Log Date: 4/20, 4/21, 4/22/98 Log Cast: Shenneret Veery, Sinjon Teague Log Intro: Shenner's one current friend on Calamari, the young Corellian named Trace who has been tutoring her in basic studies and preparing for school entrance exams -- as well as in 'prettifying' her background to make it more palatable to school entrance boards -- has left the planet, his work in Coral City done. And with his departure, Shenner has begun to fall apart. She still has not remembered what happened to her at the end of the disastrous Mandalore expedition, and she is still plagued by nightmares that she cannot remember upon her awakening. Between her urgent desire to absorb every scrap of knowledge Trace has thrown at her and an increasing fear of sleep in general, the girl has become addicted to coffee... and when the coffee stopped working, she also became addicted to stimulants she's been procuring on the streets of Coral City. Her studies have taken the startling interuption of a second encounter with the mysterious, ragged wanderer named Nelun as well. Shen has found Nelun badly wounded and hauled him off to try to tend him in her dingy, tiny apartment, and her efforts have led to the discovery of a bizarre device of some kind implanted in Nelun's leg... and her observation of Nelun deliriously ranting about being an Imperial officer. But now, Nelun has disappeared again, before Shenner was able to go to Mon Mothma for help from the NR. Desperate to try to find the missing man, Shenner has abandoned her studies entirely and has spent the last few days searching the streets for the missing, amnesiac wanderer, not knowing that in the meantime, someone else has come to Calamari.... ---------- She's lost track of the time again. Somewhere in the back of her mind she knows this... but the girl who's been calling herself Kiriel Andurin as of late can't summon the energy to care. All she knows is that Nelun, wounded, raving, and deeply disturbing with that... _thing_ embedded in his flesh, has somehow escaped her, and she has no proof with which to go to Mon Mothma. So, driven, exhausted, the young bard stumbles through the streets of Coral City, searching every nook and cranny she's come to know, trying to find the ragged wanderer she's been trying to tend. To no avail. She has no idea how many hours she's searched; she knows only, as she comes to a momentary halt to lean against a corner of a wall somewhere in the Market District, that she's developed a pounding headache. _Dammit,_ she thinks fuzzily, _it's wearin' off... not -now-, please not now..._ Shenner(#12PQc$) This is a young human female, of about 5'6" in height, but of a delicate enough build that there barely seems to be any substance to her. Her skin is moon-pale, her already fine-boned features made pronounced by an utter lack of extraneous flesh anywhere on her face. In stark contrast with her white complexion, her hair is a dark brown; her green eyes, large, luminous, and limned by dark brows and lashes, look out at everything she encounters with an intelligent, haunted intensity. Those eyes, incongruous with her ethereal frame, and taken along with a walk, stance, accent, and mannerisms seemingly more suited for a brash young street tough, exemplify the contradiction that anyone who observes this girl long enough can soon discover: that for all her fragile appearance, this is no delicate flower. Rather, this young human is one that burns. Her hair is currently bound up to sweep back from her face in a braid that drops to just below her shoulders, interwoven and tied off with strips of green suede; from one of these strips dangles three clear glass beads and a small brown feather. She is clad in an overlarge gray-green shirt, tied off at the waist, and open at her collar and throat to reveal a water-blue, lighter silken shirt beneath, along with the glint of a silver pendant on a chain. Her pants are a utilitarian brown, old, but of a still thick and sturdy cloth, tucked into equally utilitarian scuffed beige boots. From the look of her, this young woman hasn't gotten a decent night's sleep in several weeks.... perhaps even months. Those green eyes of hers are glassy, and set in dark, sunken hollows that contrast unhealthily with the pallor of the rest of her face. Her motions, and every so often her words, show a kind of frenetic quickness that suggests the presence of some kind of stimulant in her system, keeping her awake. Hints of a dull red the color of banked embers are showing around the roots of her otherwise dark brown