Log Date: 6/18/99 Log Cast: Jairen, Shenner, Ariani (NPC), Athena Log Intro: Shenner hasn't been so angry at someone since her beloved Paul left her on Calamari. It's the day after her sword teacher, Jairen Windchaser of the Jaer, launched a surprise attack on her in the Fountain Square -- and had it been any other day under any other circumstances, Shenner would have been entirely pleased with how she'd handled the unexpected test of her rising ability with her practice blade, for although Jairen succeeded in driving her to a wall, she succeeded in turn in getting in a blow to him -- something she's hardly ever able to accomplish. But this mock battle happened to take place in the Fountain Square, on the day after the assassination of Admiral Taylor, one of the most prominent figures in Caspar's military forces -- and the security forces that keep watch over the city were understandably paranoid at a swordfight springing up in a public area so soon after Taylor's slaying. They swiftly surrounded the singer and the warrior... and Jairen abruptly escaped, leaving Shen to fend for herself in the middle of an angry ring of security guards. The only thing that kept her from getting charged with disturbing the peace was the timely arrival of Jonathan Webb, who promptly argued the guards into letting Shenner go about her business, aided by the unmistakable stench of tear gas clinging to his person. Now, the morning after the encounter, Shen is still positively livid at Jairen's desertion, as she storms into the Sandbar... ---------- You enter the Sandbar. The Sandbar A large, comfortable room creates the main part of Plaxton City's infamous Sandbar, survivor of no less than three rounds of destruction, once more back on its feet. Refurbished to much the same state it had enjoyed prior to the invasion of Caspar at Imperial hands, the place boasts dark wood panelling on its walls, and myriad booths and tables of occasionally battered but sturdy lighter wood, and a number of both old and brand new holoposters hung here and there on the walls. Several deep blue glass windows allow light in from outside, while keeping the ambient light level fairly low. The marble bar that survived the recent war still remains, more battered than before, but once again serving as the domain of Ariani; the loft, too, has been restored, providing yet more seating and an excellent view of the low stage towards the back of the room, where the local band called the Womprats play each night. ----For help with tables, type "PLACE HELP" ----For help with drinks, type "BAR HELP" ----For a closer look at the room's details, type "DETAIL LIST" -=-=-=-=-=-=<>=-=-=-=-=-=- => Jairen => The Sandbar's Band: The Womprats(#5983) => Emma => Ariani -=-=-=-=-=<>=-=-=-=-=- leads to Fountain Square - Plaxton City. Jairen sits in a booth out of the way, sipping his usual wine. He's not sitting in it in a very conventional way. Instead of facing the table, he reclines, back against the wall, right foot on the bench seat, left foot on the floor. His wine is held in his right hand while his left arm rest on the table. It might be clear and sunny outside for once, but the expression of one Shenneret Veery, student and musician, is positively thunderous. The redheaded singer stalks into the bar with a gaze that could burn holes in carbonite, and when the door whisks shut behind her, she bellows out with the full power of her singer's lungs, "_Ariani!_ Where are ya?" The bartender, as it happened, had just ducked off into the kitchen to fetch a new bottle of Velgarth Light brandy out of storage. At Shenner's roar, though, the older woman, just coming through the doorway that leads back to the kitchen, lifts her eyebrows. "Good morning to you too, kiddo." She strides back to her usual place behind the bar, studying the girl levelly. "Problems?" Jairen continues to sit in his booth, not moving. A mischevious smirk spreads across his face. There's something you don't see often. Jairen looking mischevious. At any rate, he doesn't say or do anything except sip his drink like he has been doing for the last who-knows-how-many hours, his eyes now watching the red-head with obvious amusement. "Gimme some of that," Shenner grunts, pointing brusquely at the brandy, "and I don't care how early it is." She slams herself down onto one of the stools with enough force that if there were springs involved in the stool's construction, they'd have creaked. And without missing a beat she appends in a sarcastic snarl, "Problems? Naah, I ain't got any problems! The so-called Primary Secondary Warrior of Tribe Windchaser, Clan CloudStrider apparently decided it was just fine and karkin' dandy to leave me high and dry in the middle of a crowd of torked-off Square guards last night after pulling a surprise attack on me, but noooooo, I ain't got any problems!" Ariani frowns at this outburst, but complies with Shenner's barked order readily enough, pouring out a finger's worth of the brandy into a shot glass. Her eyes flash momentarily back to the booth where Jairen is sitting, wine in hand; oh, aye, she knows the swordsman is here. Although Shen misses her glance, the bartender's shift in expression is unmistakable: cool, eyes glinting with warning, and beginning to harden with a trace of disapproval. Jairen smiles slightly at the bartender, nodding and toasting her with his glass as if to assure her everything is going to be alright, this is pretty normal, and he does know what he's doing. As for