Log Date:
	5/8/98

Log Cast:
	Stalh, Shenneret Veery, Tarroc D'agor

Log Intro:
	It's been a dubious calm that's settled across the life of the
young musician Shenner, but it's a calm she's wholeheartedly welcomed.
With the unlooked-for boons of a safe, comfortable place to sleep at night
and money to keep her for months bestowed upon her by Sinjon Teague, the
girl has found herself free to wander the city as she will and let her
jumbled thoughts and memories seek out some kind of order. Unsurprisingly,
most of those thoughts have centered on the absent Paul Nighman; missing
the Corellian horribly, Shenner has striven to remember when she last
saw him, and to fathom why she hasn't heard from him in some time... and
to figure out whether he's left her... or is even alive.
	Her music has provided her with a kind of comfort, but it's
also brought her more unexpected... and this time unwelcome... attention,
in the guise of a man Shenner last knew as an Imperial officer on Etti IV.
Now, the man called Stalh is on Calamari, and clearly infuriated to find
her present as well. This hasn't stopped Shenner from frequenting her
usual busking places, for she's begun to develop an audience who looks for
her, but it has gotten her starting to look over her shoulder as she
sings....

----------
Stalh arrives from North Coral Avenue.
Stalh has arrived.
Stalh walks through the square with a slow measured pace. He is occasionally 
  jostled by passers-by, but however he seems oblivious to their attention for 
  he walks calmly through the area with his head down, apparently deep in 
  thought.

There's music in the square tonight: a strongly, clearly played guitar, and a 
  young voice ringing out, low-timbered, perfectly pitched. The melody's one 
  in a major key, fast of tempo, and from the sound of it, would be at home 
  with trumpets ringing out a hunting call between the singer's verses.

        ... who shall win? Blessed Stag, or mortal kin?
        Fast through the winding brook we push
        Flash of a tail within the bush
        For the stag is swift, and the stag is fleet
        And he hears a sound of thundering feet

In what's become her usual spot in the square, Shenneret Veery sits 
  cross-legged on a blanket in the grass, singing out her song of the moment, 
  waiting to see who'll come by to place credits in her open case.

The young human male stops suddenly in the middle of the pathway, and in doing 
  so draws some vulgar remarks by people who have to avoid him in their daily 
  rush. Paying them no heed, Stalh scans the Square and spots what he has been 
  a cause of pain for the last year. Walking casually over to the singing 
  bard, he starts whistling, loudly and off-tune. Stopping inches before the 
  bard, he casually tosses a single Galactic credit into her open case.
Stalh gives you 1 Standard Galactic Credits.

        Here, then gone
        Clansmen cry, the hunt is on....

The girl, it seems, is more than enough of a musician that hearing someone 
  whistle off-key, and in jarring contrast with the song she's producing 
  herself, isn't enough to throw her off kilter. Nor is the single credit 
  flipped down to join the scattering of others in her case. Her green gaze 
  flicks across the credit-giver, and she nods in cool acknowledgement; she 
  also keeps singing.

        Let the death be clean, as life's release
        So we show our honor to the beast
        For your own death you will understand
        When you hold life's blood within your hand
        Here, then gone
        Clansmen cry, the hunt is on
        Sound the horn loudly, call the hounds
        We will ride proudly through hunting grounds
        Who shall win? Blessed Stag, or mortal kin?

----------
Interlude:

	Fortunately, perhaps because she is in a public and brightly lit
place, the man Stalh leaves Shenner be with no more disturbance. Shenner
manages to keep up her singing as she surreptitiously marks the direction
of his departure... and she makes a point of keeping to the light for a
while, until she eventually attracts another audience....

----------
The square is sparsely populated at this hour, but still brightly lit, and on 
  a stretch of grass, sitting cross-legged on a blanket, sits the girl with 
  bi-colored hair. She has a guitar in her lap, and she's strumming at it 
  softly; the case sits open before her.

Tarroc cocks an ear towards the decidedly human music, brows drawing togethor 
  slightly -- this isn't something he'd expect on this planet, let alone at 
  this hour. Locating the source of the music is no small feat for him; he has 
  to turn around three times fully before finally seeing the girl. He tilts 
  his head to the side slightly, then clasps his hands behind his back and 
  begins making his way towards her.

