Log Date: 5/6/98, 5/7/98 Log Cast: Stalh, Shenneret Veery, Tarroc, Meileani Log Intro: It's a few days after Shenner has been taken into the care of the Horansi Jedi Sinjon Teague, who came across the young musician in dire straits. Attempting to masquerade as 'Kiriel Andurin' in order to get into a local school, Shen has been hampered in her own efforts by ongoing nightmares which she cannot remember... and which have been making her progressively more and more worn out, to the point that she's resorted first to massive amounts of coffee and _then_ to stimulants to keep her awake... to no avail. With her friend Trace -- the young Corellian who's been tutoring her -- returned to his homeworld to continue his own studies, Shen has found herself falling apart, and has made herself ill from the stuff she's been pumping into her system. Sinjon Teague came across Shen, immediately employed his Force talents to try to clear her system of the stims, and when the exhausted girl begged him to, agreed to try to 'help her sleep'. But as it happened, Sinjon did far more than that -- not only delving into her thoughts to discover that she is suffering from Force-induced trauma to her psyche, not only blurring her painful recent memories to give her mind and heart a chance to heal, but also renting her an entirely new apartment in a better section of the city. Overwhelmed by the Horansi's largesse, Shen has meekly accepted his aid, and has agreed to his urgent request to try to find Luke Skywalker as quickly as possible, so that Luke may heal what Sinjon was unable to repair. Now, aware that she's been ill -- and that Paul Nighman has left her, though she no longer clearly remembers why -- Shenner has found her life reset on her again. Restless and troubled, she ventures out into Coral City, and eventually reaches the Gardens where she's frequently spent time playing her music.... ---------- A human male strolls into the garden. The mood in which he seems to be in appears jovial for he playfully rustles a human child's hair who bumps into him as he walks. Stalh looks at you for a moment. Shenner(#3773POACF) 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 odd contrast with her white complexion, her hair is a particolored mix of dark red towards the roots, and a near-black brown out towards the ends; 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. -=-=-=-=-=-=<>=-=-=-=-=-=- => 1421 Standard Galactic Credits Music, off in the distance. A flute's voice, pure, clear, crystalline and silver, gliding on a slow minor melody and intermingled with the night breezes. The flute itself glints silver in reflected illumination from the lamps in the garden; the flute player, pale, too thin, pensive-eyed, sits on a bench with her face to the sea, blowing out her own apparent mood through her instrument. Stalh slowly but surely scans the inhabitants of the Gardens - his eyes beaming with a measure of excitement. The pleasant smile on his face deminishes however as the shrill of a disdainful musical instrument pierces his ears. Accordingly, the frown on his face displays the new found annoyance and the rapidness that he scans for the source of the monstrosity indicates that he is extremely unappreciative of the music indeed. If the girl with the bicolored hair is aware that she's attracted a hostile audience, she gives no sign of it. She merely plays, the tune soft and slow and somber, her expression matching it, with her face turned in the direction of the ocean. Perhaps she's hoping for a breeze off the sea. The Human male, eyes seemingly piercing, stares at all the inhabitants of the Garden for a vital clue for the source in which he is looking for. His head turns slowly, surveying the scene, but then stops, gazing at the strange combination of hair colours of a particular Human female. Dismissing it with the shrug of the shoulders and muttering 'Wierdo' under his breath, he goes on looking around the Garden. However his preoccupation with the strange hair colour makes him look back fleetingly at the young girl; This time however he starts to walk over to her, for she unfortunately is the source of his irritation. Stalh looks at you for a moment. Coughing unnecessarily loud as he nears the young woman, the Human male turns firstly towards the entrance of the garden and looks there intensively before looking down at the woman and smiling tentatively, waiting for the woman to turn around to him. He coughs a second time just to emphasise that he indeed is awaiting to be acknowledged. Slender fingers pause on the flute's keys. The half-red, half-brown head lifts and turns, and a cool green gaze settles upon the newcomer. "Yeah?" inquires the girl, coolly. Stalh The Human occupying your line of vision radiates a sense of self-control. While not overtly big, his 185 centimeter frame is a touch noticable. His body appears well toned, though his real pysique is unknown due to the clothes that he is weearing. The human male is wearing a black jacket which is done up from base to collar. The jacket appears black as space itself, which is