Shenner's anger, he doesn't make a sound, simply letting her blow her steam for a while longer. There's a lot more fire than smoke to Shenner's anger this time, though; a lot more bite than bark. She snaps back the shot of brandy, only to go rigid when Ariani taps her forearm and points past her, back towards that booth. Ariani says nothing; she doesn't need to. The singer reads her expression instantly -- and whirls around on the stool, aiming her murderous expression back towards the silver-haired warrior. In an instant she's on her feet, her fury carrying her back towards that booth, her voice lashing out ahead of her, "Get up, you inconsiderate, self-righteous, backstabbing, mookla-humping bastard!" Jairen doesn't move. Well, he doesn't move except to take a drink of his wine. "Calm yourself, Shenner." comes the typically neutral voice. "Violent anger leads to unfocused agression which leads to foolhardy acts. You have every right to be angry with me, as do the guards outside." Perhaps astonishingly -- it certainly raises the eyebrows of the woman behind the bar -- Shenner hasn't raised her voice again. She's bitten out those words with edges so sharp you could cut your hand on them, and each syllable is frigid as a winter on Hoth... but she hasn't raised her voice. "You better karkin' believe I'm angry with you," she snarls, coming to a battle-ready stance before the swordsman's seat, right hand clenched into a white-knucked fist. Her face, too, is white with wrath, save for the heat of her emerald eyes. "Where the bloody nine hells do you get off leavin' me to take the heat for disturbing the peace?! Get the kark up!" Jairen takes another drink of his wine, places the glass on the table, and stands up. There, his hands rest lightly on his sword hilt as he watches Shenner, eyes and expression neutral. He is eerily quiet. Perhaps also astonishingly, Shenner doesn't lunge -- but then again, she's not a total idiot, even when gripped in the most vehement anger she can remember feeling in years. At Jairen's utter lack of response, her expression goes utterly still, the fire in her eyes turning to a diamond-hard cold. Her voice drops in volume, but becomes colder, bitter. "Fine," she bites out. "Have it your way. Tell Ariani where you want the sword dropped off. I quit." And she whirls around on her heel. "What would you have me say, Shenner?" Come the question as the girl turns around. "I have appolgised, and I can do no more. I was stopped recently by the guards in the square as I came here, for I knew you would eventually come here, and things were explained. Tell me, my friend, what else would you have me do? Fight you? That would be a waste of energy on both our parts. The redheaded girl stops, her right hand frozen in the motion of reaching for her braid -- where the silver ornament she'd been given at the end of the battle to free Plaxton City keeps that unruly mass of russet from escaping as it will. "You didn't apologize," she replies frigidly. "All you said was that I had a right to be angry. How very karking gracious of you!" With that, she whirls around again. "What do I want? I wanna know that somebody who claims to be my friend is not going to pull out on me when I need him. I wanna know what made you think it was _fine_ to leave me to explain myself to a herd of torked-off cops -- who are, I might add, crankier than drunken Gamorreans between having to deal with Jedi trying to kill each other, a gods-damned _war_, and now Admiral Taylor having gotten assassinated. I want to know I'm more than a way to amuse yourself teaching a street rat bar singer human kid sword tricks while you wait around for somebody who can help you get home again, which is _obviously_ where you'd rather be, since you don't appear to give a flying damn about anybody but yourself!" Fast, sharp, and low, her words are hurled forth, almost, but not quite, fast enough to be babbling. Shen's normal casual enunciation is gone. This is a young woman speaking out of the middle of a betrayed heart. At the bar, Ariani hasn't moved a muscle. There's only one time in her experience that the older woman has seen Shenner like this, and now, her expression is grim. Jairen's eyes narrow dangerously as he takes a half step forward. "Indeed, I would rather be home." he almost hisses. "There are reasons besides homesickness that I should be there. I am the son of the leader of my clan. When my father dies, if I am not there to take his place, /war/ ensuses..." his voice is practically dripping with... something. It's hard to pin down. "Also, if I die this far from home, I will /never/ reach my people's paradise. However, you are my Initiate. You are to me what some would call a Squire. Also, you are a member of my clan, a member of my TRIBE. You are now my cousin." Pauses again. "If you truely think I would abandon you in a situation where you would need my help or believe I don't respect you, then," he holds out his hand, "return the symbol of my house and be done with me." Anger. That's definately the undercurrents in the swordsman's voice. All eyes on the pair near the booth. Cantina deathly quiet. "If you're that desperate to get home," Shenner barks, the hardness in her eyes turning suspiciously overbright, "why the kark aren't you doing something about it instead of wasting your time with _me_?" Her gaze begins to turn bleak... and wet. Resigned to what seems to her has become the state of her life, she adds in hollow tones, "Everybody I