        ... of ancient kings and mystic rings and ships with painted sails
        Of how I came to be here and where I wish to go
        And all my deepest secrets which you will come to know

The girl's voice is low and clear, perfectly pitched, and she plucks her way 
  through a simple accompaniment to the melody she's singing.

Tarroc slows to a stop several meters away, unclasping his hands to lean up 
  against a nearby trash receptacle. He folds his arms over his chest and 
  grins slightly, memories of a few similarly spent nights of his youth 
  finding their way into his mind. He surveys the girl again, idly wondering 
  if she is perhaps homeless, but dismisses the notion a moment later.
Tarroc looks at you for a moment.

        Settle back and dream a while and come along with me
        We will walk the ancient forests and sail the deepest seas
	Oh let your heart go rambling, there's much we have to see
        From what we are this moment, to what we hope to be

The girl's voice drops off, and she simply plays for a while, the guitar 
  taking the lead line of the melody, while she sits there on her blanket with 
  the big guitar in her lap. Her head's lifted up, as if she scans her 
  surroundings as she sings. Or else is trying to keep an eye-catching 
  posture. Or both.

Certainly Tarroc's screaming orange flightsuit make any attempt at stealth an 
  improbable pursuit -- even at this hour, and even if he had made an attempt 
  to remain unseen, the chances of him not being visible are nil. Thinking the 
  song at an end, he starts clapping faintly, then quickly stops himself. o O 
  (Oh, that was slick, hotshot.) O o .

Shenner turns her head, taken aback, but not for long. Her mouth curls in a 
  slight smile, and she calls over, "Thanks." Her hands still momentarily, 
  lifting off the strings, and she methodically stretches each of her fingers.

Tarroc forces himself to chuckle, pushing off the receptacle to make his way a 
  little closer, "Ah, my apologies for the disruption. Pleasure to see you 
  again, miss, you play quite well. May I venture to ask why you're out so 
  late at night, though?"

"Thanks," is the musician's level reply; her expression, as before, is fairly 
  cool, though at least this time, it's on the amiable side of impassive, 
  perhaps. She shrugs one slender shoulder, and adds, "It's either here or my 
  place, and as long as I'm awake, I can busk."

Tarroc chuckles politely, leaning up against a nearby tree. "Growing up on 
  Calamari, are we? I wonder if it's as interesting an experience for you as 
  it was for me," he smiles slightly, "I used to spend many nights doing the 
  same as you, though I must admit that I wasn't quite as confident in my 
  abilities to play near the square."

The girl's dark eyebrows rise, and her expression grows slightly cooler -- but 
  only briefly. She gives another shrug, and her voice remains steady as she 
  answers, plucking idly at her guitar, "Nah. Took care of most of the growing 
  up elsewhere. I'm just living here, now. Square's good for busking, though."

Shenner considers, then adds, "You play?"

Tarroc laughs lightly, "Well, now I'd be quite impressed with myself if I 
  could still play something that could be loosely called music. When I was 
  younger I didn't have much else to do, though..." He stifles a yawn, then 
  comments, "Never had much of a receptive audience, though. I don't think the 
  Mon Cals enjoy that kind of music terribly much."

The girl's fingers keep occasionally strumming at her guitar strings, but she 
  plays very softly now, mere background noise to accompany the conversation 
  that's come up. "Yeah," she agrees dryly, "they mostly seem to look at me 
  funny."

Tarroc can't help but grin, "I received much of the same... I figured out that 
  I wasn't terribly well received after a while and kept to home after a 
  while, though. Hey, mind if I ask your name, or is "miss" preferable?"

Pale nose crinkling, the girl apparently doesn't think much of 'miss', truth 
  be told. But there's also a momentary pause, so slight as to be _almost_ 
  undetectable, before she answers as if she hadn't paused at all, "Shenner'll 
  do me. You?"

Tarroc nods slowly, "Pleased to meet you Shenner. I'm D'agor, I mean.. first 
  name's Tarroc." His cheeks redden a shade and he mutters, "Stupid naval 
  codex." He considers for a few moments, then inquires, "Forgive me for 
  intruding, but it sounded like you said you were living alone. Aren't you a 
  little young?"

Dark reddish-brown eyebrows crook up over green eyes, and the girl drawls, 
  "I'm nineteen. Why?"

Tarroc scratches the back of his head, "Uhr, nevermind. Just overly curious, I 
  suppose. To be honest, I thought you were a tad younger."