hair. Taking in the clean, sea air of Calamari City, Sinjon is just happy to be out of the ship. He has never really become acustom to being trapped without greenery and the outdoors for any extended period of time. He is whistling an old Calamarian sea faring tune and generally enjoying himself as he walks along towards the Market District area. The crowds emit a comforting sense to him, the ebb and flow much like the tides that make this city famous. One young being _is_ jarring against the flow of the crowds, though. Starkly pale, disheveled, hints of dull red visible at the roots of her otherwise dark brown hair, the human girl stumbles blearily away from her corner, scanning the streets. There's food and drink aplenty being sold in this District, but the mere thought of food is enough to make her queasy. And the smell of the hot, freshly brewed coffee -- or at least, the local equivalent thereof -- being sold by a leathery old Mon Cal in an open-air booth is enough to bring her to her knees on the sidewalk, her stomach heaving, though there's nothing in it to come up. _Dammit...!_ _Something is not right..something is..out of place..._ thinks the Horansi as he lets his gaze flow over the people. His gaze is drawn towards the figure stumbling through a crowd of people. Sinjon makes his way towards her, a glimmer of recoginition in his eyes. He reaches the prone female just as she promptly brings up an smattering of acidic bile and a good dose of saliva but not much. He lays a soothing paw on her back, "Can I offer you some water?" he says holding out a bottle filled with clear liquid. Passersby have started to eye the girl askance, where she kneels there on the tarmac, bony arms curled around her equally insubstantial middle, but as Sinjon stops to aid her, the sentients considering that same gesture tentatively move on about their business. The girl, in the meantime, palpably jerks at the contact to her back, barking out hoarsely, "'Mallright, 'mallright..." And she lifts her haggard face up and around to the Horansi -- only to freeze right there where she kneels. "I hardly think that you are 'all right' Ms. Kiriel. In fact you look as if you have seen better days," he chuckles mirthlessly, "Drink this.. Slowly. It will help you." Once again he offers the bottle of clear liquid. "I would hate for you to pass out right here and I would be forced to carry you to the local hospital." His ears twitch to and fro taking in the sounds around him but his attention is on the young woman before him. Green eyes gone round within their dark hollows in her white face, Kiriel eyes Sinjon with what's unmistakably a mix of fear and bravado, a struggle to regain her composure. "I'll... I'll be okay. Thanks..." And she snatches at the bottle, overswiftly, though she does also force herself to sip at the contents. Once she's doing this, she slams her eyes shut, turning her face slightly down, awya from her unexpected benefactor. Sinjon offers a large paw to help her up. "I never have doubted that you will be okay or at least whatever passes for okay in your mind. So when was the last time you have eaten a decent meal? Someone has not been taking very good care of you." he smiles a bit sadly. The water downed, the girl grabs hold of the paw, her own grip surprisingly strong despite her hand's apparent delicacy. She wobbles to her feet, and as she mops her mouth with her sleeve, she mutters tautly, "_I_ take care o' me, pal." Sinjon snorts, "Then I suggest you step down because you are not doing a very good job of it. You look as if you have not eaten in days or slept in weeks... What is going on?" He asks the last question with genuine care in his voice. "I don't _need_ nobody to take care of me!" Kiriel growls out, the words tumbling out of her far too swiftly as she staggers a step or two back from the Horansi. But something about Sinjon apparently is keeping her attention, for her expression falters somehow, and she adds roughly... and more slowly, "Look... just... I'm just havin' a coupla problems is all, don't get your whiskers bent, I'm _okay_, I'm okay..." "You keep saying that but if you could see what I see you would not be saying the same mantra," he sighs softly. "At least let me buy you something to eat, and something to drink preferably." His gaze piercing through you as you look at him. The girl shifts uncomfortably, apparently unnerved by that steady feline gaze, and a flush of red rises up in her cheeks -- all too visible against her pallor. She mumbles, pressing her eyes closed, "I don't