palpably. Shenner does not, however, pull out of his arms, and in fact she leans forward ever so slightly herself. _That would be a yes ... definitely_ His face drawing closer, Trace's hand slips past to delve into Shen's hair, catching the nape of her neck to support and still her trembling body, his other hand drawing her closer against himself, giving her his frame to rely on, relax into. His breath caresses her lips before his mouth does, a tempting tender kiss that does not try to push past her frail offering, but simply entices with its restraint. Shenner's answering kiss is edgy, needy... and brief, for as she enters into it, that pang of shame and dismay within her builds, enough to set tears pricking at her closed eyes. She pulls awkwardly back from Trace, frightened now of her own reactions, and she rasps out, "I... I should go... good luck on your conference..." His hands hold her for a moment longer, a light grip on her upper arms which slowly fades down to her wrists. "Alright," he murmurs levelly, eyes warm and reassuring as he lets her go. "Thanks ... have a good second set." He doesn't turn to head into the hotel, waiting to watch her depart, as if he could follow her safely back with his gaze. "Thanks," croaks Shenner. She manages a fleeting ghost of a smile, and she manages not to flee at least as long as it takes her to creep back from the Corellian, to move away, to go back the way she'd come at his side. But as she goes that pained, confused expression remains upon her face, and she doesn't see a single thing or being she passes. Only one thought stays with her, an unaccountable reaction that somehow, she's just betrayed that other Corellian, the one she loved... and still loves. All the way back to the Sandbar, his name hangs heavily in the back of her mind. _Paul..._ [End log.]