Shenner chuckles, shortly, mostly without humor, shifting chords on her 
  instrument, streams of eighth notes and triplets. "Yeah well. I get that a 
  lot. Don't worry about it."

Tarroc nods succinctly, shifting his gaze to the square. He rubs his chin, 
  then looks back and asks, "I was meaning to ask you last night, but who 
  was.. the, ehm," he chuckles, "Who was the 'asshole'? You seemed to know 
  him."

Shenner blinks. This question, it seems, seizes enough of her attention that 
  her hands still on her guitar strings, and she turns her gaze back from its 
  casual sweep of the square to rest once more on the man in the orange 
  jumpsuit. "He's somebody I bumped into on another world a couple of times," 
  she answers calmly. "Don't know him from that, other than that he was an 
  asshole then and he's apparently an asshole now. Why?"

Tarroc assimilates this, though it's obvious he was hoping for something a bit 
  more detailed. "Seemed like his deck might have had a few too many Idiot 
  cards. Just call me a concerned party."

Whatever details are being sought here, it would appear that the girl called 
  Shenner isn't particularly ready to offer them to a stranger, even if she's 
  been introduced to the fellow. But she does sweep her green gaze over the 
  man before her, apparently pondering, and finally she says gruffly, "You're 
  NR, right?"

Tarroc chuckles again, then nods, "It's good to see I'm not quite as famous as 
  I was dreading. Yeah, I am."

Shenner's eyebrows go up briefly once more; then, she turns, setting the 
  guitar aside, and stretching out some before considering the jumpsuited 
  figure nearby. "Okay, well, I'll tell ya. I saw him on Etti IV, before. And 
  _there_, it seemed like he was an Imp. He tried to make me take a job 
  performing for some high-ranking somebody'r'other." Her eyes darken, her 
  mouth tightening into a thin line. "And now he's here."

Tarroc rubs his chin, then frowns gravely, "Seemed like an Imperial? How do 
  you figure?" He doesn't even really wait for a reply before he sighs. 
  "That's not good. Way too sloppy for Imperial intelligence though," he 
  murmurs, more to himself than the girl.

"Second time he met me," is Shenner's steady reply, "he had a comlink, and it 
  buzzed him, and somebody called him by an officer's rank. 'Sides," she adds 
  laconically, drawing a knee up and crossing her arms over it, "Etti IV was 
  crawling with Imperials at the time."

"Blast," he mumbles to himself, "and I haven't been able to get a hold of Mon 
  Mothma in days." He looks up and asks, "You remember anything else?"

Shenner's expression shifts slightly; perhaps she heard the mention of the 
  name Mon Mothma. She rises slowly to her feet. "About the asshole?" she 
  asks. Perhaps slightly warily.

Tarroc nods quickly, "Yeah, it's important... I really need more information 
  to give Intel..."

Shenner appears to ponder this, a strange mix of reactions seeming to begin to 
  cross her face. "I... only bumped into him two times, like I said," she 
  finally answers. "He was mostly loud, obnoxious, and as arrogant as all 
  hells." Her mouth curls into a smirk for a moment or two, then vanishes, as 
  her expression turns towards the wary again. "Look, pal.... most of what I 
  know about Etti IV's already in NR intelligence files -- you might wanna 
  look 'em up."

Tarroc blinks at this, considering the last bit of information for a moment. 
  He nods quickly, says, "Alright, I will. Might do yourself a favor in 
  keeping a little bit of a low profile for a few days until we figure out 
  what's up with the guy... and if you see him, do me a favor and leave a 
  message at the garrison for Commodore D'agor, they'll make sure I get it." 
  He turns to leave, "Thanks for the info, by the way."

"I saw him earlier tonight, actually," says the young musician. She pauses a 
  beat, then adds, "He gave me a credit. And whistled off-key while I was 
  singing." Another smirk, which then vanishes. _Commodore?_ "Uh, yeah, 
  though. I'll contact ya if I need to. Uh, you're welcome."

Tarroc stops in mid-stride, then half-turns, questioning, "You have a 
  blaster?" he asks, perhaps concernedly.

Shenner nods, simply, shortly.

Tarroc nods and jogs off without another word, taking a comm-link off his belt 
  to speak as he goes. "...check it out... keep an eye..."
Tarroc heads northward up Coral Avenue.
Tarroc has left.

[End log.]