want any food..." He chuckles warmly before speaking, "You mean to tell me that if I was to offer you a lunch at any restaurant in Calamari City, at my expense, that you would refuse?" Kiriel's nose crinkles, and she curls an arm around herself again, her complexion shifting suspiciously towards a green hue human faces aren't meant to have. "Not to... spit on your charity," she rasps, "but I'd... hate to throw up a free meal..." Sinjon steers her towards a planter near the edge of the street. "I should have understood.. maybe something to drink then? Some soup?" ask the ebon Horansi. "Maybe you should come back to my hotel so you will have a nice place to sleep and food to eat?" "I got a place," the girl mutters, frowning as the bigger being guides her off, but a little instinct in the back of her head jabbers at her 'play along, just play along, maybe he'll go away'... so she lets him move her, for now. Besides, the idea of just sitting down feels _very_ good.... "Oh you do? When was the last time you slept?" asks Sinjon as guide her to the bench next to the planter. "Wait here and I will get you some more water." He wanders back towards one of the street vendors. A brief discussion comes about in which credits change hands. Sinjon walks back with a pair of large drinks in his paws. He sets one next to him and opens the other before him. Sinjon opens his pouches and begins to add various powders to the drink. Mixing them in he asks, "So other than letting yourself fall into disrepair, how have you been?" The girl visibly twitches at the word 'slept', glancing warily after Sinjon as he momentarily abandons her. And when he comes back, rather than answering either of his questions, she demands instead, "What's that...?", bobbing her disheveled head at the powders. Sinjon adds a bit more of some greenish powder and gives it a final stir. The scent that come from the cup is a fruity, earthy scent. "This is something that will make you feel better. It is an herbal combination that I often use for myself when I am unable to eat. It is full of minerals, vitamins, and supplements..things that are good for growing street musicians." He grins at Kiriel. "Voila!" he says handing the drink to Kiriel. The girl blinks a few times up at the felinoid sentient, and then at the offered cup. Her eyes are dark and wary, but grudgingly, she mutters, "Well... okay, fine..." The cup is accepted, and she samples the contents. Sinjon grins as she finally accepts his help. He sits down beside her and takes a sip of his own juice drink. "So what have you been up to? I really did not expect to find you but I had hoped that I would run into you." The girl wraps practically skeletal hands around the cup, sipping gingerly at it. But she turns her head slightly towards Sinjon, frowning unsurely. "I been... studyin'," she mutters. "Oh! Excellent! Where are you studying at?" asks the Horansi with an eager stare. Kiriel's gaunt young features set themselves into expressionless lines. "My place, mostly," she answers in a low, hoarse bark. Sinjon nods, "So you are teaching yourself? That takes quite a bit of discipline. I am glad you are learning and wanting to further yourself." He sits back, enjoying the sunlight, the breeze and the companionship. "So, may I ask you a few questions?" asks Sinjon eyeing Kiriel from over his cup. The dark-haired -- dark-haired? with those glints of red showing at her roots? -- girl, in a pose of studied indifference, mutters, "Sure, pal..." And she keeps her gaze down on her own cup now, still sipping cautiously. Sinjon thinks for a moment before speaking, as if to consider what to ask first. "Who are you hiding from?" finally rumbles forth in a very casual air. Kiriel goes very still, though she doesn't look up. Then, after a moment, she resumes lifting the cup to her lips, asking in an equally calm tone, "Who says I'm hidin'?" "There are many signs that are screaming that you are hiding from SOMETHING. Your hair is dyed but growing out. It was dyed for a specific purpose but that purpose has gone by the wayside along with your health. I would also have to say because it looks like you do not sleep that is caused by watchfulness. Watching for what? I do not know. The final confirmation was by your reaction to when I asked that question." He leans back sipping on his drink. The girl's hand flies up to her hair, and she makes a short, sharp noise that sounds as if she's just bitten back a curse. Then the hand comes down again, and she reels away from the Horansi, supporting herself on