love or trust leaves me or screws me over. Why should you be any different?" "Because," Jairen continues, "I have no way to get home. The man who knew the way home is dead, and I know nothing of spacetravel. I don't even know which direction to go in or if that's even a factor." His voice softens slightly and he drops his hand. "And I am not 'everybody.' I am Jairen Winchaser of the Jaer. My honor is my life. If I say I will not desert you when you need me, I will /not/." The rational part of Shenner's brain urges her to argue -- to point out that there are, after all, plenty of people all over the galaxy who -do- know about space travel. That there's plenty of information to be had off the research nets, if one can get over an aversion to technology and make use of them. But the portion of Shenner's mind and heart, the part of her that fueled the last words that left her mouth, is not rational. That part of her looks out from behind her eyes, eluding the iron control she's exerting on the set of her features. It sets hard-won maturity in her countenance off-balance, making her seem -- if not young, necessarily, for that's an old, old ache darkening her gaze -- acutely vulnerable. "Then tell me why you left me." These new words are toneless, the bite gone. Iron control is necessary here, too, to keep what's in her eyes from making it into her voice. The rational part of Jairen, which happens to be the most dominate part, also knows that there are people who know of space travel and archives. However, he also knows that the only reason his people are documented at all in the Imperial Space records are because /he/ provided the records at a request of a certain now out of favor Moff. As for pilots... who would want to make a 50 year one way trip? "To learn." comes the answer. "To see if you could find your way out of a situation without fighting. /That/ is the difference between a fighter and a warrior. I was never far off, had you needed my help." "Then you better be glad Webb came along, because he's the only thing that kept me from having a disturbance of the peace charge slapped onto my record. I ain't exactly eager to start a record on a third world." Part of Shenner still wants to be angry; however, she can't spare the strength for it. Not right now, with a hot tightness in her chest and a lump in her throat that feels like plascrete. She is, she realizes in stark self-awareness, about ten seconds away from tears; time to flee. Averting her gaze, because _damned_ if she's going to allow herself to be seen to cry here and now, she adds harshly, "And you still haven't apologized." Jairen lowers his eyes, bowing slightly, actually removing his hands from his sword hilt and holding them palms out. "Then I apologise." "Apology accepted," the musician grunts, a suspicious rasp creeping into her voice. Once more she turns away, but this time with much less force; she doesn't have the strength to spare for that, either. She starts to walk away, her shoulders rigid, her voice carrying back over them, "And I don't give a damn about what house, tribe, clan, or race you're part of. You want to keep me believing you're my friend, don't _ever_ do that again." Her steps carry her to the bar; to Ariani, she mutters, "I may not be in to sing tonight. I'll call." That's all the warning she gives before she vanishes out the door. You leave The Sandbar, entering the fresh air of Fountain Square. Fountain Square - Plaxton City The huge buildings in the background threaten to take over this small patch of green that is the center of Plaxton City. A stone fountain -still in place from another time- sits in the center of the square. It depicts a young woman looking into the sky. water flares around her and bursts into a star pattern ten feet above her head. The inscription at the base of the fountain is written in the aging language of a more romantic time. 'Farewell, for all journeyers that leave this place shall always return to call it home.' Wandering the square throughout the day are Caspar Marines; some off-duty and enjoying their downtime while on-duty commandos in full armor and uniform keep watch over the area. Despite the commandos' aggresive appearance, they are viewed with admiration and respect from most of the citizens, some of them even joking and talking with families. The mid-day sky above is clear. -=-=-=-=-=-=<>=-=-=-=-=-=- => Athena => Webb => IGNews Terminal - Caspar => Mail Terminal: Caspar -=-=-=-=-=<>=-=-=-=-=- ndbar leads to The Sandbar. outh leads to South Mergansar Ave. - Plaxton City. ast leads to East Blake St. - Plaxton City. orth leads to North Mergansar Ave. - Plaxton City. est leads to West Blake St. - Plaxton City. Shenner comes stalking out of the Sandbar, her stance rigid, her eyes suspiciously hot and wet. Unseeing of or deliberately oblivious to anyone in the square, she sets a course towards West Blake Street. Athena sits on a bench at the fountain. Little Dask on he rlap, who wribbles as he tries to escape form her protecting arms. It takes a humanoid on foot, even one with a long, swift stride, a good few minutes to cross Fountain Square. Shenner covers the distance as quickly as a possible, swerving her path around other sentients and small vendor carts without registering them as anything except obstacles in her way. Not once does that bleak, hollow-eyed expression she's wearing waver. Soon, she's reached Blake Street... and she's heading down the walkway towards the distant beach. [End log.]