contrasted brilliantly by the shinyess of the silver buttons that adorn it. The only other decoration that is visable on the jacket is a silver crest which encompasses the jacket's base, collar and cuffs. Two Silver stripes are presented along the creases of the pants that he is wearing. The pants, like the jacket are too ebony black. There appears no stain or discolour to the clothing that is a very close fit but not tight.Finishing just below his knees is a pair of highly polished black leather boots into which the pants are tucked. Only remotely matching the shinyness of the boots are the man's black leather gloves. These are immaculately polished and are very tight fitting, however they do look comfortable. The man's face however is a stark contrast to the militeristic style clothing. His skin is a nordic tan that glows in the light. Coupled with this tan is a head of blonde hair that has a slight hint of reddish/brown in it in sunlight. This combination certainly gives the impression that this man is very aryian indeed. As you look to his face you notice that his eyes are captivating. They are the darkest green possibly imagined for a man of this nature and they look as if they were taken as gems from the seas of Corellia itself. As for weapons, the only threatening item visable is a very small throwing knife that is situated at the top of the left boot. -=-=-=-=-=-=<>=-=-=-=-=-=- => A Scene of Chaos => Comlink Showing an exaggerated amount of surprise by the abruptness and rudeness of the young woman, the man decides not to speak immediately, but rather holds his tongue for several moments. He stares calmly at the woman and back to her flute. After what seems several minutes of silence he finally starts to speak in a crisp militeristic voice, tones sharp, but not as truncated as what is normally expected. "Excuse me Ma'am...But would you mind?" He looks fleetingly at the flute and smiles hoping that you will understand the message he is conveying. The girl stares with an impassive gaze up at the man before her, eyes narrowing slightly, musingly. Then, she shrugs, her features remaining in their indifferent mask, and she turns on the bench on which she sits; taking up a long, slim sheath of black suede, she slips the flute into it, then slings the sheath -- clearly its carrier -- onto her shoulder. And she rises to her feet. "Whatever, pal," she replies without expression, and she starts striding off, heading out of the garden. Stalh looks at the park bench where the girl has hence departed from and stares slightly, he looks back to the retreating figure and calls out, "Excuse me ma'am, but is this yours?" He holds out his hand which is clenched into a ball. He smiles kindly, almost sincerely. Turning, glancing over her shoulder, the girl pauses with one hand on the strap of the flute-bag slung over her shoulder. "Is what mine?" Her pale, gaunt features retain their cool expression, her voice no more than neutral interest at best. Tarroc enters the gardens, arriving from Coral Avenue. Tarroc has arrived. Meileani enters the gardens, arriving from Coral Avenue. Meileani has arrived. Shenner might be spotted paused on one of the paths, a bony, pale hand lifted to the strap of a slender black sheath of some kind slung over her shoulder. She's half-turned, gazing impassively at the figure of Stalh. Tarroc wanders into the Coral Gardens, hands still in his pockets for lack of a better place to be. He laughs lightly, shaking his head, "Oh, I'm sure I'd make a wonderful diplomat, blathering like I do. 'S-s-sign these articles of i-in-corporation? S-sure, why not!'". He chuckles politely, "Nah, I'm a snubfighter pilot, true and true..." The young man wearing black clothes stands near the edge of water leading to the Reef with his hand outstretched towards the figure of Shenner. Shenner repeats coolly, "Is what mine?" She hasn't moved, at least not yet; her green eyes keep an expectant gaze on her questioner. Meileani drawls quietly, a twinkle in her eyes, "And a very good one you are, too." She carries a leather jacket slung over one shoulder and walks with the ease of someone not anticipating trouble. She glances around and frowns just a bit, "Mmm, we might have made a wrong turn..." Tarroc scratches the back of his head, "I think you might be right," he concedes, "So much for my uncanny sense of direction." He sweeps his gaze along the path, "Very interesting landscape though," he murmurs, casting Meileani a sidelong glance. Meileani pauses, taking in the garden with widened eyes. "Wow is the only word that comes to mind. I haven't been here before." Stalh gazes intently at Shenner, almost captivatingly one might say. His voice is suddenly smooth, which suits his mannerisms, but is however distinctly out of sorts with his 'unform' which depicts a much more staccatto like speech. "This thing I have in my hand of course. It is hard to describe, yet it seems valuable so I don't want to risk dropping it." He smiles gently, "Is this yours? Or do I give it to someone else?" Tarroc looks at you for a moment. Tarroc's eyes