the planter's edge with the one hand, clenching her cup in the other. "Okay," she bites out lowly, "fine. There's someone I... don't want findin' me. You wanna\ enlighten me on why it's any of your gods-damned business?" Calmly Sinjon looks at her unflinchingly and responds calmly, "It is not any of my business, that is why I asked if it was acceptable if I asked you a question. You assented so I asked the question because I was curious and I thought maybe I could help." Kiriel slugs down the last of the herb-steeped water, grimaces at the taste it's left in her mouth. Fretfully, she rubs one hand around the cup, still clutching at it with her other. Something about her expression turns haunted, as she seems to wrestle with a reply. And finally she mutters, "There... ain't nothin' you can do, pal... not a damn thing..." But she trails off, sounding oddly uncertain, as she shoves a shaking hand back through her rumpled hair. Sinjon's eyes narrow a bit at the unconvincing tone she puts forth. He shakes his head causing his earrings to jingle, "Surely there must be something done. My friend Paul might be able to help us out since he has a few contacts that work on the other side of the law.. Maybe he might know what to do..." His brows furrow as he searches his memory for an idea. And Kiriel freezes. "He mentioned something about a contact here..and Elomin or something like that..but anyways I know he is back at the Hawk Wing and we can go see if he has any ideas..." He trails off at finally noticing Kiriel's expression. At the mention of the ship, what color had come back into the girl's face flees it once more. The cup crashes out of her suddenly unresponsive hand, hitting the pavement, as Kiriel whirls a stricken expression to the felinoid beside her. "_NO_ -- no, he can't, he can't know I'm here... no!" And she surges unsteadily to her feet. Sinjon stands up his expression of surprise, his ears flattened against his skull. He looks around at the source of panic, thinking it is the person Kiriel is hiding from but when he realizes it is noone here he turns back to her, he carefully puts his paws on her shoulders, keeping them in a firm grip. "Who are you speaking of? There is no one around currently?!" he murmurs in soothing tones. Kiriel's face has flooded with a bizarre mixture of terror and... grief? "D-don't tell him I'm here," she babbles raggedly, "please, don't tell Paul I'm here, he can't see me, he can't, he can't...!" Sinjon freezes as if someone has just immersed him in icy cold water. "Paul??!" He asks in confusion. The girl's bony hands grip frantically at the paws upon her shoulders, and her green eyes, wide and stricken, dart in all directions as if she expects attack to surge at her out of the passing crowds. Nothing untoward happens, nothing at all save a few raised eyebrows and one Mon Cal's bemused blink, but still, Kiriel is clearly terrified. "Don't tell him, please don't tell him, please," she pleads, words bursting out of her with frenetic speed. Genuinely confused at her reaction Sinjon softly shush'es Kiriel with a Shhhh..shhhh And he gently moves her back to the bench. He gazes at her with his large luminous eyes intent, "Calm down, there is no reason to panic. I do not understand what you are speaking of...start at the beginning." He pulls out another bottle from his satchel and hands it to her. The bottle is filled with a clear liquid. Sinjon rumbles, "Drink this slowly and take a few moments to catch your breath before you continue please." "I, I-I'll tell you anything," the girl babbles out, but her desperate grip on the Horansi doesn't lessen even as he sits her down, "but you gotta promise me! _Promise me you won't tell him!_" Sinjon puts the bottle into her hand and says in a strangely soothing voice, "Drink first and take a few deep breaths. I cannot promise anything right now until I have heard your story." He smiles at the frightened girl. Kiriel blinks a few times, the terror beginning to drain out of her exhausted face, leaving her looking childlike, merely bereft rather than griefstricken, confused rather than panicked. "Drink?" she mumbles, her gaze dropping to the bottle that's been pressed into suddenly unresisting fingers. Obediently she lifts the bottle and gulps at its contents. Sinjon pulls the bottle away gently, concerned that she will vomit again if she drinks too fast. "Now take a few deep breaths and compose yourself...then when you feel you are able start at the beginning." He sits down beside her allowing her to start when she is able. Dark eyebrows knit bemusedly over green eyes, as the girl looks up at the felinoid beside her. Her expression is still more or less tranquil save for her shadowed eyes, and she stares long at Sinjon before she whispers, "You gotta swear... your word as a Jedi... you won't tell Paul where I am!" As these last few words come out of her, the tranquillity that's dropped across her gaunt features begins to waver, and her voice begins picking up desperate conviction once more. "Tell ya anything you want... but only if you swear! _Please_!" Sinjon pauses for a few moments mulling over whether or not to swear on something he has no knowledge of. _What could Paul have done that is so bad?_ ponders the Horansi. He sighs since he is unable to get any more information before swearing. "Very well I swear with this condition, I believe what you say is in the Light and will keep the promise. If you are deceiving me then the oath is given under false pretenses and I will retain judgement as what to do." rumbles Sinjon. The girl swallows hard, and unsteadily nods. "'Kay," she mumbles, voice barely audible. Sinjon takes Kiriel's hand into his paw and holds it to his chest. "I swear as a Seeker not to tell Paul Nighman where you are." As he speaks the words there is a feeling of energy building then released as he finishes. Sinjon blinks a few times at Kiriel and lets go of her hand. "So please start at the beginning if you would" He smiles warmly at the young woman. That small hand in the Horansi's paw shivers with a palpable tremor, and something in the gesture, perhaps something in the words, seems to ease the young human somehow. She eyes her own fingers for a moment, looking fleetingly bemused, before lifting her gaze once more to Sinjon. Another swallow, and she ventures hoarsely, "M... my real name... is Shenner. I... how... how far back do you want me to go?" "Well Ms. Shenner I guess as far back as you can since I need to know why you are so afraid of Paul. He has not ever mentioned you, I do not know why and that is what I am trying to discover at this time," murmurs the Horansi. "Let us take it one step at a time. I am not in a hurry." Sinjon smiles his toothy grin, gem flashing in the afternoon sunlight. _He hasn't even mentioned--_ Something very like pain twists the girl's features, and she slumps where she sits, wrapping her arms around herself, her head lowering in weariness, or perhaps defeat. "Okay," she rasps. "I... know him... 'cause he helped me get off my homeworld, for starters..." The girl continues on huskily, her voice going toneless, "I was... sixteen, then. I-I'm nineteen, now. We... kinda had a little problem, and he wound up leavin' me on Tatooine. Didn't see him again until Palanhi... that was when we were tryin' to help Luke and Princess Leia and, uh, Miss Winter and General Calrissian and Jessalyn get General Solo back. After that... we came here... and Paul... eventually asked me if I wanted to go to..." She pauses, her stance tensing, though her voice remains low and toneless as she then goes on, "... Mandalore with him... and I went... and... somethin' happened... and..." Shenner swallows, and finishes hollowly, "He left me again." Sinjon puts a paw on her shoulder and speaks softly to her, "Now do not take that the wrong way. I honestly do not know Paul Nighman's thoughts. He is a very closed individual in many ways, but I feel he is a good man none the less. Unfortunately he can be very...Corellian when he wants to be." He smiles at this bit of wisdom. Shenner doesn't shift, doesn't look up, doesn't smile. "I never expected him to stay with me," she whispers. "I'm handlin' that... not his fault..." She begins to shake her head back and forth, unconsciously. "Not his fault. Mine. All my fault." A puzzled look crosses the Horansi's face as he asks, "You fault? How is that? I am sorry but this is all very vague. So he left you here after Mandalore?" _Hmmm.. no wonder he has been reacting strangely about anythime I mention Mandalore..._ thinks Sinjon. He shifts for a moment into a patch of sunlight. The girl bobs her disheveled head slowly, still hugging her arms to herself, her face settled into a bleak mask. "I couldn't hack it," she rasps. "Couldn't handle Mandalore. Stupid street rat, shoulda never gone, no idea what I was doin' runnin' around in a jungle, and..." Again, Shen pauses, swallowing hard, eyes pressing closed. "He... got hurt, real bad... and..." Oddly, she begins to tremble. "Somethin'... somethin' else happened, but..." Sinjon puts a paw on her