sweep over the two ahead of him, brow arching slightly as he tries to discern what's occuring, then looks back to Meileani, then grins faintly. "I have a confession to make." Captivating and smooth of manner the man in black garb might be, the girl with the bicolored hair and the too-thin face and build doesn't seem mightily impressed. She looks him up and down, then answers steadily, "I got the only thing I brought out here with me on me already, pal." She briefly lifts the strap of her flute-sheath. "So whatever you got there, thanks, but no thanks, I ain't interested." And she turns again on the path. Meileani's eyes take in the other pair, briefly, but turn towards Tarroc. Her lips lift into a smile of their own volition. "A confession?" Tarroc chuckles politely, keeping his eyes fixed on the horizon, "Well, uhr... to be honest, I've lived here more than half my life..." He trails off, then grins and finishes, "And I meant to come here." A lightly quizzical expression crosses Meileani's face as she looks up at Tarroc. "You did? I...see." She smiles, quietly looking around again. "It's lovely here. Thank you." Stalh laughs cynically at the frail woman; the laugh appearing almost as if the man was expecting the response. A smirk almost appearing evil in nature creases the man's face as he speaks with a less refined sound - the words almost spitting out due to the harshness and 'brutality' of his words. Surprising though the man is able to keep his voice to a minimum. "Well then, I guess I might give this to some other male imposter from Etti IV then shall I Shenner?" Tarroc quirks an eyebrow at the two ahead, looking aside to Meileani, "What do you make of that?" he asks, concernedly. Meileani looks at you for a moment. Stalh lowers his fist slowly as in contempt for the frail and almost broken woman. Unfortunately, the smirk remains imprinted on his lips. Meileani's spine stiffens as she turns to watch the unfolding drama, so to speak. Without turning away, she replies quietly to the Commodore. "I don't like it. But it's not our business." . o O ( Yet. ) A glimmer of something like recognition crosses the girl's green eyes, but the impassive mask of her gaunt features doesn't alter much. She glances back over her shoulder at the man questioning her, and only now does her thin mouth curl up on one end, in a faint smirk. "Oh yeah," she drawls, "you. Well, definitely ain't interested. Don't take any wooden credits, pal." Once more she turns, clearly intending to stride off, though her hand tightens slightly on the strap of her flute-bag as she goes. A slight frown creases Tarroc's features and he begins easing his way in the direction of the two, though his hands stay clasped behind his back. "I don't like it either," Tarroc agrees. Meileani mutters something under her breath that sounds oddly like, "So much for a romantic evening." Luckily for Tarroc, he doesn't hear that -- he probably would have lost any semblance of control he was retaining and started blathering like an idiot again. He narrows his eyes slightly, trying to make out the figures in the darkness. The young man smiles and raises his voice a touch louder. "Well, it seems that you are still acting. Nice little 'cover' you have there...I'm sure your new friends will like to see who you relaly work for huh?" He laughs and looks to the heavens. Meileani quietly slips her jacket on, checking the pockets idly. She cocks a brow at the rude gentleman's announcement, eyes flickering to Tarroc. Tarroc turns his head back towards Meileani, wondering aloud, "Maybe that fellow had a little too much to drink, or something..." By now, the girl with the flute has gotten a fair distance down the path. Stalh's call only makes her slow, not really stop, just enough to show that she did actually hear him. She doesn't call anything back, however. She merely starts grinning, in a kind of weary, resigned amusement, and lets out a hoarse, low chuckle. And she keeps walking, heading for the way out of the gardens. Meileani smiles wryly, "I doubt it." She tilts her head, "Shall we?" You leave the beauty and peace of the Coral Gardens. Calamari Coral City -- North Coral Avenue An extensive thoroughfare, the road, made of smooth pearly white sea rocks with irregular hues of pink, glistens under the warm rays of the sun. Residential buildings that seem to have sprung from the very depths of the dark blue oceans tower into the sky. However, these structures, made of a pale blue almost translucent material, are not nature's ingenuity, but that of the Mon Calamari. Cataracts of leaves, rustling in the cool breeze, flow from large trees providing plenty of shade. Many citizens walk to and fro, either to disappear into their dwellings or to quickly pause before a fountain and refresh themselves with its sparkling waters. To the west, you catch a glimpse of coral hills which lure you to take a stroll through the Coral Gardens, and coming from the south you hear the distinct sound of water rushing against cold stone, a pleasant call for you to head into the city's center square. Toward