hands and gives it a squeeze, "Easy...easy.." he soothes, "Tell me what happened..slow and easy..no reason to rush." He puts an arm around the young woman, as if to protect her and make her feel safe. If anything, the furry limb encircling her seems to make her tremble harder. "I-I remember when the... creature fell on him, broke his arm, I-I remember that," she babbles, her words picking up speed again, along with her increasing shivering. Her voice stays low, though, bleak and toneless, even as she rambles at almost breakneck speed, "Remember the pit. We fell in the pit and had to run through fire to get out, yeah, I-I remember that. I-I-I don't remember what happened after that... gone, it's gone, and... and... then I was here, and... he left me, and it's my fault, all my fault..." Sinjon takes his arm from around the young woman, and kneels in front of her taking her hands in his. He sets his gaze onto her trying to get her to look into his eyes and speaking in a calm, soothing voice, "Shenner..." As Sinjon speaks, Shen's head lifts slightly, slowly, rising even as he hunkers down before her. Green eyes, turned utterly dark and utterly heartbroken, fix unconsciously on his furred visage, and he can feel her hands shivering violently in his grasp. His eyes are fathomless pools of green. Grass green that makes you think of the savanna during rainy season. Sinjon lets his eyes unfocus as you are lost into the pools of greeness. He places his paws on either side of her head, cradling it in his soft, furry paw pads. A soothing warmth flows from his hands and speads outwards through your head and into the rest of your body. The warmth turns chilly as your body begins to process out all the toxins that it has be put into it. A sickly green fluid begins to seep from Shenner's pours, it quickly dries and flakes away in the breeze. Sinjon's gaze comes back to focus as he lowers he paws, "There is part of the problem.. Do you wish for me to continue because it may not be a pleasant thing.." warns the ebon Horansi. Initially, Shenner seems willing enough to lose herself in those grass-green eyes, her own beginning to turn distant, though trusting enough. And her body slumps as she senses warmth soaking down through it -- but as the Horansi's power locks in on the traces of weeks' worth of stimulants in her system, she twitches, involuntarily beginning to cough, her rebellious innards threatening to make her retch. And the girl's mind shies involuntarily back from the Jedi's mental contact, an odd writhing mixture of desperate yearning... and stark terror. Despite the warmth from those cradling padded paws, she's still trembling, vehemently. And a kind of comprehension flickers across her eyes, as she mumbles, "C-can... can you help me sleep? I just... I just wanna sleep, everything'll be okay again if I can just sleep...." Her voice has thickened dramatically, with profound exhaustion. "I can try. What has happened to you is probably beyond what I can heal. You will need to seek out Luke Skywalker and ask him for assistance. I will do what I can but it may be a bit drastic." purrs the Horansi. Sinjon's expression is one of concern but with an underlying sense of uncertainty. His ears flicker back and forth as the people pass by the unusual pair, their eyes passing over them without a single bit of recognition. Shenner makes a tiny mewling sound of despair, her arms curling up tighter around her, and she mumbles, "Can't go to Luke. Can't, I can't..." Sinjon sighs for a moment in exhasperation but quickly regains his composure putting the negative aside. "And why can not you go to Mr. Skywalker?" he inquires. "He'll tell Paul," the girl whimpers out hoarsely, "he'll tell him, and... I-I hafta stay away from him, and Jessa, 'cause I gotta stay away from Paul... they don't want me anymore, my fault, all my fault...." Her knees come up to her face, and she wraps her arms around her legs, rocking a little where she sits now, trying to curl up into a ball. _Well this is going nowhere fast.._ thinks the Horansi, _I guess I will have to do SOMETHING soon or she will slip further into insanity._ He clears his throat letting the soothing tones slip into his voice, "Shenner, you will need to calm yourself. Look into my eyes.." Her head lifts slowly, reluctantly, her lower lip tucked under her teeth. "We need to go someplace other than this public area. You said you had a place, can we go there?" asks Sinjon. Still looking bemusedly up into Sinjon's eyes -- much larger than her own -- Shen nods slowly. "Yeah..." she whispers huskily, seeming dazed. Sinjon stands up letting go of her hands, "Very well, lead onward and we shall see what can be done to make you sleep without the horrors." he rumbles with a slight smile on his face. Shen sways to her feet, not entirely steady, her brow creasing in evident confusion. "Horrors?" she mumbles, dark-eyed, not entirely seeing Sinjon either as she starts wandering off down the street. Sinjon follows close at hand, keeping her from harms way. "So where is your place Shenner?" he asks trying to make conversation and maybe bring her back to reality for a bit. "This District," comes the young human's disjointed reply. Her feet seem to know where she's going even if her gaze seems to register very little of what she passes. The girl makes her way through the Market District, leaving the main thoroughfare and heading off onto a side street, the area beginning to look rather run-down. Sinjon follows closely, weaving in and out of people and dodging the occasional trash piles. His nostrils fill with the smells of the back alleys. Cheap alcohol, unwashed bodies, rotting filth and the occasional smell of cooking food. Sinjon keeps a wary eye for ruffians or thieves intent on their possessions. "So tell me about the songs you have been writing." he says keeping up the banter. The buildings, too, through this area look battered and weathered, not unlike the gaunt, pale girl at Sinjon's side. As she aims herself for what appears to be an apartment building of some kind, apparently oblivious to any watchers from alleyways or corners, she frowns vaguely. "I... ain't been writing for a while," she mutters. The Horansi keeps in step with the young woman. He speaks in a low tone of voice, "Really? So you have been mainly studying?" "Kinda," Shen mumbles distantly, as she trudges slowly up to the front stairs of the building that is apparently her destination. The steps are as weatherbeaten as the rest of the surroundings, cracked and in some places, stained with dirt... and perhaps other things. The young human blinks owlishly several times, her movements mechanical, as she first ascends those steps and then lifts a hand to punch in the code to let her in the front door. Sinjon surveys the surroundings with wary eyes. His nostrils flare and take in every new scent that wafts his way. The earrings in his ears give off a faint tinkling as the ears flutter back and forth listening for the sounds of the neighborhoood. His voice is reassuring, "So do you live alone and is this a..safe place?" The door slides open, with a grudging kind of slowness, and the girl's haunted gaze keeps its half-distant, dark look. "Ain't got nobody else," she mutters gruffly, as she makes her way into a grungy entryway that leads down a corridor past a couple of doors. Shen shoots for the farthest one of these, treading heavily, with slumped shoulders, along a carpet even more stained and worn than the steps outside. She doesn't answer the question of safety, though, as she moves to punch in another code, to let this new door admit her. Sinjon lays a paw on her shoulder stopping her before she punches in the door code. "Is this place safe? I ask this because you are going to be sleeping for a long while if I succeed in my attempts and I wish you to be safe. I too will be quite drained from this experience and will need to rest." Shenner pauses, frowning, looking up in confused startlement. "I... ain't got noplace lse," she says gruffly, cognizance flickering across her eyes. "Better than an alley, anyway..." Shenner trails off, staring up at her felinoid companion, exhaustion and desperation in her expression warring with a rather obvious attempt on her part to pretend to look alert. But she's leaning slightly where she stands, and more than once, her eyes almost close, apparently of their own accord. "Very well.. it will have to do unless you would allow me to rent a room somewhere else..." Sinjon lets that thought trail off. His expression softens as he sees the shape Shenner is in. "Maybe this will have to do for now.." he says. "I gotta siddown," Shen mumbles, voice slurring a little. She only seems to half-hear her companion as she turns again and punches open the door, which slides open with arguably even more reluctance than the main entrance to the building. The room revealed, and into which the human now staggers, is a tiny little flat. There's a battered lump of a sofa, a set of shelves on which several books are haphazardly resting, and a desk near the door; towards the back, a