the north is the spaceport. -=-=-=-=-=<>=-=-=-=-=- leads to Calamari Coral City -- Coral Gardens. leads to Calamari Coral City - Coral City Square. leads to Calamari Coral City -- Main Spaceport. Stalh has arrived. Meileani frowns more now, having seen the Intelligence agents leave with the other man. She begins to speak, but shakes it off and repeats more resolutely. "Let's go enjoy ourselves...I've had enough cloak and dagger lately." She smiles, "I can't recall the name, but it's to the south of here." Shenner is moving off down the street, her pace neither too swift nor too slow, her pale features set and impassive. She keeps to the walkways, where she can occasionally pass other sentients out and about their business. You head toward the city's center square. Calamari Coral City - Coral City Square This vast square, the ground paved with the same pearly white sea rock as the avenue, is deeply cherished by the citizens of Coral City. The plaza slopes downward toward an imposing fountain where the likeness of a Mon Calamari looking upward toward the ocean blue sky and that of a Quarren, its eyes cast down toward the depths of the fountain, have been etched in stone, the salty water streaming like salty tears down their silent faces. Erected to honor the symbiotic relationship that these two races have shared, it is a relic of a once peaceful past when the ocean of space was but a distant dream. Many citizens come here to reminisce, or to rest awhile before continuing on their way. Large crowds gather as a constant flow of people arrive from the west where the city's Commercial District is to be found, or from the Market District to the east. What appear to be the wealthier citizens of Coral City continue on their way southward onto Coral Avenue. Others, not so wealthy, make their way on the northbound stretch of the avenue. -=-=-=-=-=-=<>=-=-=-=-=-=- => Coral City Information Booth -=-=-=-=-=<>=-=-=-=-=- - leads to Calamari Coral City -- Market District. - leads to Calamari Coral City -- South Coral Avenue. - leads to Calamari Coral City -- North Coral Avenue. Tarroc arrives from North Coral Avenue. Tarroc has arrived. Meileani arrives from North Coral Avenue. Meileani has arrived. Tarroc continues down the street, squinting again as he notes the familiar girl making her way down the avenue. "There's that girl," he says to Meileani, breaking into a jog, "I'm going to go ask her what was going on back there." Meileani sighs just a touch, murmuring, "You're right. NRI wouldn't suit you at all." She follows, though, almost silent as she jogs to keep up. The girl with the flute and the bi-colored hair is arcing her course off to the east, now, apparently headed for the Market District. She hasn't increased her pace, and walks like a person familiar with her surroundings, casting only an occasional glance around to note anything and anyone passing near her. Meileani looks at you for a moment. "Miss, uhr, hey! Hold on a second!" Tarroc slows down to a fast walk as he gets a little closer, trying to wave the girl down. Now what? Frowning slightly to herself, Shen turns her head, but after a beat registers that the voice hailing her does not belong to the man with whom she'd been arguing. Slowing, stopping, she turns around, her green gaze as cool as it'd been when levelled on Stalh. "Yeah?" she asks, tone impassive. The lady spy is too caught up in her own thoughts and preoccupations to do much more than tag along behind Tarroc, frowning ever-so-slightly. Tarroc pauses just a moment to try and catch any flicker of recognition, wondering if anyone else was as sick as he of his face on the news lately. "Ah, I was just wondering what was going on back there... I mean, not often you have a disturbance in the Gardens..." Meileani interrupts, her voice quieter, "Are you all right, miss?" Tarroc The human that stands before you appears to be of average build and exceptional height, easily an inch or two above six feet tall. He conducts himself in a very reserved and cool manner, his movements occasionally displaying his speed and cat-like grace but more often they are measured and relaxed. His hazel eyes are set into an expressive face and radiate intellect beyond his years but also give the impression that he is somewhat naive to the ways of the world. His dirty-blond hair is cut in a conventional fashion and pushed out of his eyes, though it's length has obviously grown a bit past naval regulations. The amity in his gaze and the calm, almost pacific expression he often wears gives the impression that he is not accustomed to conflict. He is currently wearing a fullbody, bright-orange flightsuit typical of New Republic starfighter pilots. The controls of the vacuum suit are attached to the white harness on his chest, a strap running around to his back. Several pockets are on the legs of the pants, some areas bulging out obviously where some miscellaneous items are stored. A blaster has been slung to his waist with a black belt, though by it's positioning on his waist rather then down on his thigh you can tell that he obviously