rickety table on one side of a half-wall that blocks off a kitchen area. An alcove sports a couple more doors. The carpet in here, too, is ancient and stained, so much so that it's almost impossible to tell the original color. Walls and furniture alike are dingy, drab. And once inside, Shen takes two steps into the room and abruptly reels. Sinjon quickly grabs Shenner before she can hit the ground. He scoops her up and puts her onto the battered couch. He quickly kneels beside her checking her pulse, looking at her eyes to check pupil dialation and other tests to see if she is okay. The door slides safely shut, unnoticed by the young human as her benefactor sets her down on her sofa, which creaks beneath her in muffled protest even to her slight frame. From the look of her, her most pressing problem could well be deduced to be immense weariness -- which she underscores by mumbling plaintively, "Tired." Sinjon pats her head with a large, warm paw and murmurs, "Then sleep for now while I go about doing what I can for you." He waits until she is calm and beginning to slip into sleep before placing his paw on her facial area. A strange light begins to pulse between Sinjon's paw and Shenner's head. His brows furrow with concentration as we begins to speak under his breath in Horansi. Her eyes do drop closed, obediently enough. But a few tremors twitch through Shenner's skinny young form, as if somewhere within her, the notion of sleep, desperately craved, is also desperately feared. Another whimper sounds in the back of her throat, not quite making it out of her. A calming wave of light embraces the strange pair. The light eminates from all around but seems to be drawn into Sinjon and focused into Shenner. As the light grows Sinjon traces a strange pattern on Shenners forehead and begins to mumble in Horansi again. He presses a paw pad to her forehead and a shudder goes through him into her. Shenner's eyes open a blue light pulsing from them, a wordless scream frozen on her face. The light quickly shifts to red then green before her eyes close, cutting off the light. Sinjon moves the paw pads to her temples momentarily setting them there and moving them to various points on her head. Each time the light grows then fades. A fine sheen of sweat has broken out on the Horansi's face and he moves as if he is in a thick, resisting syrup. Finally he places a paw over her heart and a final pulse of light goes forth. Sinjon promptly collapses on the floor in front of Shenner obviously worn out. It is easy, very, very easy, for the Horansi Jedi to enter into the young human's surface thoughts and memories. Foremost in her mind are a blur of weeks spent hunkered over her guitar... or a flute... or books. There's a young man there, apparently trying to encourage her to read. And another, more ragged individual, someone perhaps that the girl called Shenner has tried to help. Below that, though, under the exhaustion, behind a stoic, frazzled determination to put a half-normal face to the world, lingers fear. Of what lurks in her sleep. Of what she can't remember. Disjointed older memories flash across her mind... Shenner, and a man who can only be Paul Nighman, for all that he looks battered and beaten and as exhausted as Shenner looks now... and three others, trekking through tangled jungles. Threads of fear intertwine throughout these flashes, inexplicable fear... and there's more. Something huge and snarling leaping out of dark undergrowth, flattening Paul to the earth.... Paul huddled in Shenner's arms in a dark, rubble-filled pit... and deep within the girl's subconscious, Paul being flung headlong into a wall, his neck cracking with a sickening noise, his body falling broken and lifeless... all Shen's fault.... It is rather less easy to coax Shenner out of this morass of tangled memory. Her mind jolts and bucks at the Jedi's contact, fear surging up through her thoughts -- and setting off another flare in her subconscious, someone's features cruelly twisted, a voice jeering, 'This nightmare will be yours to cherish!' -- and over and over again, Paul's form slamming helplessly into the wall. The girl grieves down to the center of her being, trapped in a mire of guilt and heartache and loss. Her mind, heart, and soul are seared. And Sinjon must battle every inch of the way to send his light flooding into the human he's attempting to heal. At last, she yields, the work done, her mind shutting off pain and anguish at Sinjon's command. And at Sinjon's command, Shenner... sleeps. [To be continued....]