doesn't draw it often. His boots are loose and kept on his feet by black straps, one of which appears to bear about nine blaster clips. A patch on his chest bears the callsign "Vertigo" etched in black lettering, and another black patch beneath it reads "D'agor" in white, recessed lettering. The symbols of NRSC Deliverance and Ghost Flight are on his left and right shoulders, respectively. -=-=-=-=-=-=<>=-=-=-=-=-=- => Light Armor => DD6 Blaster Pistol Tarroc glances at you. Meileani This young woman is a bit tall for a human female, slender and lightly-boned with a striking coloring; her hair and eyes are dark, while her skin is very fair, almost pale. Her hair tumbles to just below her shoulders in length, a shiny mass of inky blackness so dark it's almost blue. Her features are average, for the most part; dark blue eyes with short, spiky lashes; an upturned nose; and a full mouth with white, even teeth that peek out when she smiles. Her build is very slender, with long, coltish legs that move with surprising grace and lightness. Her bones are lightly structured and she's not terribly curvy; she is built too wiry for that. Meileani is wearing a snug black jumpsuit that is bare of all markings, save for a single white bar across the left breast pocket. Over that is a battered leather jacket, well-work by time and the occasional carbon score from near hits of blaster fire. Shiny black thigh boots with low heels cover her legs. -=-=-=-=-=-=<>=-=-=-=-=-=- => Quick-6 Sporting Blaster Shenner glances between the pair that's caught up with her, measuringly. If she recognizes Tarroc's face she gives no sign of it; either she's not been keeping up with the news, or else she's hiding it well. She considers, then her pale, thin mouth curls up again on one end, into a slight smirk. "Somebody I bumped into before apparently bumped into me again. He's an asshole. It happens." Green eyes flick to Meileani, then, and she adds, "I'm fine, yeah." A beat, then she concludes gruffly, "Thanks." Tarroc can't help but laugh lightly, "Well, I would have put it a mite more eloquently... anyway, just making sure. Be careful, eh?" He flicks off an impromptu salute, then looks back to Meileani, "Now, what were you saying a minute ago...?" ---------- Postlude: If her involvement with Paul Nighman had taught Shenner anything, it was the ability to recognize a man and a woman who are, or who are at least trying to be, romantically involved. Drawing this very conclusion from the behavior of the two who caught up with her to inquire after her welfare, the young redheaded musician didn't need much prompting to think of Paul -- since, after all, the Corellian had been why she'd been out in the city gardens with her flute anyway. She hadn't let herself show it, either to the man who'd come up to harangue her or to the two who'd caught up with her later, but the encounter with the man in black clothes disturbed her. Shen could remember meeting him on Etti IV -- and she distinctly recalled that both times she'd encountered him, he'd been supercilious, arrogant, and contemptuous, and that was putting it mildly. _He acted like he wanted me to grovel at his feet or something,_ she groused to herself as she slipped shadow-quiet through the Market District, _and wasn't he an Imperial, anyway? What the kark is an Imp doing on Calamari?!_ _That_ thought led Shenner's musings uncomfortably back around to Nelun -- Nelun, who'd raved about being an Imperial officer while lying wounded on her floor. Guilt still weighed heavily on her mind that she'd completely forgotten the strange wanderer over the last week or so, despite her telling herself she hadn't been entirely all together in the head herself. The guilt warred with a painful tangle of reactions to the fact that the man had vanished on her a _second_ time -- and Shen was giving herself a headache trying to remind herself _You're a grownup now, street rat, stop looking for a shoulder to cry on!_ Never mind that Trace had left her, too.... And Shikh.... And Kuxli.... And even Sinjon, after all his generosity.... And her mother.... And Paul.... especially Paul.... _Dammit, -stop it-, stop feeling sorry for yourself!_ Her mood darkened, scowling to herself, Shenner continued on her circuitous route home -- the new home, the new apartment Sinjon Teague had rented for her. The new digs, she had to admit, were pretty swank; she had next to no idea what she'd do with an extra bedroom, but the sheer pleasure of having a fireplace all to herself and a tree out back to climb in or sit under was something she hoped to hang onto for as long as possible. But having them only reminded her anew of her promise to the Horansi Jedi -- that she'd find Luke Skywalker as soon as possible. As Shen reached her new neighborhood at last, after nearly an hour of walking, she remembered that she'd planned to go back to the NR for help with Nelun. And now that the Imperial officer she'd met on Etti IV was here, it looked as if she had a _third_ reason to seek NR aid. _Looks like I'm gonna hafta go find Mon Mothma...._ [End log.]